Italian Traffic Rules: Interpretation Over Instruction

I grew up treating traffic laws like gospel. But in Italy, I discovered the gospel of flow.

People often say Italians can’t drive. I disagree. I think they simply drive differently. In fact, they’re the only true realists on the road.

Speed Limits: Just a Suggestion

Take the concept of a speed limit.
In the resto of Europe, “80” means: you may not go faster than 80. Period.
In Italy, “80” means: a suggestion. A friendly hint. An opening bid for negotiation.

Left, Right, or Straight Through

I now drive so Italian that back in the Netherlands, I look like an anarchist. Where Dutch drivers politely give each other space on a roundabout, in Italy the roundabout is a gladiator arena.

Hesitate, and you lose. Merge smoothly, and you’re respected. Stop to politely wave someone in? You’ve just created a life-threatening situation.

And if you can’t pass on the left? You simply go right. Traffic here is like water: it always finds a way. In the Netherlands, you’d earn angry glares. In Italy, you earn admiring looks: “Brava, signora!”

Speedometers and Perspective

In the Netherlands, you live in constant fear of speed cameras, terrified of accidentally hitting 83 in an 80 zone. In Italy, you’re more likely to worry about suddenly entering a highway stretch where the limit drops to 60. Not that anyone pays attention.

Even the police don’t, they’ll happily overtake you at 130 while you’re still fiddling with cruise control.

There’s even an old Italian saying:
“Chi va piano va sano e va lontano, ma chi va veloce arriva prima.”
(He who goes slowly goes safely and far, but he who goes fast arrives sooner.)

They say it with a grin, while flying past at 150.

Traffic Lights and Divine Protection

A red light in Italy isn’t necessarily an order to stop. It’s more like a spiritual suggestion. According to folklore, people used to mutter while running a red: “Santa Madonna, proteggimi!” (Holy Mary, protect me!)

These days, you’re more likely to see a quick sign of the cross before the driver plants their foot back on the gas.

Personal Lessons

In the Netherlands I learned: at a stop sign, you stop.
In Italy I learned: at a stop sign, you see if you can stop without causing a rear-end collision, if not, you keep going. Safety first.

I always wear my seatbelt. Not because I fear fines, but because I like having some control when I’m overtaken at 140 km/h by a 1993 Fiat Panda carrying five passengers and a washing machine strapped to the roof.

My father, a driving examiner, would have a fit if he saw how I drive here. And yet, I think he’d also be proud of my smooth shifting, my anticipation, and my right foot. Even Max Verstappen might raise an eyebrow!

Reflection: Freedom or Chaos?

People sometimes ask: “Aren’t you afraid on the roads there?”
No. Italians may drive chaotically, but they anticipate. They watch, they feel, they communicate (with horns and hands, naturally).

In the Netherlands, you follow rules. In Italy, you follow life.

And maybe that’s why I never want to leave. Because roads, like life, aren’t meant to be rigidly mapped out. Sometimes you just need to pass on the right.

Sure, I still mostly follow the rules, but at a speed and with a flair that might even make Max Verstappen smile.

And let’s be honest: in Italy, standing still is just a waste of time.