Election Day or "I haven't seen carbon paper in 20 years."

Today, for the first time in my life, I voted in an Italian election.  Yesterday and today, 13 of Italy's 20 regions are holding elections, as well as some cities and provinces.  But for me, all I have to worry about is who would get my vote for president of the region and what party would be councillors.  For the last several weeks, I've read everything I could get my hands on that describes the views and prior actions of the innumerable political parties that exist here.  I've checked out every political poster, some of which are amusing, some not.  I've read every newspaper except for La Padania, the newspaper of the Lega Nord, because it makes me cringe.  (The Lega Nord, is a devolutionary political party that at one time, and probably secretly now, wanted everything north of the Po River to secede from Italy.  Some of them also want to outlaw pineapple.) Admittedly, I don't read the Communist newspaper either.  Since I am still fresh off the boat, as it were, it's going to take me a little while to get used to seeing the Communist party on an election ballot, although I don't think they have a problem with pineapples.  I've spoken to every Italian I could find to get their views on what Italy needs for it's future.  I've done everything a good citizen can do to prepare herself to cast her first ballot.  Except, I don't have the tessera elettorale, the card that allows you to vote. 

I was hopeful my tessera elettorale would arrive by Friday, so, when it didn't, I dutifully headed down to the comune and the election office early this morning.  There I waited while one of the clerks filled out all of the appropriate forms, by hand, with carbon paper, to allow me to vote.   I still don't understand why everything here is done by hand.  It's not that the government offices don't have computers, they do, but nevertheless, they continue to handwrite all official documents.  Fortunately, the minute I pulled out my English-Italian dictionary, the clerk did it for me, otherwise I'd still be there figuring out the bureaucrato-speak.

Once I had my document in hand, I went in search of my polling place.   Just a short walk from our apartment, I was surprised, when I got there everyone greeted me with oh, la donna nata a Los Angeles.  Yes, that's me, the woman born in Los Angeles.  Okay then.  I guess they don't get many people at my polling place who were born in Los Angeles.  From the carabinieri to the election officials to the election clerks.  Attendiamo per Lei.  We're waiting for you.  Damn.  I was so pleased at my reception that when the clerks asked me if my father was still alive, I said no, he died in millenovecentottantadieci.  Which is like saying he died in nineteen hundred eighty-ten.  I didn't even realize it until I walked out the door, but by then was too embarrassed to go back and correct what I'd said.

I must say, Italy has the best looking ballots I've ever seen, and you don't have to read anything either.  Just round discs with the multi-colored emblems of the parties or the names of candidates on a pretty green background.  The parties are conveniently divided with the right wing parties on the left side of the ballot and the left wing parties on the right side of the ballot.  That may be a trick to catch unsuspecting voters, or just happenstance, but it amused me nevertheless.  What also amused me was that several weeks ago when I first started getting political postcards in the mail, I thought a big X through the name of the party meant you weren't supposed to vote for that party.  Of course, California voters will know that your vote won't count if you use a big X so that's another adaptation for me.

So now I'm sitting here watching election returns, which are just like election returns in the US, except everybody talks faster.

Great shoes...note the mattonelle.  This is Piazza de Ferrari.

Great dress, note the mattonelle.  This is Piazza Matteotti.