Fiat 500: Please Park Your Horse

Bloomberg Radio's morning team is camping out at the Detroit Auto Show this week. I've been listening to their reporting and interviews while driving my 20th Century Honda to work. One story that caught my ear involved the launch of the 2012 Fiat 500, better known as the Cinquecento.

The new Fiat 500 has enough automotive bells and whistles to make me jealous, especially as my Honda features roll-down windows, a cassette deck, and push-back seats. Driving in a legacy Honda and listening to a commentator discuss the fine points of the new Fiat reminded me of my first experience in a Cinquecento.

That occurred when I lived in Rome three decades ago. A Texas friend owned a Fiat 500. He used Texas license plates on the car, which led to some wonderful dialogue between him and the Eternal City's opinionated citizens. One salty-tongued Roman suggested the "cowboy" park his horse in a rare available, legal parking space.

The Texan's blue Fiat had a funky charm. Its most endearing quality was a white door on the driver's side. The car had been in an accident, and the original door was replaced. As I recall, the car's prior owner never got around to getting the body work completed. The white door was included in the deal when the Texan sold the car.

For many reasons, I'm sentimental about that Cinquecento. I associate friends and some good times with it. It was the vehicle that opened the Italian countryside to informal, impromptu exploration. I left Italy in that car, not to return until my honeymoon fifteen years later.

I also learned how to drive in that Fiat 500. It was an adventure. One could say that not having anything resembling the Italian version of a learner's permit was an issue, and part of the thrill. My doubtful immigration status was another. Practical matters also made matters exciting: I was learning on a stick in a city where aggressive driving was the only way to go. (Coming from New York definitely helped me cope with that aspect of Roman driving technique.)

I suppose my unofficial road test was the time I drove along the Amalfi Coast. Let's just say I was focused on the task at hand. The American woman who taught me, and who sat beside me, enjoyed the view. It was her car, and she had guts to let me drive it on the narrow cliffside passage. She named the vehicle "Massimo," mostly in irony.

I wonder what name she would give the 2012 Cinquecento.