Driving in France

I have to start this by admitting that I arrived in France driving my beloved 1958 drop-head Morris Minor, not your usual type of car.

He had been modified so he was automatic with electric windows and a cassette player. The villagers where I lived were astounded by my car. They hadn’t seen anything like it before.

One of builders who were renovating the house that I had bought asked me if I knew what I had to carry in my car under French laws. I had to have a fetching Hi Vis jacket, a red triangle to put behind the car if I broke down, a fire extinguisher, and spare bulbs for my headlights! I have heard recently that you now have to carry a breathalyser too.

Quite why I don’t know. Okay I realise the French economy is in deep trouble so perhaps is it because the police don’t have enough to use in the event of catching cars breaking the speed limit! I had no worries about that one. I never went fast enough to be caught out and if there was a police car hiding in the bushes all drivers would flash their headlights as a warning.

However if I went shopping or to visit a friend I would soon have many people peering through the windows and who would then ask me his age, exactly what make he was, and on the question went. It is fair to say that he attracted more attention than me, which was a bit galling!

It was a bit difficult driving a right hand car when you can’t see to overtake but I managed – sometimes! Actually I have to confess that I mostly didn’t and drove for miles behind HUGE tractors when they were harvesting their grapes. But who cares when the sun is shining and you have the hood down; there is all the time in the world. I think the fact that I had a huge GB sticker and English plates meant the French gave me a very wide berth, although most of them honked and smiled at me as they zoomed past at a thousand miles per hour.

The French cannot bear anyone driving slowly and used to overtake on the most dangerous bends, only for me to catch them up at the traffic lights! Hare and Tortoise spring to mind. But being driven by one of the builders to collect supplies was, to say the least, hair raising. Old people, women, or young people who have only just passed their test drive who have to display a large A on their rear windscreen. All of those made them absolutely furious and they would accelerate so quickly to overtake them that I now know what a white knuckle ride is!

I don’t think that anyone has told the French that you should use your indicators – you never know which direction they are going to take until they take it. Which is a bit of a worry. So I just waited until they went wherever they wanted. Patience is not one of my strong points but I had to embrace their methods, grit my teeth and try to relax.

Roundabouts are seriously tricky and I spent my time dithering – I used to wait ages until I judged it safe to proceed thereby holding up other drivers who made their feelings about British drivers quite clear. I suppose I deserved the not so polite hand gestures and hooting of horns, but those only made the situation worse.

Anyhow, unfortunately not all the natives viewed him as the treasure he was and after England beat France at Rugby they siphoned all the petrol out. Charming, they are such bad losers. Then when England won again someone tried to break into Sam – both door hinges were ripped and he was driven back into a bollard leaving a big dent in the boot. As there were no garages that had come across a car like him I had to send him back to the UK and decided to sell him. That was a sad day for me.

I couldn’t do without a car so I found a Renault Clio for sale that was incredibly cheap, I suppose because of all the dents in it! Sadly it was a manual which I hadn’t driven for years- don’t ask me how long! Anyhow I thought it would be as well to take a couple of lessons with a driving school.

The chap turned up in his dual control car and off we set. Or rather didn’t, because I was not used to using a clutch! He kept grabbing the wheel and steering me away from the curb, which of course I could easily in a right hand car. I had a second lesson remarkably like the first. I brightly told him that I thought I was getting better, no reply from him. I think his teeth were so firmly gritted together that he couldn’t utter a word. And guess what? When I called him to arrange more lessons he told me he was all booked up, huh. And he hadn’t even taught me how to reverse.

So I got a friend to drive me out to the local supermarket car park on a Sunday when they were closed and we practised and practised until I thought we were both going to scream. Don’t ask me why I could do it quite happily in Sam but not in the Clio.

Undaunted I set off solo the next day and had my very first driving accident. I got lost and turned into a really tiny street. Well, first I hit the pavement and then a wall whereupon I ground to a halt. Luckily a chap rushed out of his house to see what was happening. He took one look and rolled his eyes to heaven, then called his mates who rushed up and pushed the car out of the way.

Then I had to call my brother to ask where the spare tyre was – well the French chaps didn’t know and I most certainly didn’t. How was I to know that it was underneath the car – what a stupid place to put it! Then we discovered the woman who sold it to me did not leave a jack, so there was more rushing around until one was found. Finally the tyre was changed and I was driven back to the supermarket where I was heading for in the first place.

The chap who drove me there was so worried about me taking to the roads again that he offered to drive me back to my house. I thanked him kindly and gave him some Euros to buy beer for him and his friends and waved him off. I did my shopping, which included a large A sticker, and wandered back to the car park.

Have you any idea how many dark green Renault Clio’s exist in France? I tried four different ones before I found mine. I drove home with steely reserve, managed to park it and went in and had a huge drink, just to calm the nerves you understand.

Of course I did eventually manage to take to the roads without having any more accidents, but I only went out when necessary! And I am quite sure I that many readers, men and women, think I am a wimp and that driving in France is not difficult! I am sure I am in the minority who think it is a bit dangerous. Let’s just say that there were many of the French drivers who gave me a very wide berth.

Toot toot.