Permesso: Part 3,847

I started off the new year on a good note, with my hard-earned permesso in hand. Hard-earned, you ask? What could be so hard about getting a permesso if you already have your visa? Well, friends. Sometimes it feels like the entire country of Italy has conspired against foreigners. You remember this permesso story. And, this one.

In November I was shooed away from the questura with a, "No, you need to wait at least three months." "But the guy told me it would be ready in two weeks." <Shrug>

On December 30, I said BASTA and went back to the main questura. After finally getting to the woman at the front, she looks at my file and tells me my permesso has been ready since November 6th. Well, colour me surprised (but not really). She tells me to go to my questura immediately, and tell them that they must give me my permesso, even if it isn't "permesso handing-out day." I arrive there, and the conversation goes pretty much exactly like this (in Italian, but translated for your convenience):

"Hi, I'm here to pick up my permesso. The woman at the main questura told me you had to give it to me today."

"But today we can't give out permessos. That only happens on Saturdays."

"It's ok. You can. She told me you could."

"But we can't. It's Monday today. We only give them out on Saturdays."

"It's ok. You can."

"But we can't."

"But you can."

"Let me call the guy who deals with permessos."

So this guy arrives, and we proceed to pretty much have the same conversation. Once he realizes that I'm really not going anywhere, he tells me that he'll see what he can do and tells me to wait. After a couple of hours, he finally calls me in and has my permesso right there. Joy! So I sign whatever I need to, confirm my fingerprints, and just as we're finishing up he says, "I can tell someone helped you with this. You must know someone at the questura, eh?"

.

.

.

I'm not often left speechless, but there I was. I thought maybe I misunderstood his Italian, and asked him what he meant. He repeated the same thing. Apparently, someone helped me with this permesso application and made it easier for me. I still, to this day, do not understand what he meant. Even when I explained that this process has been one of the most difficult and confusing things I've ever had to do, he insisted that someone had helped me. I hate to think of where I'd be right now without that supposed help.

Oh Italy, I might love you, but I will never understand you.

*I write these permesso stories more as a PSA. I searched all four corners of the internet to find information on visas and permessos, so if any of this information can be useful to someone out there in my shoes, I will be happy. Actually, if someone out there does stumble upon this, feel free to message me directly and I will share more information about permessos that you could ever think possible!

The Other Monaco.

I want to live in Munich. If anyone has any tips on how to make this happen, please let me know immediately. The city is beautiful, and like all things German, it works. Some of the simplest things blew my mind. For example, you know how annoying it is when you’re trying to get off the metro and everyone trying to get on is standing in front of the doors? I mean, I’m not Moses, get out of my way. In Munich, you get on the train on one side, while everyone is getting off on the other side. Genius. Smarty pants.

Walking tours have also become my new favourite travel activity. The history is Munich is fascinating, and a walking tour makes for a much more interesting way to see a city. Anyway, back to the city. A place that offers you beer, sausages, and pretzels as breakfast can’t really be that bad, right? And this is coming from a person who prior to December 2013 was a self-confessed non beer-drinker.

But better than the fruit punch beer, or breakfast sausages, or pretzels at every corner, was the Feuerzangenbowle. If you haven’t had this before, all I can do is feel a bit of pity for you and then copy and paste the definition: “Feuerzangenbowle is a traditional German alcoholic drink for which a rum-soaked sugarloaf is set on fire and drips into mulled wine. It is often part of a Christmas or New Year's Eve tradition. The name translates literally to fire-tongs punch.”

Rum-soaked sugarloaf.

Mulled wine.

Rum-soaked sugarloaf and mulled wine.

Weak in the knees yet?

There’s a picture of us standing in front of an enormous cauldron of it below. Literally a market dedicated to the amazingness of this drink.

And no, Feuerzangenbowle is not the only reason I want to move back to Munich.

That's a burning pot of delicious behind us.

Obviously I had to see the Michael Jackson memorial in Munich.

Gute Fahrt provided hours of giggles. HOURS.

Gluhwein! I mean, Berlin!

Mid-December I set off to see my friend Jenn in Germany. I’ve never felt a huge pull towards Germany, but it might just be because I’m not a beer drinker, so I never understood what I would drink there? Good news, this trip changed my view entirely of Germany.

Berlin is somewhere I’ll have to go back to for a better taste of the city. We were only there for a few days, and saw mostly Christmas markets (awesome), stores, and bars. We lucked out with the weather, as I was warned (by a Calgarian no less) that no one in their right mind should go to Berlin in December and expect to do anything except freeze. We drank (gluhwein should be a basic human right), ate, enjoyed German efficiency, and finally started to understand the Berlin transportation network on the final day.

We did take a day-trip to the Sachsenhausen concentration camp, and that was sobering and eye-opening. I tend to make light of most situations (I don’t think I’m very good at being serious) but there’s nothing to make light of here. The calculated cruelty that people were capable of (and still are, for that matter) is appalling. Please, if you do one thing while in Germany, spend a day at a concentration camp and do the guided tour; it wouldn’t have had nearly the same effect without the guide.

Somewhere close by, there is a hidden camera filming confused tourists that don't understand how a street can intersect with itself.

Sachsenhausen concentration camp.

Sachsenhausen camp prison.

Italians like to use castles for advertising revenue. Germans like to use them as a backdrop for Christmas markets.

Bergamo: Not Just a Hub for Cheap Flights

I’ve realized a few things about myself while writing this blog. 1. I like writing, and love when people tell me that they like reading what I write (no, I’m not fishing for compliments!). 2. Sometimes I forget to write... for a really, really long time. On that note, I have trips that I haven’t shared with you, and some stories to make you laugh!

In early December, my Canadian and I trekked off to visit my friend Monica in Bergamo for the day. I've been to Bergamo a few times to take advantage of a cheap flight with RyanAir, but for most of us, that’s the only time we go to Bergamo. After this day, I'd go back in a heartbeat. There’s the modern lower town, and the historic upper town. On top of that, there’s even San Vigilio with views that you can’t even imagine. Mind you, my view for weeks before going there was pretty much just the sidewalks of Milan because so much time is spent looking down to avoid stepping in dog poo! So, I might be exaggerating the views... but we did also get lucky with a spectacularly beautiful sunny day. 

People from Bergamo are known for never leaving Bergamo. After this visit, I understand why.

You should try to make a point in life of going to Bergamo - all three areas mentioned above. We wanted to take the cable-car (is that the right word?) to San Vigilio for lunch, and we asked the closest ticket vendor for three tickets. You would think (and this is a phrase you should NEVER use in Italy) that he would tell us that it doesn’t run during the lunch break. You would think. Instead, we go back to the cable-car, tickets in hand, to find out that it doesn’t run between 1pm and 3pm (ish). No problem, we take the bus. Again, you would think that with only a handful of people on the bus, the bus driver might announce the stop in San Vigilio. But, once we start going back down the hill we realize that almost all of us aboard have missed the San Vigilio stop. Luckily we got off not too far away and wandered back up where we had a delicious lunch and even more delicious views. It was a great break from everyday life in Milan, and I’d definitely go back to wander around some more.

Would you like a little view with your coffee?