BEAUTY AND THE BEAST
Each year as I arrive in the US for three weeks reuniting with the kids I dread the adjustments which are required. The six hour difference takes a mild reset of nature’s clock. Monetary differences need rethinking as does tipping and taxes on damn near everything. Being able to shop at any hour of the day or night and not having to dine according to the hours a restauranteur deems reasonable is a more pleasant change. However, to me the most challenging is learning to drive under rules of the road.
One variation that’s troublesome is the interstates are not governed by the ‘pass and get your ass out of the Mercedes way’ followed on European auto routes. White haired gentlemen (oops, I’m one of them) and ladies who have paid their taxes for years tend to believe that the furthermost left lane is reserved for them. Truckers prefer to wait until a hill looms before pulling out to pass another. Both are aggravating.
Renewing the concept that motorcyclists have rules just like drivers of other vehicles also takes getting used to. But after a few days of not being passed on a hill or curve or at a stoplight the luxury sinks in.
One other rule of the road is turning right on a red light after you have stopped and traffic is clear. This would never work in Europe; the vision at stops is usually limited by Napolean’s trees or four hundred year old buildings.
This is where I make my disclaimer…I think roundabouts are a sensible way to move traffic and I have no trouble negotiating them now. However, nearly thirty years ago my introduction to them was in Dubai. The six lane boulevards that move countless taxis, Range Rovers and driver education cars are dotted with them and driving for the first time I had no concept of what the hell was going on around me. Once I figured out that being aware of which exit was necessary to get me where I was going, it made sense. To enter in the left lane and move over one lane each time a road leaves the roundabout is a learned skill, one not easily learned by someone used to stoplights, four way stops and T intersections with no rules except whoever gets there first goes first.
I’ve driven in several cities in Europe and my crowning accomplishment was to take on the Place de la Republic without either running over some pedestrian or causing a chain reaction accident. And now that I’m a veteran roundabouter (take that one grammar check) I’ve come to appreciate another aspect of a roundabout. The middle can be beautiful or just plain strange.
Reus,Spain gets my nomination for the most beautiful and the strangest uses of the middle of a roundabout. Its Mediteranean climate lends itself to easy beautification of the roundabouts, Palm and other varieties of trees are the centerpiece and are surrounded by plants that flower even in November. (try that in Michigan). Surrounding lawns are manicured and rarely show a lack of care. Traffic is the same as horns honk and fingers are waved, but rarely are there accidents. To add to the potential confusion, pedestrians have the right of way at white striped crossings which abound. But the roundabouts serve their purpose and move traffic more smoothly than four way intersections.
And now to the strange. The centerpieces of many of Reus’ roundabouts are what can loosely be called art. Ranging from a full sized train engine and coal car to a classroom set of 20 foot high colored pencils they spring up all over the city. Two are rusted iron beds of flowers, I like the tulip one myself.
When you enter the city from the A-7, a twenty-five foot high twisted aluminum two foot thick pipe over fifty feet in length greets you. There is no explanation anywhere I have discovered and it resembles nothing in the civilized world.
But of all the ones that help move traffic and beautify Reus, my favorite is simply a sign for a roundabout in the middle of a ’T’ intersection. There is no curb or anything to impede nor is there any attempt to make it appealing. A gallon of paint outlines a circle that is supposed to be honored, but nothing impedes the direct line (the shortest distance between two points is a straight line) with the exception of the sign. Some bored urban planner must have had one extra sign and too much time on his hands.
