The purpose of this visit was to pack up my parents’ belongings and to escort them both safely over to Italy. Originally we had scheduled just a one week visit, but it soon became evident that an extra week would be required in order to get everything accomplished. However it was a superb opportunity to see family again after a long absence. How the grandchildren had grown, and how full of energy they were. We stayed a few nights here and there, living a strange nomadic existence, meeting up with more family members and friends along the way.

However the days seemed to fly by so quickly, taken up with writing numerous cancellation and change of address letters and more packing. We filled up yet more boxes, the final tally of which amounted to over one hundred and eighteen !!! In our absence, the housing market in the UK seemed to have virtually ground to a halt. Therefore we felt fortunate to have sold our house before this crisis had really set in. 

Finally, we were set to accompany my parents, Tina and Hugh, to our new abode in Italy. They were both so courageous to embark on such an adventure at their advanced time of life. However what was most important was to be together. Despite flying with a budget airline, we were pleasantly impressed, as my mother, a disabled traveller, received excellent treatment. The staff were particularly kind and helpful and after we had safely landed in Rome the pilot even came out and took the time to chat with Mum, which thoroughly made her day. We hired a car from Ciampino and finally arrived back at our rented villa at around midnight, where we were treated to a vocal welcoming reception by the dogs. 

During the following few days Tina and Hugh generally took things quietly. During our absence the weather in Italy had decidedly heated up, and they found it especially difficult to adjust to the difference in temperature, therefore we elected to invest in a portable air-conditioner which they found to be a blessed relief. We also invested in a basic Sky Package so they could watch some BBC and English speaking programmes and news, as well as other free-to-air Italian channels. They particularly enjoyed watching old black and white films directed by the likes of Fellini and Di Sica, and comedies starring the renouned Italian actor Totò.

Just a few days later Paul once again returned to the UK in order to supervise the loading of “all our remaining worldly possessions” onto the lorry, which was soon to head off towards Italia. It was just as well that we had opted for the more generously proportioned lorry, as the selected vehicle filled up fast. In fact, at the very last minute Paul was forced to make some executive decisions as to which items would have to be left behind, as it became clear that all the furniture was not going to be crammed in the limited remaining space. This was rather a disappointment, however we put on a brave face – telling ourselves that these were only “material things” and nothing of any real sentimental value. Once again our team of friends were marvellous in assisting with this arduous task. We just couldn’t thank them enough for all their sterling efforts. Eventually, with Patrick – one of Paul’s best friends at the wheel, the lorry set off packed to the gunnels, on its long journey through Europe. 

photo *

Paul flew back to Italy the very next day.  We had been advised to prepare an itemised list of the lorry’s contents, translated into both French and Italian. We were concerned that Pat might encounter problems when passing through international borders, however in reality all seemed to go very smoothly and such paperwork proved to be surplus to requirement. Pat departed Bristol on the Tuesday afternoon, and finally arrived in Itri around midday on the Friday, somewhat weary but unscathed. 

We were not entirely sure whether the lorry would manage the narrow, steep and winding potholed road that lead up to the farmhouse, however Pat once again demonstrated his remarkable driving skills by successfully manoeuvring the truck along the way and eventually reversing up in the driveway of the house. Then came the laborious task of unloading the contents of the lorry into the downstairs deposito or lock-up of the house. It was an especially hot sweltering day, with temperatures soaring into the high 30’s. The metal tail lift was so searingly hot that Pat actually managed to barbecue his rather ample midriff whilst leaning against it. We managed to cram most of the items into the deposito, however we knew that we would soon have to transfer the contents elsewhere before any building work on the house could commence. Our friends Salvatore and Guido had kindly offered us some storage space in their lock-ups, however access to these was totally unfeasible for a large lorry, so we were forced to transport items ourselves in our versatile “People Carrier” vehicle. 

Pat rested up for a few days, trying out the local beaches and sampling the local cuisine. On the Sunday afternoon, Paul and Pat carefully manoeuvred the lorry back down the narrow winding road to the cemetery where they duly parked up. In Italy large lorries are banned from the roads during weekends, except for those transporting fresh produce, so Pat could not set off home before the deadline of midnight.

After a hearty meal, Paul and Pat drove back down to the lorry, which evidently had been noticed by the local “Carabinieri”, who were parked up nearby. Paul attempted to explain to them that we were British, and that Pat was a splendid friend who had transported our belongings to Italy from the UK. While struggling to explain that we were staying locally in a rented villa, Paul could not bring to mind the exact name of the district, at which point the Carabinieri said San Marco, as evidently our quiet  arrival in Itri had not passed unobserved, as they knew precisely who we were and where we were staying.  At the strike of midnight Pat departed on the long journey home.  We could not thank him enough for all his hard work and dedication.

photo * by Matthew Wynn

Next – Chapter 25 -

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The day prior to the meeting Giampiero had checked through the draft copy of the “Atto” with us, highlighting certain modifications. Rocco had suggested that certain clauses should be inserted in order to clarify matters. Giampiero diligently explained everything to us in great detail, ensuring that we fully understood all that was written within the contract. Finally we felt ready to tackle all that the following day had in store for us.

 The next morning Giampiero drove us to Fondi, however we arrived there rather too early so we all decided to have a strong cup of espresso in a nearby bar to steady our nerves. Perhaps a strong gin and tonic would have been more in order !!! Giampiero appeared to be just as nervous as we were.

As we entered the Notaio’s offices, we found that on this occasion we were the first to assemble, however this gave Giampiero the opportunity to talk to the clerks about amending some of the wording in the “Atto”. The vendors finally emerged. We had not been savouring encountering this family again. We smiled through our gritted teeth, as we forced ourselves to exchange polite pleasantries. Then a jolly Rocco arrived – we were so relieved that he had been able to come, but later he declared that he had “been in it from the beginning and had therefore wanted to see the matter through with us, right to the end”.

Eventually we were all shepherded into the meeting room, and the Notaio took his seat at the head of the table. Thus the proceedings began.

* photo

 The “Notaio” wanted to affirm that all parties were now in agreement, however, yet another hurdle was thrown in our way. The Vendors once again tried to up the price. Rocco emphatically exclaimed that the vendors were pushing things to the extreme. He had decided to put on his thespian’s cap and waved his arms round dramatically, advising us to just walk away from the deal, saying that there were plenty other houses in the area that we could buy.

The Notaio impatiently rose to his feet and left the chamber. The agitated Ilaria and Marcello began to huff and puff, getting very hot under the collar. They stamped up and down, phoning contacts for advice on their mobile phones.

However, throughout we remained calmy seated, steadily holding our ground. I also decided to try my hand at some acting, by staging my own theatrical performance. I consciously made myself appear to be totally cool, calm and collected, while studiously consulting the reams of paperwork we had amassed regarding the house purchase. Then I began to tantalise Ilaria by mischievously shuffling the prepared bank cheques in front of her desirous eyes. My ploy seemed to do the trick as it resulted in Ilaria reluctantly conceding and agreeing to go ahead with the Atto as it stood.

Finally the “Notaio” returned and once again took his seat at the table, and proceeded to read aloud the “Atto” in full, rattling it off at breakneck  speed all in Italian. Thank goodness Giampiero had taken the time to go through it all with us the day before. After some hesitation on Ilaria’s part we finally, each and every one, signed our names on the contract, and finally the “Notaio” added his signature to validate the legal transaction. We then proceeded to hand over the prepared cheques. By this time Ilaria could no longer contain her fervour, as she involuntarily stretched out a hand to snatch them from my grasp, like a striking a viper lunge at its prey.

So, at long, long last, our perseverance had finally paid off, and we found ourselves to be the proud owners of the abandoned farmhouse and 8 acres of land.

Now the real work was to begin.

* photo by david wall

Next – Chapter 24 – back to olde blighty

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photo *

The appointment was set for 7 pm, and we spent the afternoon nervously trying to waste time before eventually meeting up with Giampiero, who was to kindly chauffeur us to the lawyer’s office. Having pressed the intercom buzzer we were swiftly ushered into the dark, sombre waiting area. The vendors were already there, accompanied by their elderly uncle. His nephew Marcello, was an engineer from Turin and seemed a pleasant enough chap, and his niece, Ilaria, a farmacist from Trieste. From the start the niece came across as being rather aloof, prim and proper and was not at all keen to establish eye contact. I sensed that the atmosphere was decidedly glacial, despite our attempts to thaw the ice with a little polite small talk. The long uncomfortable silences were only broken periodically by the chugging of the ailing air-conditioning unit.

The notaio seemed ill-prepared, as he scanned the new documents, and proceeded to pronounce that certain papers were not in order. It then became exceptionally confusing and difficult to follow the proceedings, as there were three sets of heated conversations all taking place at once. With everyone speaking at the same time, for us it was thoroughly incomprehensible. We sat there perplexed until Rocco was able to clarify the situation to us. We were so appreciative that he had kindly made himself available to assist us as we certainly would not have got by without him.

It appeared that certain documentation had been presented to the “Notaio” at the very last minute. The former owner of the property, the late father of Marcello and Ilaria, had prepared a Will, before he had suddenly passed away. He had left the casale and the land jointly to his widow, and to their son and daughter. The wife had, however, then renounced her share of the inheritance, thus ownership had then passed directly to the two children. Yet it seemed there were certain discrepancies in the Will, in particular with relation to the numbered plots of land and the house which did not correspond with the details on the Land Registration documentation. Yet we were informed that this was not, in theory, a difficult problem to resolve. It only required the vendors to present themselves at the “Agenzia dell’Entrate” to make an official declaration and to make the apropropriate payment.

As you may recall, there was a “Livello” attached to one piece of the land, historically connected to the church. We had agreed to purchase the property with this Livello still on the Deeds, having taken advice from several professional sources that we could get this annulled ourselves at some later stage, for a reasonably minor cost. However, to our horror and disbelief we were then notified, at the very last hour, that there were two additional livello’s attached to other plots of land. This time they were linked to the local comune or town council. Incredulously we asked: “Why were we not informed of this before?” “Why had we not had access to this paperwork?” “How could this have happened for goodness sake?”

Eventually we became aware that “Notaio” had somehow managed to “overlook” certain matters. We suspected that the vendors, especially the cunning Ilaria, was well aware of this, but had hoped that perhaps, as we were “unsuspecting foreigners”, it could have gone without notice. Needless to say we were much displeased with the situation. You may be forgiven for thinking that the vendors should have resolved all these snags before even putting the property on the market.  But No !!! … This is Italy !!!

There followed several more minutes of highly animated, multi-conversations, until at last Rocco decided it was time to take control, and consulted with the “Notaio” as to how these problems could be ironed out. It was decided that the vendors would have to go to the local “Comune” the following day and apply to get the “Livelli” cancelled. It would be a simple enough procedure to submit such an application, however we were advised that it could take some months to conclude the matter. A substantial payment would also be required which was calculated by some weird and wonderfully complicated formula. Ilaria then began a vociferous altercation as to just who should pay these additional costs. When I firmly stated that we had agreed a set price, and that the problems with their documentation were nothing to do with us, she became particularly venomous. Things reached fever pitch and the situation became more absurd by the second. Finally the “Notaio” abruptly adjourned the meeting, leaving the vendors to resolve all of these additional “piccoli problemi”.

We were left feeling downcast and thoroughly depressed.  We had failed to complete the transaction despite having seemingly jumped through hoops to get all of our documentation in order. Later Rocco likened the uncompromising Ilaria to a cold-blooded “vipera” !!! We drove back to the agency with Giampiero who explained again just what had transpired during the meeting. Suddenly I felt it was just all too much and found myself bursting into floods of tears. Whilst I sobbed Giampiero kept apologising profusely for the huge “Cassino”, or mix up, and tried desperately to console us. Vanquished, we returned to our temporary rented abode and proceeded to drown our sorrows in red wine.

The following day we talked once more with Giampiero and decided to offer to meet fifty percent of the additional costs. Yet we were somewhat doubtful as to whether the vendors would agree to this proposition. Perhaps Ilaria would insist on pulling out of the deal completely. So once again we found ourselves “treading water”, in trepidation that we might have to commence the whole process of house-hunting all over again. Perhaps it was fate, and that after all the “casale” was just not meant to be ours ?

More fraught days followed as we waited for the town hall to produce a letter certifying that the Livelli could, in point of fact, be revoked. Without this piece of paper the two portions of land in question could not be sold. Opportunely the said document was speedily attained and then presented to the Notaio for his perusal. It was then down to him to pronounce whether the sale of these plots of land could go ahead. Eventually the positive news came through that he was satisfied with the new documentation.

Notwithstanding, in the interim, the conspiring Ilaria, had telephoned Giampiero to pronounce that she would not sell the property to us at all, unless we agreed to pay the extra costs in full. Also she declared that she and her brother would definitely not be available for a second meeting with the notaio that week. We were infuriated by their attitude. They were without doubt pushing things too the extreme !!! Was it because we were  foreigners? What did they want from us ………. “sangue” – blood ?

We took some significant time to deliberate the situation. If we walked away from the purchase now, as we certainly felt like doing, we would have to start the whole process of house hunting again. We had already lost one property that we had intended to buy, when it was suddenly taken off the market just before we arrived in Italy. We had already trudged around practically all the properties available in the local area. Most of these we had considered to be too pricey and newer houses with relatively small pieces of land attached, had no possibility of perhaps being able to extend in the future. The weeks were relentlessly ticking by and our funds were slowly but steadily being consumed. We had just organised a big money transfer from pounds sterling into euros and these funds were now sitting idle in an Italian bank account earning us little or no interest. My parents were desperate to come over to Italy, as soon as was humanly possible, so that we could all be reunited.

It must be said that Giampiero did not put us under any pressure whatsoever to buy the property, in fact he had gone out of his way to help us. He was not at all like the stereotypical pushy estate agent. He truly wanted us to succeed in our dream of relocating to Italy and settling into a fresh way of life. He was deeply troubled by the behaviour of the vendors, as they had shown such a brutta figura, and said he could quite understand if we decided that enough was enough. However he did say that so many properties for sale in Italy came with similar problems in one way or another – in Italy things are always far more complicated than they should be. We were concerned that even if we agreed to pay the extra costs in full, there was still the risk that the covetous Ilaria could raise the stakes yet again … and just where would it all end?

photo * by Irargerich

Next – 23 – if at first you don’t succeed …

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In Italian law, if a vendor is selling his agricultural land any neighbours adjoining his terrain, who are officially registered as “agricultural producers” or “Coltivatori Diretti”  have first refusal on the property.  This is known as the  “Diritto di Prelazione Agraria”.  The vendor has to give his farming neighbours, in writing, 30 days to decide whether they wish to purchase the land. If he should fail to sell the land without the neighbouring farmer’s knowledge, the neighbour still has the right to buy it for the same price agreed by the purchaser. Giampiero, the estate agent, who had lived in this area for all his life, was reasonably sure that there were no neighbours which fell into this category, however Rocco wisely advised us to assess this thoroughly.

The following day Rocco offered to accompany us to the Land Registry or and here we ordered computer searches and printouts, relating to the “particelli” of land in question.  These documents listed the registered owner’s name, in addition to the size and registered rateable value of the land.  We then met up once again with Giampiero, and checked through the owners’ names and details for each neighbouring section of land. We then determined each owner’s occupation and whether or not they had any children. Finally we felt we were 99 per cent sure that none of our immediate neighbours were agricultural producers, nor were any of their children. In fact we learned that in Itri, nowadays there are very few registered “agricolturi”. Over the decades, many of the larger parcels of land had been sub-divided between families, or readily sold off as building plots. The remaining smaller plots were generally used to produce olive oil for personal family use, but not on a commercial basis. It seems that the young Italian generation do not wish to dirty their hands, working on the land for what they regard to be a meagre profit – to them it almost seems demeaning. It is a sad prospect that many of the old farming skills and traditions, passed down through the ages, could soon be lost forever.

As for the house purchase, a provisional date was proposed for the signing of contracts. Normally the first stage of the procedure for purchasing a house in Italy is the drawing up and signing of the preliminary contract, known as the “Compromesso”. The final contract the “Rogito” or “Atto di Acquisto” is usually signed at the notaio’s office.  A “notaio” is something between a lawyer and a notary.

In our case, the two parts of the contract were both to be signed on the same day, as the owners lived in the very north of Italy and wanted to complete all the formalities in just the one trip down south. As the date swiftly approached the tension intensified. That final week seemed to be fraught with problems. Giampiero, had done everything he could to get all the necessary documents in place for the “notaio” in Fondi.

Then Paul began phoning, faxing and emailing various banks in the UK to transfer money from one account to another, then send it on to a company which specialised in currency dealing. This proved to be an excellent system, as having set it up, it made converting pounds sterling to euros, and transferring funds from the UK to Italy very straightforward. 

It seemed that for once we had been lucky, as at that time the value of the Euro had recently fallen due to France and Holland voting “No” to the new European Constitution. The transfer of our funds over to Italy was supposed to take just a day or so, however we were left waiting for days and days to hear whether the money had actually arrived safely. There was much chewing of nails as Paul became more and more fretful, agitated and stressed. Remarkably, somehow, I managed to kept my calm. Eventually, the money arrived the very day before we were due to exchange contracts, so then we had to speedily order a series of special non-transferable cheques, known as “Assegni Circolare” to pay the vendor of the property.

Next – Chapter 22 – the big day at the Notaio’s

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]]> http://nonnalou.wordpress.com/2011/10/28/21-finalising-the-purchase/feed/ 1 NonnaLou Itri21 http://nonnalou.wordpress.com/2011/10/28/20-building-quotations/ http://nonnalou.wordpress.com/2011/10/28/20-building-quotations/#comments Fri, 28 Oct 2011 15:42:15 +0000 NonnaLou http://nonnalou.wordpress.com/?p=901 ]]> We became acquainted with a local, small-time property developer, Gualtiero, who was eager to show us his newest villas, which were very attractive, with spectacular sea vistas. He soon conceded that these properties were “slightly” out of our price bracket, however he recommended a team of builders who had worked on some of his projects, who came from the Cassino area. We were impressed by the seemingly high standard of their workmanship, and we were assured that their prices were “modesti” compared to some other local builders. We were keen to obtain a quote from them for the renovation work.

Meanwhile the quote arrived from Vittore, the camper / builder from Rome. We cautiously opened the envelope … and gulped. All that we had budgeted to get both floors of the structure habitable would have been swallowed up in the labour costs alone.  At this point panic began to set in !!! 

We were introduced to yet another builder by the name of Osvaldo, who immediately reminded me of the chap in painting by Frans Hals of “The Laughing Cavalier”, being suitably stocky, rotund, with a very macho stance. He sported an elaborate, curled moustache which, periodically he would proudly tweak.

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His quote came in at approximately the same as the first, but his was inclusive of building materials, which was somewhat comforting. Having watched all the TV programmes about renovating property abroad, we knew that the prices of estimates were far more likely to increase rather than decrease, as the project developed, and we were concerned that we would be left with no money in the pot for contingencies. 

Finally the quote from the Cassino building team arrived, and was by far the cheapest. We chatted with them at length and explained that in order to save money we would wish to undertake some of the manual work ourselves, possibly fitting the kitchens, doing some tiling and painting etc, working alongside a professional builder. They said they would be happy with this arrangement, thus we were greatly encouraged and definitely felt ourselves warming to them.

Next – Chapter 21 – finalising the purchase

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* photo by micora

In Italy there are a plethora of small regional banks, but only a certain number of clearing banks, thus international transactions can result in astronomical bank charges.  Consequently Italians generally prefer to do lots of their transactions in cash.  In fact they don’t trust banks at all, and often prefer to keep their savings hidden under the mattress.

Prior to leaving the UK we thought it would be a good idea to open  a Euro Account with our high street bank. So when Paul’s father came to visit us in Italy for the first time, and needed somewhere local to stay,  it seemed to be an ideal opportunity to use one of our euro account cheques to pay for the deposit.  Despite some sceptisism on behalf of the proprietor she graciously accepted it as a down-payment.  However a few days later she telephoned so say that the bank charges that she had incurred for processing the cheque amounted to some 22 euros, for which she was now seeking reimbursement. Thus we were soon to come to the conclusion that it was folly to consider that these euro cheques were ever going to be useful, and so we proceeded to rip up the cheque book in total disgust.

So it became apparent that we had to organise setting up an Italian bank account, to enable us to transfer some of our funds over to Italy.  Guido’s cousin worked as a cashier in one of the bigger Italian banks and he said he would try to help us by organising for us to meet the Bank Manager. In due course the meeting took place, but we were advised that we could not open a  “normal” bank account, as we were not registered as “Residents” in Italy.  Here we realised was a bit of a conundrum, because technicall we couldn’t apply to be “Residents” without a normal bank account ???  Confused – we were.  Therefore the only way forward was to open a “Stranieri” account, which of course was subject to significantly higher charges!

The staff in the bank turned out to be very helpful, and it was just as well, as it took a full hour and a half to complete the procedure of opening the account, which meant Paul had to leave to feed the parking meter on several occasions.  There was a long list of questions and a series of screens on the computer that the clerk had to fill in using a complicated system of codes.  The staff  didn’t seem to have created a “Stranieri” account before, clearly they were unsure of the procedures, as they were forced to phone up Head Office several times seeking advice. Then reams of documentation were printed off in triplicate, at least half a tree’s worth!!!  Eventually after much sorting and stapling we were given pages and pages of documentation to sign, before we were finally despatched with two enormous bulging folders of paperwork.  We left the bank feeling totally exhausted by this experience. 

We soon learned that free personal banking does not exist in Italy, because an account holder has to pay a three monthly fee just for the privilege of having an account.  We elected not to have a cheque book as every cheque you write also comes with an additional cost., instead opting for a “bancomat” or debit card.

Subsequent visits to the bank also proved to be very time consuming.  Firstly simply getting in and out of the bank can be quite an ordeal, as most Italian banks are, for security reasons, equipped with a metal detecting device.  (There are said to be more bank robberies in Italy than any other country in the European Union !!!) 

Firstly you are told to leave your personal belongings such as: keys; coins; watches;  jewellery and mobile phones in a small locker, a system somewhat similar to that of a swimming pool changing room.  Then you  must push a button to open the door of a small, claustrophobic “airlock”,  and automatically the door closes behind you, imprisoning you inside.   Then inevitably the machine picks up on something  metallic on your person, and a grating voice instructs you to go back outside and put all your metallic objects in the locker provided.  Paul  found, to his great annoyance, that many seemingly innocuous objects can fall foul of this wonder of modern technology, such as a buckle on a belt, zips and in particular safety shoes with protective steel toe-caps. Indeed Paul was often  glared at by other customers whilst approaching to the counter, in his socks, attempting to hold up his trousers with one hand, whilst trying to get a cashpoint card out of his wallet with the other.

So, having eventually gained entry to the bank, you now have to start the process of “waiting to be served”. First you must make a mental note of exactly your place in the queue,  as this can be confusing.  There are sometimes chairs for elderly customers to sit on whilst waiting their turn.  On one occasion an old dear entered just before us, gnarled and bent double, hobbling on a stick, complaining of her “artriti”.  We smiled sympathetically as she took a pew, and noted that she was before us in the queue.  I watched her shrewdly observing how the transactions at the counter were proceeding.  When she concluded that it was her turn, she jumped up and made a sudden sprint to the counter, we’d never seen someone be so quickly energised, despite their dreadful afflictions.

Basically, Italians just don’t comprehend queuing, and customers tend to stand around in a rebelliously disorderly fashion, huffing and puffing, generally grumbling loudly about the excruciatingly slow speed of service. Meanwhile, they take advantage of the situation to size each other up and listen in to other people’s conversations.

Customers are, on the whole, served in turn, but inevitably there is somebody who just wants to sneak in to “ask a simple question”, and “it will only take a moment”, and “You don’t mind do you?”. Consequently you end up waiting forever and a day, because nothing in Italy is simple, so inevitably the matter in question turns out to be far more complicated than it should be.  Meanwhile you are left thinking of all the other things you could usefully be doing with your  precious wasted time.

* photo by micora

Next – Chapter 20 – quotations

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* photo by paul ellson

At that time Guido had three dogs. The first, named “Fausta”, stood waist high, when on all fours, and was a  “Pastore Maremmano”, a breed of large, powerful herding dog from the Maremma area of Tuscany.  ”Fausta” would come boisterously lolloping up, drooling profusely, her tail alone could give you a nasty lashing and if she jumped up she could easily knock me flying.  The second was a sizeable swanky male, by the name “Geronimo”, who was a cross between a Husky and a German Shepherd.  The third named “Mona” was smaller and more timid, with a sweet temperament.  

Most of the time the dogs were kept in ramshackle kennel in a rickety enclosure, only being let loose to run off steam and play before their afternoon feeding time.  They were generally fed on bones, scraps and pasta that had been boiled up in a large smelly pot. 

One day we drove up to Guido’s terrain as usual, with our two dogs panting in the back of the car, feeling safe in the knowledge that the other three hounds would be safely contained in their pen.  Paul released our dogs from the car, intending to tether them nearby, when in a flash Fausta  and Geronimo came bounding across, bearing their teeth and growling ferociously.   A terrible fight broke out, and they savagely attacked our two dogs who were screaming and yelping in terror.  Paul scrambled about on the floor, wrestling with Guido’s hounds in an effort to curtail the attack.  Fortunately reinforcements were soon at hand, in the form of Guido and his brother, who finally succeeded in separating the dogs, and we speedily locked our two safely back into the car.  Paul was left looking pale and in a veritable state of shock, not to mention badly grazed and scratched.  It took quite some time for him to catch his breath and stop trembling. 

We checked our dogs over, and at first believed they had escaped without any injuries.  It was only later that evening that we found that “Barney” had in fact received a nasty bite.  The next morning we found a local vet, who pronounced that the bite was infected and needed stitches.  Having paid the expensive vet’s bill we resolved never to take our hounds up to Guido’s again for it had proved to be a very costly mistake. 

“Barney” soon made a full recovery, so much so that one day whilst I was playing ball with him he managed to leap up and head butt me under the chin, making me the proud owner of a fat split lip. That’s gratitude for you! 

** photo by rogilde

Later, we heard that Guido’s dogs had twice broken out of their enclosure, and had gone “AWOL”.  In their break for freedom they galloped off down the wooden stairway towards the sea, where no doubt they wreaked havoc among the poor, unsuspecting sun bathers.  It was not long before it became evident that both the female dogs were pregnant.

Some weeks later Guido proudly announced that both the bitches had given birth to their “cucciolini”. The smaller “Mona” had produced a lovely litter of ten, and  “Fausta” excelled herself in delivering  another fifteen pups.  Thus Guido’s patch was rapidly transformed into a “puppy farm” with the copious new arrivals !!!

* photo by paul ellson

** photo by rogilde

Next – Chapter 19 – getting to grips with the bank

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Dear Salvatore had allowed us to remain with our two hounds as a special favour, although his campsite had an official policy of “no dogs”.  He had been so concerned for us and had tried his best to prolong our stay, but before long another family from Rome would be arriving, expecting to park their caravan on our pitch. 

Already at weekends several families had been turning up, busily organising themselves for the summer months.  They came with their cars packed to the gunnels with crates, plastic tables, chairs, sun loungers, umbrellas, fridges, cooking stoves, plastic cupboards, shelving, fans, TV’s …… even canaries in cages and pet cats.  This was an almost “home from home” relocation – Just how much could more could they manage to cram into a small caravan and awning, we wondered?    

All the little local campsites, shops and restaurants dotted along the coast road had started springing into life, preparing for the onslaught of summer visitors.  Boards were prepared advertising the local cuisine and delicacies such as “zuppa di pesce”, “tiella” and fresh “mozzarella di buffala”.  Stalls appeared setting out a colourful array of holiday goods. Over-grown verges were cleared for parking so that in August hundreds of cars could squeeze into every little nook and cranny available.

At one stage we considered purchasing a second-hand mobile-home to accommodate us all on the building site, while the necessary renovation work was being undertaken on the farmhouse. 

However in due course we abandoned this notion and decided that the quickest solution was to find a suitable rental property in the Itri vicinity.  We had not taken into account that rental prices were significantly inflated during the profitable summer months, thus we were greatly relieved when Giampiero, the estate agent, came up trumps by locating a more reasonably priced property, which could solve our accommodation problem, at least in the short term. 

This was merely a small, simple country villa, but to us it felt perfectly luxurious and spacious, compared to our compact little caravan quarters, and best of all it had a bath and lots of hot and cold running water.  

Yet we were particularly sad to conclude our stay at the campsite, as we had very much enjoyed our spell there, under Salvatore’s watchful eye.  We promised to drive down to visit him and his family regularly.

Next – Chapter 18 – puppies, puppies everywhere

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Now “all we had to do” was to get the translations officially authenticated as being accurate and true, but had no idea of how to accomplish this.  We tried ringing the British Embassy in Rome for advice, but this turned out to be a complete waste of time, as we just got recorded messages saying that the Embassy was no longer open to the public, and only dealt with matters through the post, otherwise to consult the information on their web-site. 

On the website we eventually hit upon a link to a list of approved translators, however they all seemed to be based in Rome ……… until we scrolled, down, down, almost to the bottom of the page and there we found one ……………….. in Gaeta …  “Bravo!!! “

We phoned the lady immediately.  She was English and very helpful and friendly, and advised us that as we had already translated the documents, we could save ourselves a lot of money, as there was a relatively new law that made it possible for anyone to “self-certify” a document.  However, to do this one had to visit the “Cancelleria” department in the “comune” (probably the equivalent to visiting a Commissioner of Oaths in the UK). She also added that if we needed any further help or advice, she would be very happy to assist.  How wonderful – A new friend, that spoke our native tongue !!!

We dashed off, post haste, with Guido’s teenage son Peppe to help us out. However after climbing seemingly interminable flights of energy sapping marble stairs, we arrived at the very top of the building, desperately gasping for breath.  The corridor was bustling with Armani suited businessmen, with leather briefcases in hand, some with  jackets draped nonchalantly over their shoulders.

Abruptly, Peppe was taken aside and firmly reprimanded for wearing shorts in an official building, and was asked to leave the premises directly.  Thankfully we managed to find the “Cancelleria” department and queuing patiently, were successful in obtaining the necessary forms.  We were instructed that we needed to buy some  “Franco di bolli” (official government duty stamps, which are required to legalise many Italian official documents.  These stamps come in various values and can be purchased from a tobacconist’s shop known as a “Tabaccheria”.

By now it was almost lunchtime, and the town hall was soon due to shut, and with it being a Friday it would not be open in the afternoon, of course!   So over the weekend we had plenty of time to complete the forms. 

So bright eyed and busy tailed on the following Monday morning we presented ourselves once again at the “Cancelleria” with various sets of forms and of very expensive “Franco di bolli” costing (at that time) about 18 euros per document.  Giovanna offered to accompany us. 

The lady official stuck her tongue out and licked each set of stamps and stuck them onto each form, which in turn was stapled to the original certificate and the translated copy.  Giovanna was asked to sign her name on each and every page of the document, having taken an oath that the translations of the certificates were in fact true and accurate.  Each bundle of papers was allocated a number and these were then entered, by hand, in an enormous leather bound register.  Each and every page of the documents was then heavily rubber stamped, indeed I think the signora found this to be the best part of her job, as she performed it with such gusto.  Finally, we exited the “comune” skipping down the steps, triumphantly waving the papers in our hands.  

Next we revisited the “Agenzia delle Entrate” to change my surname on my “Codice Fiscale” . This was a soulless, echoing building of fairly new construction.  As directed we took a numbered ticket and then sat anxiously in the uncomfortable plastic chairs watching the illuminated board waiting for our number to come up.  Progress seemed painfully slow, and we were concerned that the office might soon close for lunch, no doubt just before it got to our number.  However thankfully, that day the gods were on our side, and with all the right translated documentation to hand altering my name turned out to be a remarkably simple and painless procedure.  Thank goodness or “meno male” as the Italians say. 

It felt very strange though, signing on the dotted line in my maiden name, something I hadn’t done for many a year.

Some good news – We made further enquiries and it seemed that we were not required to have our “Permesso di Soggiornos”  in order to purchase the house.  Also, we learned that if we bought a house in the district of Itri we would have to register at “La Questura” in the town of Fondi, so thankfully we would not have to deal again with the aforementioned green eyed “strega”.

Next – Chapter 17 – time to move on

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However, this number is not required just for tax purposes, but is used as proof of identity in almost every aspect of official life, such as setting up mobile phone contracts, opening a bank account, collecting post at the Post Office,  accessing the National Health System.

However unwittingly I had made a big mistake, as I had made out my “Codice Fiscale” in my married name, using my British passport for identification.  Whereas in Italy all females retain their maiden name or “nome di nascita” when they get married, instead of adopting their husband’s surname as is normal in the UK.  Yet nobody in the local office of  ”Agenzia delle Entrate” had thought to mention this to me !!! 

The “Notaio”  (the lawyer) had stumbled upon this error when preparing the paperwork for the house purchase.  In order to purchase a house in Italy I had to be recognised by my maiden name.  Simple we thought, just go back to the office and change the surname. 

Oh No !!!  Nothing is so straight forward in Italy!!! 

For this I now needed a certified translated copy of my birth certificate.

Next – Chapter 16 – the cancelleria

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