Indiana Jones and the Visa Application of Doom

(Or, Jumping Through Hoops To Get To India)

Recently I applied for a tourist visa to visit India. It was comparable to a painful bout of rectal squirts brought on by spoiled chicken masala. How did it come to this? Why did I descend into Indian red-tape hell? Let me bore you to death with a long-winded rant.

A few months back, one of my best pals told me he would go to India for a school project and linger for a while afterward to travel. I considered how close Shanghai was to India and decided to tag along. As has become my motto of late: why not?

Usually itinerary planning and ticket purchasing prove to be the most complicated and stressful parts of planning a trip. Unless you're coming to China, getting a visa isn't that bad. For Americans, most popular tourist destinations allow immediate access at the airport (God bless the US). Other less scrupulous nations who need the money will charge you some pithy amount before letting you clear customs (see: southeast Asian nations). When I found out I needed a referral letter in order to get a Vietnam visa, I thought it was the silliest thing I had ever heard. Not only could I get that letter online via tour agent, but it only cost me $14 USD, which I could pay by credit card. Is there a point other than taking tourist dollars? Not really. I thought this was to be the most ridiculous visa-application experience ever, UNTIL now.

[Editor's Note: to any foreign readers who have had to apply for a US visa, I'm told that it's quite the bitch to complete. On behalf of my countrymen, I apologize. You all need to stop trying to illegally immigrate to our great nation by overstaying your expired visas.]

A friend of mine recently visited the great subcontinent and failed to tell me what was in store. She didn't want to ruin the surprise for me. Devious as that may seem, I can see why she didn't say a word. Even if I believed her, the procedure couldn't be THAT bad, could it?

In the interest of making life easier for fellow worrywarts out there, let me just take you through the process. [Please note, this is for foreigners in Shanghai. If you're in another country, I bestow the grace of God upon you and pray that your process is easier.]

Step 1: Prepare Thyself

I consider myself a well-prepared individual. Before I even went to the visa office, I had printed out the application form found online, collected two (2) passport-size photos and prepared to say goodbye to my passport for a few days. Just to be safe, I decided to call them first.

Me: "Hello, I'm an American applying for an India visa. Is there anything I need to bring beside my passport, photos, application and fee?"
Visa lady, taking a deep breath: "Well..."

And then she proceeded to blaze through a laundry list of items that I had her repeat three (3) times because I couldn't jot them down fast enough. Grab a pen and paper, here I go:

1. Passport
2. Two (2) recent passport-size photos (2" x 2") (No pictures of when you were a kid. It's cute, but they won't take them.)
3. Air ticket (Proof you're actually going to India, in case you wanted to get a visa just for fun.)
4. Application form (Save yourself some time and fill it out at the office when you get there. Trust me, the surprise is worth it. The one I found online was outdated anyway.)
5. Money (For Americans applying for a single-entry tourist visa, it's a whopping 762 RMB as of December 2010. Call ahead to make sure you have enough cash. The number is listed below under "Information".)

Step 2: Getting There

On the visa office website, they provide an address, which is fair enough. Anyone can GPS themselves from point A to point B these days. But in case you need more details to plot travel time, here are the directions:

Taxi: The office is at 555 Xujiahui Road, near the overpass, on the second (2nd) floor of the Guangdong Development Bank Tower. It's at the southwest corner of Xujiahui Road and the Chongqing Road/Luban Road intersection.

Subway: Take the metro to the Dapuqiao (打浦桥) station on Line 9. It's the one near Taikang Road/Tianzifang area. Then walk over to the office using the location I described in excruciating detail above.

Driving: Again, see the detailed location described above, or just pop the address into your GPS. The only beneficial thing I have to add is that there's parking outside the bank.

Once you're inside, take the escalator up to the second (2nd) floor and walk past the Sichuan restaurant. The India visa office is to the left of the Canada visa office. You'll see their colorful flag above the doorway.

Step 3: Let the Fun Begin!

The first indication that I was in for a long afternoon was the waiting room. It looks like a bank waiting area, which, if you've lived in China for any amount of time, you know is going to be a headache. Here's what I did. Feel free to improvise.

1. Wave hello to the security guard(s) at the doorway and take a number from the ticket machine. They will smile at you sympathetically, which you know is a bad sign.

2. Grab a few copies of the visa application forms from the counter behind you (to your right as you enter the room) in case you make a mistake. Trust me, there's plenty of chances.

Be sure to take one (1) copy of the "Visa Application for Foreigners Desiring To Proceed to India" (there's an icon of three (3) lions on the header, just so you know) AND one (1) copy of the "Additional Form To Be Filled By All Foreign Nationals (Visitors)(Non-Chiniese) In Shanghai Alongwith Visa Applicaion Form (Please Fill In The Capital Letters)" [sic].

3. Find a comfortable place to sit and get your ass ready (literally) for a painfully long wait.

4. Look at the digital signs above the tellers and see how many people are ahead of you.

5. Gasp out loud. (Crying optional)

6. Fill out the applications.

At this point, you will notice that these are no normal applications. These are preparatory notes for your as-yet-unfinished (or yet-to-be-conceived) autobiography. I thank the Indian government for helping me get started. Aside from the normal stuff (full name, date of birth, address, nationality, etc.), there are a few gems that I simply must share with you:


Item 5(c): "Whether the applicant or his/her parents or grand parents (both paternal and maternal) were holding the nationality of Pakistan at any time?"

Vishnu help you if you have any Pakistani blood in you, that's all I can say! While I'm comforted knowing that potential Pakistani suicide bombers might get screened out before their visa application is approved, I also don't think any potential Pakistani suicide bombers will be flying in from Shanghai. Or if they're applying from another country, I don't think they plan on legally entering India on a tourist visa in the first place.


Item 6: "The addresses of friends/relatives/places of stay during the previous travel to India"

I think my dad visited India while he was in college, but he forgot to take down the address of his hostel. There goes my application approval. Damn you, dad, for that stupid oversight thirty (30) years ago. Kidding aside, I think this is fucking ridiculous. Should I put out a Facebook survey to gather this info from friends who I didn't even know visited India a few years back? I left this blank as a quiet "fuck you" to the visa folks. If they ask, I don't have any friends or relatives. They all died trying to apply for Indian visas.


Item 8: "Father's Name (in full)" and "Present Occupation and Address"

Now I need to know things like my dad's name, "IN FULL", and what he does for a living? Shit! I should have asked him last night when we were chatting about my sinister plans for defiling young Indian girls on my travels. I thought this was a joke at first, perhaps something for unmarried girls or children traveling alone, but when the visa man told me to fill it out, I almost choked on my saliva. Why this has bearing on my world travels is a mystery. How could they even verify this? I put "Neil Yeung Sr., trash collector and artificial cow inseminator."


Item 9: "Name of Spouse (in full)"

Now this is just getting cruel. I'm single, so what?!? You wanna fightaboutit???


Item 10: "Countries visited during the last 10 years"

When I read this, I actually LOL'ed in the waiting area. People turned around to look at me. Security cameras zoomed in on my face. To make my point clearer, I tossed my head back, chuckled again, then started to tsk-tsk shake my head and sigh very dramatically. This was a doozy and a half. I travel so often that I don't even know how many countries I've visited in the last ten (10) years. But since I'm paranoid the Indian government could tap into some unknown database that had all this information stored, I tried my best to be honest. However, I did leave out the fact that I've visited Pakistan, Bangladesh, Iraq, Iran, and Syria. Woops.


Item 16: "Details of Passports Held"

Yes, you read that correctly. PassportS. Plural. Like, "I hope you brought that expired passport you thought you'd never need again, because India wants to see it!" Luckily, I AM that anal and I do keep a photocopy of my old passport information in my wallet. Make sure you have the expired passport's number, category (?), issued by, place of issue, and date of issue.

Surprisingly, they didn't ask for my height, weight, penis size ("length AND girth, in full"), favorite sexual position, mother's waist measurements, or great-grandmother's favorite cereal. To be honest, I started to get some sick pleasure by anticipating even more absurd questions as I went along. I was holding out for that penis one.

Joking aside, it is a pain in the ass. They don't provide hard surfaces in the waiting area to fill this novel out, so bring a folder or book to write on. And a pen. There are 19 items and their respective sub-items to fill out before you even sign the thing. And before you hand-write a second (2nd) copy, they do have a copy machine. I should have noticed that...

The additional form that you have to fill out in Shanghai is repetitive but a lot easier. Name (both yours and your daddy's), nationality, date and place of birth, passport details, employer name, addresses, and purpose of visit to India (sex trade, DUH). This form will be forwarded to "INDEMBASSY/HICOMIND/CONGENDIA" (whatever the fuck that is) at the Indian consulate in Shanghai to make sure they have no reservations about giving you a visa. You know, for those applicants who are involved in freedom fighting in Kashmir. Again, this baffles me.

Step 4:　I Won, I Won, I Won!!!

That's what I screamed when my number was finally called - no joke - about forty minutes later.

Stumbling over my feet to get to the smiling teller, I sat down and passed over the entire pile of crap. Then I found out why it took so long to get to my number in the first place. Here we go again...

1. Fill in your name and mobile number, then sign, on the registration sheet.

2. Smile at the miserable clerk sitting across from you (makes it all less awkward).

3. Make a dumbfounded expression when the clerk hands you a blank piece of paper telling you to list out your full travel itinerary for the trip, dates included. Yes, I know you already wrote this down on the actual application itself, but the Indian government wants to see it again in sloppy scribbling on a piece of A4 paper. If you don't know the exact itinerary down to the minute and hour, fear not. As the clerk told me, just write down an approximate timeline.

4. Sign the itinerary sheet and pass back to clerk.

5. Make another dumbfounded expression when clerk passes it back to you, telling you to write "purpose of visit" next to each location you just wrote down on the itinerary. Indeed, I had to write "travel" about seven (7) times on that piece of paper. Not once, seven times.

6. Start sweating because you're hungry and it's taken forever to do this.

7. Panic when clerk takes out a thick stapled printout and starts looking for information on a problem item. [Note: save your time and fill in "N/A" on every single item you left blank. Nothing can remain empty. Even that item about your secret Pakistani granddad.]

8. Once prompted, take your passport to the security guards standing near the copy machine. Two (2) copies of your passport photo page, one (1) copy of your China visa page. They even take the time to give you a receipt. That's service. [Note: it's 1RMB per copy. There goes another three (3) kuai. Make your own copies at home if you've got the means.]

9. Bring copies and passport back to clerk. We're almost done, kids!

10. Tell the clerk whether you want to come back to pick up your passport in person or whether you want it express delivered. I try to reduce the chances of losing my passport via Chinese post, so I opted to pick it up in person. I don't know how much they charge for delivery, but I'm guessing it's a lot, like everything else involved here. If you opt to return to the office to get it, please remember to bring your receipt and the copy you just made of your passport photo page, which has since been stamped and noted in the office system.

11. Come back in "about" six (6) business days. If you calculate in your head and ask the clerk to confirm ("Today's Monday...so 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6...can I come next Tuesday?"), don't get angry when he just repeats "'about' six (6) business days." It did not comfort me when another clerk nearby giggled at my question. [Note: Yes, the day you hand in your application counts as one (1) of the six (6) business days. Also, you can check the status on the visa office website, www.vfs-india.com.cn (using the confirmation number at the top of your receipt).]

When the clerk filed my application, I asked him if we were finished. He nodded. I looked at the clock on the wall behind his head. The whole affair had taken one (1) hour. ONE. HOUR. I put my things into my bag and stood up, shaking like someone who had just experienced a great trauma (car crash, oven explosion, knife attack, take your pick) and was wrecked with adrenaline. I survived.

Total time spent: about one (1) excruciating hour
Total cash spent: 765 RMB (497RMB for visa fee, 100RMB for "visa referral fee", 165RMB for service charge and 3RMB for photocopies), not including transportation costs
Total mental and emotional cost: Unknown, current technology cannot track that high
Total energy exerted (i.e. equivalent food consumed that morning) before hands started shaking: one cup of coffee, one apple, one piece of toast
Total pay-off for all this trouble once you actually visit India: I'll let you know when I get back.

Now I need to wait about six (6) business days to see if my visa is approved or not. I really hope they don't find out about my Pakistani granddad.

[Editor's Note: Yes, he got the visa. Onward to India!]

Information:
India Visa Application Center
2/F, Guangdong Development Bank Tower,
No. 555 Xujiahui Road, Shanghai.
Helpline: 021-6390 1198 or 6390 1937
E-mail ID: infosha@vfs-india.com.cn
Open from 8AM to 3PM

We Welcome You, Krispy Kreme

Share The American Tradition of Obesity with Your Family!!!

Krispy Kreme has finally touched down in China. And -- so so sorry suckers in Beijing -- we got the first one in Shanghai. Now we can inch closer to heart failure and obesity one sweet, sticky ring of goodness at a time.

On the big day, Tuesday, December 15, 2009, Shanghai was blessed with gray skies and the lovely pitter-patter of acid rain drizzle. Newly free from the constraints of office life, I decided to take some time out of my hectic morning of sleeping and see if I could be one of the first in town to snag a hot one. As luck would have it, this is the scene that greeted me as soon as I ambled up Wujiang Road to the steps of carb heaven:

"And here he is, Neil Yeung! Hooray!"

Throwing my hands the air, I clapped and cheered. "Thank you, everyone, I am here!" With gold and silver confetti adding glitter and sparkle cheer to the air, I felt like a prom queen. "I wanna thank God and my momma and..." Then I realized that I made it just in time for the grand opening ceremony. I swiftly lowered my arms and shuffled off to a corner before anyone could register my foolishness.

Drumming In The Rain

At the start of the queue, there was a huge flower wreath and a cute local girl at a kiosk. I walked up with a smile, for what other expression could a man have on his face when thinking about fresh donuts and cute girls? Looking down at an oversized, red autograph book like the one you'd find at a Chinese wedding, I asked if I needed to sign in. "Are you a VIP?" Sheepishly giggling, I asked, "Can you make me one?" Her expression remained blank and she thumbed me towards the regular line with all the other plebs. I still had my donuts.

Ahead of me, about a hundred other crazy people stood in line, waiting for a taste of those hallowed rings of paradise. For some, it would be their first. As my Krispy Kreme cherry had been popped many, many moons ago (I was young and impressionable! He said he loved me!), I knew what was in store. The last time my tongue had the immense pleasure overload of a fresh KK original glazed, I was at the Kuala Lumpur grand opening. Trying to catch the gooey sugar run-off of a fresh melting donut in the heat of Malaysian summer is as close to bliss as you will get. And I assure you, I am not a KK groupie who travels the world attending every grand opening. I'm just a right-time-right-place kind of guy. With a Krispy Kreme GPS tracker ;)

Equally Dedicated To Clogged Arteries

The Krispy Kreme brand name has been translated as 卡卡圈坊 (ka ka quan fang), which set off the immature scatological kid inside me, as we all know what "cacca" is [see: poo poo]. So KK has basically been dubbed "Poo Poo Ring Place" in China. Tee hee!

Behind me, an older Shanghai uncle was talking on his mobile phone to someone who was going to get a "whole box!" of these mysterious "ka ka quan" that he was waiting in line for. The uncle wanted a "ka ka quan" so badly he apparently mistook my ass for a sort of fleshy variety, nearly implanting himself into my backside as he tried to push and jostle his way past me whenever the queue moved. My temper was dulled for the sake of those donuts waiting for me at the finish line. And uncle was gentle, I have to admit.

The demographics of the queue were not what I expected. Aside from me, a dude two places ahead, and the guy at the front of the line who won a year's worth of free Krispy Kreme for the ridiculous endurance and stupidity it took for him to wait in the rain from 7 AM that morning (!!!), the line was very, very yellow. Nary an unemployed white face in sight. The only way I could weed out the non-Chinese were whenever strains of Japanese chatter would rise from the scrum, the expat obasans eager to use husband's money for a shot of sugar.

The crowds of photographers snapping pictures of all the crazy people got me momentarily paranoid. Oh no, would someone catch me playing hooky from work!? Oh wait, don't need to worry about that anymore, do I? Such good timing. I did notice a bunch of school-aged kids who were most definitely cutting class for this, but what better reason to miss important academic lessons than this?

Ahhhhh!!!!
All was well until she turned up and scared the everliving bejeezus out of me.

Nearly an hour after being so ceremoniously welcomed to the show, I reached the gates a little before noon. Crowd control, it must be said, was on target that day. Only a certain amount of hungry revelers were admitted at a time, which prevented all out rioting. Passing the unfortunate girl behind the entrance window who was chopping white chocolate chunks by hand (don't they have machines for that?), I stepped through the doorway.

~Chop chop chop, all day long~

Sorry, I totally paparrazi'ed you, Free Donut lady.

Madness.

It was small. Despite being two floors, the ground level is surprisingly cramped. And it wasn't because there were over fifty people salivating for a taste of a fresh kaka ring. In-store seating and wi-fi exploitation can be found on the second level, but the message on the first floor is simple: get your donuts and make room for the fatty behind you.

God Bless You, Happiness Makers

Am I the only one who gets grossed out by the sugar glaze recycling pit?

Once I inhaled my free donut, I slowly zig-zagged my way to the counter and ordered a dozen Original Glazed classic beauties (65 RMB for a dozen, 35 for half, 7 for one). As the rest of the fools around me wasted time picking out such ridiculously over-the-top creations like Green Tea, Cookie Crunch Cheese Cake, Triple Chocolate Walnut, and Hershey's Cookies & Cream (that poor girl at the window!!!), I just wanted my originals. There is simply nothing like it.

B-L-I-S-S

15 Varieties of non-Original Glazed
75 RMB for an Assorted Dozen, 45 for half dozen,
8 RMB per regular assorted ring, 9 RMB per creme/jam filled

Dude In Front Is SERIOUS About His Donuts

Walking out into the biting cold of the rainy day, I was called back to the head of the queue by an even cuter girl with a headset and clipboard. How official. Was she going to force the original cute girl going to apologize to me for being such an ice queen? I hustled over and gave a quizzical look.

"You bought a dozen, so you get to enter the lucky draw!"

Oh sweet heavens, a lucky draw! I scratched away the gray flakes of the lottery ticket and giggled with delight. As the first girl got off her high horse and handed me a brand new, freshly wrapped Krispy Kreme hooded sweatshirt, I thanked her. I was a VIP after all.


Krispy Kreme 卡卡圈坊
169 Wujiang Road 吴江路169号
near Nanjing West Rd metro station 南京西路站 (Line 2)
www.krispykreme.com.cn