Administrative tasks (it felt like a day at work)

When dealing with administration, I score 8 out of 10. I know well how to complete forms, am patient in queues, highly organised. I always carry a notebook, pens, a small stapler. My alter ego embraces paper and ink.

However, not today. I obtained my Pakistan visa, no sweat. A simple procedure, I merely had to visit the Australian Embassy to procure a Letter of Introduction, a piece of paper to give to the Pakis so that they might believe me to be the person that my passport already says I am.
A nice surprise, the Australian and Pakistani Embassies face each other. No need for physical exertion. I held back the homesickness in the air-conditioned office of my fellow compatriots, paid for and took my letter, and crossed the street. Only six metres of bitumen separate the neat and tidy from the dirty and dishevelled. It's that clear cut. On the 'Australian' side of the road the footpath is neat and tidy. The massive white residences of Australian diplomats sit in a leafy enclosure surrounded by high iron fencing.

The Pakistani Embassy is a walled fortress, the footpath littered with people and discarded papers - the disorganistation of the developing world. And you don't apply from within the complex itself, you stick your head through a hole on the perimeter wall. Still, service was friendly and efficient - I had the visa in 24 hours.

Iran has proved a little more troublesome. Some distance from the diplomatic enclave (perhaps to confirm its separateness from the rest of the world), I was anticipating uniforms, razor wire and a intrusive full body search. Instead I breezed through the door and sat watching televsion in the waiting room ... Can't say that I'm looking to Iranian cuisine as demonstrated by the woman wearing a black tent on the National station. It all looked a bit like beige mush.

I handed over my duplicate application form, the usual copies of passport and visas, the Letter of Introduction and passport photos. I was told I needed to wait ten days. A ten day wait for a seven day transit visa. Bollocks to that. I'm going straight to Pakistan and will try my luck from the Iran Embassy in Islamabad. The idea of spending further time in Dehli is not a healthy train of thought for me at this point of my life.

I also need $US. This is because (I've read and have been told) American Express travellers cheques are not accepted in the Islamic Republic, and you cannot withdraw cash from an ATM with your card if issued by an non-Iranian bank. So I get to carry a whole wad of notes with me. With prior experiences of theft you can imagine how much I look forward to this ...

If a journey to Iran means taking the greenback, the you can count on Indian authorities to make this a tooth-grinding undertaking. The National Bank of India has 'rules', some organic regulations that varied on my three visits to the Amex Office.

You can purchase $US if you are leaving India; I proffered my air ticket.

'My next flight is from Cairo, so you can see I'm leaving the country.'

'But when?'

'Here is my train ticket to Amritsar tomorrow. From there I'll take a rickshaw to the border.'

'How can we be sure?' [Return to opening line of dialogue]

Next, you can purchase only the equivalent amount of what you can prove you encashed in the country. Por ejemplo, if you cashed $1000, you can buy back the equivalent provided you kept the ridiculous receipts for each transaction. Who keeps pieces of paper like that?

... Back in my room, I kissed my image in the mirror after discovering encashment certificates for Rs 34000, easily enough to buy the amount I needed. It pays to hoard useless bit of trash. I also found a long-forgotten toothbrush and some safety pins, so things were obviously looking up.

In my absence, the Amex Office had decided that even if I went to Amritsar they couldn't be certain I would leave the country. And me? I wasn't certain the staff in this office would see the close of the day. Ashamedly, I exploded. I used some strong language. Months and months of having to deal with most petty bureaucracy in the world made me lucid and viscious. The staff didn't appreciate this. But what did I care? I, not them, now had to visit the black market in search of currency from a country I do not even plan to visit.

America, stop being a pain in the arse to every single country who does not share your sense of immoral warfare and rampant consumerism. If you could just get along with people who think differently than you, my travels would be a lot easier. I could use my traveller cheques, for one. Besides, we don't all want to go shopping and watch Oprah Winfrey. Your American lifestyle, as you portray it to the rest of the world, sucks big time. I've had it with you and your embargoes. You, you and your barbeque can piss off.

And as for India, you and your petty rules and regulations are the laughing stock of the world. Grow up.

Umm, I think that counts as a rant.

This, being India, it is often easier to flout than follow the rules. It took 14.675 seconds to find someone who could provide me with the cash I needed. We moved off the street and into a laneway. He ushered me into a little back office where we played with his pocket calculator until we fixed a price. I handed over the entire sum of cash that was to see me through the next six to eight weeks. My main man moved off behind a curtain and disappeared into the street. In my head, much time passed.

Karma (or is it dharma?) I swore in the office and now I'll be prostituting my cashless body across the continent to make it to my next flight in Egypt. I imagined brigands in Baluchistan offering me a free ride, then selling me at an elevated price on the exclusive white slave market. I would be captured by some unglamorous and unknown off-shoot of a guerilla organisation, made to cook for them, finally ending my life with my head in one corner of a room and my body in the other.

Luckily, the man returned before I could expand on my strangely attractive visions. He handed me the cash, we had tea together, and he invited me at least ten times to exchange some more money. I declined politely, safe in the knowledge I possess enough liquid to buy a flock of goats, three pretty wives, and a new enamel-coated squat toilet. Plenty enough to get me to Istanbul.

Inshallah, I'm off to the Punjab.