"My Permesso di Soggiorno' ...(dis)-continued!!" by mapakettle

We had a number of choices of places to go, but in the end, we decided on Slovenia. After all, the corporal at the Questura had said all I needed to do was leave Italy, and immediately return, and Slovenia was the closest. Besides, travel by rail did not guarantee a passport check, nor did travel anywhere within a Schengen country by air warrant a border stop, as guards were not always present.

Our friends Graziella and Alfio closed their pasticceria for a day, and drove Ma and I across the border, joining us in the role of tourists. In fact, the crossing point going out of Italy was unmanned at the time, so no exit stamp, but the Slovenian guards were on duty as always. This always excites me a tad, kind of an adventure, because we don't have any borders to cross in Canada except for our buddies to the south of us, the good ole' US of A, and it used to be that passports were never even looked at prior to 9/11.

Anyhow, we spent several hours over a lovely seafood lunch in Piran, a cozy, romantic fishing village just south of Trieste, but within the Slovenien border. Highly recommended for a day or two of relaxation, and the sea air is always so welcoming.

On the way home, we once again crossed through the Slovenian border point, passports duly stamped again (boy were my pages starting to look good...), but Graziella thought that was the only border crossing, and mistakenly drove straight through the Italian checkpoint without stopping. Needless to say, that created some commotion within the guardhouse, causing Ma Kettle and I to have anxious moments in the backseat. After all, the whole point in coming this day was to get my passport stamped with a new entry date, not to get jailed for running the border...!!

Graziella stopped, backed up, and simply apologized. You must understand, she stands fully erect at about 4'10", with the face of an angel, certainly not a typical terrorist type. The guard couldn't help smiling, but we were shunted off to the side to wait anyway, and passports once again handed over. Minutes later the border guard returned, sheepishly explaining that the computers were down, and we might have a bit of a wait before he would be able to process our request.

You see, passports often are not stamped in Italy. You must ask them to do it. They are not stamped as a matter of course as in other countries, but they begrudgingly will do so if asked.

To our great dismay, it was discovered Graziella's passport had expired a few months earlier. A simple shrug was her only response, and a phone call or two managed to set things straight. My passport received its stamp however, so our mission had been accomplished.

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Seaside village of Piran in Slovenia

Back in Padova, a new day...

The following day, Ma Kettle (my trusty translator) and I set off for the Questura. Our jubilant mood was dashed however as we found ourselves amidst a large crowd of others seeking documentation. We waited, and waited, more people joined us, and every time the door to the Questura opened, our group would press forward expectantly. The policeman would admit one or two, pressing various blank documents into outstretched hands of others, giving no explanations or instructions, allowing no indication of progress within. No one was willing to give up their hard fought spot for bathroom breaks, or a quick coffee. We had no idea how long we might have to wait, nothing. All we could do was wait.

Eventually Ma Kettle was able to get the officers attention, explaining how we were told previously by the corporal in his office to exit the country and then return with a new date stamp on my passport. He said we shouldn't have had to do that, and were told to return the following morning. He explained he was alone, and had no time to deal with us that day...no matter that we had been standing for hours outside, with no seating of any sort.

I kept asking myself why any tourist in his right mind would waste valuable vacation time this way. Of course, the answer is that they don't. That is why no one knew what to do with my requests at either Questura.

Day Two, my return to the Questura...

Arriving just moments past 8am, after spending an hour and a quarter on various buses, I found myself one of the masses once again. Too late for the first round of bodies to be admitted, and all I could do was blend in. Not a word of Italian was spoken, and certainly no English was heard. After about an hour or so, the same policeman from the previous day opened the door and called out numbers. People lucky enough to have received number slips were admitted, and the doors closed once more. Another hour passed, but this time I had worked my way to the front, and was the lucky recipient of slip #55 (a rather damp, pathetic, limp piece of green paper)(recycled?). Things were looking up. I no longer had to jockey for position beside the entrance. Minutes later, the door opened, the policeman crooked his finger at me, and I was finally admitted. Oh, such simple joy!!

I took my rightful spot at the glass wicket, passed over my thick packet of documents, and stood waiting for the questions to begin. The phone rang, and the policeman answered it. And talked forever... The phone rang again, and then his cell phone rang. I continued to stand patiently and wait. No courtesy was extended, no chairs offered, we were simply meat on the hoof, to be dealt with at the officials whim.

I must make it clear that the treatment is one of disdain. You are looked down upon and made to feel like one of the unwashed. You have no identity, you are not a person with feelings, you are simply a problem to be dealt with, much like taking out the trash. You are given little respect as a human being, and certainly no respect as an individual. I have never in all my life been treated in this fashion, even by the most arrogant bankers.

"You are Canadese", asked the policeman?

To be fair, this man tried to speak English to me. He asked where my wife was so she could translate. I explained she had the flu, and after waiting outside the previous day for so long with no results, I asked her not to come this day for the sake of her health. No response..

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You have a particular problem...

He said "You have a particular problem. You must leave Italy for three months, go back to Canada, and then return and re-apply". He further explained, "You should have come to this office within eight days after arriving in Italy to be issued a Tourist Permesso".

Very patiently, I told him how I had tried to apply, but the other Questura told me I didn't need one, and to simply return before the three month tourist stay had expired. He shrugged, but in telling this particular story to him, he interrupted me numerous times to speak to others walking past the wicket, and showed general disinterest in my story. He told me that there was 'no problem', just go home for three months, or visit a non-Schengen country for three months, and return, and request a Tourist Permesso at that time.

'No problem' he says, just go set up housekeeping in another country for 90 days!! The cost is staggering, let alone the fact that Ma and I would be separated for the first time in almost forty years.

This policeman was polite to a fault, but showed no real compassion for my situation. He was not interested in hearing about my dealings with the other Questura who dismissed my initial request for the Tourist Permesso. Since it didn't occur on his watch, it was my problem, not his.

I suppose to be fair, the system is not set up to deal with people like me. I have no 'need' to leave Canada for a better life in Italy. I'm talking about political reasons, not palm trees and sunshine reasons. I'm not about to steal jobs from the locals, and presently am able to support myself through my pension. The Questura are used to dealing with those who are desperate to obtain a safe haven, and who require immediate employment through which to feed their families. If you think about it, their need is far greater than mine is.

Also, I suppose for him to process my application would be paramount to asking him to choose sides, condemning the actions of the original Questura. In Italy, this loss of face is not acceptable, and could damage
his working relationship with fellow officers. I am conscious of this fact, and although I disagree with it, I understand how the system works.

My intentions are to return to his office, and attempt a more private interview. I'm of the hope that he misunderstood my situation, and will reconsider my application. I have the right to possess a permesso, and if I can maintain my cool, I'm confident he can be made to see reason.

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could this be in my future?

Officially, I don't exist...

As it stands, as of this moment, I am illegally in Italy, my passport has probably been flagged, and my love for Italy has been greatly diminished. This experience has left a bad taste in my mouth, and sadly, I feel our future in Italy no longer twinkles or shines as brightly as it once did.

Having gone a round or two with the authorities has made me realize that Italy is not all pasta and vino, sunshine and beauty. Of course I have no means of comparison regarding the immigration process of other countries. We really expected that Ma would receive her dual citizenship within six months, and I'd automatically be eligible to become a citizen too. The horror stories we have read on the net have mirrored our own, so we shouldn't take things personally. It is difficult not to however.

As it currently stands, I have not been ordered to leave the country, nor am I a prisoner under lock and key. I have simply been told that if I wish to obtain my Tourist Permesso, I must leave Italy for three months before starting my application process all over again. If I remain here and do nothing, I'm reasonably sure I won't be hunted down and removed by force. However, one never really knows. My main worry now is that if Ma and I were to holiday outside Italy I might be denied entry back into the country. I hesitate to take that chance. So, I guess, in a sense, I am a prisoner.

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Happier times (Chiogga Aug 2005)

I've had enough bureaucracy to last my lifetime...

Update...as of today's date, Dec 04/2005, I have not received my Permesso. All attempts to obtain it have failed, due to numerous errors on the part of ill-informed Italian authorities.

As mentioned above, I have been told I must leave Italy, live in a non Schengen country for a three month period, and then return and re-apply. I do not trust anything an official tells me any longer, after having been misled so many times by uncaring and ill informed authorities. I won't take the chance, nor bear the expense. It simply is not worth the effort.

Also, Ma Kettle, who was born in Italy, and has met all criteria for obtaining dual citizenship, is still awaiting the final piece of paperwork to complete her process. This document is not required (by law), and in fact has already been produced by Ma in the only 'officially' issued form, but one particular official has taken it upon himself to insist upon a ceremonial form, long since discontinued.

This form I am talking about is unnecessary in the application process for dual citizenship, but this one foolish official has determined that he 'might just as well' have it too. It doesn't matter to this cretin that it is no longer available for issue, and that the standard documentation that Ma has produced is the only legally recognized form issued today. He is asking for the impossible. Ma has sent numerous emails to this official, and he has 'never' acknowledged her pleas once. Not only is he stupid, with a highly inflated ego, but he is ignorant and rude to boot.

Things like this have tainted our love for Italy. The idiotic methods of Official-Dumb make it undesirable to live our retirement in Italy. We love the people, love the country in general, but resent the foolishness that the existing employment laws give as rights to poorly trained and lazy employees.

Furthermore, it is clear to me that Italy does not care to have other nationalities live within their shores. As tourists, we are tolerable, but as citizens, undesirable. Never was a list produced by any official indicating the steps that were required for either Ma or myself to complete the process, and never was one official in agreement with another official regarding the necessary legalities. They made it up as they went along, almost like a game, and they appeared to enjoy the power they got from playing this game.

We refuse to allow ourselves to be humiliated any further, and feel for the many desperate people we have encountered along our journey. I recall the young East Indian couple who were yelled at by a miserable, very unpleasant government employee, and saw the despair in their eyes as they slunk away to safety on the street. No one deserves to be forced to endure treatment like that. Dignity is something that mankind should always be allowed to maintain.

I pray that the good citizens of Italy will recognize this intolerable practice, and work towards putting an end to it. Every Italian we have spoken to has been appalled at our story, and unbelieving in the process (they've never applied for citizenship, so how would they know) However each one has acknowledged that they have had to endure stupid Official-Dumb procedures themselves in their daily life. In fact, the Italians are guaranteed a certain number of days per year in their employment contract, which allows them to attend to municipal or federal matters as required. I think that says it all.

I am so sad, so disappointed. My images of Italy the wonderful, have been damaged forever.

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Laura, Ma Kettle, Francesco (Effeti)(Nov 2005)

Memories will never die...

Our time in Italy has been, for the most part, a very happy one. We've met many wonderful people, two in particular, Francesco and his lovely wife Laura, who live in Verona. Francesco as many of the regular members of VT will recognize, is commonly known as Effeti, the unofficial #1 Most Helpful Guy on Italian Travel Forums.

This picture was taken in Verona during lunch in November 2005. We enjoyed a wonderful meal together, destroyed a bottle of 'red', then embarked on a visit of the city. Francesco is most knowledgeable of the background of his city, and is most enthusiastic about sharing his love of history with others.

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Ma Kettle, Graziella, Paola (June 2005)

We adopted a daughter...

We were pleased to have added someone else to our family tree. We found Paola (VT member Paoseo), rather liked her sweet and enthusiastic ways, and informally adopted her into the Kettle Clan. Paola has been with VT longer than I have, is originally from Trieste, and is presently working in Padova. We visit together often, and force fed her pumpkin pie during our Canadian Thanksgiving dinner this year.

In the picture, you will see Graziella, standing on her raised floor behind the counter at Alfio's Pasticceria in Padova (on Via Po). Graziella stands a mere 4'10" on tip toes, and shares duties with her hubby Alfio who does all the baking, and son Lorenzo who serves customers with a huge smile, and a sincere desire to please.

Alfio and Graziella have escorted Ma and me all over to various parts of Italy in their car, in fact we've toured Germany, Slovenia, and Austria together, and been introduced to most parts of the Dolomite's. Without their friendship, our past couple of years would have been restricted to normal visitor travel, and we'd be ignorant of the real Italy we have come to love.

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Graziella, Ma, Alfio, Claudio, Vilma (Aug 2005)

More travel companions...

This rag-tag, rather desperate looking group of misfits has travelled together from one end of the Dolomite's to the other, and spent numerous late nights sampling the local grappa, while sitting in Vilma's Hotel. Actually, we had invaded Vilma's home, perched high on the side of the mountain, located in a tiny town called Bogo (official population 3). We always stayed with her while visiting the Dolomite's.

Claudio, the gent with the black shirt, has entertained us with hours and hours of stories, totally unintelligible to me, but drawing laughs non the less. We've yodelled side by side on the top of Mount Marmolada, (known as the Queen of the Dolomite's), where Claudio had his picture taken by a Japanese tourist who thought he was a local guide (the tourist gesturing for me to get out of the way). Claudio wears his boots and mountain hat well, and he will be described to many future generations of Japanese, as an authentic mountain man of Mt. Marmolada.

I laugh, because he lives in Padova...and is an electrician. He does yodel well however. A simple yodel I discovered is to simply yell 'An old lady, old lady, old lady Whooo'. Repeated often, with great enthusiasm, volume, and confidence, it sounds most impressive to non English listeners.

Alfio, the fellow in the checked shirt, has a very gruff voice, the temperament of a lamb, but the heart of a lion. He simply adores Ma Kettle, and becomes putty in her presence. Alfio was almost split in half in a motorcycle accident over fifteen years ago, and endured 18 months of hospital stay, plus more than two dozen operations before he came mobile again. He walks with a limp, and now requires a walking stick while picking mushrooms in heavy mountainous bush. I admire the tenacity this man has, often working 16 hour days, but retaining his quick smile and his wonderful zest for life. His wife Graziella is seen wearing the blue bush jacket beside Ma (wearing the dumb hat).

We were visiting a local cheese farm (called a Malga), and had just finished a number of beers in order to wash down the copious amount of fresh processed cheese we had just consumed.

A word to the wise however, cheese purchased from local farms located at higher altitudes, doesn't fare well on the trip home. It has something to do with the atmospheric pressure, changing the molecular structure of the cheese as the altitude drops. Just be be careful, and don't overdo your purchases. It tends to go rancid very quickly. I refer to purchases for home consumption, not the cheeses consumed on premise. This has happened to us twice, so it isn't simply an old wives tales.

Just to keep you up to date, I must explain that Ma and I have returned to Canada, having left Italy June 2006. We have set up housekeeping in Calgary Alberta.

As a means of comparison, I obtained a job within 40 minutes, one that I still hold a year later, received Provincial Health coverage 'immediately' after a ten minute wait, renewed my temporary drivers license after less than five minutes (received my permanent license by mail a week later), had telephone and internet two days after the initial call, and even had a choice of morning, afternoon, or evening hookup, and electricity turned on within a day.

During my first C-Train ride, I found out I inserted the cover of my Transit Ticket Book into the validation machine, but the Transit cop simply laughed, flipped the cover over and indicated the ticket portion to insert next time I travel. No fines, no lecture, just a welcoming smile.

Canada, I love you, glad to be back.