A run-in with the Polizei

My passport expired last month. Ever the optimist, I assumed that getting a new one would be a relatively painless process. I went on to the German Irish Embassy website, filled in their little online form, and waited for the documents to appear in my letter box. A week later, I was still waiting. Now I know that the Irish are not exactly known for their efficiency – my good self excluded – but this was definitely taking the Pinkel.

I called up, explained that I’d filled in the form a week before and asked how long it normally took to get the documents.

Siobhán-Schwanhild: It shouldn’t take any longer than three days.

Me: Huh. Can you send them again, please?

The next morning they were in my letter box. They must have hired a German in the meantime.

I had a quick look through the plethora of forms and eventually located the actual form I would need to fill in. Page 1 – fine, page 2 – fine, page 3 – not applicable as I am no spring chicken any more (much as I pretend otherwise), page 4 – crap.

Everyone loves forms, right?

In order to apply for an Irish passport, you have to have your application witnessed by one of the following people:

• Police officer
• Member of clergy
• Medical doctor
• Lawyer
• Bank manager/assistant bank manager
• Elected public representative
• Notary public/commissioner for oaths
• Peace commissioner
• School principal/vice principal
• Accountant
• Butcher*
• Baker*
• Candle-stick maker*

You have to sign the form in front of this witness, they have to complete a section of it, including a work landline number, then sign and stamp two of the four photos you need to submit – once they’re satisfied that the photos are actually of you, of course. I toyed with the idea of popping over the road, putting on my holy face and asking a priest to do it – maybe I could even fashion a halo out of some toilet rolls and a light bulb – but it felt a bit cheeky after my leavingthecatholicchurchtoavoidpayingstupidtaxes fiasco, so I put that thought out of my head. A-men.

Nice church I’m not paying for

I scanned the list again to see if game designers, artists, writers, starving teachers and bunker association founders had appeared, but alas, they hadn’t. I then racked my brains trying to think of any lawyers, doctors, accountants or bankers I knew. I realised that, at least when it came to the passport application process, I had sadly been mixing in the wrong circles for the past year.

Luckily, there’s a police station across the road from where I work, so armed with all of my documents, photos and ID, I trotted over there. A jolly-looking policeman sat behind a glass screen so I started explaining (in German) what I needed and waving documents around. I obviously didn’t explain very well as he decided he had to come out of his glass box and into the waiting room to fully investigate what it was I was after.

Me: I need ein/einen/eine/einem signature. (Wave, wave) This is my passport, um, I don’t know the word for application – probably should have looked that up. You look at photos. (Wave, wave) You look at me. Is photo me? You are happy? Then you signature. (Wave, wave) 

PC Pharamond Plod: NEIN. 

Me: Bitte?

PC Pharamond Plod: NEIN. The German police do not sign documents.

Me: But, but… look! Photo is me – no problem!

PC Pharamond Plod: NEIN. 

Me: Sigh.

I trudged out, defeated. Then, as I passed the Deutsche Bank on my way to the train station, I had another idea. An ex-student of mine works there – as a bank manager.

When I got home, I sent her an email explaining what I needed. Two days later, she replied to say, “NEIN, German bank managers do not do this”. Double sigh. Eventually, I managed to charm force one of the accountants at the school (who I’d never even met before) into signing it. It had only taken around three weeks longer than expected.

Herr Accountant: You are aware that your passport is very out of date.

Me: Triple sigh.

I marched over to the Irish Embassy, handed everything in, and paid my €85.

Me: You are aware that the German police will not sign documents. Why are they on the form if they are not an option?

Siobhán-Schwanhild: That’s funny. A lot of people have their applications signed by a police officer. 

Me: Beyond sighing.

By the time I reconcile myself with the fact that maybe German police just do not like the look of me, the passport should have arrived.

*Not actually included on the list. Had you fooled though, didn’t I?

You can find ALL the information you need on applying for an Irish passport in Germany here.

A beer, a Bürgeramt and a bank

On Sunday evening, I made my first rookie mistake in Germany. I was standing at the bar of Berlin Oktoberfest with Paddy, the German leprechaun, when he asked the fateful question, “Big or small?”

Clearly experiencing a massive brain fart, I scoffed and answered, “Big, of course”. You see, in Ireland, “big” means a pint, and no self-respecting Irish woman would ever be seen drinking a half-pint. How I’d forgotten I was in Germany, I don’t know, but I was presented with a beer I could hardly carry to the table. I managed though, don’t worry…

Working on my biceps

And so we chatted away for a few hours, soaking up the atmosphere, while the band played traditional German favourites like “Take me Home, Country Roads”.

Bavaria comes to Berlin. Sort of.

The next morning, God knows how, I was up at 4am for what I hoped would be my final battle with the Bürgeramt. My plan was to get to Frankfurter Allee for 7 (an hour before the office opened), be out of there by 9, and back in bed by 10.

I found the building, and joined the already rather long queue. I got talking to the Finnish girl who got there just after me, and we eventually reached the ticket desk at 8.30. I was number 74. At this stage, there were also around 200 people behind us.

Madness.

The woman at the ticket desk told us we could leave for an hour and come back, or just go and sit in the waiting room on the first floor. Not willing to risk our numbers being called while we were off drinking tea, we hightailed it to the waiting room. It turns out we needn’t have worried. 9am rolled by, 10am, 11am… everyone’s heads turning towards the display screen like meerkats every time it pinged up a new number.

The white screen of doom.

I knew I had to leave at 12.15, and was starting to despair at around 11.45 when they were still only in the mid-fifties. I was loudly voicing my displeasure when, miracle of miracles, 74 popped up on the screen! Yes, it turns out that there is NO LOGIC to the Berlin Bürgeramt system. I jumped up like the winner of “Fastest Finger First” on “Who Wants to be a Millionaire?” and danced and whooped my way out of that room of lost souls. (I felt a bit bad about this afterwards, as I was definitely called ahead of people who’d been before me in the queue. I know this because I’d memorised their stupid early faces.)

Still, ten (only a little painful) minutes later, I was walking out of that Bürgeramt victorious, Meldebescheinigung in hand.

So, some tips for the newbies:

1. Book an appointment at any Bürgeramt a month or two BEFORE you arrive in Berlin.

2. If you fail to do this (and really, why would anyone ever think to do this), then you can try to make an appointment once you find an apartment. Unfortunately, these will be booked for at least the next month, and you run the risk of being fined if you don’t register within two weeks of moving in.

3. There are only two Bürgerämter (that I’m aware of) that take people without appointments – Yorckstrasse and Frankfurter Allee – and only on selected days at selected times. They open at 8am. Get there at 6 (or earlier), or get used to the idea of being there for 5+ hours. May the force be with you.

The next day, feeling triumphant, I decided to push my luck and open a bank account as well. I showed up at Deutsche Bank at 1.40, which is when I realised that German banks (or at least this bank) break for lunch. So, I wandered up and down Kurfürstendamm for 20 minutes. This street is like a who’s who of designers I could never afford – Chanel, Gucci, Louis Vuitton… Luckily, I didn’t like anything anyway.

Chanel. Inspired by Latvians. 

At 2pm on the dot, the doors opened. A stunning smiley girl was waiting to ask people which service they wanted and help them find it. I was directed to a comfy sofa while she called her colleague. A few minutes later, an older man appeared and guided me into his office.

Fearing lengthy documents in German, I was more than relieved as we chuckled our way through the entire process. He’d ask me a question; I’d answer and he’d tick a box on the screen. I cracked excellent jokes to make him laugh, and he made me say things in German – also to make him laugh. Twenty minutes later, I was almost sad it was over.

Now I’m thinking, if all else fails, maybe I’ll just move into Deutsche Bank with Fritz and live happily ever after?

Bjorn Free!