So, about that visa. When the folks in charge if this study abroad program said I needed a visa for my trip to Spain, I thought, "No problem. 'Got my VISA right here in my wallet. Trip to Spain . . . priceless."
Well, okay. Not really. You're right. I did not say that. Not that it wouldn't have been knee-slappin' funny if I had . . . but frankly, the opportunity never presented itself.
"Why not?" you might well ask. Simple, dear reader: I never said that because NO ONE TOLD ME I NEEDED A VISA!
Okay. I'm fine. It's cool. Really. And honestly, mea culpa. I am a grown up, and I clearly should have known that I needed a visa. But I didn't. The thought never occurred to me. Not for a single second until I overheard she-who-is-in-charge instructing one of the students to get her visa. So all the rest in between doesn't really matter. Bottom line, I needed a visa.
Okay. (Deep breath) Really, how hard could that be, right? When the visa question arose, I had two months to departure. So, I set my appointment with the Spanish Consulate -- whose minions simultaneously gave me the first available appointment -- two and a half weeks from departure --, told me that a visa generally takes 8 weeks to process, and said, "You should be fine."
Breathing. I inhaled deeply, inflating my lungs; I exhaled slowly. I stretched myself tall, tall, tall, then bent at the waist and touched my toes. I stood back up. I forgot to breathe.
OH MY GOD!!! (Okay, I freaked out.) Here I was, with two round trip tickets to Spain (not cheap, just saying), my classes in the states had been given to some nice part-time faculty, my house had been loaned to a friend, my car loaned to my college senior son, and then . . . "You should be fine." What did that mean?
What if the visa doesn't come through in time? Do I stay home (and do what?)?? Do I go anyway? If I go, and the Spanish authorities let me in (my friends-without- visas assured me repeatedly that they would do so), will they let me back out? And what exactly happens to travelers without visas? Do they roam the Madrid airport like Tom Hanks? Do they spent years in Spanish immigration court? Do they go to jail? Panic, generally, accomplishes very little. Personally, in defiance of this wisdom, I tend to share my panic with as many innocent bystanders as possible (picture small foofy dog barking on the sidelines of the Boston Marathon.)
In the end, I stopped panicking and got the papers together. Unbelievable paperwork. We already had passports, of course. To get passports, we had to submit our birth certificates. Now, to get a visa for AJ, I not only had to resubmit the birth certificate, but I had to get it translated by a certified Spanish translator and get an Apostille of the Hague attached. (Apostille of the Hague: Fancy gold seal attached to a piece of paper that says, in English, that the attached thingy is a birth certificate. Two dollars at the Secretary of State's Index Office in Chicago.) Is your head spinning yet? Don't forget the fingerprints and background check -- seriously. Don't forget the extra cost to send the fingerprints electronically -- twice since the State Police rejected the first set. And don't forget the Apostille of the Hague for the background check. (Fancy gold seal attached to a piece of paper that says, in English, that the attached thingy is a background check) Good thing I didn't buy that new mascara; I may have saved the world economy with all the fees I paid to get these documents together in time. Did I mention three copies of everything?
Through it all, I kept thinking, "There's a lesson in here somewhere." So far, I've collected limited-use trinkets -- I know what an Apostille of the Hague is, I know a fingerprint guy in Chicago, and I have a friend in the background check department at the Illinois State Police. Maybe I will find the lesson at the consulate.
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