I traveled for ten days through a country where nothing is as organized as in the Netherlands. There are no rules, and if there are, they are either ignored or deliberately sabotaged. "I have the right of way" means nothing there. Starting a lawsuit is suicidal unless you know that your opponent has less money and worse connections than you.
You’re not allowed to smoke indoors, but nobody cares. They don’t know what VAT receipts are. Cash is king. In city traffic, it’s a battle for space, just like in La Paz or Beirut: everything on the edge, and always pretending you wouldn’t give a damn when you crash into someone else.
No, that’s not war - it’s a game. And it always gets interrupted if an old lady wants to cross the street. No need for a crosswalk; she just gets the space. Even from a black Mercedes V8 biturbo with a death squad onboard.
I love it, this world where people don’t hide behind legal-sounding arguments like "I’ve got this on video," "Give me your name and badge number," or "That’s not allowed, you know."
I saw a beautiful old Mercedes E-class crash head-on into an Audi. They were both total losses. And then I got to watch how those guys handled it. From both cars, two huge guys crawled out, four in total. Nobody started shouting to claim the right of way. There was no mention of red traffic lights. And the damage report that says "Be courteous, stay calm" remained untouched in the glove compartment.
How did they deal with it? Honestly, I have no idea. But it was done calmly, for sure. Things were agreed on, hands were shaken, and then everyone went their own way. Love it.
It’s exactly the same feeling I take home after a week in Naples: in places like this, I feel at peace. It may sound strange, but it’s really true. There’s something in our system that doesn’t work for me.
It’s that enforced safety, that interfering state with its long, fearful fingers that irritates me and makes me restless. I’d rather argue with a traffic cop than get an automated fine that – after correcting the measurement – slides into my mailbox. Give me a restaurant owner trying to rip me off rather than road taxes silently disappearing from my account. Give me crumbling asphalt with deep holes in it instead of 20 kilometers of seamlessly connected, soundproof, low-noise asphalt with trajectory control and DRIPS info systems spouting stupid advice.
And give me a Lada Niva without a handbrake but with butt warmers (on/off only), instead of a Tesla that comes with park assistance and adaptive cruise control but without a pulse..
It gives me a blissful feeling. Personal responsibility. Solving things together. Trust. Not being afraid of everything. Not avoiding risks all day long. Maturity. Fixing things.
Freedom, in short.