If there is one thing in Tbilisi that really frightens me, it's the Tbilisi land registry office. I have pretty frightening memories from when I was buying my house: standing in line for hours and hours, days and days, fighting with people budding in line, never being sure if I was waiting in the right line and often not understanding what was going on. All this was in 40 degree 100% humidity heat, with a deadline looming over my head since my flight back to Canada couldn't be changed. If it wasn't for my Georgian friends, there is no way I would have managed to conclude the transaction.
So despite the fact that it all worked out in the end the impression that office left on my will probably be with me forever.
Things have gotten a LOT better there (for example one godsend: there are employees now wearing name tags who's job it is to answer questions and they direct you to the proper lines) I still am pretty frightened of what could happen there.
To build the second story of my house I need to get permission from the city, and to submit the application for that I have to get a registration document form proving ownership... This, you guessed it, comes from the land registry office. It is valid for only ten days, so the old one I have from when I bought the house doesn't cut it.
This is a brief description of the what happened there on Tuesday when I applied for the registration document:
I arrived at the office and asked on of the security guards on what floor I can get the document: the answer on the fourth floor.
I go to the fourth floor and ask the security guard there where I need to line up to get the document: but it turns out the first security guard was wrong and I need to go the fifth floor.
I go to the fifth floor and ask the security guard there where I need to line up to get the document: He only speaks Georgian, so I can't completely figure out what he's saying but I do understand a word that means consultation, which I take to mean there is somebody here that answers questions. I look around and in a few minutes I notice the people with the name tags who are helping people. I am so shocked and overjoyed I almost fall down.
I go up to one of these name tag people and start to wait in the wriggling sphere of people that I know is a lineup in Georgia. I really don't know who is worse, the people who have twenty minute conversations while room full of people are waiting other people are waiting (I can hardly wait until my Georgian is good enough to figure out what people could be talking about during these conversations) or the people that bud in to ask a "quick question". They may not want a twenty minute conversation, but for sure all their quick questions are longer than my question was going to be. Finally after a number of interruptions I jockey into position, tell the next person who is budding to wait and I ask where I can apply for my document.
Another godsend: he takes pity on me and personally shows me the right lineup. He also tells me that I'll have to buy coupon for seven Lari (4 USD) with which I'll have to pay for the registration document and he shows me where I can do that too. He suggests I buy the coupon first to save time.
I wait in line to buy the coupon. They charge an extra Lari commission for the coupon. No big deal, its just small change. I didn't ask but I think if I wanted to save the Lari, I could go to a bank to buy the coupon. So far, so good.
With my coupon in hand I go to the second lineup where I need to apply for the registry document. When It's my turn I explain what I want and give her the coupon and an old copy of the registration document so she can locate my file easily. She looks everything over and decides the photocopy of my old document isn't good enough and she wants the original old copy. I don't take that out of my apartment without good reason so it's not now with me. At this point I have a choice: I can argue with her (after all, I shouldn't have to show her the registration at all I think), I can go back to my apartment and repeat the whole process tomorrow...or I can tell a lie. I lie. I tell her that the original is in Canada. In Canada, a statement like this with a bureaucrat has zero chance of convincing somebody to bend a rule, but here everything (whatever other problems there are) is much more human. She shrugs and takes the copy. She asks me if I speak Georgian because I'll have to fill in a form in Georgian. I say I have friends that will help me, but could I see the form? It turns out exactly as I thought: it has only about 3 blanks. I ask her if she speaks Georgian smiling my sweetest smile, and she says OK, she'll fill it in for me.
Again, so far, so good!
She asks for my passport. She looks it over and says that I'll have to get it translated and the notarized! Oh, no! The office is not going to be open forever and I was looking forward so much to getting this over with today! I argue: I tell her that it's ridiculous to translate a passport. They're international documents. The border control doesn't require translation, does it? What's there to translate anyway, dates and my name? I say that I really want to get this done today.
But I know it's useless and this is not the first time I've had to have my passport translated in Georgia. Besides she's been really nice so far so all I can manage is token protest. I try a different tack: I ask her where I can get this done today. She tells me there is place about a block away they send people too. I tell her I'll be back.
After about 15 minutes of searching I find the Notary's office. I go in and join the thankfully small sphere of people who are forming a line. The receptionist is ignoring the line for the most part because she telling her friend who is boiling sausages on a small hotplate behind the counter how hungry she is. Finally my turn: I show the receptionist my passport and tell her I need it translated and notarized. No problem she says. She tells me to go the land registry office, where it turns out they rent a room on the third floor. That's where their translator is it turns out. She says I should get the passport translated there and then bring the translation here for notarization.
Now I'm getting pissed off.
I tell her I just came from there. How come I have to go back? How come the people at the land registry office send people here instead of just two floors down? She has a look on her face that says this really is the least of her problems. The assistant hands her the sausages and she starts eating them.
I'm being irrational: it doesn't matter where the people at the land registry should have sent me. If I want my passport translated I have to go back to where I came from and then come back here. I ask her where exactly I need to go and she tells me third floor, room 4. Ask for Nino she says. Now I think she's being mean: almost all Georgian women are called Nino and before I dismiss this as paranoia, I think for a second she was making fun of me. Anyway, It doesn't matter if she is making fun of me, off I go.
I knock on room four on the third floor and a woman opens the door. I ask for Nino but instead of her asking me as usual which Nino I want, she says that there is no Nino here. I ask here if this is the translator’s office, and she says no. I ask her where the translator's office is and she says she has no idea, but they only moved in here a couple of days ago. I'm pretty sure now I'll have to go back to the notary, but thankfully another woman behind her says to try room nine. OK, off I go again.
I knock on room nine and yet another woman opens the door. Again, I ask for Nino, but the woman who opened the door says she doesn't work here anymore. I ask here if this is the translators office, and wow, it is! Will they translate a passport and will the notary I spoke to (I describe where it was) accept their translation and notarize it (I've done this before so I know that notaries will only notarize translations of translators they work with). The woman says yes and I hand her my passport. She looks it over and tells me I'll need to make a photocopy of it. I ask her if they don't have a photocopy machine, but I know the answer. I ask where I can have a photocopy done. Guess where? Room four, just where I came from.
OK, back in room four I realize I don't want to do through this again ever, I get 5 copies done and I race back to room nine.
Back in room nine, before she starts, I ask her how much this is going to cost and she says 5 Lari (3 USD). I ask her what kind of discount I can have if I want five copies and she says she'll do the other four for free. Wow. I start to wait.
Fifteen minutes into the waiting, I realize this is so funny that I want to tell someone about it. I call Lina and describe the story so far as a perfect example of what the land registry office is like. We both die laughing, but I notice that my laughter has the grim kind of black tone to it. After all, so far, nothing has been accomplished. I've had lots of days like this where at the end, someone has said something like "OK, everything is in order, now just do X", where X is some totally impossible request. Then there is nothing to do but go away drink a coffee, calm down and look for a completely new line of attack (which, bye the way, usually involves consultations with friends, who then call friends, everyone looking for an acquaintance that works in the problem office).
Thirty minutes of waiting later (remember they have to translate thirty words maximum, realistically, nothing more complicated than my birthday) I look up and see this in the translator's office:
The cigarette ad that decorates the office below the the trilingual "No smoking!" sign says "Live with taste". Hey, more cell phone art!
OK, now it's been forty minutes of waiting. I ask the translator, what could be taking so long. I tell her it's just thirty words, right? What the hell is going on? She says it will be done soon. Ten minutes later the translation is done.
Now she takes the translations with the photocopies, punches holes in them, using ribbons ties them into pairs of photocopy originals and Georgian translations, puts stickers across the ribbons and stamps the stickers with her official translator stamps to prevent tampering, and finally signs each page.
Progress!
I go back to the Notary, back to a spherical line up. There are more arguments. I tell myself I'm really, really close now, so it would be a real shame to have a rabid fit, to tell the notary off, and to try to find a new one. Not only would looking for a new notary take a lot longer than waiting (and the scene at the new notary would likely not be better), the new notary would want the translations done again, by a her or his own translator.
Finally it’s my turn. The receptionist lets me into the notary's room. The notary examines the ribbons and stickers and finally adds her stamp and signature to the all the document pairs. I have five notarized passport translations! I pay 2.50 Lari, and back I go to the land registry office.
Guess what? They close in a few minutes, but I may make it! I line up for to the woman who filled in the form for me, and she, failing to find any more objections accepts my application. The registration will be ready to pick up the next day after three O'clock she says.
Not bad, huh? Compared to four years ago this was so easy it was fun. I left building whistling and smiling.
But every silver lining has a cloud too: the day after I got the registration, accompanied by an employee of the builder of my house, I went to submit the application for for the construction of the second story. It turns out, aside from all the other documents we had, we also need a map of the street showing all the other houses on it. It's not difficult to get such a map, they produce it for applicants such as me, but it does take two weeks. By that time the registration document, which if you remember only is valid for ten days, will expire.
All this will need to be done again.
But it sounds much worse than it is. The second time, things like this go much smoother. Besides I have four more notarized passport translations so I'm already ahead in the game.
