No more laps to do...

Have not had the heart to write what will be the last of the Driver’s License blog series post though I had thought a lot about it. Nostalgia had seeped in. Then the interruption of the holidays. Now’s the time…

I did it. I have an Italian Driver's License. 

I feel pretty much the same. Well, I am 10 lbs. lighter. Gave up White wine in November.

After the day-after-Christmas, Santo Stefano… Boxing Day for any English about… I drove to Fivizzano… semi-illegally… to pay Baldo the last installment for schooling me in the arts of driving a car in Italy. Semi-illegally because, my Galloper SUV is considered by the gli Uffici di Motorizzazione Civile… the Italian Department of Motor Vehicles… to be way too big & powerful an automobile for a neopatentato to drive. To be in regola… legal… a FIAT 500 would be ideal. And, for the next three years too. This is silly. As a legally licensed driver… though carrying an American Driver’s L:cense… I was a neopatentato back in 1968. 56 years ago. Many years of driving. Chevrolets to FIATS. At one point, there was even a truck. Until I can plead my case for an exemption from such nonsense before some Italian authority or other, imagine me expressing il mio dispiacere… my displeasure… with the Grand Italian Gesture… in the general direction of Rome, the seat of the Italian State and its hapless departments… by taking the palm of my left hand and slamming it into the crux of my up-raised and slightly bent my right arm. Do note: this gesture is from the horse & buggy days. Hard to pull it off when one’s mitts are 9 & 3 on the steering wheel of a motorized vehicle.

Showed up at l’AutoScuola Fivizzanese and ably maneuvered my Galloper SUV into a parallel parking space right at its front door. I could see Baldo was inside fooling around with his iPhone. Got his toothy smile. He quickly asked if I had "been driving a lot". Had never stopped, was my candid reply. We laughed. Then, we went on to exchange a few words about our respective Christmases… 

Baldo’s… he has a 4 year old son, named Leo. I met him once. I drove him to his pre-school at the beginning of one of my 30 minute lessons. Like his Dad, quite a character. Not afraid to chat-up an adult. Told me he’s got a girl-friend but, she’s difficult. Doesn’t do what he tells her to do. Italian mating. He made an impression. So, I was curious and asked Baldo, if Leo was happy with Babbo Natale’s visit this year? Not really, he said. The kid knew the disguised villager dressed in a Red Santa-suit was a fake. Leo informed his Dad that Babbo Natale only travels at Midnight and does not make public appearances at 4 in the afternoon for a Christmas party. Bored, the 4 year old trotted-off to mess with his PlayStation.

Mine… was watching our 5 nieces scream and holler and cavort around the Christmas tree in one of two LRs in our Genoese loft with the umpteen thousands of gifts You had lavished upon them… vintage hand-bags, years-gone-by designer dresses from Fendi & Armani & Alberta Ferretti, cocktails dresses too, and off-beat items of decor discovered hiding underneath tables at You’s favourite flea-market emporium near Genoa’s stadium. Like what twenty-something would ever want a pair of woven paglia lamp bases? Surprise! The recipient was ecstatic.

The visit ended with our respective plans for New Year’s Eve 2023, what with the Weather Colonel’s forecast for grey weather, rain & fog.

Not sure when I will see Baldo again. In bidding Baldo a Good-bye, I told him I no longer know what to do with myself in the morning, now that I am free from scurrying in my Galloper SUV to Fivizzano via back roads in time for my usual 9:30AM driving lesson. Said the Dogs give my funny looks like… Aren’t you needed elsewhere? Oh, but, get this…

as a principiante driver, I was well within The Law to traverse the highways & by-ways in my neck of the woods in my Galloper SUV… well, so long as I had a licensed adult driver with me as a chaperone. A role, I felt I could adequately furnished for myself, in light of those 56 years. God Bless, my tactic was never contested in an unexpected encounter with the Carabinieri. I am an Italian licensed driver now yet, I cannot legally drive the Galloper SUV. NO POLITE COMMENTS AVAILABLE.

Gave Baldo a hug, got into my Galloper SUV and semi-illegally drove back to Codiponte.

I was at a loss. I missed those lessons.

They were well beyond just learning how to parallel park a White Peuguooot all’italiana. Always the same streets, always the same maneuvers in the same spots… when the citizens of Fivizzano thought to co-operate by not taking up all the parking spaces, so I could nail parallel parking… rather, those 30 minutes were more often filled with variety, stories of local color, histories told by Baldo with much appreciation and charm and love…

heading past La Piazza Liberta’, Baldo saw an old tree on the left at the entrance to Fivizzano’s new & spiffy civic parking lot… nothing is more satisfying than a new layer of Black asphalt and painted White lines after so many years of dodging pot-holes and buckled pavements… and just before the town’s singular traffic light. He was reminded of its story…

the tree… today a massive plane tree… was planted hundreds of years ago. Maybe even a thousand years ago. Now it has several leafy companions making a shady alley to the junction with three bars.  Each one positioned to the passage of the Sun: morning for one, mid-day for another and late afternoon for the last. Where in the World does such an arrangement exist? The morning one is my favourite. Friendly folk… flirty, if the tall guy is in attendance though he remains consistently immune to my smiles. Why do I even try?… and it opens at 4:30AM. Good Lord! Who’s up at 4:30AM, besides You heading to the hospital for a 7:00AM Roll Call? A good cappuccino can be had too and is often offered by Baldo, who holds court inside to chat and outside to smoke a cigarette before every driving appointment.    

When the city began to pave its streets… after The Great Earthquake of ‘22… the workmen discovered the same tree’s roots had reached all the way to the parapets of Fivizzano, a quarter of a mile away. Baldo made sure I had absorb this fact. Satisfied, he went on…

The name Fivizzano actually derives from the Italian name for a fig tree… un fico… planted eons ago in the town’s center, near what is today La Piazza Medicea… famous for its Baroque fountain. Watch out: NO PARKING! As the local folk often do in these parts, the word fico slid into Fivo, then Fivi and onto to finish with Fivizzano. That ending, -zzano implies importance, its position in the realm of things. A bit of home grown history. Oh, and hear this…

just in case… I also learned that Italian Driving Examiners do not like to see one shift gears in mid-maneuver. Before or after, but not during. Two hands must always be at 10 and… OOOPS!… 9 and 3. 

Continuing on through the traffic light, we both noticed a tall young man wearing a heavy khaki colored duffel-coat, a grey wool knit hat pulled down low over his brow, his gaze straight ahead, walking a quietly composed German Shepherd. Got his story while doing two-point inversions… 

he lost his parents when very young. A tragic car accident. The poor child retreated into a near total muteness. Closed down. Raised by elderly grandparents, who naturally had their own grief & problems to contend with, and thus, did not offer much help. His isolation was confirmed. The young man grew up unable to care for himself, to learn a skill, much less hold down a job. He is singularly & solitarily devoted to walking his dog. Day in and day out. And on the same streets as Baldo and I drive on for my lessons.

Circling around and then descending down via Roma from the intersection at the three corner bars, Baldo let out a… Don’t hit that man! What? He’s on a sidewalk, Baldo! Just don’t hit him. He’s my uncle. Really? Yeah, mean as shit. This uncle was tall, somewhat portly and had a clipped manner of walking. His history was one of ticket giving. Used to be Fivizzano’s lone traffic warden. Energetically dispensed pieces of paper off a pad for every & all infractions. Mostly for persnickety violations. Baldo’s Dad was handed a ticket when the uncle noticed the Dad’s car’s back wheels were beyond the White lines of a parking space. Apparently, ended in a public quarrel. Never spoke afterwards. Baldo too had been a victim of the man’s traffic infractions largesse.

Many, many other histories to tell... Baldo even pointed out the apartment house where he grew up… but, onwards & upwards with my quest for an Italian Driver’s License…

The Driving Test was originally scheduled for the morning of December 22nd. Wonderful. Right before Christmas… in Genoa. Baldo had promised me an Italian Driver’s License before Capodanno… New Year’s. Possibility of getting it in early then? And, how so, if I don’t pass the Driving Test? Baldo said nothing more about it. The week of the test, I asked if the appointment stood. Nope. Afternoon now. Shit. During Nap Time? The Examiner, who was on duty for the Theory Test back in November, would also be the one to check my driving skills in a White Peuguooot. Baldo added that when the Examiner comes all the way to Fivizzano… right there, a great convenience, and I should be forever beholden to him for it… he likes to eat a good local pranzo, chat, drink White wine before traveling around with a couple of 18 year olds and a 71 year old ex-pat American. However, the new appointment time allowed me one last lesson in the morning of the 22nd to further refine the key maneuvers. I was told to be at the AutoScuola at 3:00PM. If I must, I will.

Nervous, I was at my preferred Corner Bar at 2:45PM. No Cute Guy. Saw one of those 18 year olds on the docket for the day’s Driving Test sitting on the little piazza messing around with his iPhone. At 2:58PM, I walked up the short distance to the AutoScuola. No White Peuguooot. Sunbathed across the street at the gate to the Casa Funebre… Funeral Home. 3:10PM… 3:22PM… 3:26PM… still no White Peuguooot. Another 18 year old joined the first at the door to the AutoScuola. 3:41PM… 3:46PM… 3:52PM… and suddenly, the White Peuguooot barreled noisily up via Roma, did a maniacally risky two-point inversion and, dodging on-coming cars, slammed-dunked the car into a poorly executed… but typical Italian stunt to avoid the art of Parallel Parking… parking in the school’s space at the feet of the two stunned 18 year olds. Out popped Baldo’s teenage daughter. Tight jeans, straight Red hair flying, her piumino jacket flapping. The two 18 year olds perked up. The daughter hollered through the wake of her arrival that Baldo was on his way. And off she skipped down the street and into the setting Sun.

Baldo bounced up via Roma at 4:03PM. Soon followed by the Examiner in his sleek blue Alfa-Romeo. He pulled the same stunt as Baldo’s daughter. Baldo hopped inside the White Peuguooot to correct the error of his daughter’s ways… ignoring the Examiner’s car’s iffy position. Probably for political purposes, and rightly so. I, as student, was about to be examined by said gentleman. No sense ruining the mood after a long & delicious lunch. Baldo indicated for me to take his place inside the Peuguooot and to be ready for the Driving Test. I followed orders. Somehow, and quite suddenly, we were four people inside: me, Baldo to my right, the Examiner in the back behind Baldo and Baldo’s daughter behind me. She needed a ride to work. OK.! Hop in. More the merrier. Baldo gave me the sign to drive off.

You know, there’s a rather valid reason for not conducting Driving Tests in the late afternoon, especially after 4:00PM in an Italian town, village, city. Stores re-open after la pausa pranzo at 4:00PM. People sprout from every direction. Mostly women. I had a Hell-of-a-time dealing with fuseau & pumino clad semi-wide signoras electing to go shopping and walking in the street rather than using any side-walk. The Examiner complained. I had to stay stuck until I could drive on the right side of the street without eliminating any semi-wide female pedestrians. Men have the Good Sense to delegate such tasks. Once liberated, I was asked to make a left turn…. thankfully down a quite street… followed by the request to perform a Parallel Parking maneuver. Discreetly done, I must say. This was quickly followed by the request to do a two-point inversion to then head back to via Roma. I made a left turn at the Stop. What transpired was a skeptical interrogation & comments made by the Examiner regarding a few details about me: had I lied about my age ‘cause I do not look like a 71 year old? Guessed I was really 55… What was it like to be born in Denver, Colorado USA? No different than being born in Des Moines, Iowa. He missed the joke.… Where do I live but, Baldo replied to this query… Codiponte! Where’s that?… and once done, we were at Fivizzano’s traffic light. I was asked to make a right turn and, lo’ & behold, we were at the intersection of the 3 corner bars. Dropped off the daughter, so she could head to the store where she worked. I was asked to make another right turn and to stop outside the AutoScuola. There commenced a little ceremony…

Baldo officiated… said I was an exemplary student, having taken seriously the challenge to do all that was necessary to successfully obtain an Italian Driver’s License… that I was a person of exceptional quality & gentility… and I was esteemed by one (Baldo) and all (about 14 fellow students)… and so, having already explained these important details to Signore Angelo, the Examiner present… Sono felice di dart questa… and Baldo handed me an already prepared Patente Italiana in una busta di plastica.

Done. And, apparently, pre-ordained. No argument there. I had actually been forewarned… una patente prima di Capodanno. Great!

So, I am left with closing by giving Thanks where Thanks is deserved…

The two Carabinieri agents for not arresting me, sequestering my Galloper SUV and socking me with a heavy fine. Instead, they kindly directed me to Baldo and from that point, I was on my way…

Lexotan… a universally recognized Italian miracle of tranquillizing drops…  to see me avoid becoming a complete & total nervous wreck for such adventures as taking the Theory Test in messy Massa…

our dear sweet & generous Codiponte friends… she and her daughter both attended the AutoScuola Fivizzanese. And with her husband, the couple nourished my body with glorious dinners and my spirit with how to do it. Fell into two IMPORTANT messages: do quizzes until you cannot do another qwtz and just follow what Baldo tells you to do when behind the wheel of the darn Peuguooot. And, it worked… 

My German friends… who remained steadfast through it all. They ain’t shoddy either in the Nourishment & Moral Support Categories and despite the fact that I had given up White wine…

And finally… Big Thanks to my family of You… Prince of My Heart… and all my incredible nieces and their respective & equally fantastic boy-friends/fiancees… who all had charted the same Driver’s License waters and had never ceased with their encouragement, understanding and support.

Thank you.

The End