Termoli

“Nobody on the road, nobody on the beach, I feel it in the air; the summer’s out of reach…”

-Don Henley, The Boys of Summer

*Still having connection issues, so unable to upload pictures for this post - hopefully will get this resolved in a few days*

Although our furnished apartment does have the very basics (dish ware, cooking utensils, pots and pans, sheets and blankets, and those kind of things), we did need to pick up some other household items.  As our town is quite small and doesn’t have a US-style big box store, or even a shopping center or strip mall, we decided to go to the closest home goods store we could find - Happy Casa in Termoli.  Termoli is huge compared to our town.  It’s a resort town with a centro storico (historic center), and a very nice beach in addition to its port.  It’s a very scenic 40 minute drive from our town.

We easily found the Happy Casa; it’s kind of like a big box store; the hubs said it made him think of a less-organized K-Mart.  Big Lots is what came to my mind; perhaps it’s a combination of the two.  They had a little bit of everything:  personal hygiene products, cleaning supplies, laundry detergent, cookware, bathroom furnishings, toys, and even Christmas items.  So we picked up some towels, hair conditioner, laundry detergent (note to self:  figure out how to use the Italian washing machine soon!), and other odds and ends - and even picked up a small, cheap microonde (microwave).  I forgot to check whether my US quarter would fit in the euro slot in the shopping cart, as they do at Aldi’s in Germany.

After our little shopping spree, it was about 1:00 PM; here in this region of Italy at least, that’s lunch time (il pranzo). We checked Google maps for lunch restaurants and decided on a place called Ricky’s; the GPS in our car misled us a bit (she sometimes struggles with roundabouts), but we eventually found it.  It had quite a lot of seating, but was dead empty except for what appeared to be a small group of men - possibly employees - eating lunch.  We only had primo piatto (first course), which were pasta dishes:  pasta ragù for me, and a pasta, beans, and shrimp dish  for him (I don’t remember the Italian name for this dish).  My pasta consisted of long, thin, flat noodles - maybe tagliatelle - in tomato sauce with shreds of very tender beef - delicious!  His pasta was short, rolled tubes.  And, while we were waiting for our lunches, the server brought us a plate of screppelle, which we’d never had before - sticks of lightly fried dough that are very soft, almost donut-like, on the inside - they look very simple but taste absolutely amazing.  

Even though the servings were not very big by American standards, we still found ourselves too full for il secondo (meat or fish course).  We’re still working on adapting our eating style to fit in with the Italian lifestyle.

We realized that we were quite close to the beach; in fact, we drove just a little way down the road before finding a small parking area with beach access.  We pulled in then walked a short distance to the water.  The beach was practically empty - I think the whole time we were there, we saw maybe two or three other people, and a couple of dogs.  The weather was perfect for walking along the shore - the sun was out, it was in the mid-60s F (maybe about 18 C), there was no wind…the Adriatic was very calm and blue.  My husband claims he saw several fish jumping out of the water.  If we’d had our beach chairs with us, we could have parked ourselves there for the rest of the day.  

We saw several boats - one appeared to be a ferry; another was a small cruise ship (think Spirit of Philadelphia-style); and a third was some kind of industrial-looking ship that was heading into the port.  The sand at Termoli beach is a little different than that found along the New Jersey shore - it feels springier somehow when you walk on it.  I am not sure what makes it so, but it was interesting.  I couldn’t get over the fact that we were practically the only people there - if I was a local, I’d be there every nice day.

After our little beach interlude, we returned home and put our little apartment in order with the things we bought, then took a little siesta before heading out for dinner down the street at Bar One, which is more pizza place than bar.  As we discovered, there is no printed menu; they have a display case with three or four kinds of pizza (flatbread style, not round), and you just select from what’s available and they bring it to your table.  He had some kind of hot salami on his (it was a little spicy, but not what I would call “hot”); my pizza had corn, artichokes, and some sort of pork/ham kind of meat, not prosciutto I don’t think, but similar.  No, there was no tomato sauce on these, but there was a generous amount of cheese.  They were very good; I’d have never thought to put corn or artichokes on pizza, but I assure you, it works.  Instead of bringing the pizzas to us on plates, they presented the two orders together on a wooden board that we realized was cut into the shape of the map of Molise.  The two orders of pizza and a glass of red wine each cost us a total of €12 (a bit less that $14).

Afterward, we took our nightly passeggiata (stroll around town - this is a thing in Italy) and went to what we think of as the local watering hole for a glass of red wine - only to run in to our friend from yesterday - the older gentleman who was so excited to speak with us.  He bought us each a glass of wine; but he left shortly thereafter.  Several other locals came over to chat with us; one of the bartenders spoke a little English so she translated for everyone.  I have to say, the residents here are very friendly folks!  I think I’ve spoken to more people in this town over the last two days than I’ve spoken to in our US neighborhood in the last 12 years - and we’re not even speaking the same language!

Casa Dolce Casa

 “Our house is a very, very, very fine house, with two cats in the yard, life used to be so hard…”

Crosby, Stills, Nash, & Young, Our House

There is no wireless internet here as of yet; it’s not included with the rent so I will need to sort this out in the near future.  Apologies in advance that there will be no photos with this post

A very busy day!  After sleeping off the stresses of yesterday in our very nice room (more of a suite, actually) at the B&B, we had an early breakfast prepared by the proprietor, Giovanni.  Breakfast was cappuccino and what we would call marble cake, I think.  Italian breakfasts tend to be sweet in general; we will have to get used to this (this will not be a problem for me, anyway).  Then we said goodbye to our host, packed up the car and braved the streets of Campobasso once again to head into what appeared to be the business district for my 9:30 AM appointment at the Agenzia delle Entrate - the revenue agency - in order to obtain my codice fiscale, my Italian tax ID number.  It’s a 16-digit code, both letters and numbers, and it is generated based on letters in your name, your birthday, and place of birth - so there is no need to keep it secret as you would a US social security number because most can be easily calculated.   Like a social security number, it is used for tax purposes, but also for so much more - shopping online, securing a lease, acquiring a SIM card and phone number, obtaining utilities, and lots of other things.  I needed to have it for signing our (well, technically my) lease, and I will need it when I submit my paperwork for citizenship recognition, too.

We arrived on time for the appointment - dear husband parked behind the Agenzia office and stayed with the car in case he needed to move it - again, not much parking available so he may or may not have been parked legally.  Not that it seems to matter here; we saw cars parked at weird angles with their front ends entirely on the sidewalks.  

I met with Anna, my interpreter for the morning, who scheduled the appointment for me.  We walked into building where, seated in the foyer, was a member of the Polizia di Stato (state police), who greeted us and confirmed my appointment.  He generated a ticket for me at a machine very like the kind you see at the DMV, and pointed us to a large room with a waiting area and a row of numbered, plexiglass-fronted cubicles, each with a clerk behind a desk.  There was an electronic message board on one wall indicating which tickets were being called to each numbered cubicle; when my ticket number was displayed, we went to the clerk at cubicle #1, an older gentleman whose job it was to review the relatively simple form and generate the codice fiscale.

Now, one thing about Italy is that women never change their names upon marriage - it’s just not done here, at all, ever.  In fact, Italians can change their surnames only under very limited circumstances as per the law, as I understand it.  So the clerk looked at my form which lists my surname as my maiden name, and checked my passport, which shows my surname as my married name, and he was questioning the difference.  Fortunately, we anticipated this, and also brought along copies of my birth certificate and my marriage certificate, and Anna explained to the clerk how common it is in the US for married women to change their names.  I got the sense that he thought the name change thing was a stupid idea, but at least he seemed to accept her explanation for the discrepancy.  Next he questioned why we left my street address off of the application form (it listed only the name of the town).  Anna explained to him for me that it wasn’t on the form because I had yet to sign the lease; in fact, I would be doing so later today.  He seemed to have less of a problem with this than he did with my name.  Once we got all this out of the way, he generated the codice fiscale on paper for me (later I will receive a card).  So that is the very first step of this process accomplished!

After the appointment, my other interpreter Nicoletta was waiting for me outside.  She and a guy that may or may not have been her boyfriend led the way in their car as we drove from Campobasso up and over - and sometimes through - the hills (smallish mountains?) to our new town; it took just under an hour to get here.  We parked on the main drag as directed; sitting on a bench nearby was one of our two new landlords - the husband half of a super nice married couple.  He is an older gentleman; his younger (or at least younger-looking) wife is the town’s doctor, whose office is downstairs from our apartment.  She soon joined us and we went inside to see the apartment.  They explained (through Nicoletta, as they do not speak English) that they live down the street; next week she is moving her office to another building so after that we will be the only ones in the property.   

On floor 0 (street level), inside the front door there is the door to the doctor’s office to the left, and the door to the right is for our apartment.  Up two relatively short flights of stairs and you arrive at the first floor - to the left is the living room with what I think you'd call a Juliet balcony, and to the right is the eat-in kitchen.  There is a gas stove with an oven, and a mid-side refrigerator with a small freezer (the fridge and freezer are two separate units, hidden behind cabinetry; they are smaller than American-sized but larger than some Italian ones we’ve seen).  There is neither a dishwasher nor a microwave.  Up another two short flights of stairs takes you to the master bedroom (with another small balcony) and two full bathrooms.  One is powder-room sized with just a sink, a toilet, and a narrow shower stall; the other other bathroom is quite a bit larger with both a toilet and bidet, a somewhat larger shower stall, as well as a small washing machine (clothes dryers are not common in Italy, so we expected - correctly - we would not have one here).  The next level up has a guest bedroom (without a bed as of yet, but Nicoletta said that the landlords could provide one if we were to have any guests), and a sort of utility room area with an enclosed terrace balcony - the windows here open and it was suggested we can dry our clothes on a drying rack here, or get ourselves a little table and chairs.  The rooms all have separate radiators; the heat is on, although it doesn’t seem particularly cold here yet to me.  I’m not sure whether we can adjust this.

I and the landlords signed the lease; as I understand it, it will probably be registered at the town hall tomorrow.  Once it is registered, I will have my next appointments scheduled at the town hall here to begin the citizenship recognition process.  The first appointment will probably not be any earlier than next Tuesday, as Monday is All Saints' Day, a holiday here; everything will be closed.

The doctor then excused herself to get back to her clinic appointments.  We took a walk around the town with Nicoletta, her maybe-boyfriend, and the husband landlord.  They pointed out various buildings, shops, and the three bars on our street.  One of the bars is also a pizza place, but they only serve pizza at night, after 7:00 PM.  I think we saw a gelateria (gelato shop) as well, though we didn't notice any other restaurants in this section of town.  We passed by the town hall, and a couple of churches, as well as the tower, which the landlord offered to take us to one of these days.  The town is very quiet and seems rather empty right now - we were told that people are away working the olive harvest.  Also, we observed that there are quite a number of properties for sale - many of which appear to require extensive renovations. 

After our tour, we doubled back and stopped in one of the little grocery stores to pick up a few things (pasta, sauce, toilet paper, cornetti (kind of like croissants) and a small jar of a Nutella-like spread (a fancier brand, I was told) to put on our cornetti for breakfast tomorrow.  Oh, and coffee - not American-style filtered coffee, but Italian-style coffee that is made on the stove in a moka pot and poured into wee little cups - espresso.

Once we retuned to our apartment with our groceries, Nicoletta and company left us to ourselves.  We had a bit of a rest before setting out to explore on our own.  We were getting rather hungry - Nicoletta said lunch time doesn’t really begin until about 1 PM; most of the shops are closed between 1 PM and 4 or 5 PM but reopen for a couple or three hours before closing again for the night.  We stopped at the largest of the bars, which has outdoor seating, and sipped a couple of glasses of white wine, while munching on olives and a crusty bread topped with olive oil.  The olives, which were not pitted, seemed a bit firmer than the olives we're used to, and they tasted very good.  I wonder if they are processed differently?  While we were there, a man came over to us who appeared excited to meet us and seemed desperately to want to chat with us - but he didn’t speak any English and we only understood a very little of his Italian (we learned later in the evening that there is a local dialect here that is not like formal Italian).  We tried using the iTranslate app on my phone, but my cell/data connection wasn’t the greatest, so that didn’t work very well.  Soon his friend showed up, and he was British!  He (the friend) said that he’s lived here for about eight years.  He was able to act as our interpreter.  There was a third friend as well, but he didn’t really say much.  My husband took a picture of me with our new friends the Englishman and the first man on the scene, showing us trying to communicate. The first man wanted to know our names, where we were living, when we had arrived, and also wanted to know what our relationship to one another was.  I’m not sure he believed we are married to each other.  He asked us how many children we have, and so on.  It was really all very friendly and the guy did seem genuinely interested.  The Englishman mentioned that there are a small number of other people who speak English in the town.  I wish I could remember their names - but as this town is so small I have no doubt we will run into them all again very soon.

While we were out exploring on our own, we ran into the husband landlord on the street; he stopped us for another chat - but of course we had difficulty communicating without Nicoletta there.  Hubs thinks he was trying to sell us a house (he owns a couple of others besides this one, we gather), and he also talked about one of the buildings across the street from where we were standing - I pointed out a cat on the sidewalk out front (there are a lot of cats roaming about here) and I think he was saying something about the owner of that house having 20 cats!  I don’t know whether landlord-husband has a job of his own; from what we observed today at least, he seems to just walk around town all day, popping back over here now and then to chat with his wife’s patients outside her clinic.

We came back to the apartment, did some unpacking, and decompressed.  I stood out on the upstairs balcony and the landlord was down below again - this time I could make out that he was asking me about our car (macchina), and saying something about the mercato (market). I was finally able to piece together that he was advising us that there will be a market in town on Saturday (sabato), and that we would need to move our car, and there was a truck somehow related to the upcoming market day already parked near our car.  Hubby and I went downstairs to chat with him some more, but we couldn’t really figure out whether he wanted us to move the car now, or  just at some time before market day.  To be on the safe side, we moved it.  I think the gentleman possibly may have been trying to tell us where to move it, but I don’t know for sure and anyway we found a spot just around the corner, so no big deal.

Dear Husband cooked up the pasta for dinner; after eating, we took another walk around town and stopped again at our new favorite watering hole - this time each of had a very nice glass of Montepulciano.  And we met…another English speaker.  He was born here, but his family moved to England when he was a small child so he grew up there.  He wondered what on Earth brought us to this little town.  He was very nice.  Everyone we spoke to today was very nice to us actually, even if they didn’t understand us.

Tomorrow’s goals are to find an ATM, and possibly take a drive to Termoli if the weather continues to be as pleasant as it has been the last two days (it’s been warmer and drier than we expected - Indian Summer kind of weather, almost).  We need to make a shopping list as well, as there are some household items we will need that I don’t think we can get here.  We could order from Amazon.it, if worst comes to worst - but I’d rather buy from the local shops for the experience of meeting people, etc.

Day One: Driving Video

Here is a link to the video I took while driving in Campobasso:  CLICK HERE

Day One: Campobasso

I've seen that road before, It always leads me here; lead me to your door…”

The Beatles, The Long and Winding Road

*Warning:  I had to have several glasses of wine before I could bear to describe the afternoon’s events…perdonami any errors…

We made it!  We left on time at 6:45 PM 10/26.  Our flight was uneventful, aside from some rather strong turbulence early on; however, we ended up landing about half an hour earlier than expected, so I won't complain.  Aside from the turbulence, it was a pretty great flight, mostly because we treated ourselves - for the first time ever - to flying business class.  It was like we were in our own individual pods, for lack of a better word.  We could lay flat! We got printed menus!  And huge warm blankets and full-size pillows! We got Bose headphones instead of those stupid little earbuds that always fall out of one’s ears as soon as you make the slightest movement! We felt like rock stars.  Of course, my sensible husband reminded me that a) he is now retired and b) I am currently unemployed; therefore c) it’s unlikely we will be treating ourselves like this again anytime soon unless we hit the lottery.  Aside from that splash of cold water, the actual flight was one of the highlights of the day.  

We arrived in Rome (Leonardo da Vinci-Fiumicino Airport) and made it through passport control just fine (yes, I got my timbro - the stamp in my passport).  Picked up our luggage…and then realized I’d never received any confirmation as to where exactly we would meet the shuttle van that would be picking us up to take us to the dealership where our leased vehicle awaited us.  We just followed the crowd toward the designed taxi/limo/bus pickup area outside of the Arrivals terminal…only to find that was not actually where we needed to be.  Two phone calls later (me speaking English/the other party speaking Italian), I was able to determine we needed to get back inside the airport to get to International Departures, Floor One, Terminal Three, Door #4 (side note:  floor numbers in Europe differ from floor numbers in the US:  Floor One is what we'd call the 2nd floor in the US).  

I didn't think to inquire as to why we were expected to meet them at Departures when we'd obviously just arrived.

The problem was that we were already outside the airport, and getting back inside required getting past the airport security carabiniere (police).  We were told that to get to the Departures area, we needed to show a boarding pass.  Of course, the only boarding passes we had were our those for our incoming flight, yet they seemed to suffice, as no one actually looked closely at them, and we were waved through.  Cool beans! 

We finally managed to meet up with the gentleman from Renault and made our way to the auto dealership to pick up our vehicle.  It is a Renault Captur; this was the closest vehicle I could find that I thought would be equivalent to the Honda HRV that we drive at home; turns out, it is a bit smaller and is more like my Mazda CX3 in size - which meant that the “way back” and the back seats were entirely taken up by our luggage (four suitcases and two carryon backpacks; don’t judge!).  A tight fit, but it works. 

The next task to accomplish was to get gas, as the car didn’t have much fuel in it at pickup.  We found that there was a gas station just down the road from the dealership. We forgot to ask whether patrons pump their own gas in Italy/in the Lazio region, or whether the attendant must do so.  The way it worked out was that my hubby pumped the gas, then paid the bill afterward.  Each pump had two diesel hoses, and one gas hose; our vehicle requires gas (and it’s an automatic, too - something of a rarity here, but I made the effort to find one because someone on this trip who isn’t me cannot drive a manual shift vehicle).

And we were on our way!  The drive from the dealership to Campobasso (about 244 km or not quite 152 miles) was, for the most part, quite picturesque:  we saw many super-sized hills/small mountains, with ancient-looking villages/fortresses/castles/monasteries perched atop of or nestled among the nooks and crannies of same; loads of olive trees; some cacti that I think looked very much like prickly pear cacti, and of course several vineyards.  While the scenery was perfect…the drive itself was quite nerve-wracking, because Italy.  In a previous post I hinted at the fact that that Italian drivers ignore speed limits, think stop signs are suggestions, and have no idea what the turn signals are for, or whatever I said there.  All of this was proven to be true today, and then some.  Imagine a nightmare combination of NYC and DC traffic - it was like that level of stupidity without the high volume - and that was on the highways (and don’t ask me what the actual speed limit was, because I do not think we noticed one speed limit sign - I am sure there were some, but we were concentrating so hard on not getting into an accident that we didn’t pay attention to such a minor thing as speed limits).  I must give many kudos and much love to my hubby for driving today; I would not have had the steady nerves to do it myself. 

The B&B where we’re spending tonight is located in the heart of Città (city) Campobasso, which is the capital of the Province of Campobasso, as well as being the capital of the region of Molise.  It’s a very old city; there were probably people living around here as far back as the 8th century.  In the oldest part of the city (where the B&B is located), the streets are very narrow - scarily so.  While dear hubby was driving, I took a bit of video - but as I am having trouble uploading it here; in the meantime, here is a still pic:

It was scary enough just being a passenger; I would not have wanted to be the driver!

And then the afternoon took a turn for the worse:  when we finally arrived at our destination, there was no on-street parking to be had anywhere near the B&B.  We drove through the nearby streets several times, to no avail.  So we decided that the sensible thing to do would be to unload the luggage from the car, and I would check in, while my husband would drive around looking for a parking space, then walk back.  Seemed like a good idea at the time…

Except it wasn’t.  At. All.

Now, what happened next may have been a little bit my fault, because I should have changed the SIM in his phone before we got off the plane - and I did not.  So when he got completely lost, couldn’t remember the address of the B&B, and couldn’t figure out how to bring it up again in the car’s GPS, he was not able to call or text me to let me know - and I wasn’t able to contact him either.  

While he was panic-driving around old town Campobasso, I checked into the B&B, hauled our luggage up several flights of stairs to our room (with the help of the very kind proprietor), and then went back outside to wait…and wait…and wait…and wait for hubby to return.  The proprietor left the premises (it seems he actually owns two B&Bs, same name, different addresses; or rather, one B&B spread across multiple properties) - and I found myself alone, sitting on the front stoop of the building.  There are no other guests in this building today; and it’s not a very busy street as far as pedestrians go (I guess people just park here and go…who knows where).  I just assumed that if my dear hubs had to drive around for more than a few minutes, he would come back for me, and we would set off together to locate a parking space.  But you know what they say about assuming making an ass out of you and me…

When he didn’t come back after 15-20 minutes, I told myself:  well, he probably had to park kind of far away, maybe several streets over, so of course it’s going to take awhile for him to walk back.  It’s quite hilly here, so the walk probably isn’t easy for him. And blah, blah, blah.  After an hour or so had passed, I started to worry - what if he got in an accident on one of these very narrow streets? What if he got hurt?  Then I started wondering whether or not he’d taken his medications today:  what if he got sick?  I stupidly tried calling/texting/messaging him before I remembered he didn’t have cell service - duh!  
I’m not normally the panicky type, I don’t think; but after about an hour and a half I really started to feel the cold fingers of fear squeezing my heart.  So I messaged the proprietor of the B&B to explain that I’d somehow managed to lose my husband, and to ask, could he help?  Note that the proprietor, Giovanni, does not speak English, and my Italian is next to nonexistent, so we basically communicated via the iTranslate app - which sufficed for our purposes, actually.  Giovanni was so kind - he came back to the B&B and decided he himself would drive around town in search of my husband, while I would keep waiting on the stoop.  Well, Giovanni's first trip around town was not successful.  He came back to let me know that he alerted the carabiniere to be on the lookout for our Captur with its French EU license plate.  Then our host set off searching once again.  Shortly thereafter, the carabiniere found my husband (because they stopped him for making an illegal turn), and led him back to the B&B.  Giovanni took charge of our car and drove off to park it…somewhere…nearby.  He says he will walk us to it tomorrow morning when it is time for us to leave.

I don’t think I was as happy to see my beloved on our wedding day as I was to see him back at the B&B this afternoon!  So all’s well that ended well.  We can laugh about it now, but in the moment it was rather scary - at least for me.

Before Giovanni headed back from whence he came, he made a reservation for us for dinner at Trattoria di Santis, which fortunately for us is right down the street, just a few doors down from the B&B.  The gentleman who greeted us at the door seemed to be the owner/waiter/chef all in one.  It’s a small place, not at all fancy, but with an outstanding yet simple menu consisting of what I understood to be regional dishes.  We shared the entrecôte, which was a beef dish, cooked rare and served on a heated slab of slate, with a side of some kind of potato slices and cooked spinach.   

The wine and the water (mineral water con gas) were also both regional.  Everything was delicious; the cares of the day melted away between the wonderful food and the chef/owner’s general good humor.  In spite of the language barrier, we had a fun time talking with him; he even gave us some interesting Japanese (!) whiskey on the house. And after such an excellent meal (and a few drinks), my hubby decided it was OK for me to share the above somewhat embarrassing story publicly.  So the day ended on a high note after all.

Tomorrow we are scheduled to meet with one of my interpreters at the Agenzia delle Entrate (the revenue agency here in Campobasso) to request my codice fiscale (somewhat like a US social security number, which I will need for various bureaucratic things) before heading off to see our new apartment home.

Leaving Home and Going...Home

 

“I’ll never be a stranger, and I’ll never be alone; wherever we’re together, that’s my home…”
Billy Joel, You’re My Home 

I’m having a little trouble wrapping my head around that fact that finally, after about 22 months of preparation, we’re actually doing this:  heading to Italy!  We’re leaving two days from now.  I think we’re mostly ready (still have to pack), although I’m fairly sure I’ll have forgotten something, some detail or piece of information, but eh:  if so, we’ll find a way to deal with it. 

We are so, so fortunate to have one of our nephews coming to stay in our house while we are away; we’ve never been gone for longer than about two weeks, and we weren’t keen on leaving our house empty for what could be months.  At least if something happens while we are away, we have someone there who can help us deal with it from afar. 

I started out with a long to-do list of things to accomplish before we leave; I’ve whittled it down to the last few things.  The list was mainly small but practical things:  making sure all our bills are sent electronically; setting up an account to which I can transfer money and convert the currency to euros (we’re using Wise since their conversion rates and fees were the most reasonable I could find); and getting SIMs for our phones so we have data and cell service (our current US provider has an international plan, but the fees are ridiculous).  Cell and data service are much cheaper in Europe; it was easy to order SIMs that will work in Europe via Amazon before leaving, and have them set up for use upon arrival.  

Some items we needed to take care of were a little more complex:  for example, making arrangements to have health coverage while we are away, just in case one of us gets sick or injured.  Now, Italian healthcare is a very different system compared to that of the US.  We could theoretically just pay out of pocket for, say, routine doctor visits and medications, but…you just never know, so better to be safe than sorry, is our thinking.  We also made sure that we had several months’ supply of prescriptions, and also purchased a few OTC meds (Advil, Aleve, things like that) on which we rely but may be harder to find and/or may cost more over there. 

We have our required pre-flight COVID tests scheduled for tomorrow (and I am happy to report that we were both finally able to get our respective vaccine boosters – we were worried that Hubby wouldn’t be able to, but the Moderna booster jab was finally approved just in the nick of time).  I’ve filled out our EU Passenger Locator Forms, and set us up on the VeriFly app as per our airline.  So, other than actually packing, we’re just about ready.  From the research I’ve done, it looks like the weather where we will be going should be somewhat similar to what we are used to here (if perhaps somewhat more rainy), so packing shouldn’t be too difficult aside from the fact that I admittedly have a tendency to overpack.  I really should know better – this ain’t our first rodeo, travel-wise, and I’m really, really, going to try to be better this time, I swear! 

You may have noticed that I haven’t said the name of the comune in which we will be living.  The reason for that is I’m contractually obligated not to say it – at least not on social media (the folks who need to know will know, of course).    There are good reasons for this:  the comune would not want to be overwhelmed with requests from others seeking recognition (the number of folks seeking dual Italian citizenship has increased dramatically in the last couple of years).  Small comuni that are willing to process these requests simply don’t have the manpower to handle a high volume of paperwork (and not all of them have the necessary experience or familiarity with the laws to do so).  Additionally, they don’t want to draw too much attention from the Italian government in that if they suddenly had a large number of citizenship recognition requests, they might be investigated for being a kind of “citizenship factory” (in the past, there have been cases of comuni that allowed people to circumvent the strict residency requirements and other rules, leading to government investigations resulting in fines for the municipalities and loss of citizenship for the applicants).  The service provider I am working with* wants to keep a good relationship with the various comuni to which they refer clients, hence blabbing the name to all and sundry is a no-no. 

But I can give a very general description of our new home away from home.  Our comune-to-be is located in the region of Molise, in the Province of Campobasso.  It’s roughly 48 KM (about 30 miles, give or take) from the city of Campobasso (the capital of the province has the same name as the province itself; confusing, I know).  It’s just over 50 KM from Termoli – so a little less than an hour’s drive to a nice beach (not that I think we’ll be spending a lot of time at the beach this time of year, but still…).  The comune is very small compared to where we live in PA (to keep it vague, let's just say the population is well under 3,000; there are over 14,000 residents here in our township).  I did a Google search for images, and it looks very cute!   We’ve been told it’s very walkable, and that we can easily walk to do our shopping – a lifestyle change we are looking forward to, believe it or not.  We will have a car though, since we will be somewhat off the beaten path, and we will definitely need a vehicle to get anywhere outside of the comune (there are train stations in Campobasso city and in Termoli via which we can travel to other regions, when we don’t want to drive). 

Here are a few screen snips I grabbed from Google Earth, so you can get a better sense of where we will be:

 

The first thing we will need to do upon arrival in Italy is to make sure that passport control stamps my passport, as this will be my proof of date of arrival. If for some reason they don’t stamp it, or they stamp it incorrectly (I'm told it's been known to happen), I will have to take an extra step and file a Dichiarazione di Presenza, or Declaration of Presence.  We’re specifically taking a direct flight to Rome, rather than a flight that would require a transfer in another Schengen Area country, to make sure I get the proper timbro (passport stamp).  Once we’ve made it through passport control and gathered our luggage, we’ll meet up with someone from the car dealership, who will take to pick up our car (we are leasing, not renting).  And from there, we will head to Campobasso, where we will spend the night at a B&B before taking care of some business in the provincial capital the following day prior to arriving at our new home.

I have to admit I am glad that the dealership will be sending someone out to the airport to pick us up, as neither of us would be too excited about having to drive out of the airport.  I am particularly nervous about the traffic; although I think that once we are away from the airport and headed towards Campobasso, it shouldn’t be too bad.  It’s just that we’ve seen Italian drivers – and they are scary if you aren’t used to driving in high traffic areas where stop signs are suggestions and speed limits are ignored; heaven help the pedestrian who gets in the way.  We’ve been assured, though, that we’ll need to be more concerned about goats in the roadway than the other drivers, at least in and around our comune.   Goats we can handle:  after all, they’re very tasty.    

Just think:  my next entry will probably be posted from Italy!

* As I speak very, very little Italian, I am working with a highly-rated company that provides on-the-ground assistance to those applying for recognition of Italian citizenship.  They reviewed the documentation I collected and advised as to any amendments needed, and found the apartment we will be renting, ensuring that the type of lease meets legal residency requirements.  They will also provide translators to attend all residency and citizenship-related appointments with me, to facilitate communication and ensure all the necessary paperwork is completed and presented properly.  There are many such companies in existence; some more trustworthy than others.  There are wide-ranging differences in types of services offered as well as in fee structures.   I did extensive research and interviewed several service providers before I made my selection.

Document Drama: Act Two

 

“Like the singin' bird and the croakin' toad, I've got a name, I've got a name;
And I carry it with me like my daddy did…”
Jim Croce, I Got a Name

Back in early 2020, one of the first US documents I requested was a copy of my grandfather Alfonso’s birth certificate.  I sent a request to PA’s Division of Vital Records (a division of the state’s Department of Health)…and the request came back as not found.  Hm.

So, I did a little research and discovered that the county where he was born maintains a birth index for the years 1893-1936.  I sent a request off to the Orphan’s Court for a search and certified copy of any record found.  In spite of the pandemic, I received a response in about five days – and immediately saw why the state could not provide a birth certificate based on my request:

How the heck did that happen? 

Well, as best as I can guess, the information was self-reported.  Whoever was recording the information probably misunderstood the names due to the Italian accent; and the reporting party probably didn’t have the English language skills to correct any errors.  So I believe that the information was recorded based on unverified phonetic spelling:  if you pronounce “Cesare Pesaresi” as an Italian would, I can see how it might sound a bit like “Jazza Pizzaraza” to ears unfamiliar with the foreign sounds.  

I took this information and reached out to Vital Records again:  I sent another request for Alfonso’s birth certificate, along with a copy of the County record, and a letter explaining that the county index lists everyone’s names spelled incorrectly, and provided the correct spellings.  Then I waited.  And waited.  And waited.  

Finally, in May 2020, I received a copy of his birth certificate from the state!  Unfortunately, it looked like this:

I know the song says that “two out of three ain’t bad.”  However, in this case, that third one was a real stickler – without “Cesare Pesaresi” on Alfonso’s birth certificate, I wouldn’t be able to prove my lineage for citizenship recognition.

I contacted Vital Records yet again to let them know the birth certificate was wrong.  The only response I received, both in writing and over the phone, was that they required a court order to make the requested correction.  This did not make any sense to me:  after all, they corrected my grandfather’s name, and his mother’s name – why couldn’t they correct Cesare’s as well?  In frustration, I contacted my state representative’s office, to see if they could intervene on my behalf – but they received the same response.

Back to the internet I went to see what I could find out about how, exactly, to get a court order.  Turns out, it’s a lot easier to do if it’s your own birth certificate – and you happen to still be alive (my grandfather died in 2004, so obviously he wasn't going to be of much help).  It’s also a lot easier if you’re trying to correct a birth certificate that was issued in practically any other US state – PA just does not like to amend its vital records, period.  I realized that given my work schedule at the time, I wasn’t going to be able to do this on my own – I would need help in preparing and filing a petition.

Do you know how many attorneys in Pennsylvania know anything about how to petition for a corrected birth certificate?  I don’t either, but I suspect it’s a very small number, because I had a great deal of trouble finding an attorney who was willing to take my case.   The majority of the few lawyers that bothered to respond to my inquiries admitted they weren’t sure what the process would be, or what documents would be required, or even whether any other family members would need to join in the petition (which in my case would have been problematic), and thus would have to charge exorbitant fees.  The rest just said, “No, thanks.”

So it took me quite a few weeks to find anyone who was even interested in the project. I finally found Tim and Vince, partners in a small law firm in my county.  I actually knew Tim many years ago, when he was a leader of my son’s Boy Scout troop.  I’d forgotten he was a lawyer; it was pure coincidence that I connected with him via the County's Bar Association.  Anyway – they admitted they’d never heard of a request like mine before, but thought the case would be “interesting,” and after hearing my story and seeing the documentation I’d accumulated in the meantime that clearly demonstrates that Cesare Pesaresi was in fact the father of Alfonso Pesaresi, they were quite willing to give it a go – and for what I considered to be relatively reasonable fees. 

They prepared a petition while I worked on providing official documents to support my case:  a copy of the incorrect birth certificate in question; a certified and translated copy of Cesare’s Italian birth certificate, complete with Italian apostille; a copy of my grandfather’s baptismal record; certified copies of Cesare’s naturalization records (filed in Northampton County, these documents list the names of the children of Cesare, including my grandfather); and a certified copy of Cesare and Emma’s marriage certificate (also from Northampton County).  As a backup, I obtained certified copies of the 1920 and 1930 Census records from NARA (National Archives and Records Administration).  Most of the other documents were duplicates of documents I’d already gathered as they were required for citizenship recognition anyway.  The baptismal record (not required for citizenship recognition) took a bit of detective work to track down, as the church where he was baptized no longer exists, having merged with another parish many years ago.  Actually, I hadn’t known for certain where Alfonso was baptized; I found this by reviewing my family records, looking for churches where other family members had been baptized/married/buried, and went from there – the internet led me to the church which holds these records today.  The very kind church secretary recognized my family name and went into the church to search for the records, even though at the time, it was closed due to Covid restrictions.  And sure enough, I’d found the correct parish:

One thing we weren’t sure of was where, exactly, to file the petition.  So we started by filing in the county where I live, thinking that would be the easiest.  It wasn’t.  The request was denied for lack of jurisdiction.  We filed a motion to reconsider, and that was denied as well.  UGH.

Back to the drawing board – or rather, back to the internet for more research – because I am nothing if not persistent!  After going down several rabbit holes and following links from site to site to site, I finally found a few other cases similar to mine.  All the successful cases I found were filed in Dauphin County – the county where Pennsylvania's Vital Records office is located.  I presented my research to the attorneys, who prepared a revised petition based on the cases I’d found (fortunately for me, the Dauphin County Orphans’ Court cases are viewable online, which made it easier to see these successful filings for comparison). 

The new and improved petition was filed (in the correct jurisdiction) on February 5, 2021.  And an Order requiring Vital Records to correct the name of Iazza Pizzaraza to Cesare Pesaresi was filed just four days later!  And I didn’t even have to go to court for a hearing!

Finally: success!  Or so I thought.

I quickly sent off another request for Alfonso’s (corrected) birth certificate, along with certified copies of the petition we'd filed and of the brand new court Order, as well as a copy of my own photo ID, as per instructions.  I eagerly awaited the document – I could hardly believe that after so long, I was finally going to have a corrected birth certificate.

So that really loud Mbang M you heard last April 7^th was the sound of my head exploding when I read the reply from Vital Records, which said, in part:

“…We are unable to process your request for the following reasons:

-To proceed with your request, please provide a copy of the court petition and any supporting documentation.

-You did not provide an acceptable government-issued photo ID verifying your name and current mailing address…”

WTAF.

I had followed their original written instructions to me:  I sent a certified copy of the petition and the Order; I sent a copy of my driver’s license.  What the hell else could they possibly need?    After all the time, effort, and expense – they still didn’t want to cooperate?  Sigh.  One. more. time:  I sent them another certified copy of the petition (which, incidentally, included copies of all of the vital records previously described that were provided to the court as evidence), another certified copy of the Order, copies of the NARA-certified Census records for 1920, 1930, and 1940; a copy of Cesare’s US Certificate of Citizenship; my grandparent’s UK marriage certificate (because it listed Cesare as Alfonso’s father); copies of several newspaper articles I found on newspapers.com that mentioned my grandfather as being the son of his father - including  his parents’ obituaries and the article about my grandmother arriving from England I included in my previous post; and my grandfather’s death certificate.  Oh, and copies of my driver’s license, passport, and passport card (perhaps this bit of overkill was mildly obnoxious, but at this point, I didn't care).

May 15, 2021 was the day I finally, finally, finally received the corrected birth certificate for Alfonso Pesaresi.  And that was the day when Italian citizenship recognition truly became a solid possibility for me.

One thing I would still like to know:  how on Earth did my grandfather go through his entire life with a completely inaccurate birth certificate?

Document Drama: Act One

 

“There was faulty wordin' in the documents / I can still hear you laughin'…”
-Ryan Adams, Sink Ships

In this post, I listed the documents necessary to make my case for Italian citizenship.  I started gathering paperwork for this project back in January 2020 (pre-Covid).  However, I’ve been researching my family tree (off and on) for many years:  my interest in genealogy began back in the eighth grade with a social studies class assignment (yes, that was several decades ago).

So I was very fortunate in several ways:  my grandparents were alive well into my adulthood (living long enough to become great grandparents themselves) and thus I had, over the years, collected family stories, documents, and information from them.  I knew exactly where and when my great grandfather was born in Italy; I also knew in what year he became a naturalized US citizen, as well as when and where he died (I was not-quite-eight years old at the time).  And I certainly knew the necessary information about my grandparents and parents as well.  So it should have been a piece of cake to gather the necessary documents, right?

 Well…sort of. With the help of Google translate, I had no trouble writing a letter in Italian (admittedly a very basic one, in which I also apologized for any mistakes in grammar and spelling, not being a native Italian speaker) to the Anagrafe (registry office) in Corinaldo to request a certified copy of Cesare’s estratto dell'atto di nascita (official extract of his birth record).  It took about a month to arrive; that was 🗲lightning fast🗲 in Italian Bureaucratic Time.

I had two other “foreign” documents (i.e. non-US documents) to request:  the required marriage certificate of my grandparents, who met and married in the UK when my grandfather was stationed there while serving in the US Army (Dec. 1943-Aug. 1945), and an official, legalized (essentially, Apostilled) letter from the UK’s National Archives confirming that my grandfather did not naturalize as a UK citizen during his residency there.  This second document, while not a strict requirement as such, was ordered “just in case,” should the Italian authorities question whether he naturalized in the UK.  This document was quite easy to get, and I received it fairly quickly.  The marriage certificate was more problematical, if only because it was a multi-step process:  I had to 1) obtain a certified, legalized copy of the marriage certificate; 2) I had to have it translated into Italian; and 3) I had to have the translation certified by the Italian Consulate in London (basically, they certify that the translation is correct and was done by an approved translator).  Because I’m not located in the UK, this required a bit of back-and-forth via mail.  Obtaining the marriage record was surprisingly easy; I did have to hire a service provider to take care of getting the marriage certificate translated for me.  Once I had that in hand, I was able to forward this to the Consulate in London for the certification of the translation on my own. All told, it took about five months to complete the above described process, thanks to Covid (short-staffed offices, slow mail, etc.).

Meanwhile, I began ordering all the US-issued vital records I would need – the various birth, marriage, divorce, and death records.  Fortunately for me, all of these items are located in Pennsylvania.  Unfortunately, several documents contained errors that needed addressing in some way.  Most of them were simple to deal with.  A few of them were (stupidly) my own fault.  And one was a serious problem that could have completely derailed my track to citizenship recognition.

I’ll start by describing the easy ones – the errors in my own documents.  For my whole life up to this point, I was under the impression that my name was, well, what it is, and that I was born at Easton Hospital in Easton, PA.  So imagine my surprise when I received the “long form” birth certificate from PA Vital Records with my first name spelled incorrectly, and my birth place listed as Wilson, PA.  WTF?  Every other major document in my life (driver’s license, passport, social security card, marriage records, you name it) has my name spelled correctly; and my marriage licenses all list my place of birth as Easton, PA – because that’s what I’d been told.  Note that the “long form” version is just that – it’s the birth certificate which lists more than just the baby’s name and the parents’ names, as on the short form certificate I have that was issued way (way!) back in the 70s.  I never needed another copy until now, and all my life I guess I just…took my parents’ words for it about my name and place of birth.  Silly me!  I googled “Easton Hospital,” and sure enough, it really is in Wilson Borough – the next town over from the City of Easton.

Why were these seemingly minor mistakes such a big deal, you ask?  Because:  Italian bureaucracy is a bitch.  All the documents have to “match,” (or satisfactory supplemental proof has to be provided in the case of errors that cannot be corrected), to prove that the people listed in the documents are in fact the people in your genealogical line (including yourself).

That meant I had several documents to correct relating to my own records:  my birth certificate (to correct the spelling of my name), and my marriage records, to correct my place of birth.  Correcting my PA birth certificate was relatively simple – there is a form to complete, have notarized, and send in with the appropriate fee along with supporting documentation (I sent my drivers’ license and passport copies, and a certified copy of my marriage record).    Of course, in Covid times, it took a lot longer to get the correction than it would have otherwise.  But still, my name on the record now is in fact…my name spelled as I’ve been writing it all my life because that’s how I was taught to write it.

I’ve been living in the same PA county since before reaching legal adulthood, and my marriage records happen to be filed in the same county.   I emailed the marriage license dept. – in my county, this is part of the function of the Orphans’ Court – to find out how to go about correcting my place of birth in the records.  I discovered that in my county, it’s a relatively simple fix:  you just need to file a petition in court, provide supporting documentation (in this case, a birth certificate), and pay the $50 fee.  In fact, the kind assistant clerk who answered my inquiry went so far as to send me a template for the petition!  I just had to fill in my personal info and print it out.  It took exactly ONE day from the filing of the petitions for Orders to be issued correcting the records – impressive, given that this was in the middle of a pandemic.  It took about a month, though, to receive my “exemplified” copies of the (updated) marriage certificates, because Covid. An exemplified copy, by the way,  is a sort of “super certified” copy – not only is it certified by the Clerk of the Orphans’ Court to be a true and correct copy of the record, but there is a second certification by the Judge of the Orphans’ Court division certifying that the document is certified by the correct Court Officer, as well as a third certification, again by the Clerk of the Orphans’ Court, attesting to the fact that the aforementioned Judge is in fact really a Judge of the Orphans’ Court division.  Sheesh.

Next Up:  Document Drama, Act Two

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