Beurocratic Nightmares...
Why is nothing ever easy?
I must have repeated this phrase 1000 times in my first week in Delft. Sometimes I repeated it while banging my head on the wall in rhythm to the pace of the words.
The emails from the international co-ordinator had sounded so chirpy, so very organised, with efficient phrases like "TUDelft opens a bank account for all foreign students" and "DUWO can arrange housing for periods from 3 months to one year through their shortstay program". If only it were all true. Instead Janneke cheerfully handed us a rather large pile of forms in a bag. These appeared to be indiscriminately either the wrong form, or in Dutch.
Let me guide you through the seven deadly sins of arriving at TUDelft.
1. Getting a house
First go to DUWO and make sure that your house is available. Then make sure there is furniture in it. If there is furniture in it, make sure it is clean and works properly. If none of the above, then you should accept it anyway, because you can't live, breathe, eat or do anything else without your housing contract.
When you go to DUWO don't forget your passport! The fact that its in the ID Kafee under such a big pile of other people's bags that you would need mountineering training to get to it, is not a valid excuse. And you can't always rely on the fact that the girl from Valencia lost her passport in Amsterdam, meaning DUWO has to think of another solution (phew!)
2. Buying art equipment
Unfortunately you can't do this, you don't yet have a Dutch bank account. And they don't accept cash. No, not even if your drawing classes are starting today and you need a caran d'ache white pencil. But you can always beg a Dutch student to do it for you (this is the usual technique).
3. Opening a bank account
Have you got your housing contract? If not forget it.
Walk politely up to the counter and hand them the form that TUDelft gave you. They will scratch their heads and tell you that this form doesn't exist.
"But it does. Its here, and I've filled it out."
No, it still doesn't exist. If you want to open a bank account you will have to fill in the new forms and make an appointment. No, there are no appointments available for this afternoon, or for tomorrow.
If in desparate need of a bank account, which you inevitably are, you can do a damsel-in-distress act. "Please I really need it (bat eyelids), I can't do anything at all in this country without it. I've walked for half an hour to get here and I have all my paperwork. My legs are oh so sore. I've got all my papers, my passport, my housing contract, and my proof of being a student. Pretty please. PLEAAAAAAAASSSSE"
Unbelievably, this actually worked. The man at the 'information' counter opened it for me while a queue of angry Dutch people backed up behind me.
4. Getting a library card
Still don't have your housing contract? No, you're looking for somewhere else because DUWO has put you in a complete shithole? Tough, you can't even get a library card without your housing contract. Need to borrow a book for the assignment thats due next week? Tough. Oh.... and don't forget your passport. We need to photocopy it, so in the case that you steal any books we can fly to Australia and GET YOU!!!
5. Enrolling
Unfortunately all that time you spent carefully planning your study program so as to avoid any exams, and have one day a week off, was for nothing. Exchange students enrollment needs to be entered 'manually' (ie. after every else has enrolled online and taken all the places in the good subject) Never mind that you had handed your preferences in ten weeks before online enrollment even opened.
PS. This is a unique activity, in that you DON'T need a Dutch bank account to do it.
6. Registering at the municipality
The first form in your bag says "things to do: on Tuesday the 5th of September you must go and register at the municipality.
Like a good little lamb to the slaughter, your 433 euros in pocket, you go to the municipality to buy your residence permit (which in Delft looks like a public swimming pool).
No, your name is on the list, you don't have an appointment today. Come back tomorrow.
"What if I can't come back tomorrow?"
"You have to, it has to be within five days of your arrival in the Netherlands".
"But what if I can't?"
"Then you can come back on Thursday"
"Okay then"
With more money than you have ever seen before burning a hole in your pocket, dejectedly walk the half an hour back to yoru house.
Obediently, on thursday I returned, hiking back into the centre of town on aching legs.
"Do you have an appointment?"
"No, but you told me to come back today."
He acts like he has never seen me before.
"But you don't have an appointment."
By this point I'd had enough.
"No, I don't have an appointment. But YOU told me to come back here today, so you'd better make one for me right now."
And he did.
So eventually the irritating buzzer-thing rang to say it was my turn, after an interminable wait in a room full of depressed illegal immigrants. The somewhat more kindly-faced lady in the booth calls me over.
"Okay, I have my passport, my housing contract, my TUDelft acceptance letter, some passport photos, and 433 euros."
"Do you have your forms?"
"Forms?"
"Yes, forms." She pulls a giant sheath of paper off the shelf. "You'll need to make an appointment for another day so you can fill them in."
Once again, I grovel. No please don't send me away, the man at the counter sent me away on tuesday without even telling me I need forms. My legs hurt and I have no bicycle. I can fill them in really quickly, please please please. Maybe its something in my eyes, that gleam of desparation that shows people that if they push me just an inch further I will crack. She takes pity on me.
"Okay, I'm taking a break for ten minutes. You'll have to take another set of passport photos, those ones are too big. And if you have the forms filled in by the time I get back I'll do your appointment today."
So the municipality now has me registered as a widowed afghani planatation worker on a vacation, but at least I got them filled in in ten minutes.
Several hours of stress and 433 euros later I am now the proud owner of a little sticker in my passport, proclaiming that I am allowed to stay in the country while they process my application. Ironically, it takes six months for them to process it. By the time I am allowed to stay, I will be gone.
7. Ordering readers
So you're a resident, you have a bank account, a house and a library card. You're all set right?
I logged on to the online book store and ordered my reader, which I was already supposed to have read. I selected bank transfer as the payment method. Cash is of course not an option, and in this case neither is over-the-counter bank card.
I go to ABN-amro. "I would like to make a bank transfer for 15 euros please."
"Certainly, that will be 12,50."
"Sorry, I dont understand, is there a discount?"
"No, if we make the transfer here it will cost you 12;50 extra."
Okay. Thats somewhat ridiculous, to pay almost the same amount in fees as what I am actually transferring.
"Is there any other way to do it?"
"Only if you have internet banking."
"Okay, can i get internet banking?"
"Certainly."
She starts typing behind the counter, and I consider my problem solved.
"Okay, I've signed you up. You should get the acceptance letter in 5 working days, and after that it will take another 8 days for your e-dentifier to arrive."
AAAAAAAARGH! By this time my first assignment will have come and gone.
Salvation comes in the form of a Dutch angel. Martine, my partner for the assignment, through a combination of pity and self-interest, has ordered the reader for me. And when I shamefacedly go back a second time to ask her to order my Design Manifestation reader, she has conveniently accidentally printed off the reader (tell me, how do you do that?).
But its okay, I forgave ABN-amro eventually, after they sent me this cool little thing.
I must have repeated this phrase 1000 times in my first week in Delft. Sometimes I repeated it while banging my head on the wall in rhythm to the pace of the words.
The emails from the international co-ordinator had sounded so chirpy, so very organised, with efficient phrases like "TUDelft opens a bank account for all foreign students" and "DUWO can arrange housing for periods from 3 months to one year through their shortstay program". If only it were all true. Instead Janneke cheerfully handed us a rather large pile of forms in a bag. These appeared to be indiscriminately either the wrong form, or in Dutch.
Let me guide you through the seven deadly sins of arriving at TUDelft.
1. Getting a house
First go to DUWO and make sure that your house is available. Then make sure there is furniture in it. If there is furniture in it, make sure it is clean and works properly. If none of the above, then you should accept it anyway, because you can't live, breathe, eat or do anything else without your housing contract.
When you go to DUWO don't forget your passport! The fact that its in the ID Kafee under such a big pile of other people's bags that you would need mountineering training to get to it, is not a valid excuse. And you can't always rely on the fact that the girl from Valencia lost her passport in Amsterdam, meaning DUWO has to think of another solution (phew!)
2. Buying art equipment
Unfortunately you can't do this, you don't yet have a Dutch bank account. And they don't accept cash. No, not even if your drawing classes are starting today and you need a caran d'ache white pencil. But you can always beg a Dutch student to do it for you (this is the usual technique).
3. Opening a bank account
Have you got your housing contract? If not forget it.
Walk politely up to the counter and hand them the form that TUDelft gave you. They will scratch their heads and tell you that this form doesn't exist.
"But it does. Its here, and I've filled it out."
No, it still doesn't exist. If you want to open a bank account you will have to fill in the new forms and make an appointment. No, there are no appointments available for this afternoon, or for tomorrow.
If in desparate need of a bank account, which you inevitably are, you can do a damsel-in-distress act. "Please I really need it (bat eyelids), I can't do anything at all in this country without it. I've walked for half an hour to get here and I have all my paperwork. My legs are oh so sore. I've got all my papers, my passport, my housing contract, and my proof of being a student. Pretty please. PLEAAAAAAAASSSSE"
Unbelievably, this actually worked. The man at the 'information' counter opened it for me while a queue of angry Dutch people backed up behind me.
4. Getting a library card
Still don't have your housing contract? No, you're looking for somewhere else because DUWO has put you in a complete shithole? Tough, you can't even get a library card without your housing contract. Need to borrow a book for the assignment thats due next week? Tough. Oh.... and don't forget your passport. We need to photocopy it, so in the case that you steal any books we can fly to Australia and GET YOU!!!
5. Enrolling
Unfortunately all that time you spent carefully planning your study program so as to avoid any exams, and have one day a week off, was for nothing. Exchange students enrollment needs to be entered 'manually' (ie. after every else has enrolled online and taken all the places in the good subject) Never mind that you had handed your preferences in ten weeks before online enrollment even opened.
PS. This is a unique activity, in that you DON'T need a Dutch bank account to do it.
6. Registering at the municipality
The first form in your bag says "things to do: on Tuesday the 5th of September you must go and register at the municipality.
Like a good little lamb to the slaughter, your 433 euros in pocket, you go to the municipality to buy your residence permit (which in Delft looks like a public swimming pool).
No, your name is on the list, you don't have an appointment today. Come back tomorrow.
"What if I can't come back tomorrow?"
"You have to, it has to be within five days of your arrival in the Netherlands".
"But what if I can't?"
"Then you can come back on Thursday"
"Okay then"
With more money than you have ever seen before burning a hole in your pocket, dejectedly walk the half an hour back to yoru house.
Obediently, on thursday I returned, hiking back into the centre of town on aching legs.
"Do you have an appointment?"
"No, but you told me to come back today."
He acts like he has never seen me before.
"But you don't have an appointment."
By this point I'd had enough.
"No, I don't have an appointment. But YOU told me to come back here today, so you'd better make one for me right now."
And he did.
So eventually the irritating buzzer-thing rang to say it was my turn, after an interminable wait in a room full of depressed illegal immigrants. The somewhat more kindly-faced lady in the booth calls me over.
"Okay, I have my passport, my housing contract, my TUDelft acceptance letter, some passport photos, and 433 euros."
"Do you have your forms?"
"Forms?"
"Yes, forms." She pulls a giant sheath of paper off the shelf. "You'll need to make an appointment for another day so you can fill them in."
Once again, I grovel. No please don't send me away, the man at the counter sent me away on tuesday without even telling me I need forms. My legs hurt and I have no bicycle. I can fill them in really quickly, please please please. Maybe its something in my eyes, that gleam of desparation that shows people that if they push me just an inch further I will crack. She takes pity on me.
"Okay, I'm taking a break for ten minutes. You'll have to take another set of passport photos, those ones are too big. And if you have the forms filled in by the time I get back I'll do your appointment today."
So the municipality now has me registered as a widowed afghani planatation worker on a vacation, but at least I got them filled in in ten minutes.
Several hours of stress and 433 euros later I am now the proud owner of a little sticker in my passport, proclaiming that I am allowed to stay in the country while they process my application. Ironically, it takes six months for them to process it. By the time I am allowed to stay, I will be gone.
7. Ordering readers
So you're a resident, you have a bank account, a house and a library card. You're all set right?
I logged on to the online book store and ordered my reader, which I was already supposed to have read. I selected bank transfer as the payment method. Cash is of course not an option, and in this case neither is over-the-counter bank card.
I go to ABN-amro. "I would like to make a bank transfer for 15 euros please."
"Certainly, that will be 12,50."
"Sorry, I dont understand, is there a discount?"
"No, if we make the transfer here it will cost you 12;50 extra."
Okay. Thats somewhat ridiculous, to pay almost the same amount in fees as what I am actually transferring.
"Is there any other way to do it?"
"Only if you have internet banking."
"Okay, can i get internet banking?"
"Certainly."
She starts typing behind the counter, and I consider my problem solved.
"Okay, I've signed you up. You should get the acceptance letter in 5 working days, and after that it will take another 8 days for your e-dentifier to arrive."
AAAAAAAARGH! By this time my first assignment will have come and gone.
Salvation comes in the form of a Dutch angel. Martine, my partner for the assignment, through a combination of pity and self-interest, has ordered the reader for me. And when I shamefacedly go back a second time to ask her to order my Design Manifestation reader, she has conveniently accidentally printed off the reader (tell me, how do you do that?).
But its okay, I forgave ABN-amro eventually, after they sent me this cool little thing.
posted by Girl with a pearl at
10:14 PM
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