In Asia we all drive round the bend
By Nury Vittachi
THERE’S SOMETHING BIZARRE about road travel in Asia. If you are in a country where people drive in a careful, orderly way, like Japan, cars have a special seatbelt for every bodily protuberance and there’s a death penalty for not wearing the lot. But if you are in a country where people drive like suicidal banshees with their tails on fire (like the countries of Indo-China), many cars have no seatbelts and some don’t even have doors. Life-saving devices are only provided when you don’t need them.
This column is being written while bouncing in the back of a taxi in China, a country with a very Asian code of driving. In this region, traffic priority is predicated strictly on bulk. Bicycles give way to scooters which give way to motorcycles which give way to cars which give way to trucks which give way to tanks which give way to presidential vehicular entourages which give way to troop carriers from the latest armed coup. Pedestrians give way to everybody, all the time.
In Asia, traffic lights have the same colours as elsewhere on the planet, but the meanings differ. Green means go. Amber means go faster. Red means put your foot flat on the floor and go through at twice the speed of light (because then no one can see you).
Yet each major city has its characteristic styles of driving. So here, with help from readers, is The Guide to International Driving Styles.
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Jakarta: Car window open, one arm out, Kretek cigarette between fingers.
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Kuala Lumpur: Car window open, one arm out, other hand holding plastic bag of tea or kopi.
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Dhaka: Car window open, driver’s head sticking out shouting at people to get out of the way.
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Singapore: Car window shut, air-con on, driver thumping steering wheel in frustration that traffic jam won’t let him get his Ferrari into second gear.
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Hong Kong: Car windows shut, one hand on wheel, other hand texting broker to buy securitized hedge fund swap-options.
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Manila: Car window open, one arm out, in-car karaoke playing at full volume, driver singing Feelings.
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Beijing: Car windows closed, driver completely invisible in black shades behind black glass in black car speeding through red lights with no number plate.
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Sydney: Roof down, one arm out, other hand resting lovingly on six-pack of Foster’s on passenger seat.
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Paris: Car window open, Gauloise-bearing hand sticking out, other hand resting lovingly on knee of passenger.
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New York: Car window open, one arm out, middle finger raised.
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Colombo : Car window open, half of driver sticking out of the car to make room for nine family members crammed into it.
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Taipei: Car window open, hands inside vehicle, eyes and tongue of driver extending out of side window to leer at betel nut girls.
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Los Angeles: Driver hunched low beneath baseball cap and shades, back window open, passengers riding shotgun.
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Hanoi: Car window open, one arm out, other arm holding plastic gallon jug of homebrew.
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Macau: Car window shut, driver in a trance as he tries to memorize blackjack card patterns.
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I’d better stop writing now. The traffic lights have turned red and my driver is about to go into warp speed.
