extend my Spanish visa for forty-eight hours, presumably suffi-
cient. But I had not yet realized that life in Europe, especially
in the southern countries, moves more leisurely than in the
United States. The German Consul taught me my first lesson.
Although I saw a copy of my record, my name, address, age,
passport number, and other details about me on his desk, he
insisted that he had no instructions to grant me a German visa.

"We must go through the usual routine," he said.

"But you should have the visa ready for me here," I said.
"Your Consul in New York told me that all I'd have to do was
to come here and get the visa."

The bland German said that was impossible.

"It is never done that way," he said. "You must fill out a
form and make application in the usual way. You will then get
your visa in a month, if everything is all right."

I told the clerk I would pay for a wire to Berlin and that I
must have immediate action, since my Spanish visa was good
for only one more day.

"I can send the wire," he said, "but even then it will take at
least fifteen days. I doubt whether you can get it that soon. It's
never done."

The clerk rose and shook hands.

"I hope you can get an extension on your Spanish visa," he
said.

I walked out fumingly angry. I thought then I was meeting
with the Spanish spirit of mañana as it affected even the Ger-
mans who lived in a country like Spain. I did not know then
that instead I was having my first experience of the methodical
plodding of so-called German efficiency, a system that will not
permit disturbance of routine, that cannot conceive of excep-
tions to revered procedure, that is founded on German dis-
cipline, and that, as the people blindly follow the rules set up
for them, cannot conceive of any deviation from the normal.

Later in Germany, where they have stories to fit every situa-
tion and sometimes make fun of themselves, I heard a story

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