The standard advice after a break-up is to go “no contact” with your ex – don’t see them, don’t talk to them, don’t exchange messages. It makes sense, at least in the short-term. But if I wasn’t communciating with my ex, I would never have discovered this video. He randomly sent me the link the other day, because the song was stuck in his head.
Well. Where to begin?
After watching this I was inspired to resume my series of posts on Italian songs, which ranged from classics like I giardini di marzo by Lucio Battisti and Albachiara by Vasco Rossi to the novelty Neapolitan song A nuje ce piace magna’. I felt that this camp capolavoro deserved a short post of its own, even if the song is mostly in Portugese. There’s one line in Italian – “Mi sono innamorato, ma di tuo marito” (“I fell in love, but with your husband”), and the singer, Cristiano Malgioglio, is from Sicily. That’s enough.
The song is a cover of two songs – 70s pop song Mi sono innamorata di mio marito and O Maior Golpe do Mundo. Malgioglio has had a pretty distinguished songwriting career, writing songs like the Mina classic L’importante e’ finire, but these days he seems to be best-known as a TV personality, making appearances on the celebrity version of Grande Fratello (Big Brother).
A YouTube commenter on another video describes Malgioglio as “a cross between Lady Gaga and my mother-in-law”. In “Mi sono innamorato di tuo marito” he sashays through the streets of Salento, fanning himself next to some nonne. He’s followed around by a handsome, brooding young man carrying a watermelon. This young man is presumably the marito Malgioglio has fallen in love with. I wonder what the wife thinks about her husband leaving her, going off with his watermleon so he can start a new life with a flamboyant seventysomething. Or perhaps it’s just a song about having a crush, and lusting from afar – a fantasy.
I’m definitely noticing a theme in his songs. See also Notte perfetta, where a cross-dressing Malgioglio parades along the seafront of a town apparently populated entirely by hunks, who can’t take their eyes off him. Or Danzando Danzando, featuring more seaside posing, plus shirtless mechanics. Or Tutti me miran – what it lacks in seaside locations it makes up for in hunks…shiny-suited shirtless backup dancers, a shirtless gardener, a shirtless fire dancer, a guy selling gelato who’s inexplicably fully-dressed…
Musically, Malgioglio’s recent songs are niente di che (nothing special). They’re just fun, trashy pop – the kinds of songs you enjoy at Eurovision and then forget about. With the exception of Sbucciami, which I think might actually be…good? I don’t know. I honestly no longer trust my own judgement.
But Malgioglio can sing. And you’ve got to give him credit for his aesthetic, especially considering that he was born Sicily in 1945. Italian culture was – and still is, to some extent – conservative and homophobic. Just look at what happened recently with the legge Zan, where the Italian senate voted against an important anti-homophobia bill that would have criminalised homophobic crime.
I don’t think the average Italian is more homophobic than anyone else, but Italy is definitely…behind. I think it’s telling that I hardly ever see a same-sex couple holding hands. Earlier this year, a gay couple was violently attacked on the metro, and the headline referred to it as ennesima aggressione omofoba a Roma (“yet another homophobic atttack in Rome”)
I can’t do justice to the issue of homophobia in this short blog post, which was meant to be nothing more than a commentary on a fun pop song. All I want to say is that honestly, I have huge admiration for anyone in Italy who expresses their sexuality this openly and unaplogetically, especially if they’re from an older generation. Ci vuole coraggio.
(And this is where I could launch into a 10,000 word essay on my love for Renato Zero – another post, another day…)
Fare la fila (queuing) is part of life in Italy, whether it’s a famous Neapolitan pizzeria or an attempt to sign up with a doctor at the ASL. While I’ve eaten many delicious pizzas in Naples, I have never been to Sorbillo for precisely this reason….It’s an avoidable queue, unlike the wait at the ASL!
Life in Italy isn’t all sunshine and Aperol spritz (or pizza, pasta, mandolino) – it’s also moments of Kafkaesque queuing systems and post office rage. When I first arrived in Italy, barely speaking the language, I assumed it was difficult because I was a foreigner. It’s certainly true that having limited Italian skills puts you at a disadvantage, and that foreigners have to deal with extra bureaucracy, but locals have a hard time too.
I’ve just gone through a couple of bureaucratic processes – getting the certificate for permanent residency, and applying for a new ID document for UK citizens, the carta di soggiorno. It was actually fairly straightforward, by Italian standards, but I thought I would share an overview here, in the hope that it will be useful to someone else going through the same processes.
But first, a bureaucracy horror story from earlier this year. My awful time at the ASL is one of the reasons I was so keen to get permanent residency and an extra ID card. That’s life in Italy – happily doing extra bureaucracy to avoid unpleasant bureaucratic experiences in the future…
The ASL arsehole: my worst Italian bureaucracy experience
My local ASL – note the unfortunate people queuing outside with their documents, waiting to have their hopes crushed and day ruined by some officious coglione.
When you realise you have to go to the post office, Anagrafe (town hall) or ASL (administrative office for healthcare), your heart sinks.
Here are some of the reasons why people dread bureaucratic visits in Italy:
random and inconvenient opening hours – you may find the service you need is not available on a Tuesday afternoon
long, confusing queues – you’ll probably have to wait a long time, clutching a numbered ticket without any idea of when you’ll be seen, or why everyone seems to be going ahead of you
inconsistent rules – your experience depends entirely on who’s behind the desk at that particular moment
arbitrary attitude towards photocopies – you may need them, you may not, but if you suddenly discover that photocopies are required you’ll probably be forced to leave the office and find somewhere to do them yourself, even though there’s a photocopier right there
These things are all annoying, but I’ve accepted them as an inevitable part of life in Italy. What I can’t accept, though, is being treated with a rudeness that borders on aggression.
I went to the ASL earlier this year to re-enrol in the national health system (something non-permanent residents are required to do annually). I arrived prepared, with all my documents, a copy of my work contract etc…It should have been simple. “Here are my documents – please re-enrol me.”
But Brexit happened. And even though I became an Italian resident pre-Brexit (giving me rights an EU citizen), there is still widespread confusion about the rights of UK citizens in Italy. I’d done my research, and I knew that I was still entitled to healthcare, and that the documents I’d brought were sufficient.
The man at the desk was rude, dismissive and hostile from the beginning. When I explained that I was British, he said something dismissive along the lines of “adesso sei come i africani” (“now you’re like the Africans”). He meant that I no longer had EU privileges. He was wrong, and what a way to phrase it…
He wouldn’t accept my documents, and insisted on seeing my permesso di soggiorno – a residency document for non-EU citizens, which I didn’t have and didn’t need. I argued that I was entitled to healthcare and didn’t need any other documents, but he wouldn’t listen. It was so obvious that he didn’t actually know what the rules are, but he didn’t want to admit his ignorance, so it was easier to refuse my request.
After a while another similarly rude and unhelpful colleague intervened, taking his side. Then the woman seemed to change her mind, and implied that she might let me re-enrol, but only if I got photocopies of the documents. I didn’t have photocopies, only the originals. Could I get photocopies done there, seeing as there was a photocopier in the office? No, of course not. I would have to leave the building and find a photocopier somewhere else.
At this point I was getting increasingly agitated, and the documents I’d brought started slipping out of the folder, onto the floor. I was so frustrated that I gave up – I let them fall, and then threw my folder on the floor and burst into tears.
It wasn’t a tactic. I wasn’t trying to cause a scene. I was genuinely upset by the way I was being treated. But amazingly, the combination of tears and throwing the papers worked. Seconds later, another, nicer member of staff was telling me to have a seat while he did the photocopies for me. Then he took me to another desk, to talk to someone else – another nice and reasonable and man – who immediately re-enroled me in the system.
So in the end, I got what I wanted. But I should be able to get access to healthcare without the stress and humiliation of a public meltdown.
This experience motivated me to apply for another document – the certificate of permanent resisdency.
Getting permanent residency in Italy as an EU citizen
Via Petroselli – location of the Anagrafe for Municipio 1 in Rome. It’s an old photo, but even so, not sure why all the traffic has magically vanished.
Once you have 5 years of official residency, you can go to your local Anagrafe to request a document certifying your permanent residency (attestazione di residenza permanente). This may only be for EU citizens – I did some research online but found conflicting information about whether it was for everyone or only EU citizens.
I have British citizenship, which means that technically I’m no longer an EU citizen (thanks Brexiters), but because I became a resident in Italy pre-Brexit, I’m still classified as an EU resident.
Th permanent residency document is not mandatory, but if you’re eligible, you might as well get it. It’s essentially just one step below citizenship, and it’s nice to feel secure in your residency. If you’re told to go to the ASL every year to re-enrol, permanent residency should put an end to that. There are probably some other benefits, but I can’t think of them off the top of my head…
To get the attestazione di residenza permanente, go to the Angarafe with the required documents. For Municipio 1 in Rome, this is what you need to bring:
ID (passport or carta d’identita)
Original attestazione di residenza. If you’re a UK citizen, you should also have the new attestazionedi iscrizione anagrafica issued according to the Withdrawal Agreement (although it’s not mandatory).
Proof that you’ve been living/working/studying legally in the last 5 years. You’ll have to work out what you can use as proof depending on your individual circumstances, but I think they want to see you’ve been paying taxes, basically. I had Italian work contracts for 5 years, so I was able to get a printed copy of my contributions from my local CAF.
2 marche da bollo that cost €16 each (available from the tabaccheria).
In addition to the marche da bollo, the man at the Anagrafe also charged me something random like €17.02 – I guess that’s the cost of getting the document.
It’s probably more or less the same across Italy, but check online to see if you can find any information for your local Anagrafe.
You can technically lose your Italian residency if you’re outside of the country for a certain length of time. My understanding is that you lose residency if you spend more than 6 months of the year outside of Italy (if you’re a regular resident), or if you’re outside of Italy for more than 2 consecutive years (if you’re a permanent resident). But I’m not sure, and again, I’ve read conflicting information. If this is something you’re concerned about, you should probably check with an immigration lawyer, and not rely on a blogger who spent 5 minutes on Google…
Getting the carta di soggiorno (for UK citizens resident in Italy pre-Brexit)
This is only about the new carta di soggiorno for UK CITIZENS, who were living in Italy BEFORE 1 January 2021. I have no idea about residency requirements and documents for other nationalities, and I don’t know how things will work for UK citizens resident in Italy after 1 January 2021.
What isthe carta di soggiorno?
The carta di soggiorno is a new biometric residency card for UK citizens who have residency rights under the Withdrawal Agreement. At the time of writing, it is not compulsory. But getting it is fairly straightforward (at least compared to other Italian bureaucratic processes), and having an extra official document certainly never hurts. It can be used as proof of your rights as a resident when dealing with certain ignorant public officials….
There’s some more in-depth information on the UK government website. IOM has information, and offers support to UK citizens. This Facebook group is also very useful.
How to get the carta di soggiorno
Step 1 (optional) – Get a PEC. This is a certified email address, useful for when you have to contact offices – you get confirmation that they received your email, and they often reply to you more quickly. A PEC with Aruba costs €5 a year.
Step 2 – Email the Questura to request an appointment. Send an email/PEC to the Questura and ask for an appointment for the carta di soggiorno, with a scanned copy of your UK passport in the attachment. Here are the contact details for the Questura in Rome. They’ll email you back with the appointment details. Mine was exactly one month later.
Step 3 – Get your documents ready. I imagine it’s standard across the country, but the Questura in Rome told me to bring the following:
Official invitation letter from the Questura
ID (passport or carta d’identita)
Proof of residency (Ideally your Attestazione from the Anagrafe)
The receipt for a payment of €30.46 for a bollettino from the post office. There will be details in your letter on which kind of bollettino to get. It will look something like this.
4 passport photos
Step 4 – Attend your appointment at the Questura. Don’t forget any documents, and get there in plenty of time. The appointment itself is quick and painless – they saw me on time, and it was over in 10 minutes. You fill in a form, and they check your documents and take your fingerprints. You won’t get the carta di soggiorno on the same day, but they’ll give you information about how to collect it.
Step 5 – Pick up your carta di soggiorno. Your card will be ready about one month later. I was given a link to check, so I knew when to collect it. You may be asked to return to the same Questura building, but I was told to collect my card from a more centrally located office. I think the validity of the card is 5 years, or 10 years if you’re a permanent resident.
How to get to the Questura in Rome(Ufficio Immigrazione)
If you’re getting the carta di soggiorno in Rome, you’ll have your first appointment at the Ufficio Immigrazione on Via Teofilo Patini. Where is Via Teofilo Patini, you ask? In the middle of nowhere. I couldn’t even find a bar for a coffee. That’s how you know you’ve left civilisation far behind…
Questura location (Tor Sapienza station circled in red)
An American in Rome has a blog post about how to get to the Questura with the 437 bus. I took the train instead, because I try to avoid using buses when I have to get somewhere on time. Take the metro or regional train to Tiburtina, where you can get a train to Tor Sapienza. The Questura is a 5 minute walk. Just make sure you give yourself plenty of time to find the platform at Tiburtina. I complain about navigating Termini, but with nonsensical levels and bad signage, Tiburtina might even be worse…
Go Thou To Rome 