As you could see in the previous picture, we parked at a remote stand, away from the terminal that looks like something out of a Star Trek film. Bus transfer to the terminal and...now the fun begins.
You enter the terminal on the lowel level. You are presented with three options: immigration booths to the front, and two narrow, granite lined staircases, one on the left and another on the right. It's one of those moments where, no matter how seasoned a traveller you might think you are, you realize you're going to look lost and a little bit amateurish.
Now I know I can't proceed right up the middle. The right staircase is not marked. Fortunately, on the left staircase there is a small sign that says "
visa." So I squeeze up the staircase, wander around the corner, and find the window for the consulate.
That window on the right? That's the consulate. The staircase is around that corner and to the right. I am the only one on my flight who is getting the visa on arrival and am greeted by the caricature you no doubt have in your mind of a consular official in an ex-Soviet republic. But he does speak a little English, I speak a little Russian, so we start the process of figuring out just how much work he's going to have to do this afternoon.
Consular Guy: (gruffly) Hallo. (unintelligible Russian)
Me: Transeet Visa, pozhalista. (slides papers, including passport, through slot in window)
Consular Guy: Da, da, ehhh, when you leave?
Me: In the morning.
Consular Guy: Ohhhhh, less than day you do not need visa. Eeees ok.
Me: But I'm going into Minsk. I'm leaving the airport.
Consular Guy: YOU NEED VISA.
Me: Yes. I do. Here are the papers.
This is about that point where I want to commence with the sarcasm and mockery but, as unsure as I am about how to translate my English words into Russian, my sarcasm and mockery? I'm sure that will not translate well.
I pass the 30 euros through the window as well, hoping to indicate that I know the fee and have done at least some cursory research. For you private sector stiffs out there, when interacting with a goverment employee/official it is imperative that you demonstrate at least a modicum of knowledge of the processes and procedures involved. Not too much so as to suggest that you are smarter or wiser than the official (this is a capital offense), but just enough to show a healthy respect for the official's time and importance.
Consular guy takes the money while perusing my application. He's filled out some of the forms on his end, he has the stamp in his hand and then:
Consular Guy: What is company is you work for? What is Department of XXXX?
(As much as I'd love to give more details about my work on here, I won't. Until I slip up during a posting while intoxicated in LH F with in flight WiFi.)
Me: It's a government job. In the US. There aren't any jobs in Ireland (true!), that's where I live and work now.
Consular Guy: (quickly looks up) GOVERNMENNNNNT?
Me: Yes.
Consular Guy: (puts down stamp) UH HUH. YOU TAKE SEAT.
Aaaand he shuts the window and disappears to an adjoining room for about five minutes while I sit on a bench and twiddle my thumbs. He eventually reappears, poking his head into the window as if to confirm I was still there. I get up and wander to the window to find him on the phone, standing in the doorway to the aforementioned adjoining room, pausing every few seconds to turn around, reconfirm I am still there, say a few words into the phone, and continue talking seriously into the phone.
I'm not really sure what's going on. I'm...hopeful? I think that's the word. I'm hopeful that I'm not about to enter a my own personal Bond movie, mistaken for the main character in this country which by all accounts is stuck in a Cold War time warp.
I'm there for 45 minutes.