Attack of the Killer Pandas

There was a very smart article in what is arguably the best journal for all things Italian and most things Rome to be found in print or online. I'm talking about The Roman Forum, of course. The brainchild of Company, WalueEurope (don't ask -- well, I'll go ahead and just tell you...While 'W' in America means former President, George W. Bush, 'W' in Italy is often called 'V', pronounced 'Vu'), its Director is Chiara Di Pietro, with Editor-in-Chief, Brit, Anthony Smith. And kudos go out to Art Designer, Eugenio Catalano. This trifecta, giving us so much on things Roman, I wholly expect them to be wearing laurel wreaths when I happen to run into one or the other around town.

Anyway, in the September issue, you'll find the article about Driving in Italy, penned by Robert Shipley, clearly a man after my own heart (although I was saddened to learn upon reading it, he's married).
the notorious killer panda
He goes on to provide a perfect listing of things to watch out for if you're driving on Italian highways. Now, it's a 2 part article, so, I'm afraid to preempt his listing, but, I'd like to add a few more caveats:

- It is not my experience (and I used to drive over 5000km / month) that people pass on the right, except in city centers. But on those 3-lane highways, you will find absolutely no motorist worth his salt (and I stress his), in the far-right lane, dedicated to slow vehicles. Truckers and slow pokes will simply not take a blow to their masculinity and be caught ever in the slow lane, forcing all other cars going over 80km/hr to pass in the left lane, risking to be back-ended by the approaching car coming in at 160, before being able to make their way to the middle lane.

- As I mentioned in a previous post, those white pandas nowadays are as rare as the real things (and they're undeniably just as cute); They've been upgraded to SUVs, pulling all the same maneuvers, but now, seriously posing a life-threatening risk.

Of course, no rules apply to motorinos. Foreign visitors are left mouth-gaping the way they drive down the center lane, weave in and out, pass all over the place, and then jump the gun. I'm used to it, but utterly shocked the death rate for them is not infinitely greater.

As for Shipley's query about driving down the middle lane? That's easy to figure out. Staking out the middle means you can take your pick literally, down the road...

Driving in Italy: Not for the weak of heart

I recall while on family trips Up North Michigan, every so often, and usually near a fork or exit ramp, you would spot totally smashed cars lying there as if cast off from some end of the world flick like I Am Legend.
My dad would tell us (as he put a faux police light atop the car and pressed the pedal to the metal), that it was to deter people from speeding. Obviously America, a country founded on bloodshed, needs to shock and awe people into taking action. Talk about scared straight (although that could have come about from our own attempts at breaking the sound barrier).

In nostalgic Italy, in what is at first unsettling, but then totally awesome in its commemorative appeal, Italians mark those hard bends, merges and major intersections with spontaneous flower memorials – infinitely more heartfelt than grave markers (out of sight, out of mind). As you wind along the roads of Italy, in bustling city centers or along the countryside, you’ll find flowers wrapped on the side of the bruised tree, or around the odd bent pole. You think of the person whose spirit sailed away that day, and, if you’re wise, you slow down a bit.

And, although it doesn't seem to have quite the same effect on drivers, I find these memorials so eloquent in their simplicity -- they literally drive the point home far better than leaving auto carcasses strewn along the roadside.

Rest in Perpetual Traffic

Hell on Wheels

I am a feminist. I truly am. It’s just that when it comes to women drivers in Italy, I tend to side with the Saudis. The other day a report came out which proved one of my pet theories: SmartCar drivers were actually pretty stupid when it comes to using their automobiles. Incredibly, they were even more stupid than the SUV owners, who, by all accounts, simply ignore that there are things called lanes, stop signs and other petty inconveniences like other cars along their path, never mind parking spaces and pedestrians.

And, while you will get run down or cut off by both SmartCars and SUVs driven by both sexes fairly equally, I still believe it’s the women that cause more harm. Men, you see, actually take pleasure in using other vehicles in much the same way as little rubber ducks in a shooting gallery. The women don’t even see that there are dozens of ducks paddling along in the first place all desperately trying to avoid the one with the loaded weapon.

There was a time in the 80s and 90s when it was easy to spot these reckless drivers. Back then, husbands let their wives on the road as long as they were inside a FIAT UNO or Panda, basically the equivalent of a Chevy Chevette or Ford Fiesta, without the comforts. And in a sort of unspoken code, these guys collectively set out to mark which wives to watch out for – the women’s cars were always – without exception – white.
And so, when you found yourself anywhere near a white UNO (I might add the same car thought to have set off the crash which killed Princess Di), you knew to let them go ahead, or run the red light before they crashed into you from behind, or how to beat them so they wouldn’t lane drift right through your passenger side window.

But, unfortunately, with the new millennium, came the upgrade. These women insisted on immense SUVs for their one-child brood. Some sporty types opted for the SmartCars. All are now fully armed with cell phones on which they talk incessantly. They went from driving a mass weapon of destruction to actually becoming weapons of mass destruction. One look in your rear view mirror to see a woman on a mission, cellphone in hand, careening into your lane, you know you have no way out.

And after your car has been squashed like an accordion, they are the first to pop out screaming into their cellphones while yelling indirectly at you what a loser you are for having caused such a horrible scene. While you are busy checking your pulse to see that you are still, in fact, alive, they have already hopped back into their unscathed auto and taken off at full speed toward their next target – leaving you to ponder how life might look in Saudi Arabia.

Man's Best Fiend?

The other day I met some friends at Rome airport’s Car Rental Room (something not unlike a rubber room at an insane asylum -- just add rubber). I had little Trevor in tow. The reaction to my little beast or beauty (depending on which side you were) turned the room into the Continental Divide -- Europe – vs – America.

The Americans traveling with small children were greatly relieved to have a little distraction to ward off the oncoming tantrums. They huddled around Trevor, encouraged their kids to pet him, sat the littler ones around him, showing them how to pet, kiss, and hug him, calling him over time and again…

The Italian kids seeing an actual stuffed animal come to life were just as eager. But the mammas would chase after their little bundles, screaming “Don’t touch! Don’t go near! No petting! Attenzioooonnnnnnneeeeeeeee, Giovannnnnnniiiiiiiiiiii!!!!!!” One look at Trevor and he might actually turn into one of those little Gremlins, spring into action and devour little Giovanni’s head – all in one fell swoop. Some parents (okay, I’ll be honest…the dads) would lead their kids by the hand to hover over Trevor; their hands outstretched just above fur area. I kept repeating over and over “È buono, È bravo”, but to no avail; they knew there was a darker and more vicious beast over in a corner watching their every move to a centimeter of their life…and they weren’t going to be the one to spring that one into action.

From the worried looks on the mammas’ faces, I could tell they had already checked where the Airport Chapel was—in case they needed to administer last rights--after all, one touch of the hand and their child would turn into a huge boil just oozing bacteria & perhaps even the plague itself.

Naturally, once they got their cars (sans Kiddie Car Seat, it costs more), there Giovanni would go, right into mammas lap—no seatbelts, of course – head perched just in front of the airbag release, thanking God at last that their bambino survived the beast.

Driving in Italy: Your Midnight Run

The one great thing about staying in the city thru August is the lack of traffic. What usually takes 45 mins on a good day (plus another 20 to find parking), becomes a swift 15 mins in the summer. But, while one might think that with fewer cars, driving is actually in some way better or safer, think again. Because it’s during the lonely month of summer, when everyone starts running the red lights, pulling U-turns when you least expect it, and driving at top speeds that, even if they managed to see you in their path, they wouldn’t be able to stop their vehicle in time to miss you.

So, actually, while with the heavy traffic you can be sure that people are sort of lulled into obeying the traffic rules, in August, anything goes. I make it a point (in August) of never ever running a yellow as it’s about to change -- because I know there is an entire fleet of motor scooters and cars already jumping the green on the other side.

And if that’s not enough, in an attempt to make everyone cautious, at midnight (year round), all the lights start flashing yellow. This is actually an excellent idea. Somewhere down the line, someone clued into the idea that at night, with very little traffic, people were running the reds and making the guys who innocently sped through the greens a statistic.

But, the idea would be a bit better if they were yellow on one side and perhaps flashing red on the other side. So, one knew or, in the very least, believed, that the other guy has to stop before throwing his 2000lb vehicle into oncoming traffic. And if they ran the red, at least it’d be a lot clearer to the police who was at fault for not stopping.

So, basically with both sides flashing yellow, instead of making everyone cautious, the effect turns out to be the exact opposite. No macho guy (or gal) worth his salt is going to look like the jerk who actually slowed down, of all things. Intersections turn into a free for all game of cat and mouse, except it looks a bit more like Tom&Jerry [actually, I think it’s a bit more like Wyle E. Coyote and the roadrunner—but without the Acme instant spring kit on the wheels of your car].

In short, while racing through the streets of Rome is wonderful during the day, at midnight it’s not the Werewolves you need to fear, it’s the Formula 1 Wannabees.

Baby on Board

As the Italians pile into their cars to head home from their month of repose, they all follow the same tradition: pile the luggage in the trunk, the mother-in-law in the back, and the baby, right up front in mamma’s arms. If they’re little enough, and papà's bored enough on the long drive, sometimes, as a car passes at 90mph, I look over to see baby actually standing on papà's lap, hands held firm on the steering wheel, everyone all a-smiles.

Obviously, the Italians feel (despite the statistics to the contrary) that their children are immune to decapitation-by-airbag or other atrocities that could occur in case of the most minor fender bender; in a country in which fender benders are often fatal. For them, this simply does not pose a life-threatening situation (unlike those of air currents, wet hair and bare feet in the house). Well, I’ve sort of made this my personal crusade. As mothers strap their kids in the front seats, I generally poke my head in the window (I confess: I am a ficanaso - an unrepentant busybody) and remind them of their folly.

The reactions I receive run the gamut of MYOB from a modest, ‘bug off’ to today’s insult, “may you and your dog be decapitated first.” I wanted to remind the mother that I was not the one with my head posed directly in front of a missile that will fire at 280 km/hour…but, she sped off before I could tell her as much.
Instead of seeing that they are literally playing Russian roulette with a loaded air bag, even friends who go to great lengths to put their kids in harm’s way whilst at the wheel -- while taking all kinds of precautions whilst indoors-- will inform you that you are simply being an over-protective American… This, from a society that fears a bogeyman will take their children’s lives should they even pass by an open window on a hot summer’s day.

I have finally, however, figured out the illogic (of their reaction to me, not of their action in the first place--that will forever remain a mystery): Italy, although a “Catholic” country (quotes intentional), has a populace whose beliefs sway from the superstitious to the absolute surreal. So, when someone says, “Watch Out! You may get killed or, hurt, or worse,” well, they view it as if you have just put a curse on them. Of course, rather than take the precautions to ward off precisely that threat, they just touch their balls (if they have them…the Italian version of ‘knock on wood’) and carry on. Thus the reaction of the drivers in question.

The encounters usually end with me looking at the car as it runs off, ATTENZIONE: Bebe A Bordo signs posted carefully in back – a 21st century talisman -- warning other drivers they better be careful because they have a baby in the front seat, no seatbelt. I dream of the ad campaign in which those test dummies fly around a car at top speed, and the fact that the Italians wouldn’t even have to invent the ad; they’re so good at dubbing, they could just copy it…
And the mothers with their little bundles of joy? They speed off, babies secure in their laps, but, even if the car has no A/C, windows closed tight to ward off certain death from the air currents.

Driver's Ed

I admit it: I've been living in Italy for over 20 years, and, although I drive like a Formula1 expert, I don't have an Italian driver's license. This is not to thumb my nose at the system, the problem actually rests with the U.S.A. They don't accept Italians' licenses in America, so, the Italians don't accept ours. Both countries, however, don't have a problem allowing drivers from countries to tear up the roadways, coming from places where they don't even have cars on their roads; so go figure. But, really, I cannot see the logic. Italians make excellent drivers. In order to race all the others like a bat outta hell just to make the red light, through roundabouts and merges, and create four lanes where there is only one, all the while talking on the cell phone and dodging dozens of motor scooters, well, in my opinion takes excellent acumen and finesse. So, it's simply not true they "drive crazy". They combine skills, speed and defensive driving all in one and we should have more drivers in America like the Italians.  As a side bonus, they also don't usually practice the American phenomenon of Road Rage (although the Pope came out on this recently - see article under 'notizie' in side bar).


So, why don't I have a license? Whereas an Italian who goes to get a license in America spends all of about 2.5 hours in which they: stand in line, take the 15 question multiple-choice test, and go for a quick drive around the block, well, in Italy it's totally another matter: Read this entry from a friend who naively or bravely embarked on the road to driving legally in Italy:

So, you think buying a house in Italy is difficult? Try getting an Italian drivers license. There are two ways of going about this: legally or illegally. Illegally is a no-brainer. Simply pay 800 euros or more to the right person and get your license (maybe). It turns out there are many con artists, so this is a risky proposition to undertake.
Legally, is the great adventure of all adventures. You can: (1) do it on your own (not recommended) or (2) take a class.


Doing it on your own requires a Sherlock Holmes type personality. Lacking this trait, I elected to enroll in a class. Along with three other expats, we hired an Italian driving instructor to give us a class on the rules and regulations for obtaining a driver's license. The cost was 350 euros each. We met twice per week, two hours per session for almost four months.


During this time, our instructor discussed many things, most of which put me to sleep. I discovered that the Italian love of expressing oneself extends to their road signs, of which there are approximately 200. There are signs underneath signs, combinations of signs, and signs that tell you to ignore the other signs.


There are also human signs, called policemen. If the policeman is higher than the road sign, his directions take precedence. However, if he is of short stature, without a box to stand on, you may ignore him with impunity (referred to as the 'height makes might' standard). If you think the above is complicated, try to understand the 'right of way rule' -- without a Phd in mathematics.


This rule states, that at a junction without a stop or yield sign, the person on your right has the right of way. Sounds simple enough. However, what happens if you enter a junction with seven roads all merging together? (In Italy, these really do exist). Option one, you get out of your car, make a diagram, and have a group discussion on who has the right of way. Option two, he who has the fastest machine goes first, e.g., 'the tortoise and the hare rule'.


After 4 months of class, we were still unprepared to take the test. What we should have studied was the Test Question Manual, consisting of 3000 questions. Unfortunately, this manual, finally in English, was only in production for two weeks.
The written exam is taken at the Office of Motorizazzione in Rome. The first time I went, the computers broke down. The second time, I forgot my identification and was sent home. The third time, after waiting four hours, I was led into a small room with 20 other hopefuls. There were two proctors making sure answers were not being read off our shirt sleeves. We had 30 minutes to answer 30 questions. Sound straight forward? Nope.
In order to pass, you must think like an Italian. Major tip: opt out of the written exam and request the oral exam, available to all expatriates. Once you pass the exam, (you have three chances), you then register for the driving test (cost 94 euros). You take the test. You pass!!! Do you receive your drivers license? No. It must be printed. When? That's still a mystery. But you are now legal.
Congratulations!
Paperwork Required: (1) Passport (2) Permesso di Soggiorno (Resident's Permit) (3) Carta d'Identità (I.D. card) (4) Driving School form (5) Eye exam (6) Bollo (or tax stamp available at some Tabacco shops) for taking test 7) 3 passport size photos


My copy of the English manual is available to the highest bidder.


Submitted by Linda Penzabene and Brian Rothbart, Albano Italy

Zebra Stripes

From where I sit, here in Bella Roma, we are undecidedly into an unprecedented phase of global warming, but, I’m not complaining. It hasn’t rained in months. Each day, you wake up to another beautiful blue sky. It’s simply gorgeous. But, I remember a few year’s back, when the mercury hit well over 100 degrees for weeks. That was the infamous summer when the French declared that 8000 people had perished prematurely due to the heat. And where, we all believed the figure to be much higher here in Italy, but nobody ever coughed up the statistic.
It was that summer, though, where an innocuous law was passed, that came in like an Arctic Breeze.
It was the law, in an attempt to protect much, if not all, of its citizenry, which dictated that cars would have to stop when pedestrians entered the crosswalk. And, as a dog-walker, well, you can imagine my elation. Visions of Swiss villages danced in my head. New worlds, new civilizations – a chance to go where no man had gone before. And, I tested it out to the max. In Milan, where pretty much drivers regard anything in motion (including other cars and even large long metal trams) as something not unsimilar to ducks in a shooting gallery, well, I would step off the curb, and cars would come screeching to a halt.
It was wonderful. Sublime. The power back to the people. After all, who came first, man or machine?
It was also far too good to be true. Like a mirage in the desert, before even the heat lifted, and as you focused your eyes, drivers realized that no one was really looking (except those lame two-legged pedestrians). And, with no cops to enforce it, well, it wasn’t long before Filipinos pushing wheelchairs, and mammas with strollers, were back at it – playing a life & death version of dodge’em cars.

Here in Rome, it’s gotten to the point where cars, in order to make their illegal left turns, actually take to driving DOWN the white lines as if they, too, were pedestrians; shaking their fists all the while at any of us who deign to challenge the maneuver. I’ve pulled my little dog out of harm’s way on countless occasions; only to look up to find insults being hurled at me from the front window.
I find it slightly amusing, and actually quite intelligent, that the crosswalk signals flash green for ‘go’, but, almost a split-second later, start flashing yellow. Basically, they’re the Italian version of the Brits' charming 'Look Left' painted on every curbside. Except here, we're being warned: cross at your own risk.

Today they repainted the crosswalks. That’s after conducting a study that found that drivers didn’t respect the crosswalks because basically, they couldn’t actually see them.
But on my busy corner, where, the newly installed cameras must have shown the atrocities being committed at every single light change, well, they determined it was better to just ‘not go there’ and repainted the crosswalk simply black.