French Consulate Day

Just to warn you, this is an epicly long post.

So today was the day I’ve been waiting for forEVER. Well, waiting for/dreading. Today I went to my visa appointment at the French consulate in New York City. This is the final step of the REALLY REALLY REALLY LONG PROCESS that is Getting A Long Stay French Visa.

In case you haven’t been following along this whole time, kiddies, let me sum this all up for you. I’ll Sparknote it for you.

Early August- got bagels (mmm bagels) with my friend Tori, who is also spending her year split between two countries. She mentions how she’s stressed over getting a visa for her second country. I think, “oh, how lucky am I, neither of my study abroad countries require visas la la la.” Then I go home and, just for fun, shoot “French student visa” into Google. Ohhhhhh damn. Proceed to freak out and call everyone I know who could potentially help me with this.

Mid August- leave for the Dominican Republic

Late August- go to the French embassy in the Dominican Republic, wondering if I could apply from there. Get turned away pretty much the second I walk in the door. See lovely recap of this incident here.

September-mid October- wait, wait, wait until I can get officially accepted to the program.

Late October- got officially accepted to my program. Started the French visa process.

Early November?- apply to CampusFrance. CampusFrance is a seemly pointless step in this process that involves putting basic info about yourself and your plans online and then sending a $70 money order to Washington DC. Schedule visa appointment for December 17th, two days after I am to come back from the DR. Original plan was for me to cancel my final leg (JFK to Syracuse) and just stay in NYC with my sister and go to my appointment from there.

November- gather papers gather papers gather papers. SO MANY DOCUMENTS.

Late November- my mother sends all of the papers that she has (some I have with me in the DR) with my sister after Thanksgiving, so she can give them to me before my appointment. These papers include everything from one-of-a-kind acceptance letters from France to my birth certificate.

Early December- due to the outbreak of Cholera in Haiti and its spread to the DR, as well as my rising stress level about my visa appointment, my parents ask/suggest/highly recommend that I come back early. My flight is changed for two days earlier, and we try to move my visa appointment earlier too. Unfortunately, there aren’t any earlier dates.

Mon, December 13th- fly home. Get in a bit after midnight.

Tues, December 14th- realize that the only bus down to NYC on Thursday is at 1am. Decide that it’d probably be better for me to take the bus the next day (Wednesday).

December 15th- 16th- NYC.
Okay, that enough of a recap? Sorry that’s kind of long. So that brings me to today. Today was a fun day! no it wasn’t. the only good parts of today were that I ate two salads and a really good mini-hot pretzel. and oatmeal for breakfast. food always makes everything better.

So this morning I got up way too early for someone on winter break to get up- 730- and headed out. Went to UPS to make copies of a few things (these things weren’t on the list of things that I needed, but it really can’t hurt) and buy a pre-addressed envelope. The envelope is for the consulate to send me my visa after it’s been processed. Or so I had thought. Dun dun dunnn. $26 for a stupid overnight envelope. GEEZ .

Got some oatmeal and took the 1 down to 70-something. Walked across Central Park and found the Visa Section of the French consulate. It was only 9am, and the security guard won’t let you in until it’s exactly the time on your sheet (mine said 10), so I killed an hour walking up and down Madison Avenue and window shopping things that I could never, ever afford.


French Consulate @ NYC. The Visa Section was actually around the corner.

At 10 I head into the consulate. I go through security, am given a number, and head up a staircase. There are four booth-y things on the left- kind of like at a doctor’s office? with numbers hung above each of them, and a sheet of glass dividing the visa-seeker from the French consulate worker. Et c’est bien necessaire. Anyway.

I head to the right, where there are about thirty people- a few of them standing- waiting to be called. I eventually get a seat and wait. and wait. and wait. for my number to be called. As I’m waiting, I hear one French woman just yelling and complaining and speaking in a condescending tone to everyone who gets called up. So this is the woman I’ve heard about. Greatttttt. Some girl’s papers were too wrinkled. Other people took too long to search through their documents. Another girl didn’t have her school ID. Etc etc etc.

At 1045- 45 minutes after I got there- my number gets called. However, it’s not to speak to the French lady. Nope, not yet. I go to the first window, where there is a seemingly nicer French man. I present my CampusFrance documents, application (which I screwed up a little bit… I filled in my university in France where I was supposed to fill in my home university. I made up an address for Pitt because I couldn’t remember the actual address. Whatever. 3500 Fifth Ave is close enough to Alumni), and pay for the visa. 50 Euros. Aka 66 dollars or 2454 pesos (ayyy that’s a lot of concho rides). After that I sat back down and waited for the French lady to beckon.

About 10 minutes later, she calls my name. I go up to the window, my heartbeat noticeably faster, and try to be nice. Fail. I don’t even really remember exactly the order things happened- so I’ll do my best... I guess my mind has already decided that this is one memory worth forgetting- but I do remember that I was terrified. She asks me for my receipt from Window 1. There were two receipts, and first I gave her the one she didn’t want. Yell. I give her the other one. Better. I also give her a copy of my passport and my OFII form.

She then asks me to put my fingers on this fingerprinter machine thing. I’m pretty positive that the last time I was fingerprinted I was four, and I was in Jersey (not sure why that’s relevant), and I used ink. I didn’t really understand how to use it and tried to put all fingers on at once, which is apparently what you’re really not supposed to do… got yelled at… eventually figured it out.
Then she needed to take my photo. I took off my coat and scarf and stood against a white backdrop. However, I was standing too far to the right. She told me to move over a bit… apparently I didn’t move over enough… got yelled at.


A fingerprinting machine. not at all like the one that I'm talking about. this one looks easy.

She then asked me for a bank statement. WHAT THE HECK. I’ve heard NOTHING but freak-outs from other kids who say that they went to their appointment with a bank statement and were turned away because they didn’t have a letter from their bank. So, obviously, I got a letter from my bank before I came. Thankfully, my mom also included a bank statement in with my papers.

She then asked for my flight confirmation, which I thankfully had EVEN THOUGH ON THE NY FRENCH CONSULATE WEBSITE IT CLEARLY SAYS DO NOT BUY YOUR PLANE TICKETS BEFORE RECEIVING YOUR VISA. But I’ve learned not to pay attention to a single thing that stupid webpage says.

Lastly, she asks for a letter from my home university. Which had not been mentioned ANYWHERE. “Uh. What letter. I have a letter from my study abroad program?” “NO, from your university in the STATES.” “Hmmm… university in France?” “NO, MA’AM, HOME UNIVERSITY.” “Uhhh well I have a copy of my school ID?” Apparently that was good enough. Thank GOD.

So she then stamps the payment receipt, puts it in my passport, and slides it under the glass at me. “Come back in a week.” “Er… I bought an envelope, I heard that the consulate can send…” “NO, MA’AM, WE DO NOT DO THAT.” “Oh… okay… so I come back in a week…” (Thinking: Christmas Eve is in a week.) “YES, MA’AM. BETWEEN 9-10AM.”

And then I run away, forgetting my scarf. I don’t go back for it. It was only $7.

So I’m perplexed. I still have my passport. And I also have a $26 envelope, addressed to my house, that I’m really not planning on doing anything with. But I want that $26 back. And more importantly, I really, really do not want to have to come back here on Christmas Eve. And also, one more time, why the hell do I still have my passport?!?! That’s where they’re supposed to put this stupid visa.

I start to walk across the park, think for a minute, then turn around and walk back to the consulate. I ask the security guard when I’m supposed to come back, can I have anyone else come back for me, and why do I still have my passport? He says “Between 9-10am Friday”, “Yes, as long as they have this receipt”, and “They know what they’re doing.”

Uh, okay. So I keep on thinking for a few hours that I’m going to need to come back down here on Friday morning… screw that… but then I talk to someone else from my group who tells me that I can come back Friday at the earliest. As in, I can come back between 9-10am on any day, as long as it’s next Friday or later. So THAT makes me feel better. And it makes a lot more sense.

I also get the feeling that if I were to come back on Friday, there’s a decent chance that I’d get told “Oh, it’s not ready yet, come back Monday”, or something equally as terrible.

So that’s my story. I’m currently on a Megabus headed north (we’re only 70 minutes behind schedule- spent a considerable amount of time waiting out in the cold for this thing), and I’m realllllly hoping that I’ll be able to spend the next few nights at home. Por favor. I enjoy travelling and all, but I also enjoy my house and my own bed and my kitchen and not living out of a suitcase.

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¿Te gusta mi país?

Again... written on the airplane, posted in JFK.

I was asked many times during my four months in the DR the question: ¿Te gusta mi país? Do you like my country?
Personally, I think it’s pretty ballsy to respond to this question- no matter what your opinion actually is- in a negative way. Yeah the States has its issues, but I would still probably get kind of ticked to hear a foreigner go on and on and on about the US being terrible.

So whenever I got asked this question- no matter what I was feeling at the time- I would respond overall positively.
And now, sitting on a half-full JetBlue plane, somewhere over the Atlantic Ocean, trying to be all deep and reflective and stuff… the goods totally outweigh the not-so-goods. Both with the country, and my experience in general.

The people:
Well, besides the entry that I just posted about Dominican men and piropos… ignore that one for now… I really did like the people here. Everyone- including women- is so friendly. Example: my university. Some friends from PUCMM have told me that most PUCMM students are snotty, because it’s “the university for the rich kids”, but I really didn’t find that at all. Whether it was doing group projects in class, asking directions, or just waiting in line next to someone in the cafeteria. Even when I had to teach English classes at PUCMM for my TESOL class, all of the students were really respectful. Granted, I don’t know how much of this was due to me being white. It’s definitely possible that attitudes are different towards Dominicans from other universities.

The climate:
Uh. I lived on an island in the Caribbean? Do you really want me to explain and shove in your face one more time that I spent the fall/pre-winter months in paradise, while most of you were scraping ice off your windshield in the morning and turning your car on 5 minutes early to heat it up? No?

The food:
FRIED STREET FOOD. Empanadas, yaroa, yaha, yucca balls…
FRESH FRUIT. Pineapple, mangoes, oranges, avocado, bananas, plantains, coconut…
Those are the two groups that really stand out to me, but also just even day-to-day Dominican cuisine. Rice and beans (which I know realllllllly got to some other students in my group, but I never really had a problem with it), tostones, guac, fresh fruit juice, sweet plantains (sliced plantains with sugar, cinnamon, nutmeg)… Lunch was prepared Monday through Friday by our housekeeper, and there were always at least five plates on the table full of food.

The language:
I had never been confident with my Spanish-speaking abilities before coming to the DR. At all. I couldn’t conjugate an irregular verb to save my life (how I passed 4 years worth of Spanish classes is beyond me) and my American/French accent was laughable. However, after just a few days in the DR, I just wanted to talk as much as I could. And then talk some more. And more. It didn’t take me too long to become comfortable speaking, even though I knew that I was still making mistakes. But I mean, whatever. Cliché, but I’m never going to get better if I never practice. When I’m back in the states, I want to speak Spanish at every opportunity. Hold me to that, someone. Anyone.

And I'm sure I'll have more to add later. It was a great experience. My host family was awesome, the Dominicans I became friends with were great, and I'm also really glad that I got to become close with other Americans. Even though they were often detrimental to my attempt at Spanish-only conversation. Just as I'm sure I was to theirs. (Does that even make sense...?)

I found this site with interesting/informative/funny articles about the DR.

And here they have 21 Things to Know Before Coming to the DR. Not that I think any of you are planning to come to the DR anytime soon, but para que sepan.

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Piropos

Wrote this a week ago... forgot to post it...

Now is time for me to talk about something that I didn’t really want to write about too too much before… because I didn’t want to concern family members… but considering I’m leaving in less than a week, I’ll talk about it.

Here, they’re called piropos, and they’re the way that many Dominican men “flatter” young women. In the states, it would most probably be called verbal harassment.

And these piropos are something that’s normal for Dominicans. They don’t get overly concerned. Some Dominican women even like hearing them, because they make them feel good about themselves. However, American women get called out to a million more times than Dominican women do, no matter how gorgeous the Dominican woman are.

What are some common piropos? These have become so common for all of us Americans, it’s pretty much just street noise.

“Ahh que bella/linda/bonita” (Oh how beautiful/pretty/beautiful)
The words “gringa” (non-Spanish speaking white person), “Americana”, “rubia” (blondie) are commonly added onto the end of this phrase.
“I want to marry you” “I want to sleep with you” “Come to my house” “I want to be your boyfriend”, etc…

And maybe you think that teenage/20-something men are the only people saying these things. Nope.

On four separate occasions I’ve been in a taxi where the driver has flat out told me that he’d like me to be his girlfriend/wife, because he could “take good care of me”. The conversations always start totally innocently, I’ll say Hi, How are you, etc, and once they see that I speak Spanish… I’m fair game. Two weeks ago I complimented a taxi driver’s car, because it was really nice in comparison to most that I’d seen. I’d been in the car for about 30 seconds, and he turned towards me, totally seriously, and said “If you really like it, honey, I’ll give it to you. Be my girlfriend.”

WHY DO I KEEP LETTING PEOPLE KNOW I SPEAK SPANISH? I really need to stop. When they think I don’t understand, they just talk about me right in front of me. Anyway.

Another time, a friend and I were eating ice cream at a stand near my apartment. We were talking quietly in English, not drawing attention to ourselves… normal. Right? Right. We weren’t dressed like strippers or dancing around yelling in English or anything idiotic. So there’s this “cop” (I use that word very loosely in this country) who was guarding the ice cream stand. And he just kept staring at us. And we did what we’ve been taught to do which is just ignore people. But he wouldn’t stop.

PS this guy has a gun and is probably about 60 years old.

After about ten minutes of creeping like a creeping creeper, he says to us “So what are two beautiful girls like you doing in this country?”
And without missing a beat- I’d already been here for two months- “Well, what I am trying to do is to eat my ice cream and talk to my friend without being interrupted. You think I can do that?”

Okay okay I know that it sounds like. Katy went to the Dominican Republic and turned into a btch. But no. No no no no you don’t get it. You give these guys an inch, they take a mile. A head nod, a weak smile, eye contact for more than half a second… that all means you’re interested. According to them.

PARA QUE SEPAN.

But not all Dominican guys are like this. I have met some tame ones. Some.

And it’s difficult for me to describe this all. Because I KNOW that no matter how I explain it, you all are going to think I’m exaggerating or whatever. But no. No no no no no again. You really can’t understand it until you get here, but it’s really like this. Getting shouted at five times in a minute is really nothing. at all. I get hit on about a dozen times before lunch, you?

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Community Service with a side of Puppy Chow

Look! Two posts, one day. How productive of me.

Friday, part of our ISA group headed out to do some volunteer work about 15 minutes away from campus. We went to a Comedor Infantil, which is a school /free meal for local children who otherwise wouldn’t get too much to eat for lunch. For many of them, this is their biggest meal of the day.

We didn’t really know what we would be doing there, so some people showed up in flip flops and nice clothes… annnnnnd we ended up doing manual labor. I didn’t have a problem with it- it was something different, and a decent workout. We helped to clear out this big field in front of the school that had been filled with overgrown weeds and dried palm tree leaves.

But of course, we weren’t working alone. Nope. Many of the kids get to school hours before lunch, just to hang out. And they saw that we were using sharp rakes and axe-type things and shovels… and decided to join us. In fact, the woman working there was the one who suggested it. Kind of surprising- considering the average age of these kids was about eight- but they were cute and no one got too too hurt. Can’t say I wasn’t a bit scared though, to see elementary-age kids swinging sharp shovels around. A parent’s worst nightmare.


ISA students and some kids working

Considering most of us are totally done with finals, and really have nothing to do… at all… until we leave (or until classes start again, for the year-long people)… my friend Rose suggested that we get together and make some Puppy Chow and Christmas Wreaths. Now, what is Puppy Chow, you may ask?

Well, it’s the same thing as Reindeer Food. I think that’s more of a Northeastern name for it.

Does that help? No? Still totally lost and wondering about my apparent newfound love for animal food?

Puppy Chow/Reindeer Food is a snack made by added melted chocolate chips, peanut butter, vanilla, and butter to corn Chex, then coating them in powdered sugar. Recipe here, if so interested.


Ingredients for the Puppy Chow and Christmas Wreaths. and my Diet Coke.


Finished Puppy Chow

We all ate so. much. as we were making these. Seriously. I suppose I like to think that I have some self-control… but yesterday, I didn’t. I felt so sick from eating so much chocolate, and just couldn’t stop. It was delicious though. MmmMmm…

After the Puppy Chow, we started on Christmas Wreaths. They’re made by melting marshmallows and butter together, then stirring in corn flakes. You then take a ball of this gooey mix, and form it into a wreath shape. Usually green food dye is added, or even sometimes Red Hots, but we didn’t have any. Still great though. I ate two for breakfast this morning. Recipe here.


Christmas Wreaths.

Both of these snacks were made without an oven and were really easy to do. However, any type of dessert-making makes me miss baking at home! Syracuse, get ready for my return.

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Winter in the Caribbean

Side note, before I even start- in the Caribbean, and in the US, the word ‘Caribbean’ is normally pronounced ca-rib-bean, while in British English it’s mostly said carib-be-an. That’s why, in the Pirates of the Caribbean movies, it’s said the second way. Which many of you probably already knew, because you’re so smart, but I just felt like sharing.

Moving on.

Winter in the Caribbean is weird. Okay, let me be more clear, Christmas season in the Caribbean is weird. There’ve been decorations up since before Halloween, first of all. In the US, as you all know, it’s an unofficial rule that you can’t really get into the Christmas thing until after Thanksgiving, and you can’t get into the Thanksgiving thing until after Halloween… however, as the DR doesn’t do Thanksgiving and barely does Halloween, this unofficial rule doesn’t apply. At all.


Entrance to my university, before Thanksgiving

Christmas decorations have been up for sale since before Halloween, there’s been Christmas music playing on the radio for weeks… and I’m not saying that this is bad by any means, it’s just a lot different from what I’m used to.

And not only because the season started so early… but also because it’s still like 80 degrees out. I took a walk this morning, in a tank top and jeans, and sudden realized about how it was going to be Christmas in twenty days. The other day, I went swimming outside and had to remember to put loads of sunscreen on… and later that day I went Christmas shopping with some friends.

Have I made my point enough yet? Sorry. Summary: For a girl who has spent every Christmas in freezing upstate New York, it’s weird to spend the first half of the holiday season in a tropical paradise. But I will be home in about a week and a half, and I am not sure how my body will react to the sudden cold. I’ll probably just go into shock and turn into a popsicle on the spot, right outside the airport.

Anyway, so I’ve been trying to get myself into the Christmas spirit by listening to some holiday music. Unfortunately, my music collection is majorly lacking in this genre. I’ve got a Taylor Swift holiday album from 2007, a few songs from the Love Actually soundtrack, the Linus and Lucy song, and like ten other random songs, none of which make me think of putting up the Christmas tree or baking copious amounts of cookies. I need to get me some Mannheim Steamroller tan pronto como sea posible.

**For those of you not on Facebook, I took/uploaded a bunch of photos from my university. You can see them here.**
I think you SHOULD be able, to, anyway....

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DR Food Breakdown: Entry 1: Yucca Balls & Yaha

I am currently watching an SNL marathon. One just finished that was from like 2002… they kept talking about SARS… Avril Lavigne was on and singing a song that I remember hearing at a school dance in 7th grade… and Tracy Morgan was there too- and skinny. How times have changed.

Anyway, I’m not writing to ramble about SNL… nor am I writing to rant about France (while I’d like to… maldita visa).

No, this entry is the first- of hopefully many- entries on the food of the Dominican Republic. Okay, maybe I should’ve started this earlier than two weeks before I was to leave… whatever.

Today we are going to talk about… Yucca Balls and Yaha.

This is a yucca ball. Yucca is kind of like a potato, but not. It’s a tuber. I think that’s the word for it. Anyway, a yucca ball is… a ball of mashed up yucca that’s filled with something, rolled in bread crumbs, and then deep-fried. I think they’re usually 25-35 pesos (.67-.94), which is probably about 5 times cheaper than what they’d cost if they were sold in the States. Normal.


This is a photo of a yucca ball my host brother had a bit ago… this one is filled with cheese. Yucca balls are normally a little bit smaller than baseballs.

And of course they’re amazing, but I’ve only had one or two… there are just so many delicious fried foods here, and I try not to have more than two a week… I normally stick to empanadas (more on those some other time) or… YAHA.

What is yaha? I may or may not have discussed it before… but it is most definitely worth a second shout out.


This is what it looks like from the outside.

They’re usually about 5 inches long, deep fried, and they always have some combo of red dots on the outside. These dots, and the ones on empanadas, show what type of filling you’re going to find inside. There’re only a few types of yaha, but like a million types of empanadas- or like twenty- so it gets pretty complicated.

This was a chicken and cheese yaha. Not the greatest photo, but you can kinda see the chicken in there. It’s shredded chicken, and cheese like you’d find in a mozzarella stick. There are two other flavors that I know of too- plain cheese, and pizza. I had pizza for the first time today. Mmm mmmm…


Inside

So, pretty much, Deep fried egg roll like crust + mozzarella stick cheese + chicken = yaha

Anyone want me to try to bring them up one from the DR?

Just kidding, that’s a silly question. There’s no way it’d even make it to the airport without me eating it first.

** Yucca ball recipe **

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