Reflections

 

Let me get this off my chest.  I knew that getting a visa to the US was going to be a lot of work, and of course, cost a lot of money.  As I’ve done with each and every travel permit in the past, I first bought my flight, booked some accommodation (though I was careful to choose hotels that would require payment later) and purchased some tickets to events to prove my purpose. (These were not the same tickets I mentioned at the start of this travelogue…. wait for it!)  Then I filled out the time-consuming online visa application, paid the exorbitant fee, and attempted to make an appointment for an interview at the American Institute in Taiwan.  This is where my learning curve would start.  Making an appointment was only permitted once the application had been submitted and the fee had been paid.  This also meant there was no previous information about how to make an appointment, and crucially, how long in advance an appointment needed to be made.  While I submitted my online application on May 11^th, I now saw that the earliest date for me to present myself for my interview was July 23^rd!  My trip was booked for July 13 ~ 30!  (It was also now evident from their website that AIT schedules interviews on only TWO days of the week!  How very dare they!  This is likely because Taiwanese passport holders do not need a visa.) 

I called the institute.  The switchboard sent me here, then there, and eventually I got to talk with a lady who spoke with a Filipino accent.  She informed me that urgent appointments were only made in certain cases, and once she’d listed them, I knew there was nothing for it but to reschedule my trip.  She also told me that it would take five working days for the visa to be approved.  I added two days for the courier to get my passport back to me, and threw in a couple of days for the weekend, for good measure.  I calculated that I could safely fly out on Aug 2^nd, a full 10 days after my interview. 

I got a refund for my flight, while Asiana did withhold a not-insubstantial cancelation fee, and booked with Cathay Pacific to fly me to Boston instead of JFK in New York as originally planned.  I tried to reschedule or get a refund for the performance tickets I’d already purchased (three in total), only to find that neither was possible.  What kind of theft is this?!  (Two of these were July tickets to Cabaret, and the third was a ticket to see Matt Rife in Atlantic City.)  Swallowing hard, I then turned my attention to the coach and ferry trips I’d booked; here at least I was able to reschedule, though there were rescheduling fees.  Merde!  All in all, the tardiness of AIT added an unnecessary NT$28,259 to the cost of the trip!  Now, you may say that this was my own fault, and I’d accept that judgment, but I would say in my defense that I’ve applied for countless visas in my time, and this one is done so differently that there was simply no way I could have predicted the hurdles.  I will continue to elaborate (read “rant”) for a little longer, if only to convince you to take my side.

In the (MORE THAN TWO) months leading up to the interview, I read all the fine print online about what to bring along, and even more importantly, what not to bring along – firearms, backpacks, weapons, parcels, etc.  I meticulously collected all items – I didn’t want to be caught again with my pants down.  Among the instructions, it was made very clear that the interview would start punctually, that entrance to the consular office could be gained neither more than 10 minutes before nor more than 10 minutes after the booked time.  I was in line (in the oppressive heat of a pre-typhoon summer’s day) outside the peripheral wall 30 minutes ahead of my time-slot.  The gate was in fact opened 10 minutes before my 8 AM appointment.  Several people who were ahead of me in the line were turned away because they were too early – hadn’t read the fine print, I guess.  One woman was sent away because she had a laptop with her – also addressed in the fine print. 

By the time I got through the gate, it was only a few minutes before 8.  Merde!  Through the gate, there was a security check that took several minutes before entering the building.  Within, there was a desk at which phones had to be handed in.  Then an elevator brought applicants to the third floor, where I joined the queue.  None of the windows were open.  It was at least 8:05 AM.  Punctual, my South African ass!  Stay calm, Schreiber!  Get the visa! Polite and demure!

The first window opened, where passports were handed in to get a bar-coded sticker pasted on the back before they were returned.  The next window opened shortly after, where fingerprints and photos were taken.  Then a queue formed again at the remaining windows for interviews.  These remained closed.  What a fucking power move!  God I hate consular staff!  Two windows eventually opened.  I overheard one of the interviewers giving a woman a hard time because he felt she was applying for the wrong visa.  He sounded thoroughly bored.  I could tell that she’d been rejected here before, and he was rejecting her again. 

When he was done with her, it was my turn.  I reached his window.  He continued to sound bored.  He asked me two questions: why was I going to the US and was I actually going there or was my real destination Latin America?  Tourism, and No.  (I felt like telling him that South Africans a welcomed visa-free in South America, but knew that was unnecessary.) I offered him all the documents I’d brought, some of which were specifically mentioned in the fine print.  He waved them off with disinterest.  I then asked, since there was a typhoon coming and it was highly likely to result in AIT being closed tomorrow, did he think I’d get my passport back in time.  He said yes it should be fine, though his disengaged demeanor did little to assure me. 

That was it – two questions from him and one from me.  Interview concluded!  After all that!  “Approved!” he voiced spiritlessly, and sent me on my way.  I was flabbergasted, but relieved to know that I’d get the visa.  The next day was indeed declared a typhoon day by the government, as was the day after that, thereby lengthening the wait for the return of my passport.  As it turned out, the passport arrived at school on Monday, a mere two working days (tyfun days aside) after my “interview” and four days before my flight.  What a relief!

One fact made this visa so much more worth the effort than any of the other troublesome visas I’ve needed to acquire: it would be valid for 10 years.  Those I’d needed for the UAE, New Zealand, the UK, and Vietnam were the costliest and most arduous, as will be the ones I will eventually need for Uzbekistan and Canada ….(watch this space….).  Others that were cheap but troublesome include all I’ve needed for the Schengen Area and the one that gave me access to French Polynesia (which was a special type of Schengen visa, given that the territory belongs to France).

Getting on the plane in Hong Kong, there was a special security check at the gate, as there had been at the gate in Dubai when I was heading to the UK.  This would set a trend for most of the trip.  At every attraction, even at the theatres, bags were searched.  It happened at museums, galleries, observation decks, and cruises.  Many checks were as thorough as airport security.  This was stated in much of the correspondence that came with the tickets, so it wasn’t a surprise, though to be honest, it did initially annoy me.  But I soon got thinking about the local population, realising that this is a standard fact of life for them on a daily basis, and I began to feel pity.  Having grown up in apartheid South Africa, I was also subjected to this at a young age, and it really sucks.  To live in constant fear of mortal danger is not a happy way to live.  My annoyance dissipated and I submitted without fuss to each search as it came.

In public facilities, I frequently heard men talking to themselves about their expulsions. "Goddamn! I really needed that."  In no other destination do I remember encountering such an odd practice.  There were also cases of people loudly cussing at the world and no one in particular, pulling the middle finger, and on one occasion, even air-punching a moving bus.  This, however, happens in other countries, too.  

Tipping norms in the US sometimes brought me to tipping point.  At times, tipping was logical and a totally acceptable ask.  Other times, it seemed that I was doing all of the work, with the exception of actually putting the item on a counter.  I did not tip every time it was mentioned in the, shall we call it, “fine print” of the speaker / guide / pay point, but I did some of the time.  I can’t say that any kind of pattern emerged.  I think I tipped sometimes and other times not in identical situations.  It was difficult to navigate, and even the Americans with whom I spoke about this issue didn’t seem to have an answer, nor were they really on board.  The constant begging for pennies in the form of tips was exhausting and to be honest, manipulative. 

Another financial gripe is the bloody fees that come with most online purchases.  Tickets to attractions and events were advertised at a certain price, and the quoted figure remained displayed through all steps of the purchase process until the very last step, where the fees were finally added.  (Such fees were also charged by British ticketing companies when I traveled there last summer.)  I am pretty certain that these are the only two countries that follow this abhorrent practice.  (There is a chance that I’m guilty here of selective memory.)  It just feels like extortion, mafia-like coercion.

Trucks in the US look quite different from trucks in other countries.  Most of those I’ve seen house the engine beneath the cab, and truckers need to lean the cab forward to work on the engine.  In the US, I looked at trucks a lot.  (OMG, I’ve just had a flashback to a Roger Whitaker tune my parents loved and played on road trips: “I’ve looked at clouds from both sides now, from up and down, and still somehow…”)  I did not see a single example of a truck with a flat nose.  Every single one I noticed had a pointed nose like a dog’s, which I assume is where the engine is housed.  On a related note, through the coach window I witnessed this several times: long truck trailers being hauled by pickup trucks instead of the usual lorry cabs.  My, they build those strong in the United States!

I was so excited to see several examples of the yellow school bus!

I’m now going to make a shameful admission.  In my youth (and truthfully, well beyond) I didn’t curb my alcohol intake when I was getting home on/in my own vehicle.  This choice has been illegal in most of the countries I’ve lived in, but with varying degrees of enforcement.  Within the past decade, the penalty in Taiwan has become such that I no longer scoff at it.  I have adjusted my habits, and in truth, I now acknowledge that my earlier attitude was never tolerable.  I have known forever that having an open container of alcohol in a vehicle in the US is illegal and punishable.  I was, therefore, astonished to note that many Americans are not terribly concerned about partaking before getting behind the wheel.  In the country with the world’s highest incarceration rate, that was indeed surprising.

Another surprise was this.  Because of all the social movements that have popped up in America over the past decade (Wokeism, #MeToo, BLM, cancel culture and all the explosive Karens), I was astonished to witness a dated attitude to garbage.  Perhaps I’m equating matters that are incongruous.  Correct me if I require it.  Pretty much every store I shopped in provided unsustainable packaging.  In many places, there was no recycling.  In coffee shops and pay-first buffet eateries, customers had to discard their own used wrappings, cutlery and plates; many provided only one bin, or when there were several bins, they weren’t clearly labeled.  I saw no food recycling at all.  I am not personally rigid about this issue, but lean towards sustainability.  I don’t think everyone must follow fixed rules.  What surprised me was the extent of the disregard.  

When I travel, I always have a pouch that wraps around my arm and neck. It’s large enough to carry my passport, money, cards and other flat items of value.  It’s waterproof – I always walk A LOT on holiday.  I wear this beneath my shirt and beneath my vest, and the pouch rests beneath the pit of my arm so as to attract no attention.  I had two of these pouches before leaving home, and I forgot to pack one.  Arriving at Taoyuan Airport, I bought a new one.  I was not going to be caught short.  Well, asking several people after landing, and getting a taste of the environment, I decided very quickly that hiding anything didn’t seem necessary, and I kept all my valuables in a bag that I wore on the outside of my clothes.  This was a pleasant surprise.  While there certainly are pickpockets in many of the places I visited, there was no sign of muggings or snatch-and-grabs, and I went home each night with everything I’d taken out with me.

Throughout the trip, a significant number of people I addressed when asking questions spoke with such thick non-American accents, I couldn’t understand their replies.  These included bus drivers, people standing in queues, Uber drivers, and some hotel staff.

There is little doubt in my mind that I will find myself back on this continent.  South Africans need a visa to visit Mexico, but a valid visa for the US allows us access to her southern neighbor.  (This is sadly not true for her northern neighbor.)  I would definitely like to visit New York again, but that might prove unlikely since it’s on the wrong side of the continent when you consider that I’ll be approaching from Asia.  I guess I’ll have to wait and see.  For now, I will spend the winter break in Africa (I’ve booked my flights already) and am likely to visit Uzbekistan with Kasania in the summer of 2025.  The following winter, I’m hoping to find myself at Carnaval in Rio.  Consequently, it’s looking like summer 2026 or 2027 that will see my next sojourn to the States.