The first days in Sicilian traffic: is this a good day to die?
A new life after sixty: “Do you, do you, do you, do you wanna dance? Well do you wanna dance under the moonlight?” Don’t know why, but driving in Sicily reminds me of the old Ramones’ hit.
In case I haven’t offended enough of the locals with my headline, let me try another one, just to make sure:
Have you ever had a nightmare, where you’re naked? And everybody around you is… well… not?
This is how it can feel, the first time you attempt to drive into a roundabout in Sicily. At least when I had my first go at it.
I will try another poor metaphor.
As a general rule, most of us would agree that it’s not the greatest idea to attempt to polka, when your partner and all others on the dance floor are waltzing or dancing a mazurka for that matter. Right?
And it would be the same mistake, if you try to drive like a correct Ordnung-muss-sein-German or even a sloppy whatever-dude-Dane in a Sicilian roundabout. It is simply not the natural habitat for these creatures of the North.
In Germany, you are supposed to await you turn before entering a roundabout. When there is an appropriate opening, you drive into the correct position for when you must exit. In short: “Quadratisch. Praktisch. Gut.” It is the safest way. And to most people the logical approach.
Well, not here.
Like in really not.
At all.
Show that you are not to be trifled with
Before I get to my take on Sicilian traffic rules, let me just mention that if you are here for the first time or are a recent newcomer, this is, where I since April have been detailing the experiment that my wife, our 70-80 kg English Mastiff, Aunt Emma, and I have embarked on. Despite me just turning sixty we have begun a life as digital nomads working far from what used to be home.
After these messages from our sponsor, let me attempt to describe the way it works in the traffic here. First, there are some basic ground rules that you need to be aware of. As far as I have gleaned, all traffic rules here are mostly regarded as friendly suggestions that you might want to consider.
Or not.
Which is what most people do.
The not-part, I mean.
Second, it’s practical to have a few dents in your car before you attempt the roundabout. Just like you normally don’t offend the guy in the bar with a broken nose, the fresh cuts and bruises to his face (unless you are the one that supplied him with them). Here the scars of your car send a clear signal to the other drivers that you are not to be trifled with (you should see the other guy’s car). And my lovely Volvo have a couple of serious dents. The XC90 also have the advantage of being bigger than most other cars around, mostly Fiat Panda and the likes. Sorry to tell you that, but here as in the school yard it pays to be bigger than the others around you.
Third, use the horn. A lot. As opposed to Denmark or Germany, the horn is there to be used. Preferably to annoy people that can’t move forward either. Like in Tel Aviv, Israel, the horn seems to be the most important part of the vehicle.
This was the ground rules. To be remembered at all times. If in doubt they are your guiding light.
An opening large enough for a mouse
Back to the roundabout, in Sicily you don’t wait for an appropriate space for you to enter. That’s way too logical. Also you would never have a chance to enter the roundabout. The other cars just keep coming in a steady stream.
No, no. instead you slowly ease your way in. At best slowly but persistent like it’s your right: “nothing to see here, move along.” One fluent motion is good like in a slow dance. Otherwise, do it inch by inch, until other cars already in the roundabout are forced to wait for you to get all the way in. Also expect the guy on your right (or left) to overtake you in the roundabout. And if there’s an opening large enough for a mouse, expect a Vespa or another motorized two-wheeler to swerve by you. Most of them without helmets:
- Ciao, Bella!
It might sound like a free for all. And in some ways, it is.
However, there seem to be not rules but some sort of unspoken code to be observed. Just like the first time I had to wait in line in Moscow. There was no orderly line like back home. Everybody was just standing all around in one big chaotic mass of people drinking tea or something slightly stronger. But everybody knew exactly their position in the line.
How, I might hear you ask. Easy, I might answer you: every time a new person entered, they’d ask: who is the last one in the line? Someone would speak up, and the newbie was now the last in line. Of course, someone very well-dressed would saunter right by the proletariat waiting patiently, this privileged person was very often accompanied by a uniformed type with a square face. As the saying almost goes “money walks, others wait in line.”
Only newbies wait on the sidewalk
And here far away from unsmiling Russia, there is also an accepted code of conduct. It’s the same one where people walk in the middle of a two-lane busy street. There isn’t a sidewalk and whenever there is one, it’s usually occupied by a parked car. So the only place for pedestrians is out among the oncoming traffic. The cars adapt to that too. Only newbies (like me) wait on the sidewalk till it seems safe. All the locals just walk out in the middle of it.
Just like the in the roundabout, there is an ease to it. That is just how it’s done. And it works. Even the cops don’t look twice, when they drive by.
There seems to be a certain amount of consideration, laissez-faire (fancy word for “whatever dude” or live and let live) or civilized behavior built into it. If you waiting to cross a busy street, the cars will most of the time actually stop for you to cross. Yes, you read the previous sentence correctly, the cars do wait in order to let you the pedestrian safely pass.
Yes, it is true.
And it’s not a Christmas miracle.
I wouldn’t want to try my luck doing that in German Dortmund or Danish Aalborg with such faith in humanity.
Here it is another story. Okay, I might be overselling the Sicilian trust in their fellow man. I do know that people here keep their gates and metal fences high and locked. They also have dogs to bark or worse at possible intruders. And then there is this Mafia thing too. I haven’t seen any. They are not so obvious like the Yakuza in Japan, but I will take it on faith that they are here too.
Have a little faith… just a little
And yes, things here are also in shambles. The garbage collection doesn’t work. There is human waste great or small left everywhere. Also larger items like discarded mattresses and even the odd car can be found. But mostly it’s empty beer bottles, discarded plastic bags, Coca-Cola bottles, candy wrapper, pizza boxes, squished aluminum foil, used pampers and all things plastic, paper and foil. And a lot of other stuff that I can’t unsee (though I wish I could). All dumped at the roadside or in the middle of a courtyard. The garbage collection system here doesn’t work very well… or at all.
In all my time here I have seen only one big car sweeping the streets. It could however only gather the leave-sized litter and not the mountains of garbage bags. Also, a container deposit system doesn’t exist for glass bottles or plastic. Even organic waste has to be wrapped in a plastic bag before you bin it.
We don’t wade knee-deep in garbage. It’s just there.
The mess reminds me of a John le Carré quote:
- The trouble with paradise is that no one bothers to take out the garbage.
The 16-year-old Katherine 'Katya' Borisovna Orlowa has a point, even though in the novel the elder people laugh at her.
The character Katya is so much better in the book The Russia House by John le Carré than the movie with Michelle Pfeiffer and the late Sean Connery. I prefer his George Smiley-books, but that one is good too.
Even though I could go on about Smiley, Orlowa and le Carré ad nauseum, it’s not the reason that I remembered the quote. I just wondered why there was so much garbage on the streets, the fields and everywhere else.
And yes, the surrounding apartment buildings have also seen better days. The concrete used is either of poor quality or there is something else. As I have gathered, the construction industry is in large part controlled by some not very nice guys that I might have mentioned earlier in the text.
But if you focus too much on that, you won’t see all what I think is so lovely.
Among the people you meet on the street, in the local DECO supermarket or at my favorite baker (best one ever) there is a friendliness and consideration that we seem to have lost in the so very efficient and logical North of Europe (or maybe we never had it). No matter how long the line is, the lady behind the cash register always have time to chat or admire your baby. So far I haven’t seen any grumpiness about it. It’s just how it is.
Always trust your baker
Like at my lovely baker the other day, where I for once was first in line. I ordered some pizza slices to take home. The lady behind the counter noticed that behind me was an extended family – everybody from grey grandpa, unruly grandkids and everybody in between – that also talked about that very slice with extra cheese, potatoes and the lot. And without further ado she cut up the piece in two slices, one for yours truly and the other one for the family behind me (yes, they got the bigger slice).
It was not up for debate. It was just how it was to be. And we were all fine with it. It seemed fair enough.
I don’t want to make it read like Germans or Danes are egotistical pricks. Cause we are not (I think… or hope), but we do tend to assert our rights: I was here first or it’s my turn, so it’s up to me, if I want all of it.
Or to go back to traffic: it is my turn to drive into the roundabout, so you all just must wait your turn.
Of course, It is logical or efficient and surely something else too. And certainly not as chaotic as the Sicilian version, where everybody plus their grandma want to drive into the roundabout at the very same time. And DO drive in at the same time. However, they also let others slide in ahead when that works better. It reminds me of a slow dance, where it’s allowed or even expected that you cut in.
It’s all just a little bit softer, a wee bit more considerate than in the North. Maybe more pragmatic, also. I guess laissez-faire are good words for it. On the plus side it also comes with smiles and friendly words where I don’t catch even half of it.
The difference between our way of doing things and their is like the difference between a public debate on X (the artist formerly known as Twitter) and a chat over a coffee with a friend or even a stranger at the local watering hole. The topic can be anything from Gaza, vaccines or the color of the day.
The former usually ends in a screaming feud where the loudest win. Like the great Frank Turner sings:
- He is not as smart as he likes to think. He’s just ambitious in his arguing.
The latter is trying to understand the other person’s point of view, because they might know something that you don’t. It’s just more civilized. Plus the coffee helps.
I like the last one better. Just like I am starting to enjoy the Sicilian take on drivin’.
Slow Stukas on a bombing run
Although I am sure that it also has its fatalities like the Vespa crowd driving like a swarm of roided-up bees coming at you from left and right. If the Jetsons’ vision of the future were true, the Vespa riders would be like aggressive Spitfires also descending upon us from above like we were slow Stukas on a bombing run during the Blitz.
This feeling that they're coming at you from all sides, is why my headline began with the question: is this a good day to die? It comes from a book I read as a kid. The book is called Black Elk Speaks written by the poet John Neihardt. As I remember the book, the Oglala Lakota Indian wičháša wakȟáŋ or medicine man told Neihardt that on the day of battle his tribesmen said that today is good day to die, before they rode out to meet Custer at Little Bighorn.
Of course, it sounds cool to live like each day is your last. The problem is that it might not be your last. And you’d have to deal with tomorrow’s fallout of pissed off neighbors, a hungry dog or sour coworkers.
Having turned sixty I am also quite aware that I have a still more limited number of days here, so I might not want to have my demise taking place in a Sicilian roundabout… even though driving into one sometimes feels like when I was young, stupid and dancing (yes, we actually thought we were dancing) to the Ramones.
In case you didn’t know the Ramones cover version of Do You Wanna Dance? You know the two lines that started this little epos? I loved that song in the late seventies, early eighties (although their haircuts really weren’t my thing… I later had a mohawk). Here it is:
An apologetic side note
Now why am I writing this in English and not in Danish or German, you might wonder. The answer to that is we have family and friends on both sides of the German-Danish border and in a few other countries, so English seems the right choice (even though I am so very far from mastering this language well enough, for which I apologize in advance). And that means that I sometimes (most of the times) go back and edit and add content, if I find mistakes (many) and remember something that might be relevant. So, the stories might change over time.
I have also recently started to publish an audio version of the chapter. This is quite (another) learning experience for yours truly. And I have a long way to go, so far only using my iPhone to record. If you seem to like it, and if I can learn not to sound like a drunk chemistry teacher or bored lecturer in administrative law, I will keep doing it.
And a practical side note
Our plan is to post content every week, at least one article every weekend, hopefully more, as we learn new lessons in how to live this new and for us different life. There will be many dos and (surely) don’ts as we progress. You can follow us best at the Substack-app for your phone or you can just get the stories on your mail. Just remember there is back-catalogue of stories for you to peruse at your leisure.