Here are some of the world's most stupid time zones

This is what evolution looks like, and it most certainly ain't pretty. Image: Hellerick via Wikimedia Commons.

As citizens in the great nation of the Royal Observatory at Greenwich, the Prime Meridian, and the official designated centre of the world, we Brits can forget the bizarre ridiculousness of time zones.

Time zones.

Why is it that flying west from London to Madrid results in shifting the clocks one time zone eastward – an hour ahead?

And did anyone ever give a thought to the zip wire across the River Guadiana between Spain and Portugal, where your flight across the river is so fast – at 45 miles per hour – that you land in Portugal one hour earlier than you left Spain?

Or, indeed, the one international border where stepping one foot over the mountains means you step three and a half hours back in time?

Time zones have brought strange quirks to the world ever since 26 countries – including the then independent kingdom of Hawaii – gathered in Washington D.C. in 1884 for the Meridian Conference. In the 1940s, Hitler’s sweep through Europe stopped France using GMT, and put an end to ‘Amsterdam time’, which had the Netherlands running twenty minutes ahead of London. At one point, a tiny Pacific archipelago gave the US the ultimate cold shoulder by literally moving to a different day to get away from them.

And even though it’s probably better than the alternative system, where once upon a time every town set its clock to noon when the sun was at its highest and integration be damned, the standardisation of time zones has resulted in some very strange side-effects.

So much wall, so little time. Image: Vin Crosbie.

China's one-time state

The third largest country in the world, China sprawls across the Asian continent, spanning a sixth of the world’s breadth from the 75 degrees to almost 135 degrees west, by longitude. When the sun rises on the longest day in the far eastern city of Jiamusi, it’s 7:24pm in the UK, but when it rises in the far west, in Kashgar, it’s 11:29pm.

And yet the entire country only has one time zone. I mean, I get it, you want a totalitarian state and all that, but having one part of the country where a winter’s day doesn’t start until nearly 10am seems a little illogical.

In fact, it’s so illogical that half of the city of Urumqi, in eastern China, uses its own unofficial time zone, while the other runs a working day from 11pm-7pm to account for out of kilter day inflicted by Beijing. Which is incredibly complicated – as Apple learnt when a iOS update silently put all users onto the local unofficial time zone, meaning many people’s alarms went off two hours later than they were expecting.

Pleasingly, though, the uniform time zone means that if you can negotiate the Tibetan Plateau and the Himalayas, you can cross over into Afghanistan and set your clock back three and a half hours – the biggest land border time-zone change on the planet. More on that later.

But in conclusion, sort it out, China.

Not actually that green. Image: Antonio Bovino.

Greenland

Greenland is another fairly big place (though its position in the far north of most map projections makes it look bigger than it really is). It's not made the same mistakes as China.

If anything, in fact, goes rather too far the other way. Almost all of Greenland runs on GMT-3, putting it four hours behind its parent nation, Denmark; but a few tiny corners insist on having things their own way.

The Thule Air Base, run by the United States Air Force in the northwest of Greenland, runs on GMT-4, while the Danmarkshavn weather station (permanent population: eight) runs on GMT. For no particularly good reason.

Meanwhile, Greenland’s 18th-largest city of Ittoqqortoormiit (yes, really), runs on GMT-1 along with pretty much nobody except the Azores and Cape Verde.

Not actually Newfoundland but the annoying French thing. Image: Ken Eckert.

Newfoundland

Staying in a similar geographic locale, the Newfoundlanders decided to screw up the orderliness of Canada’s time zones. The bulk of the country makes things simple enough, running from GMT-4 in the east, through GMT-5 in Toronto and Québec, GMT-6 in Winnipeg, GMT-7 in Edmonton to GMT-8 in Vancouver in the west.

Newfoundland, though? “Nah,” they thought. “Let’s go with GMT-3.5, because we’re cool.”

That's basically because Newfoundland was a separate colony when time zones became a thing, so it had the right to establish its own time zone. About a hundred years later in 1963, when it had been subsumed into the independent nation of Canada, the provincial government tried to click it back into sync with the rest of the Atlantic region of Canada. The move was basically thwarted by a bunch of time NIMBYs. The state of you, Newfoundland.

Though in fairness the 6,080 people of St Pierre and Miquelon, a hang-on dribble of islands from the days of the French Empire, stubbornly sticks to GMT-3 even though the nearest functioning place that uses it is… Brazil.

Afghanistan looking military. Image: United States Army.

The half-hour gang

Which brings us to the main cluster of countries where somebody decided it was vaguely acceptable to sit half an hour out of kilter with the rest of the world.

Iran runs on GMT+3½, Afghanistan on GMT+4 ½, India is on GMT+5 ½, and Burma uses GMT+6 ½.

The reasons for all of these aren’t entirely clear, although given the heavy involvement of the British Empire and its tendrils in the region, it’s highly likely that it’s all our fault.

Indeed, India’s standardised time zone, though half an hour short of being sane, isn’t as mad as it used to be before it became independent. During the Raj, the colony operated three main times: Bombay Time, at GMT+4:51 (yes); Madras Time, at GMT+5:21 (I know); and Calcutta Time, at GMT+5:54 (I’m not even making this up).

As for Afghanistan, if in doubt just blame Tony Blair and hope everybody stops asking questions.

Oh, and then there’s North Korea, which runs on GMT+8½, but that doesn’t particularly matter because nobody likes them anyway.

Good fields, though. Image: United States Department of Agriculture.

The Ne-pallingly confusing time zone

Perhaps the most screwed up entire nation in time terms is Nepal, which runs GMT+5¾. In theory, it’s because mean time in Kathmandu – aka, the approximation across the year of when the sun is at its highest at noon – is 5 hours, 41 minutes and 16 seconds ahead of GMT.

Still ridiculous, though.

Kirimati, confusingly part of Kiribati. Image: NASA.

Too close for comfort

Obviously, eventually you get so far round the world that the whole thing starts all over again. If you don’t know what I’m talking about, sit on the edge of your seat through any adaptation of Around The World In 80 Days and be amazed.

In essence, the International Date Line is the exact opposite side of the world to the Greenwich Prime Meridian, and is where you stop being ahead of London and start being behind it. In other words, in the far east of Russia they’re already starting tomorrow, but Alaska’s only just got going on today.

The problem is that although the Pacific Ocean is a handly empty place to dump a line where there are two days, it’s not totally empty, so the line strays a little.

The very far eastern island of Big Diomede in Russia runs on GMT+12, even though it’s just 2.4 miles away from the closest part of the USA at Diomede, Alaska, which uses GMT-9. The Aleutian Islands – basically, Alaska’s tail – stretch across the 180-degrees line that is the theoretical International Date Line, but all use GMT-10, because it’s just easier.


But there are two places where the line has shifted in recent history, giving rise to some strange goings-on.

In December 2011, Samoa jumped forward a day, and just missed out 30 December (nobody got their six geese a-laying that year). This was to get rid of an old hangover given to the country by its king in 1892, who moved the country east of the Date Line to bring it closer to America. This became impractical as Samoa grew closer to Australia and New Zealand, its much closer neighbours, and so the 2011 moved the country from being 21 hours behind Sydney – the nearest major business hub – to being three hours ahead of it, which made more sense.

Though, sadly for the Americans, it left American Samoa marooned, only 70km away but 24 hours apart (25 in summer).

And then there’s the Republic of Kiribati, which became independent in 1979 by combining three colonies – the UK’s Gilbert Islands, and the Phoenix and Line Islands from the US. But this was a problem, as the former ran on GMT+12, while the Phoenix and Line Islands ran on GMT-11 and GMT-10 respectively.

So they shoved the whole country over to the western side of the Date Line in 1995, creating the time zones GMT+13 and GMT+14, and dragging the whole line 2,000 miles eastward. When you remember that the Line Islands are further east than Hawaii and most of Alaska, this is pretty weird.

Most fun quirk of all of this means that for a brief moment every day (sort of) there are three days going on at once (wibbly-wobbly, timey-wimey… you know the drill). At 10:30am on Wednesday in London, it’s 11:30pm on Tuesday in the inhabited New Zealand-owned island of Niue, and 12:30am on Thursday in the Line Islands of the Republic of Kiribati (pronounced “Kiribas”).

What a mess.

Your brain on patriotism. Image: Phil Whitehouse.

Australia

In theory, this isn’t difficult. You take your big country, helpfully divided into states running east to west, and you give them relevant time zones.

The state of Western Australia runs on GMT+8, which is fine. Job done. The states of New South Wales, Tasmania, Victoria, the Capital Territory, and Queensland run on GMT+10. Which is sort of fine.

The logical thing for the middle states of South Australia and the Northern Territory to do would be to run on GMT+9, right? Especially as they almost perfectly straddle 135 degrees west, the centre of the +9 time zone area.

But no. They run GMT+9½, because there is nothing pure left in the world.

And even that’s not enough by way of complication. The southern states of South Australia, New South Wales, Tasmania, Victoria, and the Capital Territory use daylight saving time, but the other three states don’t.

So for half the year, Australia goes from having three time zones to having five. What a mess.

To make it worse, there’s Lord Howe Island, which is technically part of New South Wales, but is off halfway to New Zealand. During the southern hemisphere winter, it uses GMT+10½, just half an hour ahead of Sydney and the like, but in winter it uses a daylight saving time half an hour ahead – running at GMT+11. Which makes it the only place in the world that does not switch a full hour for daylight saving time.

Eucla, in Western Australia, likes to be difficult. Image: Yewenyi.

Specifically these Australians

Because some people just want to watch the world burn, there’s a tiny town of 86 people in the far east of Western Australia that decided to be quirky and just invent its own time zone.

Eucla, and a few poor stragglers nearby, uses GMT+8¾. Apparently with this time nonsense you can basically just do what you want.

Nobody tell Cornwall, they’ll get ideas.

P.S

Hey guys, remember that time Russia had daylight saving time in the summer and then just stayed there because they liked having light evenings? So relateable. Except then loads of people had car crashes in the morning so they switched it back

Jack May is a regular contributor to CityMetric and tweets as @JackO_May.

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Here are eight thoughts on TfL’s proposed cuts to London’s bus network

A number 12 bus crosses Westminster Bridge. Image: Getty.

In 2016, the urbanism blog City Observatory had a modest proposal for how American cities could sort out their transport systems: “Londonize”.

Its theory, the name of which referenced another popular urbanism blog, Copenhagenize, was that the key plank of Transport for London’s success was something that even transport nerds did not consider very sexy: its buses.

Though the Tube might get more glamorous press, London’s bus service really is impressively massive: It carries roughly 2.3bn passengers per year—much more than the Tube (1.3bn), close to the New York City subway (2.8bn), and nearly half as much as every bus service in America combined (5.1bn), while serving a population roughly 1/35 as large.

How has TfL done this? By making its bus network high frequency, reliable, relatively easy to understand and comprehensive. We rarely talk about this, because the tube map is far more fun – but the reason it’s so difficult to fall off the transport network in Greater London is because you’re never that far from a bus.

Given all that, we should probably talk about TfL’s plans to rethink – and in most cases, cut – as many as 36 different central London bus services over the next few months.

I’m not going to rehash details of the changes on which TfL is consulting from next month: there are just too many of them, and anyway it’s someone else’s scoop. The story was originally broken by Darryl Chamberlain over on 853 London; there’s also some fascinating analysis on Diamond Geezer’s blog. You should read both of those stories, though preferably not before you’ve finished reading this one.

Before offering my own analysis of the proposed changes, though, I should offer a few examples. More than a dozen routes are facing a trim: the 59 from King’s Cross back to Euston, the 113 from Oxford Circle to Marble Arch, the 171 from Holborn all the way down to Elephant & Castle and so on. A couple – the 10, the 48, the C2, and at most times the special routemaster version of the 15 – are being withdrawn altogether.

On, and one new route is planned – the 311, from Fulham Broadway to Oxford Circus. This will help plug some of the cuts to the 11, 19 and 22.

So, what does all this mean? Some thoughts:

1) This might not quite be as awful as it initially sounds

TfL says that demand for buses has fallen by around 10 per cent in London in recent years. It predicts it’ll fall further when Crossrail opens, as passengers switch to the new line, or to the tube routes relieved by the new line. So: the idea of taking some unwanted capacity out of the system is not, in itself, terrible.

Striping out unnecessary buses should also improve air quality in some of London’s worst pollution hot spots, and improve traffic flow, hopefully speeding up journeys on those buses that remain. 

A map from the presentation in which TfL explained its plans, showing the reduction in bus numbers on key arteries. Hilariously, notes Darryl Chamberlain, “It no longer produces its own maps, so has had to use one prepared by a bus enthusiast”.

The plans might even free up buses and staff to increase frequencies in outer London where demand hasn’t fallen – though these plans won’t be unveiled until next year and, for reasons I’ll come to below, I’ll believe it when we see it.

2) For many bus users, a lot of these changes will pass almost unnoticed

By my count, I use nine of the affected routes with any regularity – but only three of the changes are things that I’m likely to be at all inconvenienced by. Most of the changes either affect a part of the route I don’t take, or one where there are easy, and pain free alternatives.

This is anecdotal, obviously – perhaps I’m just lucky. But my suspicion is that a lot of these changes will go unnoticed by most passengers. It’s only the sheer number of them happening at once that makes this look like a big deal.

3) The Hopper fare makes this easier...

Once upon a time, if you had to switch buses, you had to pay a second fare. This isn’t true of journeys on the tube or railways – and since bus passengers have, on average, less money than tube passengers, it amounted to a pretty unfair tax on poorer Londoners.

But in January, in what is probably his most notable policy achievement of his two years in office so far, London’s mayor Sadiq Khan changed the rules. Now you can take as many buses as you want within an hour, for a single fare: that means you can switch buses without paying a penalty.

That will have made it easier for TfL to cut routes back: replacing a direct bus journey with one that requires a change no longer means imposing a financial penalty on passengers.


4) ...but not that easy

That’s about where the good news stops, though – because there are reasons other than cost why people prefer direct bus routes. Needing to change buses will be difficult for anyone with any form of mobility impairment, for example. Even for those of us lucky enough not to fall into that category, it’ll be annoying: it’s just easier to stay in one seat for 40 minutes than to get turfed off and have to fight for a new one halfway through.

More than that, from the passengers’ point of view, excess capacity feels quite good a lot of the time: it means your bus may well be nice and empty. Reducing the number of buses along those key corridors will also make those that remain more crowded.

5) The motive is almost certainly financial

Another of Sadiq Khan’s big policy promises was to freeze fares. He made this promise at a time when central government is massively reducing the financial support it gives TfL (the work, Chamberlain notes, of Evening Standard editor George Osborne, back when he was chancellor). And the Hopper fare, while a great idea in many ways, means a further reduction in income.

So: TfL is scrambling for cash: this is why I remain cynical about those new outer London bus routes. I would be amazed if money wasn’t a motivation here, not least because...

6) TfL thinks no one will notice

Any attempt to reduce tube frequencies, let alone close a station, would result in uproar. Hashtag campaigners! Angry people pointing at things in local newspapers! Damning reports on the front of the Evening Standard from the bloke who made it happen!

Buses, though? Their routes change, slightly, all the time. And do you really notice whether your local route comes every 10 minutes or every 12? That’s not to mention the fact that bus passengers, as previously noted, tend to be poorer – and so, less vocal – than tube passengers.

So cuts, and the savings they bring, are much easier to sneak through. TfL probably would have gotten away with it, too, if it hadn’t been for those meddling bloggers.

Although...

7) Scrapping the C2 might be a mistake

The C2 runs from Parliament Hill, through Kentish Town and Camden to Oxford Circus. In other words, it links north London, where a lot of journalists live, to the offices of the BBC and Buzzfeed.

As occasional New Statesman writer James Ball notes, this is probably not the easiest route to quietly shelve.

8) None of this is set in stone

The consultation doesn’t even begin until next month and then will run for six weeks – so all these plans may yet be forgotten. We shall see.

Anyway – here’s Darryl Chamberlain’s original scoop, and here’s some detailed analysis on Diamond Geezer. Please support your local bloggers by reading them.

Jonn Elledge is the editor of CityMetric. He is on Twitter as @jonnelledge and on Facebook as JonnElledgeWrites.

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