I’m sitting on the balcony, observing life at the roundabout in front of the hotel. Just below is a roundabout where five streets meet. Traffic out of five directions merge and spread again to five different destinations. An ongoing flow of uncountable cars and trucks and motorbikes. One lonely bicycle is the only participant without any noise. Four zebra crossings channel foot passengers.
Speed or no speed, obviously a question of character. Or could it be a question of the car model? A BMW car is automatically faster than a Fiat, so it seems. All of these cars have a driver at the steering wheel. So, back to the question of character, I remind myself. The speed inside this roundabout is the first thing I notice. I imagine a spinning top going anti-clock wise.
Footies disturb the flow of traffic. Footies at the zebra crossing might cause accidents. Footies demand the cars to stop. Breaks are being pushed noisily from old cars, new cars give no noise. From new cars drivers emit a virtual noise. A kind of huffing and puffing, not happy about this unplanned stop. I can hear them and, even more, see their body language. Have these drivers never been footies themselves? They never leave the car and walk on their own two feet to cross a street safely is my thought about such impatient drivers. Respect the rules, Sir, I’m tempted to shout at them.
Oh no. A dog. Quite a big dog appears on the scene. Could be a Labrador. On the left of the roundabout, at 10 o’clock from my view. The dog wants to enter the circle of traffic, please not, that’s dangerous. Doggy, don’t! A car slows down, the dog runs back, out of the circle, new attempt. A car stops. Between the two traffic lanes the dog runs out of sight for a moment, my sight is
covered by a white van, where is the dog? It appears behind the van on the inner lane, not injured, so it seems. A jump and the dog is in the heart of the roundabout. On some green grass with flowers and plastic waste. An animal in spoiled nature. But the scene is not rested. That doggy seriously wants to cross the lanes again. Looks like it is aiming for 3 o’clock. Looking left and right, like a human, the dog is checking the flow of traffic. Another risk will be taken. Dog versus cars. No, have to correct myself, dog versus humans. It’s not part of the bigger human plan, that animals disturb our flow of life. Get out of the way, literally. Dog is ready to enter the two lanes. Traffic on the inner lane is slow. A
chance, a stop for a second, another jump, a car coming, noisy breaks, dog and driver look into each others eyes, I guess. Next car driver doesn’t realize the situation. Emergency stop, no bang. No third car involved. Thank God. The dog is out of the roundabout and suddenly out of sight.
That was some excitement. Was my blood pressure as high as the dog’s? At last, it was a cool action by the dog. Does the dog cross this roundabout every day? Is there a clash of animal and humans on a daily base? Is the flow of traffic interrupted every day by animals? A thought, that would lead to a philosophical and into general contemplation. I better stop that. That’s not in vogue. Sadly, nature still has no value.
Never a dull moment. A truck with two men, standing or hanging left and right on the back, wearing orange outfits. Waste collection. Law and order pops up in my head. People are not allowed to stand or hold themselves on the back of a truck. Maybe they are in India. But not here and not in this roundabout, not in
my roundabout, I reflect. Driving into this circle of lanes gives the truck and workers a kind of centrifugal force. Where is the police car to stop that behavior? That’s dangerous.
But stop yourself, yes, talking to myself. Don’t create your own rules. Don’t behave like so many other people making their own rules. Surely the authorities gave permission to such concerted action. If not a formal permission, it is accepted because of best practice. Have trust in the authorities. And trust these men, they know what they are doing. Collecting our waste with all the dirt and the bad smell and the circumstances that come along with it. Thank you, I shout out loud, turning my first opinion into the
opposite.
The flow of cars and trucks and motorbikes continues. A noisy circle still. A coming and going, interrupted at the zebra for seconds. In here, out there, the odd car making a full circle and driving back the way it came. Making a full circle, I have to think about that car. What does it mean? To correct something? A mistake? Or having another try? To change direction? Not
knowing where to go? Insecurity? There is so much in this thought, I realize.
Am I getting philosophical again? A full circle is something symbolic. In many ways. The Celtic Cross contains a circle, King Arthur and his men sat at a circular table. No edge, no obstacle. Like here at the roundabout. Driving a circle, smooth. A second round I observe with that blue car. Still not sure where to go? Or is this a fun drive now, like on a carousel? This blue car is going faster now, tires screeching, then it’s a fun ride. And it is. Four people in the car, all screaming. But it doesn’t sound like fun nor fear. A mix of it. Just the driver might enjoy this. But off they go after round number four. Seconds later it’s all history, but lingers in my thoughts for a while. What was that good for? A show off, surely. That wasn’t a driving test. Looks like one creature had fun and all the others had to suffer. As we all know from ordinary life. All it needs is one bad guy to cause trouble. Thousands of people being checked at the airport while just a handful of nasty people want to cause harm. Just one example of many.
Then, I can hear it, getting louder and louder, that must be a motorbike. Can’t see it yet, but I can hear the typical sound of a roaring engine, driven by a macho man. No woman would drive in such an insane way. And here it is with a clear message. Get out of my way, scoot. Outer lane, inner lane, changing lanes like queue jumpers. That bike rider uses both lanes of the roundabout,
overtaking and bothering a few cars for a 3⁄4 circle. The roaring motor translates the angry mood of the driver. Motorbike is too fast to memorize the license. No face to be seen anyway. An unpleasant unsocial behavior. The roaring sound stills lingers in the air, covered slowly by the usual traffic noise.
All fine at the roundabout. Business as usual. Traffic coming in, getting out.
I’m sitting on the hotel’s balcony, observing circles of life.
