The ‘interview’ at the US Consulate was to be my final hurdle. I was nervous…
Everything about the process of applying for a US visa so far has made me think it is so complicated that not that many people would see it through. I was disabused of this view when I turned up yesterday for my interview at the US Consulate in London, the final hurdle in the journey.
My appointment was 8.30am and, it being another sunny morning in London (I know, right?), I thought I would walk from Oxford Circus to the imposing US Embassy in Grosvenor Square. (I’ve walked through the Square many times, and maybe it is because of late I have been more attuned to London, knowing that I will be leaving it, but for the first time I noticed the statue of FDR.)
Anyway, I rounded the corner just after 8am, to see a gazebo emblazoned with ‘Visas’ outside the Embassy, and a long line of people snaking around the Square.
This was not what I had expected. When I was told I would have to attend an interview at the Consulate, I had imagined sitting in a windowless room with two stern FBI-types firing questions at me, like something out of a movie or a police procedural. If I had given it a little more thought I would have realised that there are so many people in the UK applying for US visas that there was no way this would be practical. (I looked it up later; 137,000 in 2015.)
Oh dear, I thought. This could take some time.
But the staff were very helpful and very efficient, and I was at the front of the line in no time. (See, I’m already saying ‘line’ instead of ‘queue’!)
Having negotiated security (the sign said ‘no guns’ – the irony!) and been given a number I entered the cavernous waiting room. There were about 200 people in there. My number was N136 and the board was showing N66. Any hope of this taking ‘no more than an hour’, as I had been told, was fading fast.
But things moved quickly here, too, and before I knew it I had been fingerprinted and was standing before a little window, a bit like a ticket office. So not like Jason Bourne or Blue Bloods at all.
A pleasant American man (the first I had encountered that morning!) wearing a rather fetching Battle of Hastings tie asked me a few questions – and a minute later that was it. I was approved. The next time I see my passport it will have my visa attached.
As I left the Embassy I looked at my watch. It was 9.25am. The whole process had taken an hour. Just as I had been told.
A Brit on the Bay 