Driving on the wrong side is a feature of holidaying in Europe. Kevin McGee knows how to deal with any oddities you encounter on Italian roads
We should all see Italy before they finish paving it. Dotted into the lattice of concrete motorways are green remnants of a breathtaking natural beauty. Roebucks sport in the foothills. Pipits dart from spruce to linden. To sport and dart with them, all you need is a car. But there, if you fancy surviving, is the rub. To say that Italians drive like lunatics is to misunderstand the random nature of madness. There is nothing random about Italians behind the wheel. They drive with an intensely focused courting of death to which the insane could never aspire. They want to die, and they want to take you with them. It is not the happiest prospect for the visitor, but I think I can help.
The first step is to drink too much coffee. A pint or two of ristretto - consistency of wet ash, caffeine content of Seattle - will set you up nicely. Your fingers should be a blur in front of your face. Is this because your hands are shaking or because your retinas have begun to dissolve? If you can tell the difference, drink another large bowl of ristretto. Repeat the dosage as many times as it takes. You will now have the jerky abandon needed to catapult yourself into Italian traffic. Remember to bring your car.
The next thing you need is a guide to the complex and intricate field of Italian signalling. I spent most of my road time with my hands clamped over my eyes, but between girlish shrieks I managed to assemble a brief handbook. You will soon learn to decipher the following.
Left indicator flashing: I am about to turn left; I have just turned left; I have a hazy intention of turning left some time later today. In many regions a left indicator can also signal a right turn, a sudden stop or a badly wired CD player. These regions change daily.
Hand outside window, waving slowly up and down: if the hand is female, this is probably symptomatic of nothing more serious than a slow-drying nail polish; if male, it may suggest a genetic predisposition to sweaty palms. Before you write this off as irrelevant, remember that his wet hand is gripping a slippery vinyl steering wheel.
Flashing light on roof, with siren blaring: I am, or am related to, a policeman; I am also late for lunch.
Left hand outside window, dangling casually: this signal is difficult to carry off in a country where many people drive on the right, but it is more and more common the further north you go; it is designed to draw attention to a Gucci watch.
Both hands clasped behind the head: a complex and allusive signal; for an adequate English rendering, imagine a gruff voice whispering: "This is a truck, tourist scum. Your rented Clio will barely dent my bumper."
Both hands outside window, dangling casually, steering wheel gripped between the knees: Gucci makes cufflinks too.
Violent shrug, with dismissive flicking-away of a cigar stub: if you hadn't been crossing the road, I wouldn't have broken your shins; if you really want to make an issue of it, we can wait for my brother the policeman; he should have finished lunch in four hours or so.
If you don't find all this daunting, you have Italian blood. You probably also have the article propped on your steering wheel as you speed past the Villa Borghese with a mobile phone in one hand and a birdcage in the other. For the rest of us, there is one trick that can help. First, raise your eyebrows helplessly. Now manufacture a smile that is two parts simper, one part grimace and three parts promise of unspecified sensual delight. Turn this battery of concentrated wheedling on any other occupant of your car. Be careful not to slow down or glance at the road. Within 10 miles, or five if it's raining, you will be relegated forever to the passenger seat. I practised this strategy with complete success on my wife. She is now 30 years older than she was three weeks ago, but she will probably recover by the time I am let back into the house. In the meantime, I have almost got the taste of airbag out of my mouth.