The Visa

Old Chinese women are fiesty! That's right. I said it.

I felt like I've been on a Legend of Zelda-style quest to get a Visa - get documents in the mail, take them to New York, brave NYC traffic, visit friends, find the consulate, power through a line of people, etc. and I emerge with a small sticker on my passport that enables me to go places I couldn't before. When I got it, it hovered above my head in a halo of light to a triumphant arpeggio.

When I worked at the American consulate in Frankfurt, I could see how people coming in to the consular section to get travel documents or deal with citizenship issues were experiencing American culture in a nutshell. The security at the gate to get into the consulate was tight, and the line often extended down the street. Once you got through the gate, however, you walk across the driveway and front lawn to the door to the main hall. The hall where people waited for visas was gigantic, with plenty of space to roam around (very American), rows of chairs to sit in while you wait and service windows lining two walls of the room. A nice American or two greets you when you walk in the door and gives you basic instructions and a piece of paper explaining how the system works. The processing was extremely systematic and orderly - a set of windows is partitioned for preliminary check-in, where you are assigned a number based on what you are there for. Then you go sit wherever you like in the chairs until your number is called. There are vending machines, newspapers, magazines, water fountains and public restrooms. The high, windowed ceiling is draped with the flags of each state and the Old Glory. Overall, the process was very ordered, with a structured system in place that was well-executed while the room was spacious, clean and well-lit.

The Chinese consulate is a far cry from this, making the American consulate seem majestic, sprawling and roomy. The building is a large and blocky concrete federal-looking structure right on the Hudson at 12th Avenue and 42nd Street just north of Lincoln Tunnel. The public entryway to the consular section is on 42nd Street and on the outside resembles the entrance to a nightclub. A small set of double doors leads to a cramped security room where you have to walk through a metal detector. This leads directly into a plain low-ceilinged room reminiscent of a very small cafeteria with dull white walls and a bank of bank teller-like windows along one side. Printer paper is hand-taped to the walls giving cursory instructions in English and Chinese. Along the back wall, next to a set of steps that goes to an unlabeled second floor there is a small counter with pens and some papers for some vague application.

Half of the small cafeteria-like room is packed with small chairs. The idea, explained by a hired minority American security guard, is that applicants form a line that snakes through the chairs, starting at the very back and ending in front of the visa windows at the front. The crowd of people is shepherded into this line and each time somebody goes up to the window, everybody's supposed to shift a seat closer. A large old-fashioned digital screen above the windows read the date in Chinese, but clearly had plenty of room for further information. The attempt at organization seemed half-heartedly messy and inefficient, especially given the outsourced security guards. Overall, the process was cramped, shoddily organized and dull, but it worked. The experience clearly left much to be wanted, an gave a sense of a bland, uninformative attempt at efficiency. Most people complained incessantly while they waited. In many ways, I feel as if this may be Chinese government in a nutshell.

The only setback came after I'd waited in line for an hour -- standing up and sitting back down as it snaked through the rows of chairs -- and went to the window to deliver my documents. Turned out that the visa application form had a back, which I had failed to realize -- way to go me. Luckily, the rent-a-cop managing the line flow let me back in after I'd filled it out at the back of the room. While I was waiting for a window to open up on my second try, these two little old Chinese ladies who were first in line were paying better attention to the windows than me and timed the guy leaving the window just perfectly enough so they were at the window before I'd even taken two steps towards it. I was stunned, and a little embarrassed, since the whole room probably saw me get out-maneuvered and out-foxed by these two wiley little China women.

During the whole time I was waiting in line older Chinese people constantly tried to outfox and trick the rent-a-cop into sneaking in front of the line. Sometimes they'd just walk up to a window and ignore him, other times they'd feign (or maybe not feign) not knowing English enough to grab a spot at the front of the line and then step up to a window before the rent-a-cop could recover his wits. Overall, waiting in line turned out to be an incredible lesson in trickery, foxmanship, wile and fiest. Apparently the Chinese are masters.

No complaints, here though, overall. I emerged with a visa and a newfound respect for craftiness, which should do the trick with regards to getting me into China.

Next step: plane to LA.