A Brush With Bureaucracy

When you arrive at the airport, it's always a slightly stressful moment when you stand front of the passport control official who sternly inspects your papers. He may call over a colleague and point to your documents. Questions tumble into your mind, what's wrong? Is my visa in order? And then just as quickly he snaps your passport shut, returns the second part of your migration card and wishes you "An enjoyable visit to Russia."

Another stressful part of arriving in Russia can be registering in the town where you are going to stay, something which needs to be done within three days. If you haven't got a good agency taking care of this for you it can be a difficult process once you get away from the cities which are used to dealing with international visitors.

When I arrived in Kazan, it was a Saturday, so on the Monday morning I set off into town to register. I arrived at the right address, 'The Registration Office for Foreigners' which takes care of work permits for Russia's increasing number of overseas workers as well as tourists and visitors. I queued up in the hot stuffy office for 20 minutes before being told I could register at any Post Office. At the Post Office however it was a different matter! I needed an official translation of all my documents they said or I could always go to the Registration Office for Foreigners! Hot and bothered I returned and queued up again in another slow moving queue where finally a small efficient woman created my file, copied my passport number down and directed me to another queue to complete the formalities. I arrived at last in front of a small window where Valentina Alexeyevna, according to her name badge took my collection of papers and inspected them. A youngish blonde woman, she had the unwavering, strict expression of a career bureaucrat. "Incomplete" she cried. I needed a photocopy of my passport! " I'll do it" she barked and marched off to her back office. Five minutes later she returned, rubber-stamped my file and, although I may be mistaken, she just might have smiled as she handed back my papers.