Mexican Residence: Paperwork Purgatory

Not so much a labyrinth as a merry-go-round, the process of applying for temporary residence in Mexico has been a lesson in patience. After reports from countless cruisers that Mexico was one of their favorite places in the whole world – not to mention my intrigue with it due to Mexican students and friends and our interest in learning Spanish – we decided we wanted to spend at least 18 months in Mexico. If we had entered on a 180 day tourist visa, it would have meant schlepping two adults, two small kids, and possibly a cat back across the border at least twice on schedules dictated to us. The appeal to have permission to stay in Mexico on our own timeline is obvious. But hindsight is 20/20, and I can now say I would not do it again (or I at least would have done it from La Paz). Would I recommend it? Only if you work in a lot of flexibility and do it from a office that you can easily access in a city that doesn’t have thousands of migrants camped on its doorstep.

We started at the consulate in Seattle, where we were interviewed, fingerprinted (remember this: we had fingerprints done in Seattle), and asked to submit a slew of forms and bank statements and (gulp) all our passports. We came back a month later with pretty visas stamped in our passports that would allow us to apply for temporary residence here. The rub, unfortunately, was that we only had 30 days upon entering to start our application process. Not wanting to have to hurry down to La Paz in 30 days and rush through the Pacific Coast of Baja, we opted to apply in Ensenada instead. The consulate had told us it would take two to four weeks to process, our insurance wouldn’t cover us south of Ensenada until November 15 anyway (the end of hurricane season), and Baja Naval marina had an awesome monthly rate. We would spend a month in Ensenada killing a number of birds with one stone; it would be perfect!

It was not perfect. I fumbled through the paperwork, all in Spanish, which I did not speak. I walked all over town trying to find a place to make copies. I had to research and find a place to take our photographs and schlep the whole family there. I had to navigate the process of taking all my paperwork to a bank, paying the fee at the bank (in cash, I learned), and then bringing the receipts back to the Instituto Nacional Migratario (INM).

So, I came back to the office, except that I had made mistakes on the online forms and had to do everything again. And because they wouldn’t allow me to be the parent to sign for the kids, I had to drag Tom to the INM office and have him sign for the kids. The process of just submitting the application took over a week and no less than three visits to banks, two visits to copy places, and five visits to the INM to finally complete. My feet hurt. My back hurt, having thrown it out again walking over Ensenada’s broken sidewalks and sitting for hours daily in INM’s uncomfortable chairs. I expressed through very poor Spanish my nervousness about our timeline and was assured that it would all be done in time. Now we just have to sit back and wait to be called, right? Wrong.

I got a call about 10 days later and was excited to get the message that we could all come to get our fingerprints done. No. Apparently, because the kids hadn’t signed their new passports (they don’t write, after all), the copies could not be used. So, we fixed that problem. But that meant that the paperwork still hadn’t been processed. I began to panic, realizing that we were going to be hard-pressed to get our residence cards before leaving. But we already had our fingerprints done at the Mexican Consulate. Doesn’t that count? No. We have to do them again. But I was told that after our fingerprints were done, we could leave and return later for the cards. Somewhat mollified, we waited. And waited.

I finally got an official email through the electronic system that Andy was able to come in for his fingerprints. I waited two more days until I called to find out about the rest of us. “Another week,” I was told. “Maybe next week.” But next week started with a holiday, and we all know how weeks like that go. “We have to leave to get down the coast,” I explained in a crackling voice as I held back tears. I had done the math on how long we needed to get to Puerto Escondido for Christmas, and it was beginning to push it.

“You can leave,” came the sympathetic reply. “The documents you now have allow you to travel within the country. You will just all need to come back for your fingerprints.” Huh. I guess that’s something. We’re not stuck here. We just need to come back.

And so, we bid good-bye to Ensenada, took our weather window and headed south. The emails indicating permission for us to come and get our fingerprints trickled in over the next three weeks. I began to look into the cost of renting a car and doing the math on how long it would take the drive to Ensenada, and a lump began to get stuck in my throat. It was untenable and expensive. Damn. From our Christmas location in Loreto, I began to research flights to Tijuana from La Paz. Also untenable and expensvie. While Tom was still in La Paz working on the boat, I asked him to pose a few questions to Baja Paperwork, an agency near the marina that helps travelers with a range of documentation. They spent some time on the phone with the INM and got answers to the following questions:

Can we transfer the whole application process down to the La Paz INM? No.
Can we have the INM mail our cards when they are ready? No. Can we just get our fingerprints done in La Paz? No. Can we get our fingerprints done and pick up the cards in the same trip? No. It will take 5 weeks after the fingerprints are done to get the cards. (What?! Why did nobody tell me this before? The answer to that question relates to the backlog of work due to the thousands of refugees on Mexico’s border near Tijuana.)
Can we cancel the whole application? Yes, but then you have to leave the country within 30 days and come back as tourists.
Is there a place where we can renew tourist visas within Mexico without having to leave the country? No.

So, we began to do the math. It would still be cheaper for us to travel back to Ensenada to get the residence permits than to have the whole family leave the country multiple times. Ugh. I finally began to search for flights on dates after the holidays. Bingo. The flights dropped hundreds of dollars, and I was able to snag flights from La Paz to Tijuana for about $170/person. Not great, but not bad. We booked a cheap hotel and flew up to Ensenada in mid-January. I wisely arranged it so that we could be there for two business days if something went wrong. Something always goes wrong.

Arriving only shortly after their opening time, we still had a full line of people in front of us. Two hours later, when we were finally called up, Tom and I were able to do our fingerprints, but we were informed that the boys’ photographs would not be accepted because you couldn’t see their foreheads. I was livid! They have had these pictures for months, and no mention was made of the pictures being unacceptable. And now we had only an hour and a half to get them done before the INM closed. So, off we went to get new pictures made for the kids. A nice couple in line told us where we could get pictures done close by, and we rushed off to do that and to find some food. I poured water on my hands and slicked down my kids’ hair so their foreheads and ears were as plain as day. We ran back to the INM, sneaking in the door 6 minutes before they closed for the afternoon. But at least we would be seen. An hour later, an official came out with paperwork, and the kids finally could provide their blurry and totally useless fingerprints. And the bonus is that the new photos are really much cuter than the old ones.

But I would still have to go back to Ensenada to pick them up later. We debated whether to go by car or bus, but then when we did the math (again), we realized that it would actually be cheaper to fly than to take a bus (oh yeah, and the bus was an 18 hour trip from Loreto, nevermind the additional 5 hours from La Paz). So, I began to search for flights from La Paz, confirmed with the INM that they had all our cards, that only one person needed to come to pick them up, and that they would be open on Wednesday. So off I flew again to the north end of this long peninsula, caught a bus down to Ensenada, wolfed down two amazing chicken tamales at the Ensenada bus station, and headed to Ensenada Backpacker Hostel to settle in for the night.

I woke up too early, nervous that something would go wrong. Something had gone wrong every single time I had been in this office. And, alas, this trip was no different. I arrived at the office at 8:30, a full 30 minutes before opening, and was still the second person in line. By 9:00, there were six people waiting. I signed in and made sure that everyone knew I was just here to pick up my cards. It would just be a matter of being handed the cards, right? Wrong. Turns out that whole issue with Tom being the only parent who was allowed to sign for the kids came back to bite us. As they dangled the cards and all the completed paperwork in front of me, they said that Tom would have to come in person to pick up the kids’ cards and sign for them. Except nobody mentioned that when we left the last time. Nobody mentioned that on the phone when I called. I had been assured numerous times that only one person would need to be present when we picked up the cards. Nobody ever mentioned that Tom would have to be that person.

And so I lost my shit. In a tirade of angry, mixed Spanish and English, I said that I flew here from La Paz (again), that nobody told me that Tom needed to be the one to pick up the cards, and that I confirmed a few times that the cards were here and that I could pick them up. I refused to take no for an answer. I was probably the dreaded ugly American in that moment. The entitled traveler who is loud and complains and throws tantrums. But I wasn’t complaining about Mexico. I love Mexico. I want to be here legally. I just don’t want to keep making expensive trips back to Ensenada for piddly bureaucratic hurdles just to be told every time that there is some else they need.

The issue was taken quickly to the deputy director, who simply asked if it would be possible to talk with Tom. I put him on the phone, and I believe I heard Tom say at least three times, maybe four, that he gave his full permission for me to pick up the residence cards for the whole family. He thanked Tom, gave the phone back to me, told his staff to process the paperwork, and after another twelve signatures (I’m not joking), I was given my paperwork and the coveted, long-awaited residence cards and sent on my way.

I spent far too much time at the INM in the morning to catch the 9:30 bus to the airport, so I quickly called an Uber and asked him rush to Tijuana. I arrived at the departure terminal and checked in 30 minutes before my boarding time. Plenty of time to spare, right? And when I passed through security, I proudly displayed my residence permit along with my boarding pass. After five months of paperwork hell, I am now, after all, a Mexican resident.

For all the agony that this process has been and the expense it has brought about, I actually feel somewhat guilty complaining. It is nothing compared with someone who has to deal with the American immigration system. I think of so many people I’ve known who spent years in paperwork purgatory to get refugee status, green cards, and citizenship. I think of the smiles and tears of happiness I saw from some of my students when they got their official documentation or American passports. It took them years, sometimes more than a decade. And I think of people I’ve met who put in years of work and residence only to have their papers revoked and told to return to Mexico and start all over. And so I appreciate that it is so easy for us to cross borders. To travel the world. I don’t for a second take it for granted. And if it has given me even the tiniest of glimpses into the frustrating world of immigration documentation, then I appreciate the opportunity to have that glimpse as an immigrant myself.

Migration and the movement of people has been happening for as long as there have been humans on earth. It is how we have populated the world. Migration is driven by economies and opportunities, by war and desperation, by adventure and wanderlust, by persecution and cautious hopes of a better life. Migration is what has grown our own beautiful country and has given it a diversity, a strength, and a uniqueness I am proud of. But I am not proud of the hate and exclusion that has become so pervasive in the United States in the last few years. Walls will not stop migration, nor should they. I don’t (and won’t) often veer into the political, but I find myself drawn to express this as I am now an immigrant to a country where I have received nothing but smiles and welcomes. Where thousands of refugees from Central America are being taken care of and offered residency and jobs. Why is it that they still want to cross the border to the U.S., where they are likely to experience far more hate and prejudice, driven by myths and stereotypes. But paperwork purgatory or no, what all of us migrants have in common is that we’re willing to take a chance. And the more we travel and migrate, the more we learn that we have more in common than different.