I am not Catholic, and even though there are only Catholic churches here, I decided to consider attending after last week’s hair raising bus trip. The new driver, who had replaced my last, who was a more calm and laid back driver, gave me a bit of the spectacular and unexpected. Most bus drivers are exceptional and safe drivers. Yet I began to believe, that Dale Earnhardt must have an Italian relative?
I usually sit in the first seat so I can enjoy the view when leaving the city and reaching my village. That was my first mistake! I want to die peacefully in my sleep, like my grandfather, certainly not screaming and yelling like the passengers in my bus. I had a front row seat feeling quite imperilled as the bus flew around corners, screeched to stops, and brushed by pedestrians who suddenly decided they should have stayed home.
|He Always Got The Girls|
I was reminded of the first auto chase movie I had seen as a child, the 1958 movie, Thunder Road, starring Robert Mitchum. (Yes, I am old!) Speeding his home-made liquor through the hills in his souped up jalopy, racing away from the authorities, screeching tires, he seemed to escape from the police at every attempt to deliver his hooch and get paid. But here in Italy there are very few police on the roads, so there is little chance to catch bad drivers who violate rules. And certainly there are no hooch makers evading the police.
My ride last week was no donkey derby. It was more of a hair raising Grand-Prix that started off when I boarded the bus. When I stepped onto the bus the door hit my in the butt and I grabbed a railing to hold on. I struggled to climb the stairs and grab a front seat as the bus left two black stripes on the pavement. From my seat the driver, hair combed back as if the wind trained it, leaned forward to adjust the his radio as he wheeled into a right turn and entered the city traffic, pushing his way into a circle and bullying the small Italian cars into submission.
|One Handed/Half Brained|
Every turn was taken too fast, forcing the bus to lean. We heard tires screeching at every stop, some just in time, barely missing the car in front. Speed was his object, this guy lived like Mario Andretti, “If everything seems under control, you're not going fast enough.” I realised I had chosen the wrong seat as there was nothing between me and the big windshield. The guy really had a control issue, and we were all part of it! We even skipped one stop where 8 angry passengers waved their arms in a useless signal. You win some, you lose some, you wreck some, this was my driver’s apparent motto, while I just wanted to finish above ground.
It wasn’t the speed, or the turns that scared me the most. It was the driving too close, the bullying of the cars in front. It was the pushing them from the road. Where were the police when you need them? Who is going to challenge a huge bus in one of these tiny cars. This bus would eat this car for breakfast!
An old joke came to mind about driving. “My wife had her driver's test the other day. She got 8 out of 10. The other 2 guys jumped clear.”
We not only brushed past pedestrians but an old lady on a bike got a few more grey hairs when she had to stop in the middle of a crossing as our bus swerved to miss her. (In Italy pedestrians have the right of way, especially in a painted cross walk.)
I did not complain to the driver as I was afraid he would not stop at my village. There are few stops outside of Padova, and it would be a long walk if he intentionally missed it. I did mention to him, when we reached the finish line, that this must have been his personal best. Then I sent a text to my wife, MNFA, Make No Funeral Arrangements!
You learn to appreciate the calm life of a quiet village in funny ways.