Expats across Italy recount years-long waits, vanished paperwork, and unanswered calls as the country’s permesso di soggiorno backlog deepens into a nationwide crisis.
Italy’s permesso di soggiorno—the residency permit required for foreigners to legally live in the country—has become a source of mounting frustration and despair among residents who describe years of waiting, missed communications, and Kafkaesque bureaucracy.
As the administrative backlog worsens, foreigners report that simply obtaining or renewing the document has turned into a test of endurance. Delays have sparked petitions and protests across Italian cities, with residents saying the system leaves them unable to travel, access healthcare, or prove their legal status.
Nancy Park, a US citizen living in Spoleto, says she received her past two permesso cards after they had already expired. “For two years, our permits came late—and both were invalid by the time we got them,” she explains.
Maureen, an American retiree in Tuscany’s Chianti region, echoes that frustration. “I’ve been here four years and never had a current permit. Each time, it’s expired before I even receive it,” she says. “It’s heartbreaking when you need to travel to see family abroad and you can’t.”
In Vicenza, California-born designer Joan says she applied for her permit in October 2024 and is “still waiting.” Others, like Javier Lardone from Faenza, Emilia-Romagna, have resorted to hiring lawyers to prod the process along after waiting more than a year.
Readers describe obstacles at every stage: difficulty securing appointments with the questura (local police headquarters), chaotic in-person processing, and a total lack of communication. One UK resident in Bologna advises being “polite but endlessly persistent,” while another in Calabria warns newcomers to “never lose your receipt—and expect it to take forever.”
Gail, a retired teacher in Piedmont, recalls waiting hours in the summer heat for her appointment only to be told to come back the next day because of riposo, Italy’s midday break. “It was horrific,” she says. “No organization at all. When we finally demanded to be seen, we found out months later our cards had been sitting there, ready, with no notification.”
Stories like Gail’s are common. Foreign residents say they often learn secondhand—through lawyers or other expats—that their documents have been ready for months. In Livorno, retired academic Sam discovered his carta di soggiorno only after legal intervention; in Tuscany, Ian never received the text message that was supposed to alert him when his was available.
For some, even receiving the permit brings new frustrations. Richard, a technical director in Emilia-Romagna, waited 21 months only to see that time deducted from his card’s ten-year validity—while his wife’s still hasn’t been issued.
While a few lucky applicants report comparatively shorter waits, many say phoning or emailing the local questura is futile. “The bureaucracy is far worse than people describe,” says Gail. “Have zero expectations of anything being done on time. Or at all.”
