DISCLAIMER: This is a story. It is not some cutsey little blog entry nor is it a mere rendition of mundane ramblings. This is a bit of my life in print for you. It is a bit lengthy, but isn't that how our lives are?
DISCLAIMER TO THE DISCLAIMER: I did not really mean what I said about our lives being lengthy. I am quite fond of my life and realize all that about the years fly by, so please do not everyone email with your concerns for me. I liked the effect of that sentence, so it stays. enjoy :)
...well, ok, so maybe I am not officially living there, but it sure is starting to feel familiar. The Indonesian embassy in Den Haag (The Hague) that is. So here is the story in full:
Wednesday began as most other days. I happily attended the morning prayer and worship time with the rest of the base (we had prayer stations set up throughout a large room to pray for various things happening within YWAM=A leadership training school that is going to happen in the Philippines, a Nations-to-Nations celebration/outreach in Cuba, the overseeing of the peace process in South Africa among an indigenous tribe, the ministry of our base through The Tabernacle of the Nations, etc...). It was great.
I then prepared to go to the Indonesian embassy in Den Haag to deliver all the applications for the social visa we are applying for (no 'visa upon arrival' because we will be staying almost 60 days). Bas called the embassy to ask what papers we needed to bring in addition to all the papers emailed to me by our contact in Indonesia (invitation letter and a lot of other papers).
Bas gave me the list and I got everything together, hunted down all our team members who had not given me their visa picture or completed forms yet, then called the embassy to ask for directions.
Wow, those receptionists sure are ambitious there! The lady, before even asking me how she could help me, dove into asking me where I was from, how long I planned to be in Indonesia, and offered to help me find what information I needed to complete a visa request. whoa. I tried a few times to politely explain that I had all the information I needed and wanted to ask her something. Finally, I got a sentence in and told her I was actually just calling for directions. She referred me to another number. While she was doing that, I noticed that the website said the office for visa immigration closed at 1pm...it was 11:30 and would take me an hour and half train ride just to get to the city. I asked her if I would be able to come later than one o'clock for some help. She immediately said yes. I was pleasantly surprised and told her I would visit that day.
I quite enjoyed the train ride into Den Haag. I innocently tried to ride in first class--hey, I had never known where it was posted for the difference between first and second class!
Once in the city, I needed to take Tram #1 to the "Ary van der Spuyweg" stop. I quickly found where the trams departed from and hopped aboard. In the good old city of Amsterdam, you simply tell the driver the name of you stop and he/she will stamp your stippenkart (transportation ticket) for the right amount of strips. When I got on this tram, there were no little helpful attendents behind the glass booth. In fact, there was no glass booth at all. Instead, there were stippenkart stamping machines (which are also on the A'dam trams/buses but I have never had to use one). I noticed that no one who got on the tram went to use the machine. I was confused and just followed what they did=picked a seat and sat down. After a few stops, I understood that they probably had the student pass cards and/or had their strips already valid for that hour (after you stamp you can ride as much as you want for an hour). I sat not knowing what to do. Being a "zwarte rijder" ("black rider"--has nothing to do with skin color!) is a huge no-no in The Netherlands and punishable by stringent fines...
**oh, I forgot to add that I never called the other person for the directions. Instead, a Dutchie helped me find the very detailed instructions on a website. It even had the exact times the train would leave, the tram would arrive, and what time the tram would arrive at my stop! Those Netherlanders being so precise can be quite helpful sometimes...and I was just about to find out how helpful knowing those times would be***
Wednesday began as most other days. I happily attended the morning prayer and worship time with the rest of the base (we had prayer stations set up throughout a large room to pray for various things happening within YWAM=A leadership training school that is going to happen in the Philippines, a Nations-to-Nations celebration/outreach in Cuba, the overseeing of the peace process in South Africa among an indigenous tribe, the ministry of our base through The Tabernacle of the Nations, etc...). It was great.
I then prepared to go to the Indonesian embassy in Den Haag to deliver all the applications for the social visa we are applying for (no 'visa upon arrival' because we will be staying almost 60 days). Bas called the embassy to ask what papers we needed to bring in addition to all the papers emailed to me by our contact in Indonesia (invitation letter and a lot of other papers).
Bas gave me the list and I got everything together, hunted down all our team members who had not given me their visa picture or completed forms yet, then called the embassy to ask for directions.
Wow, those receptionists sure are ambitious there! The lady, before even asking me how she could help me, dove into asking me where I was from, how long I planned to be in Indonesia, and offered to help me find what information I needed to complete a visa request. whoa. I tried a few times to politely explain that I had all the information I needed and wanted to ask her something. Finally, I got a sentence in and told her I was actually just calling for directions. She referred me to another number. While she was doing that, I noticed that the website said the office for visa immigration closed at 1pm...it was 11:30 and would take me an hour and half train ride just to get to the city. I asked her if I would be able to come later than one o'clock for some help. She immediately said yes. I was pleasantly surprised and told her I would visit that day.
I quite enjoyed the train ride into Den Haag. I innocently tried to ride in first class--hey, I had never known where it was posted for the difference between first and second class!
Once in the city, I needed to take Tram #1 to the "Ary van der Spuyweg" stop. I quickly found where the trams departed from and hopped aboard. In the good old city of Amsterdam, you simply tell the driver the name of you stop and he/she will stamp your stippenkart (transportation ticket) for the right amount of strips. When I got on this tram, there were no little helpful attendents behind the glass booth. In fact, there was no glass booth at all. Instead, there were stippenkart stamping machines (which are also on the A'dam trams/buses but I have never had to use one). I noticed that no one who got on the tram went to use the machine. I was confused and just followed what they did=picked a seat and sat down. After a few stops, I understood that they probably had the student pass cards and/or had their strips already valid for that hour (after you stamp you can ride as much as you want for an hour). I sat not knowing what to do. Being a "zwarte rijder" ("black rider"--has nothing to do with skin color!) is a huge no-no in The Netherlands and punishable by stringent fines...
**oh, I forgot to add that I never called the other person for the directions. Instead, a Dutchie helped me find the very detailed instructions on a website. It even had the exact times the train would leave, the tram would arrive, and what time the tram would arrive at my stop! Those Netherlanders being so precise can be quite helpful sometimes...and I was just about to find out how helpful knowing those times would be***
After riding the tram for awhile, I began checking my cell phone (yup, I got one. I was actually given it by a friend who left a couple weeks ago. It even had some credit left on it. This was the first time I had used it) to make sure I would be paying extra attention for the stop.
I was not hearing the name of my stop and finally asked a girl behind me if she knew where it was. "Oh, you need to be going the other way. That stop is by the beach." oops.
I immediately got off at the next stop. After I got off, I realized I had never gotten my card stamped. I was a zwarte rijder! oooh, rebel me!
After taking the tram the right way and finding the stop w/o difficulties I needed to tackle my next challenge=finding the street with the embassy. I knew the name of the street and that it was a 6 minute walk from my stop (thanks again, Dutch transportation website), but was not sure what direction and if I needed to take any turns. I chose a direction that looked right to me and began walking. I asked one lady for directions who did not know and another lady who just told me to keep walking, she was sure I would just run into the embassy although she had no idea where the street was (thanks, ma'am). Then I saw an elderly man sitting on a bench in a park. Nice, I could ask him. I greeted him and asked him if he spoke English (all in Dutch, thank you very much!). He cracked a huge smile and told me he spoke it a little bit (in English). I asked him for the name of my street and he looked a bit confused (still smiling) and was trying to explain something to me. I realized that he was a little slow. I thought, "oh, he must be a little mentally challen..."no, no, wait! Is that a beer can on the bench? Oh. This man is drunk in the middle of the afternoon! He did not seem smashed, but he was definitely affected.
I showed him the paper with the address on it and he told me some directions (which I paid absolutely no attention to). I looked him in the eyes, smiled at him, and thanked him sincerely (in Dutch). He rattled off something that made no sense (in English) then began laughing heartily. He must have heard a really good joke in his head. I honestly felt sad for the guy since he obviously was trying to escape some type of pain in his life. I wished I could do something for him and prayed for him as I walked down the street. What a nice man. I hope he is as pleasant sober...
When I got to the end of the street, the street I needed-Tobias Asserlan-was to the left. I followed it and came to the embassy. hey, it looks very closed. There were a few people mulling around inside the gate, so I stood by the gate and stared at them, hoping someone would come over and ask me what I was doing. One man came outside. I asked him if he spoke English (in dutch) but he didn't understand me. So I just started speaking in English. He still didn't understand me. He asked me (in English) what I needed. I began explaining my situation. I could tell he couldn't understand me, but I figured if he could see that I knew what I was talking about and seemed confident that he would go and find someone who could help me. I was wrong. He kept telling me that the visa office was closed. He asked me what my name was and what country I came from. I told him and he tried to give me directions to the American embassy. hmmpf, what to do? I tried to explain more, and as I was talking a lady came out. She spoke to the man asking him some questions (obviously about me) while looking at me then gave me some dagger eyes and went inside. What was that about? The man looked at me then walked inside.
Okayyyy, now what? I tried my little stand at the gate and stare thing again, but there was no one to stare at now. I decided to call Bas. Surely he could help somehow--no answer.
I went back to the gate and called the embassy telephone number. A lady (who sounded very much like the lady who I spoke to earlier that day) answered, and I told her I was there to turn in visa application forms. She told me the office was closed. I told her I knew that, but I had called before to ask---silence=my phone battery went dead. Of course. Of course this is the part in the movie where that happens. Yes, it's all too Hollywood perfect for me. My eyes started tearing from frustration.
I suddenly noticed that there was a bell on the gate door. I buzzed it. With butler-like speed, a very official looking man appeared. cool.
He asked me something in Dutch. I asked him if he spoke English (in Dutch). He didn't understand me (what is with these Indonesians not understanding my Dutch? The Dutch always understand me!). I asked him if he spoke English (in English) and he said "yes"! good.
I explained my situation to him and he promptly told me the office was closed. yeah, I have heard that before. I told him that I understood but was told to come with my papers. "No, the office is closed." I began explaining further to him and pulled out my phone and told him I was talking to someone and my phone died. He didn't understand what I was trying to say. I tried to explain it in about 5 other ways and he still wasn't getting it. I finally tried to turn my phone back on. After several attempts (it kept dying immediately), it turned on and I called the woman again. I told her I was outside and that my phone might die but to please tell someone to let me in or take my papers. The man was saying something to me, and I thought maybe she could explain something to him so I handed him the phone. He rattled away in Indonesian for awhile then gave the phone back to me. She told me the office was closed. I asked her if there was anyway I could give my papers to someone today then they could process them tomorrow. She said yes! then told me to hold while she transferred me. I tried to protest and remind her of my dying battery, but she did it anyway.
A man answered and spoke to me in Dutch. I asked him if he spoke English (in Dutch). Guess what, he didn't understand me and kept speaking English. I said something in English and he said, "oh, you want to speak English." yes, please. I explained my situation to him. He told me the office was closed. If I had a nickel for everytime...
I was not hearing the name of my stop and finally asked a girl behind me if she knew where it was. "Oh, you need to be going the other way. That stop is by the beach." oops.
I immediately got off at the next stop. After I got off, I realized I had never gotten my card stamped. I was a zwarte rijder! oooh, rebel me!
After taking the tram the right way and finding the stop w/o difficulties I needed to tackle my next challenge=finding the street with the embassy. I knew the name of the street and that it was a 6 minute walk from my stop (thanks again, Dutch transportation website), but was not sure what direction and if I needed to take any turns. I chose a direction that looked right to me and began walking. I asked one lady for directions who did not know and another lady who just told me to keep walking, she was sure I would just run into the embassy although she had no idea where the street was (thanks, ma'am). Then I saw an elderly man sitting on a bench in a park. Nice, I could ask him. I greeted him and asked him if he spoke English (all in Dutch, thank you very much!). He cracked a huge smile and told me he spoke it a little bit (in English). I asked him for the name of my street and he looked a bit confused (still smiling) and was trying to explain something to me. I realized that he was a little slow. I thought, "oh, he must be a little mentally challen..."no, no, wait! Is that a beer can on the bench? Oh. This man is drunk in the middle of the afternoon! He did not seem smashed, but he was definitely affected.
I showed him the paper with the address on it and he told me some directions (which I paid absolutely no attention to). I looked him in the eyes, smiled at him, and thanked him sincerely (in Dutch). He rattled off something that made no sense (in English) then began laughing heartily. He must have heard a really good joke in his head. I honestly felt sad for the guy since he obviously was trying to escape some type of pain in his life. I wished I could do something for him and prayed for him as I walked down the street. What a nice man. I hope he is as pleasant sober...
When I got to the end of the street, the street I needed-Tobias Asserlan-was to the left. I followed it and came to the embassy. hey, it looks very closed. There were a few people mulling around inside the gate, so I stood by the gate and stared at them, hoping someone would come over and ask me what I was doing. One man came outside. I asked him if he spoke English (in dutch) but he didn't understand me. So I just started speaking in English. He still didn't understand me. He asked me (in English) what I needed. I began explaining my situation. I could tell he couldn't understand me, but I figured if he could see that I knew what I was talking about and seemed confident that he would go and find someone who could help me. I was wrong. He kept telling me that the visa office was closed. He asked me what my name was and what country I came from. I told him and he tried to give me directions to the American embassy. hmmpf, what to do? I tried to explain more, and as I was talking a lady came out. She spoke to the man asking him some questions (obviously about me) while looking at me then gave me some dagger eyes and went inside. What was that about? The man looked at me then walked inside.
Okayyyy, now what? I tried my little stand at the gate and stare thing again, but there was no one to stare at now. I decided to call Bas. Surely he could help somehow--no answer.
I went back to the gate and called the embassy telephone number. A lady (who sounded very much like the lady who I spoke to earlier that day) answered, and I told her I was there to turn in visa application forms. She told me the office was closed. I told her I knew that, but I had called before to ask---silence=my phone battery went dead. Of course. Of course this is the part in the movie where that happens. Yes, it's all too Hollywood perfect for me. My eyes started tearing from frustration.
I suddenly noticed that there was a bell on the gate door. I buzzed it. With butler-like speed, a very official looking man appeared. cool.
He asked me something in Dutch. I asked him if he spoke English (in Dutch). He didn't understand me (what is with these Indonesians not understanding my Dutch? The Dutch always understand me!). I asked him if he spoke English (in English) and he said "yes"! good.
I explained my situation to him and he promptly told me the office was closed. yeah, I have heard that before. I told him that I understood but was told to come with my papers. "No, the office is closed." I began explaining further to him and pulled out my phone and told him I was talking to someone and my phone died. He didn't understand what I was trying to say. I tried to explain it in about 5 other ways and he still wasn't getting it. I finally tried to turn my phone back on. After several attempts (it kept dying immediately), it turned on and I called the woman again. I told her I was outside and that my phone might die but to please tell someone to let me in or take my papers. The man was saying something to me, and I thought maybe she could explain something to him so I handed him the phone. He rattled away in Indonesian for awhile then gave the phone back to me. She told me the office was closed. I asked her if there was anyway I could give my papers to someone today then they could process them tomorrow. She said yes! then told me to hold while she transferred me. I tried to protest and remind her of my dying battery, but she did it anyway.
A man answered and spoke to me in Dutch. I asked him if he spoke English (in Dutch). Guess what, he didn't understand me and kept speaking English. I said something in English and he said, "oh, you want to speak English." yes, please. I explained my situation to him. He told me the office was closed. If I had a nickel for everytime...
I tried to explain about the phone call and all that, but he was not impressed. I tried to plead to leave the papers there. I didn't need the office! I just needed one of those mullers inside the gate area to walk over, take my papers, put them in the office, and then I could call and explain in the morning. He did not understand English all that well, so it took me awhile to suggest all that to him. He would have none of it. The office was closed and it was impossible for anyone to take my papers because there was no one from the visa office there. grr. so sad.
I walked away a defeated woman. I had come so far, pleaded so vehemently! alas, to no avail. I made my way back to Amsterdam arriving home in time to get ready for our evening class.
ROUND 2:
I started my second journey to Den Haag in the morning this time. I left this morning around 9:30am. This time with a side-kick. Rebekah Sewell wanted to set her sights on Den Haag, so we walked to Centraal Station together, bought our tickets, bought a strippenkart, got on the train and went to Den Haag (on the ride there we talked to an Ozzy (Aussie) scientist who was really nice and was encouraged by our-meaning ywam's-work.), got on the tram (going the right way), and got to our stop. We made it to the embassy and this time when I rang the bell, the door opened! The Indonesian soil felt wonderful. I went inside and took a number to wait in line. When my turn came, I went to the window and asked if the lady spoke English. She understood me! I showed her all my papers and she began to sift through them all. There was some confusion about some things and we talked for awhile. I discovered that all of us non-Dutch citizens could not be approved yet because we did not have the correct letter of invitation. great. I went outside and called Bas. He told me to try to leave the papers with her then go back another day when we got the rest of the information. I agreed and also remembered that the Dutchies could get approved, so I should for sure give those to her. I went back inside and took another number, waited, then tried to look cheerful to the woman who had already just spent quite a bit of time with me the first time I was in. She was very nice though and genuinely wanted to help me. I gave her the papers for the Netherlanders and asked her if she could process those. No, I had forgotten that she had told me that we ALL needed a letter of permission from ywam saying we were allowed to go to Indonesia for what we were doing...weird. I still do not understand why that is necessary.
And I could forget about trying to leave the papers there. She did not like that idea at all. once again, I had failed in my great attempt to get those increasingly evasive visas and left to return to Amsterdam.
So, here is my situation:
It will take 2 business days to get the invitation letter (that means by Monday) then I will have to go back to the embassy and turn in the papers (I would go on Tuesday). It will take 3 business days to process the visas (the lady insisted that she knew for sure we could get them that quickly--if so, that means by Thursday) then I would go back and pick up the visas on Friday. We leave Sunday. whew, cutting it much more close than is desireable.
And so my dear loved ones, that is my story of Den Haag. It is a tale of great hopes in limbo.
the end is soon in sight...
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