Rome Driving School?
Jan 29th, 2004 | 04:49 AM
#1
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Joined: Jan 2003
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Rome Driving School?
I've been meaning to post about this article from the NY Times in November about a driving school for kids in Rome (the EUR district). Has anyone been there, or is planning to go? I thought it would be a fun outing for my teenage son and his friend on our next trip.
Circus Minimus
By ALLISON HOOVER BARTLETT
MY daughter, Sonja, is behind the wheel of a lime green Fiat. She is 9 years old and about to hit the gas. Several young Italian men and women stand around her, instructing her in Italian and broken English, but mostly in vigorous body language. The expression on her face (anxious, perplexed) is what I imagine my own was while trying to find my way from the Forum to the Villa Borghese in a rental car with a questionable clutch.
It was our family's second week in Italy, and we had just arrived at the Parco Scuola del Traffico, a driving school in Rome founded by the Italian government in 1964 to train the next generation to be better drivers. As far as I could tell from maneuvering through this summer's Roman traffic, the curriculum could use some rethinking.
The Parco is designed to look something like a miniature town, with streets and trees and flowers, and it does, sort of -- especially if you don't notice that the lanes of the roads are separated by curbs (wise planning) and that the traffic islands feature generous spreads of artificial turf. For kids, it's a tantalizing maze, replete with traffic lights and road signs (many of which we had encountered on the real roads of Italy and undoubtedly misinterpreted). In the parking lot next to the office sat brightly colored Vespas, mopeds, Smart cars, and child-size Fiats, many looking as if they had been around the track at the Indy 500 more than a few times. The Parco was a little run-down, but all the more realistic for it. Parents sat in white plastic chairs in the shade, looking a lot like parents of American kids at their swim or tennis lessons, except that they talked more.
I had read about this school in a guidebook, but since no other guidebook mentioned it, I wondered if it really existed. Such an inspired idea seemed too good to be true. My husband and I figured that for our kids, ages 9 and 12, it would be the ultimate carrot on the end of a touring stick: if you don't whine about these frescoes or Madonnas or campaniles, we'll take you to the driving school. A lure as irresistible as gelato.
Since we forgot to bring the guidebook, and neither the concierge at our hotel nor any carabinieri I asked had any idea where this park was, it seemed increasingly mythical. Remembering that it was in the EUR development (one of Mussolini's urban experiments), we guessed at the train stop, incorrectly. So we walked and walked and eventually found a taxi driver who drove us what turned out to be the few remaining blocks, to Piazza Barcellona 10 at the Via delle Tre Fontane. Once there, we learned that the Parco was open only mornings and evenings. It was noon, but at least it wasn't a Monday or Tuesday, when it is closed.
We returned later that day to find that the school was way more serious than we had imagined. Children age 6 to 15 learn to drive in half-hour lessons, which cost about $10 for cars and $11.50 for mopeds, plus a $4 entrance fee, at $1.20 to the euro. When all 30 lessons are complete, students are presented with a "license." Our kids were a little disappointed to learn that during this first half-hour they could drive only in the outer circles of the Parco, following stop signs and lights, not on the cross-looping central roads where they could use turn signals, switch lanes and, best of all, pull up to the pumps for gas. But after a few laps around the Parco, their disappointment vanished.
This was to be pure fun, yet as I watched my kids go round and round (and round and round -- the half-hour, like most Italian blocks of time, was theoretical), I realized that they were actually learning something. For the rest of our trip, while in the car, they watched the movement on the road with keener eyes. To be able to find one's way, literally, in another country is a valuable skill, and to start learning how alongside locals seemed even better. And I figure that years from now, when they get into their first fender bender and someone yells, "Where did you learn to drive?" they can yell back, "Roma!" with gusto.
As our kids circled round the outer roads, they glimpsed with envy the veteran Roman kids, who had racked up several hours' driving time and seemed surprisingly adept behind the wheel: using turn signals, looking both ways before approaching an intersection. But I wondered. These were Romans, after all, latter-day charioteers who had no doubt seen plenty of roadside drama as backseat bambini, so I sensed that behind their stoic, focused faces were future Mario Andrettis just biding their time.
The same could have been said of my 12-year-old son, Julian. One of my favorite photos from our visit to the Parco shows him atop his moped, stopped briefly in front of an arrow-shaped sign saying "autostrada." He had turned to look back at me, and from the expression on his face, he clearly had tasted freedom. The years before he would encounter one of those signs for real could not come too quickly for him, nor too slowly for me. We heard that you can drive a Vespa on real roads in Italy at age 12. My son was gleeful, I was terrified, especially since a few minutes into his lesson, he had already received stern looks, finger waving and unintelligible admonishments for cruising past a stop sign -- twice.
My son wasn't the only one eager to climb onto a Vespa. Parked in long rows throughout every Italian city, in candy-bright shades of apple, berry, lemon and licorice, they looked awfully tempting to me. My kids' pronouncement was "sweet," and they wanted a taste. I could hardly blame them, as I marveled at all the gorgeous women in high heels and short skirts and men with faces that could have been chiseled by Michelangelo weaving past us, through the river of cars along the Tiber, as agile and sleek as the fish that got away. The beauty of their daring is something I'll never forget.
Before leaving the Parco, my kids were given stamped booklets from the Ministero delle Infrastrutture e dei Trasporti, noting that they had made it through their first lessons. Inside, their names are misspelled: Pertlett instead of Bartlett. But given their near-criminal styles of driving (our daughter was overly fond of the curb, our son seemed destined to tailgate), it may be useful for them to drive under aliases. The next time we're in Rome, perhaps we should clock another half-hour at the Parco, during which they will be allowed to advance to some of the inner circles.
Buona fortuna, I'll say to the locals.
Circus Minimus
By ALLISON HOOVER BARTLETT
MY daughter, Sonja, is behind the wheel of a lime green Fiat. She is 9 years old and about to hit the gas. Several young Italian men and women stand around her, instructing her in Italian and broken English, but mostly in vigorous body language. The expression on her face (anxious, perplexed) is what I imagine my own was while trying to find my way from the Forum to the Villa Borghese in a rental car with a questionable clutch.
It was our family's second week in Italy, and we had just arrived at the Parco Scuola del Traffico, a driving school in Rome founded by the Italian government in 1964 to train the next generation to be better drivers. As far as I could tell from maneuvering through this summer's Roman traffic, the curriculum could use some rethinking.
The Parco is designed to look something like a miniature town, with streets and trees and flowers, and it does, sort of -- especially if you don't notice that the lanes of the roads are separated by curbs (wise planning) and that the traffic islands feature generous spreads of artificial turf. For kids, it's a tantalizing maze, replete with traffic lights and road signs (many of which we had encountered on the real roads of Italy and undoubtedly misinterpreted). In the parking lot next to the office sat brightly colored Vespas, mopeds, Smart cars, and child-size Fiats, many looking as if they had been around the track at the Indy 500 more than a few times. The Parco was a little run-down, but all the more realistic for it. Parents sat in white plastic chairs in the shade, looking a lot like parents of American kids at their swim or tennis lessons, except that they talked more.
I had read about this school in a guidebook, but since no other guidebook mentioned it, I wondered if it really existed. Such an inspired idea seemed too good to be true. My husband and I figured that for our kids, ages 9 and 12, it would be the ultimate carrot on the end of a touring stick: if you don't whine about these frescoes or Madonnas or campaniles, we'll take you to the driving school. A lure as irresistible as gelato.
Since we forgot to bring the guidebook, and neither the concierge at our hotel nor any carabinieri I asked had any idea where this park was, it seemed increasingly mythical. Remembering that it was in the EUR development (one of Mussolini's urban experiments), we guessed at the train stop, incorrectly. So we walked and walked and eventually found a taxi driver who drove us what turned out to be the few remaining blocks, to Piazza Barcellona 10 at the Via delle Tre Fontane. Once there, we learned that the Parco was open only mornings and evenings. It was noon, but at least it wasn't a Monday or Tuesday, when it is closed.
We returned later that day to find that the school was way more serious than we had imagined. Children age 6 to 15 learn to drive in half-hour lessons, which cost about $10 for cars and $11.50 for mopeds, plus a $4 entrance fee, at $1.20 to the euro. When all 30 lessons are complete, students are presented with a "license." Our kids were a little disappointed to learn that during this first half-hour they could drive only in the outer circles of the Parco, following stop signs and lights, not on the cross-looping central roads where they could use turn signals, switch lanes and, best of all, pull up to the pumps for gas. But after a few laps around the Parco, their disappointment vanished.
This was to be pure fun, yet as I watched my kids go round and round (and round and round -- the half-hour, like most Italian blocks of time, was theoretical), I realized that they were actually learning something. For the rest of our trip, while in the car, they watched the movement on the road with keener eyes. To be able to find one's way, literally, in another country is a valuable skill, and to start learning how alongside locals seemed even better. And I figure that years from now, when they get into their first fender bender and someone yells, "Where did you learn to drive?" they can yell back, "Roma!" with gusto.
As our kids circled round the outer roads, they glimpsed with envy the veteran Roman kids, who had racked up several hours' driving time and seemed surprisingly adept behind the wheel: using turn signals, looking both ways before approaching an intersection. But I wondered. These were Romans, after all, latter-day charioteers who had no doubt seen plenty of roadside drama as backseat bambini, so I sensed that behind their stoic, focused faces were future Mario Andrettis just biding their time.
The same could have been said of my 12-year-old son, Julian. One of my favorite photos from our visit to the Parco shows him atop his moped, stopped briefly in front of an arrow-shaped sign saying "autostrada." He had turned to look back at me, and from the expression on his face, he clearly had tasted freedom. The years before he would encounter one of those signs for real could not come too quickly for him, nor too slowly for me. We heard that you can drive a Vespa on real roads in Italy at age 12. My son was gleeful, I was terrified, especially since a few minutes into his lesson, he had already received stern looks, finger waving and unintelligible admonishments for cruising past a stop sign -- twice.
My son wasn't the only one eager to climb onto a Vespa. Parked in long rows throughout every Italian city, in candy-bright shades of apple, berry, lemon and licorice, they looked awfully tempting to me. My kids' pronouncement was "sweet," and they wanted a taste. I could hardly blame them, as I marveled at all the gorgeous women in high heels and short skirts and men with faces that could have been chiseled by Michelangelo weaving past us, through the river of cars along the Tiber, as agile and sleek as the fish that got away. The beauty of their daring is something I'll never forget.
Before leaving the Parco, my kids were given stamped booklets from the Ministero delle Infrastrutture e dei Trasporti, noting that they had made it through their first lessons. Inside, their names are misspelled: Pertlett instead of Bartlett. But given their near-criminal styles of driving (our daughter was overly fond of the curb, our son seemed destined to tailgate), it may be useful for them to drive under aliases. The next time we're in Rome, perhaps we should clock another half-hour at the Parco, during which they will be allowed to advance to some of the inner circles.
Buona fortuna, I'll say to the locals.
Jan 29th, 2004 | 05:29 AM
#2
Joined: Jan 2003
Posts: 2,325
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My family watched some children on the driving course last April. My girls were only five and eight at the time but both wished they were old enough to give it a try. It looked like a lot of fun and will definitely be a part of our next trip to Rome with the girls. I think it's perfect for nine to 14 year olds but older teens might find it a bit hokey.
Jan 29th, 2004 | 08:46 AM
#7
Joined: Jan 2003
Posts: 5,020
Likes: 0
Come to California Patrick and I'll teach you. I learned to drive a car with both floor and column shifts ('36 & '37 Fords respectively), drove a VW Bug for over 30 years and when we bought my "new" car I decided it was too late to change, so I now have a 4-wheel drive with 5 speed stick shift.
