Grosvenor Square

Tuesday 11th June was a day that was in the back of my mind for a year at least, maybe more. It was the day of the spouse visa interview to join my wife in the USA. As the day came nearer, my stress levels needed more constant maintenance. I want to write down the experience because before the interview, I trawled the net for peoples experiences of the dreaded US Visa interview, and most were scary. I want to put someones mind at rest a little. When I say put your mind at rest, the fears of a denial are real, and a visa denial on your record is a permanent stain on any travel to the US, so it is never something to be taken lightly. Especially if the outcome is like mine, effectively putting your wife in a position where she has to choose between her country and you. Anyway here was my two days in London.

I travelled down to London from Manchester, arriving at noon and checked into a hotel by Hyde Park. I recommend this. There is nothing better to get you in the right mood for an interview than a leisurely 40 minute stroll through Hyde Park, than dealing with London transport on one of the most stressful days of your life. I met with my immigration lawyer the day prior, she gave me interview tips, and an interview pack. Then back to the hotel. I knew sleep would be hard that night, but an alcoholic night-cap was out of the question. I made myself a promise, drink tomorrow in victory or defeat, but tonight relax. From there until approval, the thought, what do I do if 'I'm denied' kept nagging in my head. But I pushed that thought out. My obstinance that no negative thought or adverse 'what if' would be entertained until the event of a denial was upon me.

On the interview day, I awoke at 5:30am, showered at 6am, then sat and relaxed with tea (not coffee it would just add to the jitters), and watched the morning news. I was prepared. All my documents were checked 100 times, I was not going to add to the stress and check them again. When 7am came, I hid my iPhone in my sock and put it in my luggage at the hotel. The rule about 'no electronics in the embassy' is strictly enforced. Then I walked from Porchester Gate in Hyde Park towards Park Lane, passed by morning runners and horse riders. Stopping in the newsagents to pick up a paper on the way, I arrived in Grosvenor Square about 7:35am, 25 minutes before I was about to join the queue. In the far end of Grosvenor Square there is a monument to the British who died in 9/11, a peaceful garden where I sat and talked down any stresses I was feeling. I joined the queue at 7:55am.

Once in the queue helpers (British ones) walk down and ask if you have any electricals. They check you have your invitation letter, and passport. This is great because you find out before you've queued for too long, if something needs to be sorted out. If you've brought something you can't bring in, there is a helpful pharmacy around the corner, which will look after it for about £10. When I got to the front another friendly guy, looks at your passport and compares it to you. Then through a security room with x-ray, and round following the signs marked visa. Two gentlemen at the desk, one American and one British, give you a number. Mine was I905. This number stays with you throughout the process. I believe numbers with 'I' mean immigrant and tourist visa applications start with 'N' as that was a more common number. You are then sent to the waiting area, where you sit and wait for your number to be called and appear on the big screen. I was told by my lawyer that 4-5 hours inside the Embassy is the most common. In that case I was lucky. I would be in and out in 1.5 hours.

I tried to read my paper but noise is constant, so its hard to. In any case, your mind is making enough noise on its own. After a while I heard "I905, window 14". So there I went and met a friendly African-American lady. "How are you today Christopher?" "Lets start with your invitation letter and passport". I handed those to her under the hatch. "So you're moving somewhere pretty". "I think so", I replied. I smiled at that, the very rare positive comment I've ever heard about living in Alaska. I have been so tired of people reminding me it's cold there. She handed me back my chest xray from the medical a week prior, then said you will need this in the US. Then she checked over the documents. Turning to the form, she then announced, "so your visa will expire on 10th December". "Expire?" I panicked. "This is for an immigrant visa?". "Oh sure Christopher, but you have to fly out there before the 10th December, when were you planning on going?". "Mid-July". "That's fine then". She handed me a pink form, and asked me to complete my address. "This is for the courier, to send you your passport with visa". She was talking as if the visa was mine already. "Just complete this, and wait for your number to be called, that will be the real interview". Yes the actual interview, the decision maker was next.

I sat down and looked at my watch. My interview was scheduled as 8:30am, it was now about 9:15am. Everywhere I read, and confirmed by my lawyer, I should be prepared to be in the Embassy for 4-5 hours. I settled in the severe seats and braced myself for a long wait. However, I looked at the screens and I-903 was being served, then I-904. Shit I was next. Before I knew it the tannoy announced "I-905 to window 16". I told myself to get up calmly, breathe and be confident. That went all out the window as I arrived before another friendly African-American lady.

She pushed the document I filled in some time ago under my nose. "Please raise your right hand sir!". I did. "Do you affirm that the answers you give will be the whole truth, and nothing but the truth". "I do", I replied. The interview started. "So tell me about your wedding day". I was happy to and it was a joy to tell it. I told her it was small, about 20 people, and my sister being the only family. She replied, "but a great day, right?". "Of course" I replied. She had a cheerful smile. Next question, "so tell me how your relationship developed", again I did so and she commented at the end "thats lovely". I was relaxed, but immediately thought, don't be disarmed, by friendliness. A few more questions, but this time she was typing away staring at the monitor and less friendly as I answered. When I was done, she turned to me "Mr Novell, thank you for being forthcoming and thank you for your time, I am happy to tell you YOUR VISA HAS BEEN APPROVED". The smile broke on my face, and the same on hers. She had a job to do, a serious job. Some days she would take no pleasure in denying a married couple from living together. Today, she put a smile on a tubby chaps face. This was no doubt a perk of her job, the times when she makes a dream come true for a deserving couple.

She directed me to courier where I happily paid an extortionate £26 for my visa stamped passport to come back to me. Once in the queue, I felt the weight of a years anticipation and nail-biting come down on me. Like many men, I don't cry easily, but when I do its always in the most awkward place, and it nearly happened in the queue of the American Embassy.

The experience of the US Embassy is by no means a comfortable one. However, I come out a little more strong in my love of the good characteristics of Americans. An Embassy is a bit of American soil in the heart of our capital, but it is almost culturally a microcosm of America. The security is rightly tight (success has many enemies), the level of detail and participation required from the visa applicant is high. That said, while they do their job efficiently and seriously. They treat you with dignity and care as a person who is at their mercy.

My lawyer put me at ease a little, by telling me beforehand. "They are not trying to trip you up, they do not have an agenda to keep you away from your wife". It's different for non-immigrant visas applicants. They know that a good majority of those seeking tourist, student or work visas, would love the chance to stay in America. Someone seeking a marriage visa, is known to have that long-term agenda and is open about it. They just have to ensure that their marriage is genuine.

I wanted to tell the world as soon as I left the Embassy, but my phone was all the way back at the hotel. So I walked across Hyde Park with this amazing cheesy, pathetic, nauseating, and 'scary-to-children' smile. More poignant to me was walking past the Peter Pan Fountains by Lancaster Gate. This time I was smiling and at peace. 6 years ago I regularly sat in that area reading after work until darkness came, scared to go home.

As soon as I arrived back at the hotel and my iPhone reconnected me to the outside world, I saw a text from a friend, wishing me luck. I had to tell my wife first, before I could reply to the friend's text. Even though it was 1:20am in Alaska I woke her and told her. The line was bad, and I understood not a single word she said. But I knew she heard my news.

I have just finished booking my flights, and on 14th July, two days before my 42nd birthday I arrive in Juneau. I have so much to do.

I think a new chapter begins from then. Enough to restart this blog in earnest. Funny really, this blog named 'Bus142' is clearly a reference to the wanderlust of Chris McCandless who died in said bus in the Alaskan wilderness. When I started it over two years ago, I never thought the reference would be a little more relevant. In 4 weeks and 2 days, I leave the UK to set up home in the largest US state with one of the smallest populations. A state that borders all three of the worlds largest countries by area. Has it's head in the Artic Circle and it's feet paddling in the Pacific Ocean. It blows my mind.