La Saga de Visado, Parte Dos/The Visa Saga, Part Two

Continuing ...

Back to Merche, who so graciously volunteered to escort me to the Policia Nacional in Puerto Real to complete the visa paperwork so that I can finally obtain my international student ID (the national police station in Puerto Real is the designated office in this region of Spain to process student visas.  It's about a twenty minute drive from Cadiz).  For me, having a native Spaniard with me to help complete what's turned into an administrative feat of epic proportion was not only ideal but, considering my feeble language skills, totally necessary.  FINALLY, this was it -- I was about to get the required stamped documentation so that I can stay here legally for one year of studies.  Hurray!  Only, no.  That's not what happened when we arrived at the police station in Puerto Real.  Turns out I needed to have another form of documentation, una resolución (pronounced "res-oh-lu-THEE-on") from the Spanish government's Office of Foreigners, located in Cadiz. 

Fair enough.  It makes sense that because I am a foreigner taking classes at a university that is physically located in Cadiz, I should have some sort of proof the local government has knowledge of my living and studying and participating in the local economy.  So Merche and Lalia (turns out Lalia, another of my amigas from the other night, was the one who provided our transportation from the train station in Puerto Real) take me back to Cadiz so that I can get the required "resolución."  If the line at the foreigner's office isn't too long, Lalia offers to bring me back to the police station in Puerto Real so that I can finish the paperwork that day and be done with it.  So sweet of her.

But of course, the line at the Oficina de Extranjeros in Cadiz had at least two dozen people in it with only two agents working the help desk.  And so, armed with a written script in my notebook that Merche had prepared for me on the car ride over, Lalia and Merche drop me off and leave me there to fend for myself since there is no way of telling how long this part of the process will take.  I completely understand and am grateful for all they've done for me.

Standing in line listening to people chatter, I quickly realize I am probably the only extranjero who doesn't speak Spanish at least very well.  No, I am certain of it.  Sure, there are a couple of other students who are very possibly from China waiting, but I suspect most of the others are there to obtain work visas.  Before long, I also realize I am the only one who is not holding a fistful of documents that appear to be exactly what I had to turn in to the Spanish Consulate in New York back in November.  I nervously wait, seriously hoping I'm standing in the correct line and that the visa that's affixed to my passport will somehow magically explain everything to whomever ends up assisting me at the help desk.

Two hours and fifteen minutes later, it's finally my turn to be seen by the agent.

Sí, hay más ...