Segovia or bust!

Well, here I am at another literary festival. This one is one run by the Hay Festival but in Segovia, near Madrid.

To get here I had, what I can only describe as the journey from hell which I would hope to post about later, when I have more time. However, there was a point (probably after we had been sitting on the tarmac for over an hour) when I really thought I wouldn’t get here this side of Christmas!

I arrived in Segovia at about 1.30 a.m. this morning. Had a few beers with S, got to bed about 3.30 a.m. and was up at 8 to be at the Box Office for 10.

So, we have the normal problems with the Box Office (people picking the wrong events, tickets not having arrived, leaving their tickets at home, etc.) plus the added joy of everything being in a foreign language – and I’m a little tired.

However, unlike Hay, we closed the Box Office for a whole hour for lunch; I was interviewed by some Spanish television company; the sun is shining; and we are likely to finish the Box Office before midnight.

Also I have met some lovely people already, including some Italians who are helping out here. It’s quite nice to talk to them and they are very sweet. They are ‘stage’ (like an unpaid apprentice) in Madrid for one of the Festival organiser’s husband.

I am, of course, stuck in the Tourist Information centre here, which is where we have our system set up.

I’ve just been interrupted by a lady trying to find out how to work her video camera. Obviously, being the TIC, they are supposed to be able to answer any sort of question. Aren’t people strange?

We have a firework display this evening to mark the opening of the Festival in Segovia and I will, hopefully, see some of it.

More later…

Banking in Italy, foreign cheques, banking online

I have a cheque to pay in to the bank. It’s drawn from a UK bank and in sterling (obviously). I want to pay it into my bank here, in Milan. The bank is through the Post Office as it’s the cheapest around (we don’t get free banking here, guys).

I go to the PO and take my ticket. This is much, much better than the old days. Previously, going to the PO was a nightmare, queuing not really being an Italian thing. But now you have to have a ticket, just like at the deli counter in a UK supermarket. When your number shows up at a counter, you go to that counter. All very civilized here.

As it is holiday time and nobody is back yet, my number comes up straight away. I go to the counter and hand over the cheque, explaining that I want to pay it into my account. The nice lady (who is, by the way, bloody useless) looks at the cheque. Reads the cheque (except she can’t read English). I explain that it’s a cheque from England and in sterling and that the bank on the cheque is a UK bank. She turns it over. The back has nothing on it. She returns to the front of the cheque. She reads it all again. She has a discussion with another teller (who I’ve never seen before, so I guess is new here). They discuss it but I don’t know what they are saying.

She says we should go to the wonderful lady (WL) at the end counter. She is wonderful because she a) speaks a little English, b) seems to know what she is doing and c) is extremely helpful to us whenever we go.

So WL looks at the cheque. She has a conversation with the nice lady (who then darts back to her counter, never to be seen again. I think she was just glad to be rid of the problem. WL and I have a small (because my Italian is very poor) discussion about the cheque. Other PO employees come over to join in. A man who looks like the manager of the PO also joins in. WL checks the general terms and conditions to see how, or even if they can, accept a cheque that is not Italian and, worse, not in Euros. But the Ts&Cs are too general.

She suggests that I go to the main post office in town. I ask if we can try here and because she is the WL, she says OK

She tries entering the details via the computer. Unfortunately, but obviously, the computer wants the value in Euros. The cheque is in pounds. She goes away.

I look at things. Leaflets, posters, etc. I wait. I wait some more. I cannot see where WL has gone. I move up the counters to see if I can see her. She is on the phone at the back.

I wait some more……!

She comes back with a form. A different form to that used for paying in. Not a normal duplicate form but it may have been faxed to her.

She explains that it may take up to a month to clear. This is no surprise. I had read about this on another blog/site. I say that it’s OK. She says it may take less, as if to apologise for how tardy they are here.

She fills in the form and gets me to sign it. Then, because it is not a duplicate form she has to take a photocopy so that I have a copy of it.

And that’s it! Well, obviously, I now have to wait to see how much I get charged and how long it takes. We shall see and I will try to remember to post the results on this blog.

Then she tries to get me to sign up to online banking. I think she thinks that it may stop me coming in so often :-). I explain that I’ve tried but it seems difficult. She fills in a form (absolutely every transaction you do requires a form).

I sign the form. Then, on her computer, she shows me what site to go to to register. Apparently I will get a telegram with a code that will finally allow me to bank online. She gives a long list of terms and conditions with prices. And she writes a helpline number on top to call if I have problems and suggests that, maybe, someone will speak English there.

I go home. I try. It doesn’t work. It doesn’t like something. I think it’s my Codice Fiscale (like National Insurance Number – but used for everything here – almost to the point of being required for supermarket shopping) but I can’t be sure.

I read some of the charges. I note that, even if I pay a bill online, it will still cost me 1 Euro. I can’t wait until the banks here are in foreign hands and there is some real competition.

That was all yesterday.

Today, I go back. I explain that I couldn’t do it and that I tried to ring the helpline number but nobody spoke English and it was too difficult to explain my problem. I ask if we can try it here – on her computer.

We try. She gets the same message. And then we have a whole conversation about whether I am a resident. I’m not. Not yet. I’ve applied but it takes three months! I only did it for the car (that I now need to sell).

She looks on my initial application for the bank and sees that I’m not a resident. But then finds that, on the computer I am classed as a resident. She suggests that I try the alternative registration option of non-resident. We start to try it but it requires different information that she doesn’t have.

I say I’ll try it at home. I did. It works. It says I will get a telegram (I think). This will be interesting to see if it works. I’ll let you know.

It’s all about persistence, persistence, persistence!

Its all about persistence

Persistence is the key here, in Italy and, in particular, Milan. This is true especially when it comes to bureaucracy. It comes down to the big, age-old problem of ‘taking responsibility’.

You see, from my experience, in general, they just don’t like taking any responsibility and especially if it means going out on a limb.

So, one queries how anything ever gets done here. How does anything change? If it’s not done in the time-honoured manner, then it just can’t be done.

R, my boss, explained to me that, seven years ago, a law was introduced allowing certain official documents to be circumvented (at least temporarily) by composing a self-certification document. I have the particular article of the law in front of me and the list of acceptable self-certification particulars is long.

For instance, you can certify your place and date of birth; where you are resident; professional qualifications, etc.

One small problem. For the first two years after this law was introduced, nearly everywhere refused to accept the self-certification as an official or allowed document, according to R.

And even now, some people, even if it is on their own organisation’s website, are adamant that these things are not acceptable! It’s incredible although, the more I am here, the more credible it is, given the way Italians are.

Anyway, the persistence thing comes in to play in almost every aspect, especially when dealing with officials. One office/department/even official will tell you what they know – which of course may not always be exactly how it should be – just how they know it. But, as another will tell you something slightly differently or even something opposite, it pays to keep digging and keep asking – if you can stand it, of course.

Oh, Italy would be a great country, a world-respected country, if only there wasn’t this Italian mental shrug of the shoulders – which is really to shrug off the responsibility from oneself.

How to ‘buy’ a free car in Italy

How to buy a free car

Don’t. Go to the UK. Buy a car over there. Tax and insure it. Spend 2 days driving it over here. Job done and everybody happy.

Alternatively, get a bicycle or use public transport.

Whatever you do, DO NOT TRY TO BUY A CAR HERE, unless you have full residency status, in which case it’s fine. Also, even if the car is free, it will cost you just to transfer title (between €330 and €680). Yep, Italy is a great country, but I’m amazed that most Italians haven’t emigrated to somewhere where life and, in particular, bureaucracy, is much easier – like the UK, for instance.

So, a friend of a friend is emigrating to Canada. If she does not get rid of her car by 10th July, she will have to pay a whole year’s insurance of €400. As she knows the difficulties here, she is prepared to let it go for free. And I have the chance to have it. Just a couple of small problems.

I can’t legally own it without having Residency here. It will take much longer than a couple of weeks to do this, even if I can, which I somehow doubt. And I need to have the car as mine has many, many things wrong with it and, surely, it is only a matter of time before it fails.

In addition, the owner has mislaid, or never had, one of the two documents that she needs for the car. To get a replacement can take 90 days! And cost €200! And she will be gone within 90 days!! And post, here, is difficult to have re-directed (I’m almost certain that you need to prove that you live at the new address before the Post Italiane will permit the post to be re-directed).

Maybe I should just give up?

A Grand Day Out

In the UK, if someone suggests a trip out, where you were going to travel for two hours to get there and two to get back, you would tend to make a day of it. So, for instance, when we lived in Herefordshire and you decided to go to, let’s say Aberystwyth, you would set of at, say, 10 a.m., reach Aberystwyth, have lunch, enjoy the afternoon having a walk around and set off home at 6 or 7 p.m.

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(Italian) Words of the Day

This could be subtitled ‘Essential words when you come to Italy’.

In this case there are two. Cazzo and Vafanculo. I hear them quite often. They are not such polite words but, it seems, essential to daily life here.

At least in my office. The Commercial Manager, in whose office I reside, came back from a three-day trip yesterday. He normally sprinkles most sentences with the odd cazzo and, very occasionally, the odd vafanculo.

But, yesterday, once Si had left, he needed to find some documentation. He couldn’t find it. I have never heard so many cazzos and vafanculos in all the time I have been here, as I did in two hours yesterday afternoon.

At one point, every other word in the sentence was cazzo. Really, I mean it.

I shouldn’t really take against it so. After all, my language is not squeaky clean, as people who know me will attest to, but, really.

It also seems that, last night, for some very strange reason, he switched round the battery cables on his car resulting in a burn-out of at least one of them. Something to do with his daughter – so maybe he was trying to get her car started. Anyway, he’s not in right now (hurrah) and the damage will, apparently, cost him €500.

It couldn’t happen to a nicer guy!

On driving in Italy, red lights, rain, irony, sarcasm

Yesterday morning it rained on my way to work.  Not particularly heavy, but it would have made the roads potentially greasy.  For that reason I tend to be a bit slower, try to give myself more time for braking by positioning myself further from the car in front, etc.

But why, I ask, that when it rains, people do the strangest of things.  I mean, it’s as if it’s not raining when they pull out in front of you.  This also happens when it snows.

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The sun went green in Milan

Today, in Milan, the sun turned green!  Yes, that’s right, it was only a slight hue of green, but green it was.  It was very strange walking around in this slightly green light.  It seemed to make the leaves on the trees (yes we have a lot of them in Milan although how they survive in the pollution beats me) much greener than normal.  Walking around, people were just staring up towards the sun or there with their hands in front of them, examining them, as if they had some dread disease.  It was quite freaky, just like some sort of Science Fiction film.  Except that we were here and it wasn’t some film set.

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Changing the air: no plants in the bedroom: soap on the plates

I have mentioned before about the Italians need to ‘change the air’.  This is a requirement from birth, I think.  Si, bless her, no longer opens the window first thing in the morning, in the office, because I am there.  She used to come in, open the window, go and have a coffee, and then come back and close it.  I only learnt this fact this week.

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You can’t call it procrastination.

No one makes any bloody decisions around here!

Everything is talked about – endlessly.  V is currently very frustrated by the fact that he can sit in a meeting (or many meetings) where people can say ‘yes, I agree with that action, in principle’ but nobody actually says ‘yes, I agree.  Do it’.

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