It’s good having friends in various places in Italy who can root out great secrets about how to go about doing the impossible and relay them to you.
One of those secrets is parking the danged car in small medieval villages. Sure, you could just pull up on the sidewalk and leave the thing half in the road like everyone else in Italy, but somehow it just feels wrong enough that you can’t make yourself do it.
So, from the mouths of prominent international archaeologists who’ve spent lunch drinking no small amount of vino, here is the secret: upon entering the city limits of any town in Liguria, you and your passengers rub your buttocks. Your own buttocks, and with sincerity.
They swear to me that this is a long standing Ligurian tradition.
And here’s the good part: it works! After applying the requisite motions, each to our own nether regions, we found not just one slot, but a plethora of places in which to park the Peugeot.
Perhaps people had seen what was going on in the car and fled the villages for parts unknown, but you know what? Who cares. We parked legally, and our car was there when we got back. How often does that happen in Italy?