I want to live in China

Today is my birthday. 32 years. I feel incredibly lucky that they have been such good ones!

Yesterday morning Lily and I went to the local PSB (Public Security Bureau) to extend my visa. I've done this several times on other trips to China without any kind of trouble, so didn't worry about dates when I booked my plane tickets a month ago. My visa expires on Thursday. I fly out on Saturday morning.

Before spending an hour on the bus, Lily called the Visa helpline to make sure I had everything I needed. The woman asked me if I'd done this before. I told her yes. She asked me if I knew what to do. I told her I should take my passport and 160 yuan in and fill out a form. She said yes, that's it, perfect, have a nice day.

After spending an hour on the bus, the woman at the PSB had a somewhat different opinion about exactly what I needed. Temporary resident permit. Photos. Financial independence certificate. Visa application form. Plane tickets. And money. Lots and lots of money.

When she was enumerating all the things I was lacking, the PSB woman was more than a little intimidating. People in uniform waving official looking documents all typed in a language you don't understand inches from your nose have that effect. Having never encountered this before I was at a loss as to what exactly to do. Lily, who is absolutely wonderful but always has a lot on her mind, amped up my anxiety. The more the woman at the desk waved the papers around and talked about money the more anxious I got.

Wondering if I would have to empty my bank account or leave the country, I fled to Timothy at the university. Luckily he and his best friend Cai have calmer heads than I do. After a blissfully short initial panic period, they took the typed guide the PSB officer had given me and started to go through things one at a time. With telephone in hand, calling various friends and authorities for clarification. Cai kept repeating to me over and over again, don't worry, this isn't serious, we can take care of this together. And, think of this as training for next time!

First thing on the list, a temporary residency permit. From the police. Not wanting to bother Lily again, Timothy calls his friend Mabel who lives on campus nearby. She lived in Canada for several months recently and is working on her PhD in a field similar to mine. It was reasonable that we would know each other. And having been helped a lot with bureaucratic hoops in Canada she was happy to help out. We went to the campus police together.

A lecture ensued. Students should be living in the dorms, they should NOT be renting their own apartments. And they should definitely not be accepting foreigners into their homes without first getting police permission. You are Chinese! You should know these things!! Mabel wanted to ask him how, how am I supposed to know these things, but instead she bowed meekly and appologized over and over again. Lecture concluded, the officer told us that we weren't in the right police office anyway. He gave us directions to the appropriate office a 20 minute walk away.

Neither Mabel nor I wanted to make any trouble for her. So she decided to call the other police station first, and ask them some questions about the process and requirements before going in. All of the answers being totally satisfactory, we set out. Only to be foiled a second time because she is not the owner of her home. Only the owner can apply for a temporary residency permit.
Both of us really wish they had told us this on the phone. Not wanting to send us away with nothing, the officer told us helpfully that if I registered at a local hotel, even if I didn't stay there, then my information would automatically be uploaded to the PSB and I wouldn't need a permit from the police. So off we went to find a cheap hotel.

It turns out that there are 2 kinds of hotels near the university. The first are beds mostly used by eager lovers not wanting to share their passions with their many dorm mates. This kind of hotel does not register its guests and was therefore useless. The second are expensive tourist hotels, for visiting scholars and families. Though they could have given me the form I needed, I couldn't afford the bill. The foreign guesthouse on campus was not too expensive. But after going through all of the registration procedures they informed me that because I'm not a student they couldn't give me the paper I needed anyway. Bringing me back to square one. Defeated, Mabel and I returned to the guys at the dorm. The PSB would be closed soon anyway.

When I gave Lily the update, she was offended that I would try to go to a hotel before asking her for more help. I assured her that I just didn't want to cause her any more trouble. She assured me that there was nothing she wanted to do more. Which brings me back to my birthday...

This morning Lily and I went to the local Police station (third one in 2 days!) to register my 'temporary residence'. Apparently this is something I should have done within 24 hours of arriving in Chengdu - I must have missed the memo on bureaucratic rules when I bought my plane ticket. Lily lies on the form with ease, saying that I just arrived in the city yesterday. Though it takes some time to complete the paperwork, the women at the counter are friendly and we have no problem getting what I need.

Another Chinese friend, Charles, meets us at the station and I am handed off from one to the other for the trip back to the PSB. My intention was not to deal with this today, of all days, but Charles is adamant that we should get it done as soon as possible. Luckily for me, I listened to him.

At 10:30am, the Visa section on the second floor of the PSB is not crowded. Unlike the massively thronged first floor. I hand over all my documents to the woman behind the imposing marble counter. She peruses them disinterestedly, hands them back. Where are the copies of your passport and visa stamps? Where is your financial statement? The first are definitely NOT listed on the guide form I was given just one day before. And the second should be issued by this woman, now, as she well knows.

I take out my plane tickets, all completely paid for. I take out my resident papers that show I am living with a friend. I take out my small-ish wad of 100 yuan bills and my bank card and 2 credit cards. She sneers. How am I supposed to know if those cards will work here, she asks. I want to see cash. $100 US per day - minimum $500. Glancing at my passport, she adds not-very-helpfully that I can bring an equivalent amount in Canadian or 'another currency' if I prefer.

Then she refuses to talk to me any more.

Charles and I go out to find a copy machine and a bank. The duplicates are easy, but we walk for quite a while before stumbling across a bank that either of us can use. Rather than paying the exorbitant exchange rate to take such a large sum out of my Korean account and then have to carry it around with me until I get back to Korea, Charles takes the money from his account. It makes me nervous to have such a large bundle of someone else's cash in my hands. When we get back to the PSB at 12:01 we are informed that it's now lunchtime and the office won't reopen until 1pm.

Charles and I wander the back streets until we find a rickety little bench next to a dumpling vendor. He is worried about me eating street food, but the food is delicious. I couldn't imagine a more perfect birthday lunch. We talk and talk and talk, and the world seems good again.

At 1pm, I am the only person in line at the PSB. The women behind the counter all argue about who should serve me, before the same woman finally clicks the sign to call my number to the front. She glances at me purposefully when I reach the counter, before snapping her gum and returning to her magazine. She reads 2 more pages, excruciatingly slowly, before setting it aside and reaching for my papers.

You know this visa will only be for a maximum of 30 days, she says. As my plane tickets shows, I am leaving the country on Saturday, I reply. Saturday, she asks. But your visa won't be ready until Monday. She has already looked at my plane ticket twice today. She knows very well what day I am leaving. You should have come in last week, she says, pushing my papers back across the counter. What happens if I don't file for an extension, I ask. She glares at me coldly and tells me that then I will be in violation of Chinese law and will be detained. She suggests that if I need the visa urgently, I should produce my plane tickets (again) and fill out another form. Then she pushes the button to call the next person.

This is not going according to plan.

Charles and I step aside to fill out the other form. When I go to the counter again with the new form, the woman tells me I don't have a copy of my plane tickets. Without a copy, what's she supposed to do? As she asks this, she deliberately scans another form using the miniature copier next to her chair. She doesn't even need to move to do this. I am dismissed again.

On my next visit to the counter, she can't find anything wrong with the papers I've assembled. To complete the financial form she asks for my wad of cash, but she doesn't touch any of it. I could be holding a stack of red paper for as long as she glances at it. We walked all over town for this??? Friendly now, she smiles and draws me a detailed sequence of what happens next...on Friday, when I come to pick up my newly minted visa just hours before my plane flies off to Qingdao and then Korea.

By this point you are wondering why on earth the subject of this looong message is 'I want to live in China'. Here's why.

After the PSB debacle, Charles takes me to a traditional tourist street which is delightfully free of tourists despite the abundance of charm. Then we go to meet a group of church women that I met at a conference in Korea 2 years ago. They greet me as if no time has gone by at all, as if I am family.

Since it's my birthday, they take me for a traditional Chinese foot massage. 4 strong and handsome men enter, wearing sharp suits with their ties tucked into their breast pockets, carrying steaming wooden tubs full of herbal water. It smells divine. While we soak our feet, they knead our necks, shoulders, backs. Did I mention they are all REALLY attractive? This might be what heaven feels like.

After the massage, we all go to a fancy tofu restaurant a short walk away. The chairs are tall and elegant, giving the illusion of privacy even though there are dozens of tables around us. The food is unique and amazing. My stomach soon joins my feet in a state of absolute bliss.

On my way back to Lily's, carrying bags of gifts and half a cake to share, the square near the apartment is full of women dancing in unison. The choreography is intricate and graceful, the women all shapes and ages. Beside them, the oyster bar has just recieved a shipment of shellfish and 4 uniformed chefs are haggling with the fisherman over the price of the streaming crates. The briny scent of sea permeates the air.

Everyone I pass is smiling, enjoying the warm evening. And I smile too. This is a place that feels like home. And I am happy to pass another year here.