I have been quiet this summer, and less spontaneous than I would like to be.
Having class every single day, sometimes at 9 am (and being in the only class that meets everyday) has a great deal to do with my lack of venturesomeness in Oxford. Once again, I confirm silently to myself that I travel best when I am on my own. Add other people into the scenery, and I get distracted. I forget about how I would go about exploring a city left to my own devices and go along with others' plans. In the end, I notice something missing. A sense of adventure, curiosity, the unexpected. When I hang out with others, the unexpected encounters, the haiku moments, the impromptu conversations I refer back to wistfully sometime in the future seem to be so rare.
Sure, there is time enough to hang out at the pub up the street, but if that's what we do every time we go out, I just might want to stay in, read for a while, and go to sleep early for once. And yes, when I stay in, sometimes I will end up missing out on future plans. Today, I found myself wishing that I had gone out last night so I could have known about the morning punting excursion that followed the pub outing. The wish lasts for a second or two, no more. I am well rested, the river and the little boats are there still, and they will be there until I leave this city.
The primary dilemma of my life, I thought, was deciding between familiarity and adventure. Now, I realize that this dilemma is merely a manifestation of a larger one: seeking happiness alone, independently, in many transient interactions and in moments that are beautiful because they are passing moments, OR in developing relationships with people and places that become familiar and comfortable in time. Disequilibrium or comfort?
Outside, a kid is crying. The mother yells all of a sudden: "SHUT. UP. Just shut up!" Some city soundscapes are comforting; some are pollution.
I miss swimming.
tk
Sunday, July 16, 2006
Why I didn't go to the World Cup: adventures in Bureaucracyland.
Part I.
I had a ticket to see a World Cup home game for Germany.
I didn't go.
Some people I have told think I must be crazy.
No. Just trying to sustain my patience in a long-term-relationship with bureaucracy.
In April, during the 10-day spring break I had, I flew all the way to Turkey to renew my American visa. I now have to do this once a year. Fun.
Back in the US with a valid visa, in May, I applied for and just in time received my UK visa so I could attend my graduate school program in Oxford.
Once I had that, I had to then get an EU visa so I could go to the World Cup Games with my friends and travel around in EU after the grad school program is over. I looked at the list of requirements for a visa, and I just didn't have it in me anymore to deal once again with gathering bank statements, letters from my employer and my grad school, a statement from my health insurance company...I had no joy left in me about traveling, and when that joy is gone, what's the point?
Part II.
At the passport check point in the UK, the man who looked over my paperwork asked if I knew about the whole registering at the police station thing. I didn't; it was written across my visa, apparently, but having gotten so many visas over the years, I just don't read them as literature anymore. It says: "No recourse to public funds - Work (and any changes) must be authorised. Police Registration within 7 days of Arrival." The kind man told me that I would have to go to a police station because citizens from certain countries have to, within a week, and Turkey is one of those countries. "Of course it is," I said. He smiled and asked me how long I would be staying. Six weeks. Well, he said, since you will be studying and only staying for a short time, I will leave that up to your discretion. That is all I can say. -- In other words, he meant, You won't get into trouble and no one will know if you do not register. I thanked him, and went on my way.
I thought about whether or not to register for a while; then, I decided I should do it (but after at least 9 days, just because) for the experience and to add to my many bureaucracy stories. I have also been working on a painting that is "fertilized" with documents about immigration, visas, etc. in its background, so I thought it would be nice to have a UK document to add to the painting's texture.
My friend Kim volunteered to join me for "moral support, just in case." She in fact suggested that I dress up in a cocktail dress for the occasion. I'm glad we didn't go that far. We tried to make it a fun occasion and get a story out of it.
Here's the story.
We walked in and picked a number: E85. When it was my turn, I pulled out my passport and told the kind man I apparently had to register because I am Turkish. I asked him (because people have been asking me) what the actual reason for this registration was since I am already in the system after the passport checkpoint. He said something very very vague about our countries' not having a mutual agreement. About what, I asked, but he gave me another vague answer about how the government relies on the local police to keep track of immigrants since it doesn't do a good job on a national level for one reason or another. He tells me I need to fill out a form, and I get very excited. This is exactly what I wanted. But wait, he tells me, you have to pay £34 with this form, submit a passport photo as well as a letter from the graduate school you are attending.
I can't even describe the feeling that overcomes me at that point. I think crestfallen fits pretty well. I feel stupid for trying to do the "right" thing and registering. I feel silly for thinking this could possibly be a light and fun excursion to share with a friend. I turn to Kim, who has been witnessing the entire episode, and tell her that this is the story I came for. I am angry and frustrated and trying to hold back the tears. This episode is emblematic of my experience in the past 12 or so years -- being excited about traveling, having stories to tell, and then having that excitement be crushed by nonsensical paper work, ridiculous amounts of money, and stress.
I ask the guy "so I have to pay £34 for being honest when the passport control guy pretty much suggested I not bother?" and I ask if he can pretend he never saw me; I ask what would happen if I took the form and never came back. He says there is always a chance that the station would get its shit together and realize I have yet to register, then come "knocking on [my] school's door" three weeks from now, and it would be likely that I would then be asked to leave the country. I won't know if you came back or not, he says. "I can't say any more than that," he adds, like the passport control guy.
Both men sympathize and try to do their jobs at the same time.
Kim and I walk back, and I decide not to register. Sometimes, I need to do what I think is the right thing.
Let's see what happens.
I had a ticket to see a World Cup home game for Germany.
I didn't go.
Some people I have told think I must be crazy.
No. Just trying to sustain my patience in a long-term-relationship with bureaucracy.
In April, during the 10-day spring break I had, I flew all the way to Turkey to renew my American visa. I now have to do this once a year. Fun.
Back in the US with a valid visa, in May, I applied for and just in time received my UK visa so I could attend my graduate school program in Oxford.
Once I had that, I had to then get an EU visa so I could go to the World Cup Games with my friends and travel around in EU after the grad school program is over. I looked at the list of requirements for a visa, and I just didn't have it in me anymore to deal once again with gathering bank statements, letters from my employer and my grad school, a statement from my health insurance company...I had no joy left in me about traveling, and when that joy is gone, what's the point?
Part II.
At the passport check point in the UK, the man who looked over my paperwork asked if I knew about the whole registering at the police station thing. I didn't; it was written across my visa, apparently, but having gotten so many visas over the years, I just don't read them as literature anymore. It says: "No recourse to public funds - Work (and any changes) must be authorised. Police Registration within 7 days of Arrival." The kind man told me that I would have to go to a police station because citizens from certain countries have to, within a week, and Turkey is one of those countries. "Of course it is," I said. He smiled and asked me how long I would be staying. Six weeks. Well, he said, since you will be studying and only staying for a short time, I will leave that up to your discretion. That is all I can say. -- In other words, he meant, You won't get into trouble and no one will know if you do not register. I thanked him, and went on my way.
I thought about whether or not to register for a while; then, I decided I should do it (but after at least 9 days, just because) for the experience and to add to my many bureaucracy stories. I have also been working on a painting that is "fertilized" with documents about immigration, visas, etc. in its background, so I thought it would be nice to have a UK document to add to the painting's texture.
My friend Kim volunteered to join me for "moral support, just in case." She in fact suggested that I dress up in a cocktail dress for the occasion. I'm glad we didn't go that far. We tried to make it a fun occasion and get a story out of it.
Here's the story.
We walked in and picked a number: E85. When it was my turn, I pulled out my passport and told the kind man I apparently had to register because I am Turkish. I asked him (because people have been asking me) what the actual reason for this registration was since I am already in the system after the passport checkpoint. He said something very very vague about our countries' not having a mutual agreement. About what, I asked, but he gave me another vague answer about how the government relies on the local police to keep track of immigrants since it doesn't do a good job on a national level for one reason or another. He tells me I need to fill out a form, and I get very excited. This is exactly what I wanted. But wait, he tells me, you have to pay £34 with this form, submit a passport photo as well as a letter from the graduate school you are attending.
I can't even describe the feeling that overcomes me at that point. I think crestfallen fits pretty well. I feel stupid for trying to do the "right" thing and registering. I feel silly for thinking this could possibly be a light and fun excursion to share with a friend. I turn to Kim, who has been witnessing the entire episode, and tell her that this is the story I came for. I am angry and frustrated and trying to hold back the tears. This episode is emblematic of my experience in the past 12 or so years -- being excited about traveling, having stories to tell, and then having that excitement be crushed by nonsensical paper work, ridiculous amounts of money, and stress.
I ask the guy "so I have to pay £34 for being honest when the passport control guy pretty much suggested I not bother?" and I ask if he can pretend he never saw me; I ask what would happen if I took the form and never came back. He says there is always a chance that the station would get its shit together and realize I have yet to register, then come "knocking on [my] school's door" three weeks from now, and it would be likely that I would then be asked to leave the country. I won't know if you came back or not, he says. "I can't say any more than that," he adds, like the passport control guy.
Both men sympathize and try to do their jobs at the same time.
Kim and I walk back, and I decide not to register. Sometimes, I need to do what I think is the right thing.
Let's see what happens.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)