In Which We Visit the Consulate -- And Apply for Visas

    The visa follies for our January world cruise continue, and in strange ways we never imagined. We thought it would be so easy. Apply for a visa -- get approved. After all, you've kept your nose clean for 40+ years. Why wouldn't they want you to visit their beautiful country?

(Bear in mind: this is on a cruise ship. We're only going to be spending a day, or two, or three, in each country. Different stops for each day's visit...and we have to be back on the boat by nightfall.)

First, Australia approved me -- but not the Brick. (He tried again.)
Next, New Zealand approved the Brick -- but not me. (ditto)

They don't tell you why you were refused, either. You have to guess. Was it because:
      *The Brick was in the military, and traveled?
      *He had security clearances, when in engineering?
      *I traveled in Iron Curtain countries during college?
      *I'm a writer? An appraiser?
      *We're Christians?

Or...we're upright, breathing, and requested a visa -- and state departments can do anything they like to us?

Who knows.

And China? Neither of us got the visa approval, at first. I was told to submit a paper explaining the nature of my business. (Apparently the Chinese haven't run into many writers/teachers whose main subjects are frugal living, textiles and cultural history. Or maybe it was the appraiser part that puzzled them.) I had to emphasize that I was a tourist -- the purpose of my visit to China was not a buying trip. Which is true. We're only planning to be there three days on three separate stops. You would have thought we were planning to settle there semi-permanently, based on how worried they sounded. (Maybe the issues in Hong Kong are a concern -- that's one of the stops.)

It was worse for the Brick. He had to appear in person at the Chinese consulate in Chicago for an interview and fingerprinting. Thank God  it wasn't Colorado's designated consulate. (Which is in Los Angeles.) We were headed through Chicago, anyways, on our way back to The Mama's farm in Michigan. It would take an hour or so, but then we'd be done and back on the road.

Sure it would.

Go to gettravelguru.com for more!
(It really is an interesting city, when you're not in rush hour.)

For one thing, none of these buildings are openly labeled. (Fear of terrorism?) For another, our silly GPS kept sending us to the 'lower' version of each avenue in the directions. (Chicago, in case you're wondering, has 'upper' avenues -- where the office buildings are -- and 'lower' avenues underneath, dimly-lit, for delivery vans. It's pretty spooky down there, too, in these underground streets.) By this point, the tarps covering boxes from the storage unit had completely shredded. The covering tarp was a fringed shawl, waving to passerby. After driving all night, we were bleary-eyed and scruffy, as well.

Shades of the Beverly Hillbillies.

Finally, the Brick parked the truck on the 'lower' street, making the GPS very happy. I made myself small in the locked front seat while he went in search of the visa office, which had our applications. It took hours. Decades. Millennia, seemingly .

He tapped suddenly on the window glass, and scared the heck out of me. He'd lost his way, then found it and the visa processing office, and finally had the paperwork. Now we needed to go to the consulate, but they only were open until noon. (It was 11:15 a.m.) Fortunately, it was only a few minutes away, and a large parking spot was open on the street. The Brick hurried inside.

I looked around.

Other than the address on the side of the average, nondescript building, there was nothing to show this was the Chinese consulate. No elegant architecture, Chinese characters. No doormen in classic uniforms, regally bowing potential visitors in. No red or yellow or gilding. No pagodas, even. Somehow, I expected it. (Conditioned by years of American Chinese restaurants, perhaps?)
     What it did have was a nails/waxing salon next door, and a grubby alley next to that.

 So much for the Inscrutable Orient.

Down the block, however, was an elegant 1890s brownstone, with courtyard, carriage house and a larger building. A pointed black metal fence, flickering electric lanterns and holiday wreaths dressed up this old-fashioned spot. It was dignified, but seemed out of place. (I thought maybe a church -- the Brick thought possibly another consulate.)

People roared down the street all morning, parking wherever they pleased. No spots open? No problem -- just park in the tow zone and put your trouble lights on. (Or not. One lady zoomed in and out of the tow zones for at least two hours -- no lights, no nothing. I guess we should be grateful she actually closed her car door the second time she parked.) Even better: park in the middle of the street, put your trouble lights on (or not), and do your errands. Who cares that others have to slam on their brakes and swerve around you, or blast on their horns?!  After all, you're not there. You're in the building, doing errands! (Or applying for a visa.)

More time went by. The Brick suddenly reappeared. His number had been called -- but it was noon. The girl at the window told him to come back after 1 p.m. He said dozens of people were sitting on chairs in this large room; it looked like a DMV (or driver's license) bureau. No lovely vases or delicate wallhangings -- just a few Chinese characters on some of the glass windows. One wall sported a paper sign, and two nondescript men were acting as security. Sort of.
     The clerks threw everyone out, and told them to come back at 1 p.m. An Australian guy protested, saying he'd driven from Michigan just for this. Heck, we'd driven from Colorado -- they didn't care about that, either. Come back at 1.

Another hour went by. We stayed in the parking spot, with a front-row seat for all the beeping and parking. People strolled by with bags of groceries, or walking dogs, cellphones in hand. The women nearly all sported channel-quilted down jackets, leggings and high-heeled boots, in black or drab colors. (Must be current Chicago winter fashion.) Grubhub cars swung through with lunch orders. (We were tortured by a pizza restaurant with amazing smells later on, but didn't dare stop.) A guy who'd parked in the tow zone all morning was back, lights flashing. He hopped out, headed for the consulate. (They only stayed open through 2:30 p.m.)

Stylin' in Chicago -- from bowsandsequins.com

Back in again. This time, the Brick stood right by the window, waiting. When the clerk opened it, she took his photo (he had to squat down to fit in the picture), then his fingerprints.

All done -- no interview. Why was it important for him to come in? (I'm guessing it wasn't the fingerprints. His six years in the Navy, plus security clearances, have had those on record for decades.)

We dropped the visa paperwork off, then thankfully blew town, with GPS still trying to send us down to the 'lower' depths . It took another hour, plus a $12 toll on the Skyline, to avoid part of rush hour, and get us out of there. Three hours on to Michigan -- and The Mama. (Fortunately, it didn't rain.)

The visas will be ready next week, we're told. The company will pick them up for us and mail them overnight, along with our passports. Hopefully they're right.

Meanwhile, we must wait to apply to India (can't happen until Dec. 20) and Sri Lanka (must happen while on the ship). And wonder who's going to be considered worthy by them.

Or unworthy, as the case may be.

Ma'am, don't ever try leaving...

P.S. We both finally were accepted by NZ and the Aussies -- with no reason given why we weren't approved in the first place. Go figure.