From Russia Without Love 2: A Textbook Example of Addictive Behavior

I was beginning to feel a bit like one of the Volga Boatmen running back and forth to the Russian Embassy in Rome. Another day there, a little more suffering. A little more suffering, a little more insight. I'm living a Dostoevsky novel, apparently--The Idiot, perhaps.

Check out this video to get the full flavor of my morning:

The Vice Consul was unaware when he sold me the 95-Euro visa that the new computer system at the consulate could not be coaxed into issuing a visa on a passport that had less than six months to live. It was an honest mistake. "So since it was your honest mistake," I asked politely, "hows about a refund?" The response was a resounding "Nyet."

On the brighter side, it looks like I will get most of my money back on my apartment reservation and air fare. The airfare requires some sort of documentation from the Russian Consulate for a full refund. Stay tuned for "From Russia Without Love 3."

Hot on the heels of yesterday's pain-body attack, I managed to remain conscious throughout all of this bad news, laughing off the visa's final death knell.

But on the way home, I'd had enough. I needed to take some personal time, do something just for me. That's where the addictive behavior came in.

From Russia Without Love: A Textbook Example of a Pain-body Attack

Ah, Mother Russia! Source of so much suffering! Add me to her long list of victims.

I've been planning a week-long trip to St. Petersburg, my final excursion before returning home to the U.S. I went last week to the Russian Embassy in Rome to apply for my visa. I was in line by 6:30 a.m., as my friend advised me to do. He said on the day he applied for his visa, he was second in line at 5:30 a.m. and the consular officer saw only two people that day.

"And if you think Neapolitans are bad at standing in line," he said. "Wait 'til you see the Russian ladies at the Embassy."

So I was prepared for any eventuality and I went into this adventure with low expectations. Especially so after recently returning through Rome from a trip to the UK. While waiting in line for an Italian Carabinieri to pretend to look at my passport, a large group of Russians flooded the lines from all angles, men, women and children, pretending not to notice anyone who had been waiting for a good long while in this lengthy queue.