How I Survived Driving in Bordeaux (And Other Tips for Driving in France)

If there is one thing that travel reliably teaches you – in the harshest way possible – it is that no matter how hard you try, you cannot outrun yourself and that is the lesson I was confronted with while driving in Bordeaux.

First of all, if one were to ask me for my tips for driving in France, particularly as an American, I would say: "Don't." And if you must? Don't drive in Bordeaux.

I come to this conclusion with an unmatched resume of skillful destination driving (Vin Diesel – call me). I've commuted through the Beltway design hellhole that is Washington, D.C. I've even driven through New York City. I've learned on the fly to drive on the opposite side of the road in South Africa. I've taken tiny cars into the mountains of Azerbaijan, and even herded a group of tourists across mud volcanoes in a Soviet-era stick shift, without actually really knowing how to drive manual. One could even say that I've driven the road to hell – a "scenic" and "adventurous" route in the backcountry of Tasmania – and I regret to inform you that the road to hell is not, in fact, paved with good intentions. It isn't paved at all.

Yes, I've survived my fair share of daredevil driving, and life goes on, as it always does, despite anyone telling you otherwise.

But in France, knowing that it will all be fine is not the same as knowing the pin code to the house alarm that I've set off in my body through the disastrous error I've made by driving in Bordeaux.

I hope you learn from my mistakes.

Driving In Bordeaux: A Survival Story

I drove four hours from Blois – well Tours, but I told my waiter Blois, so it is Blois – and I was exhausted. My eyelids were drooping. I needed coffee, but I didn’t want the mud water from the gas station, and without the assistance of a copilot, I didn’t know where else to go. 

Already I was a bit frustrated from the events of the day, which involved a wine tasting and tour in Tours, for which I was, unknowingly, late. I had reached out to the winery about set tour times, but I did not hear back, and so I figured it must be on-the-spot, and when I showed up, I learned that I was late. I was, understandably, annoyed, particularly because they seemed annoyed, in their very judgmental French way, and it is annoying to be the subject of another's annoyance when actually, their annoyance at your tardiness is their fault, and they should be annoyed at themselves.

After the tasting, it was off to Bordeaux for the night. I put into Google Maps a restaurant in Bordeaux that was supposed to be affordable, thinking I could have a nice, relaxed dinner en plein air, before venturing to my accommodation and settling in for the night. And then I started driving.

This sounds like a lovely plan, a way to turn around the disappointment of the day, except for one problem:

Bordeaux is a city.

This is like the equivalent of driving into Paris.

Next thing that I know, I am on a cobblestone street surrounded by pedestrians in my death trap.

And by that I mean, I felt perfectly safe in the car, but the car no longer felt safe being piloted by me. 

Get me out of here, I shouted in my mind, aware that I and the voice of the car had become one – and neither of us wanted to be here or had any confidence about my ability to save us. 

I see another car do a strange maneuver to the side of the street to avoid the trolley car lane. An image flashes in my mind of me and my car flattened by an unforgiving trolley, had I not seen this other car to follow. 

“Turn left,” Google She barks to me and I do, and immediately regret it. Why had it not occurred to me to abandon the ill-informed instructions of Google She and navigate us to the waterfront where there was likely to be ample, safe, street parking within walking distance of downtown!? 

Metal pole barricades burst out of the sidewalk next to me in my new surroundings. I careen forward, car making strange noises, like the wheezing and whimpering of one about to take their final breaths, and suddenly:

A parking garage! 

I go for it.

I am sure that it will cost me a fortune.

It is worth it. 

No spaces on level one, so we proceed toward level two, only to be confronted by a very narrow and steep entrance downward. I slam on the brake and I am sure that the car behind us is annoyed.

I’m not going down that, the car says to me in my mind.

You need to back up, I tell the car behind me, also in my mind. 

Then it occurs to me that even if we manage to reverse, there is nowhere to reverse to. This is a one-way parking garage. If I want to exit, I have to go down.

I take a deep breath and I sit up in my seat, peering over the hood of the car like a child who knows that rollercoaster is about to drop from under them.

I inch the car forward. Just then, I am reminded of my wise decision to decline all insurance on the vehicle. My credit card covers damage to the car… I hope. 

Let’s not find out, I promise to the car, inching – or is it metering in France? – down the ramp. 

And then, we are on level 2! So far, so good. I see a good space and I want to go for it but the car behind me is hot on my ass so I decide to let them have it, to give myself some breathing room for the next parking space.

Only they don’t take it. 

Motherf*cker, I mutter under my breath.

I find another space. That b*tch can wait.

I pull forward and attempt to back into it… just as the car next to it has decided to pull out. I see them looking at me. They do not look happy. But by this point, I am already partially maneuvered in. I am not giving up now! So we begin a little tango. I take two slides backward, they take one slide forward. Inch by inch we shimmy while the ass rider watches. I am sure that now they are regretting passing up the space I gave them. 

And finally, I am in.

And I am starving.

And I have to pee. 

I begin to make my way to the restaurant that I intended, and wow, Bordeaux is lively! Maybe livelier than Paris? I pass by restaurant after restaurant and everything looks incredible. I throw my plan out the window and I decide to sit down at a random place with food that looks good, and I order the duck and a glass of red wine and it is delicious and everything is perfect.

Except that now that I am done, I have to figure out how to get out of here.

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My 10 Tips for Driving in France

Melodrama aside, here's my actual tips for driving in France, particularly if you are an American.

1. Drive under the speed limit. In the U.S., if the posted speed limit is 65, most people go 70 because most of the time a cop won't pull you over simply because it's not worth the trouble. In France, fancy schmancy cameras of the future are happy to snap a photograph of your license plate and send your rental car company an automatic ticket, and your rental car company is happy to upcharge you for the administrative cost of facilitating payment of the fine. Just don't do it.
2. Know the size of cities and towns on your itinerary. Maybe learn from my mistakes and do a quick Google check before whimsically deciding to drive into Bordeaux, Paris, Marseille, Lyon, Toulouse, Nice...
3. Use Waze, not Google Maps. Waze will alert you to speed traps. Waze will not tell you you're a dumb b*tch for trying to drive into the center of Bordeaux. If anyone would like to partner with me on an app for that, the voice inside my head has spent her whole life preparing for the role.
4. Get an International Driver's Permit Before Your Trip. I should have known I was in for trouble when, in Paris, the day before I was due to pick up my rental car, I discovered that I was required to have an International Driver's Permit or notarized translation of my license. Prepared to drive in France I was not. You are required to have this document in any country where English is not an official language, in addition to your license and passport. Luckily, after this debacle, I knew to get one the following year when I was driving in Kazakhstan. You can get one for $20 at most AAA offices in the U.S. It's a total money grab scam operation because this document expires within a year. (Like why? If my license is good for 8 years, why is this document not also? Is language changing within a year that a translation is no longer valid?) Anyway, you can also order a rush notarized translation of your license online for ~$30. You will have to do this option if, like me, you are already in France. I used this service.
5. Check to see if your car is manual or automatic. Manual cars are the default, at least in France. I may or may not have also dropped the ball here and had to rebook to an automatic (for more money, of course) at the last minute. If you don't know how to drive a manual, make sure you check the filter on the rental car website that only shows you automatic cars so you don't make the same mistake I may or may not have made.
6. Know your insurance coverage. If you're going to decline the rental car company's coverage at the counter, best to know exactly what your credit card company covers in case of emergency. (Your other option is to just get the rental car company coverage. It generally costs a fortune, but it also means that you can drive into a cement support beam in a tiny parking garage and they DGAF.)
7. Pick up your car outside the city center. Like the airport. If you're already in the city, public transportation or ride sharing apps will get you there. It's worth the time and/or expense of not having to drive in the city.
8. Bring Euros for tolls. You can usually pay a daily convenience fee for the rental car company to give you a transponder, but you can also just use the cash lane at the toll booths.
9. Be prepared for village parking to be a hassle. Your cute Airbnb in the village might require parking at a lot that's a 15-minute walk away. Not a big deal, but helps to have assistance with the luggage drop off before parking, as opposed to announcing your arrival as you bobble your suitcases through the cobblestone streets like the loud and unwelcome American that you are.
10. If you get into an accident... apologize for being a stupid American and thank them for the Statue of Liberty. (I don't know if this works but it's worth a shot.)

Stop and Ask for Directions.

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