Italian Bureau-crazy

Living in Italy as a foreigner can be a very challenging thing. I've developed that view that, if you're not an Italian, you develop someone of a mental "Love/Hate" list about Italy: it is a city of contrasts...boasting some of the most beatiful sights, amazing culture, world-class cuisine and unique experiences in the world. I could go on for a very long time about all that I love of Italy. When you are a tourist or a visitor to this country, your "Love" list goes on for miles. What's not to like? Italy is a place that is  very romanticized by much of the world, and for good reason. However...most of the world has never tried to become a legal resident of Italy. Here, my friends, I introduce you to the thing which tops my "Hate" list about this country (and tops it by far...miles above insane drivers, glitter-covered accessories, and general lack of air-conditioning). The Italian bureaucratic system. Oh my. Since my return, I have gotten my first full-fledged taste of the road I have ahead of me in becoming a full and legal resident in the city of Rome. There is one major rule in dealing with this system: abandon all reason. There is something I have come to realize is true about Italy. They "love" foreigners. They are so happy for citizens from all over the world to come to their country...eat their pizza...gorge themselves on cone after cone of gelato...peruse their museums...buy their souveniers...stock up on wine and olive oil...take a token photo with a ridiculously dressed Gladiator in front of the Colloseum...throw a coin into the Trevi Fountain...then get the heck out and go home. Beyond that, there is little to no tolerance or assistance for a foreigner in Italy trying to build a new life.

For example, we'd already had a taste of this system when Roland first moved here and he had to apply for his residency card. At this time we were both brand new, without a lick of Italian to our vocabulary, mostly terrified that someone might speak to us, thus requiring us to speak back. We timidly entered a loud and crowded municiple office building and joined a "line" leading to a man sitting at a desk in the front of the room (side note: There is no such thing as a line in Italy. There is only a "clump" or a "cluster." The boldest and gutsiest wins. This mostly always applies). There was a row a closed doors to one side of the room, and the man seemed to be directing people to enter a door depending on what they needed. On a table sat a little "please take a number" machine, dispensing little paper tickets. This machine, of course, was empty of numbers. We were on our own. For the next hour, we defended our spot in line as each Italian that entered the crowded room attempted to shove as far as possible toward the front of the room, edging past anyone docile enough to allow the blatant line-jumping to occur. Luckily, Roland is a big guy. Elbows were poked out strategically, shoulders nudged out defensively, and we stood practically on top of the little Italian grannies in front of us. We held our place, and eventually made it to the front of the line. The grumpy man behind the desk stared up at us from under epically large eyebrows and waited for our request. We tried to tell him, in broken Italian, that Roland needed a residency card. He was not impressed with our language skills, but after much gesticulating and fluttering of papers, he waved us off to Door Number Two. Behind Door Number Two sat a room full of ladies at desks, sipping espressos and chatting loudly. We entered to a room full of blank stares and, flustered, finally managed to spit out why we were there. One of the women reluctantly waved us over, and pulled out a form as large as her desk. She inspected Roland's documents, muttering under her breath as she went to work with a pen and a massive blue rubber stamp (side note: Italians LOVE rubber stamps. Preferred ink color: Blue. If it has stamps all over it, you're in. No stamps...arrivederci). She began to interrogate Roland with lots of questions, none of which we could understand. I flipped nervously through our miniature "on the go" Italian dictionary, to no avail. She waved her hands around like mad and asked us the same questions, only louder. Blank stares. Eventually the whole room-full of them took to laughing and pointing as we attempted to figure out what she wanted (in the end, she was only trying to ask which floor of our building we live on...but such was our Italian at the time!). After 30 minutes of this, the form was complete. The woman attempted to explain that the next step was for a police officer to come around our house one day (randomly, no appointment) to ensure we were living where we claimed to live. If we were not home, we were to take a notice left by the officer and return to the police station for another interview. Joy. After this time, they would issue a Residency card to Roland.

Anyhow, the above is an example of the procedure for an EU citizen employed in Italy and sponsored by a company. For my procedures, take the above steps and multiply by ten, shake well, and add all of the luck you can get. The thing is, I am in no way adverse to covering my bases, putting in the time, waiting in the appropriate lines, and getting done what needs doing. The problem lies in the fact that there are very few resources out there that say exactly WHAT it is that needs to be done. Even the officials seem to have little grasp on the dozens of rules and forms involved in Residency. Most give their best blank stare and just hope you go away. Websites are outdated and contradictory, and little help is offered in English. My saving grace has been expat websites and forums, where brave souls who have gone through the process before have posted their experiences and knowledge they've gained along the way. Without these kind strangers, I would be nowhere. In my few weeks here I have managed to cover a few bases...I've gotten my Italian "Codice Fiscale" (like an American Social Security Number) and handed in my application form for my "Permesso di Soggiorno" (permit to stay) in Italy. I have an appointment at the Questra (police station) this month to be fingerprinted and have my documents scrutinized by an officer who will decide my fate...whether I will be issued my permesso di soggiorno, or will have to jump through some more hoops first. Once I have that, I can apply for my Residency in the same fashion Roland had to (bring on the room full of ladies...we speak some Italian now!) then register with the National Health Service, and try to get an Italian Driver's License. Somewhere in there I also need to figure out how to get my work papers, of which I have been able to find exactly zero information. Phew! Each of these steps is guaranteed to take a visit to at least 2 or 3 locations, stacks of forms, hours of waiting and copious gesticulating and blue stamping. But I'm on my way. If I can make it through this process...I can make it through anything. Literally.

I have to add one more thing here, which applies to the above and made me feel a little more like I wasn't quite so alone in the madness of Italian bureaucracy. While scouring the Expat boards and looking for paperwork advice, I found a link posted by a fellow expat in Italy. The link was from a website called doingbusiness.org. It was a piece written on the ease of doing business in different countries around the world, in terms of how conducive the regulatory environment was in each country to get bureaucratic or business-related things accomplished. The top on the list were:
1. Singapore
2. Hong Kong
3. New Zealand
4. United Kingdom
5. United States
...I had to scroll much further down to find Italy at... #80! That's right, it is easier to do business in Kuwait, Mongolia, Tonga, Ghana, Rwanda, Azerbaijan, Kazakhstan, Vietman, etc, etc, etc, than Italy! It makes sense, though. Bring on the perseverance!