Attention!

The Clumsy and Hazardous Streets of France

Several months ago, a regular reader of our humble ‘sletter commented that she felt too old to travel abroad again—her gait and balance are less reliable now, and There’s not a single handrail in all of Europe!

Our dear friend exaggerates only slightly.

Don’t be such a ‘fraidy chat! You’ll probably make it with no handrail, and if you don’t the healthcare system is excellent. Wheelchairs must be moving pretty fast at the bottom of those ramps! (I’m kidding, I know those are for trucks.) Entry to Park Peyrou, Montpellier.

I’ve had my own problems navigating Montpellier as a pedestrian. It’s not the winding alleys, limited sight lines, or the French habit of changing a street’s name every few blocks. My problems are twofold: one, the pedestrians seem to think their bearing and velocity are immutable, and two, there is little consideration given to visual markers that would enhance safety.

French pedestrians move gracelessly through the streets. Yeah, I said it! No writer with a bird’s eye view of les rues would construct a metaphor comparing the scene to a cloud of starlings undulating harmoniously on the wind. A more apt comparison is the pachinko machine my brother and I played with as kids, shooting polished steel balls onto the board as fast as we could. It was utter chaos with random collisions unfolding across a fixed tableau, just like my walk to the market.

This looks exactly like the pachinko machine our dad brought home from one of his extended deployments with the US Navy.

I have commented before about the failure of French pedestrians to yield, adjust speed, veer, or otherwise adapt to the people moving around them. It never fails to elicit a “yeah, what’s up with THAT!?” response. I asked my French tutor about it; she’s been living here for ages and understands the French état d’esprit better than I. We have a new pedagogy strategy this year wherein each week I write a short presentation which we use to generate a vocabulary and grammar lesson. This week I wrote about pedestrians, paving strategy, and street furniture. (Show of hands, who wishes they got to talk to ME every night over dinner?) Here’s an excerpt from last week’s lesson:

I feel certain this book was inspired by French pedestrians.

Excerpt number un: A few weeks ago while jogging I had to jump off the curb at the last second when the guys walking towards me, three abreast, failed to rearrange themselves so I could pass safely. I tripped and fell dramatically into the street. The men gasped and hovered over me, asking if I was okay. They didn’t apologize for not making room. They made sure I wasn’t injured then went on their way, épaule contre épaule, like the world’s shortest chorus line. If they were sociopaths they’d have laughed or ignored me completely. Whatever’s going on, they’re not cruel. My tutor’s theory is that they’re simply not thinking about anyone else. Not with animosity, not with generosity, not at all. To me, this seems like the Ptolemaic model of the universe — and I don’t mean that the French think the universe revolves around them. I mean that my tutor’s theory offers a plausible explanation for what I’m observing, but it’s mostly wrong. I feel certain there’s a cultural pact/learned set of social rules that people raised here understand innately and we outsiders don’t.

Ptolemaic model of the French Pedestrian’s view of the universe.

Another anecdote from my presentation: Last week I went out at 6:30am to walk Woody. It’s my favorite part of the day, just me and my fuzz-buddy exploring the empty streets. I’m fortifying myself to walk past the boulangerie and not stop to buy pastries. Woody hunches into his poop-stance a few steps after we turn a corner. Suddenly, a guy rounds the corner behind us. “Attention, monseur!” I warn him, green bag over my hand. The man stops and waits while Woody finishes his business. He continues waiting while I collect the poop, stand up, tie the bag, and move along — monsieur follows behind us a few steps and then turns left at the next street. There was a chasm of empty, well-lit space around us and he could have walked directly to his turn (literally 15 feet away) without interruption! He chose to wait! HE was not going to go around US. (No, he wasn’t making sure I picked up after my dog. That’s not a thing here — trust me.)

Yesterday, I did an experiment. I stopped trying to shift for the other pedestrians and kept my eyes forward, channeled my inner Frenchman and walked. (De quelles rues? Mes rues ! was the attitude.) It worked - I didn’t run into anyone. Maybe walking in France is like Carolyn’s experience crossing the scooter-packed streets of Bangkok. If you stand at the curb and wait for an opening, you’ll never make it; you have to step confidently into the swarm and trust the hive. It’s similar to the advice I used to give cyclists who were new to riding bikes in Manhattan traffic: be decisive and clear in your movements, take the initiative — if you stop or waver you’re toast. (This was back before NYC had things like CitiBike and separated bike lanes.)

Let me illuminate my second problem with the streets of France: lack of contrast and absence of visual markers or safety features in the streetscape.

There’s a 5” change in level at the curved line and it’s nearly invisible. This is common in l’Ecusson; I stumble/trip often.

I have read that all ages stumble/trip with similar frequency, but as we get older we lose the reflexes and strength to recapture our balance and avoid falling. The paving/visual markers issue is serious, especially for anyone older who’s thinking about moving here. Frequently, there is no visual indicator (neither texture nor color/pattern) to mark a change in level. Further, many sidewalks (even new ones) are paved with smooth stone that’s slippery when wet.

The matte gray bollards in a field of matte gray stone are very hard to see. The red sticker on the middle post has probably saved lives — or at least groins. Esplanade Charles de Gaulle/Place de la Comédie, Montpellier.

They are loathe to install a handrail. They don’t paint bollards or posts in bright colors or attention-getting patterns. In fact, they’re often painted matte gray or made from the same material as the surrounding pavement. Stone and concrete barriers are sure to receive whatever surface treatment ensures the lowest-contrast finish possible.

Same street, looking up on the left, looking down on the right. The steps are hard to see and they’re not uniformly spaced; sometimes they’re three paces apart, sometimes one. I stumble often when distracted by the dog or my coffee. Maybe this is the real reason the French don’t eat while they walk!

I have crashed my bike twice in Montpellier. Both times because (with polarized prescription sunglasses on) I did not see the man-made obstacle in my path. Fortunately, I was moving slowly both times, neither crash was serious (both were humiliating). I have lost count of the number of times I’ve stubbed a toe or tweaked my back due to unseen changes in level or nearly invisible dividers.

These concrete pyramids separate the tram lines from car traffic, they’re easy to miss. Carolyn and I have both tripped on them while crossing the street, and I’ve had narrow misses when cycling. A bright color, applied reflector, or reflective paint would be safer.

If you see headlines about a civic-minded vandal run amok in Montpellier, spray-painting posts in reflective safety-yellow and applying striped tape to steps — well, don’t tell anyone about this little conversation of ours, s’il vous plaît. Watch your step out there, friends!

Jusqu’a la prochaine fois,

Roberto & Carolyn