Back on Allusion Street
Who would have thought that the street my cousin would live on a street named after an abstract concept. Only on the outskirts of Warsaw...
In any case, I thought I'd get things done today, with a nice early start, getting to the Islamic Republic of Iran's embassy. Feels more like someone's house than an embassy, which is fine by me. Then I get 2, 4 page application forms to fill out. Then I find out that I need 3 passport photographs. I have 2. So much for the relaxed atmosphere.
The search for a hair dresser begins. One happens to be right next to a photographer. Open since 1935. I get a haircut. The man knows how to do his job. My disdain for hairdressers drops a notch more.
The photographer isn't open yet. I stumble around the surrounding grey streets to kill time. I find the Azeri embassy, I fail to find the Georgian embassy.
Stepping into the photographer's studio, I feel like I'm in a time warp. All the waiting stools have red vinyl upholstery. She has certificates of merit for 15 years service. She only does black and white. I order 12 copies. She advises me to wait until Wednesday so that the contrasts in my skin tone look natural. Damn.
Severely irate at having to waste another 3 days, I walk to the city centre and go Lousy Planet hunting. I find Central Asia and The Caucasus... all above recommended retail price. I go to an Asian supermarket to look for okonomi sauce. No love. I eat cheap Vietnamese overlooking the Square of the Saviour and cut my gum with a chopstick. I miss the tram by a bee's dick.
Oddly, I'm no longer irate.
In any case, I thought I'd get things done today, with a nice early start, getting to the Islamic Republic of Iran's embassy. Feels more like someone's house than an embassy, which is fine by me. Then I get 2, 4 page application forms to fill out. Then I find out that I need 3 passport photographs. I have 2. So much for the relaxed atmosphere.
The search for a hair dresser begins. One happens to be right next to a photographer. Open since 1935. I get a haircut. The man knows how to do his job. My disdain for hairdressers drops a notch more.
The photographer isn't open yet. I stumble around the surrounding grey streets to kill time. I find the Azeri embassy, I fail to find the Georgian embassy.
Stepping into the photographer's studio, I feel like I'm in a time warp. All the waiting stools have red vinyl upholstery. She has certificates of merit for 15 years service. She only does black and white. I order 12 copies. She advises me to wait until Wednesday so that the contrasts in my skin tone look natural. Damn.
Severely irate at having to waste another 3 days, I walk to the city centre and go Lousy Planet hunting. I find Central Asia and The Caucasus... all above recommended retail price. I go to an Asian supermarket to look for okonomi sauce. No love. I eat cheap Vietnamese overlooking the Square of the Saviour and cut my gum with a chopstick. I miss the tram by a bee's dick.
Oddly, I'm no longer irate.
posted by nekonote1903 at 12:34 am
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