Setting off from the breathtaking Matera towards the quaint town of Pignola in Potenza, my mission was to locate my great-grandmother’s birth certificate at the Municipio di Pignola. To navigate the nuances of rural Italy, I enlisted Luigi, a local driver, hoping his expertise would bridge any language gaps. Assuming my basic Italian might fall short, especially in smaller towns, a driver seemed like the wisest choice. Luigi, understanding the day’s objective, eagerly agreed to assist, but a slight complication arose – our departure from Matera was delayed until 10:30 am on a Monday, leaving us with a narrow window before the municipio closed at noon.
[](Matera, Italy, showcasing its stunning ancient architecture and landscape, as the starting point of a journey that included an unexpected interaction with the Italian police.)
“Andiamo!” I exclaimed, and Luigi responded by accelerating down the winding roads of southern Italy. Keeping an eye on Google Maps, I monitored our progress, noticing the familiar speed trap icons ahead. While unsure how to articulate “speed trap” in Italian and hampered by weak phone service, I decided against causing unnecessary alarm. Relaxing back, I enjoyed the scenic drive. About ten minutes later, on the roadside to our right, stood the Italian police. Dressed in their distinctive Italian Policeman Uniform, they gestured as if flagging down a taxi. Luigi smoothly pulled over and switched off the engine.
[](Pignola, Italy, a charming small town in the Potenza province, the intended destination for the author’s quest for her great-grandmother’s birth certificate, a journey briefly interrupted by a friendly police stop.)
The stark contrast between traffic stops in Italy and the United States was immediately apparent. Gone was the intimidating atmosphere often associated with police encounters in the US – no blaring sirens, no flashing red and blue lights, no amplified commands to “PULL OVER.” Instead, a composed policeman in his italian policeman uniform simply stood by the road. Luigi complied without hesitation, suggesting a level of mutual respect and trust between Italian citizens and the polizia. While this was a limited interaction, it offered a glimpse into a potentially different dynamic between law enforcement and the public in Italy.
Luigi turned off the ignition, and we remained in the car until the officer approached the driver’s side window. Luigi presented his license and registration, and then exited the vehicle to open the trunk for inspection. This procedure also differed from standard US traffic stops, where drivers are typically instructed to remain inside their vehicles unless explicitly directed otherwise. In the US, ambiguous instructions during traffic stops have tragically contributed to instances of police brutality, particularly against African-Americans.
Sitting in the back seat, I felt a moment of uncertainty about whether to exit the car. However, any apprehension was quickly dispelled by the calm and even amiable demeanor of the situation. It’s important to acknowledge that my personal experience as a foreigner might have influenced this interaction, but my initial impression of the Italian police was positive. Intrigued, I listened to Luigi and the policeman conversing outside. I overheard Luigi explaining my American background and our urgent trip to Pignola for the certificate. Luigi then asked for my passport and, noticing my slight discomfort in the car, inquired, “Caldo?” (Hot?). Understanding it was acceptable, I stepped out and mentioned the strict protocol of remaining in the car during US traffic stops. The officer collected both my passport and Luigi’s documents and returned to his patrol car. Luigi, unfazed, lit a cigarette and leaned against the passenger door.
[](The author and her driver Luigi in Pignola, Italy, after their encounter with the Italian police, illustrating the relaxed and friendly atmosphere of the interaction.)
“Mi dispiace,” I apologized to Luigi, feeling responsible for the delay and potential trouble caused by my rushed schedule. He chuckled and waved it off, assuring me not to worry. Meanwhile, I resigned myself to the fact that we would likely miss the municipio’s closing time.
The policeman returned and inquired about the specific Comune we were heading to.
“Pignola per mia bisnonna’s certificate di nascita,” I replied, explaining my mission – “Pignola for my great-grandmother’s birth certificate.”
“Va bene,” he responded.
In a surprising turn, he contacted the Comune di Pignola, explaining our speeding incident and requesting them to wait for us despite the delay. Remarkably, he let Luigi off without a ticket and waved us on our way. I was astonished by this display of understanding and helpfulness.
Upon arriving at the Comune di Pignola approximately thirty minutes later, we were greeted by the staff waiting outside with welcoming smiles. Following Covid protocols, our temperatures were checked, and I proceeded with my ancestral research.
My brief encounter with the italian policeman uniform was more than just a traffic stop; it was an unexpected lesson in cultural differences and a testament to the possibly approachable nature of law enforcement in Italy. It certainly offered a contrasting experience to the often-tense interactions portrayed in other contexts, leaving a positive and memorable impression of the Italian polizia.
[](A portrait of the author’s Great-Grandmother Giovanna, whose heritage in Pignola, Italy, sparked the journey and the unexpected, positive interaction with the Italian police.)
Kaitlyn Rosati
Contributor
Originally from New York, Kaitlyn was a musician/bartender before she left it all behind to embark on a solo round-the-world backpacking trip. She is passionate about preserving the environment, learning about gender equality throughout the world, eating anything that’s placed in front of her, saying hi to every animal she meets, and jumping off of cliffs into pretty blue waters.
