Santo Domingo Trip #2: Epic Fail

Last Friday, I went back to Santo Domingo to talk to someone at the French Embassy about my visa issue. Let’s make this clear, I did not go to apply for my visa, I just went to talk to someone about my visa.
Anyway. Fortunately, my host mother was already planning on going down to Santo Domingo- she teaches a class there every Friday. So at 6am, we left Santiago with two of her other professor friends. We stopped for breakfast (I got a hot ham and cheese sandwich. When in doubt in this country, this is usually the safest option) and got into the city around 830. I then took a 30, 40 minute cab ride to the embassy (SD is HUGE, but there were also major traffic issues going on).

So I get to the embassy, try about 4 doors before actually finding the one that opens, and I walk in. There are about 20 people in the waiting room, despite the office only having been open for a bit over an hour. Everyone has folders and official looking papers with them, and I decided that I clearly did not want to start waiting in line if all I wanted to ask was “EST-CE QUE C’EST POSSIBLE D’APPLIQUER POUR UNE VISA FRANÇAISE PENDANT QUE JE SUIS EN LA REPUBLIQUE DOMINICAINE, OUI OU NON??” then turn around and hop on a bus back north.
So I walked up to the only official-looking person in the room, who happened to be a security guard. Not a great choice, but he was all I had. I Sparknote’d my situation to him, getting the feeling that he really did not care. He then told me that the woman who could help me is pregnant, and to come back on Monday.

This does not make sense for two reasons:
A. Pregnancy is not an illness or a condition that can be cured or dealt with in 3 days, so I really don’t get it, and
B. He can not possibly be telling me that after over 3 hours of travel-and-ham-sandwich-eating-time that I need to do it all again on Monday.
At this point, I was getting a bit frustrated. I asked him if he spoke French, but I guess I started talking again before I even heard the answer because after a few seconds of me ranting in French to him, he held up his hands and said “No, yo NO hablo francés”.



Fortunately, the guy next to me was French or Quebecois or SOMETHING (I was not in a place to play Guess-the-Accent, despite usually being fairly good at this game), because he turned to me and said “Je parle français, qu’est-ce que c’est le problème?”

I then had this guy act as an interpreter for me for a few minutes. I could understand what he was saying in Spanish, and I think under less stressful circumstances I could’ve said it myself, but not just then. The security guard wasn’t much more help (claro, I don’t know why I really thought he’d be in the first place) so I just talked to the French-speaking guy. He said that I could apply for a French visa from the DR etc etc etc I just need to wait at least another month (they don’t start reviewing apps until 3 months in advance… I don’t even know if you can even submit apps more than three months in advance). So then I left the embassy, because there really wasn’t much else I could do.

So I’m in SD, killing an hour or so before I need to get a taxi to go to the bus station so I can get a ticket to get on a bus to get back to Santiago so I can get to my meeting at 330. And so I’m walking… I go in this store… and find the best dress ever. Tried it on, it fit perfectly, so I bought it for 600 pesos (don’t worry, this is relevant). It was 650, but I was a smart girl and bartered down.



After that, I realize I only have about 200 pesos left, so I head to an ATM machine in a fast food place called Pollo Rey (“Chicken King”. Two points for originality.) I try my card, and it doesn’t work. Stupid Chicken ATM machine. So I go find another. That one doesn’t work either. It said something about my card being invalid (and it was in English, so I know I was pressing all of the correct buttons).

I then think for a bit. And then a bit more.

And then I remember that I never “officially” told my bank that I was leaving the country. I guess just asking for Dominican pesos isn’t really “official” enough. This means, folks, that my card has been shut off. I had used it a week earlier, and I guess that’s what sent up the red flag to freeze my account.

Lovely.

So after a solid 15 minutes of panicking and frantic phone calls, I call my bank. Thankfully, the call was free. The lady on the phone asked me a million questions to verify my identity, like my parents’ ages and my billing address (they were all multiple choice questions, which I found kind of weird).

Then she said that, yeah, there was a freeze on my account and that she could lift it. I was so happy, I was about to buy this chick flowers or something. Until she said that it would take up to 24 hours for this to go through, and no less than 6. I didn’t like her as much anymore. “But I’m 2.5 hours from home and I need to get a cab and a bus ticket and I have no moneyyyyyyy.” “Well, we advise our customers to tell us that they’re leaving the country before they actually do leave the country, as to avoid issues like this.” Whatever.

So, I go back and return the dress for cash. Que tristeza. After that, I use the money to buy myself two Diet Cokes, a cab ride, an empanada, and a bus ticket back up to Santiago. [/long story]