In Paris, we got around either by cab, Uber or foot. In any city, there are streets marked with designated crossing areas, with a series of signals (auditory for blind pedestrians), and strict regulations on drivers. Clear lines of demarcation for anything moving through the busy streets, and all very orderly.
In both London and Paris, we have noticed, the lines are a bit blurred: there are situations when vehicles can ease through an intersection as it changes, but more often the rules are bent by the pedestrians. There seems to be an attitude among local pedestrians that they can come and go when and how they please. It is not uncommon to see a young man or woman scanning their phones, head down, walking directly into the street, without so much as a glance to see if an automobile or lorry (truck) is heading their way. On a couple of occasions when we have chosen a taxi, we heard the driver mutter under his/her breath words to the effect of, “What the *&*^%%$## do you think you’re doing, idiot???”
August 24 was Patrice’s Sweet Sixteen birthday (or somewhere in that vicinity, maybe something with sixty-two in it), so she got to do whatever she liked. (As far as I am concerned, every day should be like one’s birthday, so this is a mere formality.) So, the birthday girl got to spent the day wandering to and inside of Notre Dame, and that evening we went to a nice place for dinner, a place recommended by a local friend, called Brasserie Bofinger (pronounced something like “Bo-fahn-ZCHAY”, not like the 1999 Eddie Murphy film), which is known for its Alsatian fare. The walk to Notre Dame and back burned quite a few of our calories and left our feet pretty tired, so the natural thing to do was to take an Uber to the restaurant. Our driver, Mohamed, took us briskly to the place. (I suspect that he wanted to get us there quickly, as this was not a large fare and he wanted to get in the queue for his next fare.) We approached an intersection where the light was green, and at the corner a young couple approached, and the woman stepped out confidently. He slammed on the brakes, and there followed a rapid exchange between Mohamed and the young lady, the essence of which was “You had a red. Why did you cross in front of me? Do you not value your life?” (hands gesticulating expressively) She, in her confident way, assured him that she, not he, had the green, and that he should be more careful (hands thrown up in exasperation). The conversation concluded quickly with him offering his hand in a gesture of friendship, while the young man who accompanied the woman looked on, shaking his head and smiling, as if to say, “Oh, this is nothing. You should have seen her yesterday…”
Later, we spent time in Le Mans, a much smaller city, which practically shuts down during the month of August. Thus, we didn’t see anything like typical traffic. (Sunday was ver-r-r-r-y quiet, and after 5:00 they start putting the oxygen away till Monday morning. ) But what traffic there was, was calmly ignored by pedestrians. Luckily for the pedestrians, motorized vehicles are careful here in Le Mans as in Paris to look out for people walking in their way, and no walker as much as gives a merci beaucoup wave. The first couple of times that someone stopped, waiting for us to cross, I gave a wave, as I usually do. But it became clear that this is simply expected, and what’s more, you are expected to be completely cool about walking out in front of traffic. Don’t be gauche, signaling your gratitude. I compare it to Japanese men eating fugu.
By the way, the Uber service in Paris is excellent. We took three rides, and in all cases the car appeared as if by magic, so quickly that I didn’t actually believe it was my ride, and our drivers were professional and polite, even if their English was far from perfect, giving Patrice a chance to practice her French. Uber is safe, quick, and totally prepackaged, meaning that tips are completely optional. In contrast, I would almost never take a traditional taxicab without leaving some kind of tip. The remuneration for Uber drivers is different from that of taxi drivers, and a driver who even hints at wanting to be tipped is extremely rare.
Incidentally, in a separate post I tell of one bad experience with a London cab. In the interest of full disclosure, I have had lots of wonderful rides with both ‘official’ taxis and Uber. Every ride is a unique experience.