Attempted Suicide in Piazza Giovanni

Catania, Sicily, March 2016

I've got a joke for you. 
Why did the chicken cross the road in Catania?
Because it seemed like a slightly preferable way to meet its maker than paying a one-way visit to the local abbattoir. 
I was never much good at telling jokes.

Negotiating the usually straightforward process of crossing a busy road, is a slightly different experience in Catania. It's a bit like throwing yourself out of a tall building and trying to completely miss the ground below. It's a bit like do-it-yourself sword swallowing without first reading an instruction manual or seeking expert medical advice. It's a bit like popping round to Hannibal Lecter's for a dinner party and bringing a bottle of Chianti with you.

It's a similar suicide mission in Sicily's Capital, Palermo, but Catania just wins by a photo finish. 
Why? Because in Palermo, drivers seems intent on narrowly missing you by the tiniest of margins, and then later award themselves marks out of ten on how close they came to giving you a personal tour of their windscreen.
This differs from Catania where a driver actually seems intent instead on narrowly hitting you. 
There's a subtle difference you see. In one city you don't die, and in the other you do.

I recall a near miss in Palermo where I was extraordinarily close to being splattered across the road. When I glanced at the driver as if to politely say " you nearly killed me there ", he glanced back as if to reply " Thank your lucky stars we're not in Catania! "
Of course, in Palermo there are still plenty of other opportunities to suddenly stop living if you so please, but that's for another time as that subject could fill an entire book just on its own.

It is a well worn cliche that Italians in general can be a little, shall we say, passionate when behind a steering wheel. Opinionated is a good word as well. In that respect, all Italians are unified by the same opinion when driving, and that is that in no way should there be anything or anyone in front of their vehicle apart from empty tarmac stretching out to the horizon. 

Away from the wheel, Catanians can be an extremely friendly and patient bunch in general. I remember the genial patience of a late night pharmacist waiting for Rome to burn whilst I stood dumbly trying to summon enough of the Italian language to explain I was in urgent need of some sunblock. Even in March, the sun in Sicily can be quite powerful. 
Apparently, it's only when they turn the key in the ignition of their car that they morph into congenital psychopathic killers. It's as if someone has simultaneously flicked a switch in the back of their necks from the " Off " setting to a " Get the goddamn hell out of my way " setting.

Pedestrian crossings in Catania have a tokenistic charm about them. There are certainly none that are accompanied by a set of lights. Infact traffic lights are fairly scarce anyway, or they were at least to my eyes. Either it was a genuine oversight by the local authorities, or they reached a unanimous conclusion that " few cars are going to bother making the distinction between a green light and a red one, so shall we just skimp on those altogether and save ourselves a bit of money? "

The pedestrian crossings that do exist in Catania take on a slightly different appearance to those we have in Britain.... in that you can barely see them at all. Back home we sometimes refer to them as " Zebra Crossings ". In Catania, they may as well refer to them as " Chameleon Crossings ". 
Painted on the road in such faint white stripes, you get the impression that whoever was given the task of painting them was struggling with the whole concept of cars having to stop for people... or for anything frankly.

" Let me get this straight, " road-painter would say to his immediate superior, " you want me to paint some stripes on the roads at various locations in the city to bring traffic to a halt..... "
" Yes, that's right. "
"..... for the benefit of pedestrians? "
" If they are trying to cross the road, yes. "
" People try to cross the road?? "
" Sometimes. "
" Are they mad? "
" Yes, totally. "
" So what does the pedestrian do with these white stripes on the road? "
" They stand next to them on the edge of the pavement waiting to cross. The notion is that when the vehicle drivers see this, they stop to err.... let them cross the road. To the other side I guess. "
" That's a peculiar notion. " He who had been set this great task of stripe-painting in Catania rubs his chin thoughtfully, with the same scepticism as St Peter felt when Genghis Khan arrived at the gates pretending to be Francis of Assisi. 
( All historical documents suggest that St Pete's reply was " Nah mate, we had him up here last year, stroll on fella! " )
" It's a concept that has worked in other countries, believe me. "
" And you think it will work here?? "
" No, absolutely not. "
" So why am I having to paint these stripes on the road then? "
" Look, will you stop asking me these deep, complicated metaphysical questions and just bloody well get on with it! "

So the delegated stripe-painter set to work, and one can only assume given the practically invisible markings on the road, that he decided he'd need most of the white paint issued to him, to re-paint his pet kitten's litter tray instead. A far more worthwhile cause. 
The result of which, the markings you see to indicate that this ia a pedestrian crossing, are actually saying to you " You can maybe give it a go here, but please ensure you've finalised a Will first for those loved ones you're about to leave behind. "

I had just arrived at Catania Centrale after a three hour train journey from Palermo that carves right through the centre of the Island. Three hours of staring out the window at fields, vineyards, some more fields, orange and lemon groves, even more fields, and the odd small town if it had the inclination to park itself there. 
Lots of fields in inland Sicily, they're clearly very proud of them. It's as if urban civilisation has given the middle bit of the island a wide berth and headed straight to the coastal areas with a bucket and spade and a kiss me quick hat. 
I stood outside the station weighed down with suitcase and rucksack, studying a map and concluding that my guest house was " over that way somewhere. "
That's about the extent of my map reading skills in recent years. In my younger days of travel, I rather prided myself at my abilities to shoot a quick glance at the map and then nail the perfect route to my intended destination. These days, with the onset of middle-age and squinting eyesight I'm happy just to differentiate between land and water, or differentiate between Europe and South America. I find it works better to pretend to myself and others I'm with, that I've perused the map closely and then mutter " It's over that way somewhere. " Sometimes it works. 
Unfortunately, between me and my room for the night which was over there.... kind of... was an indignant swarm of traffic that barely acknowledged the large roundabout plonked in the middle of it. Piazza Papa Giovanni XXIII appeared to be part of the latest street circuit added to the Formula One calender. 
" Well, " I assumed to myself, " I'm sure someone will slow down and gesture with their hand for me to cross in a moment. "
Now, on a naievety scale of one to ten, you can award me a score of sixty thousand seven hundred and twenty for that one. There were plenty of hand gestures being exchanged between various drivers, none of them aimed in my direction. However, moments later I was delighted to be on the receiving end of one myself when I made my first aborted attempt to step into the road, enraging the occupant of a knackered old Fiat. 
During the next ten minutes or so, I managed to add several more to my collection as my efforts to make a break for it began to resemble re-enactments of the Hokey-Cokey.
Hmm, tricky.


Just as I was approaching the conclusion that sleeping rough tonight outside the train station might be the safer option, I somehow spotted the faintly marked crossing fifty yards to my left. Problem solved! Or so I thought.
And here is where the distinction can be most easily made between pedestrian crossings back home and a " Sacrifice to the Gods " crossing in Catania. 
Because in the latter, vehicles just do not stop, not even during a 6.3 magnitude earthquake unless absolutely necessary. So they almost certainly won't for an English wally like me standing by some grudgingly painted stripes. 
You have to simply pick your moment and hope you don't clumsily bump into any windscreens at forty miles per hour in the process. 
Once you have committed yourself, don't glance to your left or right. The Green Cross Code has little relevance here. Just look straight ahead, close your eyes and pray to a God you've never believed in.
( Doesn't matter which one, all Gods have collectively stated that Sicilian traffic is way out of their jurisdiction. )
When halfway across, you can open your eyes and allow yourself a quick peek. If you don't see a flag being lowered to half mast anywhere in the vicinity then you can safely assume that so far you are still alive.
If you succeed in your quest to the opposite side and the worst that happened was that you tripped over the passing rear wheel of a Vespa, it's nothing short of a miracle.

The reality of course, is that the traffic which had been hurtling towards you will eventually stop or at least slow down and drive around you as you cross. 
However, the reluctance with which it is done is quite startling. 
Imagine a dog being shut in the kitchen with a couple of cornish pasties sitting on the floor. Imagine the dog being told " Don't eat those pasties until I get back from the shops ". In terms of the dog's reluctance to obey its master's orders, that's the level we are talking about.

The key factor is recognising that it is down to you to make the first move. Drivers will not stop for you until you're in the middle of the road and horrifyingly close to the bonnet of their vehicle. Disconcerting for those of us who live in countries where this is not how things are usually done.
If I had to condense the answer to " What's the best way to cross a busy street in Catania? ", I would sum it up with the following five words.
Try your hardest not to.