On an early morning run back in New Haven, I had an insightful conversation with a friend Sarah about what an adventure it is each day, living in a foreign country. Sarah spent a Fulbright year in Mexico, and she was a great support through the whole process when I was applying for the Fulbright in Chile. Now, we can share stories of our day-to-day experiences in español, remembering that even mundane errands seem less mundane because there is an aspect of challenge and a sense of acheivement.
I tried to keep this perspective as I set out this morning to conquer what I consider the Chilean visa challenge. My attempts to renew my visa began in November-December, anticipating the expiration of my 1-year visa in January. More than 2 months later, after several correspndences by mail, phone, online inquiries and in person, and finally determining that the missing piece was a letter to which I could find absolutely no reference... I am proudly legal to stay another year.
Today was the day I could retrieve the visa, having received a somewhat cryptic but formal-looking letter that it had been approved. At 8:30 am I arrived at the office downtown that deals with all things foreign, finding a line forming at the entrance of the building. I followed a seemingly eternal line that wound up 6 flights of stairs, and back down the other side, finally arriving at the 3rd floor destination.
A brief intermission came when a guard began a jolly monologue about how excited he was to be working in this building, where every day people from all different countries gather. He encouraged us to chat with our neighbors in line, share something of our culture, and although at the time the people in the 6-story line were not in a very chatty mood, I appreciated his spirit.
I looked around. As different as we were, we had one common goal, in the form of a sticker that fits neatly in our passports and allows us to stay in this country that is not our own. We all waited in line, jumped up when our number was called, waited some more, jumped up again. Finally they brought out my passport with the visa stamped, and I followed the directions to another, even more crowded and disorderly office a few blocks away.
The International Police. First of all, they charge a token amount of 800 pesos, about a buck and a half. I took a number, 375, and looked up to see that they were currently calling number... 246. I didn't even want to do the math to figure out how long I would be there. I snagged a seat as someone's lucky number was called, plugged in my headphones, and settled in. Just then, someone came out of a mysterious back office, and went row by row asking if anyone was here to register a temporary visa. Me!!
For some strange reason, we didn't have to wait along with everyone else in the large, chaotic room. I don't know what the others were waiting for, but it was my lucky day. I was out of there before they called number 275. Now I'll do the math, and figure I saved several hours of waiting. I gave my number to a woman pushing a stroller and holding a number in the 400s.
It was 11:30 as I caught the metro out of downtown. Just a morning adventure to start the day off, an adventure that allows me more time here in Chile and certainly more adventures to come. And, a brief, somewhat chaotic reminder that even when I feel strange and out of place here, I'm not alone.
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