Permesso Update

In previous posts, I explained the lengthy process to apply for a visa and then obtain a "permesso di soggiorno", or permission to stay, in Italy.  Here's an update.

My original appointment of March 17 was cancelled due to the lockdown in Italy and subsequently changed three more times.  This change required two additional health insurance policies- short term from July 30 to September 17, then long term for one additional year, ending July 31, 2021.

On September 17, my scheduled time to arrive at the questura was 10:40.  The person who is working with me went early and arrived at 6:40am and got on line.  At 7:30 she called me to ask if I could arrive by 8:00 instead of our agreed 8:30, because the police officer said there were many people working and the line was moving quickly.  This was good news! 

Shortly after I arrived, my number was called.  I had a folder of documents about my apartment, financial resources and health insurance.  I had all the back-up material from my application in New York City.  The only papers that were requested were for my private health insurance, and my four passport photos. (We had filed other papers upon my arrival in Florence.) By 9:00am, the first step was finished.

The next task was to get fingerprinted.  I was assured that this happened only one time, and then I would not need to be fingerprinted again in all of Europe.  Since the first task went quickly, we assumed the second part would go quickly as well, especially since I had a low number and would be in the second group to be called.  However, the wait was nearly three hours.  Bathrooms were locked.  There were a few places to sit down.  The windows were open, but there were no fans and certainly no air conditioning.  This is an immigration center and police headquarters in a large, cement block of a building. Since the Covid situation, people were required to line up outside instead of inside, which helped.

The fingerprinting itself took less than two minutes.  

After that, we said our goodbyes.  I went to have lunch and Ulrike went home to rest since she had to return with a client in the afternoon.  Maybe in a month, most likely two months, I'll return to get my residence card.  Hopefully, it won't already be expired, which happens in some cases.  

I walked a bit before deciding to have lunch at the well-known Trattoria Sergio Gozzi, in the San Lorenzo neighborhood, near the Central Market, since 1915.  They are famous for their bistecca, but I couldn't resist ravioli. 

At Home

A week ago, I went with my friend, Ursula, to Ikea.  The impetus for this was as follows:  I was at the apartment next door, home of Ursula and Sergio, when Ursula placed crackers into a zip-lock bag.  I pounced and asked, "Where did you get those bags?"  A regular zip-lock bag cannot be found on the supermarket shelves in Italy.  She replied that they were from Ikea and that she needed to go soon to pick up coffee and napkins.  I asked if I could tag along on her next trip.  

In addition to zip-lock bags, I had a list of items that I wanted to buy to have my apartment here feel more like "me"... more like my "home".  Included on the list-- glass jars for my morning oatmeal and tea; colorful potholders; a short glass vase for the table; an outdoor mat; new sheets.  And, of course there were the extra items I picked up while there, like the heart napkin holder in the photo.  Isn't that what Ikea is all about?  

The questions of what creates a "home" and where I feel the most "at home", have been on my mind for months. (And, the question of feeling "useful" again, but that's a separate issue!)  When I first bought my own house in Bloomfield, I had clear notions of the home I wanted to create.  All the photographs on the walls were ones I had taken of significant people and places. Each handmade item had a story.  Homemade cookies were always in the freezer.  Flowers were on the table. Good quality soap was in the bathroom.  I wanted a feeling of love. Of course, some of those aspects are easy to recreate anywhere; but, the essence of "home" is something else.  

After the Christmas holidays of 2019 and before the "lockdown", I began to feel homesick.  I missed all of my belongings and the activities that I did with ease and confidence.  I emailed my friend, Ed, who had traveled extensively.  He called and said, "I'm surprised it took you this long."  I blurted out, "I just want to throw two sticks of butter in my KitchenAide and bake a damn batch of cookies!" We had a serious conversation about being connected to a place, about routines that mattered, and how it was normal to miss all of that. I had read articles written by people who were traveling long term, and each one said that they didn't even think about the items they had packed into storage.  Turns out, that is not my case at all.  

After almost a year, my apartment, which is beautifully appointed, does contain more items that I selected.  I like remembering each purchase and the conversations with shop owners. The apartment is modern and my taste tends to be more "country", so now there's a happy blend.  This is only a small step, because "home" is more than objects.  A casa.  Dove cantera' il mio cuore? 

(Note-- After I wrote this rumination, I listened to a podcast by an American journalist working in Beirut and reporting on the explosion of 4 August. Her apartment was badly damaged.  She had multiple cuts requiring stitches.  Her story, and worse, is multiplied throughout the city.  Perspective.)