We are in the immigration office after our second post-Brexit interview, hoping to secure residency rights in Greece. As we attempt to enter the building that also houses the police force of Kavala, we get shouted out by an agitated guard. Explaining to him that we are here for our biometric permits, he waves us in. Tentatively, we climb up the grim, dimly lit marble staircase. The place looks like it is still stuck in the seventies, the light fittings, the signs, the architecture, a sense of impenetrable bureaucracy from another era. We have no idea where we are supposed to go, all the signs are in Greek and we have not yet graduated to immigration level vocabulary.
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We are in the immigration office after our second post-Brexit interview, hoping to secure residency rights in Greece. As we attempt to enter the building that also houses the police force of Kavala, we get shouted out by an agitated guard. Explaining to him that we are here for our biometric permits, he waves us in. Tentatively, we climb up the grim, dimly lit marble staircase. The place looks like it is still stuck in the seventies, the light fittings, the signs, the architecture, a sense of impenetrable bureaucracy from another era. We have no idea where we are supposed to go, all the signs are in Greek and we have not yet graduated to immigration level vocabulary.