Trip to Moscow, part 1 : Visa in San Francisco

The trip started out easily enough. Peter was going down to the Bay area to look for jobs, so I caught a ride down with him. The trip was going quickly, perhaps the easiest long distance drive I've done. We were about a half hour outside of Medford, OR when I heard in a very resigned voice, "Oh, shit..." It took me a couple of minutes to realize that the voice was my own.

Earlier that morning, I remembered that the consulate wanted a copy of the vital pages of the passport. I made the copy, but it and my passport sat in the copier while I rushed out of the door with my suitcase and backpack...

After a frantic phone call to my mother to arrange the delivery of my passport, we're back on the road and make it to Bezerkley in no time (both of our fathers had predicted a 12 hour trip, we made it in considerably less time).

I've always been a fan boy of Portland. It's been the center of food, music, and other culture for my adult life. To me, it is the greatest thing since or before sliced bread. I've visited other cities, but they were too large (LA), dirty (LA), uninspiring natural surroundings (LA, DC), or I just didn't have enough time to explore them (Seattle).

However, my trip to San Francisco (not long enough!) has me head over heels in love. Much larger than Portland, you find yourself easily drawn into an introspective mood : where do I belong? what is my place in society? who am I? But it is small enough to get an idea of what it's all about. Small enough to get lost, but know in the back of your mind that you can always find your way back to something familiar.

With that in mind, the days I spent waiting for my passport, I walked the breadth of the City from the ferry building to the pacific ocean. This feat need not be attempted more than once in one's life. There are far too many hills and they are far too steep. It did have the benefit of letting me scope out the route to the consulate for the following day, but unfortunately I didn't keep to the maxim : "Bring your camera everywhere". Determined to walk slightly shorter distances the following days, I found that hopping on a random bus for half an hour and then walking back was a viable way of seeing the city for cheap. This is how I stumbled up on a Russian neighborhood.

Unlike at the Russian consulate (I had barely uttered "Добрый день-Good day", than came the curt request "Please speak in English"), the neighborhood гастроном owners were more than happy to oblige attempt at Russian. In addition to the bureaucrat's reluctance impatience with foreigners butchering his language, I got my first taste of Russian.... adherence to rules.

I had arrived at the consulate half an hour before their visa desk closed with all of my documents. I checked my application in the lobby for the 50th time (you know, just in case I had accidentally said I had been issued a French passport or something silly). I walked up to the window, where I was promptly urged to speak English, and stuffed my documents through. He checked them over, nodded in an appreciative manner at what I assume was my neat handwriting, and then asked for the payment. I took from my wallet a fat stack of 20s and attempted to push them through the slot only to find it blocked by his hand. "I'm sorry, we only accept money orders", says he. The blood drained from my face, my heart slowed, and I started to panic. Where am I going to find a money order in the next 15 minutes? Will I get back before they close? Did I make a mistake on my application? Did I remember to send Robert a happy birthday facebook message?

He must have read the consternation on my face about having forgotten Robert's birthday and took a deep breath. "Wait a second," says he as he walks out of sight. He comes back with a receipt book and looks me sternly in the eye, and talking without moving his lips (a talent bestowed on Russian men), he says very seriously, "This is a big exception, you must understand. We would never do this, and you are very lucky that we are taking your cash because it makes so much sense for us not to accept paper currency of the country in which we work." Ok, the last part of the quote wasn't accurate, but it conveys my sense of amazement how out of the way they go to justify the rule they're circumventing while at the same time making it seem like they've never done and will never do this again. We do the same thing, but when an exception is made by an American beaurocrat, they tend to act as if nothing circumspect was done.

Anywho, I'll probably litter my future posts with a few photos here and there, but if you really have time to waste, you can see more photos here.