Buenos Aires bureaucracy

You are currently browsing articles tagged Buenos Aires bureaucracy.

Time

April 2, 2009 in Diary of a Tango Dancer in Buenos Aires, Live your dreams, Uncategorized | 8 comments

There are days when I feel I have all the time in the world and today is one of them. It’s a public holiday in Argentina: 27 years since the Falklands (Malvinas) War; 27 years since I heard my grandfather yelling obscenities at the TV… whether at Maggie or at Galtieri I am not certain; 27 years since Carlos was on the reserve list… if it hadn’t come to an end when it did, he would have been among the next to go.

Because it is a holiday here, I can’t do any of the things I would be doing if it wasn’t a holiday. At 7 tomorrow morning I’ll be doing them. Today I’m gathering strength.

I’ve come to an internet cafe in Las Cañitas where to get an @ symbol you have to press ALT then 6 then 4… but at least the music is fairly quiet. My laptop broke on Sunday night and is now out beyond the Gral Paz autopista waiting for the holiday to be over: I might hear next week what blew up. You know, it isn’t easy for me to explain how I feel to be without my laptop in this life in another land: I will just use one word and you will have to believe me that I am not being in the least dramatic, just honest: lost.

I thought about not blogging until I get the laptop back. Then I decided I would, because maybe you are wondering if I’m still smoke free, or whether I ever did get my visa renewed. So what if I can’t use Windows Live Writer like I normally do. So what if there won’t be any photos. So what if I have to recheck the spelling and sense a million times because the letters have rubbed off the keyboard I’m using.  Sometimes you just have to make do. Even the fact that it is pouring with rain is gifting me a few indoor hours. Today.

Yesterday it was different. Time mattered. And it went like this:

6.00am Friend from UK phones, forgetting that there are now 4 hours between us. I’m guessing that it was 6am because I didn’t look and it was still dark outside. Afterwards I drift in and out of dreams: I seem to see everyone who is in my life right now. I tell Carlos. He says, They are here to help you, to give you strength. I say, I hope so.

7.30am My Spanish/English translator phones. Can we meet downstairs so that she can redo the translations she has already done and get them to the Colegio de Traductores at 9am? (The night before, I spotted several errors in the names… Sally had somehow become Rally.) I get dressed and take the papers to her.

10.00am The translator phones again. She has the translations. Can we meet in Plaza de Mayo? On the way I make myself go into a church I pass, and say a prayer, for strength.  At around 11am she hands me the new certified documents. I walk down 25 de Mayo and eventually find a ‘locutorio’ without a massive queue. I get the pages copied. I walk to Migraciones. Maybe I should have taken a taxi to save time but the traffic was stationary: perhaps it was because of streets closed off around Congreso – Raul Alfonsin, who was the first President of Argentina after the Military Rule, was lying in state and people were flocking to pay their respects. I even stop for a coffee and medialunas because I know that I will need energy to face the immigration queues – I see Alfonsin’s body on TV. It reminds me I am still smoke free and so hopefully a step further away from my own death.

12.00noonish I arrive at Migraciones and manage to get in. I feel upbeat. I am sure that I have all the required papers and that I may get the 6 months (notice that I have already accepted I will not get the 12 months, I will be grateful for 6) on my visa. When the woman tells me that there are no more numbers for ‘Prorrogas’ (the section I need), I am struck dumb (the previous week at this time there were numbers). I am sure my mouth opens and shuts a few times as I stare at her. Brick wall like, she waves me away. I stand in the corner and face away from the people while I  regroup. I return to her, voice unsteady, What time do I have to come tomorrow to get a number? No, she says, not tomorrow. It’s a holiday. I realise I am looking at Friday. It’s the last day of my visa, I say, please tell me how I can get a number. Come at 7.30am, she says. Look for me. It will be ok. I remember the crowds, the lines in the street, the security guards, the chaos.

1.00pm I go and stand in the ‘Prorrogas’ section and torture myself for a moment by looking longingly at the desks. It’s full of people renewing their tourist visas. They are in the same section as me. I try really hard to feel generous, but oh hell I wish they’d all gone to Uruguay and given me a chance of a number today. Maybe one of them will give up and leave before their turn and I can beg for their number. I wait an hour. No-one leaves. So eventually I do. I feel shit. I walk back to Retiro through the most horrendous traffic (juggernauts) on the huge carriageways I have to cross. I am breathing horrible fumes, but they are not smoke fumes… I am no longer reaching for cigarettes to numb my frustration, just digging deeper into my own resources.

3.00pm I’m in Belgrano, which is a long way from Retiro, looking at the prices of mini Notebooks as I never want to be without a computer again. I reckon they are about 100 quid dearer in Argentina than in Britain, but I am seriously considering one. Can’t buy though because my new Visa card is still stuck in the UK (you know even DHL won’t ship a Visa card) so I’ll have to withdraw 4 lots of cash on 4 different days to have enough.

5.00pm I’m home and Argentina is losing to Bolivia in the World Cup qualifier. Carlos tells me about his attempts to obtain a $9peso refund on his cracked Monedero Subte card: he had to go all the way to Tribunales to the refund office but in the end did not succeed because he wasn’t carrying his ID card. He is in a bad mood but it fires him up. Let me ring the laptop extended warranty people for you, he says. Having to wait three days for someone to call is ridiculous. He grabs the phone. Eventually they tell us where to take the laptop.

6.55pm After an hour on the 15 bus we are running along a street in Olivos (beyond the Gral Paz highway) to reach the ‘PC Fixer’ by 7pm. We arrive as the guy is turning off the lights. He serves us. I want to hug him. Me and C. are smiling as we head back towards the motorway to catch the ‘colectivo’. Thanks for making us get here in time, I say. Minutes mattered today. I lost some this morning and so couldn’t get my visa, but now look at us… we made it in time. The day turned around. I couldn’t have done that without you. I wouldn’t have had a clue where to get off the bus… We laugh.

8.00pm We get home to find that Argentina lost to Bolivia 6-1. Now there were two halves of 45 minutes each, that mattered to a few people. We both agree that whatever our days were like, Maradona’s was probably worse.

To be honest, in the calm of today and remembering those who lost their lives in the Falklands, I’m simply happy that I’ve got a tomorrow at all, whatever it brings. 

Even so, if you’re awake at 7.30am Buenos Aires time in the morning, do send me a positive vibe: as I stand in the street outside Migraciones on the day my temporary residency visa expires, I might just be needing it.

Share

Tags: , , , ,

Grateful in Retiro

March 19, 2009 in Buenos Aires Information, Live your dreams | 4 comments

Grateful for a good breakfastIt’s been one of those weeks.

My cold came and went; I remained upbeat. Despite all your amazing Love is a Verb action and particularly that of dear Tangobaby in San Francisco who called upon all her readers and her mum to vote, Sallycat’s Adventures was pipped to the Central and South America post by a great city blog written by Stuart in Peru; I remained upbeat. I proved that I am still in the infant class when it comes to managing blog software – this blog turned from pink to blue for 48 hours and I didn’t even realise because my internet browser hid the reality from me; I remained upbeat.

Then I went to Migraciones to try to renew my temporary residency visa.

I’ve been twice before to Avenida Antartida Argentina 1355 in Retiro. On those occasions I was renewing tourist visas. Both went fairly smoothly. Yes the place was busy, but I breezed in, found the required section, found a seat easily, waited my turn and got processed pretty efficiently. This week, at around 8.30am as Me and C. walked across the abandoned railway lines and the building came into view, so did several hundred people. They were standing in a queue in the street. Things have changed a bit since my last visit.

I joined the line and C. enquired of the uniformed security guards… All types of trámite, in the one queue. Most people waiting for an appointment number. Your trámite doesn’t need one so, come back at 12 midday when there are no more numbers available, the queue will go home and you can go inside. We retired to Retiro station and the café El Retiro with its exquisite high ceilings and marble columns, ate medialunas, drank coffee, read the papers and killed several hours in beautiful surroundings. I felt grateful.

At 11.45 we were back at Building 4. As we stood outside a woman appeared, and told the queue ‘No more appointment numbers today.’ I watched the news filter down the line. What must it be like to wait in a queue from 6 in the morning and not get an appointment turn? The people who had queued all night (in a less than safe spot, possibly with all their valuable personal documents on them) got in. The people who arrived at 5am got in too but those arriving much later than that weren’t so fortunate. I was. As promised my visa renewal didn’t require an appointment number and so I was allowed inside. I felt grateful.

I don’t think it would have been possible to cram many more people into Building 4. There were full seats, queues and small crowds everywhere. I managed to get to the front of a line and obtain a number from the machine in the entrance to the large room on the left where visa renewals take place. Incredibly there were only 14 numbers to wait for my turn. We waited. I had a long conversation with a woman originally from the Far East, applying for permanent residency. She had arrived at 5am. She told me about the overnight camp outs in the street. I felt grateful.

Finally no 39 was called and it was me. Unfortunately within about two minutes I discovered that I didn’t have the right papers. Plus I found out that the papers that I can get will probably only enable me to extend the visa for a shorter period than I had originally understood when I applied for it in London. After that, I could lose the visa altogether if circumstances conspire against me in the UK – a possibility of course in the current economic climate. It’s complicated and I don’t need to go into it here, but either I misunderstood the visa requirements, or Argentina in London has a different set of rules to Argentina, or things have changed. For sure I have more work to do, and fast… and it’s really mostly my fault for not checking things out more carefully, sooner. Lesson: when it comes to long term visa renovation, start before you think you need to.

It cannot be easy for the workforce in Migraciones. I can’t imagine being faced with crowds like that day in day out: dealing with endless streams of folk whose dreams toss and turn in your yeses and nos; trying to find a smile when faced with yet another poorly-informed person who doesn’t have the right papers; I found it hard to smile too. I left the desk with my hopes trailing slightly tattered and bruised behind me. I was quiet, not even mildly hysterical in the street outside as I might once have been. I chose this path and I have to accept the rocks. Plus I’m sure that the UK probably doesn’t treat its would be immigrants like princesses either. Even so, on occasions like these, it doesn’t feel good in the moment. On the train back from Retiro I saw myself like a feather in a breeze, landing for a moment and then blown away again… neither here nor there.

Back home in the mid afternoon C. made me camomile tea. I called my mum to get a hug made of loving words. A couple of friends suggested possible ways forward. One of them said, At least your life isn’t boring. You’re living an adventure, not stuck in a rut. Often my feather in the breeze is floating in beautiful spaces it is true. In Retiro, the café with its perfect coffee and medialunas, its freshly squeezed orange juice and Carlos pulling faces at me to make me smile… well, that was a joy.

Oh hell, there’s always something to be grateful for isn’t there?

IMGP2895 IMGP2910

El Retiro Resto – Pizza is next door to Café Retiro inside Retiro mainline Station. Both have gorgeous architecture and reasonable prices.

Share

Tags: , , ,

More bloody calculating

August 29, 2008 in Buenos Aires Information | 10 comments

IMGP0468 ‘We can just pop in there on the way,’ I suggest optimistically.

We are off to watch the ‘eliminatorio’ rounds for the 2008 World Tango Championship. But first I need to find out how much it will cost me and C. and my parents to journey to Patagonia or in Salta in October.

Now I am one of those people who normally just makes travel arrangements on the internet: flights, a hotel and done. But now life ain’t so easy. We are a party of one Argentine, one foreigner with a temporary residence visa but no DNI to date (because I am totally sick of the red tape that I need to wade through in that building of chaos in 25 de Mayo), and two foreigners with tourist visas. Hence I can no longer just book things with one click. Instead I am advised to ‘consult’ by phone or in person for the prices for non residents. Carlos wants to think of us as a family and therefore all the same, but in the eyes of the airlines and in the pockets of some hotels, I already know that we are not: some of us will have to pay more than others to travel in Argentina. Carlos, who hasn’t ever been in this position before, can’t quite get his head round that idea, ‘We will only use companies who charge us one price,’ he says. And now it is he who is being optimistic, I think to myself, as we jump on the subway to Juramento.

I also have another concern. My credit card (I only have one and it’s British) is unexpectedly about to expire in two days: my bank has decided to end its relationship with a charity I supported and so the credit card must be re-issued: no big deal if you are in the UK but a bugger if you are in Argentina. So I am hoping that we can sort the travel arrangements today and I can use the card: otherwise it’s daily trips to the ATM for God knows how long. I’m waiting for my parents to bring me the new card because no way am I trusting the ‘correo argentino’ with that little gem.

Our venture does not start too well, as the agent that I liked online is closed for lunch and not back till 3. It’s 1.20pm. But, they are open until 8 so we decide to walk to watch the tango, and return later. We get a few blocks along Cabildo and I spot another travel agent: open. I drag a slightly reluctant C. inside.

Well, I am going to cut a long story short here and say that by 4.30pm we are still in that grim little office which frankly is far too short of efficient staff. By the end of it: we have prices for horribly ‘weighted with prepaid excursions’ trips to Patagonia and Salta; we believe that I qualify for lower rates as a temporary resident; we understand that my parents will each pay up to $1500 pesos (USD$500) more than us for the ‘customised’ Patagonia package; we have been out for lunch and returned; we have waited patiently while the agent talks on the phone to every random caller, leaving us ‘who question and are therefore perhaps the less welcome type of customer’ to amuse ourselves: me eating all the candies on the desk, Carlos playing with paper and getting very pissed off. I don’t often see C. annoyed, but this afternoon I watch his face turn to stone to be told, rather patronisingly, that every country in the world charges more for foreigners: he knows that England does not, he knows that the USA does not, and he is less than happy that Argentina does. Finally we get out of there. ‘I don’t like that place,’ he says.

But, there is always a benefit to any kind of research, and at least now we have some real information to work with.

‘Right,’ I say firmly, ‘We can’t afford Patagonia. We’ll go in the other place and ask for five nights in Salta, no excursions, in a two star ‘posada’ that doesn’t charge extra for foreigners, breakfast only, ok?’

‘Exacto.’ says C.

And we do. And this time we get someone who seems to want to help us save money and not encourage us to spend more than we have. She appears slightly embarrassed about the price differences, and this pleases Carlos. She makes some calls, checks my passport and confirms that I can get the resident’s airfare, but advises me to take all my papers and not just the passport with me to the flight. She recommends the same characterful ‘posada’ that I liked on the web. She checks out both LAN and Aerolineas Argentinas. Here I nearly fall off my seat: on this route LAN will charge each of my parents $1000pesos more for their flights, and Aerolineas only $200pesos… so not surprisingly we go for Aerolineas, and I say a silent prayer that they will still be in business by October. Everything else will cost the same for each of us. Much better. Carlos has stopped playing manically with bits of paper and is actually showing signs of smiling.

The only immediate downside is I can’t pay it all at once with the card. Only half. Something to do with the airline tickets for foreigners being raised in a different way to the airline tickets for residents and taking longer (maybe that one lost something in translation)… so the fact my parents are foreigners means I will have to make some trips to ‘el ATM’ after all. Normally I could pay the second part with a card in 72 hours, but thanks to my lovely bank my card will have expired by then.

It takes another hour to book the thing, and work out all the payments. The whole bloody day has somehow passed and we are exhausted. Neither of us can face walking twenty blocks in the cold to Estadio Obras. We wearily decide to leave the tango until tomorrow.

God it does complicate life being a foreigner living in Argentina with no Argentine bank account, and no Argentine credit card (and here I am not complaining, because I am am well aware that I put myself in this situation, but I am just stating the facts that sometimes stress me out). I am at the mercy of my English bank. They make a decision to re-issue my card, and I am stuck without one. Plus there are limits on the pesos I can withdraw each twenty four hours. I reflect on this as I sit in the travel agent trying to calculate whether I can get the money I need out of the bank in time. I reflect on that fact that if we were all Argentines we could have booked our travels ourselves online, and saved ourselves more cash for certain along with the best part of a day.

All I will say is that our little Argentino/Inglesa couple did all we could do in the circumstances, speak with our feet and ultimately our wallets: we chose the airline with the lesser uplift and we chose a hotel with reasonable rates and no uplift at all. And we will always select a travel agent who will try to help us find those choices.

Meanwhile, here is a free money saving tip for the foreigner heading to Argentina. I believe that if you fly in to Argentina with Aerolineas Argentinas then you can get discounts off their internal flights… exactly how much I do not know. But both agents did ask me if my parents were travelling with Aerolineas. In fact they aren’t because the international fares from London are not cheap either. But, if you are planning to take several internal flights once you arrive, then do make sure you take a moment to get calculating, because it might just pay off.

Share

Tags: , ,

At last…

June 15, 2008 in Buenos Aires Information | 3 comments

IMGP0025 I have it. Almost two months after it arrived in Argentina, my beloved painting,  my copy of a Hamish Blakely, is finally in my apartment in Buenos Aires. Of course Carlos tells me that it is really a flamenco painting not a tango painting at all, and maybe he is right: the woman’s hair, the man’s clothes… ah well, what the hell, to me this painting is the symbol of the start of my tango journey. Maybe it becomes even more of a symbol if it is not truly ‘tango argentino’. Then it tells the truth of my early steps in tango: a passionate enthusiasm, yet lack of understanding; a fixation on how things looked and not how things felt; the flowers I always wore in my hair…  yet I love this painting. It has a quality of light which too symbolises my journey. The light strikes the figures and surrounds them. Today I know that light surrounds me also: the lightness that comes with understanding and living with my own truths.

This picture has journeyed. I bought it in Southampton, England, in an exhibition in West Quay shopping centre. It was one crazy Saturday as my divorce was about to come through. I was  to move into my new apartment within days, newly single, and fresh to tango. I wanted the painting as soon as I saw it. It was a ‘new life warming’ gift to myself. An impulsive moment, a credit card, and the painting was mine. It hung in my apartment and watched me practice my first wobbly ochos. It remained in England when I left, and kept an eye on the place. It was there to welcome me back in February, and it was then I decided that I could not leave it again. It was destined to come with me to Argentina: the symbol of my new life must be with me IN my new life.

Do not believe anyone who offers a ‘door to door’ shipping service to Argentina. It just isn’t possible. At least not with a painting. It took me 2 months, and a wasted trip to Ezeiza airport just to get the import paperwork sorted: in this case a ‘guía aérea’ was required from the shipper TNT before customs at Ezeiza would even consider releasing the painting. So in the end on collection day, after many phone calls and emails to England and to TNT in Argentina, we spent 2 hours in TNT Barracas (absolutely in the back streets of Buenos Aires) waiting in line for the said papers, followed by 4 stressful hours in customs Ezeiza. I coped fairly well with the endless trail to Office 1, Office 3, Office 2, Office 1, the building across the road with the white door, Sector C in the building across the road with another white door, Office 3, Office 2, Office 1, the Banco Nación inside the customs complex, Office 3, Office 2… you get the idea. I coped less well with the news that every day that the painting had sat in Ezeiza was going to cost me USD$4 plus 21% tax: it had been there nearly 2 months. I nearly lost it completely when I was taken to identify the painting and the box was slit open with wild abandon by a customs official brandishing a huge knife. At that point I shouted, ‘Cuidado POR FAVOR!’ I then actually cried as I began to believe that they were going to let both me and the picture out of that ghastly compound. Thank God after touching the canvas they put a lowish value on it and I only had to pay 25% of that as a customs fee. All in all, before I left with the battered, bruised and patched up box, I had parted with upwards of $1200 pesos, many hours of time, and a considerable amount of patience. Carlos had a few more white hairs.

As I write this some days later, the painting is on the wall. Carlos has used his English bought ´laser level’ for the first time, and is happy that the thing is vertical to a degree of perfection at which I can only marvel. We can now call it ‘our painting’ and it has its final and appropriate resting place for a while at least, in Buenos Aires.

There is no question that to get the things you dream of, you have to be prepared to fight, be patient, be persistent, never consider giving up. For weeks I truly doubted that I would ever see this painting again. But time, effort and determination got it here on my wall. The story of this painting reflects my own journey: perfectly packed and organised with a destination in mind; unexpected months in dark places with no certainty of ever seeing the light again; being unwrapped by loving hands; discovering a new place in the world to show the colours of my soul.

DSCF0087

Every morning when I wake up to see my painting, I will be reminded that I am alive, I am free and that I must never give up fighting for my dreams.

And here’s a thing. Those who know my name will realise that there is a coincidence in that my name lies in that of the artist who painted this picture. But the weirdest coincidence of all is that after writing the title of this post, I just remembered that the name of this painting by Hamish Blakely is: ‘At last’. My painting was probably never in any doubt, that in the end, it would be here where it belongs, with me, in Argentina.

Share

Tags: ,

Like it is

April 29, 2008 in Buenos Aires Information, Diary of a Tango Dancer in Buenos Aires, Live your dreams | 9 comments

IMGP9536 The word ‘trámite’ is my least favourite word in Argentina. Any time I hear it, it means something that I have to do that I haven’t done yet, a document I need that I haven’t got yet, a place that I am required to visit that I haven’t visited yet. How is life here in ‘trámite land’ for me this week? Here’s a taste.

Yesterday I went to Ezeiza to try to find and collect the picture, a ‘used’, framed print copy of a Hamish Blakely painting of two tango dancers, that I sent here from England. I have a photo of the package, and now I am starting to think that this is the last I will ever see of it. I hope not. I want the picture on my wall in Buenos Aires. In England I paid for what was sold to me as a door to door shipping service. Beware any company that promises such a service. I think it is probably an impossibility.

Before I left home yesterday I had tracked the package on the TNT website so I knew it was at Ezeiza. Carlos had phoned TNT to establish how we could get the picture. They told us we needed to use a ’specialist company’ (I forget the name) to obtain the picture because it was art. We had phoned the ’specialist company’ who told us that no, it was only a copy, nothing of value, and so we could go to Ezeiza ourselves. We took a taxi: $62 pesos. When we got there there were no signs to show us where was customs: imports and exports. We asked four members of airport staff for directions, until at last after a lot of walking, we found ourselves in the right place.

At the gate to the customs compound I had to show my passport in order to be issued with a ticket to enter. Carlos didn’t have his DNI document on him, so he had to wait outside. I went in. There was no obvious system, just a closed office door and a few people sitting on chairs outside, waiting. A kind woman amongst them explained that there was one man ahead of me and then I could enter. She then patiently explained the same thing to about five other people who arrived after me. She didn’t work there… just a hopeful punter, like me. Eventually I got in to the office. Immediately I was asked for my ‘guía aérea’ .’Qué?’ said I.

The customs lady talked. I listened. My mind turned over. My disappointment I could not hide. I felt my eyes blink wet for a second. Oh I see…  that would be the paperwork I need from TNT to release the package from Ezeiza customs: that paperwork they never mentioned on the telephone, that paperwork that requires me to travel to the centre of Buenos Aires. Right.

The customs lady was lovely. She showed me my package’s paperwork on the computer screen. She even looked up the number of the TNT office for me on the internet. I already had the number. We had already called the TNT office. I walked back outside to Carlos and swore for about five minutes. He refused to pay $80 odd pesos for a taxi back, so we caught three buses: one to Liniers (86), one to Cabildo (21) and one to my door (68). It took us two and a half  hours to get home. When I got in I ate a large Snickers bar in about three seconds flat. It helped.

Meanwhile, there’s the DNI. I’ve now been to the ‘Extranjeros’ building in ‘la calle’ 25 de Mayo three times. First time couldn’t get past the security guard, ‘Come back at 5.30pm.’ Second time, at 5.30pm, got to the information desk, ‘Come back between 9am and 12.30pm’. Third time at 12 midday, when the security guard said, come back between 6am and 10am, I begged, and he let me in to present my envelope from the Argentine Consulate in London. It was opened, and the contents inspected. I was confident. That envelope had been sealed so solemnly. But my innocent hopes were quickly dashed:

Young man behind desk: Ah yes but you need a spanish translation of your Birth Certificate.

Me: Ah yes, there it is you see… a spanish translation of my Birth Certificate, approved by the Argentine Consulate in London.

Him: Ah no, you need one done by an approved translator here… sorry.  And you need a Certificado de Domicilio.

Me: Ah no, because on your website it says that I don’t need the Certificado de Domicilio if I have utility bills to my address in my name. Here they are: three of them.

Him: Ah no sorry. You do need the Certificado de Domicilio because it is your first time for the DNI. Then you need to come back between 6am and 10am to obtain a ‘turno’ (appointment) to raise the ‘trámite’.

Me thinking: How many times ARE there? Surely you only apply for the DNI once? God I hope you only have to apply for it once.

Me saying nothing. Feeling beaten this time.

Him: So you come back then? At 6am. Over there. OK?

Right. I’ve since been to the Colegio de Traductores, found a translator in my street, and the translation is being done… well at least, a fresh copy of the translation I’ve already got,  is being done. Haven’t yet made it to the Comisería to apply for the Certificado. Maybe tomorrow.

Then there’s the bill from the ‘Direccion General de Rentas’ that I have to pay as a property owner. The bill arrived at the flat. But it isn’t something I can just pay. First I had to take it to ‘la calle’ Viamonte 900 in the Centro. I went. There you take a number and wait a long time. If you have all the required papers they give you the actual bill which you can go and pay at the bank. I didn’t have any of the right papers. Because I bought my property mid year they gave me a list of all the papers I need including the ‘escritura’ (original and copy, which I have), and ’something official that I don’t really understand (which I don’t have)’ from my escribano . To get the ’something official that I don’t really understand’, it turns out that I need to go to the escribano’s office. It can’t be sent apparently. I had thought that there was a postal service in Argentina, but I confess that I am beginning to wonder. The escribano’s office is in San Fernando, a train trip outside Buenos Aires. Right. OK. Maybe tomorrow or the day after.

And because my universe of ‘trámites’  is kind of stuck right now, even the english Post Office have managed to lose two cheques I sent from the UK to pay bills in the UK.  Mmmmmmm.

In a few days I am sure things will get unstuck, and I will start making progress again. But for now, it’s a day to scream,

‘AAAAAAAAAAARGH….ENTINA!’

Share

Tags: , ,

The big day

April 1, 2008 in Buenos Aires Information, Diary of a Tango Dancer in Buenos Aires, Live your dreams | 6 comments

IMGP9399 Many days have led up to today. For a year I have officially been a ‘tourist’ in Argentina. I managed to work out how to renew my first 3 month tourist visa at Migraciones, for a second three months. I left the country and headed to Uruguay to get a new visa on re-entry after 6 months. I renewed that one smoothly in Migraciones. But, especially after I bought my flat in Buenos Aires, there was always that uneasy feeling: next time I leave the country, will they let me back in? Of course I know that many people live for years in Argentina on tourist visas, or even on expired tourist visas (as you can just pay a fine when you leave), but I longed for a bit more permanence, stability, security…

I remember the first time I looked on the web to find out whether there was a possibility of obtaining a longer term Argentine visa: and my delight that yes, indeed there was (although at the time obtaining it seemed a very long way off).  In my case it is called a ‘Steady Income’ Visa, and basically an amount (not too huge) of money in an English bank is needed. That and a fair bit of leg work of course. The visa must be applied for in London. It is not possible to make the application in Argentina. The problem is with this type of quest, is that it is never very easy to find out exactly what is required. To their credit, the Argentines do a very good job of providing you with specific information on their website, which helps, but I’m the sort of person who can lose sleep over whether I have followed the instructions correctly. It’s funny really, how I can walk out on one life and start another on the other side of the world without worrying about the long term future, and yet, when it comes to filling in forms and obtaining official letters I struggle to believe until the very last that I have done enough… done it right.

In the end it turned out that the time I have had in England was just sufficient to enable me to gather all that I needed, and to make my application. If my flight had been last weekend, I would not have made it. The universe has definitely been with me on this one and has reassured me that my destiny is to be tied with Argentina.

So what took the time?

Week 1: a Chartered Accountant’s statement of my financial status, certified by a Public Notary; the fact finding mission to the Argentine Consulate in London and appointment for the necessary interview with the Consul made; getting the unusually sized 4cm by 4cm passport photos; the applications for Certified Copies of my birth and divorce certificates.

Week 2: the trip to the Foreign Office in London to get my three documents legalised (verified as original copies); the documents and legalisations handed over for translation to the The Spanish Translation Service, London.

Week 3/4: translations completed efficiently and professionally and kindly sent back to me, thus avoiding yet another trip to London. (And in the time I had spare as a result I managed to sell my car, clear most of my personal belongings out of my flat and visit my family.)

Week 5: the interview with the Argentine Consul in London and the handing over of the documents including their Spanish translations, application form including referees in Argentina and in England and the photos; paying the visa fees in person at the required branch of Barclays Bank in London.

Week 6: the final trip to the Argentine Consulate in London to collect the visa (it takes up to 5 days after the interview, which I think is pretty brilliant)… and today was ‘the big day’.

This morning, on my fourth trip to London in six weeks, I got the visa I wanted, with just a few days to go before my flight back to Buenos Aires. The visa is for temporary residence of one year, renewable in Buenos Aires for a second year, and after that the door is open for the permanent  residency application which can also be made in Buenos Aires. The precious DNI number can be applied for as soon as I get back… which I had not expected, so I am delighted: I can build more of a life. I can allow my soul to commit, with less fear of rejection. I feel relief.

The visa itself consists of a large stamp in the passport with a letter attached from the Argentine Consul, plus a sealed envelope which I must hand over when I arrive at the airport. I have a second sealed envelope containing my photos, fingerprints, and copies of my documents for the DNI application.  These envelopes were filled and sealed in my presence, minutes before Carlos took my photo to record the historic moment.

After that we took a walk through London with a friend: Buckingham Palace, The Mall, St James’ Park, Whitehall, Westminster, Westminster Bridge, The South Bank… It was slightly warmer than last week’s open top bus tour experience, when we could not feel our feet and were forced to get off before it had arrived at Buckingham Palace (for fear of freezing). I can’t remember the last time I took a walk around these beautiful parts of London, and maybe that is because I never have. It is truly amazing how having someone to show around makes you see your own country through fresh eyes. Today I loved being British. But perhaps I loved it more because I had my Argentine at my side, and my Argentine visa in my big pink flowery bag. I felt free: free to live where I want to, free to live my dreams.

See pictures of me and Carlos in London

Share

Tags: , , ,

Number 68, 3 hour wait

March 8, 2008 in Diary of a Tango Dancer in Buenos Aires, Live your dreams | 3 comments

IMGP8834 If you ever have to go to the Foreign Office in London to get documents ‘legalised’ for an Argentine Visa application, you will learn exactly what to expect in ‘migraciones’ in Argentina.  It is as if Britain wants you to understand what might be involved once you arrive in Buenos Aires. Actually to be honest my experiences in ‘migraciones’ have been a king to this particular English version.  On Thursday I learned that if you need any kind of document legalising (necessary for any kind of official dealings with a foreign country: marriage, pets, medical, visa…) you will enjoy the following treatment:

The Foreign Office website is informative and leads you imagine a highly organised ‘Public Counter’ operation. After all you are going to pay 27 pounds per document: in my case 81 pounds for 3 documents. Maybe that doesn’t sound too much money, but it is around $500 pesos, which goes quite a long way in my Argentine life (and it is just one of the costs: certified copies of certificates 26 pounds each; legally valid translations 150 pounds; certification of letter by a Notary Public 20 pounds; Visa application 150 pounds; 3 or 4 trips to London… train fares, petrol, tube fares…).

The map on the website is not brilliant. It makes big mention of Horse Gardens, which I never found. Spring Gardens which seemed to surround the building was not mentioned on the map. But at the moment you can spot the Foreign Office which is at the bottom of The Mall because it is totally clothed in white fabric (renovations?). There is a sign in the street that says, ‘Queue here’ with a security guard to point the door out… so maybe sometimes the queues extend to the street. As there was no queue in the street I felt optimistic. It was 11.ooam.

On entry make sure you speak to the person in a glass cubicle on the right. (Many people were missing this out completely, and as there is no obvious sign visible, it is hardly surprising). They will check your documents and give you a number (if you have spent any time in Buenos Aires, this will feel wonderfully familiar as even the tickets look the same), and tell you very politely that there is a wait. In my case the person estimated one and a half hours. A security guard ran after me and told me to turn off my mobile phone which I was not using. Many people were openly using theirs. Despite ’security issues’ nobody asked to look in my bag. I was clutching a ticket showing number C68. I spotted the electronic number board in the room opposite: B95. I sent my parents off to the National Gallery with instructions to return at 1.00pm.

There were not enough seats. Maybe over 100 people were crammed into two small adjoining rooms. From my room it was not possible to see the public counters, or to hear some of the announcements clearly. Thankfully I managed to secure a seat in the first tiny room. Many people were standing, sitting on the floor, entering with enthusiastic smiles, looking at the number board and visibly wilting with disappointment. Luckily I could see the number on the board from my seat, and so know when it was my turn. But I was delightfully, right outside the one toilet which was built as a partition in the room and had no lock on the door. Privacy for users? Virtually non existent.

By 1.00pm we were on number C41. Basically you are called by number and you go and pay. Then you wait again for the documents to be ready and for your number to be called again. Finally you get a piece of paper stuck to the back of your documents certifying that they are originals. We left at 2.30pm, with the treasured legalisations but also with a few questions on our minds… My mother is very keen to write to the Foreign Office and ask why, when ever something ‘foreign’ is involved people seem to be treated like second class citizens. I agree with her. This process did not make me feel proud of my country.

And I am lucky that I only live in Southampton. What if you live 600 miles away and have lengthy travel to cope with too? Yes of course you can send the documents and wait 10 days, but I suspect for many people time is a huge factor, and hence the popularity of the  ‘Public Counter’. But for me now thankfully, it is done. I have my documents, and now they are being translated. Ready in a week. Why am I even bothering with all this when I can get into Argentina on a tourist visa? Well long term, I want residency if possible. I own a property in Buenos Aires. I need stability. This way, in time, I just might have a chance of achieving it.

Tonight I will head to London again, but this time to The Crypt (if I can manage to negotiate London at night in the car)… Will anyone invite me to dance? It will be interesting to experience being a stranger in a London tango venue. How will it compare to the ‘newbie in Buenos Aires’ experience? Well I think I will know a couple of guys and maybe they will dance with me so that people can see that I won’t embarrass them if they get me onto the dance floor. We will see. And you will hear how it goes… If you are at the Crypt tonight, give me a smile.

Meanwhile I have only 6 days to go until I meet Carlos at Gatwick. I cannot wait. He has finished his work and is planning a week of ‘preparations’: buying ‘yerba’ and ‘dulce de leche’ for my parents, getting his hair cut, digging out his winter coats. Last week he sang the Argentine national anthem to my mum and dad over skype. I felt so proud of him. I long to welcome him to my English world, and have him hug the people I love. And I am desperate to be in his arms again both on and off the dance floor.

Does absence make the heart grow fonder? Yes ‘mi amor argentino, mi porteño, mi bailarin’, oh yes, it does!

Share

Tags: , ,

Lamentablemente

December 14, 2007 in Diary of a Tango Dancer in Buenos Aires | 7 comments

IMGP8266 This morning Carlos and me got up at 6.30am to go down to the ‘Passport Office’. Actually it isn’t only the place for passports but the place for all other personal documentation if you are an Argentine, but for our purposes it shall be called the ‘Passport Office’. We went to try and find out whether there is any chance of Carlos getting his replacement passport before 19th January. One of the hardest things when trying to make plans is the ‘not knowing’. Maybe, we thought, it would be easier to decide what to do if we finally knew the bottom line of the situation. That’s why we decided to go back there today.

Over the past weeks lots of people have told us that if we went with our flight ticket, we would get some help. Argentine people are lovely. They don’t want us to worry. They say sweet things like: ‘They will give you the passport.’ ‘Don’t worry Sally he will travel.’ ‘They can’t stop him leaving Argentina.’ People here are very optimistic and I have appreciated that. Temporarily they gave us some hope. But I don’t think any of them can have been to the ‘Passport Office’ recently.

We got the train to Retiro and then a bus and arrived about 8.30am. When we went there over three weeks ago to apply for the passport we had to queue for a while inside the office. This time I saw the queues in the street from two blocks away.

We joined the line and started listening to people around us talking about how long they had been waiting for their passports: longer than the 40 ‘dias habiles’ (working days) currently being quoted, that much was obvious. We queued for maybe an hour to get into the building. It was chaos inside. Hundreds of people. Different queues for different things? One queue for everything? Impossible to tell. A woman in a uniform was shouting out that if you were over 70, or pregnant you could go straight in to the ‘Salon Castillo’. How I longed to be pregnant.

We queued for another half an hour to reach the information desk. Carlos presented his passport receipt slip and his flight ticket and began to explain his situation. He was told to join a different queue for the ‘computer check’. Apparently here we would be able to find out ‘when we would have the passport’. We joined another queue. Once again we were surrounded by people who had not yet received their passports. I was glad I couldn’t understand what they were saying, but I saw Carlos’ face fall. I have rarely felt as powerless. It’s horrible watching someone you love with hurt and sadness on their face. I tried to keep a faint smile on mine. I didn’t want him to worry about how I was feeling. We reached the desk. A woman punched Carlos’ receipt number into the system. ‘It’s being processed.’ she said and handed him back the receipt. He asked whether she could tell him when he might have it. ‘40 dias habiles,’  she said. He began to explain his situation. ‘40 dias habiles,’ she said. He calmly and politely commented that it was his human right to be able to travel, to have a passport within a reasonable timeframe, and that surely within two months was reasonable. ‘40 dias habiles,’ she repeated stony faced. She was quite rude to him. He asked if he could speak to someone in authority. Apparently she was authority. We retreated in silence into the street.

We walked around the back of the building and re-entered. I went to the bathroom. When I came back Carlos was in a small queue outside a closed door with the word, ‘JEFE’ among other words on the outside: ‘MANAGER’ or something similar. We waited our turn. The woman who finally attended to us was polite at least. There is no way even to tell how long the passport will take, ‘lamentablemente’. The only way to get the passport faster is to have a medical emergency, ‘lamentablemente’. Carlos explained that his last passport only took 15 days in total. On the internet it still quotes 15 ‘dias habiles’. How could he have known that it would now take at least 40? No matter. We have no prospect of complaining to anybody and no prospect of speeding anything up. ‘Lamentablemente’ we shouldn’t have been sold the ticket without a passport. ‘Lamentablemente’ we shouldn’t have bought the ticket without a passport. And now of course we know that only too well. A flight ticket or travel plans or the desire or need to travel is not a good enough reason to expect to know even when you can expect to have a passport. We can’t change our plans because we cannot be sure how long we will have to wait. Today it became obvious that it could be longer than 40 ‘dias habiles’. Apparently 2000 people are applying for a passport everyday. Having seen the queues I can well believe it. Apparently after 40 ‘dias habiles’, if it still hasn’t come you can go back and they might try to help… mmmm how exactly?

As we left ashen faced, I noticed a sign on the wall that said you could search on the web for the progress of your ‘tramite’. When we got home we searched. By going to the web site of the Policia Federal and entering your ‘tramite number’ and your ‘DNI number’ you can see exactly what the staff at the ‘Passport Office’ see on their computer screens: in our case Progress in the system 6%. It’s been over three weeks and we are at 6%. I reckon when they punch your ‘tramite number’ into the system on Day 1 it probably reads 6%. After that I can imagine piles and piles of passport applications sitting in an office upstairs going nowhere. And that I am afraid, short of a miracle, is where our plans for Carlos to join me in England are going… absolutely nowhere.

In England if I need a replacement passport urgently I can go to the Passport Office, pay extra, and have a new passport the same day. I believe that it is my right to have my British Passport, to be able to travel when I need to, not when my country says that I can. But I am spoilt. That is what I am used to because I am English.

Carlos said to me, with a very sad expression, ‘Now you know what it’s like to be Argentine.’

And yes now, in a tiny way, ‘lamentablemente’ I do.

Share

Tags: ,

Blog Widget by LinkWithin