This Is Italy
"Oh, you foreigners only come for good weather, pizza, red wine and mandolins," the man from the municipal office grumbles. 'You do nothing here, spend money and in the meantime you take advantage of our poorly organized systems. Sir, you are digging your own grave. I tell you. You won't last for years like this.' On his card is the name Giuseppe and when I look at Giuseppe again I see that Giuseppe has been behind that for a long time desk and it no longer makes sense for a long time.
I look at him with a smile and just want to respect him, until he looks at me: 'but of all the requests I've had today for someone to enter this city, you are the most exceptional. He sets up a company does marketing and is also a tenor singer?' "That's right," I tell him. "That's exactly what I do." "But you're blond," he says in surprise. "Tenor singers must have dark hair and Mediterranean blood."
With a friendly nod I ask him to go back to the order of the day to get my registration with the municipality to be able to complete. All documents are correct and it is a matter of putting everything in the computer and making an appointment with the fire brigade who will check with me whether I really live there.
Olanda or Paesi Bassi?
Giuseppe begins to fill out my forms, shaking his head. "Where are you from anyway?" he asks after a few minutes. 'From The Netherlands.' 'Ah okay.' And again there is a long silence. 'But the Netherlands, is that Olanda or Paesi Bassi?' "You can do both," I say calmly. "It's about the same thing." 'Well,' Giuseppe hesitates, 'not in my system. So I'll really have to figure it out. You write Paesi Bassi, I see in my system Olanda. So now I don't know. I'm going to ask a colleague.'
If only that colleague had a slightly brighter light…
The colleague joins in and the tune starts all over again. 'What?' the colleague says surprised when Giuseppe explains to her that I am a Dutchman and want to settle in Italy as a marketer and tenor singer. “But this boy is blond. That's impossible?' I decide to go read a book.
They then discuss the issue of Olanda – Paesi Bassi. According to the colleague, it should be true that Olanda and Paesi Bassi are one and the same country. But: 'Let's check it out with the Dutch Embassy.'
In the meantime, I continue reading about Verdi's life and try not to worry about anything. Although I can hardly suppress a fit of laughter from behind my book. 'Give me my regards to the lady at the embassy. I was there last week!” I say cheerfully. But the two are too busy talking.
After twenty minutes they both come triumphantly towards me. "We're out," Giuseppe says proudly. 'It is indeed the same country. So, Dutch marketing gentleman and tenor…' (I can hear the surprise in his voice again), 'I'm going to continue with the registration.'
Mr. Giuseppe .'s baritone
Yet I see that Giuseppe is still not completely satisfied. Apparently he can't quite let go of the idea of that opera. A few times I hear him mumble 'tenor singer'. Once he's done with the registration, I ask him what's going on. What makes it that he cannot believe that a man can sing?
He sighs and looks around for a moment. Then he says in a soft tone: 'I always wanted to be a singer. I was once told that I am a good baritone, but my parents didn't let me sing. In fact, my father got me this job and here I am… or actually… still. I've been here for 32 years.'
Pity
I immediately feel sorry for him. 'Well, then I understand that you're going to pay attention to all the details. You've got to have some fun,' I tell him, looking straight at him. 'Yes,' is the answer. 'Every fool knows that Olanda and the Paesi Bassi is the same country. But then again, I stretch for a few more minutes.'
Fortunately he is honest, our Giuseppe. When I ask him if he might want to sing a bit, he tells me that he has given up. 'Makes no sense. Done business… this is what it is. You have to be your age to develop that voice well. Makes no sense to me anymore. But I like going to the opera. I can certainly enjoy that!'
'Shall I sing you a bit,' Mr Giuseppe?
"May I convince you that I can sing a little?" I ask with a small smile on my face. 'What,' Giuseppe is startled. 'Here?!' "Sure," I say. 'No problem.' When I see him nod softly, I take a deep breath and sing a bit from the Brindisi of the Traviata. It is dead quiet in the office. When I'm done and breathe in with a smile, the co-workers who have arrived start clapping. Giuseppe has tears in his eyes and shakes my hand.
He turns to his colleagues and says: 'This boy who comes from both Olanda and the Paesi Bassi goes here in Florence living, does something with marketing, but is mainly a tenor singer!'
Welcome
What happened next surprised me. In a 'one voice' I heard 'Welcome! Compliments for the vote, that will bring even more color to the city!'
I look at Giuseppe who pushes a document into my hand. 'Tomorrow morning the Traffic warden already for the check and this is the number you need for the bank account. Good luck and hopefully we'll see each other again. If there's anything, just give me a call!'
Somewhat perplexed, I walk out of the council office, unable to suppress a big smile.
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