Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
Visa Process:
“Step one: a visit to the Syrian Consulate in Dubai”
Holiday -3
On Sunday 3
rd
July, 2005 we set off to find the Syrian Consulate in Dubai. Both of us, separ-
ately, had been given directions, neither of which inspired great confidence. In addition, the
automatic phone message on the consulate information service gave equally confusing in-
structions. Over the years, I had accumulated a bit of experience of the manically persistent
dialing of difficult numbers; dating back to my Soviet experiences in the central post office
of Leningrad. That had been a formative experience and a trial of patience, resistance, and
grim determination. Imagine the situation, there is a queue of 15-20 people in front of you;
all homesick, all big talkers; each taking ages to get through. Meanwhile, the queue behind
you is growing; but this is the Soviet Union and there is a kind of solidarity in suffering. You
strike up conversations with old friends you have met in earlier queues or make new friends
(there are no IPODs or Walkmen then to shut off the outside world). Soon you know every-
one's life stories and they know yours. Finally, an hour or so later, it is your turn. Remember,
this is the only public line to the Soviet Socialist Republic of Armenia in Leningrad. You
enter the steamy booth. You try once, twice, maybe 15 times and eventually you get through
(sometimes you don't and you leave with a sense of resignation and disappointment). The
people in the queue outside are all under the same pressure and understand. They are happy
if-and-when they see you talking, as they know that their turn is coming closer. You talk for
five minutes or so after finishing your supply of “getons”, greet the queue, wish them good
luck in their calls (as not all get through) and leave. It is past midnight. It is minus 30c and
you take the last metro home.
Phoning consulates around the world can test anyone's patience. Getting through to a
friendly, helpful and human voice proved next to impossible on this occasion. However,
once by luck or deception on an earlier occasion, I actually got straight through to the Syrian
Consul who immediately put me on hold, but I had made a rare breakthrough and eventually
a junior, but helpful, official spoke to me. Anyway, by a combination of luck and guesswork,
we got there early in the morning and collected blank application forms. They of course had
to be typed up in Arabic. Nobody could tell us where to find a typist, but typists and translat-
ors' offices tend to thrive in the fertile proximity of embassies and consulates and we soon
found two in the vicinity. One was very busy. The other next door was less so and it com-
