Growing up, I was a world traveler venturing to fascinating destinations many times. Not on a plane or a ship, but through the vehicle of reading.
One of my favorites then and now is Richard Scarry’s “Busy, Busy World.” I still have my childhood copy. I even pull it off the shelf from time to time and take a ride through some of the world’s best known cities and sites.
It is a grand tour of the world with stops in the Netherlands, Paris, Rome, and even Japan. Scarry’s world is populated by all sorts of animals in place of humans, as is often the case in children’s books. They zip about in tiny cars, on bikes, and scooters. Every page is a feast of activity perfect for holding the young eye.
Reading that book as a child took me to places I never knew existed or thought I would see otherwise. It isn’t that we didn’t travel. We visited my aunt at Jacksonville Beach, Fla., the extended family in Waycross, Ga., and another aunt in New Jersey. All exotic places to be sure, but not exactly quite as captivating as a place that required a passport for entry. Although the New Jersey dialect could be challenging, fortunately my mother grew up there so at least we had a translator.
Obviously, Scarry offers a whimsical view of the wider world, or, at least, that’s what I thought. That is, until adulthood offered the opportunity to explore some of those sites firsthand. And, who am I to ignore the invitation of an open door?
After a visit to Amsterdam and Rome, I’d say Scarry got it right. In Amsterdam, everyone seems to be in chaotic motion. They drive tiny cars and ride scooters and bikes. It’s just like walking into Scarry’s book.
When there is enough space, there is a narrow sidewalk for pedestrians, a slightly wider path for bikes and scooters, and then a normal road for cars, trucks, and buses. Sometimes the bikes and people share the same path. If you hear a little bell behind you, it doesn’t mean there’s an ice cream truck attached. It means get out of the way lest you end up with a tire track tattoo.
Meanwhile in Rome, there are few bikes, but tons of scooters. They zip in and out, flowing around cars and trucks like water past river rocks. It’s a motor cross run by riders in suits and ties, dresses and heels, and shorts and tee shirts. Watching all the swirling activity not only reminded me of Scarry’s busy world, but also of the cartoon “Wacky Racers” I watched as a kid. Back then, I knew where the finish line was unlike in Rome. I’m not even sure the participants know its location. Of course, when it comes to running the Rat Race, do any of us know?
I was really intrigued by the variety of small cars. There were Fiat 500’s and Smart Cars aplenty. Parallel parking was no challenge. Since many of the cars are as long as they are wide, folks just pull in bumper to the curb. It must be nice to have a car small enough to tuck under your arm and carry into the house at night. It’s handy to be able to put them on a shelf in the hall coat closet.
To be fair, there are larger cars too. Kia, Ford, BMW, Volkswagen, and, since Fiat owns part of Chrysler, Jeeps pop up, too. For those who don’t own a set of wheels—two or four—there’s public transit. During most of the day, the buses are crammed with people. Tourists, as well as folks going to work and school. When I say “crammed”, I mean CRAMMED! I think we set a Guinness world record for “Most Sweaty People on a Bus” every trip we made while there. Timing is a different story. Let’s just say they run tight buses on a loose schedule. Hmm…sounds like our last trip to D.C. Guess people and public transit are pretty much the same everywhere.
When the day winds down and the moon comes out, the streets begin to empty and the cafes start to fill. There’s one on every corner. In case you get hungry between corners, there’s one in the middle of the block, too. And they say America is the land of convenience.
If football is on, especially the World Cup, everyone finds a café and watches. They cheer, jeer, and celebrate. Which is to say, they enjoy life.
If you find yourself in the Eternal City near the Termini Roma, look for the restaurant Alessio. They have three dining venues. Take the one down the stairs in the alley. It’s quiet there—off the street and away from traffic. Don’t bother mentioning that I sent you. They won’t remember me. But Kate and I won’t forget the spritz, red wine, and pasta.
It’s a part of the world Scarry didn’t show me, but one I'm glad we discovered.
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