Traffic in Paris, France is an exercise in chaos. Despite lane markers, traffic signals, etc., there is no discernible principle of organization. The controlling theories appear to be the intuition and extrasensory perceptions of the Parisians themselves. Cars, buses, trucks, motorcycles, motorscooters, bicycles both electric and manual, electric scooters that used to be the toys of youth, pedestrians, and rare vehicles of indescribable nature all share every square centimeter of the streets. Generally they move unidirectionally, with the pedestrians at cross-purposes. Crosswalks are used, but with Gallic disregard for stop and go signals, giving vague attention to oncoming vehicles (which usually stop but occasionally swerve). Following the central example of the Etoile or Place Charles de Gaulle around the Arc de Triomphe, streets meet at all sorts of obtuse angles but more often without roundabouts. Somehow the meeting traffic sieves through each other like streams of rocks with millimeters to spare. Buses come to smooth last second stops, cars dart in to fill any gaps, then motorcycles and scooters slide into smaller gaps, and bicycles sweep by like leaves navigating the eddies of a fast moving creek. Pedestrians often zig-zag through the transient clot of vehicles with studied disdain. Rarely is there any honking, and almost never any signs of road rage amongst the milling throngs. Given the heavy police presence in the city, a recurrent miracle is virtually guaranteed. This is the Moses-like "parting of the traffic" in response to the irritating sharp/flat klaxon notes of public safety vehicles. No pauses at intersections seem needed; the blue light specials drift at moderate speed through gaps that appear magically and close seemingly instantly. All this with continous congestion in a city that teems with travel activity despite a thirty-five hour work week with long midday breaks. If not for their excellent Metro system and lifelong habits of walking much of the time, Parisians might find their traffic congealing like one of their tasty fromage.
If a saint overwatching traffic exists, he/she performs well in Paris. Over ten days of watching and participating in this cauldron of randomness I saw no evidence of auto accidents. Not even one example of vehicles with dents or scrapes to indicate a failure of prayerfull passage. At the end of our stay my faith in humanity's fallibility was restored by fellow tourists who stated categorically that they had witnessed the aftermath of a fender bender on Parisian streets. A taxi and older driver had run afoul of each other's progress with only minor damage evident, but with much indignant verbiage and gesticulation. Of course, we all have no way of knowing if the noncommercial driver was really a Parisian. Perhaps an interloper from the suburbs beyond the ring road, or even more likely, a visitor from some other country wherein behavioral respect for traffic laws results in more frequent confrontations rather than the safety resulting from Parisian's transcendentally meditative methods of transport. Maybe there is something to be learned here. Casual arrival in the morning, leisurely long lunches with wine and excellent food at midday, a later departure for home after expresso and pastry in the evening might imbue one with a calm instinct for gliding amongst ones' fellows as all amiably seek their destinations. I think another longer visit will be needed for further research. Au revoir......
Really enjoy your writing, Nick. Good luck to you.
Vito