Junctions (and more U-turns)

Lahore has some of the most splendidly unwieldy junctions I've ever had the pleasure of being stuck in the middle of.  Imagine a crossroads between two 5-lane dual carriageways.  I say lanes, but that's not strictly accurate - it's actually a space for driving on approximately 5 vehicles wide, sometimes with some lane markings which are taken as loose suggestions.  At traffic lights, 7 or 8 queues of traffic will squeeze into the same 5-vehicle-wide space.

Anyway.  Now imagine that each of those dual carriageways has a service road on each side, giving access to the nearby buildings.  Oh, and each service road is bi-directional (though due to parked cars, usually only wide enough for one vehicle at a time).  The dual carriageways have traffic lights; the service roads don't necessarily, so people go when there's a gap, regardless of the vehicle:gap size ratio.

Also, when the traffic starts to move, one has to take into account the variety of different speeds, accelerations and turning circles of the various vehicles - a heavily-laden donkey cart being very different in manoeuvrability to a family on a motorbike, or an overflowing bus.

So as you approach the junction, you have at least an initial 5 lanes to choose from, followed by a choice of no less than 12 different potential exits, 3 of which - joy of joys! - would qualify as U-turns.

Needless to say, every change of the traffic light brings a new supply of chaos way beyond the capabilities of the single hapless policeman. Somehow though, it seems to work.

Indicators & U-turns

Having done a little bit of motorway driving on our trip to Lahore, and being a passenger on some of the more unruly roads, I have now learned a new exciting aspect of Pakistani driving; namely, the use of indicators.

Scenario: you are driving along the main road in a town. (It is a dual carriageway, with a wall in between. Periodically there are gaps in the wall to allow traffic access to side streets on the opposite side, or for making a U-turn. Making a U-turn is something one does a lot here.  U-turn is your friend.) Ahead of you is a vehicle in the nearside lane - on the left - but indicating right. What could this mean?

Here are a few of the possible alternatives:

• I intend to move into the right-hand lane.
• I intend to make a U-turn.  We like U-turns.
• I intend to overtake something.
• I'm letting you overtake me on the right.
• I'm letting you overtake me on the right, but once you've started to overtake me I'll have a change of heart and decide I want to go right after all.  I hope your horn's working.
• My lights have some unorthodox wiring and those are actually my brake lights.  The blue ones are my indicators.
• I actually intend to turn left - signals are for wusses.
• Some of the above.
• All of the above.
• None of the above.

Logging

Coming back from Abbottabad the other day there were some guys doing some logging - apparently part of the latest stretch of road-widening works scattered along the KKH. This is more exciting than it first sounds, when you take into account the fact that they’re doing it right next to the main road. Combine this with the general behaviour of Pakistani traffic, and you get a interesting ten minutes of pleasing chaos.

Given my abject failure to gain any photographic evidence of this fantastic piece of theatre, I shall relate it in the form of scrappily-drawn diagrams.

1. Choose a suitable looking tree.



















2. Create a roadblock with a few branches and sticks. Some drivers take notice and stop.



















3. TIMBERRR!!! (Or the Urdu/Pashto/Hindko equivalent). Given the proximity to all the waiting cars, now 2 or 3 rows abreast, this takes some confidence in your felling angle.



















4. Well done, you’ve successfully avoided hitting any vehicles, and have beautifully blocked the entire road with your tree. Meanwhile, Pakistani drivers not being the epitome of patience, they have continued to fill up any available space. We’re now up to 3 or 4 rows of traffic, leaving only the narrowest possible lane free for any traffic that might want to come the other way.



















5. Chainsaw man begins removing the side branches of his tree. Some of the front row of drivers hop out and move the original road block of sticks.



















6. Chainsaw man finally gets round to cutting the trunk in a couple of places. His helpers start to manoeuvre a section out of the way. In the meantime, having run out of road to fill up, vehicles are now extending the traffic jam sideways out on to the dirt at the side of the road. As I may have already mentioned, patience is for other people.



















7. One particularly impatient driver five or so cars back decides to chance it and races round the very outside, bounces over the remains of the stick-block and charges for the narrow gap where the section of trunk used to be. Unfortunately the gap is a few inches narrower than his car - he just about manages to screech to a halt in time.



















8. The gap is widened enough for a car or two to pass: cue manic free-for-all scramble for the gap. At this point the drivers will be forced to take notice of that glaring flaw in Pakistani traffic self-discipline, that our esteemed readers will have spotted ages ago: namely that making the traffic jam fill the entire width of the road on both sides of the obstacle doesn’t really leave much room for any oncoming traffic to pass.

Many small horn-honking and finger-waving negotiations ensue, with general precedence going to whoever managed to stick their vehicle in the gap first. Looking back, the traffic jam extends as far as we can see. The whole thing only took about ten minutes.