So, after six months of waiting, I think I have finally had my police visit.
I say ‘I think I had’ it, because I didn’t actually answer the door.
After a bad night, with little sleep, I was still in bed at 9:30 when the bell rang. Andrew, who had just gotten up, went to the door.
I was quite sure it was the police, although how I knew this after six months of racing to the door only to find my landlady, I’m not sure.
The police asked for me and Andrew told them I was in bed.
I was expecting to have to throw on a robe and stumble to the door with bed-head and morning breath, extract my passport and convince them that I really was who I said I was.
They pointed to my name on the doorbell and mailbox. That was good enough for them. They went off on their merry way.
While I am glad to have this part of the process finally over, I have to say that it would have been nice to know that’s all it took… especially when I was panicking about them visiting while I was in Helsinki and Canada (which is exactly what happened).
I think this little tidbit of info should be plastered on all of the commune walls – ‘Expats – Please insure that you have your name written on your doorbell and postbox, Thank You, the Belgians.’
Frankly, this would have saved me a lot of time and trouble.
So to all you expats waiting in limbo for your police check … Please insure that you have your name written on your doorbell and postbox, Thank You, CheeseWeb.
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