Lottie Lomme
When I was young I went on vacation with my parents. We had bad luck on the way and my father and I hitchhiked to get help down in the village. Situation: a small village in the mountains. We ourselves had driven slowly and carefully, much to the chagrin of about 15 drivers behind us, who knew every bend like the back of their hands and cursed us, stupid tourists.
When we hitchhiked we saw how Italians drive through those mountain roads, with squeaky tires, 80 kilometers per hour through a bend (because you know that nothing is coming). My father practiced his quick prayers and looked quite pale when we were downstairs.
Cycling in Italy
When I was a student in Bologna I bought a bicycle. Bicycles were just coming into fashion in Italy and it seemed very convenient, Dutch as I am, to cycle to the other side of the city on a bike. However, I soon noticed that there were no bike paths. That was somewhat difficult. It didn't matter so much for the smaller alleys with little traffic, but on the major arteries of the city I often feared for my life.
I was a reckless young student who pretended that he could race anywhere in between like a Dutchman, but the Italian drivers had no idea what to do with such a driver. Cutting the stride, raised hands and fingers, near-death experiences; it all fell to me. And perhaps also the Italian drivers who met me on the road. What? A biker? Mai Visto!
driving through a red light
All the fault of the Italians, of course. Which also forced me to face death when I was allowed to borrow a car from a friend in the center of Bologna. I stopped neatly for red and the car that stopped behind me started to honk. Hey? I didn't do anything wrong, did I? Was the handbrake off? Did my car smoke? Did the lights fail?
I asked my passenger. They want you to drive on. That I drive on? So by red. Uh, sì. I fit for that. I also found the intrusiveness of running a red light somewhat inappropriate. Like you want to risk an accident please. Well no, thanks.
Opposite a truck
Or the time I rented a car and had to traverse a mountain pass with hairpin bends in the pouring rain between Lugano and the lake como. I risked my life (and that of my fellow passenger). It was the first time I had to deal with hairpin bends as a driver. I come across a truck and we face each other exactly in the bend. Okay, back and up with this borrowed Fiat. Um, the handbrake, incline test, how does it all work again?
When we were down at the pass of the mountain, the TomTom sent me with the rented car through a medieval village. I was already afraid of accidentally turning into a one-way street, but unexpectedly, at the end of a road that was 10 centimeters wider than the car, I came to a dead end square. That was not pleasant either.
And then the lack of stripes on the road, which nevertheless suggests that traffic is a license to assert your Valentino Rossi aspirations in every way possible. sigh.
What was your last near-death experience in Italian traffic?
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