The French Can’t Drive

After four years of driving in the UK, I decided that it was time my little car got to take a holiday and come with me to the wine region of Bordeaux in the south of France for 6 months. I had been warned about French drivers by my Father (coincidentally an advanced driving instructor) who taught me how to drive. Under his strict ruling, I had to complete at least 50 hours of lessons before sitting my test and failing was not even an option. However, despite all the warnings, I could never have been prepared for driving in France. Quite simply, the French don’t know how to drive.

Right-hand Drive. My brother, who drives through Europe on a weekly basis these days, had kindly informed me of toll roads requiring payment (on the left hand side) so I invested in an automatic Télépéage before I even reached the border, but I hadn’t quite realised the same would go for car parks. I have since discovered two methods of reaching a machine on the wrong side of the car; “the jump-out-and-run-around” as well as the “extreme-lean”. Neither is particularly comfortable. I believe it is Napoleon I have to blame for this, you should have stayed on the left!

French Kissing. It would appear that the French adopt their attitude to kissing to their cars as well. When a Frenchman is driving, he indubitably feels the need to roll along bumper to bumper without a care in the world. ‘Bumper kissing’, as I now refer to it, is an obligatory stage of parallel parking too. Don’t forget to kiss both the car in front and the car behind when you squeeze into the space! Personally, I actually care if my number plate is bent in half when I return to my car. The French don’t seem to.

Parking: French Style

Speed Limits. This is more of a gripe aimed at the people who decide the speed limits on French roads. Nobody, and I mean absolutely nobody except me, sticks to them. Perhaps it is a suggestion that the speed limits are too slow, or perhaps it is too easy to get away with it, but it is infuriating when I am driving along at a legal pace and the person behind me wants to go faster, and he shows it by extreme bumper kissing me. 

Traffic Lights. Before now, my experience of driving has been limited to country roads in the UK. You can imagine my surprise, therefore, when I arrived in Bordeaux and I discovered that the amber light was in fact an indication to speed up, not to slow down as I am used to. As a result, I witness cars running red lights on a daily basis, and I gasp each and every time. The worst occasion was a crash that I witnessed between two cars because one ignored the red light. Frenchies- amber means stop. 

Not speed up...

Beeping. I live on a busy street, a street that lots of impatient commuters use to get to work in the morning. If someone wants to parallel park in the road and needs to hold you up for 1 minute while they do so; let them. Some of us are trying to sleep and your constant beeping is only stressing everybody out. They will take longer to park, and I will wake up from my magical dream about how the French have all suddenly become wonderful drivers… 

So I suppose for now, I shall just have to embrace French culture and learn to drive like them. One thing, please don’t tell my Father…

French V British: What Makes Us Different?

Image: Crossed-flag-pins.com

I have only been in sunny Bordeaux for a week, but I have already noticed a lot of culture differences between us awkward Brits and our froggy neighbours. They may be stereotyped, but they’re very true.

Their Driving. I decided to make a little road trip out of my year abroad and so brought my car to Bordeaux with me. I expected dilemmas to arise when entering car parks and not being able to reach the ticket machine on the other side, but I hasn’t quite realised that the French aren’t particularly bothered by the welfare of their vehicle. I have yet to see a car without a dent or scratch and am counting the days until I find mine with a wing mirror knocked off.

Their Size. They may eat lots of bread, but I have yet to come across anyone larger than the likes of Dr Jenson recommend. I’ve seen lots of fast food restaurants, but fast food junkies seem to be few and far between.

Their hate of supermarkets. I haven’t quite worked out why, but the French seem to hate the idea of buying everything in one place. They have separate shops for food products (Boulangerie for bread, boucherie for meat, epicerie for all the condiments) and I really cannot understand the lack of the all-encompassing Boots. Make-up, shampoo and plug adapters all in one place? Yes please.

And the one thing we do have in common? We secretly love each other! We can’t get enough of French restaurants in England and I seem to be seeing the British flag everywhere in Bordeaux. Not only that, but within a 10 minute walk of my apartment can be found, ‘Sherlock Holmes’, ‘Charles Dickins’ and even a ‘Cock and Bull’ (Yes, real pubs! Apparently one of them even serves Pimms…). 

Image: Hammeroftruth.com