I don't know why, but for some reason when we moved here I knew exactly what the foreign police station in Bratislava was going to look like. It was a large, imposing stone building with a long set of steps leading up to a sturdy double-wide door.
Boy, was I wrong.
Jason submitted his application there first, as I mentioned in my other, related post. I didn't bother to ask him what it looked like because I knew.
And then I actually visited it myself.
It's in Petržalka, a section of Bratislava which has been nicknamed Bratislava's Bronx or the Concrete Jungle. I think they are both appropriate names, though due to some colorful new paint applications to the "panelaks", pre-fab Communist era buildings, the area looks a lot better than it used to. We weaved through the panelaks, trying to find a parking space. Mind you it was 7:00 or so in the morning, so most parking spaces were still occupied by all those who live in these buildings. Jason dropped me off and he followed with the boys. There was already a long line - the first person arrived around 5:00 a.m.
It doesn't open until 7:30.
The building was not as imposing as I expected. It only has one level. And there were only two steps to the cement porch (if it can be called that) in front of the building. The door is single-wide when opened. It looks like it's been there for a long time. It definitely was nothing like I had imagined.
Everyone seems to be unaware of what everyone else around them is doing, but at the same time you find yourself trying to size everyone up. There are people of all different nationalities, but most seem either Slovak or Asian. Once you've made more than one trip, which for a residence permit you invariably do, you begin to recognize the line-holders, those who hire them, and those who are nervously waiting to submit their paperwork. The line-holders arrive early and are normally first in the line. They should be - they're paid to be. Between 7:00 and 7:30 someone else switches places with them, quickly palming a pre-determined amount of cash into their hand. Often one or two people move into line with this second person and sometimes those who were further back in line now move forward to join them. You quickly recognize who these regulars are as they start greeting the other regulars and are reassuring those who are waiting with them. These are the visa agency workers who help you submit your paperwork correctly the first time - or at least that's their goal. The price of the line-holders and the visa workers doesn't come cheap. The agency we worked through charges 70 Euros an hour. That was why we only used them twice and did the follow-up trips alone.
Our visa worker came along and she and I quickly switched places with a young sandy-blonde who was one of the first in line. We decided to have the boys stay back with Jason (he had already submitted his paperwork) so those behind us in line wouldn't make a fuss and also so the boys wouldn't be in the sea of people who would soon be vying for position to get in that door. When the door opens there is definitely a surge. Not a panicked surge, but people who have been waiting two or more hours want to make sure they get in that door before those who have just arrived and are lingering near the front of the line. The police could easily eliminate this problem if they just invested in some rows of railings, but since there aren't any, it is easy for the rows to conveniently (or inconveniently if you were there early) merge. There's normally a good dose of yelling if need be - and it usually is. We got inside quickly and she grabbed all the numbers we needed from the machine with two guarding officers. You have to know exactly what you need because there are three different categories of numbers to choose from and three different sets of number screens (above corresponding doors) you need to watch. The white doors don't really seem labeled to me, but perhaps I just didn't know what I was looking for. They are to be kept closed at all times and you may not enter until your number is on the screen. After finding a seat and checking our numbers I called Jason and told him to come in with the boys. He came in with the end of the line and we waited.
The waiting room is a small, white room that quickly fills with all those who have already been waiting outdoors. There are benches along two walls. The other two walls include three doors, one of which also doubles as access to bathrooms and a coin coffee machine. There is also a small standing desk type area for filling out documents, though there are no documents there to be filled out nor any pens. You come with what you need.
Our line-holder was one of the first in line and we still had to wait our fair share of time. That is why people wait for hours outside. If you don't, you will wait even more hours inside hoping to be seen before the lunch break. And if you aren't seen before they close for the day you get to do it all over again the next day. And they are only open for these types of things three days each week. We were called and myself and the boys all went through the appropriate door. I was inwardly praying and praying and praying. It was one of the most nerve-wracking moments for me as we waited to see if she would accept everything as it was. We had put so much time, energy, prayer, money, etc. into that paperwork! There was a small hiccup when one thing had my full middle name and the other only had my initial, but they took it anyway. I was so relieved when it was officially accepted and I had that receipt in my hand! Then the boys - 1, 2, then 3. We were supposed to get our picture taken and our fingerprints done, though D was young enough that he didn't have to. As we were waiting, the person before us was turned away and they told us the machine was broken so we would have to come back another day. That was not what we wanted to hear. That had also happened to Jason when he applied, but since he was there with us they let him get his done (and it had worked). Thankfully our police officer asked her fellow officer to try it again. We did some more waiting, but eventually she called us and it worked for all three of us. It was such a relief knowing we wouldn't have to take the boys and stand inline an extra time.
It is an interesting experience observing the law enforcement in a different culture. I've often heard that in the "olden days" children were told to be seen and not heard. That was exactly how I felt there. They talked, you listened, you answered when asked, and you handed them what they asked for. All business. They weren't rude or demanding, but I definitely felt a strong sense of my place in this process. Fairly helpless.
They will only speak Slovak, so for someone who does not know the language it is imperative to have a translator. That is why the visa workers can and do charge so much. There was a man from Egypt who grabbed a girl from the waiting room to help him translate because he was trying to figure out how to get his wife and children into the country. He needed paperwork that is not listed on any of the web sites, as we had learned ourselves. Thankfully I could overhear, so I was able to explain some of it to him.
Most of them had drinks on their desk and they would take time to pour it, drink it, get up, etc. before they clicked for the next number. Nobody was rushing to get things done. If you've been in the DMV you've probably had a similar experience. The fact that their fingerprint machine was broken (again) didn't seem to have anyone in a panic. There weren't five people huddled around the computer trying to get it to work. They weren't calling tech support. If it doesn't work, it doesn't work. Come back another day. That is why we were so thankful for the officer who had the guts to ask her to keep trying. It probably had something to do with the kids and most definitely had something to do with God and Him realizing this process is not good for any part of my body, let alone my sanity.
Our two year permits were granted about a month later.
This time Jason and I headed to the station together (sans visa agency help) to pick them up at 5:30 in the morning, under a gray, drizzling sky. We once again saw the line-holders, the visa workers, and the surge of early risers and late arrivals vying to get their bodies through the door as quickly as possible to get their number.
I was so thankful to have those cards in our passports as we walked out the door four hours after our arrival. Thankful that all we had gone through in getting them was finally over and that the boys and I would no longer face the risk of needing to leave the country. Thankful that they had been processed quickly and without incident.
And most of all I was thankful we wouldn't have to go through that process again until 2014!
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