Toot Toot

We live on an island, and the nearest bridge to the mainland is an old single lane swing bridge which pivots in the center to let large boats pass.  The inconvenience of waiting many minutes for the gates to lower, the bridge to open, and for a slow sail boat to approach and pass through is phlegmatically accepted by island residents as just another vestige of island life.  So is the additional delay of letting long lines of waiting cars on both sides of the bridge to dissipate.  To pass the time, I sometimes count the cars in line after the bridge restores passage to automobiles.  The largest of these counts stands at 25 cars each way.

Unfortunately, our island's having a roadway running along the beach makes it a favorite route for tourists who like to gaze at the sea, admire sunsets, and ogle the many houses being built or remodeled.  These strangers aren't schooled in bridge etiquette in spite of well worded signs that dictate that the file of cars going off the island goes first, and then the on-island flow goes next—all without alternating individual cars from opposite sides.  If these instructions are followed, delays can be minimized, but—alas—tourists aren't familiar with the rules and don't read the signs.

Somehow a wrong-headed sense of politeness takes over, and the driver of about the third car in line thinks it would be nice if a few cars of the opposing stream could get across.  Thus a hap-hazard alternating is established which drives local residents nuts.  Yesterday I was third in the line of off-island traffic.  The first in line was a tourist who had waited ten minutes for the bridge to open facing, not ten feet away, the sign explaining the rules.  The gates opened and he decided to wait in a silly, Alphonse and Gaston "after you" gesture to the first car on the other side of the bridge.  A polite toot-toot on my horn got him to cross the bridge before the horde on the other side could get moving.

Then, to my consternation, it became evident that the second car—the one in front of me—was also a tourist.  A cordial toot-toot again didn't move him.  Not wanting to wait for the whole line of cars to come on the island out of turn, I pushed the car ahead of me across the bridge on the sheer strength of my horn.  Thereafter, even the tourists got it, and all cars crossed the bridge in two long single files as requested by the signs.

I'm not normally an impatient driver, but our single lane bridge tries the manners of all local residents.  Impatience doesn't usually get you to your destination any sooner in 21st century Florida traffic.  So I'm not really proud I used my horn to get bridge traffic to move in an orderly fashion yesterday.  I must learn to tolerate out-of-state rubber-neckers who drive the key looking from side to side and pointing at the water while ignoring traffic signs.

These blogs are about Cuba and its animals, and clearly the above has little to do with those themes.  But I was reflecting on the meaning attached to a polite toot-toot of a car horn, and I recalled how very different the meaning can be in Cuba.  If you hear a little toot-toot while crossing a street in Havana, be afraid, be very afraid.  For in Cuba, "toot-toot" means, "you are in my right of way, and if you don't get out of the way, I'll hit you."  I've seen this command caution to pedestrians and bikers many times while riding in Cuban taxis.  The drivers are deadly serious, and pedestrians who don't heed them are in deadly peril.

Spanish and English have a few words that are identical in spelling, but have completely different meanings.  Those words are called "false cognates."  Well, the "toot-toot" of a Cuban auto horn is a false cognate with the same sound in Florida. Here it is a gentle nudging, and there it is a command with potentially fatal consequences.

Les Inglis