Every country embraces its unique solar system of acceptable irrationality, and it’s safe to say that outsiders on the whole find it challenging to adopt these philosophies as my own. Especially once you grow older.  I am no exception; I may try hard to adapt but at the end of the day I have my own ingrained habits to contend with already.

The latest embodiment of this reality involves driving into a busy town in the south of Italy in order to keep an afternoon appointment. This coastal city is renowned even by Italians for bonus servings of chaos and strange accents. The city’s borders are by no means geometric and the boundaries look like they were drawn by a Space Invaders laser cannon.  You might call it the Wild West (or “the Far West” as Italians literally say when they mean The Wild West). Suffice to say that parking and general navigation always call for healthy doses of “do what seems manageable”.

I have now passed driving tests in two nations (and each drive on opposite sides of the road). And even possessing this additional capability, in Italy I find it impossible to drive around and just “wing it”. I can’t forgo my comfortable buffer space. Furthermore, I hate arriving late for something ….and I dread letting people down right now when you consider that this trip marked the first week that southern Italy emerged from lockdown. Appointment times were in short supply and I really didn’t want to miss out on an appointment I’d managed to secure.

Driving south from Rome is something I’ve done enough to now know more or less what to expect. The stress in transiting is only low grade and usually I obviate the extra stressors by pulling into an unfamiliar place and swiping the very the first public parking spot I spy. Even if it’s not super close. This tactic might sounds really stupid to say—but if you were Italian you would have no issue with driving into the city with little fear for being late because you’d simply “create” a parking spot without much of a second thought. That’s because Italians have this resident knowledge for what is culturally acceptable—and what will get you a ticket. 

So while others (locals, mostly) opt for any old patch of asphalt in which to leave their car, I simply cannot do it. I’m not from this solar system.

I pulled into town an hour before my appointment. I passed over the skinny swing bridge that is its own piece of magical Italian logic. On occasion, it opens and allows to pass insanely large ships that make my apprehension for navigating a busy Italian town seem comic. 

And so I parked my car as soon as I possible could. Once in my spot, of course I had extra time to kill so I decided to explore a bit. A few steps away there was a horse butcher, as well as a gelateria (ice cream shop) with a clever sign that said, “Gelatiamo?” (essentially verbizing the noun and asking “Shall we go for ice cream?”) While attempting to cross one of the many intersections, I was suddenly met by an Alfa Romeo who appeared to be making an illegal U-turn. The car’s trademark nose was pointed right at me while I tried to use the strisce or zebra crossing. As we looked at each other, I paused a moment before stepping fully into the crosswalk. I expected him to commence with a reversing maneuver. Instead, the couple just looked at me until I passed around the car. It was almost like they were waiting for me to move first and as soon as I reached the right quarter of the car, they cut the engine. This was their patch of asphalt.

 And so as it turns out, by me standing at the start of a pedestrian crosswalk, I had effectively been standing in their parking space. How could I have known? I couldn’t have—unless I was Italian. And this happens all the time in Italy. I have many photos of this improvised parking arrangement and only now am I starting to pick up the pattern. Crosswalks are not just for feet to stand in.

I don’t care too much about BS parking arrangements in Italy unless they are blocking me from moving my car around them altogether. This doesn’t happen too often and if so, most Italians understand the rules and are ready to move their car. Still, by obeying my own pre-planned American movements, I almost always find extra time on my hands because I simply must budget in more time to transit. It’s like the excessively early airport arrival (when that used to be a thing)— but I’ll take the limbo time over the panic any day.

I don’t give myself such a hard time for being able to drive like an Italian. On the contrary, it usually translates into providing me with more time to look around and see things. Sure the Coliseum or Trajan’s Market are spectacular sites—but honestly the best parts of discovery come in the mundane. Southern Italy is great for this if you are a fan of unintentional comedy meets proud history and seamless contradiction.

I’ll be honest: each time I return home from one of these trips, I take a split second after cutting the engine of my car and think, “Whew! I live to explore another day!” I don’t really do it when any extreme sense of relief—it’s more me laughing at myself and at the entire situation. This kind of stuff gets a bit harder to wade through as you get older. Especially as an older foreigner. But that’s fine. And I’m also grateful that I had the opportunity to go out there and see what I could find. I made my appointment and even managed to not get run over by anyone parking in places that I didn’t recognize as such. Life is never boring, and each day I’m curious to discover what I’ll learn out here.