La Policía

This morning I had to get up at 6:15, which is practically unthinkable here in Spain. You see, for all of my efforts with the Spanish government's admirable attempt to recreate hell on earth known as the Spanish Consulate in New York, I was only able to get a three-month visa, though I will be living in Spain for a year. Students here for six months, however, receive a six-month visa. This, I am told, is standard practice. Because of this, it was necessary for me to go over to police headquarters last week to petition a visa extension and student identity card. A woman who works for my program and I tried one day, found that the line was too long and that they would let no one else in, and so we left. The next day, my program's director got into line at 7:00 AM, and we (myself and Cristina, the program's twenty-something coordinator) took over at 8, being number 130 in line out of 150. There were, of course, about 400 people in line, but no one after 150 was told that they wouldn't be entering the building, so they continued to wait. At about 12:30 we finally entered, only to wait at another window for another number, to then wait in line again at the window of the woman who could help process my paperwork. I signed everything I needed to, and was told that I had to come back the next week to have my fingerprints taken and to pay some "nominal" fee, which, being like the Consulate, I couldn't pay at the police station, which meant I would have to leave with a paper from the station, go to a bank, pay there, and get a money order to take back. This was after waiting in line to get into the building again.

Which brings us to today. This was a four day weekend for me, since I finished my exam on Friday, and I was the only student in the group who had Monday and Tuesday off, also. I thought about traveling, but no, they told me, it would be best if I went to the police station Tuesday morning to do my prints. "OK," I thought. I packed some fresh almond and lemon zest biscotti in my bag from my "mom" (there are some perks to living where I do), and set out. I thought about getting a coffee or a paper on the way, but then remembered that there is no coffee to go here, and that nothing is open before 7:15, so that was impossible. I had enough foresight to rent a movie for my iPod (Dial M for Murder, I'd never seen it) so that I could watch it in line. I got there around 6:45, and knew that they start handing out numbers at 8:30. One step in the process is to put your name on a list to get a numer to get a numer to get the final number, which I did, being 140. Remember, last time they let 150 in. The north African man behind me in line kept pressing up against me because A) there is no concept of a kinosphere here and B) he was trying to watch my movie. Also, it was about 35 degrees here this morning when everyday it has been in the 80's, which is why my sandals, my sweater and I were freezing this morning; I realized this as soon as I stepped out of my building, but I didn't have time to go back for a jacket. At 8:30, we were told that they had decided to let only 130 people in that day, so that there were no numbers left. They don't actually tell anyone, you must leave line to go ask this, which is why the rest of the people in the line wrapped around the back of the building are futilely there still waiting. I went up to ask one of the massive police officers if I could possibly get in just to do my fingerprints since I had already been to the station and missed the arbitrary cutoff by 10 people, and was told to get up at five next time. This coming from a man who doesn't get into work until 8:30, and probably can't function until he's had his steroid-laced espresso in the morning.

So, I called the program coordinator, who told me that it wasn't really necessary that I go today anyway, and that she would accompany me the next time when we get back from our break. "Oh," I thought. "I'm glad I didn't take advantage of this weekend." She also reminded me that I need to go back for a third appointment at the station, in order to pick up my ID. The DMV is a Caribbean resort compared to this place. I'd write to someone, but I don't think they'd care.

In other news, I was shaking so much as I walked home from the cold that I dropped my iPod onto one of the marble sidewalks, it broke out of its case, the case cracked, and the iPod went flying. It still works. The same might not be true of my new computer, which has started making a strange noise, and of course there are no Mac stores here where I could have it looked at. It was a lovely morning :o) We leave for Madrid tomorrow, and I must say, I'm very ready. The only thing to be seen now is whether I'll be allowed back into the country after Belgium, since my visa hasn't been extended. Ehh.