Dave in Dubai

8:05 AM, June 6, 2005 – Dubai, UAE – Approx. Temp. 36 C

I arrive at that Pakistan Consulate. The lobby is blessedly cool and air-conditioned. Ben explains my situation to the man at the desk. I am expecting a work invitation letter faxed to this office. I’m told that although the office opens at 8:00, the window for foreign passports does not open until 9:00. That is Fantastic I think. Ben leaves for work and wishes me luck. In my estimation, I will need it. I read the paper, and not being all that interested in the happenings of the UAE, I am done quickly. It is only now that I realize that I have left my book at the apartment.

9:05 AM, June 6, 2005 – Dubai, UAE – Approx. Temp. 39 C

I stand in line for the foreign passport window. Being a "window" it is of course outside and I no longer have the refuge of the air-conditioned office. I patiently wait in line as people slide in and out in front of me. Sometimes they ask quick questions, sometimes they have obviously skipped in front of me in line. Sometimes I wonder how much value a line even has in this part of the world. But still, I wait patiently. I am a model of calm and patience.

9:20 AM, June 6, 2005 – Dubai, UAE – Approx. Temp. 39 C

I reach the window and attempt to explain my situation to the clerk. As usual, and for whatever reason, our conversation is confused and full of potential miscommunications. This is apparently protocol for visa offices the world over. Speak quickly, be sure not to make too much sense, gesture towards papers and shake your head vigourously, act like you’re listening but keep repeating the same inane things over and over…it’s all there on page 5 of the handbook. I get across that an invitation letter should have arrived for me in the past few days. The clerk insists that it has not. I tell him that there has been a telecom strike in Karachi and it may not have arrived. He insists that it has not. I tell him that it was faxed again that morning and should be there. He insists that it is not. I suggest that perhaps it is upstairs as we speak. He says he will check… later. He looks to the person behind me. I return to the air conditioning.

10:05 AM, June 6, 2005 – Dubai, UAE – Approx. Temp. 40 C

I have now read a complete set of pamphlets from Agha Khan University on the effectiveness of an angioplasty. The clerk from the window walks by and gestures that I should meet him at the window. When I arrive there, he tells me that no fax has arrived. I wonder why he couldn’t have told me this in the lobby. Apparently he has no authority without a window. I return to the lobby.

11:00 AM, June 6, 2005 – Dubai, UAE – Approx. Temp. 40 C

I talk to a Canadian man who went to Karachi thinking he could buy a visa on arriving, but was sent out of the country. I sympathize with him, as it does indeed say this is possible on the Government of Pakistan website. He is adamant that if it says so on the web, than it must be true. I shake my head. This man has obviously never been to Pakistan. There is no computer in the visa office in Karachi. There are plenty of websites, but they are in the dusty corners of the office, where the spiders live. All rules and regulations are in a big blue tattered recipe book that I was once shown briefly, without time to really look, in proof that I was dead wrong and had to pay full fees for 3 more days visa. I walk out to the window again and am told that no, brother, there is no fax. My new "brother" has an amazing ability to check the fax machine upstairs telepathically.

11:15 AM, June 6, 2005 – Dubai, UAE – Approx. Temp. 40 C

I have taken action into my own hands. I have walked several blocks to a shopping complex. I am now quite damp. I find the telephones and discover that they take cards. Fine. I ask a man who is either a janitor, or a man who really loves the bathroom, where I can find said cards. I walk to the kiosk in question and purchase a 30 dirham card. How long will this last I wonder. I call Ben at work and she patches me through to Pakistan. I applaud myself for this cost effective measure. I contact the office and they insure me that they have faxed the letter twice today. I ask them to fax it directly to Ben, who will bring me the copy directly. Excellent.

11:30 AM, June 6, 2005 – Dubai, UAE – Approx. Temp. 40 C

I walk upstairs and have lunch at Subway. I am told they have no chicken. Fine. I choose something else, but they don’t have the first three breads I ask for either. You don’t have bread and you don’t have chicken? I ask with some doubt. Oh yes, I’m assured, they have chicken, but it’s all frozen, and they have plenty of bread, just not the bread I want. I’m amused now. I ask them if they can’t thaw the chicken. No sir. Then how will you use it later? I ask. I’m just being pesky now, and I feel a little ashamed of it. I’m told that the chicken must be melted in tip-top ,100% sanitary method. I’m not joking. That’s what he said. Then he tells me that otherwise it will hurt my teeth. My teeth? I ask. Yes, of course, because it’s frozen. Right. I feel this Phillipino sandwich artist has somehow defeated me.

12:00 PM, June 6, 2005 – Dubai, UAE – Approx. Temp. 42 C

I walk back to the consulate. Ben meets me and gives me a copy of the mystery fax. I take it to the window. My brother is about to tell me that there is no fax, when he sees I have garnered a copy myself. The gig is up, his expression is resigned. He takes it. But this is an invitation letter! He protests. Yes it is, I protest. I can’t see what the problem is. Where is your no objection letter? He asks. I have absolutely no idea what the hell he’s talking about, but this is generally my perpetual state in visa offices the world over. Where do I get that? I ask. He tells me to go to the Canadian Embassy. Excellent. Great to find this out now.

12:05 PM, June 6, 2005 – Dubai, UAE – Approx. Temp. 44 C

I jump in a cab and say with emphasis: Take me to the Canadian Embassy. The cabbie turns and asks me where it is. I tell him that he is the cab driver, he should tell me. He says that if I tell him where it is, he will take me there. What the hell kind of city is this? I get out and walk back to the shopping mall. I enter a drugstore and buy deodorant. I apply it while talking to Ben on the phone and finding out the Canadian embassy is nearby.

12:30 PM, June 6, 2005 – Dubai, UAE – Approx. Temp. 45 C

I unknowingly walk by the Canadian Embassy four times. Who could guess that a Canadian flag could hide behind a palm tree like that. I finally enter a bookstore and grab a book on Dubai and look up the embassies. I try to write down the address, but the clerk comes over and tells me it is illegal to write things down in the bookstore. No it’s not, I tell him. It is against store policy. You’re telling my you don’t write anything down in this store. I do, he says, but you don’t. I ask him if I’m allowed to memorize in the store. He is unsure. I do it anyway and hand him the book with a scowl. He says, sir, my boss, he would be angry, that’s all. I tell him to tell his boss I would have bought the book if he hadn’t been rude to me. The heat is getting to me.

12:35 AM, June 6, 2005 – Dubai, UAE – Approx. Temp. 45 C

The Canadian Embassy, as it turns out, is two buildings away. I take the elevator up and find that the passport window is open between 8:00 and 11:00 AM. I am not angry, as there is nothing I can do, and the full sized cut outs of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police are somehow comforting to me. I return to the apartment, swim in the pool and watch desperate housewives. My day is done.

08:10 AM, June 7, 2005 – Dubai, UAE – Approx. Temp. 38 C

I return to the Canadian Embassy. Everyone is polite and very Canadian. I even take a number when there is no one else in the lobby. I have found a line in the middle east, and I’m the only one in it. I overhear one of the secretaries say "Eh" and a single tear comes to my eye. My number is called and my no objection letter is made with absolutely no objections. I do however have to pay 60 dirhams, which almost gives me objections, but what are you going to do?

09:25 AM, June 7, 2005 – Dubai, UAE – Approx. Temp. 38 C

I return to my favourite window and wait my turn. A nice man sees that I’ve been waiting and pulls me forward in line until I am next. Mr. Atta, the clerk, looks up and smiles… Ah, brother. I give him all my forms and photos. He looks at the forms and scowls. No. Not work visa. I can only get a work visa if I live in Dubai, I will have to apply from either Pakistan or Canada. I sigh deeply. Somehow I knew this was coming. I tell him that in Pakistan they told me to go to Dubai and apply from here. He shrugs as if to see, wow, you are stupid. He tells me to apply from Canada. I look at him as if to say, wow, you are stupid. I will give you a visit visa he says, then you go and upgrade it. I’ve heard that one before, but I accept readily since I have already overstayed a visit visa once and he obviously hasn’t noticed this fact. I go to the bank section and pay 444 dirhams, bring him the receipt and he tells me to pick up my passport in two days. I tell him my flight leaves tomorrow night. He says, ok come back at 2:30 today and he’ll give it to me. But only because he likes me.

2:00 PM, June 7, 2005 – Dubai, UAE – Approx. Temp. 47 C

After four hours in the mall, most of which was spent at an internet café and checking the chicken stock-piles at Subway, I return to my favourite window. Mr. Atta is all smiles. Brother, he says, and hands me my passport. I check it quickly and shake his hand. All is well between the brothers. You enjoy my country, he says. I do enjoy your country, I say, which confuses him a bit. I wonder why I do things like that. I hail a cab so that I can get out of my soaking shirt and hit the beach in celebration of my most successful, unsuccessful visa venture yet.

My God that ended up really lengthy... sorry folks.