Office of Immigration

So I go to RISTEK yesterday morning bright and early and they inform me I have to go to a million different places (5?) scattered across Jakarta with various documentation. Being a smart traveler, I already have copies of most everything, though I didn't realize I'd need 12 (!) more passport photos (4x6 cm with a RED BACKGROUND required) in addition to the 8 I had already submitted. I also needed copies of the visa stamps and exit cards they'd given me at the airport. So I head back to my hotel and make some copies and get the photos. Then I head to the Immigration Office. It is tucked into a back corner of central Jakarta in a fairly nondescript building on a very nondescript street. My taxi, even with the address, has lots of problems finding it and eventually lets me out so I can find it on foot. I hand the letter addresses to them to various people, watch them point and eventually find it.

The first floor is a madhouse. A few windows, lots of people, long lines, no signs in English. I find someone who looks knowledgeable and show them my paper. They point me upstairs and show me three fingers. I go to the third floor. More windows but no lines; just a bunch of haggard-looking people in chairs in the middle of the room. I go to the first window and hand them my paper (all this time trying out Indonesian greetings and phrases of exasperation). They point me to another window. I go to this window. The man talks to me in Bahasa Indonesia. I can tell from his voice when I'm getting warmer or colder. Eventually he gets from me everything he wants, hands me an application form and points me to the room marked FOTOCOPY. I go to the room unsure of why (I already have photocopies of everything). A woman takes my paperwork and hands it to a man in the back. She also takes 10,000 rupiah. He motions me in and eventually I realize he wants my address. I give it to him. No, Jakarta address. Ok. Eventually the form is filled out. He hands it to me and points me back to the window. I realize my departure card is missing. We find it under his desk. Go back to the window. They're on lunch break. Guy takes my paperwork anyway and tells me it is incompletely filled out (by pointing). I figure out, through trial and error punctuated by his positive or negative intonation, what to fill out where. He tells me to come back in an hour, after lunch. I go outside and buy some street food (<$1 lunch).

Come back in an hour later. Now they're praying. Thirty minutes later, I go back to the window. He motions me back to my seat. Thirty minutes later he waves me up. He picks up my folder from where I'd left it, hands it to another man who motions for me to come around to his desk, and the man initials two of the pages of my application and hands it to me. He motions me across the hall, to another window. I drop the paperwork at that window. A man takes it to a desk behind the window. Forty-five minutes later he motions for me. They've rearranged the papers and marked "USED" on my visa. He motions me back to the first window. I drop the paperwork off there. Thirty minutes later he calls me up again. The papers have one more stamp on them. They motion me toward a back door and try to intimate taking the stairs. Eventually one person from the back yells out, "Basement! Mr. John!"

I walk through the door and down the stairs. The last flight of stairs to the basement has open, cracked stairs, tons of water damage, no light and broken down office furniture piled high. Hmm, this can't be right. Go to the second floor. Open the door and say "Mr John?" to the first person I find. He points toward the stairs. Go to the first floor. Open the door into some kind of office and ask "Mr John?" to the first person I see. He points to the stairs. Hmmm. Go into the basement. It has high stacks of very old files and cobwebs. Are these the files of people killed by Suharto's regime? Should I start my own investigation? What's going on? Creeped out, I go back to the first floor. Ah, there's a small doorway tucked next to the stairs leading to a very plain office with a lot of red folders, similar to the one my paperwork is in. Seeing someone, I ask "Mr. John?" He smiles and answers affirmatively. I sit on the chair and hand him the folder. He looks at the paperwork briefly and initials one of the pages. He hands it back and motions me back toward the stairs. I go back to the first window and drop off the paperwork. Twenty minutes later, I am motioned to take it back across to a third window in the room. I drop it off there. The guys in that room are watching TV. After forty-five minutes, they call me back, hand me back the paperwork and motion me back to the first window. I drop it off there and the man, looking at his watch, intimates that I should come back tomorrow.

Day one of bureaucracy done. Now it's time to start Day Two of bureaucracy. Fun. Back to the Immigration Ministry with me.