My Russian passport appointment

On Sunday I returned from my trip from Washington D.C. I could discuss at length what I thought of the area, but there was no way I could forgo dedicating an entire post to the primary reason I traveled – my Russian passport appointment.

Before I describe what happened at 4 PM last Friday at the Russian consulate, I provide some background on how the whole process works for Russian adoptees who, like me, want to get a new Russian passport.

I want to visit my birth country one day. Not in the immediate future but sometime in the next couple years. Citizens of most other countries, including the United States, need a visa to enter Russia. However, I am considered a Russian citizen because I was born in Russia. My American passport says so. It is illegal for Russian citizens to enter Russia with a visa or foreign passport. I was issued a Russian passport as a baby, but it expired about twenty years ago and must be renewed if I ever want to travel to Russia.

Sounds easy enough, right? Renewing a passport is not so difficult domestically (though Americans currently experience significant delays thanks to COVID-19). Wrong. Renewing a foreign passport, on the other hand, easily becomes a dilemma, especially if you do not have the original passport and or other original documents that I will soon mention. I am glad I learned about the process earlier rather than later because each step takes time and is not cheap.

I should also say that I did not organize all my documents and fill out the necessary forms alone. Luckily, a kind Internet stranger was able to help me with those details. I could not have done this without her.

Firstly, the foreign country must confirm citizenship. It does not want to issue a passport to someone who is not a citizen. Russian adoptees must provide proof in the form of an adoption certificate, birth certificates each featuring the names of the biological and adoptive parents, court documents, an expired Russian passport, a valid American passport, and other adoption-related letters. Thankfully, my family kept all of these documents and let me have them.

Within one year of citizenship confirmation, the next step is to send an application for a Russian passport, schedule an appointment at a consulate months in advance, and then visit the consulate in person with official documents and all the tools necessary for them to mail you a Russian passport if everything is successful.

Citizenship confirmation takes anywhere from three months to two years. Because I had all the necessary documents, the Russian consulate confirmed mine in just under three months. Without all the paperwork, the request is forwarded to Russia and takes much longer.

Okay, enough background.

This was a big thing for me to do. I flew into DCA on Thursday rather than Friday to ensure that I would not miss my appointment. I was nervous about traveling with so many official documents and ensuring I printed everything necessary for the interview.

On Friday, I explored the National Gallery prior to heading to the consulate later that day. Thankfully, the Washington D.C. Metro is easy to figure out. I had no problems taking a bus to my destination.

It’s easy to stumble upon consulates of random countries throughout the city. I had not visited one before, yet I did have some idea in my mind of what Russia’s would look like. My expectations matched reality, as it was nothing like the Consulate of Honduras I encountered earlier that day on a walk. Totally different vibe.

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The Russian consulate geographically is a bit more tucked away and definitely not in the city center. It is large, white, surveilled, and heavily fenced. I did not see the front of the building until after my appointment; the back of the building houses the passport unit. As you can see below, you have to buzz in to enter the building.

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The person who helped me with my application told me that someone who can speak concise English would interview me inside, but I cannot say I did not expect to speak any Russian upon arrival. Still, I was taken aback when I took a deep breath and dared to press the buzzer. A friendly male voice quickly asked in Russian how he could be of service. I froze a little, but he quickly understood me and allowed me inside.

After passing through the gate, visitors must place all of their belongings except their documents into an unsecured drawer outside, or a locker of sorts. No phones are allowed inside. I walked up a couple of stairs to greet the young man, dressed formally in a navy suit, who let me through the gate. He asked to see my American and Russian passports before I passed through a metal detector. Finally, I was able to go inside a tiny room to sit and wait for my turn. There were two rows of cushioned seats for patrons. On the upper left corner of the room, a television broadcasted Russian news.

A woman with a not-too-thick but not-too-subtle Russian accent uttered my name as soon as I plopped onto the seat cushion. This was well before my scheduled appointment time. I approached her with my papers and sat in a chair behind a glass window labeled “окно четыре (window four).” She did not look the friendliest, but maybe she would have some sympathy for my poor Russian skills. Within seconds she detected I was not a native speaker, even if I did not say so; I froze not only because I did not completely understand whatever she first said to me but also because I immediately realized that I already made a mistake. I did not bring a printed copy of the passport application.

I misunderstood the person who helped me get here. I thought the application was only submitted online, as she requested payment before she would send it to the consulate. I received a copy of this application in my email, but I was not explicitly told to print and bring it, unlike the other documents now halfway between me and the employee. The passport application has a barcode on the final page that apparently is essential to verify online and in person. I had no idea how to articulate this mistake but also never tried. It was not the language barrier but rather the hunch that I wasted all my time coming here to make a silly mistake that discouraged me. The lady assisting me called over her English-speaking colleague, who would help me the rest of the appointment. I was so silent that they asked if I heard them, to which I replied yes.

Thankfully, the male employee assured me I could go outside to access my phone and email the passport application to their unit. They could print it for me. So, that I did.

I returned to the small, weird room, after passing through the metal detector, of course, only to find that all the windows were full. Now I had to wait again for my turn. I sat for probably fifteen minutes or so, and by this time it was well after four o’clock. I had nowhere to be, yet I felt in a hurry. As if reading my worried mind, the male employee opened a different door to assure me that they received and printed the application.

Soon enough, a couple windows opened up, and I was told to return. I never learned anyone’s name. This guy looked to be in his early to mid thirties with a young face.

I have no idea how long I sat there, but it was long enough for me to deliberate over every other detail that could go wrong, considering I already messed up the most basic instruction. There was nothing to do except avoid watching the employee scrutinize my documents. I could not even eavesdrop on the conversations around me because I could not decipher most of what was said.

The consulate requires an $80 money order for the passport. The person who helped me prepare everything told me that I needed another $45 money order so that they could transliterate my American passport onto the new Russian one. She also mentioned that having a middle name could pose problems, but I told her I did not care if the middle name was included on my new passport. Of course, the employee brought this to my attention during the appointment. He asked why I had the $45 money order and then if I had a document that proved my change of name. I did not. My heart sank again. Another roadblock?

He eventually understood that I did not request the middle name on the new passport. So, they did not need the $45 money order. I didn’t mind that being a waste so long as my trip to the Russian consulate was not a waste. I relaxed again as he thumbed through my papers for what felt like the millionth time.

Then I was told to enter a tiny curtained space behind me for a photo. Unsurprisingly, the lighting is terrible, and I hated my photo. I didn’t care because I felt I must have been in the home stretch of success if I made it that far.

The employee handed me a few papers, indicating a requested signature with x’s next to some of the lines. Much like we all click “yes” without reading a website’s terms and conditions, I signed my name without knowing what any of the pages said. He wanted to ensure my mailing address was correct and that I understood the importance of that. “Да (Yes),” I assured him.

Besides the money order, documents, and application, I had to bring a labeled USPS priority express envelope with tracking and signature capabilities so that the consulate could send me my passport. Every thing was all set now, or so I thought. He looked at me and asked if I had a $26 stamp. I did not.

Do I know that mailing envelopes need a stamp? Yes. Did I think of that? No. I think kind Internet stranger thought I am smarter than I really am, because she also never mentioned that detail.

He told me that I needed to get a $26 stamp from the post office, which would close in five minutes. I don’t know how well he could sense it because a mask covered half my face, but I felt my eyes express defeat. We both stared at each other for a few seconds while I contemplated whether I or a post office would decide my fate. I have no idea why, but at this point – another but what would be my final moment of despair – I felt confident enough to string together coherent thoughts in Russian.

“Это очень далеко отсюда? У меня нет машины (Is this far from here? I don’t have a car).” This was the most confident Russian I spoke that day. Sure, it was super basic, but even though I was on the verge of failing my mission, I talked so freely and blemish-free that I felt like I belonged in that room among all the other native speakers, empowering me to bolt out the door without any doubt in my mind that I would make it to the post office in less than five minutes to get that damn stamp. After all, he told me it was next to a gas station not too far away. He replied in Russian and so must have thought my speaking was not too awful. I went for it.

Times like these make me thankful that I am an active person. I lift and do a lot of conditioning in my free time. Lately I have been trying to trim my 400m run time. Though I did not time my sprint to the post office, I would not be surprised if that was my fastest 400m dash to date.

It was not quite five o’clock, yet I still sighed with relief when the door opened upon my arrival. Out of breath, I walked up to the counter and requested a $26 stamp. Honestly, I usually hate visiting USPS stores. The employees at all of the locations I have ever visited across several states are always cold and sometimes even mean to me. I expected nothing different here. To my surprise, the man behind the counter kindly asked if I already had an envelope and label, to which I simply replied yes. I probably looked a bit bewildered, so he added an “Okay, just want to make sure you have everything you need for whatever you want to send.” Thanks, nice USPS employee.

I took a photo of the bar code on my receipt per his suggestion before triumphantly leaving. I headed back to the consulate. My confidence with Russian lingered, as I had to buzz into the gate again and answer the same young man who greeted me via the speaker earlier: “Меня зовут Александра Дэвис. Я была на почте (My name is Alexandra Davis. I was at the post office).” I have been told in the past that my Russian pronunciation is super, and it seemed on this day that it must have at least been “good enough” because no one ever requested me to repeat myself. The buzzing of the gates as they opened accompanied an enthusiastic “Проходите (Come through)!”

Back in this room for the third time. It was a little emptier this time. The guy who had been helping me was nowhere to be seen. A different female employee smiled at me from behind her window and asked me something regarding information, but I did not know what her question was. I tried explaining that I only needed to go to the post office for a stamp. I think she understood to call over her colleague to assist me.

I returned to the same window where he sat across from me, some of my documents still in his hands. I slipped the stamp underneath the opening to him. I did not have to wait long until he handed me a couple other sheets of paper, one of which he explained would be a way for me to track my passport in the mail. Ultimately, all I would have left to do, as he said in English with a slight chuckle, was wait. My eyes widened. Was I done?

“Это всё (Is that all)?” I asked on the edge of my seat.

He smiled and nodded at me: “Это всё.” He returned my original documents to me.

I did it! What started as a disaster morphed into success. I had to thank this man for helping me.

“Большое спасибо за помощь (Thank you so much for your help). Извините, я очень плохо говорю по-русски (I am sorry I speak Russian really badly).” I cannot remember if I tried to say something else, but I believe he cut me off after flashing the most genuine smile: “До свидания (Goodbye).” This was the best possible end to the appointment.

Golden hour welcomed me outside as I collected my things. I sent a message to the woman who kindly helped me with everything to tell her that everything worked out. She was pleased to say the least and encouraged me to go celebrate. I was grateful she stayed up that late (she lives in Russia) to make sure everything went well. I did not have many people with whom I could share the news, but it was okay. I celebrated by venturing to the front side of the consulate and taking a few photos.

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Then I spent the rest of the night exploring Georgetown and its waterfront by myself. That was fun, but it was even more fun knowing I did what I came to do.

The process took about a year overall, but my younger self wanted this for ages. I am grateful that I felt financially, linguistically, and mentally able to finally renew my Russian passport, the biggest prerequisite to visiting Russia again hopefully in the not too distant future. So, now I wait for the passport to arrive in the mail.