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Shifted in Oristano
Mar. 20th, 2015 08:44 amIt happens. I may have gotten complacent because it hadn't happened in awhile, but it happens.
I got shifted. "Shifted" is a delightful busker colloquialism I picked up in Sicily from a banjo-playing Englishman, his way of describing the process of being told by the authorities to move along (or, in my case, to get a permit).
It started as it usually does, although with friendlier cops than normal. I'd been passed by several flavors of law enforcement to no effect (each one with strictly non-overlapping jurisdictions) so I'd assumed I was golden, but the right two came along just as I was starting up yesterday morning. They directed me to the office for a permit, and I went even though my history suggests it would be pointless.
That history now has another data point in its favor.
I wouldn't have bothered if my evening sets in Sardinia hadn't been so lackluster, but I wasn't sure that a ticket to play another city would be a good investment. So I stuck around and waited in line and was told to come back at 4 to speak with the lieutenant.
And I did. We had a jocular debate, where he said there was no law to support busking and I argued that there was therefore no law to prohibit it. He insisted I go through regular channels for an "occupation of public space" license, which would take at least until Monday (the day I leave town).
It's easier just to commute for a few days.
There are bright sides to the story. My argument with the Lieutenant showed a surprising fluency on my part, and I was surprised at my persuasiveness in my second tongue (albeit ineffectual). The cops who got the ball rolling were really cool and curious about the instrument. And Oristano is likely the best city to be a commuting busker, centrally located with excellent transit links to other cities.
Still, the situation triggered all sorts of anxieties. Iglesias went well, but now I'm paranoid about my chances in Sassari, my next city. I'm also nervous about my budget, which was already fairly tenuous and which is taking the hit of a Thursday completely lost with possible weekend weather.
It's a game of averages, and I've already made up some of the difference by finding some amazing housing deals for the last leg of the tour in cities I know well. The risk was not unexpected: Sardinia was always intended to be the experimental center between a familiar beginning in Genoa and hopes for a strong finish in Romagna. My career involves taking successive leaps of faith, but sometimes it's a hard faith to maintain.
And the adventures continue.
I got shifted. "Shifted" is a delightful busker colloquialism I picked up in Sicily from a banjo-playing Englishman, his way of describing the process of being told by the authorities to move along (or, in my case, to get a permit).
It started as it usually does, although with friendlier cops than normal. I'd been passed by several flavors of law enforcement to no effect (each one with strictly non-overlapping jurisdictions) so I'd assumed I was golden, but the right two came along just as I was starting up yesterday morning. They directed me to the office for a permit, and I went even though my history suggests it would be pointless.
That history now has another data point in its favor.
I wouldn't have bothered if my evening sets in Sardinia hadn't been so lackluster, but I wasn't sure that a ticket to play another city would be a good investment. So I stuck around and waited in line and was told to come back at 4 to speak with the lieutenant.
And I did. We had a jocular debate, where he said there was no law to support busking and I argued that there was therefore no law to prohibit it. He insisted I go through regular channels for an "occupation of public space" license, which would take at least until Monday (the day I leave town).
It's easier just to commute for a few days.
There are bright sides to the story. My argument with the Lieutenant showed a surprising fluency on my part, and I was surprised at my persuasiveness in my second tongue (albeit ineffectual). The cops who got the ball rolling were really cool and curious about the instrument. And Oristano is likely the best city to be a commuting busker, centrally located with excellent transit links to other cities.
Still, the situation triggered all sorts of anxieties. Iglesias went well, but now I'm paranoid about my chances in Sassari, my next city. I'm also nervous about my budget, which was already fairly tenuous and which is taking the hit of a Thursday completely lost with possible weekend weather.
It's a game of averages, and I've already made up some of the difference by finding some amazing housing deals for the last leg of the tour in cities I know well. The risk was not unexpected: Sardinia was always intended to be the experimental center between a familiar beginning in Genoa and hopes for a strong finish in Romagna. My career involves taking successive leaps of faith, but sometimes it's a hard faith to maintain.
And the adventures continue.
