Over the past 3 days I've had the pleasure* of
dealing with Mexico's migration bureaucracy. To start on a good note: to
Mexico's great credit, New Zealanders and many other foreigners can enter sans
visa for up to 180 days. But I - perhaps foolishly, in hindsight - decided I
might quite like, and / or need, to work while here. I duly marched down to see
the lovely Mexican Embassy back home and applied for a Working Holiday Scheme
(WHS) visa.
I am a huge fan of the WHS, a reciprocal programme
that allows young (sub-30 years old) folks to travel to recognised partner countries for
up to a year, and to undertake short periods of work to help fund their
travels. It is understandably popular with young internationals in New Zealand,
so I thought it worth giving it a shot in Mexico. A quick and painless - though
admittedly expensive - process in Wellington set me underway.
Of course the painlessness was not to last. The
simple process of exchanging my visa letter for my visa, as explained in
painstaking detail by both the embassy and the immigration officials at the
border, was of course not all that was required. Firstly, one must turn up sometime in the limited opening hours of 9am - 1pm.
Which, for anyone interested in actually going to Spanish school, for example,
is not doable. Then, it turns out, one must fill in a plethora of other forms,
requiring such apparently crucial information as height, weight, religion, race
and "physical characteristics". I actually don't know how to answer
most of these questions in English, let alone in Spanish, but was tempted to
answer “güerita” just for amusement’s (and accuracy) sake. After that, one must
take oneself off for another round of passport photos, because why follow
internationally recognised standards when you can instead apply your own random
and only-ever-so-slightly-different standards? Then, if you’re lucky, you can
return the following day to be given a whole different set of instructions,
rinse, and repeat. Hopefully, when I return for my 6th visit next week, it will
be resolved.
My favourite American, to whom I have yet to
allocate a suitably enigmatic nickname, found this all just a little too
amusing for my liking. And you kinda have to admit, the underlying humour is
undeniable. I should be clear that of course I absolutely respect the right of all
countries to determine who may visit, for how long, and under what conditions.
But it is mildly amusing that my US visa took perhaps an hour in total in
form-filling and interviewing, plus a couple of extra hours if you include
travel. It was a delightfully straightforward process. In contrast, after ~12
hours of form filling, travel, waiting, photographing, waiting, more form
filling, conflicting advice, waiting, debating the terms if my visa, and
waiting, I came within 2 short days of breaching my immigration
conditions in Mexico. It took 5 visits over 3 days just to get them to agree to
process the thing, and in 10 short days I should have the pleasure** of
collecting my legal ID. It would be stressful if it wasn't so deliciously,
ironically hilarious.
Besides, there's a silver lining. Apart from a good
way to put 'lo que pasa es que' into action, it produced another fun side
effect. After my 5th very frustrating visit this morning I invoked The Metro Second
Amendment, namely my right to bare arms on public transport. And clearly the
look on my face was so foul that not a single soul dared mess with me.
Baby
steps indeed.
*apparently I still have my diplomat pants on; it
was in no way pleasurable.
** ibid.
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