#33: The Italian Furbo
Walking beneath the walls of Lucca
Ciao Nonni!
Well, we've done it. We've officially (finally) moved to our new apartment. Between the dreaded ZTL, rain, and sickness I would be lying if I said it was anything other than a very unenjoyable experience. The outcome, however, is fantastic.
While this apartment is smaller than our last one, and outside Lucca's famous walls, we're already finding that life here suits us very well. We are still very much walking distance to all of our favourite places, but we also now have the option of driving right up to our building. Our cantina on the ground floor (basically a garage) means we have easy access to the street on all of our bikes. And our neighbours are amazingly Italian.
I've already been scolded by Signora Maria downstairs for going outside without my neck sufficiently protected from the elements - no wonder I have una brutta tosse (a bad cough)!
My favourite part about our neighbours is how, while I am fascinated by their Italian-ness, it is very obvious that we are kind of like a new zoo exhibit to them. Or occasionally aliens from another planet. I often find myself explaining why we are doing one thing or another as being because we are Australian.
None of them have been to Australia, so I think they are quickly forming the view that the country is completely lacking in logic and common sense (the Italian version, obviously) - and that we are all a bit crazy. Albeit friendly and generally harmless.
David wearing shorts all year round, regardless of the season or the actual temperature, is probably my favourite. They are all completely perplexed. Leo launching himself into any puddle he sees, no matter how muddy, comes a close second.
Along with moving into the apartment, I've had to set up our utilities. I escaped this task last time because our previous landlord kept the bills in her name. As well as gas, electricity and water, we had to go and collect our new bins. All five of them!
David and I headed off to the Sistema Ambiente (Lucca's environmental authority) centre yesterday afternoon, with our new lease contratto and all vital documents in hand. After visiting three separate counters, and filling in a perplexing variety of forms, we left with our shiny new bins and a promise that our service would start on Monday. While everything was done on paper and seemed to be very manual, it was amazingly efficient.
This is something I am coming to realise more and more about general bureaucracy here. While the forms are endless, and the penalties imposed for failing to provide all the required information are hefty (judgement, condescension, possible shouting, and being sent to the back of the queue to try again) - the pain is generally front-ended. If you make it through that initial interaction, you are usually in the clear and things will move in the right direction.
I can remember submitting a request in Australia for a new bin. Fill out this easy online form, the website said. So I did. And then I waited. And waited. And there was no way to ask for an update, or know whether my request had even been received. There was no number to call, or office to go to and stamp my feet in frustration.
Australian bureaucracy is increasingly faceless. Whereas Italian bureaucracy very much has a face. Often that face yells at you, but it is still there and in most cases it will help you eventually if you persevere.
In any case, I've been spending a lot of time recently in queues waiting at various service providers. Which means I've been witnessing a lot of attempted queue jumping. It’s an unofficial national sport.
The word that gets used a lot to describe someone who manages to skip to the front of the line (or avoid it entirely) is 'furbo'. It basically means a cunning / sly person. Furbi are 90% despised, but 10% admired for their success in outwitting the system.
A would-be furbo will stride confidently past the ticket dispensing machine and straight to a sportello, proclaiming on approach that they just need to do this one thing and it will take no time at all. Or that they were here yesterday and the person who served them told them they didn't have to wait again (almost certainly a lie).
If they succeed, they achieve furbo status. If they fail, oh the shame. They then have to sit and wait in the room with all the same people they just tried to do over. It's a high risk, high reward game.
I was waiting at the ENEL (gas and electricity provider) office two days ago and about four furbi made it through with increasingly ridiculous strategies that were all rewarded by the staff. The Italians around me who had been waiting with numbers for over an hour became increasingly agitated. As the fifth furbo made straight for a desk … mutiny!
Everyone in the waiting area jumped to their feet and forced the man to take a ticket. Then our ringleader went to the back and asked if the ticket machine was merely ornamental, or if it actually served some purpose? After this, order returned and the queue resumed. She's my new hero.
Lots of love!
Kate
