The Great American Ginger

I started writing this blog roughly when I visited the United States Embassy in London for the umpteenth time, to get fingerprinted for my Visa to live in the United States.

It was almost a year until that came to pass – and it seemed like an eternity.

By comparison, the three years I've spent living in America have whizzed by. It's seemed like the blink of an eye since I went from fresh-off-the-boat immigrant to finding myself eligible to take that final step and actually become an American.

Please excuse dated, cheesy photo - it's the only vaguely 'American' one I have... as of yet!

And that's what happened yesterday - I became a citizen of this great nation.

When the possibility of becoming a naturalized American came about, there was never any doubt in my mind that I'd take it.

I don't mean any disloyalty to the country of my birth (I love Britain, as long as I don't have to live there) but ever since I was a teenager I've been infected with the delirious, intangible possibilities of the American dream and surely there is no greater embrace of that dream than to become the very fabric of the 'melting pot' that the United States is woven from.

Considering what a momentous occasion my citizenship should have been, it's didn't exactly start auspiciously. Last night, New Jersey was hit with one of those curious freaks of meteorology that leave us more temperate Brits baffled – we had a night of driving rain, icy sleet and freezing temperatures. When I got up a 5am, I wasn't shoveling snow off the Lincoln – I was sliding great big sheets of ice from the bonnet.

Likewise, a 20-minute trip to Newark took an hour and a half – and when I finally got there, half the parking lots were skating rinks without attendants in attendance. At least that meant I could find parking just around the corner.

Naturalization is a far simpler process than you might think. You sit in a big waiting room – like a well-appointed DMV – and are called for your 'interview.' In it, an officer will examine your paperwork and test your English skills and knowledge of America. One of my tasks was to read aloud the sentence: "Which is the largest U.S. State?" I read that, then quickly responded: "Alaska!" Very good, my officer told me, but that wasn't actually on the test.

What was on the test was fairly straightforward:

What is the national anthem of America, who is the vice-president, etc.

I admit I fluffed one: I was asked: "Who does a senator represent?" and I answered "the state" when the correct answer was "the people of the state." I got my own back, though. When asked which war President Eisenhower had served in, the officer had to look up in her book to check that I had the correct answer (which, of course, I had.)

Then there was the waiting – about five hours in all. It wasn't that bad – I brought a book (a biography of Benjamin Franklin, no less, which I was sure would nominate me for fast-track processing) and before I knew it, we were being gathered into an auditorium for our oath ceremony.

Funnily enough, the first thing that stuck me was the fact that we were on the 15th floor of the only tower block in downtown Newark, so the view of snow-covered New Jersey was spectacular. Secondly, I noticed that cardboard cut-outs of Barack and Michelle Obama were overlooking the proceedings.

The ceremony started off with a 15-minute lecture about not laminating our certificate of naturalization, and keeping our cell-phones switched off.

Then we watched a five minute video of Barack Obama welcoming us as American citizens – and that was truly moving.

People bad mouth him all the time – myself included – but this was one moment in which I remembered why I will always consider Obama 'my' president. He was the first president I actively campaigned for, he was the first president who fulfilled any of the campaign pledges that were important to me and, finally, he was the president who welcomed me to America as a citizen (and, as he specifically noted, an equal.)

Obama and I are now considered equals. He still hasn't lent me the keys to The Beast yet, though

The pledge followed, which was awkward. There was a glorious melting pot of nationalities present and I was one of maybe three who spoke English fluently. Therefore, we went through each line of the oath painstakingly slowly:

"I hereby…"

"…declare…"

"…on oath…"

"…that I…."

"…absolutely…"

"…and…."

"…entirely…"

That wasn't as bad as the next bit – in which we were asked to sing along to a video of "God Bless the U.S.A.," performed in a classic karaoke style. Sadly nobody at the ceremony had been fed shots of tequila beforehand, so our performances were lackluster, to say the least. We all sat there murmuring like teenagers in church.

This song has been stuck in my head since then.

But for all my cynicism, it was an incredibly moving occasion to be a part of.

My only disappointment was that I somehow expected to feel different when I emerged from that room as an American citizen – but the fact that I didn't perhaps suggests I'd been American inside for far longer than the federal government had acknowledged.

But now it was official – for myself, and for the hundred or so other immigrants taking the oath with me. We were given a book at the ceremony – The Citizen's Almanac – which related how leaders from Washington to Reagan and beyond have stressed that each new immigrant and each new culture just adds to our own – and diminishes nothing from American society. It was amazing to think that I was now part of that society, along with all the others in the room.

One thing that was interesting was the demographic of my oath ceremony. Currently there's a huge backlash in America about the 'Mexican tidal wave' and the number of Hispanic immigrants coming to this country. If my ceremony was anything to go by, it turns out that we have nothing to worry about – there weren't that many Spanish people in the room.

In fact, if there was a discernible majority amongst us immigrants, it was a tie between Indians and Asians. It truly was a cultural and racial melting pot - and all the better for it.

So now here I am – an American at last. A journey I first set forth on almost a decade ago has reached it's conclusion… Or has it?

I first started dreaming of living in New York when my father gave me my first Saint novel, The Saint in New York. Since then, I've actually managed to cross the Atlantic, establish a family in this great nation and start a whole new life in America. But that was just the first chapter of this book… Now it's time for me to start thinking of what happens next.

And that, my friends, will be a whole new adventure! Hopefully, you'll follow me along for the ride.

One rule for celebs, another for us plebs...

Nothing like double standards, eh?

For us regular folk, a trip to the US Embassy to apply for a VISA is a terrifying prospect. Hours of waiting. Intimidating officers. Fingerprints. Questions. Paperwork. Having to supply every single document you've ever given your name to over the course of the last three decades.

Plus the waiting - when Tina and I got married, it took FOUR YEARS for the Embassy to process our visa and eventually let us move to America.

But none of this matters if you're famous!

No, famous people live by different rules. Take, for example, the drug-addled diva Amy Winehouse.

She recently visited to US Embassy to apply for a work permit, so she could wail her soulful lungs out at the Grammys. Things looked bleak for the pop-princess, though, since traditionally the US Embassy has taken a very dim few of immoral activities and Amy Winehouse's rampant drug abuse is almost as famous as her music.

She was arrested and convicted for possessing cannabis in Norway. Recently, the tabloids published pictures of her smoking crack-cocaine with a London prostitute. Her equally unlikeable husband is currently locked up and facing life imprisonment for witness tampering and assault. Amy herself has been banned from visiting him in jail after she was nabbed sneaking heroin to hubby in her oversized beehive hairdo.

Yet astonishing - in clear violation of their black-and-white rules on the issue - the US Embassy has decided to grant Amy a work permit and allowed her to travel to the United States. What's more, they did it all in the space of a week!

I stupidly obeyed the law AND the immigration rules - and was punished with a forty-eight month processing time for a simple marriage VISA (standard processing time, 3 to 6 months.) Clearly, I'd have been better off snorting smack and shooting-up than being a namby-pamby law-abiding baby.

This is just another example of the idiotic immigration policy currently in place in the United States. It's no wonder that there are an estimated 30 million illegal immigrants in America!

As far as the Bureau of Citizenship and Immigration is concerned, their policy is: Punish the law abiding. Reward the rule breakers. Then scratch your head and wonder what the problem is...

Well, to finish up, here's a lovely comparative shot of Amy Winehouse 'after' and 'before.'

Oh, illegal immigration...

Oh, illegal immigration!

What a nightmare this farce is. It's the elephant in the living room every American is trying to ignore during their day-to-day existence - but arguing vocally about in the presidential debates and elsewhere.

The scope of the problem is far greater than most people are aware of. Take where I live, for example. In North Brunswick, the census reports a mere 10-15% of residents as being Hispanic in origin. If that's true, every single one of them must live on my street. Although some of my Hispanic neighbours are perfectly legal, there are others who speak no English and drive rickety old cars with out-of-state licence plates - making me highly dubious of their immigration status.

Not that they do us any harm. This is why I refer to them as 'an elephant in the living room.' In pubs and at dinner parties, I'm more than happy to rant about how unfair it is - but on a day-to-day basis, I smile and nod and ignore 'them' because they just seem like normal, peaceful, everyday people trying to make it like everybody else.

And that's the problem, really.

People like me, who topple just over the 'moderate' knife-edge towards liberalism, see illegal immigrants as regular folks who want to make a better life for themselves and their families. We live in the same communities as illegal immigrants and they do us no harm, except when we can't understand them (Carlos Mencia has a skit about the immigrants working at the local fast-food place saying "Weyo to Madonnas" instead of "Welcome to MacDonalds.")

However, there's a steady shift going on regarding people's attitudes to illegal immigration. The right wing has always gnashed their teeth at the thought of immigrants exploiting America's welcome policy. Now more and more left wing people seem to be joining them.

Events like this can't help:

At a recent protest for illegal immigrant rights, the arguments the illegals used shifted focus. Instead of the old cries - demanding the right to earn a decent wage and support their families - the illegal immigrants held up signs protesting America's very existence.

White people and Europeans (and presumably African American people as well, since we Europeans were responsible for 'importing' them) were genocidal invaders and the American nation was built on land that belonged to the native Americans and Mexicans.

In Texas, New Mexico and southern California, some illegal immigrants are explicitly declaring that this is THEIR land and the Americans living on it are the REAL illegal immigrants. They call themselves the 'reconquista' - a play on the Conquistadors who travelled from Spain to conquer the Americas five hundred years ago.

As far as the Right Wing is concerned, these protesters are no longer illegal immigrants, but an unofficial invading army.

With thanks to Jenn of Take A Stand Against Liberals. I shamelessly stole these photographs from her website while she was distracted by the oncoming California wildfires.

Let the Dumb Stay - Kick the Smart Out!

Oh, American Immigration.

With a potential 12 million illegal immigrants - almost all unqualified manual workers and their families - about to get their chance at legitimate citizenship, the good people at the BCIS (Bureau for Cackhanded Immigration Silliness) have decided that this imbalance needs to be addressed. That's why they're cracking down on the 1 million highly qualified, highly capable 'brainiacs' trying to get their crack at the American dream.

It's all outlined here, in this yahoo article.

WASHINGTON (AFP) - The huge backlog in US immigration visas is leading to a "reverse brain-drain" that will force skilled workers to return to their home country, a report released Wednesday concludes.

That's right. Somebody at the BCIS (Bastion of Completely Incompetent Staff) has noticed that 31 percent of all new tech start ups in America (the ones that raise money, pay taxes and push the American economy forward) are started up at least in part by legitimate immigrants - and dammit, they're going to put a stop to it.

Why have successful businesses boost the economy and generate income for working Americans when we can instead lose tax revenue and put blue collar workers out of business by farming our work out to illegal immigrants?

It makes PERFECT SENSE!

At least it does to the BCIS (Bundled of Criminally Insane pSychopaths) who seem unable to understand that legitimate immigrants (the ones who fill in forms and shovel thousands of dollars into the BCIS) are the ones who pay their taxes and abide by the US laws.

It's madness, plain and simple. Ever since George Bush bundled together his 'Homeland Security' package to replace the relatively efficient INS (Immigration and Naturalisation Service) the immigration situation in America has gone steadily downhill.

I'll reiterate my experiences for the millionth time. I paid my fees. I filled in my paperwork. I did everything by the book - and we got screwed out of three years of our lives.

Crossing the Rio Grande seems like a smarter option.

Until something is done to reverse this crazy situation, money will be channeled OUT of America by illegal immigrants instead of channeled INTO America by the legitimate, hard working ones.

Immigration Games

Passing through the U.S. Immigrations has officially lost it's novelty value for me by now. Yesterday, when Tina and I arrived at Newark International, I was swiftly marched off to their intimidating waiting area while Tina was left to struggle with six 75lb suitcases.

Fortunately, she found some helpful men to assist her. I wasn't so lucky.

After sitting around for half an hour, a gruff Immigrations Officer examined my passport. He looked me in the eye and said: "You're lucky to be here, what with working illegally and all."

I blinked. "I'm sorry?"

"You were working illegally in America. By rights you should be banned from the country."

My face blanched. "No, I wasn't."

There was an interminable pause.

"No," the officer eventually admitted. "You weren't." He silently handed me back my passport.

Slightly numb, I walked off out of the immigrations office.

It was a game, of course. They accuse their victims of something and maybe one in a hundred - somebody actually guilty of some violation - will admit to it thinking the BCIS has discovered their secret.

I've been on the Immigration merry go round for about five years now and until this point, I'd never thought anything truly negative about the department. The officers were gruff and humourless - I could understand that. This was just a little sinister.

But thirty minutes after I'd arrived, Tina and I rendezvoused at the carousel and emerged into an overcast American afternoon - residents, no longer guests, in the United States of America.

Stuck in a moment you can't get out of.

Marriage is said to be an enormous adventure.

When Tina and I got married, we had no idea just how much of an adventure it would actually turn out to be. Marrying somebody from another country is a starkly different experience to marrying somebody 'domestic.'

It's almost as if life conspires against you each step of the way.

When Tina and I got married, we figured it would be six months before we could both settle into married life in America. Now, more than three years later, we're still no closer to 'beginning' our married life than we were back then.

It's always six months away, like a carrot on a stick.

The problem for international couples is that neither of your 'home' countries really wants you. They force you through hoops to get that little stamp in your passport giving you permission to stay. And once they've given you that stamp - they never want you to leave.

That's the problem facing Tina and I at the moment.

Finally, I have my green card. But like most green products, it's got an expiry date. The clock is ticking and if I'm not resident in America within twelve months, I'm declared to have "abandoned my residency" and my green card gets revoked.

.

Tina, on the other hand, has lived with me in England for three years now. In October of this year, she will receive her British citizenship. She'll be a subject of her Majesty the Queen (one American repatriated, 259,999,999 to go.)

If she leaves before then, the previous three years are disregarded and she'll have to reapply for a visa if we ever decide to live in England again - and we won't be able to live anywhere else in Europe (which would be a more cheerful scenario.)

.

It's a real Catch 22 situation. Stay here and abandon America. Go to America and abandon Europe. And since both of our residencies are reliant on us living together, we can't even separate briefly.

Tina and I are both fairly free spirited people. To have our wings clipped like this is very frustrating. Only when she has a British passport (and can live anywhere in the European Union) and I have a US Passport (and can live anywhere in America) will we both be as free as we want to be.

I'd just love for it all to be sorted. I'd like to buy a house, like one of those beautiful wooden ones I saw when Tina and I visited her family in New Jersey.

Buy a house. Buy a dog. Put together plans that don't have a six month opt out clause. Actually start settling into life, instead of sitting interminably in life's starting box, waiting for the crack of the pistol.

Save money on YOUR American Immigration

Tina and I have spent thousands of dollars and three years of our life trying to get permission to live and work in the United States.

We did it the legal way. The right way.

I know that 11 million illegal immigrants in America haven't done it that way, but I wanted to be different. My reasons where two-fold. First off, I respected the American system and wanted to be part of it. Secondly, living as an undocumented alien in America would have prevented me with certain obstacles.

Foremost of these was a back account. Unless you have a valid social security number, you aren't allowed to have a bank account in America. That means, if you get paid by cheque, you lose 10% of your income to the sharks who 'process' cheques for you at those handy cheque cashing places.

Not having a bank account is one of the biggest obstacles an illegal immigrant faces.

Until now.

Because the Bank of America has announced that they will allow customers without social security numbers to have bank accounts, provided they have an overdraft free bank account for three months.

An ATM card, overdraft, cheque cashing, loans. Everything an illegal immigrant needs.

It's just another step America is taking towards granting asylum to 11 million people who came to America illegally. People who drive without insurance or licences. People who live without medical insurance and cost the US Taxpayer millions in free medical treatment. People who have shown time and time again that they hold the criminal laws of America in as much contempt as the immigration laws.

I can see why the Bank of America wants to do it, of course. Illegal immigrants generate billions of dollars in illegal revenue each month. Finally, there's a bank who gets a peice of that action.

But I find it a terrible insult. They shouldn't be allowed to do this. Why the hell did Tina and I go through thousands of dollars and months of impatience to get a green card if America's basically giving US residency away for free?

There was a time when I could have made the choice to become a real illegal immigrant. And I didn't. Instead Tina and I decided to do the right thing - and we got royally screwed by it. The US Immigrations department lost our paperwork. Our lawyer showed almost criminal incompetance. We had to put our life on hold for three years for a stupid bit of paper while 11 million illegal immigrants waltz over the Rio Grande and get all the goodies IMMEDIATELY and FREE.

I'll tell you this - with life getting cosier and cosier for illegal immigrants in the USA, is it any wonder that more and more of them come to the USA every single year?

Things aren't as cushy for them as it is for illegals in the UK (free house, nice benefits) but I'll tell you what. The weather's a damn site nicer over there.

America, please. You have Immigration Laws already in place. Either enforce them, or give Tina and I our damn money back.

Back in Blighty

Oh, how depressing.

It was pouring with rain when our plane touched down in Manchester and, seriously, there are nicer places to be than Manchester when it's raining.

It took us seven hours to get home from the airport, including a lovely stretch on Virgin trains. Richard Branson - if you're reading this - please invest in some SEATING on those trains. Pack us in like sardines it you must. Charge us £40* each if you feel you have to. But can we at least get a seat?

But, most depressing of all was the realisation that we were home.

Going back to America was like meeting up with an old girlfriend. Absence doesn't always make the heart grow fonder. Sometimes it just makes the heart harden up and these last few months I've been worried about returning. There's much more anti-American feeling in Europe than I'd realised. Not helped by that burk George and his continued buggering-about. Maybe some of it had rubbed off.

But I was wrong.

T and I dragged ourselves off CO21 at Newark airport and spent precisely five minutes in the Immigration Department (that's a personal best.) Then, we trudged out onto the sidewalk and it hit me. Just like meeting up with an old girlfriend and realising that all those doubts and worries were unfounded. That chemistry and excitement is still there. It hits you like a freight train.

What was it? It's hard to put my finger on the exact reason. A huge part of it, though, has to be the people. American people are just great. I spent a week with a family I'd only met a couple of times before and slipped into place without even noticing. In England, I've sometimes found social interaction a bit difficult. There are awkward silences and inane conversations about the bloody weather. But American people talk. They love to talk.

I just feel more confident and happier around American people, which is weird. It's like their lack of inhibitions and confidence rubs off on me. Also, New Jersey was beautiful.

They make fun of the place all the time because of the huge petrochemical industry that's based there. But once you get out of downtown Jersey City and away from the industrial part, the Garden State really lives up to her name. We arrived at the best time of year, when the 'fall' was coming and the leaves were turning the most beautiful colour.

As Albert Camus once said, Autumn is a second spring, when every leaf becomes a flower.

My week spent in America was fantastic. The only bad part was when I realised it was nearly over and it would be months before I'd be back.

* Obviously that's not the price per person for a ticket from Manchester to Winchester. Ha! I wish. No, sadly that's just the price from Birmingham to Winchester. The entire trip by rail would have cost us approximately £796.56 per person and taken about three and a half weeks with a stop over in Bratislava.

Back in America

I'm having a simply incredible time in America. We ended up in Somerville, not Flemington, where were staying with Tina's brother Ron. His house is incredible. This part of New Jersey is very rural, with about half a mile to the nearest neighbour. There are beautiful old wooden farm buildings and, being so close to Halloween, the pumpkins and jack-o-lanterns are out in full.

Ron's house is a beautiful bungalow (with a basement that's as big as the entire top floor) set overlooking a little creek. It's lovely.

I was amazed how much I loved being back. From the moment we arrived, I had my face pressed against the window of the car, staring with glee at the sights rolling past. New Jersey is very far removed from Long Island. There are the beautiful old houses I mentioned, but also miles and miles of trees and forest. And Americans are just as lovely as I remember them. Huge smiles wherever we go.

I think T's a little worried about how much I obviously like it here. But, seriously, it's a different world from Winchester. I think she's still reeling at being back home.

Here are some pictures from Ron's house. Isn't it cool?

Flemington, New Jersey. Population 4,047 +2

Well, tomorrow Tina and I make a momentous journey. After more than three years, I'm heading back to America!

Flemington, NJ to be exact, where we'll be staying with Tina's family for a week. It's a great chance for Tina to see her family (and pussycat) again and I can get my Entry Visa stamped.

Hopefully a few days stateside will be lots of fun. I'll try and post pictures when I can! See you in America!

Between a rock and... Well, another rock...

Irony.

To all those people who've ever claimed that American's don't understand it, I'd like to direct them towards the Department of Homeland Security.

You see, T and I have been waiting for almost three years for our permission to go back. For an awfully long time, we'd put our lives on hold thinking that it was just around the corner. For the first year of our marriage, she lived in New York and I lived in France because we seriously believed it would only be a few months before it got processed.

Eventually, after I'd worked my last summer in Paris, reality took hold. It'd been six months since we'd been promised our visa would be processed (within six months.) Both of us were fed up with the way things were going, so we decided to be together. Hence, we arrived in Winchester and life came banging on our door.

From day one, we thought everything would be short term. We told our landlord we'd probably only be there six months. I stressed about telling WinFM I was looking for a career when I'd originally envisioned just a few months flogging spots. Tina started off at the Hampshire Chronicle thinking that we'd be back in America before we had time to settle in.

But life didn't work like that. The Immigration Authorities lost our visa. They found it again. They sent it to Missouri. Then they sent it to Paris.

After a short while, T and I just got to the stage where we thought it would never happen. And, without thinking about it, our lives began.

Now, two years later, we're both stressing about leaving.

I've just started work at Gcap Ideas. I'm the creative writer for Hampshire. I write radio commercials that go out on the airwaves to over a million people. Apart from periods during my association with Summer Study, I've never felt as content and excited about a job as I do at the moment - and I've only been there for a month.

Tina writes columns in the Hampshire Chronicle. She's also the Head Receptionist, which means she's pretty much the face of Winchester's newspaper. In the last two years, she's enjoyed opportunities she'd never have had in the states.

All in all, life is good and to a huge extent, I've found the contentment I was looking for.

And now, just as all is settled, we get a letter from the United States saying we can go back to America.

Now that's great. Even if we stayed in England, we wanted to go back for Thanksgivings and Birthdays. To see Tina's family. And now we can.

Except, like so much in life, it's not that simple.

You see, now the United States has decided that Tina and I can go back to America, there are certain... Stipulations.

We have to return to America within the next six months. And when we do go back, I get stopped at the border, 'processed' and given instructions to remain until I get my Permanent Residence Card - my Green Card.

That could take six months.

When I've got that little card, I can come and go as I want for the rest of my life. But until then, I'm exiled (or imprisoned) in the United States.

It's a situation Tina and I can't quite get our heads around.

We love America. We want to go back. It's certainly where I see us making a life for ourselves... But we hadn't quite seen us making it this soon.

I wanted another year in Creative, so I can go back to America and get a job doing what it is I love. Tina wanted another year with NewsQuest and then she can go back to America and have access to job's aplenty with the Gannet Group.

It's just so ironic. We'd waited so long for this stupid stamp in my passport and now we've got it, we're scared of going back.

I know it may sound ridiculous. Like; "what are we complaining about?"

But here it is. We're both upset because it seems like the US Government had expected us both to put our lives on hold - totally- for three years while their pen pushers and desk jockeys got their act together. If we'd done what they'd expected us to do, Tina would still be waiting tables and I'd still be writing dirty stories for Hustler. But the fact is, we've grown and evolved and we're both different people from who we were when this process started.

I look at that VISA in my passport and see somebody completely alien to me. Somebody I was three years ago.

Roland Hulme: Permanent Resident

This morning, a postman knocked on our door and handed me a package, containing my passport and US Visa, granting me unconditional permanent Residency of the United States.

Tina and I ran about for five minutes in a daze, wondering where to hide it. For the last five years, I've always carried my passport with me (in case I've needed to hop onto the Eurostar for a quick one at Harry's.) But now my passport is the most valuable thing we own, so we hid it.

We also noticed Tina had left the lid off the hamster cage, so the little fella has gone walkabouts.

It's just an amazing experience, to finally 'have it.' A little page in my passport that finally, after thirty three months, means that Tina and I can return to America.

We were fairly sure we'd got it on Wednesday, after our Visa interview, but didn't want to tempt fate by blogging about it before hand. But here it is.

Anyway. As I'm sure you'll be FASCINATED to know what the process is, let me tell you.

On Wednesday morning, Tina and I got up at 05h00 and drove to the station, where two return tickets to London set us back £94.50. After taking a few deep breathes, we took the train up to London and the subway to Bond Street, where we collected my medical results (and I'm in storming health, by the way. Doctor did point out originally that my liver wasn't too good, but that's entirely cured after a brief period of abstinence.)

Next, we set off towards Grovesner Square. I told Tina it was only a block or two away from the doctor's. Tina didn't believe me, so she asked a "policeman" (actually a traffic warden) where the embassy was. He said it was miles away. That inspired Tina to hail a cab and we then proceeded to pay five quid to be ferried precisely fifteen feet to the corner of Brook Street.

Next, we waited in line for about an hour to be let in by the enormous Embassy dude.

Embassy dude is famous. A rotund fella with a ZZ Top beard and mirrored shades, he is mentioned in just about any Expat or VISA forum on the internet. He was quite flattered when Tina told him (again, proving that Tina can endear herself to just about any human being by one flash of her smile...)

We got searched and let into the embassy. Then, like at the cheese counter of Sainsburys, we were handed a number (011) and told to wait.

And wait.

And wait.

About two hours later, we got called to one of the windows (exactly like at the post office) and a lovely Jamaican girl went through our paperwork with us. Fortunately, Tina's incredible, hamster like storage/filing ability meant that she had easy access to every piece of paper we have ever been handed in the last three and a half years.

"Police certificate?" Here we go.

"Birth certificate?" Here it is.

"Medical forms?" There we are.

"Receipt for bottle of coke you bought at Charles de Gaulle airport in October 2003?" Here we go.

The only thing we were missing was some form of proof that Natalie (Tina's sister) was an American citizen. We, beingnaivee, had assumed that the fact she was Tina's sister might have suggested she was an American citizen. Basic genetics aren't good enough for the federal government, though, so they entered her name into a computer.

Bang. Up came copies of her passport, driving licence and birth certificate.

Which was great for us, since it meant we had all the paperwork we needed. It was slightly scary, though, because it suggests that there is NOTHING the United States Government doesn't know about it's citizens.

Anyway. After that, we were asked a couple of questions by a tough looking chap who seemed to take a shine to Tina and obviously thought I was a bit of a schmuck, but he handed us the 'pink sheet' with the comment: "Your file, which looked like it was going to be horrifically complicated, actually turned out to be quite straightforward."

So there we go. Three and a half hours later, we were stepping out of the Embassy security area into Upper Brook Street with a look of dumb exhaustion on our faces.

After three years, it was over. Done.

Roland Hulme is now a permanent resident of the United States of America.

Three Years of Waiting...

In less than twelve hours, Tina and I go to the US Embassy, London, and finally undergo the final stage of our VISA application. We have been waiting since November 2003 for this.

Thirty three months. The average application is processed in less than six.

We have two enormous briefcases stuffed with documents. Items to prove we've been legitimately married for almost three years. Everything from payslips to birthday cards. Tina's paranoid that they won't let us in with SO MUCH paperwork. I'm paranoid all this paperwork isn't going to be enough to get the VISA sorted.

Funny. It's been an incredible journey so far. Is this the final furlong?

What's next?

We'll let you know how it works out.

Extinction

Father popped over to Blighty a short while ago for little Serafina's christening. While he was here, he gave me a copy of a book called Extinction, by Ray Hammond.

He thought I'd be interested in it because of two brief passages, in which the hero, lawyer Michael Fairfax, returns to America from abroad.

"Mr Michael Benjamin Fairfax?"

The lawyer turned from his place in the shuffling queue to see a pale, bespectacled young man in a creased brown suit, besides whom stood an airport cop with his thumbs hooked in his gun belt.

"Yes?"

The young man flashed a badge. "U.S. Immigration. Would you please follow me, sir?"

"My bags," protested Michael, pointing towards the distant bank of carousels. People in the line were now staring at him as if he were an illegal immigrant - or a terrorist.

"We'll have them collected for you, sir," said the immigration officer. "This shouldn't take long."

There follows a long interrogation scene, regarding details of a court case Micheal is preparing, which the U.S. Authorities have a vested interest in. It continues:

His interview with the government agents at Sacramento Airport had lasted almost three hours. Then he had been escorted back through Immigration to the baggage hall only to discover that, while he had been detained, U.S. Customs had ripped open and searched through every one of his bags. They had then left his clothes and toilet articles in a heap for him to repack. They had also managed to crack the glass in the silver frame containing a photograph of Lucy, Matthew and Ben.

Dad had thought it interesting because my experiences with U.S. Customs had been quite similiar - even down to the glass in a framed picture of Tina being smashed.

Those interesting details aside, Extinction is a fascinating and brilliantly written book which is growing ever more topical. It concerns a near future in which corporations can control the Earth's weather, via enormous mirrors in space which can redirect the Sun's light. But what long term effects will controlling the weather have?

With most of the world (myself included) still ignoring the very real evidence of global warming, this book suggests that the inevitable consequences of our cavelier attitude towards the environment might arrive sooner than we thought.

How well do you know your other half?

Questions asked during the US Visa Immigration Process...

1. Name and Date of Birth of Spouse.
2. When and where did you meet your spouse?
3. Describe this 1st meeting.
4. Did you make arrangements to meet again?
5. Did you exchange phone numbers?
6. When did you meet next?
7. Where were you living at the time? Where was your spouse living?
8. When did you decide to get married? Where were you at the time?
9. Did you live together before marriage?
10. When and where did you get married? How did you and your spouse get to the church, courthouse, etc.?
11. Who were the witnesses to the ceremony?
12. Did you exchange wedding rings?
13. Where had you purchased these rings? Did you and your spouse purchase them together?
14. Did you have a reception after the ceremony?
15. Where was it held?
16. Do you have any photos of the ceremony and /or reception?
17. Describe the reception.
18. Did any of your, and your spouse’s, family members attend? If so, who?
19. Did you go on a honeymoon? If so, when and where?
20. If you did not have a reception, what did you do after the wedding ceremony?
21. Where did you live after the wedding?
22. Describe the place where you lived right after the marriage. Number of bedrooms and bathrooms; furnishings; color of walls, floor coverings, appliances, etc; type of air conditioning, heating, etc; # of telephones, televisions, etc. Do you have cable television?
23. Where did you get the furniture? Was it already there, did you buy it, was it a gift, or did it come from your, or your spouse’s, previous residence?
24. If brought to the house or apartment, describe how it was transported.
25. Describe your bedroom. Where do you keep your clothes? Where does your spouse keep his or her clothes? Where are the bathroom towels kept? Where do you keep the dirty clothes?
26. Where is the garbage kept in the kitchen?
27. On what day of the week is the garbage picked up?
28. Where do you shop for groceries? Do you go together with your spouse? How do you get there?
29. Where do you work? What days of the week do you work?
30. What hours do you work? What is your salary?
31. What is your telephone # at work?
32. When was the last vacation you had from work?
33. Did you and your spouse go anywhere together at that time?
34. When was the last vacation you and your spouse took together?
35. Where did you go? How did you get there? Describe it.
36. Where does your spouse work? What days of the week? What hours? What is the salary, if you know?
37. What is your spouse’s telephone # at work?
38. When was the last time your spouse got a vacation from work?
39. Do you or your wife have any scars or tattoos? If so, where on the body?
40. Do you know your spouse’s family members? If so, which ones? If your spouse has children from a previous marriage, their names, ages, where they live, and where they go to school, if applicable.
41. Where do you live now? (If different from where you lived right after the marriage, then go over the same questions as above). How much is the rent? When is it paid? How do you pay it?
42. Do you have a bank account together? Where? What kind of account? (Checking, savings).
    Are both of you listed on the account? (Do you have a bank letter, cancelled checks, etc.?)
43. Did you file a joint tax return this year? Do you have a copy with you?
44. Do you own any property together? What property? Did you bring copies of the documents with you?
45. What kind of automobile do you and your spouse have? Describe them.
46. Do you have an insurance policy listing your spouse as the beneficiary? If so, do you have a copy?
47. Have you taken any trips or vacations together? Do you have photos from these trips?
48. Do you have any utility bills, or receipts from items you have purchased together?
49. What other documentation do you have to show that you are living together as husband and wife?
50. Do you have any pets? What kind, what are their names, and describe them?
51. What did you do for Christmas, New Year’s, your anniversary, or you or your spouse’s last birthday? Did you exchange gifts? If so, what kind of gift?
52. Did you or your spouse go to work yesterday? If so, at what time did you and/or your spouse leave the house and return?
53. Who cooks the meals at the house?
54. What is your spouse’s favorite food? What is your favorite food?
55. Does your spouse drink coffee? If so, does he or she use cream and/or sugar?
56. Did you eat dinner together last night? Did anyone else have dinner with you? What did you have?
57. What time was dinner served? Who cooked it?
58. Did you watch TV after dinner? What shows did you watch?
59. At what time did you go to bed? Who went to bed first?
60. Did you have the air conditioning or heater on?
61. Who woke up first this morning? Did an alarm clock go off?
62. Did you or your spouse take a shower?
63. Did you come to the interview together? Who drove?
64. Did you have breakfast? Where and what did you eat?
    

Roly the Human Pin Cushion

Today I had my medical for my U.S. Visa.

I can't claim it was a painless experience, but it wasn't unpleasant.

Heading up to London, I strolled through Oxford Circus and made my way to the medical centre. The only medical centre in London authorised by the U.S. Embassy to conduct these medicals. Which they charge £160 a time for.

Whoever landed that contract deserves a bloody medal.

Anyway. I was injected with vaccines for Tetnus and MMR, which was bloody painful and has given me a sore right arm, then marched in to see a charming German doctor who poked and prodded me in the sort of ways nobody's done before. At least not without buying me a drink first.

I did get a clean bill of health from him, though. No high blood pressure. No dodgy lung patterns. We're pretty sure the HIV and Syphillis tests will come back clear *(I get them on Monday, so watch this space.)

Then I had an x-ray of my chest and I was free to go.

I'm feeling a bit fluey and achey after the MMR jab (which is normal) and hopefully the test results will be satisfactory to the US Government. I'm confident I don't have HIV or Syphillis, but they do test your liver enzymes for signs of mental illness (i.e. drug or alcohol abuse, according the the U.S Government) so I'm a bit worried about the fat glass of rouge I've enjoyed after work each night since... Well, since as long as I can remember, actually.

But it's over.

Everybody was charming. The doctor especially. He was German 'und schpoke vis a very strong German accent, ja?' I was a bit self concious hopping around in my undies in front of him.

My bruised arms and irradiated midriff will recover. Our bank account too, but it wasn't a cheap visit. A few posts ago, I mentioned the costs of returning to America. I seriously underestimated the cost of this medical.

Parking at Winchester Station: £6.20
Return ticket to Waterloo: £40.80
2 Underground tickets: £6.00 (six bloody quid!!!!!)
Cost of Medical: £160.00
Cost of MMR jab: £35.00
Cost of Tetnus jab: £25.00
Cost of HIV/Blood test: £25.00

Total: £298.00

No wonder I don't go to the doctor more often!

* That's meant to be sarcasm, by the way. Of course they'll come back clear.

The F.B.I. File

Remarkably, the trip to the US Embassy was painless!

Okay, the journey there was a bit of a struggle. First off, it was about 40 degrees, which was fine but not so good since I was in my 'please don't deport me again' suit, which got pretty stuffy. Then, there was the railway to deal with. Having been spoilt by the SNCF in France, the trains in England seem incredibly primitive. They're late. Consistently. When they do shuffle up to the platform, huffing and wheezing like an Austin A35, they're invariably crammed full of people. Then, once you're squeezed in between two middle management types and a tourist from Frankfurt, the train huffs and puffs it's way to London.

It took me two hours to get from Winchester to London. Seventy miles away. Compare that to the TGV's in France, which can whip you across the country from Paris to Marseilles in only three hours. That's over two hundred miles an hour! And you're guaranteed a seat!
.


Anyway. Enough of that. I got up to the US Embassy at about 09h15 and only had to wait an hour outside. I spoke to a nice chap who works for Chrysler, getting his visa stamped again. Plus, I met a sweet girl who was engaged to some bloke from the Catskills who she hadn't seen in six months. Reminded me a bit of me and Tina!

Anyway. It took an hour before a tiny woman from Malaysia took me off to the broom cupboard (I kid you not, she unlocked the cupboard with the mops and brushes and fingerprinted me there.) Then she told me how nicely I spoke (in her thick accent) and wished me luck. And I was free to go! She even took two sets of my fingerprints in case the FBI screw up the first lot, which apparently they do more often then not.

On my way out, I met up with my friend from the queue. She had her interview while I was getting fingerprinted and had her passport stamped then and there. Six months from application to visa. Perhaps, for people who haven't got quite such a colourful immigration history, the system works.

Anyway. It looks like I will have the opportunity to visit America again within the next few months. My God, I can hardly believe it!

Off to the Embassy I Go!

Off to get fingerprinted by the F.B.I.

How cool is that? They have a file on me and everything.