`I'm sorry, but even if you were the state president, we still couldn't give you a room without first seeing your ID."
The staff at Padua's Sheraton Hotel were very polite, but very inflexible. No ID, no room. The law is the law.
The problem for the staff was that the man for whom there was no room at the inn was none other than the world-famous tenor, Luciano Pavarotti - not exactly someone likely to be mistaken for uncle Luigi. And this undignified rebuff made headlines around the world.
Pavarotti had travelled to Padua to attend a ceremony at which he was to be presented with the Aureliano Pertile Award for his services to music. Pavarotti had interrupted a stay in Merano, where he was attending a health cure clinic, to travel down to receive his award.
Reasoning that the tenor might require a room in which to relax and freshen up prior to the awards ceremony, his staff had booked him a room at the Sheraton, paid in advance. Someone, however, forgot to bring identity papers (only a passport, driver's licence or the infamous state carta d'identita will do).
After spending half an hour trying to persuade the Sheraton to give him a room, an infuriated Pavarotti stormed out, eventually finding hospitality in another Padua hotel where, finally, someone in his entourage came up with an ID document.
For Italians, Pavarotti's misadventure has a familiar ring about it. The need for some sort of ID is fundamental to Italian living. Strictly speaking, an Italian citizen is obliged to carry ID at all times since a variety of officials, from police officers to bank officials, may require to see it.
In practical terms, this means that most of us - unlike maestro Pavarotti, it seems - never go out the door without our wallet. You cannot just get into the car and go for a morning cappuccino without your driver's licence, car tax and insurance certificates. If you do, you could find your car impounded before you get your teeth into your cornetto.
Likewise, it can prove impossible to do business at state offices, post offices or banks without passport or ID card. The other day, your correspondent was asked for ID while checking two dogs into a veterinary clinic.
This state of affairs is based partly on the unwelcome legacy of distrust generated by Mussolini's Fascist regime 70 years ago. But, like everyone else, hoteliers resent the ID legislation, a point made by Bernabo Bocca, president of the Italian Hoteliers' Federation: "It's absurd to ask the hotelier to play the policeman. As soon as we have welcomed a client, we have to ask for an ID. That's basically a total contradiction of our vocation, which is to offer hospitality."
