As I write this, I am still in a state of shock as in my shaking hands, I hold the key to normal life in Italy- the coveted Permesso di Soggiorno (PDS in expat/immigrant slang). You all have no idea the mountains scaled to arrive at this moment. A permesso is your legal permission to stay and work over the table (as opposed to under if you know what I mean!). Mine was supposed to be so "easy" to obtain being an included component of the Working Holiday Visa programme for Canadian youth. Not so however, and you can read about my first Questura adventure here. I could grumble on about the Questura and how it gives me nightmares but I'm in way too good of a mood for that. After two months of running around like a chicken with it's head cut off between the Questura, the Sportello Ufficiale dell'Immigrazione, the Post Office, and Tabacchi shops, I've finally done it- my fingerprints taken like a criminal now resting happily in the computer system (the later of which I should mention had the habit of not funzionan-ing on random days, especially Fridays). The photo is not my actual permesso because obviously one must wait even more for that beauty to arrive, but it's the receipt which is the equivalent to those temporary driver's licenses they give you: a slip of paper that substitutes the real thing.
Permesso & Prada make a beautiful couple no?
Today was a day of miracles because I also managed to obtain my codice fiscale, the Italian version of a Canadian SIN number which basically translates to the number that shows you are a real human being. In Italy, everywhere you go (to buy contact lenses, to get a cell phone...) asks for a codice fiscale and you sure feel like an outsider when you have to respond with a "non ce l'ho". I must say thank you to both the Questura and Agenzia delle Entrate (givers of the codice fiscale)- they were very kind...to my passport especially. It is a rather ugly situation to tell the truth, but as soon as someone sees my Canadian passport, smiles erupt from nowhere and people skip their coffee breaks to help you (that might be a slight exaggeration actually). Unfortunately, certain passports have more power here; the way you are spoken to and dealt with changes dramatically and I have spent all too many hours at the Questura to see this in action. Obviously this disparity should not exist but many expats here will report a similar experience to mine I'm sure. I have even once had an Italian (who knew I was Canadian) tell me straight out to 'beware of the immigrants', clearly slotting me into some kind of exception category when really, I AM an immigrant.
Anyways, time for champagne I say. It's been a monumental day! Stay tuned for a future post on what it's like to be 'racially ambiguous' in Italy...Oh and sorry for the late post, in typical Italy style, our Internet isn't working and we are waiting for a TIM technician to come fix it. I shall refrain from commenting further...
Anyways, time for champagne I say. It's been a monumental day! Stay tuned for a future post on what it's like to be 'racially ambiguous' in Italy...Oh and sorry for the late post, in typical Italy style, our Internet isn't working and we are waiting for a TIM technician to come fix it. I shall refrain from commenting further...
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