In the summer of my 29th year, I took up the opportunity to attempt something bold, and on retrospect, perhaps slightly naive and foolhardy. The idea: To buy and drive an as-is 30 year old Alfa Romeo in Milan, from people I met on the internet, and drive it all over Europe, to Krakow, Poland, and back to Milan. I was full of youth and optimism in equal measure, and took off in that 1970 Alfa Romeo Giullietta for the adventure of my life, often pushing the limits of my physical endurance, and the 30 year old vehicle's engine, suspension, wipers, tires, brakes, and gas systems. But one thing which provided an iconic memory of the trip was the headlights. Much of my adventure was to take place at night, in the often overwhelming darkness of Europe in the mountains.
Early on, I realized there was a problem, namely that the headlights were aimed too low. I wasn't able to see far enough ahead. So I made a mental note to try and get them fixed as soon as an opportunity presented itself. So we headed north out of Milan, to the northeast without too much of a plan. Eventually we came to an area known as Cuneo. There wasn't much there, a traffic roundabout, and some industrial looking small buildings. I saw a big airplane hangar type structure, with a big truck being tended to inside. I figured this would be as good a time as any, so I pulled in, and relying on the kindness of strangers, as I often do when I'm driving around, tried to explain to the older Italian gentleman fixing the truck my predicament. He got very excited, and spoke no English, but seemed to infer he was busy. Then his son appeared, and he did speak some English. I talked to him and convinced him to coerce his father into helping out with the lights. In fixing the lights, we found that the highbeam switch was faulty. I was floored and expected the worst because after all, we were basically in the middle of nowhere. But sensing my stress, the son soothed my worries and told me it wouldn't be a problem, and promptly called over his sister, a stunning dirty blond of about 20, typical of most of the lovely ladies I came across in Italy, cute and stylin'. She took the old switch, tossed her hair to one side, put on a brightly colored helmet, and hopped on an equally stylish and high performance scooter, and took off buzzing down the road. I felt like I stumbled on the set of a Vespa commercial.
Soon enough she was back, produced a perfectly suitable replacement switch, smiled, and took off again. To this day I have no idea how she managed it, after all, there weren't any Pep Boys stores nearby. It was like magic. Her brother took the switch, installed it, and we checked all the lights once more, and we were done. I tried to pay them for their kindness, but they were having none of it, so I thanked everybody, and left with a smile on my face. The driver of the truck blared his horn and waved as he was finished too.
It struck me as a surreal moment, yet very typical on this trip, that in the middle of nowhere, in a town with no traffic lights, that there were friendly, helpful, passionate and stylish Italians always on your side. I think showing up in a 30 year old Alfa Romeo at a time when seeing older cars on the roads was becoming more and more rare really did the trick. I don't think any Italian worth his or her salt who can look at a classic Italian car and not smile from their very soul. It is in their DNA, it is after all the land of Nuvolari, the Mille Miglia, the Targa Florio, Monza, Alfa and Ferrari, Maserati, Fiat and Lancia. The land is steeped and intertwined with the history of automobiles and racing and motorized travel after all. For me, they were always there with a smile and a wave. Good thing too, as being able to see in the dark mountainous nights of Europe is a definite plus, as the trip to Monaco would prove, more on that in a later post.
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