Next semester, I will be studying abroad in Lille, France. Among other things, the French government requires that Americans who plan to attend a French university for more than 90 days obtain a student visa. It's a long and quite arduous process, which involves an exhaustive list of documentation, often in duplicate, at least two websites, and of course, humiliating passport photos. The last step is to visit the French consulate nearest your permanent address for an in-person visa interview.
I imagine this is complicated enough for someone who doesn't live and go to school on opposite sides of the country, but in my case I fretted for a few days over whether or not I would have to go to Los Angeles for my visa appointment. Luckily, my UVa student ID qualified as proof of residency, and with that, I had ample time to mosey on up to the consulate in DC and iron things out.
Naturally, I didn't end up going until today, almost exactly a month before I leave. Oops. I had an especially stressful week, thinking I had to have an address to put on my visa application before I went for my interview (as it turns out, having an address? Totally not necessary). I've now written email after email in my terrible French, trying to secure an apartment, at first without much success, although I last night I sent my prospective landlady a tentative agreement. With that behind me, I reserved a seat on the Amtrak (at vastly inflated prices, because of course I didn't do this until the day beforehand) and got my papers in order.
This morning I woke up at 5:30 to catch the 7:09 train. I figured I would dress, put on make-up, double-check to make sure I had everything, and be out the door at 6, with enough time to enjoy a leisurely breakfast at Little John's before walking over to the station. Instead I had to answer email from France and print out both my train reservation and my acceptance letter from Sciences Po. By the time I left my dorm room, it was almost 6:40, and I was once again thanking my lucky stars that I live in Brown and can get to places on time even if I wait until the last minute. One frantic ride on the 7 later, I was at the station with about five minutes to spare. Not great, but at least everything had worked out.
In fact, initially, things were going great. The train got into DC early, the Metro I wanted arrived at the same time I did, and I didn't have to wait at all for the bus to the French Embassy. I couldn't believe my luck. I was worried I would just barely make it to my appointment on time. Instead, I was there almost an hour early. The whole process felt very official, too; at the front gate, I exchanged my driver's license for a visitor's badge, walked into a spacious foyer, and entered a crowded room where people were speaking French almost as much as English. I sat down nervously, took out my iPod, and waited.
And waited. And waited. Apparently, there was a huge problem with the computer system this morning, and everyone's interview was delayed. I arrived at 10:20. I had an appointment for 11:15. I was finally called up about 12:30. By the time I had handed over my documents and paid for my visa, it was past 1. And surprise, I still wasn't done. My friend David, who is studying in Paris right now, mentioned that he had had to bring a prepaid express envelope to his interview, but I didn't see anything about it on the website when I was triple-checking the list of required documents, so I figured they had just changed their system. Nope. They still expected me to have an envelope, though they had completely neglected to tell me about it in advance. So I had to hop back on a bus, buy an envelope at the nearest post office, and get back to the Embassy by 3. I waited for nearly 15 minutes for a bus to arrive, and after the post office had to find a store with cash back so I could pay my return bus fare. This was on top of paying for my visa and buying the express mail envelope, which, let me tell you, wasn't cheap. I was also starving and considerably stressed out, considering I had had nothing to eat since a muffin on the train at 7:30 that morning and I was on a time crunch. Nevertheless, I eventually made it back to the consulate 10 minutes before I had to be there, and finished my application without much further hassle.
Originally, back when I was planning out my day, I thought I would be done with everything by noon at the latest and still have four hours to kill in DC before my train left. I planned on strolling over to Georgetown Cupcake and then maybe checking out a museum or walking by the monuments. Instead, it was almost 3:30 by the time I left, and I knew my cupcake stop would have to be quick if I wanted to be back at Union Station on time. I had texted my brother to look up directions while I was waiting for my appointment, and luckily it was not a long walk. But I had to wait in line outside the store (!), and then promptly got on the wrong bus for my trip back to the station. The shop assistants at Georgetown Cupcake told me to take the Circulator. I got on
a Circulator, but because I have my moments of incredible stupidity, I got on the Circulator to Dupont Circle, not Union Station. At this point, it was just after 4, and I had a ticket for the 4:50 train.
If I had realized my mistake, I probably still could have gotten off at Dupont Circle and taken the Red Line back to Union Station, no harm done. But it was not until we passed a suspiciously familiar Christmas tree that I figured out with growing horror that we were back in Georgetown, and it was past 4:30. Panicking slightly, I asked the driver how much longer it would be until we got to Union Station. He did a double take, told me I was on the wrong bus, and promptly opened the doors, indicating the correct stop across the street.
By this point, I was basically hyperventilating. I'd done a fair bit of traveling on my own, but I'd never missed a form of scheduled transportation before. Never. And now my train was leaving in 20 minutes, and I was clean across the city. By 4:35, the correct Circulator had yet to appear, and in desperation I started to ask a nearby cab driver to take me to the station. He didn't take cards, however, and as I only had about eight dollars in cash, there was no way he could get me all the way across the city. Finally, at 4:40, the Union Station Circulator turned up. I leapt on, anxiously stood by the back door, and watched the cars go by. Slowly, I realized that I was on a city bus that had to get from Georgetown to Union Station in rush hour traffic, and make other stops along the way. Heart sinking, I knew I wasn't going to make my train. I found an empty seat, texted my parents, and fought back tears. 4:50 came and went, and I started to cry silently in spite of myself. Predictably, no one around me even spared me the slightest glance, even though the bus was full and it was pretty obvious I was upset. My parents called to reassure me, but mostly all I did was sob over the phone while my dad told me it was going to be all right, and he was proud of me for getting through the visa process. Eventually, I composed myself and prepared to get a ticket for the next train to Charlottesville.
The bus arrived at Union Station about half an hour after my scheduled train left. I trudged over the ticket counter and somewhat hollowly traded in my ticket and paid the difference. Then I bought some dinner and sat sadly by my gate, wanting nothing more than to be at home, curled up in bed. I read some of
North and South, which I downloaded onto my iPod's Kindle app last night on a whim, and ate my pizza, but I was exhausted. I had expected to have a slow, leisurely afternoon and return home on time feeling accomplished and content. Instead, I was miserable.
Once I got on the train, though, I started feeling slightly better. I spoke with my mother on the phone, read, did some Sudoku puzzles, and slept. I got to Charlottesville and boarded a trolley without much trouble, and now I'm in my dorm room with last night's
Parks and Rec to watch and a Georgetown Cupcake in my belly. And really, I can't say that I didn't have an eventful trip. I got done what I intended to do, at least, and my semester in France is just on the horizon. I had an experience in adulthood today, and while it wasn't in the least pleasant, it was definitely informative. Here's to better times ahead, hopefully with fewer wrong buses and many more cupcakes.
