Tag: speeding

Experience: Driving in Turkey

Driving in Turkey is challenging. Although the roads are mostly very nice, the driving habits of the local drivers are outrageously bad. According to Lonely Planet: Turkey, Turkey is statistically the world’s number one when it comes to the annual number of motor vehicle accidents.

Now, by saying bad driving I do not by any means imply reckless driving. Or fast driving. Or outlaw driving. I mean just that — bad driving! There is driving outlaw, when you break the laws but still know exactly what you’re doing. And then there is just simple bad driving — when you have no idea, do not check your mirrors, drive in the middle of the lane without being aware of the surrounding vehicles, break unexpectedly, and, perhaps most annoying of all, honk your horn twenty milliseconds after the traffic light turns green. Give it a second!!!!

Yielding? Forget about it! Turn signals? I think the total amount of times I’ve seen anyone use their turn signals on an intersection for a week in Istanbul did not exceed 10. No, I am not missing a zero there!

I always thought that the Armenian drivers are really bad. We definitely break the rules when we feel like we realize what we are doing, and we like driving fast. But driving in Turkey is like a race of survival — there is absolutely no way anyone anywhere can convince me that a bus driver who pulls his wagon straight on a motorcycle at his right possibly knows what he is doing. He just does not appear to give a damn even to check his mirrors. And the worst part is, the police does not seem to be doing anything about it. They just accept it as a fact of life.

If I were to be the head of traffic police in Turkey, I would declare all driving licenses void and start a new process of harsh driving exams. You know you are doing something wrong, when in a neighboring country where the vast majority just buys their driving licenses without any exam at all, people drive better by degrees.

However, speeding on a freeway is punished harshly. When a policeman gives you a ticket for exceeding the speed limit by 3 km/h, you just wanna scream your lungs out — “Dude, have you been to Istanbul?!” But he writes the ticket anyway, and I have noticed that a lot of Turks get the speeding tickets. Also, it goes without saying, there does not even remotely appear to be any corruption when it comes to driver–officer interactions.

The pedestrians are a different story. You think in Yerevan people cross the street wherever and whenever they feel like? Meet Istanbul. It is like an arcade game called “Dodge the Kamikaze”, and it gets pretty old and stressful after several minutes. If I had to live in Istanbul (which I would absolutely love to) and commute on a vehicle to work every day, after about a month I would probably become some sort of a disturbed psychotic maniac.

Now the good news: the roads, on the other hand, are mostly extremely nice. Their quality may vary inside towns, but the freeways are very good, and the signage/markings is great. Closer to Istanbul area they are nearly perfect. After driving for about 3,500kms, I did not encounter a single pothole. It just impresses you when you see the process of laying down the roads in Turkey. I know some Turks complain about the quality of their roads, but they should know that their roads are not worse, if not better, than those in California..

One thing to watch out for on the roads is the reason of my accident. This is, in fact, a good tip, that I would appreciate to have before starting my journey.

In cities where it does not rain very often, the exhaust gases from the cars’ pipes come out and accumulate on the tarmac. I do not understand why we don’t have that problem in Armenia, but in cities like Erzurum or Malatya at some point you feel like riding on ice, not asphalt. For cars it is perhaps not a big issue, but for a two-wheel vehicle it is very easy to skid or lock the wheels. Always watch out for that and drive slowly on slippery surfaces!

Also I am assuming that if rain started with the road being in that condition, it would just be wise to pull over and wait for about 15 minutes till the nasty layer of chemicals is washed off the surface.

And the final tip is, when driving in Turkey, stretch your imagination and expect everything from every member of the traffic. I mean it.

Driving in Turkey has definitely made me sweat. But it was also a good exercise of defensive driving and good reaction. If you are into that kind of stuff, you may actually come to enjoy it!

Traffic Police, Story Three

After enjoying superb sushi and other great Asian food from some of Yerevan’s best cooks on a friend’s goodbye party at his house, we wanted to continue with an afterparty. Carlos is a marine at the Marine Security Guard Detachment Yerevan, so we decided to continue the party over at the Embassy. The Embassy car arrived to pick everyone up and drive them over, while I rode my motorcycle.

It was freezing cold late in the night, so I was pushing the motorcycle to get to the destination as quickly as possible. The entrance and the parking lot for the personnel are on the other side of the embassy. That means one has to ride all the way to the ramp across the road to make a complex U-turn and ride back. And here is Murphy’s law about rushing to awesome parties in action: just after the U-turn a traffic police car put on the siren and pulled me over. Speeding offenses in Armenia are usually fine and cheap, you can generally get away with just 5,000 drams, but then it struck me (Muphy’s law in action number two) — I left all my insurance papers in a friend’s car during the winter and never managed to take them back! Legally, this meant 50,000 drams. Realistically, this meant a little more than 5,000 drams (depending on luck and sympathy) after a long, tedious and largely humiliating chat with a person whose IQ, statistically, is below the city average. I can handle that most of the time; sometimes it’s even entertaining. But there was a party waiting for me ahead that had all the chances of being more entertaining than a conversation with an Armenian traffic police officer late in the night next to a stinking water reservoir! Now here goes all of the above paragraph and its continuation flashing through my brain on that very moment:

“Fucking cold!… Fucking pothole!… Faster’s always good when flying over potholes… Uh! (a traffic police car)… OK they won’t pull a motorcycle over… (the cops put on the siren) God fucking damn it!!!!… OK it’s only 5,000 drams (turning on the parking signal with my frozen left thumb)… I’ll explain them it was cold and the street was empty so I pushed… Shit, the insurance papers!!!!… (pressing the turn signal button to switch it off)… Only about 1km to the embassy… Honda CBF500 against Toyota Corolla… lets roll!”

“0434, driver of the motorcycle, STOP IMMEDIATELY!!!!”

Have you ever drag-raced with the police? It’s one hell of a fun! And guess what?

A 500cc Honda parallel twin engine carrying 195 kilos including its own weight plus 65 kilos of a fully–equipped Synopsys programmer smokes a Toyota Corolla carrying two tentatively chubby Armenian policemen on a distance of 1000 meters. Easily.

I threw myself towards the personnel parking entrance gate and stopped. After some seconds the cops pushed their brakes right behind me, so close I couldn’t get out if I wanted. Felt much like being in a sandwich. You know, one of those steel-gate—armenian-policemen sandwiches! Among the other ingredients, this one had some meat, a decent sausage, and a motorcycle inside. The Armenian security guards walked out of their booth amused, watching the sandwich.

“Get off the motorcycle!” Yelled the police car from behind me. I pretended I didn’t hear it and looked at the security guard that hadn’t yet said anything, and at that point was just looking at me inquisitively. Even though he had no idea what the story was about, I felt like deep inside his heart was on my side.

“I need to see Carlos!” I put out in English, trying to mimic some sort of an American accent.

“Carlos??” asked the guard

“Zero four three four, get off the motorcycle RIGHT NOW!!” Yelled the policemen again. I wondered if he realized he was being annoying. “Get a life”, crossed quickly through my mind. I repeated:

“Please sir, I really need to see Carlos right now!”

“He is a marine. This is very important!!” I cried, not even looking at the cops behind me.

The security guard looked at my visor, hesitated for a moment, then pressed to open the gate open. “He’s American. Drive off!” he threw his hand at the police car. Throwing the hand worked like a Jedi trick — the flashing siren that reflected on my visor through my mirrors during all this time immediately faded off.

“It’s always the same on this fucking road” mumbled one of the cops, annoyed. “Way to annoy me with the stupid mike!” I thought, as they drove away.

I smoothly rode into the parking lot and started waiting for Carlos, leaning on the bike. They hadn’t arrived yet.

Disclaimer: All characters and events in this post — even those based on real people — are entirely fictional. All celebrity voices are impersonated…..poorly. This post contains coarse language and due to its content it should not be viewed by anyone.

Traffic Police, Story Two

Riding home from the Rock Bar, after a friend’s birthday party, 4AM, drunk as all hell.

Speeding to quickly get to the destination and to avoid getting caught. The traffic police patrol car spots me at the beginning of Baghramyan and pulls me over. I don’t stop and keep riding along Baghramyan towards my home, with the hope that the policemen would give up on pursuing a motorcycle right away. The dudes seem tough; they put on the siren and start a pursuit. I cross the Baghramyan/Proshyan intersection under a red light, speeding somewhere around 130km/h, ride across the Barekamutyun bridge, and check my mirrors. The cops don’t appear to be there, and I no longer hear the siren or see the flashing lights. Looks like they’ve lost me. “Losers!”. I ride on. On the intersection of Komitas/Papazian, I turn left and — boom — smash my front wheel straight into the right door of the police car that was pursuing me! I barely hold the motorcycle. The policeman behind the door puts the window down, looking at me in awe, speechless.

“Hi!” I go on, looking straight into the guy’s eyes with a nervous smile on my face.

“Stop at the right side of the street!!” the other guy screams into the mike.

“Can I stop at the left side? I’m going to Papazian street, that’s where my home is.”

“STOP AT THE RIGHT SIDE!!” yells the policeman.

“Aye, officer”

I pull the motorcycle over to the right, get off. The guys are extremely pissed. The one with the higher rank runs towards me and goes on enumerating, hardly catching his breath:

“You refused to stop at a traffic police officer’s demand, you ran away from the traffic police, you crossed a red light, rode on the opposite lane, more than twice exceeded the speed limit for riding in a residential area, you smashed into our goddamn door, and I can already feel standing here that you are drunk! Do you even imagine what kind of a fine are you going to pay?!”

“I’m sorry officer, I didn’t see that you pulled me over!”

“Are you kidding me? You’re lying! You saw us stopping you and you rode away, jumping under the red light!”

“Did I? I thought it was yellow!”

“It was red, and you’re lying! Now tell me that you didn’t realize you were riding on the opposite lane!”

“I didn’t!”

“You’re lying!”

“OK officer, what now?”

“Now I’m taking away your driving license, and you’re gonna have to pay enormous fines! Look at our door!”

“Please sir, it was really late and I just wanted to get home quickly! How about we solve this otherwise?”

“What’s your occupation?” the officer looks inquisitive

“I’m a student!” (Rubik says that this always works with the police. They start pitying you because of your social standing and income. But the officer didn’t buy that.)

“You’re a student riding a brand new 2009 Honda CBF? You’re lying!!”

“Uh sir, how about I just give you all the contents of my wallet and we part?” I take out my wallet.

“How much have you got in there?”

“Well I only have 5,000 drams!”

The officer looks in my eyes suspiciously for a second, then goes on: “Deal, you’re gonna give us all the contents of your wallet. Except we’re gonna check your wallet ourselves!”

He grabs the wallet from my hands, opens it… and takes all ~70,000 drams that I have in it.

“Some twisted goddamn asshole you are!” he mumbles, walking back to his car.

Disclaimer: this story does not represent my personality in any way. Honest!

Safety disclaimer: this story is fictional. I mean, what’s with the filing a lawsuit shit?!

Traffic Police, Story One

Ever now and then I’m having to drive a car instead of my motorcycle, particularly when a lot of baggage and/or a lot of passengers are involved.

So one of these days I had to drive my girl over to the airport with the SUV where she could depart to Amsterdam for her Eurotrip. On the way back, somewhere on the Paraqar road, a traffic police car was standing right in the middle of the road, very obviously hunting for prey. I spotted the car very early, checked my lights, my safety belt, my driving position and of course my speed and nailed it at 60 km/h (no person in a sane state of mind ever drives less than 80 km/h on the Paraqar road).

Right after passing them, the cops turned on the siren and pulled me over. “God damn it,” I thought, “everything was perfect, what the fuck did I do wrong?”

So I pull at the nearest convenient section of the road, put the window down, my hands on the wheel. The officer approaches. He’s a tan and fit dude in his early thirties:

“Your documents please”

“What was the offense?”

“You’re driving 65 km/h in a residential area”

“Dude, I was doing specifically 60 and paying close attention to that, too!”

He looks at me for a moment, takes a look at my documents (they are perfectly fine), then goes on in a really interesting way:

“Speeding is a very serious offense. I’m gonna have to fine you for 20,000 drams and take away your driving license.”

“Seriously though, I did not exceed 60 km/h!”

“If you disagree, you can go to a court with this case. There is a standard procedure for that. If you win, all your fine will be refunded by the State.”

He knows exactly what he’s saying. I will never go through the court hassle in Armenia and even if I do I will never think (perhaps mistakenly) that it can possibly be won. So I sigh.

“Dude, I am no going to go through any lawsuit. I don’t have the time for that and I’m sure neither do you. But I am sure as hell not paying 20,000 for going 60 km/h, and giving up my driving license isn’t going to happen either.”

“How so?”

“I have no idea!”

“You look like a fine mate. How about I fine you just for 5,000?”

“Deal.”

“Step out of your car, come pay it over at ours.”

I get out of the car and approach theirs. Give the other cop the 5,000 and walk back to my car. They certainly give me no official piece of paper confirming the payment. Something crosses my angry mind and I think of a quick plan.

Before opening the door of my car, I make it obvious that I am checking their license plate number, then I sit in the car, take my cellphone and dial a friend. The cops look suspicious. They drive away. After a 2-minute chat with my pal about random shit, the cops take two U-turns and stop by my car again. Then the one cop that is not driving asks me to put my window down. I am still on the phone, so I ask my friend to wait. The cop looks very obviously terrified.

“Why aren’t you driving away?”

“I am making an important call. As far as I know, driving when talking on the mobile phone is against the law!” I am then making a move to go back to the phone. The cop immediately interrupts:

“Say,” he says, “I saw your driving license had an A-class permit stamped. Do you ride a motorcycle?”

I nod.

“So considering the road we’re on, you just had to take a car this time to drive a family or a friend over to the airport, right?” he looks excited.

“That’s right, I had to drive my girlfriend for a flight to Amsterdam.”

“So then you mainly ride a motorcycle, not a car!” he looks like he just made a discovery.

“That’s precise!”

“Should have mentioned that earlier, mate… Good luck!!”

The cop hands me back my 5,000 dram bill and they quickly drive away. I smile and take back my phone where my friend is waiting.

“What was going on?” he asks.

“All is well! I’ll call you back tomorrow, bro!”