Passing

Before we got here we'd read how everyone in Europe who'd been vaccinated was getting a Green Pass, an app on their phone with a QR code that permits entry to concerts, museums, restaurants, and other public places. Eager for American tourists to help boost their economies, the European Union announced that the USA's unimpressive cardboard vaccination cards would also be accepted for entry to the continent's cultural goodies. But friends of friends, Americans in France, reported that their experience was that the U.S. card was regarded as valid proof of vaccination exactly nowhere. And we could find no information about how people who are not in the Italian health system could get in on the Green Pass action.

Then we discovered that California had its own proof-of-vaccination app, complete with QR code, and before we left for Italy we managed to download it onto both of our phones. Surely the two systems, California's and Europe's, would connect with each other.

Looks official, doesn't it?

What a ridiculous delusion. At our beloved local bar we quickly discovered that the Green Pass reader regarded the California QR code as meaningless gobbledygook. Luckily the bar has expanded its outdoor space, where vaccination requirements don't apply, and the weather's been great, so we were able to get cappuccinos and spritzes despite being undocumented. But I worried we'd be reduced to a solid diet of home cooking once the weather turns cold.

Pam took me over to the town tourist office, since surely they'd know how Americans can get in on local eateries and activities. But the woman there had never heard of the American vaccination card and assured us no one accepted it as a Green Pass substitute.

Now here's where the wisdom of settling in Fidenza, where Pam and Romano live, versus any other place in Italy was borne out once again. Pam took me to her local health office and through some kind of Pam magic got an appointment with a doctor who looked at our identity documents and our vax cards and tapped away at his computer for a bit and announced that we were now "a posto." Whether anyone can do this, or only friends of Pam and Romano, I do not know.

In any case, the next day we each received an email from the Ministry of Health announcing that our "green COVID-19 certification" was now available and giving us a special code. Danny printed out the emails (of course) and Pam told us to take them to the pharmacy across the street, because pharmacists seem to be central to the Green Pass system. 

At first the dottoressa behind the counter asked for our Italian health cards and told us that we couldn't get a Green Pass without one, and I feared we'd run into one of those insurmountable blockages that Italian bureaucracy is famous for. But then she studied the email for a minute and said, "Eh, va bene!" and a moment later presented us with paper print-outs of our Green Pass certificates.

We're legal!

We still haven't figured out how to get our Green Passes onto our phones, but the paper version works just fine. We proved it the next evening when we went to Parma to see a production of Rossini's Il Signor Bruschino at the Parma Conservatory, featuring some of Romano's students. The performance was held outdoors, in the Conservatory's large wisteria-draped courtyard, with seats placed far apart and everyone except the singers in masks. But even so, everyone in the audience had to first present their QR code to a gentleman with a Green Card reader, which beeped cheerily and displayed a big green checkmark as each person passed inspection. Our paper QR codes worked just as well as everyone else's digital version. The delightful production of Rossini's one-act confection, with Romano's terrific young singers, was the perfect way to celebrate.

We gave our passes another workout the next day when we went for lunch at one of our favorite local restaurants, a fixed-price lunch place with great atmosphere and solid homestyle food. It's all indoor dining so a Green Pass is required to enter. But no problem for us!

In tribute to Italy's commendably hard line on vaccinations, I ordered pesto di cavallo, that is, horse steak tartar. While American anti-vaxxers are consuming veterinary doses of the anti-worming medicine ivermectin--which they call "horse paste"--in the vain hope that it will protect them from COVID, I was happy to consume a plateful of horse paste, Italian style. It's probably no more effective as a COVID preventive, but without a doubt it's a lot tastier.