Friday: Consulate Visit & Wandering In The Woods

I found out I can get a "criminal record" document (required by the Austrian government for immigration) from the US consulate. This saves me the hassle of trying to get one from the US by mail or fax.

I took the subway down to the Stadtpark, then looked around until I found the place, on the 4th floor of a nice building. Inside the entrance, two armed civilian guards carrying Glocks, both Austrians. I had to run my backpack and camera bag through an X-ray machine and go through a metal detector. They kept my bags and gave me a reciept for them. No cameras or cellphones inside. But they were friendly, unlike a lot of security people in the US who always seem uptight and sometimes just plain fucking rude.

You go through a thick steel door. There's another armed guy on that side of the door. The guy told me: "Go to window 1." I walked back there and found there were 7 or 8 windows, all plainly numbered, with thick glass partitions.

"I need a criminal record document," I told the lady, an Austrian.

"Fill out this form but don't sign it," she said. "Then give it back to me." It was a simple form---name, date and place of birth, passport number, citizenship (!), address of last residence in the US.

I passed the form back. "Now go to window 3, and pay the fee." At window 3 I was served by a pleasant American lady with only one arm. I paid the $50 fee. "Now take your receipt to window 2 and you'll get your report."

At window 2, there was a pleasant young American guy on the other side of the glass. "I'm your witness for this document," he said. (Evidently, they'd checked my criminal history while I was paying the fee and found none.) "First, please sign here." I signed. "Raise your right hand and swear and affirm the following is true:" And then he said something like, "Do you swear you haven't lied on this form?" or similar. I said, "Yes," and that was that.

But during this process I thought of George Carlin's hilarious routine called "Swearing On The Bible":

Here's another one of these civic customs: swearing on the Bible. Do you understand that shit? They tell you to raise your right hand, place your left hand on the Bible. Does this stuff really matter? Which hand? Does God really give a fuck about details like this? Suppose you put right hand on the Bible, you raise your left hand. Would that count? Or would God say: "Sorry, wrong hand! Try again!" Why does one hand have to be raised? What is the magic in this gesture? This seems like some sort of a primitive voodoo mojo stick. Why not put your left hand on the Bible, let your right hand hang down by your side? That's more natural. Or put it in your pocket. That's what your mother used to say. "Don't put your hands in your pockets!" Does she know something we don't know? Is this hand shit really important? Let's get back to the Bible: America's favorite national theatrical prop. Suppose the Bible they hand you to swear on is upside-down. Or backwards. Or both! And you swear to tell the truth on an upside-down backwards Bible. Would that count? Suppose the Bible they hand you is an old Bible and half the pages are missing. Suppose all they have is a Chinese Bible, in an American court! Or Braille Bible, and you're not blind! Suppose they hand you an upside-down, backwards Chinese Braille Bible with half the pages missing! At what point does all of this stuff just break down and become just a lot of stupid shit that somebody made up? They fucking made it up, folks! It's make-believe!

I took my "I have never been to prison" document and walked out. I have to give credit: the people were friendly and courteous and the whole thing happened really fast. John X likes it smoooothe, and it was.
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In the afternoon, B and I drove to a nearby town to take a hike in the woods. It started off being a hot, humid day but by the time we got out there, the sky darkened somewhat and the wind picked up a little, and that kept the humidity at bay.

We wanted to find mushrooms, but we weren't really in a remote area and we figured the locals had probably picked the place clean already. We did find some mushrooms, but they weren't the edible variety.

Sometimes I shoot things just because the colors are, uh, colorful.
We parked near this house before entering the woods.

Mushrooms. According to B, not edible.

I noticed these white flowers in a field with no other white flowers,
but plenty of other colors. Take time to notice the flowers once in a while.

This was the site of a small pond where B's family visited many years ago.
This little boy was feeding the fish, who were going crazy: all you can eat!

On the drive home, we stopped at another small pond where there's a simple restaurant.
Close-up of flowers and in the background, a man walking the shore.

Garlic creme soup. Creamy, and, um, garlicky.

We found no mushrooms in the woods, but on the way home we stopped at a roadside stand and bought some boletas. 

B sauteed them and served them with boiled potatoes and parsley. I drank a cheap white wine. Delicious.