Kristen Suzanne

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Police Visit Our Home in Italy – Our Italian Expat Life

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Police headquarters in Rovigo, Italy
Police headquarters in Rovigo, Italy

Polizia Italiana Come to Visit Us

Now that I’ve applied for a permesso to stay in Italy during the citizenship process (it’s kind of like a green card), they wanted proof that we are actual residents before they grant it. So, they’ll send a police officer to our apartment to check on us — supposedly only once, but possibly more. Just to be sure.

When applying for dual citizenship “in country,” this proof of residency is an important part of the process. They want proof that we’re staying here, which required signing a lease and getting my name on that doorbell.

House Arrest

It’s very important to be home when the police drop by. But you don’t know when it will be. “Sometime within 45 days.” Really? That’s worse than leaving a whole day open for the Comcast guy. I mean, I can’t leave my home Monday through Friday from 10am to 4pm for… weeks? This was my house arrest. In a barely furnished, not super livable apartment, I might add.

Thank god for Netflix.

At Last. The Doorbell Rings!

Our building has a buzzer on it that could wake the dead. You can literally be staring at the phone to ring someone in, knowing it’s about to buzz, and it buzzes, and it will scare the living shit out of you.

But on this day, when the terrible buzzer buzzed, it was the police coming for a visit. Half fear (um, Italian police in my house?… flashbacks to college), half rejoicing for my house arrest to finally be over. It was only ten days before he arrived, but still.

We had been told to make sure our place “looked like we lived in it.” Huh?

We’ve been traveling and living out of suitcases for a year, and hadn’t had time or desire to acquire much since arriving in Rovigo. Except a sponge and a clothes drying rack. Ah yes, make sure to put those out where the police can see those. That will certainly prove that our residency is not just some non-consulate-citizenship-seeking sham residency.

Sponge with tiny food fragments on edge of sink: check.

Drying rack with damp droopy socks: check.

I was ready.

My Italian mother told me to have a plate of biscotti (cookies) out for him, and to offer him coffee, but frankly I was too scared. Not to mention, I hadn’t mastered the Moka pot found in all Italian homes.

My moka pot

The policeman entered our apartment.

He was very polite and spoke almost no English. He asked a couple of questions which I pretty much didn’t understand, but mostly just had us sign some papers.

The policeman never once looked at our sponge or drying rack.

Then, with a cheerful “arrivederci,” he left.

Two days later, we saw him in civilian clothes walking along the Popolo (the main street downtown) in the late afternoon. I don’t know if he recognized us, but if so, our taking a passeggiata (evening stroll) along the Popolo was about as much proof as one could ever offer that we were, indeed, residents of Rovigo.

He has not returned to re-check on us. Yet.

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My New High Waist Jeans – Italian Girl Expat

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Italian Fashion

Between my baggy jeans I brought from America, and my name, Kristen, which is close to Christian (pronounced Krees-tee-ahn in Italy), and therefore a man’s name… I’m not doing much for my femininity in Italy.

That changed today.

I bought high-waist skinny jeans. They’re all the rage here.

Well, specifically high-waist pants, whether they’re skinny or a bit baggy with a flare happening at the bottom. High-waist is where it’s at. At first, I just thought some women stepped out of the 80s, but no. I see them everywhere, so it must be a thing.

I needed that thing, too, because my style is suffering here in Italy.

Greg says he noticed them in the UK last year, but there must not have been enough women wearing them because I didn’t feel out of place in my non-high-waist pants until Italy.

People don’t wear yoga pants everywhere like you see in the United States. You occasionally see younger girls in leggings, because they’re actually going to exercise. But it’s not the default.

They love their sneakers with jeans here, too. I’ve seen all styles of big sneakers — some with a bit of a heel, some with sequins, some with bright colors.

At least my new bright pink sneakers I bought in Croatia will be perfect.

Let’s Go Shopping

On Sunday, Kamea and I headed to the mall for jeans and some essentials, like sliced jalapeños. We went to the bus stop and waited for the 10:52 bus. It didn’t come.

“Hmm… maybe the buses don’t run on Sunday?” I thought, as we sat across the street from a busy bar. Let’s see if the 11:00 comes.

Nope.

Well, let’s leave, as clearly anyone who sees us will know we don’t know what we’re doing, since we’re waiting for a bus on a Sunday. We probably gave them a good laugh over at the bar.

So we did what we always do in situations like this. We got gelato.

Only, we walk past a nice clothing shop… with jeans. For a quick second I think, “Yeah, I should try on some jeans here.” I entertain the idea of hitting up the shop on the way home from gelato, but then the insanity of that idea dawned on me… never try on jeans after gelato.

No, I’ll feel better trying on jeans with an empty stomach.

Success!

I find the perfect pair and they fit like a glove.

I’m becoming more Italian by the day.

Surely the comune in Rovigo has to grant me my dual citizenship now. I have high-waist jeans, pasta in my apartment, a membership card to the local beauty store, and I’m a full member of the local Coop.

Time for gelato.

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Bikes in Italy – Count Us In! – Our Expat Life in Italy

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My dream bike. Pink, with a basket.

Riding Bikes in Rovigo

One of the first things I noticed about Rovigo, Italy, was the number of people riding bikes to get around town.

They expertly weave in and out of traffic and around roundabouts. Bikes are complete with cute baskets and riders of all ages. Sometimes you see dogs in the baskets, wind blowing their ears and tongues hanging out.

Sometimes loaves of bread.

Italians park their bikes anywhere. I mean that. I see them … just in front the store, not bothering to use a bike rack most of the time. Precious. And convenient.

I get warm fuzzies when I see the bikes out front, reaffirming this slower paced life, complete with no reliance on cars.

I especially love it when I see senior citizens effortlessly cruising around on their bikes. Makes me wish I saw that more often in America — it would solve so many problems. It’s clearly another feather in Italy’s longevity cap.

La Dolce Vita

I can’t help but notice how the Italians ride at such a leisurely rate. It’s conducive to that desired slower pace of life here in Italy. There is simply no rush. Families ride three to a bike sometimes (a baby sitting in front and an older sibling riding on the back — the bikes are outfitted for this). Interestingly, I don’t see people wear helmets.

I even once saw a dad riding his bike, balancing his toddler… on his hip with one arm (not in a designated seat!)… while steering the bike with the other hand. I was so nervous watching this precarious scene that I wanted to tear my eyes away in fear of an ugly crash, but I couldn’t. As far as I know, they survived.

Then, there was the time I saw a middle-aged Italian man riding his bike down the street, without holding onto the handle bars, because one hand was holding his cigarette, while the other was holding his cell phone while he chatted.

Fuck – I love Italians!

[Read more…] about Bikes in Italy – Count Us In! – Our Expat Life in Italy

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Free Beef in Italy – Our Italian Expat Life

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Free Beef

I recently spied a butcher while walking to Lidl for groceries.

The trouble is the distance from our apartment and it’s location across a busy road with no crosswalk. The distance poses a challenge because I have to walk a half hour with meat. If the weather is warm  — well, that’s not good.

But, it’s a butcher, and I love butchers so I had to peek inside.

Just Looking

The plan was to see what they offered and check out the prices. Just looking. The store was big and filled with different kinds of poultry, beef, and pork, plus all sorts of delicious things like olive oil, artisan condiments, and pasta.

In other words, I could easily spend a lot of money in here.

So, we introduced ourselves. I can’t help myself, as I’m always trying to get to know shop owners and practice my Italian. We told the butcher we were new in town, and we said we just wanted to pop in for a visit.

The owner was so sweet, and as we were leaving (after looking but not buying anything), he sent me away with a patty of his finest beef as a gift. I was so touched!

I friggin’ love Italy.

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Trying to Get on Wifi in Italy – Lost in Translation

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We Need a Permission Slip From the Doctor

In Italy, if you want to join and exercise at a gym, the law says you need approval from a doctor first. In fact, any child over the age of 6 wanting to participate in sports needs this same doctor approval.

So Greg and I went to a local physical therapy place, complete with the necessary doctor for approving people to workout.

WiFi While We Wait

While waiting for our turn, I noticed they have WiFi for the customers. Cool.

I walk up to the sign and punch in the password: INSEGRETERIA.

It doesn’t work.

Maybe it’s: insegreteria (lowercase?)

Nope.

Let’s try this: IN SEGRETERIA (adding a space between the words like it’s shown on the sign?)

Nada – huh.

Wait…. in segreteria… could that be “with secretary?” Maybe I need to ask the gal at the front desk for the password?

Yep.

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Successes & Exhaustion – Our Italian Expat Life

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When you first arrive in another country there are obvious stresses… a different language, getting around, finding the local butcher, etc.

However, this also creates many opportunities for lots of little and big wins in everyday life.

What do I mean?

Well, now that I’m living in a new country, I need to set up my life there. It goes beyond just learning where certain places are (like the nearest bank or grocery store), because learning the language is a whole other major part of the equation. It also makes it very stressful.

Wins.

Each day we have wins (and sure, some failures) all surrounding language-learning and basic living, like simply buying bus tickets.

When something seemingly small happens, such as finding and successfully using the post office, it’s like this huge win in life. Yeehaw! I feel pretty damn proud of myself. I might even start walking with a bit of a swagger. All because I bought a bus ticket.

It wouldn’t be like this if we had stayed in the USA.

It’s the kind of thing that can only come with such a big move. At the point you’re in a foreign country long enough that you’re not just visiting tourist restaurants that feature menus in English, your brain is expanding in an amazing way.

It gets a total workout, becoming tired just like your legs turn to jelly after a long hike. When you successfully do something like mail a postcard at the post office, all on your own? Well, you can’t help but want to dance a little jig.

Or when you buy beef at the local butcher and walk away with what you actually meant to buy.

Or when you use the public transportation system and end up at your intended destination.

It’s an amazing accomplishment. All wins, and there are plenty to be had. Buy a coffee without Google Translate? Win. Make a withdrawal from the bank in another country? Win. Recognize a traffic sign such that you follow it? Big Win.

It’s exhausting though.

Truly. I never use my brain so much as when I live in a foreign country, and try to learn (and use) the language. Italy is my first full-on experience like this.

[Read more…] about Successes & Exhaustion – Our Italian Expat Life

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