Roundabouts. April 1 2010

We lived in Paris for a little over 18 months, but it took me six months to pluck up the courage to drive into the centre of the city.

We lived in the south west of the city, and in order to get to the centre, it meant that there was no choice other than to drive around the “Etoile”. The Etoile (which translates as Star) is a huge roundabout, in the middle of which, majestically stands the Arc de Triomphe. It has twelve roads leading onto it with such evocative names as Avenue de la Grande Armee, Avenue Foch and of course the Champs Elysee.

Once on, it is hard to tell how many lanes there are because nothing is marked and I can only describe it as a “free for all”. There is a rule that as you enter the roundabout you have priority. It is just as well really because otherwise one wouldn’t stand a snowball’s chance in hell of ever getting from one side to the other and then getting off again. But once onto the circuit, all rules are abandoned, other than the fact that you then in turn, have to give way (yield for the Americans reading this) to traffic entering from your right. It is a massive game of chicken.

As I said, there are no lanes – you just make your own. And heaven help you on a day when the police decide to direct traffic. I can only think that the police must get some sort of sadistic or even masochistic pleasure out of trying to direct traffic. I have seldom met a Frenchman that obeys traffic rules.

My way of dealing with this roundabout was very simple. I just imagined “who had more to lose.” In other words, I used to look at the car next to me that was competing for a space and would think to myself, "who is going to come off worse if we crash." It goes without saying that with the children strapped in the back, I was much more cautious than when driving alone.

At that time we had taken over a BMW from a previous ex-pat that had left. This was both a blessing and a curse. It was a blessing because it gave me a great sense of security, safe in the knowledge that a good solid German BMW would most likely come off better than something like a Citroen. But it was a curse in that it was such a great car, and I didn’t want to be the one to damage it. But, I survived, and the remaining year that we were there, I would travel into the centre at least once a week and I am happy to report that I didn’t have any problems.

Now, I have said that for this particular roundabout, priority was given when getting on to it. This is not always the case in France and just to confuse you, you had to be on the lookout for roundabouts where you didn't have priority getting on. There was normally a sign telling you, but it was a bit disconcerting to say the least, to hurtle up to the roundabout only to spot the sign and have to slam on the brakes.

In the States, Americans don’t do roundabouts or at least not in New Jersey. The few that there are, are called “circles” although that may not bear any relation to the actual shape of the layout of the road. It is just a convenient term. Near where we used to live, there were three. One was totally controlled by lights, one partially controlled by lights and the third not at all. I guess the planners were trying to give priority to the most important of the roads, but in reality it just caused chaos. There were though, clear sign posts and you could find yourself having no problem getting onto the circle, only to find that it is much more difficult to get off. Other times the reverse was true. Suffice it to say, there were no set rules, each one was different and had to be treated with respect.

In the UK it is very simple. Roundabouts are everywhere. Why bother with traffic lights when you can have a roundabout. They drive on the left in the UK and the rules are simple. Give way to traffic from the right, but once on the roundabout, you then have priority. Easy unless you are driving in Milton Keynes, which has the record for the most confusing roundabouts ever known to man.

The reason I am blogging about roundabouts is because I have yet to discover what on earth the protocol is for driving around them here in Sao Paulo. I think Marcelo is a great driver but my language skills aren’t yet good enough to ask him how he decides whether to go without stopping, whether to slow down and think about it, or whether to go for it, change his mind and let someone else go ahead. All I know is that there is no way I am going to even bother to get my driver’s license until I have figured this out. I will just let Marcelo figure out who has got the most to lose.