Our New Car, Part II

If you can survive the process of buying a car in Italy, you can do anything.

We bought the car last Thursday. We took possession last Wednesday. Seven days of finagling and rigamarole unparalleled.

Day One: Finding the Car and agreeing to buy.
Relatively simple. Oh, lookie! Cute. Let's buy it. How much? Okay!

Day Two: Transferring Ownership
Follow the sad owner to the office where they transfer the ownership of the vehicle. He's sad because he is at the end of an era, he can't drive anymore. He's dealing with an age issue that awaits us all. Also, he's had this car for nine years and he's attached to it. We know how he feels.

But, we get to this office and are told we have to pay the equivalent of $500 to make the transfer. $500!! How's that for a sneaky taxation deal! The Man already knew about this. I didn't. So, I was the only one who had to sit down and put her head between her legs to keep from gagging.

Day Three: Saturday, Day of Rest, Day of remorseful thoughts.
Day Four: Sunday, Day of Rest, Day of impatience to get the car!

Day Five: Go with the sad owner to the insurance company because we'd been told by the ownership-transfer people that we can simply transfer the owner's insurance policy into our names - meaning a savings of many euros. Good deal. However, we get there and are told that, no, insurance coverage cannot be transferred.

I squint my eyes and look peeved, but The Man says, "let's get an estimate from this place." First they quote him a yearly sum of 1,200 Euros. The Man says, "No." Then the girl says, "I'll figure it again." She types more stuff into the computer and comes up with a quote of 800 Euros for a year's insurance. The Man says, "Okay!"

As we leave I'm wondering, "What's our comprehensive? How much liability coverage do we have? What's the deductible?" The Man says, "Don't worry about it. We have a sticker to put on our windshield proving we have insurance, that's all that matters."

Next, we go across the city to the main offices of ATAC (perfect acronym!), Rome's agency of All Things Transportation. It's here that we must apply to get a permit to park in the the historical center of Rome, where we happen to live and where traffic flow is restricted.

It's a very busy, crowded place where everyone stands around holding a measly, sweaty, scrunched up piece of paper with a big number on it, waiting and watching a digital board that details who is up and which cubicle to report to for assistance.

We brought along all kinds of paperwork, our proof of residency, a copy of our apartment contract, a copy of our electric bill, phone bill, bank statement, international driver's licenses, credit cards, ATM cards, photos of our children and promises to give up our next born, anything to please the Gods of Bureaucracy, anything to prove that we live in the center, and that we're not just worthless, filthy bums without a hope or a prayer, which is exactly what we were, of course.

After a while we got our chance with Marco, a nice guy who seemed pleased with all our papers. But, then he left his desk with our apartment contract to confer with his boss and came back asking for "proof of legality of our contract," proof that the owner of our building paid the tax for our apartment indicating that the apartment is legally rented, as opposed to illegal rentals that are not reported and, most importantly, TAXED, which happens to be a VERY common practice.

Marco looked really sorry, but he said he couldn't give us the permit until we provided proof that the taxes had been paid. We tried reasoning. We played Good Cop, Bad Cop, with me whiny and pleading and The Man angry and demanding to see the boss.

Marco said he was sorry, but this happened all the time. People came there thinking they were legal, but they weren't, just like us.

I asked what we were supposed to do with the car and he mentioned that not only were we prohibited from parking anywhere in Rome, but we were not allowed TO DRIVE the car anywhere in Rome either! I said, "So what you're saying is, we have a car, we have insurance, but we have to park it somewhere outside the city and maybe take a train to visit it once in a while?"

He said, "Yes, I'm sorry."

You couldn't have knocked us flatter with a steam roller.

During the long bus ride home we were fine, but very quiet, stunned. Everything had been going so well. What happened?

I knew for a fact that we didn't have any piece of paper saying our crazy landlady who I'VE NEVER EVEN SEEN had paid some tax or other. Why would she? She's never done anything, especially if it involves money. Our building was built in 1502 and, aside from basic plumbing, nothing has been done here since. I don't even run our washing machine anymore because I'm convinced the floor is going to cave in!

We got home, glugged down most of a bottle of wine, curled up and slept for hours. After waking, the depression hit me. What the heck were we supposed to do now? The Man came in while I was just sitting on the bed staring into the black hole we'd dug for ourselves. He said, "Come back. Come back. Don't go there. I need you here." I said, "I'll go wherever I want and right now I'm at 30,000 feet returning to The Land of O where people can just drive their cars and park anywhere they want without going insane and jumping out the window!"

But, with my last, bleak will of effort, I pulled down our box of files and started going through EVERY statement, receipt and notice EVER received to look for something to prove our legality.

Out of nowhere, filed incorrectly, it was there, amongst the bank statements, a one page notarized form stating that the taxes on our apartment had been paid last April.

The black clouds of utter despair parted, rays of sunlight flooded the room and a chorus of angels started singing.

HALLELUJAH!!! WE WERE SAVED!!!!!

Day Six: We go back to the big office with a spring in our step, take a number, wait a little while, get Marco again, he's happy for us because the paper work is all in order, and we get our permit.

We exit the gladiatorial arena victorious!

Day Seven: Today we finally took possession of OUR NEW, OLD CAR! We took her out and drove up north into the Sabine Hills. She did well. The brakes only squeaked a little at first, the gas gauge didn't seem to work when we filled the tank, but then about twenty minutes later it was working just fine, and we stopped once to buy new windshield wipers because the old ones were really noisy. But, other than that, no problems...well, except for when we took some tiny, cobbled street to see some church ruin and I got us lodged in an ancient, ridiculously narrow, stone archway in a tiny hill town called Rocca Sinabalda. It was obviously constructed during the time when the biggest vehicle imaginable was a large mule fully loaded.

I was a millimeter from scraping off the entire passenger side of the car... positioned at an odd angle, on a steep decline, with the man sitting there going, "go, go, you've made it!" Fortunately, I didn't listen to him. I stopped, pulled on the brake, backed up, and made it on the second try. In truth, the jutting stones from that wall were so close, I am convinced that only something miraculous or otherworldly can explain how we popped out of there without hearing the sound of the rear bumper being wrenched off and banging on the ground.

We are a walking ABC Sports Show. We're constantly experiencing the "thrill of victory" or the "agony of defeat!"

That's how it is here. Never easy. Always intense.