If it's Wednesday, it must be Dubrovnik

I find myself in an usual quandary..... my long held belief that the Indian High Commission in London was the epitome of visa hell has been rendered queasy by a visit to the Croats. To begin with, my first mission is aborted because Central European wisdom demands a later start to the day..... 11 am, and not the usual crack of dawn popular in non consonant dominated lands. But I will say, they are lovely people. Most gracious.

My second attempt looks dubious as I take my finger off the label marked Croatian Embassy for the third time. Is it a public holiday? I should have worn a hat. Should I throw stones at the window?? The creak of the opening door jolts my musings and I dash past the door opener into a hoard of Spanish (well, purveyors of the tongue and if you've ever heard 4 together, you will know that they ARE a horde!), apparently queuing for some event. We are re-directed inside where half a dozen people have settled. I feel disappointed that no token numbers are being passed around, but the apparent lack of any direction restores my faith and I start to wonder if they actually issue the visa while you wait at the window. We take turns keeping the chirpy, blond brat amused while Nanny gets her visa.

Some more people are let in after some stressed voices, and we aggressively defend our pole position as one of the newbies blithely walks up to the window, only to beat a deeply apologetic retreat. Blondie in front of me illustrates she doesn't dye by asking if they needed to see health insurance...!!! Finally I arrive at the window. The smile is still genuine and she even helpfully glues on my photo for me. Her charmingness allays any potential impatience her pace at scanning through the documents might have otherwise ignited, and I smile back. We even haggle on the price of a single entry visa but apparently their website lied, and they're rather literal on the multiple visa front (apparently one needs to have proof of all the multiple entries to aspire to such a visa). 'Now you have to go to the bank...', she smiles. My heart thuds - could she be right? My certainty at being able to cobble together the last £5 wavers... I'm wondering if I can negotiate a deferred payment of 64p, but she continues, '....and pay there'.

I beg your pardon??? 'I'm sorry, GO to the bank?' 'Yes, it's not far'. My usually strong comprehensive skills abandon me and I utilise a few moments just to gawk at her. She's saying something, but my brain is too busy trying to put syllables together. 'Are you saying I can't pay here?' Bravo Einstein. That's what I would have said, but she really is charming. 'No, you have to go to the bank. It's not far....'. She hands me a pay-in slip and a printed map. 'This is where we are and here is the bank. It's HSBC. You must pay there and then come back and give us the slip.' You have got to be fucking kidding me. Lack of vowels in the vocabulary obviously tweaks one's sense of humour in an unexpected fashion.

I capitulate, gather my loose change and depart for 'the bank', nearly falling over the picnic that has gathered outside the door. The sweltering heat makes the bank further than convivial, and the unhelpfully suited tosser just aggravates my already delicate equilibrium. 12 minutes of Britain's favourite pastime before the thumpa, thumpa, thumpa and I'm left with copy duplicate and triplicate. My stomach growls warningly at the little kid that ventures too close and I slither my way back clinging to the ribbons of shade. I return, and the picnic turns out to be other visa seekers..... the sweat scenically rolls down the side of my breast as I jab the buzzer for the third time, unimpressed at my celebrity status of being someone who's had the privilege of eyeballing the haloed interiors. I try not to let the class difference show as I make an attempt to amiably answer questions about the 'crowd' inside.

Someone else exits, and like before, this fool rushes in.... but the window is occupied. Blonde and equally charming boss lady smilingly offers to take the duplicate copy off me, with instructions to come back next Wednesday with the triplicate version. Same place, same time. Next week. I bet she says that to everybody....