So here we go with the epic Sixty-thousand miles: it has a nice ring to it, and it's roughly equivalent to the frequent-flyer miles we'll accumulate (our "actual" distance will be closer to ninety-thousand, but we have some mysterious frequent-flyer restrictions on Royal Jordanian and Cathay Pacific).
This week we got both our Egyptian and Jordanian visas, and if their consulates in San Francisco are any indication of the inner workings of these countries, we're in for some interesting times. The Egyptian consulate is housed in a beautiful but crumbling mansion in Pacific Heights, furnished with items that look to be from an old swap meet. I found myself staring at the draperies tied back with string. Adding to the ambiance was the smell of moldy carpeting, the sound of a very heated argument in Arabic, and the inescapable scent of the woman next to us, whom I call Poo-Lady (I don't mean the bear that likes honey).
We were braced for trouble after reading about long waits and abysmal service, but in fact the staff was quite courteous and our passports were returned to us quickly, complete with Arabic script and ornate stamps.
The Jordanian consulate was less exotic, but plenty efficient. It's actually one of those strange "honorary" consuls that's run out of a private business office, where there's some other kind of accounting or retail or notary work going on, and the whole "diplomatic thing" seems to be happening on the side, as if it were a businessman's favor for a foreign buddy.
So we drove to the Mission district where the consulate's located. Lucking out with time on the meter across the street, we raced up the elevator to the fourth floor and offered up our passports, forms, money order and less-than-flattering passport photos. Within fifteen minutes we had another visa, much like before, decorated with Arabic script, wet ink, and fancy stamps.
We're concerned we may run out of passport pages (more on that later)... next, on to the airport to get our revised round-the-world (RTW) tickets!
-J
