Immigration Part 2

When I left off in immigration part one, I had left the immigration office with a receipt. This receipt had a handwritten chicken scratch on the back with a date - January 27, or rather, 27/1/10. The guy at the office said, "when you come back you'll see a man in a military uniform outside. He will take you to get your fingerprints." Hmmm.

I showed up on the 27th, early, hoping to beat the crowd. I see three military guys behind a waist high fence. A crowd of immigrants is clustered in front of the fence. Again, no signage, no one obtaining information from the crowd, no line. Just a group of people waiting. For what, no one seemed to know. I watched the military guys deflect people's questions in between lighting cigarettes. The one closest to me obviously watched too many Vietnam movies. He was smoking by taking the cigarette out of his mouth with all of his fingers, instead of with the first two. He scowled as he blew out the smoke, trying to look tough. But it was hard to take him seriously with the waxed eyebrows and perfectly groomed sideburns.

After waiting about 15 minutes, I wondered why we hadn't asked this guy anything. When I say we, I mean Lorenzo. When one of the guys left his post behind the fence and ventured through the crowd, Lorenzo stopped him. This young lad was obviously surprised to hear a native speaker in a crowd of lower class, immigrants. He was polite but not too polite, he was direct and straightforward. "Do you have an appointment?" "We're not sure..." "Do you have an appointment?" "I have this piece of paper with today's date written on it." "Ok. You need to go in."

Yes, thank you. I was just waiting here for fun.

So this question prompted the guy in the crowd to nod to the groomed eyebrow man behind the fence. Finally he held up my receipt, "who has one of these?" People held up their receipts. He counted us off and opened the gate, careful not to let the other animals through. "Ok, you six come with me." The guy in the crowd told Lorenzo, "not you, just her." And so I went through the gate alone. Lorenzo is the Chavez of Rome; standing up for the people without a voice. And if he wasn't there? I'm pretty sure I would have stood there all day watching groomed eyebrow man smoke a million cigarettes.

I'm an Immigrant

I'm trying to figure out the routine thing. Luca's got one. He naps at the same time every day, eats at the same time. It's incredibly hard to fit in my own time in between his routine. But now that we've been in Rome for a week (post vacation) it's time to figure out how to split time with Lorenzo. Currently we are doing things at random. A little work here and there, at least one trip each day to some municipal office to put together a piece of the citizenship/residency puzzle, some shopping or a walk; all fit in between feedings and naps of course.

The residency puzzle has been an interesting eye opener to Italian bureaucracy. While in the states we had to complete some paperwork to transfer our marriage to Italy. We completed the packet and sent it off to the consulate in San Francisco. San Francisco then sent it to the municipal office here. We went to the office to check on the status of the paperwork. We stood outside of a door that said, "please for the privacy of others wait outside." But we didn't know if someone was inside. We saw another woman waiting and she told us there was one person inside. Good to know. Once that woman left, we entered the empty office. There was one desk by the door and a table by the window with a messy pile of papers stacked on top. We gave the woman our names. In Italy, since 1975, it has become illegal to take your husband's last name. This makes the name on my official documents a little complicated. They couldn't figure out which was my first name and which was my last.

Once we made it through the correction process the woman got up from the computer. She walked over to the table by the window. My jaw dropped as I saw her begin to dig through the pile of papers. I guess the whole idea of organized filing systems didn't make it to Italy. It will come into fashion just as paper finally makes it's exit in the states and everything becomes electronic. Luckily, since we had sent the paperwork in rather recently, she was able to find it close to the top of the pile. I hate to think about what would have happened if we didn't show up in person.

We are now officially married in Italy. That was just one piece. Now we have to go to the immigration office (an hours drive) and be prepared to wait in line with the other one hundred immigrants, to process the next chunk of paperwork.

I'm an immigrant. The minister of education decided that there are too many immigrant kids in the schools. They want to limit the number of immigrants to 30%. People don't like immigrants. Most have never been one. I wish they knew how isolating it could be. I wish they understood that some people have no choice. I dohave a choice. I can leave whenever I want.

So people, even if they don't speak your language, I implore you to be nice to immigrants. They might be pumping your gas, but that doesn't mean they don't also have a PHD. They might frustrate you when they hold up the grocery line because the cashier asks them a question they don't understand, but they don't like it either.

And after their embarrassment settles, they might even go home and write about it in a blog.

Villa Balestra

A friend asked me what my days are like here. When you don't have a routine or a job, it's hard to say really. I take a lot of walks. Apparently Rome has one of the largest areas of green space amongst European capitals. It's surprising how many parks there are for such a big city. Lorenzo took me to a beautiful little park really close to the house. It has an amazing view of the city. And no park would be complete without a coffee bar. Villa Balestra.

Villa Glori

Running makes everything better. Not that things are bad. But, when our return flight to Portland left without us on Friday, it finally hit me that we're not on vacation anymore. As my friend Jami said, "you have to mourn your old life before you can accept your new life." Yesterday was my day of mourning. My day to miss my friends and to miss going to Powell's on a rainy afternoon. It was my day to be sad that Luca is far away from his uncle Justin and my parents. It was a day to sulk, to stare at the clouds and to wonder where I am. But that was yesterday.

Today I went running in Villa Glori. I ran with Lily Allen. Unlike Portland, I was able to run to a park without getting in a car. I walked down the stairs into the Piazza and aggressively crossed the busy street to the church. I walked past people in their sleeping bag jackets and I smiled. I put up the hood on my sweatshirt and I embraced the fact that I look like an American in my gym shoes, wearing an iPod. I can't fight it and I shouldn't feel self-conscious about it.

I ran past the man working at the flower stand, wondering if tomorrow he'll recognize me and if by Friday we'll be saying buon giorno to one another. I entered the park and the sound of cars and honking faded away. I ran under the canopy of trees to the top of the hill. I had run here often in 2004 but it looked different then. I hadn't noticed the kids' playground or the WWII memorial. At that time I was running with a cast on my hand, focused on the pain and the swelling. I hoped no one would say anything to me for fear of being caught like a deer in headlights unable to understand what they were saying.

Today I ran past the cross and onto a dirt trail. I saw my breathe. I stopped thinking. I laughed at the sign in the middle of the park directing people to the closest coffee cup. I enjoyed the time alone. I felt re-inspired. I came home and I wrote this post.

Deutschland

It's good to see a European city outside of Rome. It's been a long time. Maybe it's not a good time to start a crush on another city before I've begun my marriage to Rome, but in any case, it's nice to know that it's not living in Europe that scares me, but the (beautiful) mess that is Rome.

We are in Darmstadt for the wedding of my sister-in-law. This city/town loves kids. On the bus, train and streetcar, there is a designated place to park your stroller. In the stores there are changing tables, diapers and wipes. Breastfeeding in public is absolutely accepted and there is room in which to do it; no sitting in a dark alleyway, getting honked at by rude Italian men.

My now brother-in-law lives a block from an indoor pool/spa that includes a kids area and across the street from a lake where kids can swim in the summer. Apparently German's don't believe in bathing suits for their bambinos so they all run around naked like they would in a commune in 60's Oregon. Beautiful. Everything is within walking distance from his apartment so it's really convenient with the stroller. Of course it's snowing and cold, but we bundled Luca up with blankets and layers and didn't hesitate to spend all day outside.

Tomorrow we will start our day in the clean, efficient and organized Frankfurt airport and end it in the dirty, disfunctional Fiumicino airport. Here we will wait an hour for our luggage and then cross our fingers that the taxi we arranged by phone will actually show up. Ok, maybe I exaggerate, but when you only understand 70% of what people say, all that's left is up to your imagination.

And then it all begins. But really, thank god, because this kid needs to get on a schedule.