the id, the ego, & the single misfiring brain cell

different skill sets

I don't drive here. The travel brochure said, "If you enjoy driving in Italy and Paris, you'll enjoy the interactive experience of driving in Izmir," so I left the truck and motorcycle at home. (Another reason for this was my recently-acquired love for public transportation, which is in abundance here.) I'm not intentionally counting the days, since that would make the time drag on, but I hit my 3 week point tomorrow, and I have a couple of observations to make about Turkish drivers.

Initially, I thought they were just really crappy drivers. Some of them are, of course; no country is exempt from that. But all of them? No. I've decided that most of them are far more talented drivers than we have in the States, outside of professional folk (oh hell...include them, too). These people know exactly what their acceleration and braking times and distances are; they know exactly where all four wheels and bumpers are; and precious little destroys their joie de vivre. I have seen madness here that would get your ass thrown under the jail in the US, and the drivers sit there and watch it, then drive on. If they're really exasperated, they raise their hands in exasperation. No one, however, is resorting to sign language, let alone weaponry.

They all use their horns, incidentally. It's a vital part of your driving apparatus here. You don't ever lean on your horn, though (which is how the instrument is generally played stateside); you tap it. If you mean business, you tap it twice. If you're about to go around a car parked or possibly abandoned in the middle of the street, you tap your horn. If pedestrians are meandering in front of you when you have the right of way, you tap your horn. If you're cutting in* and this isn't yet completely clear to the person you're about to displace, you tap your horn.

* There is no try; there is only do.

After the first day or two, even as a pedestrian, you adjust to the ongoing horning.* You learn quickly to differentiate between someone horning another driver or suggesting you should get out of the way a bit swufter.

* In the states, horning a pedestrian usually indicates the driver feels horny. Not so here. That I can tell.

If you're going to drive here, you have to learn how to drive with one foot on the brake, one foot on the accelerator, one hand on the wheel, one hand on the stick shift, one hand on the horn, one hand texting someone on a cell phone, and one hand gesturing palm-heavenward about "those Turkish drivers."

So, I walk. Or I catch rides.* I use my seat belt. And I watch. I've come to believe that the average Turkish driver is far more skilled (and alert) than the average American driver. We don't see it that way, usually, because we are judging them not on their actual skills, but on their willingness to comply with the rules of the road.

* Mrs. Montgomery, my sixth-grade English teacher, who bitched out a student for writing on only one side of his paper "because he must be rich," and who I later caught cheating grocery stores with expired coupons (!....because I was the cashier she pawned them off on) would have given me an A- for starting a sentence (or perhaps a B for starting a sentence fragment) with a conjunction. For that, I have only to say that I never learned my lesson, and I hope she's found peace in her retirement.

I think no great driver has ever been known for his willingness to comply with the rules of the road, though, to be honest. He's known for his ability to drive. Period. When it comes to that, Turkish drivers are great. As I've intimated before, they ignore lane markings. They are all about where they are trying to be and knowing their position in relation to every other vehicle and pedestrian on the road.* You have, perhaps, heard the comment about how Italians can fit five cars abreast on a three-lane road? Yeah. Turks do that stuff. They drive like pedestrians walk.

* Usually a fairly balanced proportion.

Just stop for a minute and think about how you walk in crowds. Pretend you're trying to get somewhere. Ok? Got it? Now...drive that way. Try it. C'mon...you only live once. Is someone in your way? Drive around them, either side. It doesn't matter. Is there no side to go to? Hop up on the sidewalk. No problem! No sidewalk? Drive into oncoming traffic. Wanna windowshop? Stop and look. Ignore any ensuing horning.

In Turkey, you get where you're planning to go, or you die trying.

Most people don't die doing it, though. It's rather amazing when you stop to think about it. I've seen drivers nudge pedestrians out of the way almost as often as I've seen pedestrians win the Chicken game against drivers. It's so...interactive. People here are alive, you know? Until they aren't, which also sometimes--sadly--happens.

I grew up with the notion that these people drive like this because they believe that Allah has their destiny planned, and they will survive if Allah has mercy, or they may not. This answer is too easy, though, and just doesn't wash here. Yes...there are some dedicated Muslims here. Most, though, seem quite happy with scantily-clad women, booze, porn, and ignoring Muslim rituals (like the call the prayer, ferinstance). I might discover otherwise during Ramadan, but I somehow doubt it. Most of the people around here are Muslims like most Americans are Christians: in name only.

Otherwise, this place is European. Beeeeelieve it. In every way...except for a couple of details.

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