As the date of our appointment at the Italian consulate in Miami approached, I finished organizing all of the documents gathered in the last few months. Everything was categorized and put into a tabbed notebook. I purchased two stamped, Express mail envelopes, filled out the application forms, attached the photos, and hired a dog sitter for the night we would be away. Miami is at least a six hour drive from Amelia Island, so we had decided to drive down the day before our appointment, staying overnight in a hotel near the consulate office.
The morning of our appointment we woke to discover that no coffee was available at our hotel, a serious lack on a day when we could use a dose of caffeine. We quickly packed and loaded the car then headed toward the consulate hoping to find a cafe near by. When that search failed, we settled our still caffeine-less selves in the consulate lobby, watching a clock measure off the minutes before the offices opened for business. Thankfully a small coffee shop in the consulate building soon opened and we could now enjoy a cup of coffee as we admired the Julian Schnabel paintings placed around the lobby.
While we waited, more people drifted in and found a place on one of the two sofas. I looked around at the others in the room, trying to identify which visa, or other business, brought them to the consulate. Several groups appeared to be Italians, perhaps seeking a family reunification visa. Two slim young men stood chatting together against the back wall, maybe athletes applying for a sports visa; an attractive, dressed for business Asian woman– work visa? No one I saw seemed to be of an age suggesting they were planning to retire in Italy as we were. Was there any advantage for us if we were the only ones to apply for an ER visa on this day?
Finally, as 9:00 approached, we were asked to check in, then took the elevator to an upper floor where we would present our files. We entered a small room filled with rows of chairs and took our seats, looking forward to the opportunity to verify our visa worthiness. Having read accounts of other ER applicants’ experiences, we anticipated a brief interview as we presented our documents. A bank of service windows on the far side of the room suggested that several staff members would be on duty to ask or answer questions and who would, hopefully, give some sign that an application had passed muster. Or, if it didn’t, indicate what further information was needed.
Instead, a lone man was the only staff there, serving the two dozen or so people waiting to be seen. In the course of the morning, every applicant or family group would go to each of the three windows. The first stop was a check to see that the application form was properly filled out; having done that, the applicant returned to his or her chair as another person took their place at the window. Window two was for ascertaining that all required documents were in place and again the applicant returned to their chair once that check had been done. Finally, at the third window the application form was signed, only to be done in the presence of a consulate official. All the to-ing and fro-ing by applicants was counterpointed by our man in charge who went from window to window, herding everyone through each stage of the process. The system seemed a burlesque to us, with the constant motion in the room and a single man alternating between three windows parodying a full complement of staff.
When it was our turn at the first window we were told to add a couple of details–former employers’ street addresses and our email, which, sacrificing legibility, we dutifully squeezed into the too small space. Returning to our seats we were slightly perplexed at the brevity of the encounter, but would learn soon enough that there never would be an opportune time to ask questions or discuss whether the Preliminary Contract would be accepted as proof of housing. Our carefully constructed letter of introduction describing our connection to Italy and explaining the desire to retire there would go unread. In fact, none of our documents, including financial information, would be seen until they landed in the hands of the consular assistant who would determine our fate.
After a cursory check of our file had confirmed we had all the necessary documents (window two), we arrived at window three where we signed the application form, ending our morning at the consulate. We left with the reminder that the consulate could hold our passports for 90 days, but, with a laugh, the man told us it was also possible that our files might be seen that same afternoon.
Though relieved to have completed the arduous process of applying for our ER visas, we were also disappointed that there had been no brief interview, no questions resolved, and no indication whatsoever of our position on the spectrum of likely or unlikely to succeed. Generally I would advocate getting as much information as possible when applying for the ER visa. But learning about other’s experience at their consulate appointment had predisposed us to expect a more helpful process, leading to our disappointment when that didn’t happen. For us, the only purpose of the long drive, the overnight hotel stay and the dog sitter was to transfer the file from our hands to theirs. How much easier it would have been simply to mail our application and that, unfortunately, was not an option. Still, it was over; if we were not entirely pleased with the process, that was only a state of mind, and not necessarily an indication of how it would all turn out. Now we could only wait for the result, a matter, according to the consulate website, of a few weeks
Lurching towards Italy 