Bucharest city tales: More from the bureaucracy sagas - applying to study in Bucharest

Columnist Eleonore af Schaumburg-Lippe writes in her weekly column about life as an expat in Romania. She intends to study for a master's in Bucharest and this week she writes about her adventures with the Romanian education authorities and how the process has gone so far.

Some months ago I decided to study an English speaking Master's here in Bucharest, and it has been quite a journey to get though the bureaucratic labyrinth. I have seen it as a kind of trial by ordeal; if I can make it through the bureaucracy, then I'm ready to study in Romania. One of the first steps was to gather all my school papers and diplomas from Denmark and hand them over to the authorities, so my papers could be approved. Via an online page written in Romanian, I had found out what papers should be handed in, but I was a bit worried if I had understood correctly when it came to these words: Translation, legalized translation, certified copies and of course the most important word “Stampila” and having the right ones on my papers. So I went with all my papers to hand them in at one of these public offices, feeling confident that I could have them checked to make sure they were in order, stamped correctly etc. But no no no! Instead the lady sitting behind a little window simply handed me a post it note sized piece of paper on which she had written a phone number and instructed me to call in one month. Not really content with the answer, I of course called the number after a week, and asked the lady on the phone, who spoke perfect English, if she could look into my files, only to check if all the papers were there and looked correctly stamped, nothing more. Her answer was: “I have 300 files to go through, so it will not be fair to look into yours, when others have handed in their papers earlier.” Fair enough, that was an answer I could understand. Two weeks later I called the lady again, now her answer was: “ I have a 100 files to look into, so you will have to wait.” Her answer made me laugh, and I said "well bravo in two weeks you have looked into 200 files, that's quite a good result," which in turn made her laugh and suddenly she asked, "where are you from ?" I answered Denmark. Then, to my surprise, she told me that I had to call another number as she only dealt with Romanian citizens. So she gave me another number for... let's call him Peter, but I was told that Peter was on holiday for one week. Nobody else, it seemed, could fill Peter's shoes, so I had to wait until this vital cog in the bureaucratic machine returned. After a week I called Peter, we talked on the phone, and he said that I was 10 ECTS points (European Credit Transfer System )short to study the Master's, that made no sense to me, since I knew all my papers were in order when it came to ECTS points, I had more than the necessary number of points. So we decided that I should come by his office the next day, which was a Friday, he would be there the whole day, or more exactly from 9-12, and we agreed I should call in at 10:00. The building where the meeting was to take place was something of a surprise, it was like entering a metro station. The entrance was a huge hall, with three stairs up, but a big barrier covering the stairs, like on the metro, while a woman sitting in a box (just like the ones selling tickets in the metro ) on the left side of the barrier stopped me. Let’s call her Mrs. Draguta (The Romanian word for Sweety), since she kept calling me that. I told her I had a meeting at 10 with Peter, she only spoke Romanian but I could understand, and she asked me for 'Peter's' last name. Usually in Denmark, we know people by their first names, and I must admit also having problems pronouncing or remembering Romanian surnames. I asked her how many Peters worked there, and she answered only one, so, I pointed out, it must be him. Next I was sent to the corner, literally; over in the right corner of the hall there was a table with a chair and on the table an old fashioned phone. I was instructed to call Peter's, which I thought was a little funny as the meeting with Peter was already agreed. But okay, I dutifully called the number and got no reply. Another woman was also using the phone with no luck. I looked at Mrs. Draguta. She said: "Go outside the building and wait a bit and then call Peter again," so I went outside to see quite a lot of people on their mobile phones calling different people in the building. Quite a show, I had of course left Peters phone number at home, since the meeting was agreed, so I couldn’t call him. Note: Get the full name and remember the phone number next time. I ended up speaking with a man outside, he said: “I work in the building so let me go in and check," which was very nice of him. He returned after a few minutes and told me: “Peter is in a meeting in the building, but I don’t know when the meeting will finish, so you will have to wait." As the office was open until 12, I felt pretty confident I would be able to catch Peter within two hours. However, I was annoyed that I hadn’t brought my laptop or a book with me, it seemed like the perfect time to finish War and Peace. I decided to wait, hoping Peter's meeting would finish very soon. While I was waiting I went in and dialed the number every 10 min, but no answer. On one of my visits to the phone, a man with a bike entered the building and I jumped up to help him maneuver the machine through the door. He didn’t say thank you for the help, but walked straight on. At this point, Mrs Draguta looked at me, pointed at Mr. Biker and silently mouthed 'Peter'… so this was busy-in-an-important-meeting-Peter. Surprised by this new discovery I reached out to tap him on the shoulder, but Mrs. Draguta made frantic no-no hand signals and pointed to the phone. So I had to watch Peter alias Mr. Biker walk by, while I was again sentenced to wait at the phone. After 10 minutes he answered the phone , the time was now around 11.30 and finally I was given clearance to enter his office. We looked through my papers, with Peter saying "aha, I see," while nodding and agreeing that everything was fine and in order. He then told me that he would give me a paper declaring that my papers had passed his inspection, which I was to present at the university. There was, however, a catch, 'Havana Pete' was going on holiday for another two weeks, so I would have to wait for this new paper. I indicated that this was not good enough, that I needed the paper, that there was a deadline at the university and they needed it on Monday. His response was to inform me that his colleague sitting at the desk next to him would be in work next week, so Monday at 9.00 I could come by and get my paper from... let's call her Mrs. Happynescu. Monday at 8.50 I was at the office to meet Mrs. Happynescu. This time I brought back up; a good friend, who is Romanian and speaks fluent English, to avoid communication problems. We went by Mrs. Draguta and all was okay. When we reached the desk of Mrs. Happynescu and I asked for the paper, she of course had no idea what paper I was talking about and said she didn't have any paper, and I will have to wait two weeks until Peter is back. Peter had given me his word, and I just knew the paper was there, so I got a bit upset, and said: "look for the paper now," indicating that I would not leave until I had the paper in my hand. She then opened a big iron closet and began to look through the files, in a way I have sometimes seen here, turning every piece of paper in the file, like each was a delicate, priceless antique that could dissolve at the slightest touch. This takes a little time. After the paper turning ritual, she looked at me and said 'nu nu,' I then pointed at another pile in the closet and the same laborious procedure began again, slowly slowly piece by piece. Well Bingo, suddenly I see my name on a piece of paper, and there it was! She began to explain something about piles and the wrong piles, but I just give her a big smile and said thank you very much you have made my day. Happy that I had now got the paper, my friend and I examined it. My diplomas etc. were approved, but I had to wait for another paper with a stamp on, which as far as I understood it, approved the approval. So I had a sort of half paper. The next paper is just a formality I am told, and I will get that someday, so off to the university to hand in the “half paper”. When I got to the university, I gave them the paper, and all was fine. The whole process of applying at the university, where the master's is taught is a story in itself, but that I will maybe tell another time. Then I asked the school secretary: “So the course begins on October 1, can you tell me what time and place the class will be held that day?" The secretary looked at me with an expression of surprise and horror, "I can’t say that yet, call me the day before the October 1 and then I will tell you." So will I get the information? Will I be able to find the time and place of my class? Will they let me in? Or will I fall at the final hurdle when, with expressions of sadness and regret, I'm told I must get form such and such, signed and stamped by so and so? Who knows? So far, so good, but don't miss the next exciting installment of my bureaucracy saga.