When Reaching a Crosswalk in Ones Life, Look Both Ways
By Peter Frick-Wright

Now that a summer of traveling is behind me, one thought keeps surfacing.

"WOW! have I seen the world or WHAT!?"

I feel so cultured, so informed. I'm pretty sure the feeling will pass, the jury's still out on whether I learned anything or not, but after a few months walking the streets of everywhere I haven't been before, I've decided that a pedestrian's life is the life for me.

Early on I decided that walking is the only way to truly experience a culture. Moving through the people in an urban center allows you to experience a place with all FIVE of your senses. That's two more senses than people driving in cars get to experience and three more than the people who push that little "recirculate" button that most people only push when they drive past a herd of cows.

Walking a city allows you to SEE, without the barrier of glass and the blind spots coming between you and image of the sidewalk vendors hawking sparkling homemade jewelry. As a pedestrian one can HEAR the languages flying back and forth, syllables merged in crisp but indistinguishable words in a way that one misses in a car with the radio turned up. And one can really TOUCH the natives, get a first hand impression of the local culture, as their hands creep into your back pocket and graciously relieve you of the burden of carrying your wallet. You can then repeat the process at the police station with the cops with which you can't communicate, but who cares? The "Authenticity" quotient of your trip has just increased by some immeasurable factor and you’ve progressed from "tourist" to "traveler."
But if you'd like to skip the unpleasant passport replacement process with the overweight and under-sunned American Embassy employee who has learned to hate Americans over the last 12 years of replacing passports, there is an easier way to absorb the ways of the wacky locals.

Crossing the street, it seems, can be about more than getting to the other side.

In Germany they wait to cross, a somber scene of patience and dignity with spacing on the sidewalk as precise as any German engineering. They hold for the light whether there are cars coming or not, and if you ask a German why no one J-walks, they will speak about themselves and their country in a way that so far removed that you'll think it must be the fourth or fifth instead of the third person. They'll say: "It is because Germans have a lot of respect for the rules and the law. It is a part of the culture." Could this crosswalk conformation come from respect for the cars passing by? Every single one is a model that would fetch somewhere between 40 and 50 thousand in the states and even the Taxi’s bear the Mercedes pie chart on their hood.

Another reason may be the "Ampelmann," the merry character on the crosswalks in Berlin and an immensely popular icon and remnant of East Germany. Traffic Psychologist Karl "Crosswalks are my legacy" Peglau thought people would respond better to a friendly character on their crosswalks, so in 1961 he gave the "Ampelmännchen" (German for: "little guy on the crosswalk") a large hat and a jaunty gait for crossing the street. Then for the orange version that holds you on the curb, he gave his man the outstretched arms of someone receiving a hug.

It is immensely successful, even spawning a recent legal battle over the right to use the image to market alcohol and Ampelmann merchandise, and after a month in country I trusted my little open armed friend so completely I barely remembered what it felt like to look both ways or cross any other way than with the light and a herd of foot-traffic.

I had gotten so used to idiot-proof crossing that my first attempt in Croatia was nearly another "authentic" experience, the type of experience that can end your life.

The only mistake I'll admit to making was driving instead of walking. I was in a car and therefore unable to TOUCH, unable to really FEEL and assimilate the culture. Had I taken in more of Zagreb's local way of life, I would have known to check the left side of the street for streetcars moving against traffic, and I would not have come so close to having an "authentic" experience with the the tram. But since I was separated from the culture and without the aid of my helpful crosswalk dwelling friend with the huggable silhouette, I came within about 8 inches of assimilating the front of my car with the front of the tram.

I only stopped because of the shout of warning and look of fear from my copilot, who, looking back, shares many traits with the Ampelmann. Although my co-pilot never wears hats, he does have a cheery walk, and at that moment, with the car screeching to a halt and his white knuckles tearing into the dashboard and eyes as wide as the outstretched arms of the Ampelmann, he too looked like he could use a hug.

I navigated the rest of Croatia's crosswalks without incident and another month later found myself in New York for a final week away from home.

I found Manhattan to be full of warm, helpful people that were all to eager to help a traveler find his way around. One man went so far as to walk with me all the way to Central Park from Columbia University. All it cost me was whatever change I had in my pocket and I didn’t even have to make the normal boring small talk with him as he talked with himself throughout our entire walk!

The escort took us down six blocks near an entrance to Central Park and it was as we were nearing the last crosswalk of the trip that Damian, my homeless guide, said, "Follow me, Now!" and ran through the intersection. We were in the middle of an unoccupied construction zone, looking into the sun towards deactivated crosswalks. Medium traffic pushed through the construction cone forest but I did not have a support group of other pedestrians to herd me across. Damian was already on the other side and I would have followed him but I was too chicken to cross the street.