Mobility in Italy

What are the things in life I'm most afraid of?  Well, that would be The Scream roller-coaster at Six Flags, menacing summertime cockroach infestations, getting a bad haircut, any and all horror films, dying alone as an old chain-smoking spinster with 17 overweight cats, etc.  And until a few weeks ago that list also included driving in Italy.  There aren't many things in life that I've been so sure I would never do, but getting behind the wheel in any Mediterranean country, especially Italy, was something I swore up and down I'd never have the chutzpah to attempt.  Just goes to show you should never say never.

anyone who knows what this means, feel free to enlighten me.

I remained in Italy this summer to complete an internship required for my degree.  A professor of mine who is also an artist got me a position at an art foundation located several kilometers outside Torino.  I'd be working with the first artist-in-residence for a new international educational residency program linking artists in Italy, Egypt, Brazil and India.  Of course I agreed immediately because the project interested me, but there was one catch.  The artist doesn't drive (how bohemian), so I'd have to not only help her with projects, but use a car for the 7 weeks of her residency.  It was almost comical at first, like karma or something.  I'd always told my friends, professors and colleagues here that I would never drive in Italy because it's just too crazy - the streets are too small, the cars come too close, red lights are simply suggestions, street signs and indications are incomprehensible (and not just because they're in another language).

My little Ypsilon!

But one month ago I arrived by train in middle-of-nowhere Piedmont to pick up the rental car, a silver-grey Lancia Ypsilon, and meet the artist.  Luckily Dina is a pleasure to work with and the foundation honored my request of finding an automatic transmission (hooray!)  Those first 2 days were terrible, I was frightened beyond belief - I thought I was going to hit everything that came within one meter of my vehicle.  I sat perched on the end of my seat, expecting the worst and readying myself to play defense.  I managed fairly well, perhaps because of my impeccable reflexes or my ability to rationalize unthinkable maneuvers based on the fact that someone in front of me is doing it.  I arrived home unscathed despite the rain and rush hour, only having been honked at 3 times - but at this point I think honking is Italian for "whaddayathinkyadoin?"

My epithet: B.L.Shultz, conquerer of the dreaded Italian roundabout.

By day 3 in the car my heartbeat had regulated, I was leaning back against the seat, my window was rolled down enough to allow for ample gesture-throwing and I wasn't too scared to turn on the way-too-'90s Italian radio stations.  I was driving in Italy and I finally got the hang of the anarchical vehicular madness!  That first week as I drove down the peaceful field-lined country roads leading to the foundation, I smiled to myself thinking "I can't believe I'm driving in Italy.  I never ever thought I'd be capable of this.  Now I'm convinced I can do just about anything."

Beautiful art foundation where I work in the Piedmont countryside

© Fondazione Spinola Banna per l'Arte

Of course having a car meant I had the freedom of actually going places on my own time for the first time since I've been here.  I didn't have to check bus schedules or consider walking times.  I was free as a bird!  Except for ridiculous parking restrictions and even-more-ridiculous Italian version of "parking" as we know it: double-parking as a lifestyle, leaving your car on the stripes in the middle of the road with your hazards on, using the sidewalk as a parking spot, disregarding pedestrian crossings and the like.  So stressful.  Just as soon as I got excited about the freedom of a car I was given a reminder of all the annoying responsibilities that come along with it - paying to park, finding spots, traffic, check-ups, and buying gas!  One liter (.26 gallons) of fuel is 1.42 euros ($2.02) and this little baby takes only diesel!  Can you believe it?!

My bike on Via Garibaldi, Turin's shopping district.

Realizing I would be giving up the car in a week but unwilling to give up my newfound mobility, I decided to find a bicycle.  This is also linked to my missing home recently, as my bike was one way I really enjoyed the summer, the city and exercising.  I went to the Saturday flea market and bought an old bike for 40 euros: maroon, 5 speed, decent brakes, girl's frame, and old school lights that are powered by my pedaling.  I outfitted it with a new bell (necessary for the busy streets of Turin) and a basket for toting my purse along.  Now I just couldn't be happier!

My bike in Piazza Castello in front of Palazzo Reale.

I've gone out a few times this week to cruise around downtown and stop for a coffee and write a bit in my journal.  Thankfully Torino is a fairly bike-friendly city and the only thing I'm truly afraid of (at least these days) is getting whiplash from riding along broken old cobblestone streets!