Category Archives: living in Italy

Looking Out on Lake Como

Lake Como is shaped like an inverted Y, and Lecco sits on its southeastern tip, where it debouches into the river Adda. This end of the lake is deep and narrow, hemmed in by high cliffs (a bit like a Norwegian fjord), so any wind from the north is funneled through a narrow passage before it comes screaming down on Lecco.

I woke up at 5:30 this morning to a high wind banging our shutters; I eventually had to get up and close them all.

Now the sun is finally rising, casting pink light on the freshly-snowcapped mountain that I can see from my studio, and there are fast-moving whitecaps on the lake.

This house is hazardous to my productivity. Instead of working, I gaze out the window, fascinated by the endlessly-changing panorama of light on the mountains. Few offices in the world can boast such a view. It may not be good for my output, but it’s definitely good for my soul.

What’s in a Title? Signora vs. Signorina in Italy

I’m 42 today and, waking up with blue circles and bags under my eyes, I look it. Well, that’s the result of two days on my feet in the kitchen, cooking for 35 people (yes, I did have lots of help – thank you, Shannon!) for our annual Thanksgiving/ birthday/ housewarming feast (the housewarming part is not meant to be annual). Most of the time, people say I look young for my age, and I don’t think it’s just idle flattery.

I’ve been trying to understand the logic by which Italians decide to call me signora (Mrs.) or signorina (Miss). When Ross was small and I was in daily contact with her teachers and other parents at her schools, I was accustomed to being signora, because everyone assumed that, as a mother, I must also be a Mrs.

This signora habit almost got me arrested once. I was getting off the bus in Milan, in a hurry to pick up Ross from daycare, and swept right past the squad of public transport inspectors doing one of their random checks. I completely ignored the calls behind me of “Signorina! Signorina!,” assuming they couldn’t be directed at me. So the inspectors thought I was running away to dodge a fine for travelling without a ticket (actually, I am always scrupulous about bus and train tickets, except when I forget to stamp them).

I’m often called signorina even now. This may be because I often dress informally, by Italian standards, in jeans and sweaters. In a business suit and heels, I’m almost always signora. On some occasions, the choice of address seems to be based on the speaker’s desire to flatter me, and which term they think will accomplish that.

Home Ownership in Italy: Garbage and Sewage

Living in a villetta a schiera (townhouse or row house) is quite different from living in a condo apartment building. We learn something new every day.

Garbage is an endlessly complex question. We can put out the umido (wet waste) three times a week, but that can’t include garden trimmings. The comune will supply 150 biodegradable bags per year, free of charge, but we have to go to some particular office during a particular two-week span each year to pick ours up. We haven’t figured out yet whether they will also supply the sacchetti viola andtrasparenti (violet and transparent bags) that we need for recyclables and general waste – it would be nice, as these cost about 20 cents each (perhaps that includes tax?). General waste goes out twice a week, and the sacchetto viola (however many you have) only once. We’ve been giving the recycling guys plenty to do, but are now finally getting rid of the last of our moving boxes. By next week we’ll probably have our outside portico finally cleared – now that the weather’s too cold to use it.

We had to buy a new stove top and oven to fit into the spaces in the kitchen that had been built-in by the previous owners. We learned that gas ovens are going out of style in Italy; 99% of the built-in ovens available are electric. Which could get horribly expensive if you use the oven frequently, as electricity is costly here. For this reason, and because I prefer it for cooking, I insisted on gas. Our plumber, who is well-versed in the ever-changing laws regarding these things (as he must be, since he certifies his installations), learned that the law about gas appliances and air circulation does not even address built-in gas ovens, presumably because they have become so rare. So our set-up is probably legal in default of an actual law about it.

Our new home includes a bit of garden (a lot of it vertical, but that’s okay – we can plant those nice flowers you see growing out of walls all over Switzerland). The lawn has been neglected for years, and is lush with dandelions and some other kind of low-lying weed that chokes out the grass. If you’re keen on lawns, you might think there’s nothing worse than a lawn covered in weeds. Well, there’s one thing that’s infinitely worse: a lawn covered in weeds covered in sewage and toilet paper. Yes, we had a problem with the plumbing.

The previous owner conveniently forgot to mention that anything was wrong, but we learned all about it when, by sheer coincidence, we ended up calling the same sewage guys who had already been here twice in six months. So they suspected that the problem is not ours alone – it’s the main pipe for the whole complex (four families), which has bent, probably due to earth slippage. Since our connection to this pipe is the lowest of the four, we’re the first to suffer when it blocks – I had noticed a foul-smelling burble of liquid coming up through a hole in the concrete manhole cover in our yard. This manhole turned out to cover a drainage reservoir, about half a cubic meter, from which stuff is supposed to drain immediately into the sewage pipe. When we opened it, it turned out to be completely full. (No, I didn’t take video of that.)

Unblocking the mess required inserting a hose as far as possible and squirting in water under high pressure. On the first couple of attempts, from our manhole, this merely caused a backup and overflow, proving the sewage guys’ thesis that the problem was further down. I wish it had not taken spreading disgusting stuff all over our yard for them to determine this.

They then dragged their hoses down to the neighbor’s yard where our collective pipe connects to the city line, and proved, as suspected, that the block was there. Fortunately, they did not spew sewage all over the neighbors’ carefully-manicured lawn, which would have been far more tragic than what they did to my weed collection.

Eventually the line was cleared, and they washed as much of the yuck as they could back down the hole, using the high-pressure hose. But my weeds were furred with toilet paper and the general smell was not pleasant – I’m glad this didn’t happen in summer!

So I spent a couple of hours digging up weeds (something I needed to do anyway), which also removed a lot of the toilet paper (I wore gloves). I hadn’t realized gardening was such backbreaking work – my right arm was so painful from unaccustomed exercise that I couldn’t sleep that night.

Customer Service in Italy (Again)

We’ve been customers of Ikea for over 15 years – sometimes satisfied, sometimes not. I suppose that eventually we will replace most of our cheapish Ikea furniture with stuff that Rossella won’t be embarrassed to inherit, but for the time being, given budget constraints, we still buy Ikea. The Ivar unfinished pine modular shelving has mostly migrated out to the garage (after I spent hours this summer cleaning, sanding, and staining shelves coated in a decade’s worth of Milanese grime – I thought we were going to use them in the house!). The Billy bookcases are still in use, though by now they’re so old that Ikea doesn’t even make them in this color (pine) anymore. At least all this old stuff is no longer in the fancier public spaces in the house; my office and the taverna(basement den) have become the repositories of our less-presentable furniture.

Anyway, my point set out to be about customer service at Ikea. Which has markedly improved. A few years ago we got very angry about some customer service failing, I forget now what it was. As we stood arguing at the counter, a non-Italian Ikea manager observed, and came over to set things right, going the extra mile to make us happy, and showing the staff that this was the correct approach. I supposed that Ikea HQ had detected customer unhappiness in Italy, or this particular store, and sent someone from Sweden to make improvements.

During our latest visit, we saw that they’d taken great strides in staff attitudes. All the floor staff were knowledgeable and enthusiastic, in spite of being swamped with customers. It appears that Ikea have finally found the secret to training Italians to provide good service; this is knowledge they could sell, if they chose.

They could start with Telecom Italia, who continue to lose marks on both competence and politeness…

Moving House in Italy: The Bureaucracy

I read somewhere that something like a third of the US population moves house (often changing town as well) every year. Even if that number is exaggerated, it’s certainly true that Americans move far more than Europeans do, so many of the necessary steps are very routine in the US.

In Italy, it’s not so simple. Take forwarding mail. In the US, you pick up a form at the post office (and often other places), fill it out (for the entire household) with the old and new addresses, sign it, and hand it in at any post office, or even mail it. The service is free and continues for a year.

In Lecco, I had to go to the post office to pick up a form that is used so rarely that all they could give me was a poor photocopy of it. Two copies, actually, because you need to fill out a form for each adult member of the family, and supply a photocopy of each adult’s identity card; any minors should be put on one of the parents’ forms.

You should do this at least 10 days before the date you want forwarding to start, which I didn’t know when I went to the post office on the Friday before Monday’s move. But the postmaster reassured me that, since we were moving within the same town, the service would actually start Monday for regular mail. Registered mail needs a few more days to work through the system, and if you’re moving to another town it can take up to 10 days for the paperwork to reach your new post office. You can choose to forward for 6, 9, or 12 months, and you pay – 12 euros per household for 12 months.

The postmaster recommended that we also leave a note about the change of address for our mail carrier (postino, or in our case, postina, since ours was female). Enrico and I were running errands, so I asked Ross to do it. She composed a very nice note thanking the lady for her kindness and good service (deservedly so – everyone who works for the post office in Lecco seems to be very nice, as well as efficient). I don’t think the postina had ever had a note like that from a customer; when she saw it on Monday, she buzzed me to come down for the day’s mail (since we were in the midst of moving), kissed me goodbye, and wished us well in our new home.

I mentioned before that you need to notify your local town hall of your change of address, so they can send you ballots at voting time. Interestingly, it is NOT necessary to change your carta d’identita’ (identity card) for a change of address, until the card itself expires (every five years). In fact, they will refuse to change it before it expires, unless you lose or destroy it. I’m told that running it through the washing machine is a very effective way to destroy it; just be prepared to demonstrate the remaining shreds at the ufficio d’anagrafe (population records office) when you go to get it replaced.

About that ID card: Many Americans get itchy at the idea of a national ID card, even though a driver’s license (or non-driver ID from your local driving authority) is in effect used as an ID card all over the US. In Italy, and most of Europe I believe, everyone has an ID card, and thinks nothing of it. Foreign residents are also entitled to an ID card in Italy. I got by without one for years, didn’t see a real need for it until, strangely enough, it would have been handy in applying for an Indian visa. (When you apply for a visa from a country which is not your country of passport, you usually have to supply proof of residence in the country from which you are applying.) So now I have my own carta d’identita’. I previously used my US passport, which caused slight extra paperwork in opening bank accounts and so on, but was not a huge problem.

For all financial purposes in Italy, you do need a codice fiscale (fiscal number) which is more or less equivalent to an American Social Security number. The codice fiscale is made up of the first three consonants in your last and first names (e.g., in my case, STR DDR), the last two digits of your year of birth, some bits in the middle calculated from your birth month, and a number signifying your town of birth – there’s a different number for every tiny little town in Italy, but the same code (Z404) is used for EVERYONE born outside Italy, from Australia to Zimbabwe.

Because the codice fiscale is calculated and not random, it is possible for two people born in the same town on the same day to have the same codice fiscale, if they happen also to have the same name, or names with the same sequence of consonants. Theoretically this should be checked before a codice fiscale is issued, but there have been cases of identical codes being issued to two different people, resulting in all sorts of confusion, such as the man who was still alive but couldn’t draw his pension because his code sharer had died.

Some more issues pertinent to home ownership:

All homeowners pay a tassa sui rifiuti (garbage tax), calculated on the size of your home and I suppose the number of family members. When you move, you need to go to the local tax office to move your tassa sui rifiuti as well. And, as I have just learned, you can’t put garden trimmings with the rest of the umido (compostable food scraps); you have to take them to the town dump, which means that you have to have a magnetic-stripe card to give you access to the dump. This you acquire from the Ufficio d’Ambiente (Office of the Environment) at the Comune (town hall). [more on recycling]

If you move to a different town (or far across a city), you also need to change your medico di famiglia (family doctor); this is done at the local ASL office (Azienda Sanita’ Locale – local health company).

And you need to stay on top of Telecom Italia. I called them on September 8th to inform them of our move on the 27th. I called again twice, and each time was told that the process was underway. Enrico called on October 4th, and found out that the process had come to a dead stop. The previous owner of our house had had the phone line registered as a business line, possibly because he was claiming a tax deduction on using part of the house as an office. Now we’re trying to switch it to a home line, causing endless confusion at Telecom. At one point they claimed they needed to do a technical test on the line, even though I was calling them from it (the old owner’s number is still active at the house, though it was supposed to be turned off 10 days ago).

Further, our house number has a letter in it, and Telecom’s computer system doesn’t know what to do with this, and/or the paperwork can get lost in the computer depending on whether a capital or small letter is entered. Gah!

So Monday Enrico told them to start all over again with a new contract and new phone number, which the Telecom lady advised us would be faster than trying to resolve the confusion over the old contract. However, we have no idea how long it will take to get a technician out for the new line…