The Parisian roads

If you recall, after arriving in Paris we resolutely planned on keeping the van tucked safely away in the campsite with no desire whatsoever to venture back onto the Parisian roads.

Well, unfortunately that plan didn’t come to fruition.

We received an email from the campervan hire company telling us that they had booked the van in for it’s 60,000km service. We knew that this was coming up, but for a whole lot of logistical reasons, it had been booked in at a service centre for 9:30am right smack bang in the middle of Paris - just around the corner from the Eiffel Tower. The service ended up taking two days, so rather frustrated, we had to repeat the drill. Throw in our trip into the heart of Paris for the Grand Final and we actually ended doing quite a lot of driving.

Driving in Melbourne’s heaviest peak hour is but a Sunday drive compared with Paris. The sheer volume is traffic is disorientating. Paris is full of wide boulevards that have no lane markings. Cars just float along four abreast, drifting across lanes at their leisure with no thought of indicating. Motorbikes and motor scooters dart in and out at a frightful pace. The constant sound of horns is headache inducing. Smart Cars find gaps in traffic where most would fear to tread. It is genuinely stressful.

At face value, it is easy to look at the Parisian drivers and call them mad, crazy, erratic or rude. However, on reflection, we have come to the conclusion that they must be the most skillful drivers in the world.  Consider for a moment the absolute carnage and uncontrolled road rage that would surely flow if you magically transported Melbourne’s drivers into the heart of Paris?

If we can survive driving in Paris, we can survive anything.