Refusenik

I am currently in Chicago. I was supposed to be here last Saturday. But I arrived on Wednesday. Not by choice of course. Finally arriving in Chicago can only been described as a series of unexpected, though not completely unfortunate events.

On Friday night Carlos and I set of from Cuenca to Guayaquil. Not only did he want to accompany me to the airport to say goodbye, but he also had to work near Guayaquil over the weekend. We slept well and Carlos dropped be off at the airport at 8AM (for a 10:30AM flight), we said our goodbyes and I waited in line. And waited. And waited. After almost an hour the departures board changed from “On Time” to “Delayed”. I waited some more. I made some friends in line, sharing the bilingual gossip. The flight had been canceled. A replacement part needed to be flown in from the states. The agents were rebooking everyone on the Delta flight at 11PM.

After three hours in line I reached the desk. I was rebooked on the evening Delta flight and given a hotel voucher and told to wait for the hotel van. Waiting with me were two Canadians. We started chatting and I asked them to watch my bags for a moment while I got a coffee. It was almost lunch time and I hadn't had breakfast, so I was starving. When I got in line a century ago I had assumed that it would be quick. But at that point I needed to eat. Anyway, after returning with the mocha, the Canadians told me that the hotel where we were supposed to go was almost filled and that they were going to go to another hotel and would I like to join them. Hmm, sure.

The Canadians were in Ecuador on business, working on a gold mine in Machala. One was Colombian and a lawyer, the other a mining engineer, both based out of Quebec. Between the three of us we could communicate in mainly English, some Spanish, and even a touch of French. We went to the hotel, all called home to give updates on the flights, then went out for lunch. During lunch I asked lots of questions about mining (since the January 2009 issue of National Geographic was on gold mining) and about the politics here and base metal prices and everything else that I learned from The Economist. Then I told them a bit about me, my background, some stories about the middle of nowhere Zambia.

That's when they expressed a bit of surprise. The lawyer then told me that at the airport they had seen me looking a bit frazzled and felt sort of sorry for me. They had assumed that this had been my first trip out of the country and I had been a nervous and confused and wanted to help me. They felt sorry for me!?! I'll admit that I was frazzled, but that's just because I was hungry.

Long side note - When I say I was hungry, it wasn't just a bit of stomach rumbling. Because of the steroids that I'm currently on for my thyroid, I am always famished. Every few hours I whine to Carlos that I'm hungry. His mom is astonished that I am actually saying yes when she asks me if I want more to eat. I crave meat (steak sandwich for breakfast) and sugar (a liter of Gatorade at a time and two servings of ice cream a day).

Anyway, I spent the rest of the afternoon with the Canadians and by the time we returned to the airport they had almost offered me a job. The whole day was actually an interview. They told me that they needed a civil engineer, especially one with experience in water. I actually got my first job through a friend of my parents who met my former boss on a plane. So, I'll see how that turns out.

Back in the airport, I finally got in contact with Carlos again and he was a bit shocked to hear that I hadn't left yet and he joined me there for a short while. He had had a long day in a forest on the coast. After an hour together in the airport we said goodbye (again) and I went through immigration.

And that's where the problems began. I got to the desk and the man behind it said that I couldn't leave. WTF? He didn't speak any English. I told him that I knew that I may have to pay a fine, but he said that that wasn't possible. Censo, censo. I need a censo. What the hell is a censo? I asked to speak to his boss, but no. Just no (it was about 10PM at this point). He told me just to leave. I wasn't crying yet, so was able to ask him if I could call my boyfriend to translate. I just thought this was a language issue. I mean, I consider myself almost fluent. So I called Carlos and he spoke to the immigration officer and after a few minutes it was clear that I was not leaving. Carlos said he would come back to the airport to meet me.

I had to leave back through the door that I entered, past the ticket checkers. A women that I had met in line that morning came chasing after me and asked if she could do anything to help. She was great, an Ecuadorian American travelling with her mother, almost six feet tall and very, um, sturdy. Not bit or fat, but solid. She had a look on her face like she would beat the guy up for me. Unfortunately, she couldn't help me. Everyone was so nice (except for the immigration officer) and I really was able to appreciate the kindness of strangers.

Anyway, when I got to the ticket checkers I was in tears. I wasn't going home. It took three months and I had paid over a thousand dollars to my work visa, to be able to stay in the country and now they wouldn't let me leave! The lawyers never told us anything about this censo. Censo, censo, what's a censo? Well, the censo is a stamp on my visa saying that it has been registered. Why would we ever even think that we need to register my visa? Isn't the visa registration itself? And at 10PM on a Saturday night there was nothing that could be done until Monday. Come on.

I made my way back to the check in desk and explained the situation to one of the agents. He went back to immigration to double check, but no, I couldn't leave. Well, actually I could leave, but if I did my work visa would be invalid, which means that I would have to return on a tourist visa and the time and money spent on the visa would have been worth nothing. That was worth knowing. That was the information, the reason, that I had been waiting for. So I wasn't going home. We had to follow the back alleys of the airport to pick up the bags. And leave.

I was depressed. And of course, because of the steroids, I couldn't drink. We went out to a bar with friends, but I was no fun. Still in shock. I called my parents and they were just as surprised as me, but made me feel better by telling me that I was lucky that I had Carlos which me (which is so true) and everything can be probably be fixed with a little time and money. If I need to wait a few days to come home so be it, everything will still be there. Just get things done and get home as soon as you can. Just make it home for passover.

I have very wise parents.

Carlos was supposed to go back to the coast on Sunday and I would hang out for the day while he worked. But that didn't happen. Nothing in Ecuador ever seems to go according to plan. The day before he had gotten a few bug bites. When I say a few I actually mean a few hundred. His body was covered and he was itching and swelling and in general, not good. His coworker was the same. So we returned to Cuenca, before going to the pharmacy. We went to the doctor and Carlos got a cortisone shot and spent the rest of the day passed out in bed. The family voted for me to visit the immigration office the next day.

First thing Monday morning we went to the immigration office. Then we found out that we were at the wrong immigration office and were sent to the other one. At the other office there weren't many people, which was good, but the officers were having some technical difficulties. Like they couldn't log onto their computers because the guys with the password was on vacation. So they had to call Quito. After half an hour they got onto the computer, but they couldn't do anything about my case on the computer. So they called Quito again. The guy wasn't there. We waited. Then they called again and again and again. Finally, they told us to come back after lunch, that they were open until 6PM. After a bit of negotiation they told us that if we return at 3PM they will help us as soon as we arrive.

That was a lie. At 3PM we got there and were told to wait. And wait. And they called Quito. At around 4PM we got the word that we had to pay a $200 fine. Fine, we said, we'll be back right away. No they replied, can't you see we're busy? Please, I asked, my flight leaves Wednesday. Yeah, was the response, everyone leaves tomorrow.

We were gone for 20 minutes and when we returned the full room was empty, except for one other person. We waited almost an hour, chatting with an American family who had lived there for two years and needed something renewed. These guys had so much to say about the bureaucracy here. The guy said that he would probably get kicked out if they recognized him there. The last time in the office he let out such a string of curses that the officer there said (in Spanish), “Sir, I do not speak English, but I know that 'that' is not a respectful word.”

But were finally served. I got another stamp in my passport and a really cheap looking ID card. And that was it. I can leave the country? I asked. Yes, they replied. And can I come back? They had no idea.

Back at home I called the Ecuadorian Embassy in D.C. And told them my story. They guy said that I had everything that I needed. He even gave me his phone number and told me to call him if I had problems again in immigration. Now that's good service.

Tuesday afternoon I went back to Guayaquil and spent the night there. Wednesday morning I arrived at the airport by 7AM and made it to the gate buy 7:20AM. Four hours to Miami. Two and a half hour layover, another three hours to Chicago.

And then I was home.

The Castle

No, there are not any palaces in Quito. Last week I finally got my visa and the whole situation can only be described as Kafkaesque.

It took about two and a half months for me to receive the work visa. When we first talked with our lawyer she assured us that we only need a few documents and a little money and we wouldn't have any problems. However, that was not the case. After submitting all the required paperwork, the lawyer would call us up two or three times a week saying that we were missing one document or another. Of course, she had never asked for these documents in the first place.

When we met with the lawyers on one trip to Quito, one actually had the balls to say to me, "Things are not done here like they are in the States. You have to know people." To which I replied, "That's why I'm paying you, to know people." By the way, the company which claims to be a non-profit, is 1700 Migrante. I do not recommend that anyone ever use them.

I couldn't get my the visa last week when Carlos and I went to Quito for the sole purpose of receiving the visa. That was because the guy who had to sign my visa was not in and would not be in for two more days. Apparently, there is one single guy in the whole entire country who could sign my visa. And he doesn't have an underling who can do it for him when he's sick. So we had to return to Quito the following week. Fortunately, Carlos was already going there for a conference and I just tagged along. And we finally got the visa.

At the end of the procedure, the lawyer asked us for more money than we had agreed to pay, saying things like, "Well, for your case we had to do extra work." When I asked for specifics, as in, "How is my case different from the other cases? What exactly did you need to do for me that was atypical?" he would reply by saying, "Well, I was not the one doing the work, but the lawyer assured me that your case was special and he needed to do more than was normally necessary." Again I would say, "Can you give me an example?" to which he would respond, "Well, I don't know exactly, but your case was different." Arrrrgh.

Of course, the system in Ecuador is made so that you need a lawyer or an expediter or someone who knows people in the system to get things done. And everybody takes a few dollars here and there to help you out. There were only two people who were actually helpful. After I got my visa I needed to get a copy of it notarized. The notary was a very kind lady. Even nicer was was the gentleman at the Ministry of Work. I did not need to go to Quito for the whole visa process. However, after receiving the visa it was necessary to get a work ID, thus go to Quito for the sole purpose of having a (digital) photo taken. And this is only possible on Monday, Wednesday, or Friday. The gentleman there was so nice and helpful, Carlos and I had met him the previous week and Carlos explained that my Spanish was not the best and that I would be returning on my own and the guy explained the whole procedure very patiently and when I returned it took less than 10 minutes.

If anyone would like me to explain the process for getting a work visa, I cannot, I have no idea how I actually got the visa.

But I learned my lesson. Just get married. It's cheaper and easier.

Witness

On Tuesday evening Carlos and I went out for drinks in Quito with one of our classmates from IHE. She graduates in a few months and was here doing research, we hadn't seen her since last June. We were in Quito to get my passport, which I didn't get yet, but that's another story (to summarize, the one guy whose signature I needed for the visa to be valid wasn't in that day, maybe sick or something, so sorry, come back next week). So, our friend and her sister dropped us off at our apartment (Carlos's parents have an apartment in Quito, they use it a few times a year but he and his brothers and sisters stay there when they have work). They turned the car around and we waited on the steps to wave goodbye. When they had turned around they rolled down their window and told us that it looked like some guys were stealing a car. We looked over, and yeah, they were right, so we went into our building to tell the guard as our friends drove away.

The guard came outside, stared at the thieves for a minute or so, then told us, no, it doesn't look like a robbery, they probably just lost the keys to their car. So we were chatting on the steps when the car pulled up and stopped in front of us, pulled out a gun, cocked it, aimed it at us, and said the Spanish equivalent of, "You motherfuckers better run before I putta cap in yo ass!" Or something like that. So we ran into the building. We thought we were safe there but one guy followed us so we ran up the stairs and made it safely into the apartment. And they sped off.

No, we didn't call the police. I kept asking to, but Carlos and his brother (who had gotten to the apartment about five minutes before us) said it was useless. The police won't do anything, we didn't see the guys or even the color of the car (it was night, like 8PM, it happened fast). I understand this, but kept on saying that we still should file a report anyway so that the poor guy whose car was stolen would have some idea in the morning why his car was gone and some proof for his insurance. But no, we didn't call. About 5 minutes after the incident Carlos went outside to chat with the guard again and two other guards on the street, who are only armed with sticks and whistles, both of whom saw nothing.

I was scared when it happened, but a few moments later I was sad, I just felt so helpless. I witnessed a crime and did nothing. I couldn't do my moral duty, no one could, the system doesn't allow it. The criminals win (by the way I'm in the middle of reading Atlas Shrugged).

So that's the story. Not quite as bad as the attempted kidnapping in India, but close.

Donations to the Government of Ecuador

Everyday we get a new call from the lawyer, saying that more documentation for my visa is needed. They now need my original diplomas. The notarized and apostilled copies apparently don't count. Those liars! Why did they tell me that they were acceptable in the first place?

Now the lawyer tells us that we have to pay a fine, about $200, because we didn't start the process soon enough. We should have started it a month before the tourist visa expired. We met with the lawyer (about six weeks before the visa expired) she mentioned nothing of the sort. Then she told us that the law has changed. Which isn't true. Arrrrgh.

The Visa Raj

I'm going to India during the winter holiday. One of my best friends from IHE, Bin, has returned home and I shall visit him. I need a visa for India. Apparently everyone needs a visa for India. I know this because I googled it. I also found the application online, as well as the address and list of fees. It should be easy. But, of course, it is not.

Giorgia came with me to Den Haag. She had some documents of Bin's that needed to be certified by the Dutch foreign office, as well as the Indian Embassy. We left Delft at 9AM. The foreign office was simple, very Dutch. An orderly line, a simple fee schedule, and done in 10 minutes. Then we walked to the Indian Embassy. Once we found it we followed the signs and arrow that read "Passports and Visas" to a small basement office. There, I was informed that, no, in fact they do not process visas there, but that had outsourced it! The Indians are outsourcing now. Anyway, the visa office was down the street, about a 10 minute walk. I left Giorgia at the embassy to get her documents stamped.

I went to the visa service office, took a number, and waited my turn. When I got to the desk and my application had been approved, I was informed that the fee would be €90! But the form says €50? Well, she explained, the normal fee is €50 for the visa, but for Americans it is €75, plus a €15 service fee. I asked why that was not noted, she replied that it was noted online. I disagreed, and said that the form online was the exact same form as in the office that showed both the wrong address and the wrong fee and that if the current information had been accessible online that I would have found it. What other explanation did I have for showing up at the visa office with only €85!

Yes, I was €5 short. I've been waiting on a tuition refund from the institute that is still yet to come and I did not take out extra cash besides the €50 that I had assumed the visa would cost. So I had to wait for Giorgia. She was having her own problems with the embassy, they needed document copies and the copy guy wanted to be paid above and beyond the €50 it was costing to get the documents stamped. She said some choice Italian words to him and got the copies made and met me at the visa office minutes before it closed for the morning. Once I paid, I was informed that I had to return at 4:30PM to pick up the visa.

So Giorgia and I spent the afternoon in a cafe. Well, I spent the afternoon there and Giorgia left for a short while to meet her professor at the train station. I have no idea why they decided to meet at the train station in Den Haag, but apparently it was a useful meeting. The afternoon was much more relaxing, Giorgia was able to pick up her documents from the embassy early and I was able to get my visa without anymore hassle. And we were back in Delft by about 5PM. Only 8 hours to get the visa.

Epilogue
I was lucky to get my visa so easily. A Brazilian friend waited all day in Den Haag then found out the misspelled her name in the visa and had to return the next day for the corrected copy. Her boyfriend didn't fare much better, since he will be going to India for a three day conference, plus two weeks of tourism, he was informed that he could not get a tourist visa, but needed a business visa, thus a letter of invitation. I was lucky.