stevenpiziks (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
stevenpiziks) wrote2025-07-10 09:29 pm
stevenpiziks) wrote2025-07-10 09:29 pm
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Washington DC: Thursday, Part I
My appointment at the Embassy of Latvia wasn't until late morning, giving me plenty of time to get there. Thanks to my earlier trip with my trailblazing cousin Elaine, I already knew exactly where to go and what to do, but I was still anxious. I've dealt with Eastern European bureaucracies before (see blog entries re: Adoption of Ukrainian Boys), and I know someone always throws you a stumbling block you couldn't predict, or they show you the fine print that shows you were supposed to bring a notarized copy of Form 482615a-5, or you had to prove you could tap dance. If I was turned away at the embassy for a paperwork error, I wouldn't be able to get my passport until the next time I was in Washington, and it's not a place I visit randomly.
I set out. The day was still hot, but it was cloudy, so it was bearable. I skipped breakfast on the grounds that I didn't want to have an activity in there with an unknown time variable, and anyway I wasn't really hungry.
As with Elaine on Tuesday, I arrived at the embassy about 20 minutes early, so I wandered about for a bit, admiring the other embassies. When I returned for my 10:40 appointment, I found a woman and a man already waiting at the door. They were--she was--also applying for a passport.
"My appointment was for twenty minutes ago," she said. "They're behind."
So I sat on the lip of a flower bed to wait. Eventually, another couple emerged talking animatedly in Spanish, which I found interesting. Latvian citizenship attracts refugee descendants from all over! The first couple went in, and I continued to wait and wonder what I might have overlooked. It was a nerve-wracking time. But finally, the couple emerged and left. I hit the door buzzer and told the metallic voice I was here to apply for a passport.
The lobby and the clerk were the same as Tuesday, of course, but this time it was me with the application. The clerk spoke to me in Latvian, and again I had to admit I didn't know the language. The clerk was clearly exasperated. She must spend most of her day in that particular mood.
"I never had the chance to learn it," I said, "and that saddens me."
The clerk wasn't having any of it. "You understand that we're here on Latvian soil [technically] but we can only communicate in a foreign language, not in Latvian."
I thought about telling her about the time I was in a student tour group in Germany. The group had students from Turkey, Greece, America, France, and Italy, and the only language we all had in common was German. So I, an American, conversed with my hotel room-mates, who were Turkish, in German. I thought that was pretty cool, actually, and I wanted to tell the clerk so, but I decided against. She might take it the wrong way.
I passed my forms over, and she glanced at them only briefly before turning to her computer. No sign I'd missed something. Small sigh of relief. I knew I had everything in order, but I was still glad to get the confirmation.
"What is your height in centimeters?" the clerk asked abruptly.
I was ready for this, and had looked it up yesterday. "180," I said.
Here, the clerk defrosted a little. "You prepared," she said, sounding a tiny bit impressed. I took the victory.
She took my fingerprints, had me fill out a couple of FedEx slips for delivery of said passport, snapped up $180 dollars from me, and took my picture, all from behind her glass enclosure.
"You're all set," she said, and turned back to her computer. I was dismissed.
I left like a schoolboy slinking out of the principal's office. But outside, I gave myself a personal happy moment. The last step was done! I took a selfie with the Latvian Embassy sign and went on my way.
I set out. The day was still hot, but it was cloudy, so it was bearable. I skipped breakfast on the grounds that I didn't want to have an activity in there with an unknown time variable, and anyway I wasn't really hungry.
As with Elaine on Tuesday, I arrived at the embassy about 20 minutes early, so I wandered about for a bit, admiring the other embassies. When I returned for my 10:40 appointment, I found a woman and a man already waiting at the door. They were--she was--also applying for a passport.
"My appointment was for twenty minutes ago," she said. "They're behind."
So I sat on the lip of a flower bed to wait. Eventually, another couple emerged talking animatedly in Spanish, which I found interesting. Latvian citizenship attracts refugee descendants from all over! The first couple went in, and I continued to wait and wonder what I might have overlooked. It was a nerve-wracking time. But finally, the couple emerged and left. I hit the door buzzer and told the metallic voice I was here to apply for a passport.
The lobby and the clerk were the same as Tuesday, of course, but this time it was me with the application. The clerk spoke to me in Latvian, and again I had to admit I didn't know the language. The clerk was clearly exasperated. She must spend most of her day in that particular mood.
"I never had the chance to learn it," I said, "and that saddens me."
The clerk wasn't having any of it. "You understand that we're here on Latvian soil [technically] but we can only communicate in a foreign language, not in Latvian."
I thought about telling her about the time I was in a student tour group in Germany. The group had students from Turkey, Greece, America, France, and Italy, and the only language we all had in common was German. So I, an American, conversed with my hotel room-mates, who were Turkish, in German. I thought that was pretty cool, actually, and I wanted to tell the clerk so, but I decided against. She might take it the wrong way.
I passed my forms over, and she glanced at them only briefly before turning to her computer. No sign I'd missed something. Small sigh of relief. I knew I had everything in order, but I was still glad to get the confirmation.
"What is your height in centimeters?" the clerk asked abruptly.
I was ready for this, and had looked it up yesterday. "180," I said.
Here, the clerk defrosted a little. "You prepared," she said, sounding a tiny bit impressed. I took the victory.
She took my fingerprints, had me fill out a couple of FedEx slips for delivery of said passport, snapped up $180 dollars from me, and took my picture, all from behind her glass enclosure.
"You're all set," she said, and turned back to her computer. I was dismissed.
I left like a schoolboy slinking out of the principal's office. But outside, I gave myself a personal happy moment. The last step was done! I took a selfie with the Latvian Embassy sign and went on my way.