street sign from Scotland, and a "Don't Walk" sign in Manhattan just beside a light that clearly indicated that walking was okay.
There were a few less memorable signs as well, but even those were more entertaining than the snapshots of me in front of various landmarks, so I kept my eye out on subsequent trips.
As I started to think about the idea of funny signs, I also began to appreciate them on another level. After all, when you visit a new country, you're not allowed to vote. You can't cash a personal check. Your library card isn't valid. Yet they let you drive. They let you get behind the wheel of a multi-ton vehicle and zip around anywhere you please. What's with that?
Somehow we're expected to navigate the road and pick up the traffic nuances - perhaps even adjust to a steering wheel on the opposite side of the car
There were a few less memorable signs as well, but even those were more entertaining than the snapshots of me in front of various landmarks, so I kept my eye out on subsequent trips.
As I started to think about the idea of funny signs, I also began to appreciate them on another level. After all, when you visit a new country, you're not allowed to vote. You can't cash a personal check. Your library card isn't valid. Yet they let you drive. They let you get behind the wheel of a multi-ton vehicle and zip around anywhere you please. What's with that?
Somehow we're expected to navigate the road and pick up the traffic nuances - perhaps even adjust to a steering wheel on the opposite side of the car
while driving on the opposite side of the road - all before the first lane change.
All this is, of course, before you even throw a few wacked-out signs into the equation: the road-side traffic symbols that look more confusing than psych-test ink blots, mangled English, and the occasional screwball posting that almost stops us in our tracks (if we could just locate the brakes fast enough in that rental car!).
When I ended my five-year contract to travel the world and write a weekly column for the Chicago Tribune Syndicate, mostly due to the birth of my
All this is, of course, before you even throw a few wacked-out signs into the equation: the road-side traffic symbols that look more confusing than psych-test ink blots, mangled English, and the occasional screwball posting that almost stops us in our tracks (if we could just locate the brakes fast enough in that rental car!).
When I ended my five-year contract to travel the world and write a weekly column for the Chicago Tribune Syndicate, mostly due to the birth of my