First, comes the beeping cars. Then the motorcycle Club. Then the funeral procession. Everyone has to give their opinion as the cacophony reaches a loud chorus. Then the priest intervenes. The result is hilarious (particularly when one of the motorcyclists gives the dim-witted driver a rose in celebration).
Leslie and I once got stuck in one of these narrow streets in a small town in Tuscany right out in front of our hotel. The doorman came running out to help and said with confidence and broken English that “everything good.” He jumped in the car, threw it into reverse, and proceeded to take the paint off the side of the car. He then triumphantly gave us back the keys.
Given the number of people around this tiny car, I am not certain why ten of these instructing men did not simply pick up the car and turn it around. It is moments like this that I am truly proud of my Italian side.