Oh Spain!

Yesterday was a treat as I got to experience up close and personal the delights of Spanish bureaucracy. In order to extend my visa to allow me to stay here legally for the full nine months I had to go to the Comisaría de Policia for the province, which is in Lleida, about an hour en coche from Solsona. But before doing that, I had to enpadronarme in Solsona. Meaning I registered with the census of Solsona using my local address here. But since my landlord is renting me this place debajo de la mesa so she doesn't have to pay taxes, I provided them with the address of the teacher and her family (with their permission) who have more or less adopted me. SO, empadronamiento in hand, along with the rest of the paperwork that was supposedly required (passport, photocopy of passport, visa, photocopy of visa, official letter stating that I am an auxiliar de conversación, photocopy of official letter, etc etc etc) I marched to Lleida, kindly escorted by the director of the school, to the Comisaría de Policia. When we arrived it was just about to open and there was already a line of people outside of the door. The door opened and large-bellied officer stepped into the crowd and began asking loudly who had an appointment and at what time and then inefficiently began herding people into different lines. While I waited in line to hold our spot, por si acaso, Roser ducked inside to ask where we should wait. She came back in a moment smiling triumphantly and beckoned me inside. We made our way through the still empty office and around to a large room with about 15 or 20 desks, all numbered. We sat down at number 5, where Roser had been directed, and began to tell the man what I needed. He immediately got angry and expostulated for a moment about how he only works with Spaniards and if I'm an extranjero I have to go back to the original line. We said we had been TOLD to go to him, but he wasn't having any of it and sent us away. So we returned to the officer that Roser had questioned earlier and told him what happened and explained again what I was there for. Apparently he had misunderstood the first time and now he was flustered and said, oh yeah, you go right here in this line. So there we were, back in the original line, only now much farther back because of our detour. We stood there for a few moments, then Roser said that if he was wrong once, maybe he was wrong twice, and decided to ask him one more time. She explained again that I was there to get my NIE (Numero de identificación de extranjero). OH! He said this time, you need to be in that line over there. Sigh. So again we switched lines and this time it seemed to be the right one. So here is how it went:

We waited in that final line for about 15 minutes before we approached the desk of the an officer and told him that I need the application for the NIE. He looked around, didn't have it at his desk, left for a minute, came back with the form, (which was short) and I began to fill it out. But oh no, I couldn't fill it out there at his desk even though it would take all of a minute to do, I had to get up and go back to the waiting area to fill it out, then get back in the line to talk to him. So that is what I did. When I reached him again he took the form, looked at my passport, typed a couple of things in the computer, then wrote a number a piece of scrap paper, gave me back passport, application and handed me the number and told me to go to the desk next to his, which of course, there was a line for. OK. So far so good. (But seriously, why couldn't he do the whole darn thing??) So I wait for the woman at the desk next to his and when I approach her, she looks at my forms and passport, then fills out one of those old fashioned carbon paper forms with my request and the fee for the NIE. She hands me this form and tells me I have to leave the comisaría and go to a bank to pay the fee then come back. Really? REALLY???

So I take the form, go out and around the block, find a bank, go and and wait in a line of people I had just seen in the comisaría, only to get close to the teller and have her shout out to the waiting line, that no, they don't accept the payments at that bank, we have to go to another. At this point, I can only find the humor in the situation, so I happily trudge out with the crowd and we make our way down the street in search of another bank that will take our money. Finally, score! Bank found, fee paid, I return to the comisaría with my receipt. And there the fun begins. Now I had to actually take a number to be seen. One hour and forty-five minutes later, my number finally came up. I went back to the woman at the computer. She took my receipt, looked at my passport again, looked at the empadronamiento form (but none of the other photocopies I had so dutifully made and brought), took my fingerprint and gave me a temporary piece of paper with my NIE. And said, come back in 40 days to get your official NIE. Really? REALLY?? Oh, Spain...