It's 1982 and we're living in Miami Playa, Tarragona. We're all set to go to the United States in a few days to visit my husband's parents.
"Oye, you've been out of the United States for more than two years, verdad?" My Cuban friend sits in her apartment in Cambrils, looking concerned. She offers me coffee and a cigarette.
"So?" I manage to blurt out. I can never smoke and talk at the same time. Nor indeed have Iever learned the technique of blowing smoke rings. In fact, come to think on it, I don't really enjoy smoking at all.
"You're not supposed to be out of the United States for more than two years. Could be trouble."
Oops. I didn't know that. Being a foreigner in both Spain and the United States at the same time means there is so much paperwork to figure out. I am considered a foreign alien in the United States, and a tourist in Spain. Even although I lived in Spain for four years in the early seventies, I've always been considered a tourist. And even although I may indeed be foreign in both these countries, I am certainly not an alien. Ha ha. Hmm, maybe it's not so bad being considered an alien. But a foreign alien, well that's a bit much!
Off I go to the American Consulate in Barcelona to get information about my status.
"Maam, you're a foreign alien and you've been out of the United States more than two years."
They take away my Green Card - the document that allows you to reside in the United States. I am indeed chastised and in deep trouble. Fortunately, the people at the Consulate are nice enough to issue me a tourist visa so that we can still go to Florida to visit my husband's parents. But, the only way to get another Green Card is to start the whole procedure all over again. If you think Spain is full of red tape, try dealing with United States Immigration.
In order to re-apply for the Green Card I have to go to an American Embassy. Guess where the nearest one is? Madrid! And we live in the Province of Tarragona. We drive to Madrid, not in the fabulously fascinating Alfa Romeo, I may add, and go straight to the bloody American Embassy.
They want a list of all the places I've lived, so that they can check up on my character and criminal record. Really and truly. They want an Xray of my chest, presumably to ensure that I don't have some dreadful disease. I have to get a medical exam and I have to provide them with all sorts of documents.
"Maam."
I never like being called maam. But, I muster up a smile.
"Everything is in order."
Thank goodness. Wouldn't want to have to make the trip again from Tarragona to Madrid.
"Everything, except for one detail."
"Yes?" I try not to sound too annoyed.
"One of your documents is a photocopy. We need the original."
"But other documents are photocopies!" That's not really me becoming even more annoyed.
"Maam. We need the original." He smells of butter and mayonnaise and chews gum loudly.
"I have to go back to Tarragona? Then, come here again to Madrid?"
"Yes, maam."
I swear he almost salutes me.
Back to Tarragona we go. A few days later, I climb aboard a train to Madrid. Yes, I do indeed take the original document, all the while hoping that I get it back.
All the while thinking of red tape and how I could use just a little of it to wrap round the chubby cheeked people with the crew cut hairstyle and the perfect teeth who are just too smug for their own good.
"Maam. Everything looks in order."
"About bloody time." I mumble to myself as only a foreign alien can do.
"Excuse me, maam? Did you say something?" He stares at me intensely and even stops chewing his gum for a second or two.
"What's the time? I mean, what time is it?" Do I sound ridiculous, or what?
"A quarter of ten." He glances at this watch. "Are you in some kind of a hurry?"
"Yes. I am." We foreign aliens can be quite determinedly obstinate.
"We'll expedite your Green Card as quickly as possibly. May take a while, though."
He disappears down a long corridor and I walk quickly out of the shadows of the American Embassy into the sun-drenched Madrid avenues.