Going Crazi in 'Burocrazia'

This week I don't like Roma very much, or Italy for that matter! The country is literally drowning in red tape, low productivity and a sinking economy. I'm not going to go on at any great length, much to your relief I'm sure, but journalists, authors and academics have devoted a life's work to try and explain the mess that is the Italian economy and politics. It does seem the government is making some attempts to provide a bit of a boost and this week there was much singing and dancing over some announcements intended to make life easier and more prosperous for the average Italian. These include 1. supermarkets will now be allowed to sell petrol and newspapers (which will no doubt necessitate the removal of the thousand varieties of tinned tomatoes currently filling the shelves), 2. when you fill your mobile phone with 50euros you will no longer be charged 5euros for the privilege, and 3. if you're so inclined life will be made easier should you wish to open a cinema!

However, one area where there are no signs of a cut back on paperwork is the application process for parking permits...

I recently changed car and to ensure I would not receive a wad of fines I set about trying to inform the powers that be that my current parking permit would need to be changed to reflect the new registration number. Simple thought I... noooooo, how wrong I was! To implement this simple change I would need the following documention, including photocopies (the italian system is obsessed with photocopies and no goverment office seems to own a photocopier)

• Car documentation to prove the car was registered to me (ok, no prob with that one)


• A letter written by me stating the permit for the old registration is no longer required (easy enough to do)


• My lease contract to prove I live where I do (fair enough)


• My passport to prove I am who I say I am (o-kaaay)


• My fiscal code (EVERYONE asks for this, so I expected it would be needed)


• My Permesso di Soggiorno to prove I have authorisation to be in this country (it's to park my car for heaven's sake!)
  
• and finally, a letter from my employer stating the car is for my exclusive use, which by the way, needs to be signed by the Managing Director (ok we're getting weird now, and given this guy runs a multimillion euro business I'm guessing he doesn't want me bugging him for a letter)

Anyway, after spending rather too much time carefully photocopying required documents, I placed the copies and originals into a fresh clear folder, grabbed a paper to read for the expected queue and set off for the parking office with a wee spring in my step. I happily walked along the road in the rain, feeling proud that I was fully prepared and ready to take on the inevitable long wait.

I arrived, took my numbered ticket (which informed me there were 15 people in front of me) and took my seat among the rather more than 15 people in the room. Finally 1 and a half hours later my number came up and off I went in search of the table where I would need to begin challenge number two - making myself understood in my maccheroni italian.

As luck would have it the person processing my application was a cute italian guy with a head full of curly hair. He began asking for the ream of documentation I proudly held. Car documentation - tick! Residency documentation - tick! Identification documentation - tick! Letter from employer - ti .....

He held up the letter in front of me and pointed to the presence of two small words - 'uso gratuito' or 'free use' in English, basically meaning I'm free to use the car for business and personal use. Not understanding the problem he then told me that unfortunately he would not be able to issue the permit as this letter did not tell him that the car was for my exclusive use. 'But the permit is for the street and I live in the street and the car is assigned to me' I pleaded. But no, it was to no avail, a new letter would be required from my company (signed by the MD of course) stating that the car was for my exclusive use. Also the fact that this letter had served perfectly well for my previous permit did nothing to change his mind.

As I began to angrily gather my belongings, he stopped me and I looked up hopefully thinking that he had succumbed to giving me my permit. Nope, not the case at all! Instead he said to me ' posso offrirti un caffe`?', meaning 'can I buy you a coffee?' 'Do I get my permit?' I said trying to bargain, 'No' he said. I almost threw my documentation at him but figured the weight of it would probably kill him instantly so I marched out the office instead (parking permit-less).

Tomorrow, I head back to the UK for a week and need to leave the car in the street all week senza permit. I've tried my best to do things to the letter of the law but to no avail, so, in the hope that I won't receive fines I've tried to do as the Romans do and parked the car on the pavement between my gate and the gate of the polish priests next door.

Given it's a pavement and there's no roadmarkings I reckon they can't fine me for not having a permit. I guess we'll find out next week...

Shoes, Socks and Spas

This weekend marked the beginning of i saldi or the sales here in Roma. Given that it's nigh on impossible to fit into the clothes in this city I had my heart set on finding a bargain pair of shoes or a bag. For days I had been wondering past the window of a shoe shop in Testaccio coveting a pair of black lacy shoes. My imagination had worked its way through every outfit and I knew these amazing shoes would be fab with all of them! I should have known ....

Now I know that my blogs so far have presented an idyllic view of life in Roma but much like any other city it does have its faults and one of these without doubt is the customer service found in the clothes and shoe shops. There I was on sale day heading straight for Testaccio and upon arrival I was delighted to discover my shoes sparking away in the window with a 50% discount!! I boldly walked into the shop and in my best polite Italian asked for a size 40. I swear at that moment something must have erupted from my face or something because the shop assistant recoiled in horror. It would appear that this particular store does not trouble itself with any sizes greater than a 38. Without so much as a Buongiorno off he scurried to look after the neatly packaged, well dressed italian women who would clearly provide him with more commission than I ever could!

After my shoe experience I hauled my big clown feet off to the Via Appia Nuova (one of Rome's longest shopping streets) to meet Marco as he said there were some things he wanted to buy. Little did I realise until I met him that his purchase of choice on the busiest shopping day of the year was SOCKS!!! So there I was in Rome's equivalent of C&A trying to be enthusiastic about whether beige or navy socks were a better buy.

Sunday we headed outside Rome to a place called Viterbo in northern Lazio, a mainly medieval town but one which originated in Etruscan times. In the 13th century, back in the days when the Popes weren't so popular in Rome, Viterbo was one of the favoured residences. Today it hosts the Italian gold reserves, however the area's main draw is the nearby thermal baths.

The photo above was taken in one of the typical medieval streets of Viterbo. The one to the right shows the Papal Palace or Palazzo dei Papi finished in 1266. The small electric car and motorino in the picture are apparently not 13th century modes of transport.




We had arranged an evening visit to the thermal baths for an outdoor dip so not quite believing that I was donning a swimsuit a mere 3 weeks after Christmas off we went. After the initial shock of unisex changing rooms (thankfully the showers were segregated) I braced myself for going into the dark january outdoors for a swim. The water was beautifully warm and we spent a couple of hours splashing about. I was so relaxed that even my big clown feet didn't bother me anymore.

The Weekend of the Witch ...

... well, she's not quite a witch but she certainly looks like one to me!



In Italy they have only recently embraced Father Christmas (Babbo Natale). Traditionally children receive their stockings on the 6th of January, filled with sweets if they have been good all year and carbon if they have been bad. The deliverer of these is not a jolly chubby man with a white beard but an ugly, old, but kindly, witch-like woman called La Befana. Piazza Navona is full of them and I swear I nearly pooped my pants when I saw these gals for the first time. The picture you see is an example of the Befana and not me first thing on a sunday morning! The other Christmas tradition in Italy is the displaying of the Nativity Scene (or Presepe). Every church worth it's salt has a presepe on display and of course one of the grandest is at the Vatican in St Peters Square.

So, this past weekend was the last of the season's festivities in Roma, which of course meant that it was yet another holiday! We spent saturday afternoon wondering around the streets of central Rome, haggling with the street vendors and trying to avoid tripping over the children running around the piazza's. On sunday, after a lazy morning we headed for Rome's planetarium, housed within the Mussolini built area of EUR in South Rome. It wasn't quite on par with the space museum in Washington, but I'll bet in Washington they can't deliver a story about space the way our italian lecturer did. Not a word did I understand but who needs to when there's an accent like that talking to you below a star-filled sky!

Here I go!

Geez, it's quite nerve-wracking writing the first blog! I couldn't quite decide where to start but I guess as good a place as any is new year and a wee bit about my hogmanay celebrations italian style!

Well, to start with, here New Year is called Capodanno and the thing to say seems to be Auguri (pronounced a-oo-goo-ree). Now this can get quite confusing as the 'Auguri' word seems to be used for all sorts of things; birthdays, Christmas or just to wish someone luck. I think the literal transalation is 'Wishes'. What made it all the more confusing was that as the fireworks were going at midnight (and the italian's love their fireworks), the 1st of January turned out to be one of the party-goers' birthday - and so followed more shouts of 'Auguri'.

Mum and Stuart were visiting for new year and we were invited to friends of Marco's for a new year feast and festa. The party was held in one of the Castelli villages surrounding Roma so off we went, the four of us, in the pre-requisite small city car that every Roman has (the city is full of Smarts, Yaris' and Micras). After getting lost a wee bit (italy isn't big on lighting street signs after it gets dark) we arrived to find the party in full swing and the antipasti out on the table. What was to follow was a 7 course buffet - Cannelloni, followed by Lasagne (apparently it's not just the same thing wrapped differently), followed by risotto with porcini mushrooms, followed by Zampone e lenticchie ( a kind of stuffed pig's leg served with lentils), then salsiccia e fagioli, miale arrosto and to finish it off some cake - for the birthday boy of course! I got as far as half of the lasagna which means I made the faux pas of not eating lentils as the first dish after midnight! Apparently this is eaten to bring you wealth in the following year - so here's to a poor 2007 then! Another tradition is that women should wear red underwear to bed on the first night of the year and the italian saying is "chi scopa a capodanno scopa tutto l'anno" (which I'm not going to translate into English). I didn't find this out until after new year and so I comfortably went to bed in my joggers and freebie t-shirt from the local nightclub.

So the food, the wine (from the next door neighbour's vineyard) and the endless firecrackers and flares and of course the fantastic company helped to make the Italian new year experience a very enjoyable one. Claudio and Mauro went to a special effort to get into the scottish traditions by giving us their unique example of scottish dancing (see picture) and of course there was, as always, the girl at the party who having drunk too much began to verbally abuse some of the revellers, I almost felt I was in Scotland!