On my way through central Zagreb, I notice a long line of stalled vehicles. The line grows in length quite quickly. The whole street I am walking through is jammed pretty soon, and I decide to investigate. It takes me two blocks to come to the source of trouble. In a narrow street with cars parked on both sides, a small street-maintenance crew working for the city is shoveling just excavated soil onto a truck. Just behind it idles a huge bus from Rome with an enormous yellow-and-red sign on its back: “Veicolo lungo.” The truck should not have been there, for cars can barely squeeze around it, but what is a bus that size doing in such a narrow street? Just turning around a corner is pretty difficult for it. The Italian driver of the long vehicle should have known better, to be sure. A bus of that size cannot squeeze through the center of many an Italian city, either. As I am walking away from the traffic jam, which is by now accompanied by the tooting of many horns, I keep repeating to myself the inscription from the back of the bus: “Veicolo lungo, veicolo lungo, veicolo lungo…” Italian sounds so good to me!