In my nineteen countries, some fifty international cities, and all fifty American states, I’ve driven in Russia, Armenia—where entire segments of road simply disappear—Andorra, Spain, Estonia. I’ve ridden motorcycles across Iraq, where driving can feel like negotiated chaos. I’ve driven in North Korea, where you might see twenty cars in all of Pyongyang, the roads vast and eerily empty. I’ve navigated everything from Houston freeways to Moscow ring roads over a lifetime behind the wheel.
And I’ll say it plainly: Victoria drivers are the best I’ve ever encountered.
People here don’t speed. They’re courteous. They’re attentive. There’s a calm, shared intelligence to how the road is used. It isn’t about dominance or impatience—it’s about flow. Mutual awareness. Respect.
If I had one technical critique, it’s that drivers don’t always keep right except to pass. On the Autobahn, that would be suicidal. But here—given bridge constraints, ongoing construction, and natural bottlenecks—the culture compensates. The system flexes instead of breaking.
I rarely speed anywhere anymore. That instinct burned out years ago. What I care about now is coherence—how well people read one another while moving.
And in that sense, I feel safer driving in Victoria than anywhere else I’ve been in North America. Safer than almost anywhere, full stop. (Wyoming gets an honorable mention—excellent driving there.)
I’ve driven in places where caution is enforced by fear, surveillance, or necessity. Victoria is different.
Here, caution feels chosen.
Victoria—keep doing what you’re doing. You seem to understand something important about shared space.