In Kathmandu, there are no traffic signals. There are no traffic cops. There are no traffic signs. And even if there were, no one would pay a bit of attention. There are two million people in Kathmandu, and every single one of them has wheels: pedi-cabs, cars, push-carts, bicycles, motorcycles, you name it. Passing is the national sport. No matter how bad the traffic is, no matter how gridlocked it has become, you pass. You pass on the sidewalk, you pass in the oncoming lanes, you pass everwhere. Somehow, the traffic keeps movig and no one gets killed.