The car: Papa's Citroen c5, built low and wide for stability on the highway.
The street: about as wide as a motorbike... at least to my easily intimidated eye. To the eyes of Papa', who has years of experience battling the tiny streets, it's an opportunity to demonstrate the Italian ability to alter the laws of physics through shear will power.
He takes a moment, half a second really, to examine the entrance of the corridor. Then he inches forward.
The car has built in detectors all around it that beep with increasing frequency as you approach an obstacle... at this moment the front sensors are blinking red on the control panel and a single high pitched note rings uninterrupted through the car.
beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee...
Undeterred by these protests, Papa' makes a subtle adjustment to the wheel and moves a couple more inches.
The "beeeee..." becomes a squeal of panic as the back sensors enter the alley as well.
Another slight turn of the wheel, and Papa' confidently drives down the cobbled street, feeling that the worst is over now that he has indeed managed to fit the whole car into the street.
The Citroen is actually crying now, hiccuping between long drawn out beeps of fear.
Papa's response?
Accelerate.
We go from 2mph to 40 in the space of 5 meters... at which point he hits the brakes again; an old man has a door open onto the street as he moves some boxes into his house.
Papa' had seen the obstacle ahead before he accelerated, and knew that it would only be a couple meters before he'd have to stop again, but for Italian drivers any amount of open space justifies maximum speed. Why dawdle?
And it's hard to reprimand him when his car is still spotless. Other, less experienced drivers, have long scars along the sides of there cars; painful reminders of streets that really were impossibly narrow, and spaces that actually were too tight.
But not Papa'.
Not one tiny scratch can be found on the shiny black exterior of his Citroen C5.
No comments:
Post a Comment