La Posta

So, we moved in a rented house designed especially for tourists. The house looks like a summer villa or a winter cottage – it has wooden walls and tons of decoration on the walls in no particular style or order. There are another 5-6 religious paintings around the house, representative of the power of Catholic Church in Italian daily life. After few unsuccessful attempts, we managed to connect to the dial-up internet connection! Yes, some things are very backward here indeed. We received the boxes with our stuff sent from the UK and now I can say we are kind of settled.

The only thing left to collect was a guitar that we sent via regular mail. We received a postal note letting us know where and when to collect it. The post-woman gladly announced to us with a threatening voice: “You better hurry and collect your guitar tomorrow because otherwise we don’t know what might happen to it!”

The next day we get ready and we are on our way to the post office. The address doesn’t tell us much therefore we ask around for directions. Nobody knows anything. We phoned one of our aunts. Again nothing. Finally, somebody figures out the area which the post office is located – Piazza Independenza. Our aunt gladly takes us there and now it is up for us to discover the actual location. I feel like I am in the TV show, in which they compete to find clues hidden in architectural monuments in famous cities around the world. We asked 3 people who seemed very certain of the post office location, yet they gave us three contradicting directions. Finally, a local policeman pointed us the exact building of the postal depot. Halleluiah!

We enter inside and there are 10 people walking around and nobody even acknowledes the presence of two strangers. We go further inside and pop in one of the open offices. A woman directs us someplace else. We go to something that looks like an Information Desk though there is no sign or anything else. The guy takes a look at the note and exclaims: “Aaah! You are the Guitar Guy! Go to the Director’s Office, the guitar’s there!” My husband laughs and I just follow his around.

By now everyone has heard the great news that the guitar guy has arrived to collect his guitar and they all come out of the offices to see him. I feel like a celebrity. We enter the office of the director and he says: “Oh, the Guitar Maestro! We were all waiting to see who this crazy guy is who sends his guitar via mail!” They all greet him and shake his hand; another lady comes to me with a smile and starts telling me some story. Apparently, it is totally uncommon for people to use the postal services for sending anything but letters. My guess is nobody has any trust in the postal services.