Driving In Rome

Finding somewhere to park in Rome is not easy. People have been known to hang onto a parking space for weeks, their cars idle, rather than risk never finding another one.  Yes, it’s insane, I know - just like everything else to do with driving a car in this city.
You need to have nerves of steel and be totally oblivious to your fellow drivers. Only the strongest and most bloody-minded survive. Slowing down to let a pedestrian cross the street, giving way to another car, stopping at a red traffic light, driving within the speed limit, simply being courteous to others…

(You must be joking!)

Italian women are less likely to give way than men, which is hardly surprising if you look back at what they have had to put up with in order to get anywhere in this very masculine society.

(They are at war)

A female traffic warden - they feel they have something to prove - will be far tougher than her male counterpart who, more often than not, will sympathise with an offender if his excuse for running several traffic lights, destroying a vast number of vehicles and private property and maiming and slaughtering myriad pedestrians is good enough. Throw in a school, an orphanage or an old folks’ home and you’re home scot-free. The more outlandish the performance the better. An excuse involving children and grandmothers never fails. But not with the female traffic warden, whose expression as she writes out the ticket will remain rigidly indifferent to even the most heartbreaking of stories, true or false.
Yet in spite of women’s hard fought progress and success, it is the Italian ‘mamma’ who put the Italian male on a pedestal. Mothers frequently gloat and cluck over the size of their baby boys’ genitals.

(Yes, they really do)

So it is hardly surprising that the Italian male grows up with a thing about his private parts. No matter how ugly he might be, he honestly expects every woman to fall at his feet, and thinks there must be something wrong with the woman who doesn’t. Mamma pumped him full of confidence, made him believe he is God’s gift to the opposite sex, a conviction that no number of rejections will undermine.
However, should you see an Italian man giving his testicles a hearty scratch, he isn’t trying to impress a woman…

(He isn’t?!)

… he has just seen or heard something that he means to avoid at any price. He’s warding off the evil eye. It is not unusual to see a group of men on a street corner suddenly interrupt their conversation to give themselves a vigorous precautionary scratch.
Italians are actually quite superstitious. Many carry a ‘corno’ (a fake animal’s horn) in their pockets, usually attached to a key ring, which they rub at times of trouble, again to ward off the evil eye. You can also see them hanging from a car’s rear-view mirror, alongside those little deodorant trees or baby shoes.
A black cat crossing the street will bring traffic to a complete and chaotic halt, as drivers, eager to avoid who knows what misfortune, slam brake pedals through the floor, the sudden stop causing a long line of rear-end collisions. No one cares. No one moves. Everyone waits for another car to drive by, at which point there is a collective sigh of relief and traffic may circulate once again. Problems arise of course if it is a quiet street, and traffic non-existent. Drivers have been known to spend the better part of a day waiting for another car to come along or, tired of waiting, eventually reverse back up the street and take an alternative route.
I heard a story of a man and his wife, who sat in their car for days on end, waiting and waiting… waiting and waiting. It wasn't long before hunger and thirst reared their ugly heads. Okay, you might ask, why didn’t one of them get out of the car and go buy food and drink? Their relationship was on the rocks, that’s why, and neither one was going to give in to the other. Pride, stupid pride! The truth is they hated each other. Finally, starving and unable to resist any longer, the man attacked his wife… and ate her.

(Oh, please!)

In court, the man pleaded not guilty. The judge, who had himself experienced more than one ‘black cat’ situation, understood and let him off.

(And if you believe that, you’ll believe anything)

Though driving in Rome is chaotic and infuriating, and at times totally incomprehensible, road rage is not part of the Italian driver’s psyche, never has been and, with luck, never will be. Italians are not a bellicose people, which is reflected in their every day life, putting them way ahead of the rest of us. God bless ‘em.
Yes, Italian men…

(And women)

… will curse and wave their fists out the window. It is par for the course, but quite innocuous. And, yes, men will sometimes get out of their cars, but only to stand nose to nose and scream abuse at each other, using their fists the last thing on their minds. Finally, as their anger ebbs and the curses lose their intensity, they start to back away from each other and inch towards their cars, the fight that elsewhere in the world would have erupted into urban warfare defusing rapidly. But unfortunately, before getting back into his car, one or the other…

(His pride not allowing him to just walk away from it - can’t be left with egg on one’s face, not good for the male ego, something called ‘bella figura’, meaning ‘face’, ‘prestige’ or words to that effect)

… will fire off a parting remark, something derogatory aimed at the other’s grandmother, mother, wife or girlfriend who, unbeknownst to him, just happens to be in the car. Oh, no! Out she comes, spitting nails, to force her man to step once again into the fray, both he and the other man wishing she'd been left at home. Reluctantly, they return to their battle positions, nose to nose, and repeat the curses, though with perhaps less conviction…
At this point, the audience of pedestrians and motorists watching the performance, possibly disappointed with developments and now eager to get on with their lives…

(Who knows what saga the next traffic light might bring?)

… will intervene by shouting scornful remarks, thus putting a fast end to the fight and sending the humbled and greatly relieved ‘combatants’ on their way.
Now crossing the street, and surviving that particular adventure, is another story. But it can be done. Never confuse the oncoming drivers by changing speed. It is vital that…

(Despite the conviction you are going to die)

… you maintain an external calm as you face this nightmare-inspiring vehicular assault. Keep your eyes on the approaching drivers, anticipate their every move. They will not decelerate, but will gauge your speed to theirs and drive around you. It is a simple question...

(Of knowing your enemy)

... of timing.  Don’t let them see your fear; it will only serve to egg them on. If they see someone hesitating on the edge of the curb, too afraid to take that first step across the street, they gloat, triumphant.

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