“Congratulations, your visa has been approved.
You are now officially a permanent resident of the United States.”

It’s been just over a week now since my visa was verbally issued, in fact a week to the day since there was a knock at the door and a courier delivered the actual visa into my sticky hands. And now that a week has gone by, it’s given me time to settle into the life changing event that is about to happen. To be perfectly honest, last weekend I was a bit of a mess. Although I’d been waiting an entire year for this whole permission to emigrate thing to happen, it suddenly became very real and for three whole days, no make that *four* whole days I felt completely and utterly sick. On the Sunday, it was all too much to cope with- I stayed in bed that morning until about 11.30am, only to return to it at around 4.30pm where I stayed for the rest of the day. It seemed like the best option. It even showed up in my horseriding lesson early in the week too- I just couldn’t focus properly. But here we are a whole week later, and once again I am fine, and once again I’m starting to look forward to it.

The US Embassy in London

So my big day last Friday all started with a 5.30am wakeup call- for once I didn’t mind it this time. A quick stop in the bathroom and a quick change of clothes later and I was hitching a ride with Young Father down to the train station, ready to catch the 6.15am express to London. It was a very calm and relaxed journey, so unlike the days when I used to commute to the city during rush hour, all the time fighting to get a seat, and hoping and praying that someone would open a window to get some fresh air in as the airconditioning was always far from adequate. But at this time in the morning, I had my choice of seats from a practically empty carriage and and had a thoroughly nice time looking out of the window as we went. Everything looked perfectly pretty in the early morning sun. There was also a little mist over the river that morning, and I made a point to note that I really should get up with the birds one day in the next few weeks and head out at daybreak to take some photos. Definitely something I want to put in my memory book.

I got to Paddington bang on time which meant that there was enough time for them to grab a coffee from Starbucks. I had my usual (a venti-decaf-one-shot-whole-milk-latte) but I had to send it back twice. OK, it’s not the easiest of orders to get right and I usually have to send it back every now and again, but to get it wrong two times? The first I got was a caffeinated TRIPLE shot (hmm, no), and the second time they poured the espresso too early and so the whole thing was…well, I won’t go into that now, but I *will* make a post when we’re back in California about the art of espresso. There’s more to it than you might think….says the ex coffee-master-barista

So third time lucky and I got the right beverage, and eventually I made it onto the bus bound for the embassy. Rush hour was just starting, but the traffic wasn’t too bad. The bus turned around Admiralty Arch at the top of Hyde Park and onto Oxford Street and I gingerly made my way down the stairs, being careful not to spill the coffee that had required oh so much effort to get. The bus stopped, I got off, and then a five minute walk later and I was at Grosvenor Square where the embassy was located. Last time I had been here was a couple of years ago, not long after 9/11 and the whole place was heaving with police and security; roadblocks were in place all around the square and big screens were up around the building although they may also have been doing construction at the time. Today however, the area hummed to a much more peaceful tone and cars and taxis were skirting the square like they used to.

By this time it was 8am. My interview was scheduled for 8.30am so I was there in good time. As I walked out the little park in the square that had also reopened to the public since I was here last time it became evident that security was still tight however, unbelievably tight. Policemen with guns everywhere, and the occasional dog. This portion of the street was still blocked off- it had been pedestrianised in fact, and right in the middle was a security setup very similar to that which you encounter when you first go to the airport and check your bags in for an American flight. There was a little podium, staffed by two or three agents, and then zig-zag lines and zig-zag lines of those seat-belt type barriers leading up to a (what I presumed to be bullet-proof) glass portico. The role of these agents was to check our official appointment letters and passports and make sure we were on the list of people to be admitted to the embassy that day. They also instructed me to remove my belt and put it in my bag as we would have to walk through metal detectors before we got into the building. I was then sent to join the line of people zig-zagging through the barriers. Compared to me, most people didn’t have much documentation with them- here was I with a big heavy concertina file containing every single piece of correspondence and duplicates of every single official document ever relating to me, and they just had little slip wallets with a couple of bits of paper. For a moment I thought that I was laughably overprepared but then it appeared that they mostly had a different appointment letter to mine- the one that I had received was all black and white, whereas they mostly had letters with paragraphs of red ink on them. They were all just here for regular visas. A little note here- there was no shelter for any of the people standing in line, so had it been raining we would have had no choice but to get wet.

The glass security portico in front of the embassy building

After about 20-25 minutes of standing in this line (yay for my coffee!) I reached the front, directly oppossite the portico. I then had to walk forward to another checkpoint and again show my passport and appointment letter to another security guard, who sent me off to the side to join another queue, this time inside the barriered area, just in front of the portico doors. For the past half hour I had seen a lot of people enter the portico, and a lot of people sent back out again as they hadn’t passed the screening. They had written in the letters and had also posted it on signs outside that abolutely no electronic or data storage devices were allowed inside the embassy- no cameras, no ipods, no mobile phones, no PDAs, no memory sticks. And by ‘no electronic devices’, they also included ‘no remote control car keys’ and this is where a lot of people were getting caught out. With no left luggage facilities on offer, these people had to walk about 1/2 a mile away to the nearest place that would store items for them (the security guards had lists of storage places, the nearest of which was a pharmacy that charged £10 per item). Fortunately I’m a stickler for details and was aware of their restrictions and had packed my bag accordingly, so with one quick x-ray of my bag and a stroll through the metal detector I was quickly on my way out of the portico, past the rifle-wielding policemen and was rounding the corner of the building to the steps of the main entrance.

The stairs to the main entrance of the US Embassy

By this time it was 8.45am (15 minutes after my scheduled appointment) but I wasn’t concerned as I had read a report previously on an immigration forum that they allocate the same time to a whole block of people and once you were inside the building it didn’t matter. Sure enough when I went through the doors and up to reception, the girl behind the desk asked “Visa or immigration?” to which I replied “Immigration” and she gave me ticket with “5009” printed on it. I then turned left and went up the stairs, opened the door and entered into a giant hall filled with chairs and people, with hundreds of eyes all watching the TV screens hanging from the ceiling to see when their number would be called. Years ago I had been here with my dad when he had had to get a plain old tourist visa to visit the US and it hadn’t changed one bit- except that the screens were now flat-panel LCD. Aside from this, it all still looked very 1960s. All down the left side of the room were big glass windows looking out to the square below. Because this hall was also eastward-facing, they had tried to filter out as much of the blaring sun as they could with blinds, and had installed giant floor fans to keep the air moving. So depending on where you sat you were either frying under glass, or searching around for a coat to withstand the windtunnel blast of chilly air from the fans. At the far end of the room was a small tuckshop selling drinks and snacks, and at the rear end was the counter for the courier service that they used to deliver your visa-stamped passport back to you. On the right side of the room were windows/booths numbered 1-11 with various people hunched over talking through glass to embassy people, often speaking so loudly that you could eavesdrop on their conversations if you were in a chair nearby. Booths 12-25 were situated just around the corner, down a little corridor past the loos where there was no waiting area and it was much quieter and more private. There were also a couple of computers where you could fill in and print out applications for non-immigrant visas.

As I had walked in (8.45am) they were serving ticket #5003 so I had a bit of time to wait. They had divided people into categories according to which visa type they were applying for- Immigrant visas were all in the 5000s, non-immigrants were all in the 1000s, and “E” visas were all in the 2000s. They also gave an indication as to how many people were waiting in each category at any given time. When I walked in there were seven other immigrants, 48 non-immigrants and four “E” visas. There was also a category for Department of Homeland Security, except there weren’t any applicants for that on this occasion.

Over the next hour, they ploughed through a load of the 1000 tickets, but the 5000s weren’t moving very much. This made me a little nervous as the time between each 5000 ticket was about half an hour- what on earth were they asking?? Suddenly the pint of coffee that I had consumed the hour before had worked its way through my system, and combined with the nerves I was up and down from my seat literally every ten minutes. I started reading my book but it began to get exciting and I was worried that I would become so absorbed in the story that I would miss hearing my number, so I went into the little corridor by the loos and started looking at the paintings by American artists that they’d hung up there. They had also posted little informative posters next to each one so it was an excellent way to pass the time. Eventually 5007 and 5008 were called over the loud speakerr so I psyched myself up for being called in about half an hour, and made another trip to the loo. But yes, you can guess what happened….I had to quickly dash out again, run to the computer screen to check that my ears weren’t decieving me, and then trot down to the far end of the hall to booth #1. It was now 10.15am.

The lady behind the glass counter seemed flustered, and apologised profusely that things were taking so long. Apparently their computer system had been down that morning and they were going to try to speed things along. I handed over my passport and she disappeared off to retrieve my file. I was actually amazed at how their seemingly primitive system worked- my documents were all there! She took my ticket, stuck the number on the back of my passport, and stuck something else on my file, and then went through all the documents that it contained, checking each one at every stage. It was rather an odd feeling seeing everything that I had sent to them, and also seeing things with DrMrNin’s handwriting on them that he had sent in from his end that I hadn’t seen before. His handwriting was in England but he wasn’t. Odd. Anyway, all my documents were fine and they didn’t need to see any of the duplicates that I had taken along with me just in case. She then took an electronic scan of my fingerprints on both hands and handed back a whole stack of the various passport photos that I had had to submit at various stages throughout the process and he told me to “pick one, any one”.  Included in the stack was the infamous two inch square mugshot but instead I chose a regular passport photo that I’d had taken last summer when my hair was a better colour (hehehe).  I was half expecting her to return it as it was the wrong shape, but hey ho she didn’t and instead gave me a pink form that I would need to use for the courier service at the very very end, and also a GIANT yellow envelope with my name in GIANT writing across it containing my chest x-ray. She told me I need to take this on the plane with me to give to border control when I arrive in the US. So 10 minutes after my number was called, that was it for the first stage and she told me to take another seat and listen out for my number again so I would know when to go for my interview.

The pink form that I had been given to fill in also had written on it instructions about the next stage, warning me that I could be in for another couple of hours of waiting around. It also warned sternly that if I missed the call for my interview, I would have to go home and wait for another letter inviting me to the embassy and do the whole thing all over again. So after I’d filled out my address I skipped off the loo one more time so that I could get myself settled in comfortably and be able to give my full attention to the screens (this time my number would be called out of sequence, so it was imperative that I should concentrate). Surely the coffee was almost through by now??! But yes, you guessed it my number was called the instant I locked the door, so I had to dash out again almost sending a small child flying in the process, glance at the screen to find out where I was supposed to be, and find my way around to window #16.

Behind the glass sat a *very* nice man. He greeted me, scanned my finger, asked when we had got married and then congratulated me as we’d just had our anniversary. I also pointed out that I’d just had my birthday and he congratulated me for that too. He then looked at my form, commented on where DrMrNin worked, asked what he did there and then asked me if we would continue to be living in the same place. Turns out he was completely familiar with the area and DrMrNin’s workplace as he had once lived in the same city and in fact knew *exactly* where our apartment was. Small world! He asked how we’d met and I gave him the nerdy grad school story and he inquired as to what sort of career path I wanted to take after the move and if I had good contacts I could make use of out there. It was all very chatty, more conversational about a common talking point than anything else, not like an interview at all. And then he smiled and said “Well congratulations, your visa has been approved and you’re now an official permanent resident of the United States“. Ahh, music to my ears! And THAT WAS IT. He then took a couple of minutes to explain that I was getting a “CR-1″ which stands for “Conditional Residence” as we’ve been married for less than four years, and so because of that my residence permit is valid for two years, and 90 days before it expires I have to apply for adjustment of status. But the Greencard I get (the work permit portion of the visa) is valid for a lifetime, but I have to renew it every ten years, unless I choose to become a US citizen which I can do after seven years. From here all that was left to do then was to take my pink form to the courier desk at the back of the big hall and pay £19 for the shipping service (I got the £4 upgrade to have them deliver it before 12pm) and be on my way.

By 10.45am on Friday 15th August 2008, I was out of the building, officially a permanent resident of the United States!

Thereafter was an afternoon of celebrating with my favourite things. I wasn’t hugely hungry for lunch as I’d spent the morning nibbling though a bag of mixed nuts and feasting on jellybabies, so I went to the Waitrose foodhall underneath John Lewis (the same place where Mutti and I had bought our piggy lemon drizzle cake) and bought some big juicy green grapes, and one of those flat peaches that look like squahed bottoms that Melissa has raved so much about in the past. I’m not normally a peach person (wouldyoubelieve!) but I have to agree that these were quite tasty. I also wore my nice new swanky sunglasses that my kind husband treated me to as a celebratory present, but moving swiftly on….

After this came a wander down Bond Street looking in the windows of the posh shops full of things I can’t afford, followed by a stop for tea at MY FAVOURITE MACAROON SHOP IN THE WHOLE WIDE WORLD!

Ladurée macaroons are THE BEST

Have you ever heard of Ladurée? They are a Parisian patisserie and HOMYGOD THEIR MACAROONS ARE TO DIE FOR. Their website is also super pretty and well worth a look. Oh just imagine to be able to go to their shop in Paris, I would be in macaroon heaven…..

The Ladurée café in the Burlington Arcade

I discovered Ladurée macaroons after I had had my medical the other week so my stop here for tea was entirely planned. OK, so this particular cafe is just two tables outside the shop, but the macaroons are completely worth it (have I made my point?!) and the setting is just completely perfect. There are only two Ladurée shops in London, one of which is in Harrods, and then there’s this one in the Burlington Arcade, a little covered colonade of shops which is the EPITOME of elegance. It’s soooo lovely inside. Let me see if there’s a picture…

Yes, here’s one:

Photo by George P. Landow

And here are a couple more too…(click to enlarge)

Photos by George P. Landow

See? Pretty!

Sadly there is no Ladurée in San Francisco, but I am not alone in wondering and there seems to be an online discussion about where to buy comparable substitutes in the city, SQUEEE I can’t wait to sample them

Afterwards my afternoon of elegance and treats continued and I ended up spending a very happy couple of hours wandering around Fortnum and Mason which would easily be my very most beloved and favourite shop in the whole wide universe. Imagine the quality, luxury and excellence of Williams Sonoma, now imagine it being completely made over my Martha Stewart so it contains even more of only the VERY FINEST things, multiply that by SQUILLION and make it on five floors selling everything from bath towels to garden trugs and then you’ve just about got Fortnum and Mason. Hey, I’m in the mood for showing photos that aren’t my own today, so thi is what I mean.

This is the main part of the ground floor, here they sell mainly tea, biscuits, chocolates and preserves:

And here’s another part where they sell flowers:

Photo by Andrew Dunn

Fortnums is reason alone to want to go to London. A reason I like it so much is that despite the elegance and grandeur, it’s not at all revoltingly ostentatious, it’s welcoming to all, and the prices are surprisingly not unreasonable given the level and status of the store. It’s certainly not at the cheap end of the scale and I most definitely wouldn’t choose to shop there for day-to-day goods, but it’s absolutely possible to pick up beautiful things there that make excellent gifts. In fact that’s what I do fairly regularly, and the quality is just outstanding. And who could resist a present from Fortnums?

A quick trip downstairs to the main food hall to get a small bottle of Fortnums pink champagne and it was finally time to go home.

All in all a thoroughly pleasing and successful day. More importantly, AMERICA HERE I COME!

(click to biggen)

Look what arrived this morning. It suddenly seems a lot more real

Very. Almost. There.