Me, Bjorn and Top-bloke Omid, in the Turkmen tea-house ..Note: Black wallet in my hand with passports, application forms, money & photocopies of everything!!!
The madness in trying to get our Chinese visa's.
Monday comes, and Omid gives us a lift across the city to find the Chinese embassy. Looking back at it now, it was with bright optimism that we started out. While not expecting an easy time of things, I'm sure that neither of us could have guessed it would turn out as it did. It was quickly evident that if we had been left to our own devices to find the embassy, it would have taken either a month of Sunday's, or a small fortune in a taxi fares, so we already realised how much Omid was helping us. With the three of us in the car, the embassy was eventually located, but only, after numerous stops for him to ask directions. When we get there and try to gain access into the small visa office located on the outer perimeter, we find it's full of people all scrabbling to try and get the attention of a dimintive Chinese lady behind a grille. The Q occurs ...why is it that visas for this part of the world are never easy to obtain; along with ... why does it have to be such a disorderly process?
Eventually with the help of a nice young Iranian lady, we get to speak to a Mr Yu on the telephone, who goes on to tell us we need a letter from our home countries embassy, before we can be given a visa ... The paper-chase run-around had just begun! Before we can even put in an application we have to visit our respective embassies and arrange to get a letter of support. It feels like we've just been sent back to the Start without passing 'Go' and without collecting ₤20!
The morning's warm and Bjorn's short on patience and unwell besides.
He's suffering with what appears to be travellers tummy that thankfully doesn't see him bed-bound, and so is able to continue with the embassy-run. On the way back to Akhtar's place, we stop for a drink in one of the juice bars. Omid tells me that one of the orangey coloured liquids in the chiller-tank is Mango. Now I rather like the taste of Mango, but associate it with some hard work peeling and nibbling my way around the large stone inside, just to enjoy the flavour. Normally I get into something of a sticky mess of orange-coloured pulp smeared around my mouth, so for that reason mango's not the fruit of choice for me too often. I'm handed a glass, Omid pays for it; and again feel a pang of guilt. Usually I try to be one of the first in line, with my wallet out ready to pay. But Omid does it with such good grace, it feels impudent to interfere. In thanking him take the glass of fresh juice to my lips. It is absolutely delicious. Pure unadulterated pulped liquidized mango ... It's bloody gorgeous and is like tasting this fruit for the first time. It's chilled and perfumed fragrance is a taste sensation, and think to myself that I've rarely enjoyed such a mouthful of flavour. The sweetness doesn't have the slightest hint of being cloying, and so find it hard not to guzzle it all down in one go. Suddenly the hot frustrating embassy run, doesn't seem quite so bad.
Me & Omid doing our Reservoir Dogs walk ...
Home Embassy run ...
7/7/08: The first clue that there is something different about this embassy is that there is barbed-wire, strung over something-like scaffolding running the length of the front-wall of the main-road. Memories of demonstrations against the UK here in Iran during recent times, that I remember being screened on TV news-reels not so long ago. Political passions running high, whipped up by religious fervour of the Mullahs, with things being thrown at the gates and over the walls. And here I was with no visible sign of civil unrest anywhere, during my time in the country so far.
My gosh, but security's really high, with me having to go through a very thorough security screening. The moby and camera are consfiscated for the duration. 3 electronic gates had to be unlocked allowing me into the British embassy grounds. Then a pretty insignificant side-door gave me access to one of the main buildings. There then came a 30 minute wait, before seeing a non-native Brit embassy rep. I was initially relieved when I explained my requirement for a 'Letter of Support', because he seemed to understand with signs of doing the biz in fairly short-order. But then immediately after that became a let-down when he indicated there was a fee involved. And proceeded to quote a price in Rials with lots of zero's. 680, 000 IR to be exact. Ouch! After years of paying bloody tax, just when I need some help ... blah, blah, etc. etc.
More bloody embassies
Three days and three embassy run's. Across the city in crazy traffic, the thronging crowds on buses and a couple of stints in the metro. Long hot days, with interminable waiting outside, and on brief intense occassions inside embassies. The Chinese embassy is becoming something of second home to us. But of course we've got a vested interest of going to all this time and effort. Notice I didn't say money ... as the costs, the time and as much effort was bourne by my new found friend and fast becoming patron-saint, Omid. This guy went to an astounding amount of trouble on our behalf, as well paying for just about everything when we were out and about. One memorable day while waiting for the afternoon session of the Chinese embassy to re-start, he took us to one of the famed mountain resort parks for lunch. There we were treated to views of Tehran, as well as a pretty sumptuous feed in the Turkmenistan tea-house. And again when it came time to pay, made it clear he wouldn't be well pleased if we forced the issue by picking up the bill.
The madness in trying to get our Chinese visa's.
Monday comes, and Omid gives us a lift across the city to find the Chinese embassy. Looking back at it now, it was with bright optimism that we started out. While not expecting an easy time of things, I'm sure that neither of us could have guessed it would turn out as it did. It was quickly evident that if we had been left to our own devices to find the embassy, it would have taken either a month of Sunday's, or a small fortune in a taxi fares, so we already realised how much Omid was helping us. With the three of us in the car, the embassy was eventually located, but only, after numerous stops for him to ask directions. When we get there and try to gain access into the small visa office located on the outer perimeter, we find it's full of people all scrabbling to try and get the attention of a dimintive Chinese lady behind a grille. The Q occurs ...why is it that visas for this part of the world are never easy to obtain; along with ... why does it have to be such a disorderly process?
Eventually with the help of a nice young Iranian lady, we get to speak to a Mr Yu on the telephone, who goes on to tell us we need a letter from our home countries embassy, before we can be given a visa ... The paper-chase run-around had just begun! Before we can even put in an application we have to visit our respective embassies and arrange to get a letter of support. It feels like we've just been sent back to the Start without passing 'Go' and without collecting ₤20!
The morning's warm and Bjorn's short on patience and unwell besides.
He's suffering with what appears to be travellers tummy that thankfully doesn't see him bed-bound, and so is able to continue with the embassy-run. On the way back to Akhtar's place, we stop for a drink in one of the juice bars. Omid tells me that one of the orangey coloured liquids in the chiller-tank is Mango. Now I rather like the taste of Mango, but associate it with some hard work peeling and nibbling my way around the large stone inside, just to enjoy the flavour. Normally I get into something of a sticky mess of orange-coloured pulp smeared around my mouth, so for that reason mango's not the fruit of choice for me too often. I'm handed a glass, Omid pays for it; and again feel a pang of guilt. Usually I try to be one of the first in line, with my wallet out ready to pay. But Omid does it with such good grace, it feels impudent to interfere. In thanking him take the glass of fresh juice to my lips. It is absolutely delicious. Pure unadulterated pulped liquidized mango ... It's bloody gorgeous and is like tasting this fruit for the first time. It's chilled and perfumed fragrance is a taste sensation, and think to myself that I've rarely enjoyed such a mouthful of flavour. The sweetness doesn't have the slightest hint of being cloying, and so find it hard not to guzzle it all down in one go. Suddenly the hot frustrating embassy run, doesn't seem quite so bad.
Me & Omid doing our Reservoir Dogs walk ...Home Embassy run ...
7/7/08: The first clue that there is something different about this embassy is that there is barbed-wire, strung over something-like scaffolding running the length of the front-wall of the main-road. Memories of demonstrations against the UK here in Iran during recent times, that I remember being screened on TV news-reels not so long ago. Political passions running high, whipped up by religious fervour of the Mullahs, with things being thrown at the gates and over the walls. And here I was with no visible sign of civil unrest anywhere, during my time in the country so far.
My gosh, but security's really high, with me having to go through a very thorough security screening. The moby and camera are consfiscated for the duration. 3 electronic gates had to be unlocked allowing me into the British embassy grounds. Then a pretty insignificant side-door gave me access to one of the main buildings. There then came a 30 minute wait, before seeing a non-native Brit embassy rep. I was initially relieved when I explained my requirement for a 'Letter of Support', because he seemed to understand with signs of doing the biz in fairly short-order. But then immediately after that became a let-down when he indicated there was a fee involved. And proceeded to quote a price in Rials with lots of zero's. 680, 000 IR to be exact. Ouch! After years of paying bloody tax, just when I need some help ... blah, blah, etc. etc.
More bloody embassies
Three days and three embassy run's. Across the city in crazy traffic, the thronging crowds on buses and a couple of stints in the metro. Long hot days, with interminable waiting outside, and on brief intense occassions inside embassies. The Chinese embassy is becoming something of second home to us. But of course we've got a vested interest of going to all this time and effort. Notice I didn't say money ... as the costs, the time and as much effort was bourne by my new found friend and fast becoming patron-saint, Omid. This guy went to an astounding amount of trouble on our behalf, as well paying for just about everything when we were out and about. One memorable day while waiting for the afternoon session of the Chinese embassy to re-start, he took us to one of the famed mountain resort parks for lunch. There we were treated to views of Tehran, as well as a pretty sumptuous feed in the Turkmenistan tea-house. And again when it came time to pay, made it clear he wouldn't be well pleased if we forced the issue by picking up the bill.
Gert Long Kebab!
Finished ...
10/8/08: We're done with Tehran's Chinese Embassy ... After chasing around for the last few days trying to give them what they want, they still refused to grant a visa. We'd made mistakes, but the embassy (and Mr Yu) were pretty rigid. After managing to get an interview with Mr Yu the consul on one our early visits, we came within a hair's-breadth of getting our visa's right there and then. After listening to our case he agrees to grant our visa's, but a power cut prevented him printing the necessay papers right there and then. We were therefore told to go back the following day when the power was restored, when presumably they'd have done the biz'. But when Bjorn went to pick the up the passports next day, it was noticed that the Letter of Invitation (different to the Letter of Support) was against my Oz passport, and I'd applied using my Brit' passport. This wasn't the only deviation, as the LOI was addressed to the Chinese mission in Germany, not Iran. Evidently we might've got away with one of these, but the two together meant they weren't gonna play ball. We were not granted a second interview and had our passports returned along with a scribbled note, saying we should apply at the next mission on our route. “Oh, Mr Yu ... What are you?”
The 'Last stand' was made following me getting yet another letter of support. But this time from the Oz embassy, and in this was helped by a very nice young lady called Neda. But as nice as she was, I had to shell out yet another 'wedge' for this letter. But even then our 2nd attempt of getting our Chinese visas from the Chink embassy of Tehran failed at the first hurdle.
Looking like we had to start all over again, we tried to blag it through the madding crowds at the tiny grille. Against all British conventions of queuing pushed our way brutally to the front. There was sat Mr Yu himself ... well, well, well ... we optimistically speculate between ourselves, that seeing as he knows of our case, there's a some chance we can fast-track things here. But no, not a bit of it. Mr Yu slopes off (excuse the pun), leaving the girl to carry on under a barrage of abuse and papers thrust through the grille. Bullying others aside, we get some attention, but she's deaf to our pleas. Then all of a sudden the grille closes in our faces, as they bugger-off for lunch. In disbelief at the rudeness, we go outside to try the same bullying tactics to get back into the consulate buildings. More ringing on the door-bell, sees us trying to get the attention of an embassy official. Now before I go further here, will make mention of a local guy called Ryan (or was it Bryan?). Who'd been advising us in quite good english, about the procedures when applying for a chinese visa in Tehran. He'd evidently worked in parts of China before a couple of times in his capacity of IT consultant, so was familiar with both process and some of the culture. It seems he was making a lot of money in China, so not surprisingly was keen to get back over and stay there if he could. So it turns out he was trying for an extended business visa to allow him back to work and earning pots and pots of dosh. I can see his face now ... eyes staring from behind a pair of wine-bottle-bottom glasses. “They will play with you. You will see ...” He was kind of smiling and looking at me sideways out of his glasses when he said it, but the smile was ironic. Whether he was right or not, it sure seemed that way. The door closes on the chinese visa debacle, with him getting his visa refused too. I can see his face again ... wild, staring eyes. Indignant, and sending out a message of complete and total disbelief. The Chinese have found a new way to torture, that's far more effective than dripping water on the forehead ...
But they still had one surprise up their sleeve. And it was right at the end too, when I'd already pretty much come to a point of acceptance, that we were most definitely not going to get a chinese visa granted here in Tehran. Even after all that effort, the time wasted and not to mention the ...
Aha, gotcha there, as I didn't mention the money.
Doh! Yes ya did! Ava'look at the line above ... Doh! Damn it!!!
I've gotta tell ya, that I'm a great believer in persistance. And that the measure of how much you want something, is related to how much effort or resource you'll put towards getting it. Of course sometimes things fall straight into place and bingo! You've got whatever that thing is, with minimum expenditure, work or time. How pleasing. Or perhaps, this is yet another of those 'western' expectations, that come tumbling down as soon as you leave western society. You know ... that place where the 'customer is always right', and there are such things as: Service Industries. Anyway, the final surprise came when we were flat fingered from ringing the embassy bell, in another feeble attempt to persist our case. At that time we still felt justified. Surely they couldn't refuse us. We only needed enough time in their country to ride through and connect to the next country. After all, that is the proper definition of being Tourist'.
We were to find that in dealing with the Chinese, we needed to find different rules. It has been said they can have two-minds and three-hearts, which we were beginning to find made some kind of sense. But the real surprise came with one of embassy's rep's coming out to speak with us, to give us the final thumbs-down. Initially there was some surprise, simply because they actually sent someone out to see us. It was clear that they all knew of our case, which was different to the run of the mill applications that their embassy normally dealt with. They also knew we were there waiting for a further interview of some kind. And have to say even so, that I fully expected them to stay hidden, skulking behind the walls of the consulate, firm in the small print of not having to give an explanation for their decisions. Y'know, just wait till we got fed up and left. But after the initial surprise of finding we were able to speak to someone again, the root cause for even greater surprise, was because he gave us western rationale for the refusal. He explained that it came down to a simple 'jobsworth' knock-back in the end. He told us that their embassy couldn't let us have the visas, because our documents didn't match with their procedure, and that if they granted them, it could have got them in trouble with their bosses back in China. So 'face' it seems is no longer the 'be all and end all' of business with the Slope-eyed one's; the Choong's. They're learning fast. Very fast indeed. My thought's were at that time ... This is quite a good bloke actually. He's not only aplogising, but he seems truly genuine. Right to the end, the Chinese bearacrats were able to catch us out again, but instead of inscruitablity, it was with some out of character unpredictability. Damned clever people these Chinese!
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