Rome, the Eternal City, city of eternal wild drivers and truly theatrical aggression in the streets
Never - not in a million years - will I drive in Rome. Not that I suffer from any fear of driving. It's just that, given the hell-raising experience of driving in the Eternal City, I envisage my nervous system handing in a transfer request with its sights set on a padded cell.
My better half, a Roman well-used to the city's modern-day chariot races, can't understand my reluctance to get behind the wheel. How she manages to safely negotiate the traffic without losing the head (well, she did, just once, but I won't put the relationship at risk by repeating the bile she recently hurled at a pensioner who broke a red light) I'll never know - probably because I've got my eyes closed or the tranquillisers are having the desired effect.
Drivers in Dublin who bemoan a general lack of driving courtesy and a respect for the rules of the road really should see what passes for normality in Rome.
For example: you're in a four-lane one-way road heading in to a turn. Mark my words: you can be absolutely sure that the driver in the outside lane will turn in to the corner, across three lanes of traffic without indicating, just to take the bend at the quickest speed possible.
Drivers just drift across with the bends in the road - something that is altogether different from lane-hopping - with no apparent awareness of oncoming traffic.
Another example: whenever you see an ambulance, lights flashing and siren wailing, racing through the streets, it's common to see a number of cars in hot pursuit of the emergency vehicle attempting to benefit from the clear path it makes through the traffic.
Overtaking regularly involves aggressive tail-gating with lights flashing until, in an insane game of chicken, the driver ahead is bullied into pulling in to allow the car behind move ahead. All, of course, just in time for the next red light.
Often the presence of a logo indicating which one of the city's two football teams - Roma or Lazio, whose intense rivalry is right up there with Rangers and Celtic - the car's owner favours, leads to an exchange of pleasantries between drivers and some highly erratic driving behaviour between the parties thereafter.
But the crème de la crème of craziness on Roman roads has to be your average moped rider. These outlaws ride machines with engines that sound like turbo-charged hair-dryers. In terms of observing the rules of the road, they are straight out of the Wild West. They flit here, there and everywhere without indicating, observe lights only when a traffic cop is present, invade pedestrianised zones and mount footpaths at will - often while talking on a mobile phone or conducting a conversation with the pillion passenger.
To make things worse, the city is full of intersections with merging traffic where, needless to say, the law of the jungle applies. Another thing my northern sensibilities can't fathom is that, after dark in the suburbs, most lights go on flashing amber till the morning rush-hour. Flashing amber might as well be giving a green light to all traffic, with obvious potential to give the emergency services a bit of overtime.
While in Rome recently, I came across about an accident a day - most involving mopeds and cars - at a time when many natives had already headed for the coast to escape a two-month drought, savagely high temperatures and those omnipresent pests-from-hell, mosquitoes. And we were by no means doing a lot of driving.
These encounters with recent accidents - some of which were minor - fill me with dread every time I get in a car in Rome. I can still see one accident victim: a hole in his leg with the shin bone shining in the sun.
Traffic volume is another reason keeping me out of the driving seat. With virtually a car for every citizen - never mind the swarms of mopeds - every Roman has a traffic horror story to tell. A guy I know moved 1.5 kilometres in four-and-a-half hours in one city centre jam while somebody else I encountered remembered being stuck under a sizzling sun for over five hours on Rome's M50, the Grande Raccordo Annualare.
However, there is much to amuse the motorist in Rome. When was the last time you saw a Fiat 127, or an original Fiat 500? Remember the Renault 4? The Alfa Sud? Well, they're all alive and well and still driving around the Eternal City in not insignificant numbers, along with the likes of the Fiat Mirafiori and Lancia Flavia.
Then there is the selection of small/micro cars, much favoured by the natives because they increase your chances of finding one of the city's great treasures - a parking spot. Some of these micro cars are so small that the most well-known model, the Smart Car, can look like a bit of a supermini in comparison.
However, my own favourite car-related pastime in Rome is watching the natives curse and foul-mouth each other over dangerous driving or occupying someone else's parking spot (an offence that brings the entire neighbourhood out to watch the bile-filled proceedings).
The range of local curses is best described as "original" and their delivery "theatrical". For instance, if someone shouts "Cornuto" at you it means "your missus is playing away from home" - this is also a common expression at football games where "Arbitro Cornuto" (Hey, Ref, your missus, etc) accompanies almost every decision the man-in-black makes.
"Che ti venisse un colpo" means "here's wishing you have a stroke" while the much used "A'mpedito" suggests you have a distinct lack of brain cells.
As for my brain cells, they've already reached an irrevocable conclusion: when in Rome, don't drive.