There is no point in describing how much time each student spends filling out the DS — now a missed line, now a forgotten checkbox. But such problems can be easily managed with the help of a coordinator and an internet café, to which one had to run about five times to bring everything to perfection. I think it's worth starting with that very day when I set off for the visa, the day that crept up so unexpectedly, and which will be described below...

10 February 2010, 04:25

Today, in the literal sense of the word, history was being made — not the great kind that could touch everyone, but the history of my fate, and the fates of those who on that same day and hour found themselves at the threshold of the embassy of the United States. But let's go in order....

The Almaty–Astana train stopped in the sleeping town at 4:10 a.m. Karaganda greeted it coldly, with thirty-degree frost and wind that turned that frost into a gusting, chilling storm. The conductor, turning my ticket in his numb hands, looked at my ID and immediately handed my documents back with the words: 'thirteenth seat, please come in.'

'Thirteenth seat? Wow!' flashed through my mind — 'a good number!' Glancing once more at my parents standing on the platform, undoubtedly more confident in me than I was myself, I entered the sleeping carriage. A few minutes later the train pulled away, taking me from my small hometown to the capital, to the new events and sensations I was to go through that day. It's hard to describe the state of a person who, confused, seems confident in their knowledge and resourcefulness, but understands the seriousness of the upcoming event and how nervousness can affect its outcome. Those who have felt that will understand. The train gradually picked up speed, and the clatter of wheels soothed and lulled to sleep, as did the people sharing my compartment. I closed my eyes. What could be simpler? You just have to mentally 'play out' the whole situation, 'invent' the future, and nothing will remain but for it to happen. I never lacked imagination, so vivid pictures flashed through my head, leaving feelings of satisfaction and calm: everything will be fine! No doubt about it!

'Do you mind?' — someone interrupted my 'forecasting' with a voice.

'Please.'

A respectable old man sat down opposite me with a cup of hot tea, and after asking who I was and where I was going, decided that keeping me from being bored was his mission for the day. It's true what they say — you hear all sorts of things on a train, and the main thing is how long a conversation can stretch. It was already light outside when the story of the last, seventh ancestor of his family was finished, and returning to the present the elder began scolding his idle grandson.

Astana, meanwhile, was not too welcoming in terms of weather either. I didn't hesitate, and after sitting for 30 minutes in the waiting hall I took a taxi and headed to the embassy. You had to get in by 10, but those who arrived earlier were mercifully let inside.

There is nothing scary about handing over your things, passing through a metal detector and entering another room where students waiting to be called sat in rows of chairs, as well as those who for other reasons needed a visa. The scariest and hardest part was maintaining the calm I had set myself beforehand. After all, an unusual environment strongly affects the subconscious. I look at the guard flinging doors open for me one after another (what a gentleman!) and come to the conclusion that he is saying something to me — too bad I didn't understand what. :-) The people waiting for their turn boredly examine the 'new girl,' and from the last row someone's hand waves in greeting. Finally — someone familiar! Alisa had arrived an hour earlier and had already gotten used to the new setting. Here comes the last wave of fear, after which will follow either complete calm or unbridled panic. I sit down and, after exchanging a couple of phrases with my friend, try once more to set myself in a positive mood. In some 30–40 minutes I will finally find out whether I will get a visa or not, and, consequently, whether I will go to America, the place my friends and I have been dreaming about since we became participants in the program.

I look around at the people sitting there with interest. They all came here for the same purpose as I did. So where does the thought that I might be left without a visa come from? Then the consul's voice is heard and a married couple gets up and heads to the window. Standard questions: language proficiency, purpose of visit, relatives and friends in the States. Next to the window an elderly white-haired man was called who, no less and no more, requested a US visa to participate in athletic competitions among veterans. What a fellow! I would love to, in his years, not lose interest in life. The old man was listened to attentively, and then, as in all previous cases, the consul said: 'You will receive your visa in the evening.' An encouraging phrase! :-)

To boost morale, by the way, the embassy plays the same clip on a loop, lasting 5–8 minutes. The screen shows happy faces of Americans of all ages, social strata and nationalities waving and smiling while saying the cherished, magically powerful word: Welcome! Welcome! WELCOME! And if watching this cheerful and positive video clip does not convince you of a favorable outcome, I don't know what else could possibly help. Perhaps only the consul's charming smile?

Meanwhile, the number of people applying for a visa outside the program was decreasing and the guard announced that we needed to submit documents at window 1 and then go through the fingerprint scanning procedure. There should be no more than three people near the window. No problems here — all staff speak Russian, so you just have to follow their requests precisely and calmly wait your turn. The coordinator from the Astana Work & Travel office arrived, as usual, 30 minutes late, and by that time the first students were already going to the consul for interviews. In the first seconds we sitting and waiting strained our ears to catch everything the consul asked. No innovations among the questions: purpose of trip, length of stay, place of study. The trickiest questions, in my observation, were those the coordinators had so tried to draw our attention to. Most students looked questioningly at the officer and awkwardly fumbled with all five fingers at the scanner when asked to place an index (or other) finger on it. In such cases Mr. A. Or patiently repeats his request in Russian. So it's not worth getting upset if such a slip-up happens. The question 'What do you study?' caused no less difficulty, although students who had consulted with the coordinator easily listed the subjects and courses that occupy their time at university. After listening to the answers of several students we calmed down: it's not so bad. The streak of luck ended when my friend came out of the hall with eyes shining from happiness. No, don't think anyone had been denied a visa. It's just that the consul mysteriously disappeared and for 40 minutes we were deprived of hearing his voice. The reason for the consul's absence was explained to us only briefly, and there was nothing left to do but wait. Everyone knows that waiting is a great mental strain. Students began to talk a little, joking that the consul had run off for lunch. Meanwhile our coordinator entertained the bored travelers as best he could. We heard all sorts of things: where to live, where to work, what to be afraid of, and what not worth worrying about. No matter how you look at it, a person who knows something is not comparable to a person who has experience.

Time seemed to stop until, like a ray of light in a dark realm, the consul's voice rang out and the whole crowd of waiting people breathed a sigh of relief and joy. Another student (and to be precise, a female student) went to the window. The interview doesn't take long, just 5–7 minutes. For those students who had already been abroad or have relatives and friends in the USA, the conversation was longer. 'Longer' doesn't mean 'harder.' So there's no need to hide any facts of your biography.

Five people were left in line before me. Was I nervous? Yes, certainly. One by one students came away from the window. Four left, three, two... And finally I heard my name in 'American processing.' Now it was no longer days, hours, or minutes separating me from the interview, but about 15 seconds, during which I managed to approach the window. And why didn't any of the students smile as the coordinators taught us? But I felt like laughing!

'Hello! How are you?'

To be honest, the consul was somewhat embarrassed that someone had for the first time all day asked how he was doing, so like a true American he answered that he was fine — after a slight pause. Maybe that's why, reveling in my joy, I didn't catch which finger needed to be placed on the scanner, but this mistake went unnoticed. Mr. Alexander Or, a short young man with light hair and merry eyes, quickly clicked the keys and sifted through my documents. At the same time he asked a few more questions, then set my passport aside and returned my papers, saying that the passport with the visa would be handed over to the coordinator. Taking my documents and responding to the 'have a good day' wish, I stepped away from the window that had held my attention for the last two hours. That's it! Quick, without problems and unnecessary worries. From my hands the DS 219, which should remain with the coordinator, immediately vanished and I returned to my seat, dressed, and wishing good luck to the remaining students I left.

A taxi stood near the embassy, summoned by someone and apparently forgotten. You can't park next to the embassy, and the guard vainly tried to convince the driver of that, while the driver, for his part, did not want to lose a client. Another female student left the embassy with me and immediately persuaded me to go to the station in this 'unattended' taxi. Which is what we did.

Here is the Astana–Karaganda bus. On the way home I thought a lot (what else to do?) about what makes me and other students so nervous on the day of the interview. Lack of confidence in oneself? No, maybe fear of something new. And one must say, it's a pleasant excitement worth experiencing at least once in a lifetime, because such a first time never repeats. You only need to believe in the best, not doubt your abilities, and luck will surely smile on you in the face of the consul of the United States :-)