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Since long before we got to Europe, Lynn has had
a strong desire to go to Russia. This goes back to the time when we
were kids and we quaked in our boots at anything Russian and worried
about Khrushchev
burying us. We saw all those buildings on television that looked
so strange to American eyes and those visions had a lasting effect on her.
The biggest problem for us with going to Russia, though, has been
dealing with the Russian Consulate.
Usually when we travel, we make our own
arrangements but because Russia was several orders of magnitude
beyond our comfort zone (language, bureaucracy), we thought it best
to go with a tour company. We found one located in England that
offered a tour we were interested in. As part of their package, the
tour company provides many of the services needed for obtaining a
visa but only for people who live in the UK. The Russians require an
invitation, proof of health insurance, and an application for the
visa. The tour company sent us the invitation and blank
applications, and we contacted the insurance company for their
documentation. At this point, please note that the tour company
provided the invitation. But suppose I wanted to visit my cousin
Mikhail in Moscow on my own. (For those snooping through here, I
have no relatives anywhere in Russia!) Where do I get the
invitation? I don’t know but it’s certainly much more difficult than
having the tour company provide it. Also, upon arriving there, we
have three days to register with the police. The hotel will do that
for us as part of the service. But what would happen if we stayed at
my non-existent cousin Mikhail’s house? We would have to register
ourselves at a police station, and according to the consulate’s
website, that could take hours.
But no matter. All we have to do is take our
documents to the consulate and we’re golden. We did that and were
greeted with a line outside that went halfway down the street. The
inside was very small and couldn’t hold all the people who needed
service. As I’ve noted before, it rains a whole lot here and I
suppose that could be a problem but at least this day was sunny.
Finally it was my turn. I gave the documents to
the clerk who asked for my Dutch residence card. Nobody said we
would need it but that’s fine because we always have them, sort of
like a driver’s license in the U.S. Apparently they only provide
visa service for Dutch citizens and resident aliens so heaven help
you if you’re not Dutch and just passing through the Netherlands and
have a sudden change of plans. The clerk then told me that the
application I had was no good. It would work for 5.7 billion people
in the world but for the .3 billion who call themselves Americans,
it’s invalid. She looked around for another form and disappeared for
about five minutes as the line grew longer. Upon returning she had
only one form and made a copy. Remember that; she made a copy. She
gave me the new improved, Americanized forms and we sat down to fill
them out. At first it seemed like it would be only a 15 minute
delay, but when we got to the part, for a tourist visa remember,
that they wanted to know the name of every school we had ever
attended with dates, addresses and phone numbers, every country we
had been to in the last ten years and the years we had been to them,
and our last two places of employment including addresses, phone
numbers, and the last names of our supervisors (yes, Janice, the
Russians know about you and have your number), we thought maybe we
should come back on another day.
Over the weekend, amid a high degree of cursing
and wondering why the hell all this is needed for a lousy tourist
visa, we completed the forms. We headed back to the consulate ready
to go. I handed my papers to the clerk who has become the single
most unpleasant person I’ve ever encountered and the previous champ
is someone I’ve known for more than 40 years! She examined all our
forms, paid no attention to our schools or countries traveled to,
said everything was in order but that we would have to provide a
copy of our residence cards. We should come back when we had the
copies because they wouldn’t make copies. They have a copy machine
right there but noooo! Not even for a fee. She said she didn’t know
or care where the copies were made and knew of no place nearby where
we could get one made. Had I known this, I would have already made a
copy before we got there. So we went around the neighborhood until
we found a business that made a copy for us.
We returned with the copies and, as you can
imagine, I was now extremely annoyed with this whole process. I got
in line again and got the same clerk. She asked me the fatal
question, "When would you like your passport returned." In my
annoyance with her, I didn’t question what she really meant. You can
understand that I do not like surrendering my passport to anyone. I
had only ever needed a visa to enter a country once before, in
Turkey about a year and half ago. Getting a visa to get into Turkey
is like buying a ticket to Disneyland; pay the €15 at the airport
after getting there, come and go as often as you like for a year,
and stay up to 90 days at a time. No questions asked. They gave us
little stickers to put in the passport. I forgot completely about
this and somehow got it in my head that a visa was a separate
document. I didn’t think about it being physically attached to the
passport and that the consulate needed the passport for that reason.
So when she asked when I wanted it back, I told her I wanted it back
now thinking they would send me the visa in the next several
days or weeks or whatever. Being even nastier, the clerk told me to
come back in an hour. An hour seemed a reasonable time to surrender
the passport. I didn’t realize her question was not really about
when I wanted the passport back but rather when I needed the visa
which wasn’t for more than two months.
I spent the hour visiting the
Peace Palace about a block away, home of the
International Court of Justice where Slobodan Milošević met his
Waterloo, and returned full of love and brotherhood for my fellow
man. It didn’t last long.
I presented my receipt to the cashier. She
charged me an astounding €510 and I almost fell through the floor.
All I had in my hand were the passports, no visas that were apparent
to me, and not a soul would answer a question. Finally someone came
out from a back office and took me to this most offensive of clerks.
I asked when I would get my visas. I didn’t know if they were to be
mailed or if I was to return to pick them up. I had no idea what was
happening. "Give me your papers!" she barked. I did and she shuffled
through them. She turned to a page in the passport, held it up and
said, "What’s this?!?!" That’s when I realized what was going on. I
had paid for emergency one hour visa service when I had no need for
that at all. Nobody ever questioned me when I asked for it, making
sure that I understood what I was asking for.
Worse, the published rates on my receipt say €60
for six to ten day service, €90 for two to five day service, and
€110 for emergency service. Given that, I can see why I might have
been charged €220 instead of €120 for both, but I have no idea where
the €510 came from. Nobody there seemed very interested in answering
any questions and I had no choice but to accept it and just leave.
Either that or cause an international incident which seemed like a
bad idea.
I’ve written several times to the Russian
consulate asking only for an explanation of the amount but have yet
to receive a response of any kind. I hope this trip to Russia works
out better than it’s starting out. Having a fight with the Russian
Consulate isn’t fun. But then, what’s the worst that could happen?
Seriously, what’s the worst thing that could possibly happen? Maybe
the Kingston Trio said it
best. |
