The Panic Begins

We've started to collect visas.

So far we've taken advantage of our location in NYC and visited the Kenyan consulate and the Indian consulate. The Kenyan consulate was cheerfully decorated with ten or twelve of the same three posters. Artfully never repeated on the same wall. There was one other couple waiting when we arrived, I was afraid they may have been there a while but they collected their paperwork and left us alone in a matter of minutes. The employees at the embassy were cordial and businesslike. The woman at the counter took our certified checks thankfully and we were told that while normally the processing of the visa was a one week turnaround, for an extra ten dollars each they could be processed that very day, in fact, that very hour. We agreed, of course, to save a trip. We did wonder though if it was that easy to stamp our passports then why...Why? Why would it have taken a week without this twenty dollar greasing of the bureaucratic wheels? Especially when the bureaucracy was within site of the front desk, eating a sandwich. And as the extra twenty didn't appear on our receipts, we wondered-slightly amused-if we had just paid our first bribe.

The other patrons weren't shy about trying to kick her as she slipped past them.

I would gladly have paid the Kenyans another $50 to process our Indian visas too. While the Kenyan consulate was tiny and comfortable - and empty, the Indian consulate was exactly what you might imagine the Indian consulate being. Crowded and chaotic with one window servicing a roomful of impatient applicants. Behind a desk by the front door was an elderly Indian man with some kind of uniform and grey hair that had been awkwardly colored with what might have been black cherry juice. It was a coloring that left him unnaturally purple while slightly appetizing. He was doling out numbers and answers cheerlessly. It seemed that once you had your number you were allowed to ask him a certain number of questions before he started yelling at you. It was hard not to use and go over your allotment as he was a difficult person to understand and often people had to ask the same question more than once. We were lucky, when we asked if we were applying for a multiple entry visa he shook his head no and said 'yes'. Easy enough. We asked him something else and he started to turn the color of his hair, but answered, and we were done. I had alloted a half an hour to wait in line before having to get to work, stupidly based on our Kenyan experience, and we quickly realized I would have to leave Magda on her own since it was her day off, and she would have to stand in line for at least a week. Thankfully, almost miraculously, we ran into two friends who happen to be leaving for a trip of their own, and happened to be waiting that day, at that hour, in that very collection of hundreds of applicants. It was a surprise seeing them but I felt good that they were there to keep my darling wife company after my abandonment. Long after I left, their number was called and Magda went with them to the window as if they'd all taken that winning ticket together, as traveling partners. They made it just before the window closed for the day, and long before Magda would have gotten there on her own. Clever duck.

Another strange thing about her visit was that she had read that there were several countries that did not have to pay to apply for a visa, Poland being one of them. The countries in this select group seemed as if they'd been randomly taken out of a hat. Along with Poland, they included North Koreans, Venezuelans and the Pope. Actually no the Pope would have to pay. We were happy to hear of this strange loophole, since in most of the other countries, citizens of Poland are rather unfairly tariffed. This information was on the country of India's website, so we figured it was pretty solid. In any case, I left her with enough cash to cover herself just in case. She needed it. Upon getting to the window the man very casually asked her to pay the usual amount. She objected and showed him her printout describing the exception. He ignored her. Finally, seeing that ignoring her was not working (perhaps why they exempted the Poles in the first place) he told her simply, "The rules have changed" without so much as glancing at the proffered printout. I imagine this fee also went towards his sandwich fund. Sandwiches are very expensive in this city.

Magda returned later that day to pick up our passports with processed visas. She nearly caused a riot when she jumped the line to look for our friends again, and found them. Apparently the other patrons weren't shy about trying to kick her as she slipped past them. Something tells me India is going to be great fun.