Another encounter with the carabinieri

My plan to avoid getting my Italian driver’s license was put to the test today—the second time this has happened. Coming back from church in Altopascio, we were waved to the side of the road by two impeccably attired and stone-faced carabinieri. I knew what they wanted: documents for my identity and the car’s registration papers.

Normally when we have a car here, it’s from a rental agency, but this time we are using a car loaned by our friend Simone and Luciano, his dad. Luciano spends much of his time out of the country, so his car would otherwise be sitting in a dank garage. We can attest to that because that’s where it was when Simone took us to pick it up, with some white mold starting to bloom on the leather fixtures. Of course, we’ve cleaned that off and given the car a good airing. We had previously planned to get by for most of our stay with just our bikes this spring, but the car has been a real Godsend. After all, just because we’re in Tuscany doesn’t mean that it’s never cold and rainy.

Rolling down the window and unfastening my seatbelt, I pulled out my wallet and handed over my Washington state driver’s license and my international permit while speaking mostly in English. I had to fumble through the pile of papers in the glove box to find the car’s registration papers, but I found them with only a short delay. I should also have been carrying my American passport, but I told the carabiniere I had left it in my room, which is the truth. While he went back to his car, presumably to do a computer check on the car and write up a report, I had Lucy pull up on her phone the document Simone had sent us granting permission to use the car. As the officer walked back to us, perhaps to ask why I was driving a car owned by someone else, I held up the phone so he could read it. Then he went back to his car and added more to his report.

After another couple of minutes, he handed me back my license and said all was okay, crossing his chest to indicate that I should refasten my seat belt. Only as we pulled away did he give us a slight smile. I was last pulled over in 2017, and the routine was much the same, only that time I had a rental car and the carabinieri were a little more chatty, although just as efficient and professional as the ones we dealt with today.

You may wonder why I spoke of a plan to avoid getting an Italian license. Well, it’s a big deal for people who have sold their homes in America to live in Italy full time. Legally, they have only one year to get an Italian license, and that can be a daunting task. The tests, both written and verbal, are conducted entirely in Italian. I have the advantage of only living here for a few months at a time, meaning I can keep my U.S. license current and pass as a tourist. For a more detailed explanation of the legal situation, you can read the details of my traffic stop in 2017: Stopped by the Italian police.