If I had to take a guess, I would imagine that fewer than half of the licensed drivers in California would pass a UK driving test.
I was astounded by how basic the Californian practical test is. No parallel parking or three point turns. A simple reverse in a straight line (just to check you know where the reverse gear is I presume) and a few right and left turns and, bingo, you can drive your very own Ford F150 at 65 miles per hour on a 6 lane freeway with 100,000 other bad drivers. The trickiest part of the test for me was the bit when the examiner asked me where my windscreen wipers were. Mmm, I hadn't had much use for those in LA until then.
The combination of unskilled drivers, oversized vehicles and overwhelming volume of traffic makes driving in LA frustrating and exhausting work. Add in a little of the competitive spirit of Hollywood and the laid-back nonchalance of the West-coast and you have yourself a relentless and unpredictable daily struggle.
LA motorists appear to see other cars and their drivers much the same way as a lion sees a jeep full of spectators on a safari: yet another solid obstacle to be torn to pieces or flatly ignored. There is little eye contact from your average LA driver. Rarely do you get a 'thank you' nod or an 'after you' wave.
It's as though, once you climb into your seat and start your engine, you relinquish your status as a human being with feelings and manners, and become part of the machine. Blank stares from one direction meet equally blank ones from the other. It sometimes feels as though another driver cannot actually see you and your car. Your frantic arm-signalling and flashing blinkers edging out into the crawling traffic are met with a glazed and determined passivity. I can't work out if they don't actually notice you or they just pretend not to. Either way, there is nothing in the world that's going to make them give up that precious bit of space to you.
I could fill this blog with tales of LA driving misdemeanors: lack of indicator use, driving too close, drivers so drunk they cannot walk... I shake my fist sometimes, and use my horn often, but it pays to be cautious in this city. A friend of mine had a gun pointed through the window at him as he pulled up to a traffic light last year: the gun-wielding driver didn't like what my friend had said about his erratic driving. So in a bid to stay alive I'm making efforts to keep my frustration to myself and my obscenities muffled by the windows of my automobile.
I was astounded by how basic the Californian practical test is. No parallel parking or three point turns. A simple reverse in a straight line (just to check you know where the reverse gear is I presume) and a few right and left turns and, bingo, you can drive your very own Ford F150 at 65 miles per hour on a 6 lane freeway with 100,000 other bad drivers. The trickiest part of the test for me was the bit when the examiner asked me where my windscreen wipers were. Mmm, I hadn't had much use for those in LA until then.
The combination of unskilled drivers, oversized vehicles and overwhelming volume of traffic makes driving in LA frustrating and exhausting work. Add in a little of the competitive spirit of Hollywood and the laid-back nonchalance of the West-coast and you have yourself a relentless and unpredictable daily struggle.
LA motorists appear to see other cars and their drivers much the same way as a lion sees a jeep full of spectators on a safari: yet another solid obstacle to be torn to pieces or flatly ignored. There is little eye contact from your average LA driver. Rarely do you get a 'thank you' nod or an 'after you' wave.
It's as though, once you climb into your seat and start your engine, you relinquish your status as a human being with feelings and manners, and become part of the machine. Blank stares from one direction meet equally blank ones from the other. It sometimes feels as though another driver cannot actually see you and your car. Your frantic arm-signalling and flashing blinkers edging out into the crawling traffic are met with a glazed and determined passivity. I can't work out if they don't actually notice you or they just pretend not to. Either way, there is nothing in the world that's going to make them give up that precious bit of space to you.
I could fill this blog with tales of LA driving misdemeanors: lack of indicator use, driving too close, drivers so drunk they cannot walk... I shake my fist sometimes, and use my horn often, but it pays to be cautious in this city. A friend of mine had a gun pointed through the window at him as he pulled up to a traffic light last year: the gun-wielding driver didn't like what my friend had said about his erratic driving. So in a bid to stay alive I'm making efforts to keep my frustration to myself and my obscenities muffled by the windows of my automobile.
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