Why Some Countries Drive on the Left (And Others Don’t)

It all starts with horses. Naturally. Before cars came along and ruined everything by belching smoke and ignoring personality, people had to think about things like sword-drawing convenience, how not to fall into ditches, and good old-fashioned social paranoia when choosing a side of the road. In fact, the question “why some countries drive on the left?” turns out to be less about modern traffic regulations and more like an archaeological dig through humanity’s wonderfully erratic decision-making over centuries. Spoiler alert: there are swords, popes, emperors, revolutionaries, and even railway engineers in this story. Everyone’s got an opinion. And a directional preference.

Picture it: medieval England. You’re riding your horse – probably something with a name like Buttercup or Goliath – and you’re, as always, late for something. Everyone was late in the 14th century. Plague, wars, livestock-related detours. Maybe your goat union’s on strike again. You’re trotting along a deeply unimpressive muddy lane when someone else appears, thundering toward you on horseback. Now, logic and paranoia combine: are you going to ride on the right, with your sword hand exposed to this total stranger, or keep left, where your right hand – sword hand – is ready for action, just in case things go full Game of Thrones? Exactly. Left side. Sword side. Safety first. Honour second. Manners optional.

This instinctive logic caught on. It became routine. A sort of unofficial knightly etiquette that slowly morphed into cultural custom. And it wasn’t just in the British Isles. In 1300, Pope Boniface VIII (big hat, serious eyes) issued an edict requiring pilgrims to keep to the left when heading to Rome. Even the Vatican had its own travel lanes. When religion tells you which side to walk on, you listen – because medieval popes weren’t exactly known for their chill. So, across much of Europe, left-side travel reigned. The logic stuck.

But logic, dear reader, has a shelf life. Enter: the French. Or, more precisely, Napoleon Bonaparte. Of course it was Napoleon. Who else would completely upend centuries of left-side tradition just to stick it to the aristocracy?

You see, pre-revolutionary French nobles had a flair for the dramatic. They travelled on the left, flaunting their superiority while commoners shuffled about on the right, dodging manure and muttering curses. After the Revolution, the peasants got their revenge – they flipped sides. The new regime mandated right-side travel as a glorious gesture of revolutionary equality. And Napoleon? He grabbed that idea and ran with it like a man given absolute power and a very specific grudge against symmetry. Right-side driving became a trademark of his empire. Belgium? Right. The Netherlands? Right. Large chunks of Germany and Italy? Right, right, and more right. If Napoleon showed up, your horses and carts were getting a directional makeover, whether you liked it or not.

And like that, the world split. The right became associated with rebellion, revolution, and Napoleonic ego trips. Left became the preserve of tradition, imperial holdovers, and people who didn’t like change (or the French).

Meanwhile, Britain – being Britain – stuck to the left. An island unto itself, it saw no reason to switch. It was doing fine. Besides, imperialism was calling, and there were colonies to influence. As Britain built its global empire, it exported its lefty inclinations alongside railroads, cricket, and elaborate ways of apologising without meaning it. India, Australia, New Zealand, Southern Africa – all followed the British left. You got the Queen, the Union Jack, and road signs that politely insisted you keep left unless you’d prefer to perish.

Then there’s Japan. The only major non-British power to go left – and they did it voluntarily. In the 19th century, as Japan turbocharged its modernisation (after centuries of glorious isolation), they imported railway systems from Britain. Those trains ran on the left. So, when cars eventually hit the scene, left-side driving made perfect sense. Trains are persuasive like that. They’re hard to argue with, especially when they’re full of punctual commuters.

America, naturally, did things its own way. With swagger. With improvisation. In the wild west of wagon trains and stagecoaches, drivers typically sat on the left rear horse so they could whip with their right hand. To avoid accidentally whipping a stranger (or a sheriff) coming the other way, they kept to the right. Then Henry Ford came along with the Model T, plopped the steering wheel on the left, and sealed the deal. The United States formally adopted right-side driving. Because nothing says freedom like doing the opposite of the British.

Where America went, others followed. Canada – well, parts of it – switched to the right. Mexico and much of Latin America? Right-side loyalists. The Americas slowly solidified into a vast, unified patch of right-side logic, even if it came with chaotic intersections and honking.

And then we get to Sweden. Lovely, efficient, sensible Sweden. A country that, until 1967, drove on the left. And then, one fateful Monday, they didn’t. They called it “H Day” – short for Högertrafikomläggningen, which, depending on your mood, could be either a traffic policy or an IKEA shelving unit. In the early hours of September 3rd, 1967, at precisely 4:50 a.m., every car in Sweden stopped, flipped sides, and resumed driving. Overnight. No pressure. The change was a logistical ballet, involving months of planning, public campaigns, new road signs, and a collective national exhale. And surprisingly, it worked. No massive pile-ups. Just a few confused cyclists and maybe one or two existential crises.

Elsewhere, switches kept happening for a range of reasons. Samoa made the switch in 2009 – not because of political ideology, but because Australian and New Zealand cars were cheaper to import, and those cars were built for left-side driving. So Samoa, in a moment of automotive pragmatism, flipped. It was the first country in nearly 40 years to do so. Some people protested. Some people just shrugged and bought a Toyota.

And let’s not forget those places that somehow manage to make it extra confusing. Cyprus and Malta? Left. Italy and Greece, just across the water? Right. This leads to ferry-based existential dilemmas. You drive your car onto the boat on the left, sail across the Mediterranean, and roll off into a whole new driving reality. It’s like rebooting your brain at sea.

Even former colonies didn’t always stick with their inherited habits. Canada is a prime example. The eastern provinces originally drove on the left, thanks to British influence. But after the creation of the automobile and pressure from their southern neighbours, provinces gradually flipped to the right during the 1920s and 30s. Quebec switched first. Newfoundland held out longest. It was all very polite, but also very confusing.

Today, about 65% of the world drives on the right, and 35% on the left. Which is to say: there’s no logic here. Just a wild patchwork of historical quirks, colonial hangovers, strategic choices, and the occasional dictator’s whim. If aliens ever visit Earth and try to make sense of our roads, they’ll probably assume we’re a species in the middle of a very slow-motion game of global bumper cars.

But we cope. Rental agencies put stickers on dashboards reminding tourists where to drive. Border crossings feature bold signage and the occasional panic-inducing turnabout. And roundabouts – oh, roundabouts – become gladiator arenas for confused drivers and overconfident satnavs.

Ultimately, which side of the road you drive on isn’t just geography. It’s history. It’s politics. It’s a legacy of sword arms, empires, revolutions, and railway contracts. It’s the aftertaste of ancient rivalries and modern convenience. Next time you rent a car abroad and spend the first ten minutes panicking every time you approach a junction, take heart: you’re not just driving. You’re participating in a centuries-old geopolitical dance choreographed by crusaders, colonisers, and control freaks.

All because medieval people didn’t trust strangers and Napoleon couldn’t resist rearranging the furniture. Next time you grip the wheel and veer left or right, give a little nod to the popes, samurais, wagon-whippers, and traffic bureaucrats who helped pave the way.