Applying Visas

One doesn't just go to Russia, one has to be invited. To apply for a tourist visa, one needs printed invitations from a tour company.

There is also a long form to be filled. I was asked some questions that I had never been asked before, such as, "Have you ever engaged in chemical and biological warfare?"

I had to say no.

The Consular Office is not inside the Russian Embassy, but in a quaint two-story house on a leafy street nearby.

There was a roomful of people when we got there. There were two guichet windows opened to serve customers. I looked for a ticket machine but found none. I told the receptionist that we came for visas. Without saying a word, she pointed me to a sofa.

After a while, more people came in, one of them with a stack of passports. Fearing that I might be lost in the shuffle, I approached the receptionist again.

"Is there a number I can take?"

The receptionist was a buxomly woman in a flowery dress with a plunging neckline. I hadn't seen such generous mounds of flesh in a long time. Deep, deep cleavage. She was about 40. Mother Russia!

She seemed to understand what I said, but didn't reply. A standoff. That was getting awkward! I felt every pair of eyes in the room were on me.

"OK," I forced a smile. Mustering what dignity I had left, I retreated to my seat.

After a few minutes, she pointed at me and then at an empty window. No one had jumped the queue after all.

I realised then that I had learned my first lesson about Russia.  I underestimated the taciturn receptionist because of how she looked. She did not need a system to keep track, she had us all pigeon-holed in her head.