For all I know, he could wake up every morning singing to the birds while waving a cheery greeting to the flowers as a butterfly perches contentedly on his shoulders. And then, as the sun goes down, he may leave work and cartwheel down the street before meeting friends in a bar. But sitting in front of me at the foreigners’ office, this grizzled-looking, half-shaven civil servant was, in my mind, the epitome of poker-faced, stubborn bureaucracy, a skilled practitioner of the art of red tape and making things difficult.
I loathe red tape with an industrial-sized passion. It’s right up there with tooth extraction and reality TV. But Spain, as wonderful as it is, is a country that loves turning even the simplest procedures into a bureaucratic labyrinth.
Welcome to the Labyrinth
My first proper introduction to Spanish bureaucracy came not long after I moved here when I applied for my residency. My Spanish was limited at the time, so I hired a local lawyer to help. They filled out the forms and made the appropriate appointment for me. With the documents completed and signed – title deeds, passport, and other necessary paperwork – we duly arrived at the Oficina de Extranjeros at the scheduled time. I collected my number from reception and waited in the holding area for about 30 minutes.
So far, so good. And then I was summoned for my meeting.
Now, applying for and receiving residency should be simple, providing all your documents are in order. Mine were. But simple, it was not. Having examined all my papers, the civil servant informed me there was a problem.
“What problem?” I asked politely.
“A problem,” he replied.
I repeated myself, and he repeated himself. Trying to find a chink in his armour, I phrased my question slightly differently. “What is the nature of the problem?”
“There might be a problem,” he shot back.
I repeated my question, he repeated his answer. This continued for about another minute, neither of us conceding ground to the other. He tired of this verbal tennis match before I did, but as all the cards were in his hand, there was nothing much I could do. He concluded by saying that my certificate would be ready in a few weeks. I was about to question him further, but his gaze had already left me and was fixed on the next person.
A few weeks later, I popped into the lawyer’s office to see if they had learned anything. The assistant said there was no update, but there was a helpline. Ah! A glimmer of hope, I thought. But she followed it up by explaining that no one ever answers it. She called. It wasn’t answered. I was about to ask her to persevere, but I could see the resignation in her eyes.
She knew that when bureaucracy puts up the barricades, it can be futile to try and tear them down, like hitting a brick wall with a hammer made of marshmallow.
After a couple of months, my certificate was ready, but we never did find out what the problem was, if indeed there was one. And no explanation was given to us about the delay.
Going nowhere
My experience with red tape hasn’t differed much since then. I speak Spanish now and do it all myself, but it’s still a slog. Government websites are often clunky and confusing, and there’s no escaping the mountain of forms.
Recently, I applied for the new ID card all expats now need. You’d think you could call up and make an appointment.
Nope.
It has to be done online and only with your digital signature – which took me ages to get in the first place. So, I logged on, filled in a few dropdowns, and got a message: “No appointments available. Please try again later.” I tried every day for five weeks. Nothing.
Then, after some determined internet digging, I found a direct email address. I wrote to ask for an appointment. The reply: “Appointments can’t be booked via email. Please use the website.” I responded that I had already tried that.
Finally, a breakthrough. The official let slip a bit of information not mentioned on any government site or leaflet: each day, around 200 appointments are released at a specific hour – which changes from week to week. I asked for the hour they’d be released that week, logged on at the right time each day, and on my third attempt, I got in.
Phew!
Advice
So, if you’re navigating Spain’s red tape, whether registering as self-employed, applying for residency, or simply renewing an ID card, here’s some advice from someone who’s been there, done that, bought the T-shirt, worn that T-shirt out and got another one.
• Don’t argue: Civil servants can interpret the same rule in different ways but questioning them rarely ends well. Push back, and you risk delays or rejection.
• Don’t roll your eyes: Tempting but unwise. I did it once and won’t do it again.
• Bring several copies of everything: We may live in a digital age, but Spain still loves paper. Bring at least two copies of everything. If even one piece is missing, you may have to start from scratch.
• Be patient: You will need more patience than you have ever mustered in your life. If you’re applying for something online, pour yourself a glass of wine or something stronger.
You will need it!
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Read more about Spain here in Dispatches’ archives.
See more from Paul here.
Paul Arnold
Paul Arnold is a former BBC producer who worked on science, news and magazine programmes, traveling the world to interview Nobel Prize winners, politicians and celebrities. After 16 years, he left the corporation and moved to southern Spain, where he ghostwrites for publications across the USA, Canada and Europe.
