Walking the Visas Through the UK

Now the full story of our Portuguese visas can be told.  To review a little: back in Seattle in late June we had been renting the empty apartment here in Portugal for almost four months.  We had airplane tickets for June 25, which was six weeks later than the latest expected delivery date for our visas, but they still weren't here.  A week before the flight we were told that it would be more like July 22 before they arrived, so we scurried to get second passports (yes, those are legal) and flew to Portugal on tourist visas, which are automatic to the EU with US passports.

We lived a month in Portugal, bla bla bla, read the blog, and our visas were finally both delivered to our permanent US address in Burien by July 29.  Pat's cousin Jeff has access permission there, so he very kindly ran down from north Seattle for us, picked them up, and couriered them to us here in Portugal.  Yes, couriering passports is legal and commonplace too, in fact DHL has a whole web page devoted to it.  Two days later we were gazing fondly at our actual Portuguese D7 visas nestled securely in our original passports.

And now the final major step of the process had to take place.  We originally entered Portugal on our second passports, so the passports with the visas had not undergone an actual border crossing to validate them.  We needed to step out of the Schengen zone using our tourist passports so the tourist visit would be terminated, and come back into Portugal using the visa passports so they would be verified, stamped, and recorded.

We decided a flight to England and back would be jolly fun (they have the best beer in the world and an old friend lives not far from the airport) and would take care of the Schengen hopping to boot.  Pat booked a flight, hotel, and car rental to leave Sunday August 4th and return Tuesday August 6th, and we packed a bag.

Early on Sunday we headed to the Porto airport, getting lost on the way and having a great deal of difficulty finding the parking lot we wanted.  We had done a dry run the previous day, but that didn't seem to help much.  Then we were lost in elevator hell trying to get to the Departures area (we know, how hard can that be?), checked our bag, trudged out to the farthest gate in the terminal, and just made it on time.  Why are all our flights at the farthest gate in the terminal?  Some demon is tracking our travels.

The flight to Gatwick took about two hours, where a lovely assistance agent insisted that we hop on his little golf cart buggy and ride to baggage claim.  We tried to modestly refuse, but not very hard.

There are a thousand reasons why being disabled stinks, but one good one: airport assistance.  Most airports are huge and confusing, and being able to ride a little golf cart and bypass the long queues is a miracle of kindness.  The assistants are happy, helpful, and friendly; they really have hearts of gold.  The only problem is trying to look sad and pathetic in the golf cart while being secretly delighted, so that you don't cause too much resentment among the herd stuck in line glaring at you.  You have to keep your canes in plain sight, too, and it doesn't hurt to hunch over a little.

Thanks to this airport miracle we soon found ourselves renting a right-hand-drive Mercedes and plunging into the bizarro world of left-side driving in England.  Gerrit had successfully driven on the left side back in 1996 in Ireland, but for some reason this time it was more difficult and taxing.  Could it be those 28 additional years of mileage on his brain?  We made it to the hotel without any head-on collisions though, checked in, and then headed to Faversham to get together with our friends Jess and Julian for dinner.

The drive was a little over an hour, and the highways are much easier than the two-lane roads.  We were sipping pints of that lovely British ale with our friends in a neighborhood pub before we knew it, and then had a delightful dinner at a nearby restaurant.  It was great to meet Julian and to catch up with them both.  We left before sundown, but thanks to some Google confusion we got lost a couple times and didn't get back to the hotel until well after dark.

The next day, Monday, we had planned to sightsee our way to Brighton via the back roads.  It was a beautiful drive, but Gerrit was a bit sleep deprived so driving was even more taxing.  The pictures here are a country road en route and the Royal Pavilion in Brighton.

On the way back we stopped in Lewes for an excellent lunch.  The beer was about as fresh as it could be, since Harvey's Brewery was about two blocks away and we got the first pull on a new barrel of their bitter.  The trip home after that was a bit hair-raising though, with the sleep deprivation and lunch really taking its toll on Gerrit.  A nap in the hotel helped, and a bit later we headed out to Frogs Hole, a friendly and relaxed neighborhood pub nearby, for dinner.  They had Fuller's London Pride, Gerrit's dad's favorite beer, so we hoisted one in a toast to him.  Cheers, Dad!

The next day, Tuesday, we had a couple hours before we had to get back to Gatwick, so we visited the Warnham Nature Preserve 20 minutes from the hotel.  It is a beautiful place on a lake filled with birds of all sorts.  The facilities looked new and well maintained.  We walked to a couple bird viewing blinds (or "hides" as the Brits call them) and Pat took dozens of photos while we chatted with our fellow birders.  It was a good time of year for birdwatching, since the little babies were just out and about.  The weather was drizzly, but it was nice and dry in the hides.  Gerrit had slept well the night before, so his good driving redeemed him from the previous day and restored his confidence a bit.

We got to the airport in plenty of time, since returning the car was very quick and we had our guardian angel assistance team to shuttle us around.  We shared a "Texas style" brisket and salads for lunch at the airport.  We were a long way from Texas, so lunch was overpriced and underwhelming.  At least we got a last taste of British beer.  Then we caught our 5:10 PM flight back to Porto.  Our seat mate was an interesting guy, heading to Porto for vacation with his Portuguese wife and kids, and we had a nice conversation.

Unfortunately there is no assistance crew in Porto and we exited the plane at the rear onto the tarmac, so there were many stairs and steps to trudge through to get to passport control.  Fortunately a kind fellow passenger showed us weary-looking cane wielders how to jump the long line to the passport agents.  

Here was where it all came down: would we get the coveted stamps and approvals, or perhaps be interrogated for hours in a bare room with a single light bulb?  The agent spoke a little English, we explained our whole complicated situation as simply as we could, and stamp-stamp, away we went with our fully validated visas!  Ah, not only was it a fun little vacation but it worked too.

Now that we have our validated visas we need to make an appointment with AIMA (Agência para a Integração Migrações e Asilo, the Agency for Integration of Migrants and Asylum-Seekers) to confirm our visa application information and finalize our resident status.  Unfortunately AIMA is currently overwhelmed with applicants, so this may take six months instead of the normal few weeks.

And things are in fact more difficult here in Portugal when you don't know the language very well.  The translation apps like Google Translate and DeepL are marvelous and helpful, and they even translate speech or photos of text instantly.  You can translate documents, menus, signs, and the like quickly and easily.  Unfortunately, though, the translations aren't very good and are sometimes misleading or incomprehensible.  Websites and utility bills are the same way.  We are spending much time poring over them in puzzlement.  When it comes to important contracts, like for a car or home, or perhaps for our AIMA meetings, we are going to have to hire someone truly bilingual.  Fortunately this is easy to do in Porto.  

We'll get there eventually, but for now we're pretty incompetent.  It's fun to read the signs and mail and interpret them as best we can though, and a good way to build vocabulary.  We went through a newsletter about civic improvements in our home town that way, with the help of a dictionary, and you can get the gist pretty well.

And a final note: Pat's phone is now fully ported too, so texts and calls to her US cell phone will reach her via Google Voice.  You won't see any difference.

(As usual, you can click on any photo to enlarge it, scroll through them all, and click in the black area outside a photo when you're done.)

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