It’s highly annoying when recounting a tale of woe, pouring your heart out and shaking your fist, only to hear an unsympathetic someone crow: “That’s nothing, mate … blah, blah, blah … my neck’s bigger than yours.”
So when I hear Australians complaining about how other Australians drive, I tend just to nod my head rather than thicken my neck. I tend not to mention the past 10 years sharing asphalt with the Italians, for whom the speed of light is considered conservative, in the wet, in reverse, in their driveways.
That’s not to suggest I haven’t seen daredevil tactics in Oz. Despite the recent “good news” about 2011 registering the lowest number of road deaths since 1946, we still have our share of hoons, road rage and drink-driving are still a problem, and if I had a dollar for every P-plater I saw texting while driving… It’s as though they think you can steer with a smartphone. Perhaps one day you’ll be able to, if Darwinism extends to gadgets.
Compared with what I have seen – and somehow survived – overseas, however, Aussie motorists must be the most considerate on the planet. After a decade of dodgems in Europe, I find myself wanting to hug them for their ability to share a street, to indicate their intentions, to stop at traffic lights, to honk horns as a last resort rather than at the first hint of inconvenience. It feels nice to be overcome rather than overtaken.
Driving in Italy, on the other hand, should be sponsored by Red Bull. I’ve flown aerobatic aircraft, sky-dived, white-water rafted and been to the dentist, but by far the most frightening thing I’ve ever done is drive a car in Italy.
The first time I attempted this extreme sport was in Palermo – the chaotic capital of Sicily. If the average Sydneysider could spend five seconds driving in Palermo they would never complain about the M5 or King Georges Road again, presuming they lived to compare.
I swerved rather than drove through Palermo. Cars were five abreast on what would have been a three-lane road if anyone had bothered to paint lines on it. STOP signs were suggestions, red lights as optional as milk in coffee, and zebra crossings less an aid for pedestrians than for emergency crews in search of their bodies. And that was on a Sunday morning! Most mortals were in church, which is where I headed afterwards to confess to being scared of these good Catholics but bad drivers.
While Palermo is particularly perilous, it is indicative of much of a country that loses about 5000 people a year on its bloodstained bitumen. Why so many?Let’s start with STOP signs, which, unfortunately, many Italians do without giving way to anything other than their inner Schumacher. In southern Italy, STOP signs referee many intersections. Some are so faded it is only their octagonal shape which reminds of their disciplinary role. They are like mistletoe – an optional obligation to be observed or ignored depending on advantage. Unfortunately, too many motorists chose the latter, often resulting in a metallic sound.
Zebra crossings are a waste of perfectly good white paint. Most are faded and ignored, much like the pedestrians who brave them. At a crossing in Australia you can pretty much count on traffic stopping and allowing you safe passage. In Italy you can pretty much count on being overlooked until you die of old age.
A great way to diet would be to place a chocolate cake on the far end of an Italian zebra crossing. Try as you might, you will NEVER eat the cake. I once stopped for an elderly woman at an Italian pedestrian crossing and she was so gobsmacked she curtsied and blew me a kiss.I hope she wasn’t trying to diet.
Apart from a few multi-lane labyrinths, roundabouts in Australia are relatively uncomplicated. In Europe, however, they can be terrifying and were well portrayed in National Lampoon’s European Vacation, when Chevy Chase and his frustrated family spent almost an entire day in the grips of one. “Look, kids – Big Ben, Houses of Parliament. Look, kids – Big Ben, Houses of parliament…”. That was London – things are still pretty straightforward there. But cross to The Continent and it is survival of the fittest, and often the fastest, though “survival” is a poor choice of word when 39,000 people died on European roads in 2008 alone.
Despite our own road toll, low but still tragically high, Australian roads are safer than those of many overseas countries thanks – on the whole – to our respect for other motorists and for speed limits.
This extends to taxi drivers. I often hear Australians complain about cabbies but until you’ve had a white-knuckle ride in a cab in Cairo, Mumbai or Rio de Janeiro, you can let go of that door handle. A taxi driver in New York once offered me a joint! I didn’t inhale. In fact I didn’t breathe at all until we somehow arrived at JFK. I think the plane back to Europe travelled more slowly than that taxi.
Back in Italy, if you do manage to make an accident-free trip from A to B, the danger isn’t over until you’ve parked at C. Italians own more cars a head of population than any other country in Europe. Their love of the automobile is famous, less so their squabbles over parking them all in a country that has more cathedrals than car parks.
A man in Naples murdered his neighbour over a parking dispute. While in Sicily two 70-year-old men bit each other’s ears off over who was entitled to 3m of asphalt. Apparently they took the matter to court but couldn’t hear the judge deliver his verdict. Everyone’s grievances are relevant to their environment and complaining about bad driving in Australia is often justified. Yet compared with many overseas countries, as in a variety of departments, in my experience Australia is streets ahead.
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