I MISS CEDOC

I know that I'm not in Gabon anymore and that I should be saying goodbye, if not to blogging, to this particular blog. I have already planned my last entry, and I promise you it will be as touching and inspiring as only my writing can be. Before it sees the light, however, I will still tell you a couple of stories.

The first one concerns our good old friend, the temple of African administrative hell, - have you guessed already? - yes, CEDOC! Do not get too excited, though. I have not (yet) received a call from Gabon telling me to give back the original of my carte de séjour, which I managed to smuggle out of the country. But I did lose an administrative battle today and, believe it or not, it made me remember CEDOC warmly. It turns out Polish bureaucratic world might even be worse than the Gabonese one. Judge for yourself.

Crucial information: in February Kasia and Jandro will be conquerring Brussels.

And now the story. It all started with an epiphanic moment of clarity:
"I won't have insurance in Belgium!", I exclaimed one beautiful morning.
"Do not be distressed, my daughter", replied my Father, "for you are in Europe, where life is easier and public offices less corrupt."
"You speak the truth", I said. "Let us google the Social Security webpage".

We thus googled. After a quick visit to the office in question (and I will not call it the SS Office due to my Polish prudence), I found out that all I had to do was register at the Employment Office (fill in registration form, show ID, university diploma, all contracts, and possibly several baby pictures), get the U2 form from them (and no, ladies who work at the Employment Office do not appreciate Bono jokes so you can stick them up the body part often displayed in the baby pictures), take the U2 form to the Social Security, fill in another form and show ID. You will get your insurance card in a day!

It all sounded extremely simple and I decided to follow the advice of the chirpy Social Security lady. First obstacle: the Office is about 700 kilometres away from my parents' place. Undeterred, I boarded a bus, the underground and another bus - the trip rounding up to an even hour and a half - only to find out that the number of people queuing was a charming 136. The security guard told me I had no chance of getting in that day. No worries, I'll come back tomorrow, I thanked him and trotted away to catch a bus, the underground and another bus home.

I'm tough. I'd defeated CEDOC. I'd defeated Trésor. I was ready to stand up against The Queue. I came back the next day, much earlier, at 8:30 am. There were 55 people ahead of me. I sat down and started reading. Do I have to tell you how depressing the Employment Office in Warsaw is? Sad, grey people, sit in apathy; they don't even bring anything to help them pass the hours they must spend there: no books, no mp3 players, only staring into space. The air is charged with frustration and, in some cases, with the stench of alcohol or unshowered male bodies. I felt blue ten minutes into the experience. Three and a half hours later, when my turn finally came, I was desperate to get out.

952! My number is finally called! I pick up my bag, I put a CEDOC/Trésor smile on my face and I enter the magical Room 9. I quickly localize the counter which called me and direct my CEDOC/Trésor smile accordingly. At this very moment Man sits on my chair, opposite my civil servant, who rudely informs me that Man was there before and was asked to come back. She thus blocks me, as no other lady will attend to my registration needs, because my number was already called. I have no choice but to wait for the monstrous Man to finish his buisness. He finishes. Nothing can stop me now! Courage!

Well? What happens next? It's Europe, n'est-ce pas?

Yes, it's Europe. Which, as of today, means absolutely nothing to me. You see, my conversation with the civil servant lady was full of contradictory statements, which left absolutely nothing clear, apart from the fact that I was not in the correct office altogether, as I was locally assigned to a different one.

Conclusions: I don't know if I should register. I don't know if I can get insurance free of charge. I don't know where I can get the U2 form. I don't know how to get to the correct Employment Office. More conclusions: administration works badly everywhere in the world. Only in some countries it's corrupt and/or messy enough for you to stand a chance.

And, while Jandro is trying to convince Galician authorities that he has indeed left Gabon and is now in Spain, there is only one thing I can say: I miss CEDOC.

The image comes from here.

...ET LA ROBE DOIT DEPASSER LES GENOUX!

The Deposit Saga continues. After five weeks and what feels like three thousand phone calls, we managed to obtain the necessary documents from CEDOC. Our dossier is getting thicker and thicker, and it's now inside a fancy yellow CEDOC folder. We have a valuable signature of the Big Boss, and should thus get our money in no time. However, wouldn't you be surprised if things were this simple? Wouldn't you be disappointed? Relax, no disappointment in stock today. Instead, I will tell you a story of incompetence, flip flops and how I have to go shoe shopping.

Stage two
We were informed at CEDOC that now we were ready to take our dossier to the next level, which turned out to be the Treasury. As the name itself suggests a place where money can be obtained, we were fairly optimistic. This morning, just before nine o'clock, we found out that fairly optimistic could easily be substituted with stupid and naive.

We arrived at the Trésor and were confronted by a queue of roughly thirty people. A few security guards (as usual, with their huge guns at the ready) were hovering about, so we asked one of them what one had to do to get inside the building. He, in turn, informed us that the machines were out of order and thus no work could be done. Wondering if the Treasury was employing state-of-the-art robots which did all the work, we asked if we could maybe talk to someone inside. He said yes, but insisted on the fact that no work could be done whatsoever. Robots got broken, yes, we get it. We entered anyway.

Money money money
Inside, there was a number of people queuing in the general direction of a cubicle, where three women were sitting, staring into space. Clearly, as no work could be done, no work was being done. People were just sitting and waiting. We approached the three ladies and politely explained our situation. Shouting from behind the glass pane, they told us that yes, indeed, it was here where we could pay our deposit. Now it was clear to us how unusual our demand was. We patiently explained the whole thing again. Another lady started shouting to us, which quickly evolved into shouting at us. Indignantly, she said she had no idea what we had to do to get the deposit back and that we should go to the Ministry of Home Affairs and ask them for a special document, which later we should take to the second floor in the Treasury.

We left the ladies in the state of extreme agitation, as we had made them work, even though the machines were out of order.

No flip, just a flop
Still full of positive energy, we decided to head straight for the second floor of the Treasury, happily ignoring the whole Ministry recommendation. We thus walked around the building and reached a parking lot. We continued towards the entrance and, of course, as all other obvious terrorists, were stopped by several heavily armed security guards. The one who talked to us was sitting at a desk, on top of which there were several coffee mugs and lots of snacks. Professional that he was, he leaned in his chair and began:

Mr. Big: Yes?
Jandro explains our business.
Mr. Big: The lady cannot come in.
Me: Why is that, exactly?
Mr. Big: The lady is wearing flip flops and they are not allowed.
Me: I wear these flip flops to official cocktails with ambassadors!
Mr. Big: Flip flops are not allowed. The gentleman can go in.

As Jandro disappeared behind the door, I was told to leave the premises. I couldn't even wait outside with the guards, as it was security zone, where accidents happen. I wanted to make things crystal clear though. I insisted:

Me: So, if I'm wearing sandals but not flip flops, can I come in?
Mr. Big: No, you can't. No sandals. Only closed shoes.
Mr. Big 2 (looks me up and down): And your dress should cover you knees!
Me: As in church, got it.

While I was waiting for Jandro outside, it struck me what great satisfaction it was for the guards to send me away. I probably made their day! And just so you know, I had made a special effort that morning, and I wore a fancy dress (which ended right above my knees), a matching necklace and elegant flip flops.

Epilogue
Jandro managed to pass our dossier to the secretary of the chief of Treasury. My charming boyfriend must have flirted away, for she gave him her number and we're supposed to call tomorrow. The experience left me thinking that I had absolutely no closed dress shoes to speak of. Conclusion: in view of the fact that Jandro is leaving for two weeks and I have several visits to Trésor ahead of me... must go shoe shopping! Soon!

The previous episodes of the Deposit Saga are: Out of the Territory, The Odyssey Continues and Show Must Go On.

SHOW MUST GO ON

You are probably dying to know what the improvements on our dealings with CEDOC are. Today we visited the place once again and, I'm proud to announce, I have news. This means that we have not yet been denied the money. Quite the contrary, actually. If it were Europe, I would already be planning how I would spend it. However, it's not Europe and so I stick to the wise Polish saying: Nie mów "hop!", dopóki nie przeskoczysz (do not say "hop!", until you've jumped, which in English has something to do with counting the chickens, I think). But I'm really getting ahead of the facts here. Let me start from the beginning.

As you know, last week we left our dossier with the Grand Secretary. The dossier consisted of a substantial number of documents, and I must say it looked very serious and important. Upon the Grand Secretary's previous instructions, we called her - several times - on Wednesday and Thursday, and we managed to find out that we were now expected to call a Monsieur A., who happens to be a - and here I really need a dramatic pause - a very important VIP. We called, were informed that he had been instructed to take care of us, and we fixed an appointment for the next morning.

We thus got up today, dressed elegantly, put on some make-up (me) and a tie (Jandro), and called Monsieur A. to let him know we would be in his office in twenty minutes. Apparently, this was all the time he needed to disappear, because, when we got to CEDOC, he had just left. We were, however, encouraged to wait patiently, which we did. Contrary to what we thought, le Monsieur came back around half an hour later. He was a short man, wearing the characteristic African suit (with the short-sleeved shirt/jacket), who kept pressing a tissue onto his huge nose, while he complained about his cold. He was very cordial and invited us into his office, which was what I've always imagined the inside of my head to look like: a gigantic - in a sense impressive - mess.

We sat down and waited. Monsieur A. had a lot of things to deal with but he did find a moment to send somebody to look for our dossier. We chatted about Gabon and the hospitality of its people, often interrupted by phone calls and people popping in and out. Finally, our dossier appeared. We were only to submit the original of our deposit receipt (which we were reluctant to part with but we did get a certified copy) and then I was asked to sign two copies of an official petition to be reimbursed the money.

Of course, this is not the end. The procedure continues as follows: CEDOC will urgently handle our documents as early as Monday. After they commence the reimbursement process, the CFO himself will call us and we will pick up our dossier with all the CEDOC authorisations. All this should happen around Wednesday. Afterwards, we will go to the Trésor Public (Treasury, is it?) and they will give us the money.

Clearly, if you start wondering how many things can still go wrong (our dossier gets conviently lost with the original receipt, le Trésor ignores us, etc.), I am still far from jumping from excitement. And since I'm not jumping, I'm not saying "hop!" as of yet, just to be on the safe side.

The picture comes from here.

THE ODYSSEY CONTINUES

It ain't over till it's over! In the name of this rule and driven by the strong motivation of giving our budget a boost of over 1000 euro, we decided not to give up in our struggle for the carte de séjour deposit, which we had deposited at CEDOC last year. The deposited deposit we now want back. And so the Odyssey continues.

Yesterday, after our Kafkian visit to the Visa de Sortie department of CEDOC (see previous post), we decided to go straight to the highest rank official we knew: the Secretary of Monsieur le General (also known as The Big Boss). Jandro had called her before, when we were applying for my residence permit, and he now decided to repeat the procedure. He bravely made the call and informed her that he, the European Union, had correspondence which he would like to pass on to Monsieur le General. He was told to come by the following morning, that is - today.

The said correspondence, which is actually our application for the reimbursement of the deposited deposit, amounts to quite a dossier. To be precise, it consists of: 1) my letter, in which I kindly ask to be reimbursed the deposited deposit; 2) Jandro's letter in which he kindly asks for me to be reimbursed the deposited deposit; 3) Jandro's boss's letter in which he kindly asks for me to be reimbursed the deposited deposit; 4) the photocopy of the receipt we were given after depositing the deposit; 5) photocopy of my carte de séjour, obtained as a direct result of depositing the deposit; 6) photocopy of Jandro's semi-diplomatic papers; 7) photocopy of my passport.

Armed in all these papers and their copies we'd made just in case, we went to see the Secretary. This time we did not park our car in front of the entrance for regular mortal people. We drove straight into the internal parking lot, were stopped by nobody and entered a building which turned out to be much fancier than the regular CEDOC offices. It had red velvet carpets (with a sign that asked you to kindly wipe your shoes), doors opened with special buttons and men in tight suits who opened these special button doors for you, therefore questioning the point of having installed the buttons in the first place.

The Madame Secretary herself proved to be extremely nice. She smiled a lot, accepted our papers, filed them and even gave us a certified copy. Clearly, we kept introducing ourselves as European Union, otherwise we wouldn't have been granted the right to step on the delicate carpets. We are now awaiting an answer from the Monsieur le General, which is supposed to come next week.

And so, I would like to invite you to gamble with me a little bit: what do you think the answer is going to be? I give you three options:

1. We will be reimbursed our money without further ado.
2. We will be denied the reimbursement (if so, on what grounds?).
3. We will be granted the money but on the condition of delivering more and more papers, and thus the procedure will be stalled until the date of our departure.

What do you vote for? Let me know! Whoever wins gets a coffee as soon as we are in the same country!

The picture comes from here.

OUT OF THE TERRITORY

So, remember my carte de séjour? Inevitably, in view of our departure, The Merry Offices soap opera resumes. This time Kasia and Jandro go to CEDOC in order to fight for the 1000 euro deposit which they had to pay for her residence permit. They are still under the silly impression that if it's a deposit they can actually get it back. I am thus glad to present you with Episode 1 of the new season, entitled Out Of The Territory, which was originally broadcast today at 11 am, live from the offices of CEDOC.

Man (Jandro) and woman (Kasia) park their car in front of CEDOC buildings. She's wearing an elegant light green dress, he - a brown suit. She steps out of the car directly into mud, which substantially lowers the attractiveness of her delicate sandals. They cross the street and pass the security control.

Jandro: Uff, at least we got in.
Kasia: That only proves our clothes are fancy enough. And that they missed my muddy foot.

The couple enter a random building, as they know that, whichever building they initially choose, they will be sent to a different one. The air-conditioning set to -5 degrees, they wrap themselves up in their respective shawls and jackets, and begin their inquiries. As predicted, they are sent to the Visa de sortie building, where they ignore the long queue and seat themselves in the front.

Jandro: Let's talk to that guy.
Kasia: smiles sweetly, the way white women should to African civil servants.
CEDOC Officer: How can I help you?
Jandro: explains the problem.
Kasia: smiles sweetly.
CEDOC Officer: Oh la la, monsieur. Getting your deposit back is a very very long process.
Jandro: That is quite all right. We have a couple of months.
CEDOC Officer: But it is a very very very long process.
Jandro (not at all discouraged): Lucky we started getting about it as early as this.
Kasia: smiles sweetly.
CEDOC Officer: OK then. First of all, you need to get an exit visa. Then you have 15 days to leave the country. And during this time you can apply for the return of your deposit. But, as I said, it is a very long process and you will never make it in 15 days. Besides, you can only get your deposit back after you leave the Gabonese territory.
Jandro: So... how can she get her money back, if she's not in Gabon?
CEDOC Officer: You can get it back for her, sir!
Jandro: But we are leaving together!
Kasia: nods encouragingly.
CEDOC Officer: Well, then the European Union must shoulder the responsibility of getting the deposit back, as long as you are out of the territory.
As neither of them knows how to respond to that:
Jandro: smiles sweetly.
Kasia: smiles sweetly.

The couple leave CEDOC and go get some mangoes. End of episode.

Don't miss Episode 2, entitled: The Secretary Knows Best! Tomorrow at 10 am live from Monsieur General's Secretary's office!

The picture comes from here.

A HELICOPTER WOULD BE NICE

I am a CEDOC veteran. Last September I fought for my carte de séjour. Then I managed to get a visa de sortie. Twice. I've spent several hours queuing on a hard wooden bench, I've been patronized, proposed to and then patronized some more. I left enourmous amounts of money there. So nothing will surprise me about the place anymore. Or will it? Last week we went over to the magnificent offices to apply for another visa the sortie and to find out that I was wrong - I should never have taken success at CEDOC for granted. My arrogance was punished once more.

To get out of the country you need a visa. To get the visa you need the application form, two photos, a copy of your passport, a copy of your residence permit and proof that you paid the fee (60 000 CFA, 90 euros), which is issued by the CEDOC cash register lady, who always seems to be on the phone. I had my documents, I had my money, I was expecting nothing but big success. Cocky, far too cocky.

On entering the office, we noticed that all the employees were sucking on lollipops. So far so good, I thought, it must be somebody's birthday. As soon as I said down to talk to one of the gentlemen, a lollipop sticking out of his mouth, sucky noises instead of Bonjour, I was confronted with a question I could not understand. I asked him to repeat several times and finally it dawned upon me that I'm one document short. The gentleman was kind enough to explain that I needed to run (quickly) to the Trésor Public office and pay an additional fee of 2000 CFA (3 euros!), where I would get a receipt, vital for the issuing of the visa. Of course, the Trésor is right on the other side of the city, and, quick as I am, all running within the opening hours of both institutions was out of the question. We left the place as most people do, sulking. Once again, CEDOC had won the battle.

Luckily, the story has a happy ending. Three days after the fiasco, I managed to pay a visit at the Trésor. Armed in the receipt and determination, I came back to the visa office and, unless they lose my passport, I will be able to visit my Mom and Dad this summer. What did I learn? A helicopter would be nice.

Picture downloaded here.

ONE SORTIE FOR ME, MADAME!

So, what do you think? Exit or no exit? Yes, I got the visa in the end. One sortie, one retour - not the visa I wanted. I described my second visit to CEDOC in the previous post. What you don't know is that there was a third and a fourth.

The third time we went we were already resigned to the idea of a simple one-time visa. Sulking, we entered the CEDOC gates once more and tried to get inside the building. The soldier guarding the entrence, one hand firmly grasping his machine gun, sent us away to the "waiting room" - a set of wooden benches outside - claiming there was no space inside. After a while he called a bunch of people in and we entered with them.

I don't know if I've told you this but the place looks a bit like a bank, with employees behind a counter and three rows of wooden benches, bloody uncomfortable, by the way. The queue is attentively sitting on the benches and the newly arrived are supposed to sit at the end. There is virtually no space on benches, people squeezed in a manner that makes a can of sardines look like a spa. When the person leading the cue is called to the counter, a self-appointed queue manager tells everyone to get up and move, which they do without really getting up, probably afraid of losing their seat to one of the impatient-looking men waiting nearby, ready to jump into an open spot in the middle of the queue. Madness. I was part of it for nearly two hours.

Afterwards everything went smoothly. They took a photo of me (completely unaware that the photo was being taken) and told me to come back the following week. We came back, impatient-looking, and jumped into an open spot in the front of the queue, catching the unsuspecting queue leader off guard. We got my passport back in no time.

Good news is, I'm going home! And no power cut (still a daily phenomenon) or water cut or CEDOC employee can ruin that for me.

The picture I posted with this entry is something I found on the internet when I tried to google sortie. It's by a person called Niki de Saint Phalle and when I saw it I instantly thought of Gabon and CEDOC.

CEDOC 2: THE SEQUEL

Remember CEDOC? The famous place I wrote about in connection with my carte de séjour? Well, here comes part two of the CEDOC odyssey, entitled Visa de Sortie.

You are probably not aware that getting out of Gabon is as difficult as getting into Gabon. You would think that once in the country, with your stay legal and all, you can start breathing normally and enjoy yourself. Well, you couldn't be more wrong: you cannot leave the country without an exit visa: you will be stopped at the airport and not allowed to board the plane. Since Christmas is approaching, we started going about the whole visa business last Saturday.

There are two types of visa de sortie:
1) one entry - allows you to leave the country once and come back, it's quite simple to get and costs 70 000 CFA (105 euros) and only two visits to CEDOC.
2) multiple entries - it costs 120 000 CFA (180 euros) but is valid for six month, during which you can leave and come back whenever you want.

Now, we could of course settle for the first type and have it done soon enough but the problem is we want a multiple entry visa. In case I need to leave quickly (emergency? health problem?), I want to be sure there is no paperwork impeding it. We thus went to CEDOC on Saturday morning, equipped with:
- a corresponding form
- copy of my and Jandro's passport
- copy of my and Jandro's carte de séjour
- a sort of a covering letter
- a letter of recommendation from Jandro's boss.

The clark looked incredibly normal. A nice guy, I thought. Indeed, he was very nice. Please go to the till and pay. We went. We queued. We were informed by a bearded female cashier that we didn't tick a box on our form and had to get back to the guy who'd sent us to pay. We got back. The man was still very nice and very nicely waited for us to tick the box. We ticked. Please sit down, he said. Suddenly, his face underwent a sharp transformation: he was no longer a nice guy, he was a Gabonese CEDOC employee.

- Very well, madame. Where do you work?
- I don't.
- Very well. Madame, if you don't work, why do you need this kind of visa?
- To go to my country.
- But this kind of visa, madame, - he said smiling ironically, - is reserved to people who work. Who do important things, like your husband. That is you, sir, I presume?
- Yes, it is me.
- This kind of visa facilitates professional circulation. You are not entitled to it.

We tried to explain that we have a recommendation from An Important Person but he insisted that it was impossible. Obviously, he was waiting for a bribe. We didn't offer it.

- What is your name, please? - Jandro asked.
- No, no, that is unnecessary. In the end I do not decide this. Cross your fingers. Maybe yes, maybe no. Don't be too optimistic. Come back on Wednesday.

We went there today and found out that I was not granted the visa. Of course, we can always get the simple one but I don't fancy the idea of not being able to leave the country on a whim. So we'll try another option of getting the six-month visa, let's see if it works. Cross your fingers. Maybe yes, maybe no.

Sometimes I love Gabon and I feel grateful to be here. Sometimes, however, it seems absolutely ridiculous. And sometimes it makes me sick. Today is one of those days.

CARTE DE SEJOUR

Taaadaaaa! Pretty cool, huh? We went to the office and we got it, just like that! I'm official and nobody will deport me unless I go really bad. Big success, yes sir!

Oh, and just so you know - if I can't prove I'm a teacher or whatever, I have no profession. Obviously.

CEDOC 2 : KASIA+JANDRO 1

After all the elections mess when we had to stay home practically the whole time, we finally managed to make another trip to the glamorous CEDOC offices. It was about time, too - my visa expires on Sunday, September 13. This time we were smarter: we had called the boss' secretary or the boss' secretary's secretary... we had called a secretary and made an appointment with the General (they use military ranks out there, even though they're not soldiers).

The first obstacle (beyond which we did not manage to get last time) was the big gate and the two soldiers guarding it. We informed them of our appointment and they let us pass. The gentleman in front of us was not as lucky - they didn't let him in because he was wearing sandals and thus was not dignified enough to enter the building. Jandro was wearing nice shoes and a jacket, looking dignified as hell.

We waited in front of the Carte de Sejour building for about 30 minutes until it opened at 8:15 or so. Inside it looks a bit like a post office, which was a bit of a disappointment, I think I was expecting at least a Ministry of Magic kind of aesthetics. There were various employees stationed at their respective counters of which there are four types: Verification, Signing (don't ask because I don't know), Photo and Collecting, plus a cash register where you are supposed to leave huge amounts of money. All this guarded by angry-looking employees who are the very opposite of helpful and a policeman who chose the lucky ones to come inside.

We were interviewed by the General (or was it Captain?), who took all of our papers and frowned upon the fact that we're not married (according to the law it's impossible for me to get a carte de sejour: we're not married and I have no official work contract). But with a wee bit of goodwill everything can be solved. We went through all the stages: a lady at the first stand "verified" my papers (took her a while since her main occupation was chatting to her colleague). A gentleman from Signing signed and send us to the till. We waited while the big cashier finished talking on her mobile and accepted our money (don't even ask how much). A nice gentleman took a picture of me and took my fingerprints and said we could now wait for my card by the last stand.

Impossible! In less than an hour I get my carte de sejour! People wait for months, they must resolve to bribery, they falsify papers to prove they're married and me... I get it so quickly, so painlessly! In high spirits I rush to the little window when my name (or something to that effect) is called out, I show my passport, I take the pretty little card in my hands, I smile at Jandro, tears of happiness in my eyes, we both look at the card; me - a resident of Gabon!, yes, it's my name on the card! ...or is it? KATARZAYNIA KONIECKA, it says. Hmmm.

They told us to come back in two days (tomorrow at 10 am, specifically) and pick up the card with the name corrected. Apparently, it is impossible to correct it on the spot. They wouldn't give us any confirmation that we'd paid, any receipt, nothing. What did I learn? Don't wear sandals. And don't get excited until something becomes a solid fact.

TIA. This is Africa.

CEDOC 1 : KASIA+JANDRO 0

We got up at 6 am today, put on our best clothes and left home before 7 on a mission to find the infamous CEDOC (hope I spelled it correctly), the immigration office. We found it ok (road and sidewalk full of dust dust dust and me in my pretty delicate sandals) and took our place in one of the lines. It was 7:05 am and we were under the impression that the office would open its far-from-friendly gates at 8. There were already a lot of people queuing for different things (visas, passports and so on) and we confirmed with several of them that we were in the carte de sejour line. They were all African people from outside of Gabon and we were the only whites. Ladies in beautiful gowns mixed with smelly men in old T-shirts and rubber flip-flops mixed with gentlemen in European clothes mixed with women with babies clinging on to their backs. Mixed with two completely lost white people in their fancy clothes.

A man came out of the building and Jandro went up to talk to him. All he found out was that the Carte de Sejour Department was closed today and we may as well go home, thank you very much. The other people in the queue stayed, though, and we decided to hang about a bit more. A policeman in sunglasses (which are completely useless during the grey dry season) shouted and bossed people around. Jandro tried talking to another guy. This time he was asked if he had an appointment. Obviously, we'd had no idea that such an appointment was possible, not to metion essential.

- Do you have an appointment?
- No.
- I can't help you today.
- How do I get an appointment?
- You must come early.
- I've been here since 6:30 am! (A little lie but the official didn't know, right?)
- You must come earlier. People have been here since last afternoon. If you don't have an appointment, I can't help you.
- But how do I get an appointment?
- Must come earlier.

Right. It was 8 am. We called Jandro's co-worker who might know something about the procedure and she said that yes, we needed an appointment. The European Commission CAN get an appointment (apparently, not everybody can). So we left the queue, went back to the car and bitterly laughed at our naivety. We'll try to get an appointment for tomorrow. My visa expires in three weeks.

The only good thing we got out of it was a pretty picture of the sunrise as seen from our kitchen window. Oh dear, it's so grey today... I'm going to make some tea.