It took several days for me to figure out what was so visibly apparent — or absent — from the colorful landscape of Europe as we trekked through the Continent during our whirlwind tour.
Suddenly, it became crystal clear as a younger traveling companion shouted excitedly, “There’s one!” She’d noticed the difference, too.
Meghan, my newfound 12-year-old Florida friend, was not referring to another awesome, ancient relic in Rome or another awful naked sunbather in Florence, Italy; she was referring to spotting a sport utility vehicle.
Well, sort of. The Italian version of the SUV she spotted, after several days of marveling at young women wearing spike heels while riding scooters, actually resembled an early minivan. And, this rare vehicle appeared to be driven for business rather than personal purposes.
Our Roman tour guide, Marena, offered a simple explanation about the sea of smaller motor vehicles: “Gas is $8 a gallon here.” And Americans are crying about $2.50 a gallon? Marena, who leads packs of English-speaking tourists through the marbled monuments of Rome on foot, owns “a Smart Car.” She is quite proud of her smart car too because “it’s a Mercedes.” Well, sort of. The cute little go-carts (for lack of a better description) are manufactured by DaimlerChrysler. Indeed, the trademark Mercedes-Benz circle sits prominently on “the bonnet” (or hood) of the minicar.
Believe me, the way our feet were howling (or hurting) after several hours of pounding the hot cobblestone pavement and criss-crossing through the Vatican and the Coliseum, my daughter and I were ready to stuff ourselves into a two-seater Smart Car, which is even smaller than the MG Midget that I owned decades ago.
The closest thing we have to a Smart Car in the U.S. is the Mini Cooper, which is also popular from Rome to London. Chop the boxy Mini in half, and you can imagine a Smart Car.
The appropriately named Smart Cars not only conserve energy by saving on gasoline — they get 60 miles to the gallon — but they also provide maximum convenience for Europeans, who manage to squeeze them into the most unimaginable spaces to maximize parking on their narrow streets.
Even so, you won’t find any manner of passage on wheels in water-logged Venice, where our tour guide cheerfully noted, “You must consider that we have only two ways to get around Venice: the boat and the foot.” We decided “the foot” was better after getting lost on a water taxi in the middle of the chilly lagoon around midnight. However, that was before a relaxing, picturesque glide through the canals of Venice courtesy of a gorgeous, whistling gondolier.
That brief body respite, however, was followed by a hike, carrying our hand luggage, across the bridges to the “motor coach” (or bus) lot that was near the train station where we spotted the Orient Express.
We continued our journey through the green groves of Tuscany, the rocky beaches of Nice and Cannes in France, the lavender-dotted landscape of Provence and beyond as we meandered our way, often on foot, toward Paris and to London.
We hiked so many hills, as in Assi and Eze, and were whisked through so many huge cathedrals and museums, like the Louvre, that I swear we literally walked our way through Europe.
In Paris, I cried, “Not another step,” as tour guide, Robin Mitchell, pointed us to the top of a steep hill in Montmartre while conducting a two-hour walking tour. Her company, Black Paris Divas, specializes in showing the former haunts of black Americans such as the World War II soldiers known as “the Jazzmen,” as well as entertainers, artists, and writers such as Ada “Bricktop” Smith, Josephine Baker, Sidney Bechet, Langston Hughes and James Baldwin.
Ms. Mitchell, a University of California at Berkeley doctoral student, noted that she has lost 30 pounds during her nine-month stay in Paris “because I have to climb two hills to get home.” Once, she faced 125 steps when the Metro escalator broke. She figured she could reward herself with a croissant after she reached the top. “Walking is the best diet there is,” she said.
No kidding. To my delight, my own scale registers two pounds less, which is a mighty feat considering all the pasta, baguettes, gelato and wine I consumed during our two-week trek. I owe thanks to the feet for holding out.
You can amaze yourself with what you can do when you have no other choice. When ice and air conditioning are scarce, for instance, you go out to the park or the cafe and weather the heat with your neighbors in Montmartre.
Yesterday, when I filled the tank of my Chrysler Sebring convertible with $22 of gas at $2.19 a gallon, I did a double take. $2.19? Then, I thanked my lucky stars that I don’t live in Italy or France or England.
Still, I am mindful of our tendency to be unappreciative of and wasteful with our abundant resources in America. For now, I tell myself I’m going to be more conscientious. I will, for example, walk to the grocery store or the drug store, which is less than a mile away.
On the ride home from Washington Dulles International Airport, I was crudely jolted into reality when several onerous SUVs roared by.
A European Smart Car wouldn’t stand a chance here, I thought. It would be smashed like a ladybug within two seconds on the Beltway.
However, Smart Cars are just what we need in an area that is becoming the nation’s capital of gas-guzzling SUV gridlock.
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