The first two or three antique cars I see are an anomaly.
After four or five, I wonder if this place attracts people who like old cars or just turns them that way?
Walking around stone paved streets of this old city, you find old cars parked under carports, in driveways, along alley walls, on the street, even in vacant lots. Some of these transports appear to be running while others have clearly given up their ghost.
One flashy vehicle features a couple of fish who could be right out of the book “Wind in the Willows” except that there are no fish in that whimsy, just an amphibian. A few cars have been ambushed by flowers. A red 60’s VW is parked in front of an office building. Around town, still driving, you see rust buckets that send out dirty exhaust but still get drivers from point A to point B.
Old cars are big, heavy, generous with big metal bumpers and shiny chrome. When you turn on their radios you hear big bands, early Elvis, Hank Williams. They are big lumbering dinosaurs that wear their hearts on their sleeves and I love to listen to their engines growl, pop hoods and see real distributor caps. These antique cars were made when Detroit was King and are still licensed and ready to roll.
Old cars and old cities go well together.
Seeing these Volkswagons makes me wonder how many Nazi’s found refuge here after the Second World War, started little bookstores and restaurants along the cobbled streets, sweeping their dirty pasts away with thick heavy straw brooms?
Back then, people could more easily disappear and start over than they can now.