Or how not to get your Aufenthaltstitel

The big day started at 6:30 a.m. when I suddenly woke up and realized that it was was the day and date of my appointment at the Berlin Ausländerbehörde (Foreigners Authority, now known as the Landesamt für Einwanderung, the Berlin Immigration Office) to apply for my long-term residence permit (Aufenthaltstitel, not to be confused with an entry visa). I had made a reservation online and then received a confirmation email for an 8:00 a.m. appointment. That part of this experience had gone smoothly.

Unbelievably, the night before I had gone to bed without even setting my alarm clock! After returning from a trip to France to visit my son and his fiancée, it had just plain slipped my mind. Totally weird how I just woke up and – bang! – realized it was visa day.

In the past, the Aufenthaltstitel was attached to your passport in the visa pages section, hence the old “visa” name. Today it is usually a separate biometric plastic card called an eAT, but the procedure for obtaining one is still the same. PHOTO: bamf.de

OK, even at 6:30 I was cutting it short. It takes an average 45 minutes on public transport from my apartment to the Immigration Office (30 if all goes well, all connections connect). I jump out of bed and try to find my required German health insurance forms. I had put everything together before I left for France, so that was the only thing missing. Where the hell is it? – Turns out I wasted 10 minutes looking for it, since it was already there, hidden among other documents.

After a quick shower, I have no breakfast, just an oatmeal bar. I get dressed, cram everything in my red Sparkasse canvas zipper bag, and dash out the door to the elevator and run to the U-Bahn (metro). I now have less than half an hour to get there by 8:00 a.m. The U-Bahn is OK, but when I transfer to the S-Bahn (commuter rail) there seems to be a problem. Trains are running infrequently and are jam-packed! When a train finally arrives, some guy barks at me for shoving to get on. “Entschuldigung!” (“Excuse me!”) – but I’m getting on this damn train, and now! (Another new Berlin experience.)

My original plan was to fill out the visa form on the train, but that’s impossible now. I’m standing there mashed in with all the other sardines! Even if I could get to a seat, I doubt I’d be able to write anything. (Turns out there was some technical problem that delayed all the trains on my line. Today, of all days!)

After what seems like an eternity, I struggle to get off at the Westhafen station. I had planned to do a test run to the Foreigners Authority, but never did. So now I’m going to have to find the Ausländerbehörde office from a station I’ve never been to before! On top of that, it’s freezing cold and windy! At least it’s only cloudy and not raining or snowing. I don’t even want to look at my watch as I dash out of the station. I head down a street, praying it’s the right one and I’m going in the right direction. If not, I’m doomed! The next cross street is actually the one I want, but I still have four long blocks to go. I cross a pedestrian bridge I had seen on the map… but then I see a sign that says “Ausländerbehörde” – with an arrow pointing back to where I was! I was already on the right side of the canal. OK, only a few minutes lost there. Although it’s freezing, I’m now sweating. I find the building, but where the hell is Zimmer (room) 328? On the third floor (US fourth floor, via stairs, of course).

The door to Zimmer 328 is closed (as usual in Germany). I knock nervously and go in. It’s an office with two ladies and their desks. Frau A, the lady who is my “case worker” is not happy that I’m almost 20 minutes late. Great! Now we’re already starting out on the wrong foot! But I muster my best German, explaining about the S-Bahn breakdown (she looks doubtful), and apologizing for being late (a deadly sin in Germany). When she finds out I haven’t completed my application form yet, she tells me gruffly to sit down at a small table and fill it out. I’m doomed.

Still sweating after my marathon run from the S-Bahn station, I start filling out my form, hoping that Frau A wouldn’t deny my application just because I’m an idiot American who can’t get to an appointment on time – with completed forms. Finally, I’m done and it’s time to discuss my application form and documents with Frau A. I think the fact that I can speak German softens her a bit. She asks a few questions about my income, health insurance, and few other things. As we talk, I get the impression that she is no longer really angry with me. Whew!

I had done my homework; I had all the required documents, photos, and cash. (See Getting a Residence Permit for details.) Frau A’s icy demeanor was thawing a bit. In an almost friendly tone she told me that I could have my Aufenthaltstitel for a nine-month stay, as I had requested. I would have to pay 50 euros (cash only) and wait for the Aufenthaltstitel to be attached to my passport. (That is no longer the case with the eAT.) They have a waiting room with a digital display that shows your number when your passport is ready to be picked up. I don’t remember how long I waited, but the entire process, including my time with Frau A, didn’t take much longer than an hour. I left with good feelings, the joy of having averted disaster, and most importantly with my German residence permit in hand.

– HF   [This post was updated on 4 August 2020.]

Also see these links: Berlin Immigration Office – Registration (mostly in English); for full info you need to see the main page in German. – After decades, it’s disgraceful that Berlin’s Immigration Office continues to have so little information in English.

To find other local German Immigration Offices, do a search for “Ausländerbehörde” or “Aufenthaltstitel” plus the city.