Desperate times call for desperate measures, this Christian girl just used a Yiddish expression in the title of the her blog post – and what's worse, this Springbok-supporting South African referenced an Aussie war cry, too.
Why this sudden outburst of kangaroo-scented anxiety? Well, I'm trying to get the ball rolling on a planned trip to Oz at the end of the year. Don't misunderstand me, I am über excited about the actual trip – it's a much needed reunion of 'the three musketeers' who very rarely get to be on the same continent at the same time these days. The anxiety comes from being a South African passport holder and knowing that the road to Visa approval isn't the easiest journey.
I speak from experience – when I travelled to Italy a few years ago I had to change my flight twice due to delays in getting that 'access granted' little stamp. Even though I had every box on the checklist checked, every requirement met and heaps of the necessary paperwork at the ready, I struggled to get the stamp. And the experience, it seems, has left me with 'issues'...
You see, my first trip to the embassy (on a Thursday) involved queueing for hours only to reach the front and be told that "The visa office is now closed. Please come back tomorrow with your application between 10h00 and 14h00." This distressed me slightly as I was due to fly to Rome on the Sunday *deep calming breath*
My second trip to the embassy, on the Friday, saw me progress into the building, get past the first desk jockey and proceed into the second queue. That's where my journey ended. Two o' clock came and I was given a little piece of paper with a number on it and told to come back on Monday. Yes, Monday, the day after my flight. I was not impressed! But no amount of begging or pleading would help (trust me, I tried every emotional blackmail card in the book) and so it dawned on me that I would have to spend £25 changing my flight. (And I did, to Tuesday, after the travel agent assured me that getting the visa would be quick and 'painless')
My third trip to the embassy first thing on Monday morning was short-lived. There wasn't a queue but there was a sign that read: Closed. Visa Applications: Tues – Fri (10h00 to 14h00). *big fat hissy fit followed by deep calming breath and stomping of feet all the way back to travel agent* Another £25 later, my flight was changed. I would *fingers and toes crossed* be flying to Rome on Wednesday afternoon.
My fourth trip to the embassy went smoothly enough – the embassy was actually open, I was there early enough to be at the front of the queue and I moved swiftly through queue one into queue two and up to the 'stamp' desk where a little Italian man sat ready to interrogate me. "Paper's please," he asked with a heavy accent. I handed over the stack of paperwork and completed application forms.
"How long you go for to Italy?" he asked, not looking up.
"Two weeks," I said.
"Where you going to be staying? Who you stay with?" (still not looking up)
"Um, there's a letter from an Italian friend of mine. Errr, it's attached to the first application form. She has a house in Rome..."
Suddenly, he looked up and stopped flipping through the paperwork. "Problemo," he muttered under his breath before elaborating, "I need to run past my supervisor because sponsor letter is not same procedure as travel itinerary with hotels eta-cet-era. You must come back tomorrow."
Okay, there was no way I was coming back to the embassy the following day. I felt the tears welling up as visions of having to change my flight again made me feel physically ill. It was time to bring out the big guns...
"Please could you speak to your supervisor now," I stammered through the beginnings of a cry-fest. "I really need to get this visa today, I've been trying for a week and changed my flight twice already. If I have to change it again my dad will kill me..."
"I understand," he said. "I have a daughter your age, but I don't think I can process visa today..."
"I've been queueing all day," I continued, "and *time for the biggest gun of all* I've had the most terrible pain. I've had awful period cramps..."
Before I could finish the sentence and use the terms 'period' and 'cramps' again he was reaching for the stamp. "Visa application approved," he said. "Enjoy your holiday. Ciao bella"
Mission accomplished (finally!) Let's hope that the Australian visa application process can be completed without tears or 'oversharing'.
Comments