Bureaucracy Part II

It’s a nerve-wracking feeling to know, that if you don’t do the paperwork just right, you may be kicked out of a country.

But I’m alright now. I know you worry though, so here’s the ever-progressing story:

After my near-bust Hong Kong trip last month, where the countdown timer on my exploding passport began to tick away, I had only three months left. I proceeded to book an appointment online with the American consulate in nearby Guangzhou. Because there is no American embassy in Shenzhen, I had a choice between familiar HK, costing me one duration-of-stay stamp, or go to the new city and stay in the proper mainland People’s Republic.

Guangzhou. The third-largest city in China. For some reason it used to be called “Canton” by the old British Imperialists, though I don’t see the phonetic similarity. Or maybe that goes for the province of Guangdong, but it still doesn’t sound right. Of course, this is where “Cantonese” comes from, the English butchering of Guangdong hua. Anyways, they speak Mandarin, or rather Pudong hua, in Shenzhen. I don’t know the etymology of “Mandarin” either.

Time to explore Canton. I woke up at 6:00 AM on January 22nd hoping to make it to a 2:00 appointment in the neighboring town. Half-asleep, I took the 83 bus down to the Louhu border train station, anxious to could figure out all this travel in time. It turned out to be simple enough; the trains come every fifteen minutes and 80 kuai later I took the 45-minute above-ground railway passage. The only word I needed to know to buy the ticket: “Guangzhou.” Smoother than waiting in line in customs to get to Hong Kong.

The security guy woke me up and I found myself in a new Chinese city. East Guangzhou Station. 9:00 AM. Hours and hours to kill. Wasn’t difficult to get around. More people speak English, good English, even the cashier at McDonalds. I could get by on my Mandarin too. And a much cleaner city than Shenzhen. The taxis have rules posted on the back. Not so much litter. I guess this is an average Middle Chinese city (like Middle American), but I prefer SZ’s zaniness.

After my Egg McMuffin breakfast, I bought a tourist map and just walked about. Shopping centers are boring in the morning, until I found a big bookstore. It’s no Hong Kong here, so the best I could hope for were English-language classics for Chinese students. I bought Dickens’ A Tale of Two Cities.

For lunch I met my workmate friend, who’s back in her hometown for the Spring Festival. Went to a mall. Ate Italian food. I don’t like Chinese malls, for the same reason I don’t like American malls, and here they’re even worse. Bigger, shinier, plasticyer. Why go to a mall in China, when there are so many dirty open-air market to haggle for knock-offs in?

My workmate buddy helped me get to the American Embassy, and it turned out to be right back next to the train station. Good to know for the next time. I made sure to be there an hour early, and wandered around some more, and got lost in Ikea. Finally, I filled out the paperwork fifteen minutes before my scheduled appointment. I’d been putting it off for a week, but like a college paper due in the morning, the last-minute always seems to bring a motivation I can never find anywhen else.

The fifth floor of the office building, filled with travel agencies and currency exchanges, led me to the American Consulate. Filled with white Americans, even a few black people, and Chinese-speakers with American passports, I went through the metal detector and took a number and waited in line. After all that nervousness and they rushed through my paperwork and 2 x 2 photos like a toll road booth taking your three bucks during rush hour. They were in such a hurry they barely looked at my form. Unlike waiting in line with the Chinese bureaucrats, they could have cared less what I was doing in the country. My whole rehearsed “I’m not working, just staying with a friend . . .” line was an unnecessary memorization. The Americans just want you to pay the fees and get through to the next guy, and apparently they don’t care if I’m paying my taxes or not. Hell, I’m not sneaking into their country am I? The only rule was to turn off your cell phone.

I was directed to wait in the other line at the cashier station, where they take RMB, and then waited back in line # 35 again, and then I was told to come back in a week to get my sparkling new passport. I do get to keep the battered old one in the meantime. I’ll have to somehow make the time to return soon, possibly miss work for it after holiday ends. Well, no problems, otherwise done and done, so I thought about more time to kill.

The day was still on, and I looked at the tourist map and thought about my workmate’s suggestions, and decided to do a bit more sightseeing while somewhere new. Took a metro to the Chen Ancestry Temple, and watched some of the inauguration news on the subway TVs. My only chance to see Obama on a TV screen these days. Then it was time to absorb some traditional Chinese culture. It’s so rare to see pointy buildings in modern China, always an exciting observation. The folk museum was alright, amazing art, and English translations of ancient Cantonese history. I took pictures. Bought postcards. Then it was dark, then I took the train back, went to a shitty vegetarian restaurant, read my Gibson paperback, and nodded off on the return train ride to SZ.

Back home, there was dog drama to deal with. My neighbor couldn’t take care of my girlfriend’s dog after all, something about fighting with cats and lots of pee on the floor you see, so now I get to have a dog for a week. XiaoYu (Small Rain), a cute pup, albeit very needy, and now I am to be a responsible dog owner for a week, while Mommy is off to Changshu for the Spring Fest. Such a good boyfriend, eh? I’d like to think.

So now I wait for the last few steps in my visa-bureaucracy adventures. As noted: it’s back to Guangzhou in the coming weeks for a passport that doesn’t expire this year, and then finally to Hong Kong for that treasure-at-the-end-of-the-rainbow (or light-at-the-end-of-tunnel, just pick your clichés) . . . to my promised six-month multiple-entry visa.

I’ll actually be able to relax for the next half-year, and know assuredly that I get to stay here. And meanwhile, I’m also going to Thailand next week, because I have to leave the country once a month anyways, and it only right there. Tickets are cheap and work is off and the sirens of travel sing to me. It’s the last chance of a new stamp in a proud old passport, you do see, soon to be put to the rest, but deserving of one more foreign ink blot. Like the New Year’s killing of the Mouse and coming of the Cow, all things must end, and there comes the time to build on the new. I’ll miss the old girl, but such is this life game, and I’m ever-anxious for the new.