Wednesday, May 18, 2011

Last Days in Roma

If Italian drivers were in the USA they would be shot; if USA drivers were in Italy they would be dead. Rome is like one big traffic circle. The cars, buses, scooters and motorcycles just flow together like red blood cells in a vein. There really isn't road rage, but more of an outpouring of emotions via the hand waving, horn blowing and yelling. There is no cussing or bird flipping--- it's more like a heated family argument on wheels. Scooters make up about 60% of the traffic and without them Rome would be gridlocked. Any space as wide as their handlebars they will squeeze through. When I'm on the bus it looks like they are actually going under the bus. Americans look like amateurs next to to these drivers.

There are no trucks in Rome. The biggest thing you see is a delivery van. I wonder how they get stuff into the city. Either they have tunnels or the trucks only make deliveries at night. There was an accident about a block before our bus stop. It caused our electro-bus to go a block in the lane without the overhead wires. Then we got back in the lane and everybody had to get off because the battery died before the antennas could reconnect with the overhead cables. The driver shoo's everybody off the bus and the mob has to find its way to the local bus that is stopping in some strange place. This really caused a lot of hand waving chatter. I think that's why these people are so happy: they get it all out.

The Romans also are a beautiful people. It's like you take the handsomest person in your high school and make them 90% of the population. Then you take the second best looking and that's the other 10%. You can tell the Americans, they are fat, ugly and wearing shorts and hats. Italians don't wear jeans, t-shirts, baseball hats, shorts or fanny packs. There are no beards, eyeglasses (except they all wear sunglasses) or dumb looks. They just look put together. Hopefully the plane will allow me seven hours to decompress and reacclimate to American Chic.



M- said...

The traffic sounds just like what I remember from Madrid. The people sound like what we saw in England. We knew we were back in North America when we landed in Toronto and women were wearing sweat pants.

Aunt Annie said...

ha ha...welcome home, peracchio family, welcome home.