To queue or not to queue

One of the joys of travelling is, in my opinion, finding out about all the small inconsequential, quirky traits and customs that give a country its unique footprint. Those strange and often amusing nuances that we all take for granted in our own countries, come to the fore very quickly when you are suddenly confronted with a new 'set of rules' to abide by.

Let us take a look at queuing for example. We (the Brits) , whether we admit to it or not love a good queue. Whether at the bus stop, the cinema, the bank or indeed anywhere. There is an unwritten rule that one joins the end of the queue, formed in an orderly manner of course, almost Titanicesque in it's women and children first precedent.

8.30 am, outside the Immigration Office, Krakow, Poland, CENTRAL Europe. A queue there certainly is not! The amassed crowds of people, jostling for position to be the first through the doors remind me of mine and hundreds of other supporters' predicament at the Baseball Ground in 1984 when we were trying to exit the ground back to our car park without getting crushed. However this time there are no chairs being hurled at us but there is however an angry confrontation between a Pole and a Ukrainian, as to who should be at the front of the 'queue' . Amanda translated some of the argument to me and it seems one was questioning the other as to the validity of his parentage and suggested that perhaps it would be better if he f.....d off back from where he came from. Ring any bells? When the doors opened, there were a few skirmishes, a bit like Black Friday really but today it was not 'white goods' on offer but far more important white visas.

I'm alright Jack, let's have a nice cup of tea.

Having made it in to the inner sanctum we are immediately put in a queue to get in to the next room where there are five or six staff working in an open plan office and a couple of private booths. A guard at the doorway lets a certain amount of people in as others leave. We eventually get ticket number thirteen and sit and wait and wait and ...wait. What I do notice is that there appears to every nationality under the sun in this room but rather worryingly so, there does not appear to be any obviously Western or Central Europeans by what I can hear in their conversations with their interpreters. A short while later we are duly called to one of the private booths and told that we are in the wrong place and should go upstairs to room 105 ( four less and I would have been there for a while!)

We enter the waiting room to room 105 with a great sense of relief as we can see EU posters on the wall explaining that this is the place for EU citizens to register their application for Polish residency. There are a dozen or so people sat around and more arriving as we take a seat and Amanda asks the room, who is next, as there appears to be no formal queue of any sort. A woman opens the door to the mysterious room 105 and two people leap out of their seats and almost get jammed in the doorway as
they both try to get in. After a few heated words a rather admonished gentleman returns to the room mumbling something or other, whilst others join the conversation, all unsure as to the procedure to get through the hallowed doors of room 105.
A short while later, after a few more rushes on the door, a lady appears and announces in Polish that if there any EU citizens wishing to register then please come forward. There is a queue after all, but only for EU citizens. We are next.

To be honest my registration was quite simple and didn't take that long. However if I was a non EU citizen I would probably be still there now. So there we are. There was a queue and it was inextricably linked to being a Brit!!! I wondered on the way home, how many English speaking EU citizens were still waiting as they didn't understand the lady's announcement in Polish. Anyway I'm alright Jack, let's have a cuppa.

The wonderful Out of Africa cafe. This cafe will feature later in far more detail