From the S&S archives:
Gulf Journal: Lead-footed maniacs rule Saudi streets

DHAHRAN, Saudi Arabia — Wherever Americans travel abroad, they complain about how poorly the locals drive.

I was once convinced that nowhere on earth are the roads more treacherous than in Seoul, where taxi drivers have yet to discover the brake pedal and pedestrians have yet to discover that pain hurts — until it's too late.

But I learned that worse drivers thrive in Manila in the form of jeepney owners and tour bus operators who would sooner flatten someone than change a vehicle's course or speed.

Now I believe I've witnessed the worst. After observing Saudi Arabian driving habits for a month, I've concluded that in the kingdom, the only rule of the road is that there are no rules.

The Saudis love big, eight-cylinder American autos. But when they get at the controls of those beasts, they can't seem to resist the primal urge to stamp on the accelerator and blast full-bore onto the highway.

This high-speed travel would be fine if there were any method to the madness. But people here adhere to only one guideline, which insists to drivers that "the right of way is yours — demand itl"

Therefore, folks take yield signs to mean "accelerate." They roll through stop signs without a sideway glance. Even traffic signals that are red as a heart flush get little respect — people might slow down for such, but if the intersection appears clear, many will blow right through the crossroad. Drivers here seldom use their turn signals and think nothing of drifting across three lanes of highway as if asleep at the wheel. They pull out of blind corners without looking for oncoming traffic and make righthand turns from left-hand lanes.

Such chaos causes accidents as well as multiple near-misses. Admittedly, I have witnessed no accidents, though I have watched countless close calls. At a nearby Safeway the other day, a guy in a dented Chevy Caprice skidded and stopped an inch shy of crushing the front door of an immaculate-white Mercedes that pulled blindly out of a parking space.

In another close call near my hotel, an Arab in a stretch station wagon almost rear-ended a guy in a Chevy Blazer who had missed a turn and was backing up to trey it again. The two drivers jumped out of their vehicles in the middle of an intersection and nearly came to blows as a stream of traffic surged around them.

Strangely enough, to receive a license here drivers-to-be must take a weeklong course of instruction, pass written and hands-on tests and pay 500 Saudi riyals (about $135) for a five-year permit. Perhaps upon graduation they forget all they've been taught.

The closest brush I've had with vehicular death here happened in the northern Saudi desert along the border with Iraq. The Saudi ministry of information had arranged a large press trip to the most forward-deployed allied units, and about 100 reporters were stuffed into two school buses that carried us to several desert outposts dozens of miles apart.

The bus drivers were crazed. They drag-raced their ancient wagons at top speed over the hard, washboard desert floor, shaking the reporters to pieces and sending dust clouds billowing into the air.

The duel lasted for miles, and our driver refused to take second place. Therefore, he never let up on the gas and kept cutting the other bus off each time its driver tried to pass. This swerving caused our jam-packed vehicle to list heavily to one side and then the other, tossing its human cargo about like a ship in a typhoon.

There are few things as goofy as two dueling buses blasting across the empty desert, but our driver took the race most seriously. In the end, the two busloads of reporters made it through the ride shaken but unhurt, and the operator of our vehicle kept his pride intact by winning the race.