Clint vs. Peruvian Immigration, Part III (of III)

It was around 11:30 or so when the immigration officer told us that we had to be back by noon in order to get my passport stamped. The consul told him not to go anywhere and we literally ran outside. We had to get up the street to the bank and get back as soon as we could because, if you remember correctly, this guy basically told us that--while the office would be open--he wouldn't be there in the afternoon. It was Friday and if I didn't get this entry fee paid at the bank before this dude left, I would be out of luck.

Here is a map of the street in Cuzco where all of this was taking place. El Sol is the street where both the immigration office and bank are. You can see the immigration office in the lower right part of the picture ("Oficina de Inmigraciones"). I am not exactly sure where the bank is on El Sol, but I think it is probably near the street called "Afligidos" on the top of the picture. It wasn't that far, but things were complicated by the fact that we had less than 30 minutes to get to the bank, pay the fee, get back to the office, and get this guy to put the stamp in the passport.

Oh, and maybe you'd like to listen to some music while you read. If so, listen to this song by a Brazilian group called Skank.

We ran outside and flagged down a taxi. There are signs all over Cuzco telling you how to distinguish between legal taxis and illegal taxis. I don't think this one was legit, but it didn't matter! We jumped in and headed up the street. On the way, the consul was telling me that sometimes this bank is packed while other times it is not so bad. When people say that a bank is packed in a Latin American country, they mean it. I'm not sure what it is exactly that causes these banks to be so full of people, but I've never seen anything in the U.S. like it. These banks are often bigger, in terms of physical space and tellers, and there are tons of people.

We arrived at the bank, went inside, and saw lines of people. These were not your 5-pm-Friday-get-your-paychecks-in-before-the-bank-closes lines. These were Disneyland lines. At this point we were beyond being knee deep in trouble . . . we were neck deep! She told me to get in line and she would look for some way to get to a teller. I waited a minute or two, moving along with the line. Then I saw the consul motioning to me. She had found her way to the front of some line. After a brief encounter with a security guard, we got the fee paid and got the proof of payment to take back to the office.

We ran outside, hopped in another cab, and hurried back to the office. On the way, she told me a little about Coricancha/Qorikancha, which is on the same street as the bank and immigration office. See the map above. It was kind of funny because we were in the middle of this stressful situation, but she started telling me about this Incan temple (Temple of the Sun, pretty big deal) and how the Spaniards tore parts of it down and built their own church on top.

Shortly after we passed Coricancha, we were back at the immigration office. We ran upstairs, showed the dirtbag everything we had, and he looked over everything with a level of scrutiny that I am sure he had not used in years. He silently and slowly looked over my documents and the receipt from the bank. Finally, he unlocked the drawer underneath his desk and pulled out the stamp. It was under his desk the whole time! All that talk from the other guy about not being able to and then this guy saying he couldn't do it and it was right there in the same desk across which I had told him my story hours before! The consul told me in English that he was just trying to save himself in case any problems came up when I left the country a few days later. With the email from the national immigration office telling him to do it and all that, he would be guiltless. But if he had given me the stamp without all this brew-ha-ha, he would have been on the hook.

He took out the stamp, carefully put it in the ink pad, and then slowly put it on the passport. Though his face was trying not to tell it, it seemed as if every move required overcoming the anger stemming from the realization that he was doing for free what he wanted to get paid for. He put the stamp in the passport, wrote the date, and signed it. It was done!

He gave me some advice as to what to do if anyone in the airport in Lima (didn't happen) asked about my special stamp (not from an airport or a border town). Ahh, more altruism from he who just wanted to help me. What a guy. Throughout the time in the office with the consul and the immigration officer, I frequently smiled knowing that I was turning the tables on the guys who tried to pull a fast one on me. I wanted to say a lot of things to them. One that almost slipped off my tongue more than once was "She (the consul) works well, doesn't she? Yeah, and I don't even have to pay her!" I figured that I shouldn't rock the boat and just let things work out with the consul making the calls. Really, though, what a great lady the consul was! Now I left the office as a legal visitor in Peru and had the rest of the day to enjoy Cuzco.