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…

The Places of Bristol: Vincenzo's

TripAdvisor

For those who like Italian food, not the Anglo-Italian of Pizza Express or ASK, but the authentic, messy, ‘no cutlery allowed’ style of real Italian pizza, then Vincenzo’s is for you. With 44 years’ worth of postcards covering the walls from across the globe and bottles hanging from the ceiling, it’s the kind of place you go when in want of something a bit heart-warming. 

I have to be honest, from outside the restaurant I was a little worried about what to expect. They have clearly turned their attention to the indoor décor and left a little to be desired outside. However, despite the unwelcoming front door (which on our visit was accompanied by a chef having a cheeky cigarette) the restaurant is adorably welcoming. The food is fairly cheap for large portions and incredibly tasty and the service is quick and friendly. Although it seems more a haunt for the regular customer, we were made to feel very at home as well. What’s more, if you’re so inclined, it even has a view over Park Street! 

Vincenzo’s manages to take you away from the Café Rouge/Jamie’s Italian repetitive nature of Park Street and welcomes you into a tiny bit of Italia only a few yards away. Don’t expect Michelin stars, but do expect a smiling waitress with an Italian accent and a lot of (2006) Italian footballers pinned on the walls.   

Image: VirtualTourist

How much? £7-£15

Where? 71a Park Street, Bristol, BS1 5PB

The Familiar Family

Image: FOX

This weekend I made the expedition voyage to the north to celebrate my heroic grandpa’s 95^th birthday with the entirety of my family. Admittedly, I have a rather large family with 18 cousins and 2^nd cousins I actually know but it made me think about all those family stereotypes that may actually be true…

The Wacky Aunt. There is always an aunt who is a tad eccentric sure in her opinions providing you with endless hours of amusement with her ‘back in my day’ comments and hilarious judgements. Whether a fan of the cynic aunt or not, you can certainly while away the hours listening to her thoughts on your 2^nd cousin twice removed’s new hair colour.

The Random Cousin. Everyone has that cousin who you’ve been introduced to enough times that you should definitely know their name, but you just don’t. No matter how hard you try to remember, it just won’t come back and you end up having to talk about yourself for the entirety of the conversation to avoid awkward moments.

The ‘Why Haven’t You Grown’. Yes, I do still get this one. Now you may be asking why at the age of 20 I am still growing, well I am not but I do now make the life choice to occasionally wear high heels and it amuses me to see the look on my uncle’s face when I am suddenly 4 inches taller than I was 6 months ago.

The Endless Goodbyes. When the time comes to give everyone a kiss and head off back home to conversations in which you don’t have to smile until your face hurts, I always find that I end up saying goodbye to everyone about 10 times over a period of a few hours. In my book, the phrase,’ we’re definitely leaving now’ is vastly overused.