#Italianproblems

Guys! I have so much to share that my last week+ needs to be split into two posts.…

Here goes:

So I mentioned in my post on the 24th that Sunday (April 22nd) I had to fly back to Milan. For the work visa process, the (essentially) last step to being allowed to stay the full 6 months is to get fingerprinted by the Italian Immigration police. This task needs to be completed within 3 months of arriving, so when I went to my immigration appointment on March 9th, they told me that THEY would contact ME to schedule it. Five or six weeks had passed since that point, and I hadn’t heard anything, so I reached out to the immigration consultants that have helped me through this whole process. She basically told me that she had been reaching out for weeks and hadn’t heard anything either. FINALLY they respond and give I think a 10 day notice of my appointment time. Of course, I was already planning to be in Stockholm. We were concerned that if I went back to them and said I couldn’t make it, it might be another 5-6 weeks before hearing from them again, at which point there would be a chance of missing that 3 month mark of getting my fingerprinting completed. So. I had a trip within a trip booked, super meta, and flew home on Sunday April 22nd with the plan of returning to Stockholm Monday April 23rd after my appointment.

Sunday came, I got myself to the airport, I flew back directly to Milan which was nice, and the lovely driver (I still don’t know his name… keep forgetting to ask) picked me up and dropped me back at my apartment. I got settled then went out to grab some groceries for the next 24 hours because I had NOTHING in my apartment. It was a beautiful day out, a little hot, but definitely one of those days that makes you smile as soon as you step outside. While walking back from the store, I told myself I would go home, eat lunch, then figure out something to do outside to enjoy some of the sunshine. Of course I did nothing of the sort. I got back, ate lunch while watching something on Netflix, and ended up watching random movies on Netflix. All. Day. I knew there were things I should be doing, I just inactively made the choice to not do them. You know what I mean? Where obviously I could have been doing X and did Y instead, so I made the choice, but I never forced myself to sit and think about it and take an active role in the choice to make sure it was really what I wanted to be doing or needed to be doing.

By the end of the day, my vague excuse of “I need to relax” had completely backfired. Absolutely backfired. I was embarrassed at how lazy and addicted to entertainment I had been. I was frustrated with my situation having to travel so much. I was panicked because I realized that there were two things I was told I needed for my appointment Monday that I didn’t have (printed copies of my last 3 paystubs and 4 passport photos.. I had 3 but I was told they needed 4, so I would suck it up and pay the 5 euros to get 4 more printed…). And I went back to my first breakdown after moving here- I was terrified I wasn’t doing it right. I was terrified that I was almost 2 months into this adventure and that I was not making myself or others proud. This emotional breakdown led to a late night crying session and needed comfort calls with both Matt and Mom. Goodness.

As bad as Sunday night had been, my way of calming down was to make a plan, and Monday morning, I woke up and felt good about having the plan. I would wake up, shower, get ready, etc., I would take the metro to the office to print my paystubs (I couldn’t find another place that would have printing capabilities that was closer and open that early) and while I was at the metro station I would stop at one of those little photo booths they have so I could get more passport photos, then I would head back in the opposite direction into the city to go to my appointment at 10am. So that is exactly what I did. I got my paystubs printed, I got new passport photos, and I got down near the Immigration with a little time to spare. I was able to stop and get a cappuccino and a croissant, and head to a nearby small park for a few moments of quiet reflection.

I met my immigration consultant representative at the immigration building right before 10am as I was supposed to. There was a line to get in. We wait in line, and she then finds out she cannot even come in the building with me. I had been warned something like this might happen, so I didn’t worry [too much]. I get in the building and have to go through a small security. It was like airport security but it was just one guy and you kept your shoes on. After that I walk down a small hallway and get in another line. The guy in front of me spends about 10 minutes talking to another guy behind a desk, obviously struggling with something, so I start getting a little nervous that I too will have a bad case of the Leslie struggles. Luckily, I handed the guy my piece of paper, he handed me a number, and that was that.

I take my number and go into the main waiting room (it was like Harry Potter where it felt like I had to keep passing tests to go from room to room). I look at my paper (F112), I look up at the screen….F068….crap. This is going to be awhile.

So I get comfortable on the floor in a spot next to the wall and as away from the action of the other 50-100 people waiting as I could get. It took a solid 2 hours, but my number was finally called. I go to a counter and essentially watch two Italian men behind glass talk to each other for 15 minutes while occasionally asking me for documents. They have me sign something and send me to another room for the fingerprinting. That takes just a couple of minutes and then I am told I am done and will have to come back in a few weeks to pick up my permit I guess. I go back outside and tell my rep how it went (she waited for me the ENTIRE time to make sure everything went well… what a champ). She confirmed that I will hear something in the coming weeks, but that even she needed to confirm with her boss on what the next step really entails. Oh well. I am done… for now.

And might I add… they never asked for my paystubs and only needed 2 passport photos. Sigh.

I treat myself to a nice lunch at a white tablecloth kind of establishment where they were casually playing JLo and FatBoy Slim. It was lovely haha. Then, I have to go BACK to the office, because my ride to the airport was picking me up from the office, and I just couldn’t handle trying to change plans anymore. I get back and work for an hour or two then head straight back to the airport. Talk about a whirlwind 36 hours.

I get to Stockholm super late at night, and my taxi driver to the hotel keeps coughing like he may cough up a lung, but that reassures me, “it’s allergies.” Sigh.

My workweek was fairly uneventful, but Thursday after work I scheduled a pedicure because I NEEDED to give my feet some love.

After that, I met my project manager and 5 of the younger guys for a night out! We started at a bar that was a “biker bar” according to my project manager, though to me it seemed like a 50’s diner hahah. No one seemed to be a huge fan of it, so we moved onto an English pub nearby. While there, I saw that they had a beer in the fridge called Singha that I had only seen in Thailand!

I almost got one for nostalgia, but I was afraid that it was only good in 100 degree F weather when there are no other options, and I didn’t want to ruin the image I had of it. Instead I drank the IPA that my PM accidentally ordered and didn’t like... and then 2 Guinesses…. And then 2 vodka sodas. These Swedes go hard. I honestly had a blast and was so glad the guys had organized it.

Friday afternoon I once again took the awful train through the tunnels that make my head feel like it is going to explode back to the airport. While waiting at my gate, an employee of the airport was going around asking folks to take a quick verbal survey. I heard one woman answering his questions for the survey, and it really did only take a few minutes, so when he walked over to me asking if “I wouldn’t mind answering a few questions,” I actually complied. They were all fairly standard things you would expect him to ask about… where I was headed, where did I come from, how did I get to the airport, have I done any shopping in the airport, etc. etc. But two questions stuck with me. I had been on an upswing in my mood and mindset all week since my Sunday night breakdown, right? Well, I told this gentleman I was headed to Milan and he asked, “Do you live there?”, and when I answered, “Yes,” something fluttered inside me. Then the last question was answering how old I was. He thanked me for my time and walked away. I sat there for a few moments just thinking over and over, “I am 28, and I live in Milan. I am 28 years old, and I LIVE in Milan, Italy. Wow” I know this is a temporary assignment, and my world is back HOME in NC, but in this moment, I am at this very specific point in my life and I am living in Italy. It was this sincere moment of “Wow” alongside acceptance and contentment. It was like at that moment I knew I could do it. I knew I WAS doing it. I knew that this is my life, and I need to own it and enjoy it and just BE here. What I’m trying to convey is that this moment really felt like a turning point in a very, very positive way.

Anyway, I go through to my usual Frankfurt layover, and land in Milan just a little later than planned. I realized I did NOT have a taxi scheduled this time around, so I was on my own. I walk out and am looking for taxis. The taxis in Stockholm are all yellow and black, so that is what I am looking for… and do not see. Ok, next step, let’s see about a shuttle ticket. I go to a machine, and boom, airbus shuttle from Milan Linate to Milano Centrale. Perfect. I buy my ticket and find the sign by a bus stop that says “air bus.” I walk over to the group standing there and go stand next to them. A guy soon walks over and promptly tells me that this was “where THEY were standing, the end of the line is back THERE.” Ahh. Of course this is a line and not just a waiting spot like every other bus stop ever. Of course. So I apologize and go to the back of the line.

When the shuttle shows up, I understand the need for a line because it only fits about 15 people. The driver looks at me and my huge suitcase as the shuttle is filling up and says something in Italian that I understood as “you don’t fit on this one.” Sure sure. Of course. I WANTED to get home after midnight, so this fits my plans better anyway. A few more moments pass and two people then get OFF the shuttle and are discussing something with the driver. He then looks at me again and says something in Italian. I ask “Do you speak english?” “No”... we stare at each other blankly for a few moments. He starts repeating “Milano Centrale?” and I say “Yes? That is where I am going” And he takes my ticket, switches it with one of the tickets from the couple, and then clears his sweater and cigarettes from the front passenger seat and has me sit next to him. So bizarre.

Oh, and while I had been waiting for the shuttle, I realized that all of the taxis were about 2 rows over… they were just white. Sigh.

I finally make it back to my apartment, talk to Matt for a bit, then go to sleep. Saturday was my first trip with other folks in Italy, and I needed my rest!

And that indeed is where I will stop tonight, so I will have to give all of the AMAZING details on Sicily this week!!

See you soon!