Questura Questions

I had emailed the questura in Campobasso a few weeks ago to clarify whether Paolo could travel outside of Italy as he waits for his official permesso document that he applied for back in February.  I knew that he could go back to the US and return to Italy with just his receipt; but I was getting conflicting information regarding travel within the EU and/or Schengen Area - the issue being that he has been in the Schengen Area more than the 90 visa-free days allowed to US citizens who are not residents.  While there aren't border controls as such between the Schengen countries, there's always the possibility of having our ID checked; also, the airlines require the passport information when booking flights.  I was hoping - and had been lead to believe - that he could travel (by "travel," I mean "fly) as long as he was with me, and we had other documentation such as my ID, our marriage certificate, his permesso receipt, etc.  But because I don't believe everything I read online, I contacted the questura to get an official answer.

Last week while we were in Bologna, I received a reply to my inquiry - sort of:  

"Buongiorno, con riferimento alla pratica in oggetto l'interessato deve ripresentarsi presso questo Ufficio Immigrazione il giorno 16.03 dalle ore 08.30 alle ore 12.00 per essere nuovamente sottoposto a rilievi dattiloscopici in quanto la prima acquisizione delle impronte non e' andata a buon fine. Nell'occasione verranno fornite tutte le indicazioni per la circolazione nei Paesi dell'Unione Europea. Per il Dirigente l'Ufficio Immigrazione"

Google Translate is so much fun:

"Good morning, with reference to the practice in question the interested party must return to this Immigration Office on 16.03 from 08.30 to 12.00 in order to be subjected to tyloscopic surveys since the first acquisition of the footprints did not successfully. On the occasion will be provided all the indications for circulation in the countries of the European Union. For the Manager the Immigration Office"

Fortunately, we are just a little smarter than Google Translate (and also, we certainly don't remember Paolo's footprints being taken), so we understood this to mean that for whatever reason, his fingerprints needed to be re-taken and that he should come in on March 16th to do so.  Note that there was no answer to my actual question included, although they did at least imply they would answer the question about travel when he has the prints redone.

I wonder how long they would have waited to tell us he needed to come back, if I hadn't reached out to them in the first place about something completely different?  Because Italy.

So off we drove to Campobasso this morning.  While there is no snow here in our comune, there is a little snow up in the mountains, some of which we had to drive over in order to get to our destination (luckily there was no snow on the roadways).  I took a few quick photos from the passenger seat as we were heading into town:

Not really any snow here, just a view of part of Campobasso itself

We learned that the questura isn't usually open to the public on Wednesdays - that is, they don't schedule regular appointments for passports, residency permits, immigration, etc. - it's by invitation only.  The nice thing about that is, since there are a lot fewer people there, you don't have to stand outside waiting for so long.  You still have to get past the slightly grumpy guard at the gatehouse to enter the complex though.

The agent at the questura said that the issue with the fingerprints is that the two sets taken at the time of his appointment were then sent to Naples where they are somehow analyzed - and whatever computer program they have that does this flagged the sets of fingerprints as not matching!  Huh?!  Sigh.  Because Italy.  So once again, he had a set of prints taken at the window by the agent; then a second set taken in another office by a different agent in a lab coat - a rather cranky woman who complained that we (our interpreter and I) were talking too loudly; we were standing outside the building so she must have some kind of superhero-level hearing but whatever.

We finally got the definitive answer to the question about whether Paolo can travel to another EU and/or Schengen country while waiting for his permesso:  no.*  That is too bad, because it would have been nice to hop over to Germany for a few days while we are here.  On the other hand, since we were at the questura, we had an opportunity to confirm that the permesso will allegedly be ready before we head back to the US at the end of April.  We were able to make an appointment to pick it up on April 21.   It's too bad it won't be ready sooner - but it is what it is.  Because Italy.  Let's hope that Paolo's fingerprints match this time!!  👐

*I suppose, if we wanted to be sneaky about it, we could, theoretically, drive.  But there's always the chance we'd run into some issue where ID needs to be presented.  Also, we don't have the special sticker for the rental car that would be required if we were taking it to another country.  Plus, gas prices are crazy here - we pay about €2,25 ($2.47) per litre here (so over $9 per gallon if my math is correct).  And anyway, it would be much too long of a drive - my bladder can't hold out as long as Paolo's - he rarely wants to stop for pee-breaks.  Drives me nuts.

Passaporto e Permesso

 "Got three passports, couple of visas/You don't even know my real name..."

-Talking Heads, Life During Wartime

Well, I have two passports, not three - and it certainly wasn't no party, and it wasn't no disco, and it definitely wasn't no foolin' around...but I did it!  I finally have my passaporto italiano!  I'm so excited I think I will post another picture of it:

There are some slight differences between the US passport and the Italian one (other than the obvious ones of country and color).  For one thing, the Italian passport lists my town of residence (though not the street address). It also lists my height (in cm, which kind of makes me feel a bit taller) and my eye color.  By the way, according to the clerk at the questura here, there is no such eye color as "hazel," so for Italian purposes, my eyes are listed as grigi (grey).  The Italian passport includes two photos, not just one.  The biggest difference between the two passports is, of course, my name - because Italian women do not have the option to change their surname when they marry, it reflects my maiden name (as do all my other official Italian documents).  

There's an interesting website called Passport Index where you can compare passports of different countries.  As of this writing, Italy is ranked #2 in the world in terms of where you can go; the US is ranked 6th (taking Covid into account).

My passport was actually issued a few weeks ago, but was sent to my service provider's office rather than to my apartment address.  Since Paolo had an appointment to apply for his documentation today, I opted to have our translator bring it with her to give to me when we met for his appointment, rather than trust it to Poste italiane.

Now that I am a citizen, complete with ID and passaporto, I can live here (or anywhere in the EU), and/or come and go as I please.  I don't have to worry about the 90/180 day rules.  As the spouse of an Italian/EU citizen, Paolo has some limited rights as well - as long as he has the proper paperwork.  So today, we headed into Campobasso, the provincial capital, so he could present his documentation at the Immigration office in the questura, in order to receive a permesso di soggiorno per coniuge di cittadino italiano (residence permit for the spouse of an Italian citizen).

The questura opens for business at 9 AM; we were advised to get there by 8:30.  When we arrived at 8:20, there was already a line outside the gatehouse!  I was a little surprised, because I wasn't expecting it to be so busy - after all, Molise is not a very populous region (I think only Valle d'Aosta has fewer people).  But there must have been at least 10 people waiting in line when we arrived, and more showed up after we did.  I use the phrase "waiting in line" very loosely, as according to my personal observations, Italians don't really queue, they just mill about.   Our translator (today it was Saya again) joined us shortly after we arrived; she had all the relevant paperwork with her (we'd coordinated this last week).

At 9 AM the gatehouse opened and there was a rush to the front of the "line;" we did get through relatively quickly (after Saya and I presented our Green Passes for scanning, and Paolo's CDC vaccination card for review).  Paolo was given a little ticket (like you might get at the the deli counter); he was #76 (I couldn't puzzle out how the numbering system worked; there were not actually 75 people ahead of him, but whatever).  We walked around the gatehouse and down the side of the questura building, and entered a little outdoor courtyard to continue our wait.

We waited outside in the cold (low 40sF) until about 10:45, because there was only one person working the immigration counter.  Because Italy.  Once it was finally Paolo's turn, it went smoothly, if a bit slowly.  We handed in copies of the documents they require:  our estratto per riassunto del registro degli atti di matrimonio (extract of our marriage information recorded in my comune); a copy of every page of Paolo's US passport (yes - every single page, including the blank ones); a copy of my Italian ID card; a copy of my lease for the apartment here; some bank statements (to show he can support himself); a Dichiarazione di ospitalità or "hospitality letter," a form I had to sign that confirms that I'm letting him live with me; and a dichiarazione di soggiorno straniero - a foreigner's declaration of stay.  He also had to supply two Italian passport-sized photos, as well as a bollettino postale (it is the form that confirms the fee has been paid - kind of like a receipt that you fill in yourself - in this case, €30,46), and a marca da bollo (€16 tax stamp).  It seems as if everything needs a tax stamp in Italy.

The officer slowly shuffled through the documents and entered information into his computer; then after scanning two fingerprints (one from each hand), he handed us the very flimsy and not-at-all-official-looking-but-they-swear-it-is receipt for the permesso.  The actual permesso document will allegedly be ready...sometime in the next four months.  Because Italy.  There is a number on the receipt that you can enter into the questura's website to check to see whether it is ready to be picked up.  They do not mail them, as they must verify one's identity via fingerprints before releasing the document.  However, the receipt serves as a temporary permesso document; in fact, we were told that lots of people never bother to go back and pick up their actual permesso.  

We thought being handed the receipt indicated we'd reached the end of the appointment - but we thought wrong.  We had to go back outside (brrr!) and wait until called by another officer - this one wearing a lab coat - who scanned fingerprints from all of Paolo's fingers, as well as his palms.  I'm not sure what the lab coat was in aid of, as I can't image you get very dirty just scanning fingerprints all day.

We returned home about 13:00, lunchtime here.  Now that Paolo has proof that his permesso is being processed, we don't have to worry about anyone questioning his right to be here, and/or why he's been here longer than 90 days.  Not that we were too worried about it - except that time we were lollipopped.  Now maybe we will think about doing a little cautious traveling, especially now that Covid numbers are looking a bit better here (*knocks on wood*). 

In other news:  we heard that there is another American couple here in our comune!  They are living around the corner from us.  They only arrived a day or two ago, so we haven't met them yet, but I am sure we will soon.  They are also here for citizenship recognition.  They hail from the Philly region, too.  Small world!

San Giuliano di Puglia & Pandoro & CIE

There wasn't much happening here to report on in the last week.  I didn't get a message indicating that my Italian ID is ready (maybe today?); but I imagine as we're rolling up to Christmas things might have slowed down a bit, so that wasn't really unexpected.  The most exciting thing going on is that we've now had three whole days in a row without rain!  Whoo-hoo!  I think I will wash sheets today...

Since the weather was so nice yesterday, we decided to take a drive over to the next hilltop town to check it out - San Giuliano di Puglia [note:  the Italian Wikipedia page I linked to has more interesting info than the English one; you can translate the page via your web browser if you're interested]. The "di Puglia" in the comune name reflects the fact that it was once part of the Puglia region (in English:  Apulia), rather than Molise.

San Giuliano is a smaller comune than the one in which we are living.  There was a terrible earthquake in this region in 2002, during which the elementary school in San Giuliano di Puglia collapsed, killing 27 children (you can still see obvious damage from this earthquake in some buildings in our own comune).  There is now a memorial park on the site.

Here are some pictures I took as we explored the comune:

Top of the memorial park

View of the comune.  Very far in the background you can see our comune on the next hill

Looking down the town

A devotional cross above the comune dedicated to several members of a family, I believe...haven't found anything more specific about it online yet

 

View looking down from the top of the memorial

As I was typing the above, there was a knock on the door - the vigile officer came (accompanied by my landlord) to drop off my new Italian ID card (CIE - Carta di Identità Elettronica)!  I wasn't expecting it to be hand delivered; that was nice of them.

This is what the front looks like (certain information redacted):

Perhaps not the most flattering photo, but it will do.

I just messaged Nicoletta to let her know I now have my ID; she asked me to meet her in Campobasso this afternoon, so that we can schedule a passport appointment.  The appointment itself will also take place in Campobasso, as that is where the questura is located (the provincial police headquarters - I think the closest US equivalent might be the regional State Police barracks).  The passport appointment has to be scheduled via an app that needs to be downloaded to my phone - and of course as it will all be in Italian, she will need to help me to navigate the scheduler.  

And now back to our regularly scheduled post:

The only other thing I was going to write about today was that we recently tried pandoro (or more properly, pan d'oro - golden bread).  Pandoro is a popular Christmas treat here, a kind of sweet bread/cake.  You see it in all the markets; there are a variety of brands ranging in price from quite cheap (maybe 3-4 euro) to fairly expensive (I think I saw one for about 15 euro).  It is made with yeast, and, to me, has a light texture not unlike an angel food cake, though with a denser, less "spongey" quality, if that makes sense:

As you can see, it has a very distinctive shape, too.  It seems it's often served with a dusting of powdered sugar.  I like it a lot, particularly because it is light and, in spite of the powdered sugar, not overly sweet.  This is not the same thing as panettone, which is more like a fruit cake/bread.  I haven't tried the panettone here yet; we used to have English-style fruitcakes at Christmas when I was a kid, and I was not a huge fan.  But I will keep an open mind (and palette), should the opportunity to sample some arise.

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.