Ken Curmi

Now you see it, now you don’t. Where did it go? Nobody knows, nobody cares.

Magic is ingrained in our traffic system. Once in the automobile, a magical object in its own right, the whim and fancy of something above us and outside of our control completely takes hold of the helpless driver, who can only pretend to be in charge of the vehicle which magically teleports him to his destination. En route in this magic carpet on wheels, surrounded by flashing lights, the purpose of which remains a baffling mystery, the encounters with the strange and unexplained are not few. Most of these are sudden apparitions: a car which magically crops up in front of us from a side-street; a warden or speed camera which materialises from behind a tree; a street-bump, competing for the island’s highest peak, magically appearing down an otherwise smooth and plain road, and without which driving would be a plain, humdrum affair.

The illusionist’s tricks do not stop at puzzling conjurations of beings and objects: sometimes, things disappear. A zebra crossing becoming almost invisible: not entirely, but far too much for its own good. A traffic light whose green has abandoned its warmer companions. Or, as in Ħamrun, a whole box-junction disappearing in front of our very eyes.

Knowing the deceitful nature of our traffic markings, I was surprised to read, a few weeks ago, how certain road markings on a beautiful but infamous road, the femme fatale of the coast, were to blame for the horrible and downright dangerous driving so intent on not disappearing from our islands. Surely, that cannot be. The Maltese, always a wise and practical people and knowing too well the tricks played by the supernatural signs scattered on the island’s roads, have long decided to ignore traffic markings, relegating the latter’s use to no more than street decoration.

That these same signs and markings, avoided like the plague, instilling such fear in the good Christians of the place that the sole mention of which makes people cross themselves, cannot be the cause of such calamities is to me an obvious conclusion. The Maltese, thanks to their habits, are well-guarded against them.

So much so that I question the need for a sign on the Coast Road which reads: “NO LINE MARKINGS AHEAD PROCEED WITH CAUTION”. Since when have Maltese drivers ever proceeded with caution? They are certainly not going to start now, and, even more certainly, not for the trivial circumstance of there being no traffic markings. For starters, as I pointed above, the markings are never visible to the Maltese: either because they are intentionally and sagaciously ignoring them, or because their attention is drawn to other phenomena, like a huge billboard advertising a discount on barbecue sets, or man’s new best friend, lighting and buzzing, wiggling its tail as it vibrates on the dashboard, begging to play.

No, it cannot be. It simply cannot be that the paranormal traffic markings have any effect on the local populace. Take the case I mentioned earlier, for instance. The people of Ħamrun, and those passing through, have always taken all the precautions to ensure they never follow the grid’s mystical bidding. They look elsewhere, traverse its treacherous pattern with tremendous speed and come up with a thousand other ways to escape its enchantment and not fall under its spell. Their discipline made the junction practically useless, and therefore harmless. Temporal wizardry eventually removed it from existence.

Now the box junction is itself a magical entity. If allowed to carry out its other-worldly function, it makes traffic jams disappear, swallowing gridlocks in an organised black hole from which congestion cannot escape without the hand of a greater force.

The Maltese, a deeply religious people, prefer to do without such sorcery on their roads. And so they have let Time erase the yellow painted black magic grid.

And yet, like a scene from The Crucible, traffic markings were once again blamed for recent accidents. Measures had been taken. Barricades stood guard: protectors of the good, overseers of the poor drivers and defenders of the law. As expected however, the witch-hunt did little good. Lo and behold, another accident happened within a few days after the establishment of the barricaded rule of law. This time, the witches were already burnt and poor lighting was named the culprit. Never is human agency entirely culpable in this land of superstitious customs and beliefs.

Poorly lit, the stretch of road may well be. That’s no excuse, however. Driving on the highway outside Budapest, cars speed smoothly past each other in complete darkness. The only road visible is the one being chased, conically illuminated by lonely headlights piercing the enveloping black. The drivers observe traffic laws, and traffic signs, which, despite being less numerous, are undoubtedly more influential. They switch on their indicator lights, and use hazard lights appropriately.

There is a mentality predominant in, if not endemic to our country, that we learn traffic signs and rules for the sake of passing the driving test, and just to get the licence. Bl-amment, as we say. Then, poof, all is gone once we are handed that licence. The knowledge vanishes into thin air. What does a small red arrow adjacent to a contraposing bigger black arrow mean? Who knows? Who cares? Just press the pedal to the metal and look ahead. What’s the difference between a black Greek cross in a red triangle and the same triangle with a black cross whose horizontal bar is wider than its vertical bar inside it? What’s the difference between a blue circle with a slanting red stripe on it, and a blue circle with a red saltire on it? Again, useless trivia one can safely ignore.

Some drivers are so keen on this mantra that they don’t even use their mirrors, thus mimicking the carriage horses with their own version of blinkers. It’s important not to get spooked by one’s surroundings while driving: seeing a car overtake may be startling and unnecessarily stressful. So the solution, clearly, is to become oblivious to other traffic and just hope for the best.

Magically, some of these drivers arrive at their destination safely. That we do not have more accidents on the roads is indeed miraculous given the way some drive. I cannot count how many close calls I have had because someone decided it would be fine to ignore traffic lines. Misplaced traffic signs and bad traffic regulations may indeed be a danger to drivers, but by far the bigger danger comes from ignoring the good ones, and the biggest danger, more often than not, is our own selves. Hell is other drivers, I would say, but not without hesitation, since by driving I mean controlling and operating a vehicle with care and respect for traffic laws, and not merely turning a circular object, pressing on a pedal and moving a stick, like we used to do when we were children.

Being in the driving seat does not make one a driver.