Characteristic Italian stolidity in reaction
to scooter-song arises as spontaneously as your own Nordic irritability; they
are inured to a ubiquitous, perennial, aural wallpaper, exulting in a symphony
of snarling engine and squealing brake, effortless conveyance of families, and a
powerful medium of expression to the world at large. To them it is too much a
celebration to be an irritation. The urban Italian has grown up with that
lullaby and sleeps through it as soundly as I might sleep through a dawn chorus
of roosters; I grew up on a poultry farm!
Your sensitivities probably are more
complex. Your fight-or-flight reaction to unfamiliar and irregular loud noises,
combines with certain components in scooter sound to make it about as soothing
to your nerves as fingernails on a chalkboard, especially if combined with
stresses of work or travel. Scooters and the like generally run small-capacity
engines at high revs, creating sounds and modulations suggestive of terminal
desperation. Their perfunctory silencers emit intrusive noise levels and abrasively
shrill tones, triggering innate threat responses.
On reflection, if lullaby of Turin frays your nerves, you might try a therapeutic visit
to say, Madrid or Athens -- or perhaps a steel forging plant.
