The Moscow Times Dante's Inferno in Visa Line By Daisy Sindelar Anyone who has ever wasted time wondering what form his or her eternal damnation might take has obviously never stood in a Russian visa line. These lines appear to be a very close approximation of Hell. You get poked at with elbows and other sharp objects.
Eternity becomes a knowable concept.
It's a small price to pay, and good preparation, for getting to live in Russia for another month or year. My most recent visa experience took place in Tallinn, which is where everyone seems to go these days and where nearly all the kinks in the system have been worked out. The Russian Embassy is in the heart of the city's charming Old Town, runs with a certain nod to logic, and even has the working hours posted on the door. The few snafus that remain are a complete lack of ventilation, refusal to answer the phone, an electronic door system that apparently only opens when a critical mass of humanity has gathered on either side of it, and the tendency among a fairly cheerless staff to resort to people-moving techniques based loosely on cattle herding, although I'm pleased to report they stop short of the prod. One of the particular barbs of the visa experience is that no two are alike.