Yesterday I was in a minor car accident. A taxi I was in had to cut sharply to the right lane to avoid crashing into a car that carelessly switched into our lane from the left. Just as I was about to compliment the taxi driver on her great reaction, we saw a black shadow on the right, heard a boom and saw our broken right rear-view mirror. The motorcycle that crushed into us was on the asphalt behind us and in the darkness of the winter evening it was impossible to see whether the rider was moving at all. Another car stopped, and driver in a high heel boots rushed to assist the motorcyclist across few lanes of a heavy traffic. In a minute or two he stood up, walked a few steps and ensured everyone that he and the motorcycle are perfectly fine. Some plastic did fly off from his motorcycle but it appeared to be fully functional. My driver and the motorcyclist exchanged the insurance information and separated in a friendly way.
Such accidents seem impossible to avoid in Israel. Cars are driving almost glued to each other, with only a foot distance in-between. In such proximity, any impulsive change of speed or direction by one driver immediately affects every car around. And of course there are motorcycles. At any given moment you can spot ten of them on the road around you. Because they are cheaper while cars and gas are tremendously expensive in Israel. Because, like in Manhattan, parking is expensive and impossible in most of the main Israeli cities. And because you can get anywhere much faster on a motorcycle. They are allowed to sneak in-between the cars standing at traffic-lights or moving on a freeway. You should always be ready for motorcycles swooshing by your car on the left or right, or both sides simultaneously, like fighter jets. As much as I hate this slogan, I am constantly pronouncing it in my head here in Israel - Motorcycles are everywhere!
And you can spot anyone on a motorcycle or a scooter: pizza or flower delivery man, business woman in a skirt and high-heels, a man with an 8-year-old child behind him, a very big person, a student with a dog, religious person with tziziot waving behind him, or someone wearing only a bathing suit and a helmet. I really wanted to create a collection of snapshots of colorful Israeli motorcyclists, but this would require spending a day at the main intersection and with a small baby at home it is impossible.
Parking is another interesting topic. All Israeli drivers are experts at squeezing their cars in the smallest possible space from any potential direction. And they manage to do this in the shortest amount of time. Just imagine yourself doing parallel parking on a one-lane street when tens of drivers are beeping to hurry you and motorcycles are sneaking from all directions. You have to be fast.
Such tight parking and many bumper accidents explain why the majority of cars have small dents or color scratches. It is almost impossible to get in or out of a parking spot in Tel Aviv without kissing the butt of the car in front of you or the face of a car behind you.
I was at the doctor's office recently and when I came out I saw that my giant Toyota Sienna parked along a curb is bordered (front and back) by two parked cars with a 10cm (~4") distance to each. Sienna is long and wide and I didn't believe I could get out from this accidental trap. I tried looking for the owners of the culprit cars, honking to get their attention but no one appeared. Two young rough-looking men in their car drove by looking at me with pity and one showed with his finger around his head agreeing with me that the driver that came last and blocked me must be a koo-koo. I wasn't sure what to do. Can the police help? How long will it take? A few minutes later I saw the same guys in a car driving toward me again. They must have circled the neighborhood. To be honest, I got a bit scared... The street was completely empty aside from me and them. I contemplated whether I should get inside my car. When they approached, one of them got out and offered to navigate me out of this trap. He ensured me that with his help my car should be capable of getting out with only touches to the other cars' bumpers. True to his words I was free in a few minutes after a number of back-and-forth maneuvers. I wondered if this may ever happen in the US where these strangers would likely be in a rush or afraid to help me and be accused by the surrounding car owners. In Boston I had been stuck in my cars a number of times, occasionally with little kids in the back seat. Few people stopped to help each time, but all of them were our friends from school or day care. Strangers had never offered any assistance. And thinking of it, neither did I.
Such accidents seem impossible to avoid in Israel. Cars are driving almost glued to each other, with only a foot distance in-between. In such proximity, any impulsive change of speed or direction by one driver immediately affects every car around. And of course there are motorcycles. At any given moment you can spot ten of them on the road around you. Because they are cheaper while cars and gas are tremendously expensive in Israel. Because, like in Manhattan, parking is expensive and impossible in most of the main Israeli cities. And because you can get anywhere much faster on a motorcycle. They are allowed to sneak in-between the cars standing at traffic-lights or moving on a freeway. You should always be ready for motorcycles swooshing by your car on the left or right, or both sides simultaneously, like fighter jets. As much as I hate this slogan, I am constantly pronouncing it in my head here in Israel - Motorcycles are everywhere!
And you can spot anyone on a motorcycle or a scooter: pizza or flower delivery man, business woman in a skirt and high-heels, a man with an 8-year-old child behind him, a very big person, a student with a dog, religious person with tziziot waving behind him, or someone wearing only a bathing suit and a helmet. I really wanted to create a collection of snapshots of colorful Israeli motorcyclists, but this would require spending a day at the main intersection and with a small baby at home it is impossible.
Parking is another interesting topic. All Israeli drivers are experts at squeezing their cars in the smallest possible space from any potential direction. And they manage to do this in the shortest amount of time. Just imagine yourself doing parallel parking on a one-lane street when tens of drivers are beeping to hurry you and motorcycles are sneaking from all directions. You have to be fast.
Such tight parking and many bumper accidents explain why the majority of cars have small dents or color scratches. It is almost impossible to get in or out of a parking spot in Tel Aviv without kissing the butt of the car in front of you or the face of a car behind you.
I was at the doctor's office recently and when I came out I saw that my giant Toyota Sienna parked along a curb is bordered (front and back) by two parked cars with a 10cm (~4") distance to each. Sienna is long and wide and I didn't believe I could get out from this accidental trap. I tried looking for the owners of the culprit cars, honking to get their attention but no one appeared. Two young rough-looking men in their car drove by looking at me with pity and one showed with his finger around his head agreeing with me that the driver that came last and blocked me must be a koo-koo. I wasn't sure what to do. Can the police help? How long will it take? A few minutes later I saw the same guys in a car driving toward me again. They must have circled the neighborhood. To be honest, I got a bit scared... The street was completely empty aside from me and them. I contemplated whether I should get inside my car. When they approached, one of them got out and offered to navigate me out of this trap. He ensured me that with his help my car should be capable of getting out with only touches to the other cars' bumpers. True to his words I was free in a few minutes after a number of back-and-forth maneuvers. I wondered if this may ever happen in the US where these strangers would likely be in a rush or afraid to help me and be accused by the surrounding car owners. In Boston I had been stuck in my cars a number of times, occasionally with little kids in the back seat. Few people stopped to help each time, but all of them were our friends from school or day care. Strangers had never offered any assistance. And thinking of it, neither did I.
