Happily ever after

"...That is my home of love: if I have ranged, Like him that travels I return again..."

-William Shakespeare, Sonnet 109

One last look at our apartment.  The middle floor balcony is off our living room; the upper balcony is off the master bedroom.  Yes, that's our last load of laundry flapping in the breeze.

Living room.  We were lucky that our eat-in kitchen was a separate room - that is not always the case in Italy.  Our apartment was quite large by Italian standards.

The foyer.  Doctor's office to the left; our door to the right.  This was a big hangout spot for the townsfolk

Outside FCO Airport, with both passports.  I will use the US one when entering or leaving the US, but will use the Italian one at passport control when leaving (or entering) Italy.

Airport sculpture (as the airport is named after Da Vinci, there are many references to him throughout)

Paolo was a little short for this...

Well, we made it back to the USA, safe and sound.  We spent our last three nights in Fiumicino outside of Rome, since we had to drop off the rental car at the airport, as well as to obtain pre-flight Covid tests, which are still required for flights into the US.  They have a testing center in Terminal 3 of the airport, and as the current rules state that you can get the test done the day before, we opted to do that, so we wouldn't be scrambling at the last minute to make our flight.  We suspected that the wait for the test might be long.  We were able to preregister for the test online (by "preregister," I just mean fill in the required forms, not schedule a specific time).

Waiting in line - about an hour to go from this point

It seems that a lot of people do not plan for this testing ahead of time!  We were shocked by how many people waited until the last minute for their tests - there were several people who claimed they were going to miss their flight if they couldn't jump the queue.  What's that expression about your poor planning not being my emergency?  The gentleman in line ahead of us said he'd already missed his flight while he was waiting - although he seemed to take this pretty calmly; I assume he was able to rebook himself fairly easily.  There was a guy behind us, however, who asked everyone around him multiple times to let him go ahead, as he claimed his flight was departing in 20 minutes.  Super annoying.  It's not that we were being unkind by not wanting to let him go ahead, but rather, we didn't want to start a riot behind us, as there were plenty of other people also waiting who had flights to catch, too.

We stayed at the Hilton right next to the airport again - there is an extremely convenient elevated walkway from the hotel property over to the airport - and took the train into Rome proper twice.  The Monday before we left Italy was Liberation Day - Festa della Liberazione, a public holiday celebrating the Italian Resistance's overthrow of the Fascists and the Nazi powers in Italy in 1945 (in the North, anyway).   We took one last touristy open-top bus tour of Rome, to see the highlights of the city (many of which we've already visited between our 2018 trip and this one).  I took several videos from the bus (I discovered this is easier than trying to snap photos).  Here and here are links to two of my favorites.  This first was taken near the Colosseum and the Forum; the second was taken near the Monumento Nazionale a Vittorio Emanuele II - also known as the "Wedding Cake." Afterward, we took ourselves out for a nice lunch nearby.

The following day, after our Covid tests described above, we went back into Rome, as I wanted to pick up an extra suitcase, as well as a few small, last minute gifts. As we were shopping, Paolo got his pocket picked in the store - right in front of the shopkeeper, who immediately recognized what was happening - it seemed he'd dealt with this particular pickpocket before - and we all chased him down into the next shop and got the phone back, thankfully. Later, we encountered this same asshole again on the street, and he actually has the balls to joke around about it and try to pass it all off as a bit of fun. I let him know it wasn't very funny to us - and he stomped off pretty quickly once I took my phone out and started taking his picture.

Jerky McJerkface, failed pickpocket

Our flight home the next morning was more or less uneventful, except that our flight departed a little earlier than scheduled, and thus landed in Philly earlier, too.  I think that's the first time that's happened for us, so far as I can recall.  I took a short video of our takeoff, to capture a bit of Italy and its western coastline from the air; click here to see it.

Pre-flight champagne.  Not that we were feeling particularly celebratory to be leaving Italy.

The toasted BBQ sandwich served as the "light meal" toward the end of the flight was probably one of the best things I've ever eaten on an airplane.

I believe this is Elba, famous for being Napoleon's first place of exile

We were seated in business class (one of the truly "splurge" bits of this adventure, to be sure), and while I can't speak to the main cabin, I can confirm that in our section, we were two of only three passengers wearing masks.  Some of the crew wore them, and some did not. I understand that the Covid precautions have become more relaxed here in the US.  That will take some getting used to.  Italy is also just now beginning to ease many of its Covid measures, but not as quickly as seems to be happening on this side of the Atlantic.

And here we are, unpacked and (mostly) settled in.  It took me a couple of days to get over the jet lag; Paolo seems to have had an easier time adapting.  It also took me several days to wade through the six months' worth of mail that had accumulated.  For now, I am just working through what I consider to be an adjustment period - trying to assimilate myself back into our American lives (we already miss the fresh bread and excellent produce - the bell peppers are so puny here!).  We are already thinking about how soon (and for how long) we will return to il bel paese...

I'll just take a moment here to pay tribute to Paolo, most excellent of travel companions (and husbands), without whose love and support my dual citizenship dream might never have become a reality.  I am not certain whether I'd have had the courage to pack up and move to another country, to live a very different kind of life, where I don't even speak the language, without him.  Thank you, my love ❤️

Buon Giorno del Ringraziamento dall’Italia

Happy Thanksgiving from Italy!  After a long afternoon/evening of train travel followed by several drinks at the bar next door to our hotel, we slept in this morning and thus missed breakfast at the hotel.  Fortunately, there is a coffee bar just a couple of doors down, so we sat outside people watching while sipping espressos until lunchtime.  We decided to eat (outside) at Ristorante Il Lampadario (The Chandelier in English) right around the corner - and realized, mid-meal, that we’d had dinner there on our previous trip to Rome in 2018.  

We treated ourselves to a nice leisurely pizza lunch, then took the Metro (there’s an A Line stop right by our hotel) over to Barberini to visit the Museum and Crypt of the Capuchins as well as the Chiesa di Santa Maria della Concezione dei Cappuccini.  

Passed this on the way to the museum

The church & museum/crypts

They do not allow photography inside either the museum/crypt or in the church, but if you check out the links above, or do a Google search, you will get a good idea of what we saw.  You might expect it to be somewhat creepy; but we found the arrangements of the bones in their crypts to be strangely beautiful.  At the very least, it’s certainly an interesting reminder of one’s own mortality.  Also, the museum of the history of the Capuchin order was pretty informative as well.

We came back to the hotel for a little rest before heading out for a (somewhat early by Italian standards) dinner at nearby Ristorante La Sorgente, which is an Asian restaurant, because that’s how we roll on Thanksgiving.  Actually, we chose a nearby place because of the rain (it rained off and on all day, of course), but as we were under cover, we were still able to eat outside (the temps here really haven’t been too bad; they did turn on an outdoor heater for us though).  I thought the misspellings in the menu, in Italian and English, were amusing - for example, you could order “dumblings.”  Paolo did in fact get some dumblings; they were quite tasty.

Also amusing were the fortune cookies, which were a German brand, though the fortunes were printed in Italian and Spanish.

More rain expected for tomorrow.  We’re thinking of possibly visiting Centrale Montemartini, which could be a very interesting museum.  We’ll see how the day goes!
 

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

.