Made the trip to the police station today to report a stolen handbag. This was not your ordinary handbag grabbed in the street type of affair, but rather a handbag that was accidentally left in the ladies room and then when it's owner returned to pick it up, it was gone. Now normally you don't go to the police for a missing handbag; but when it contains your passport, drivers license, credit cards and special 'mica' visa thing for trips into the United States, you start worrying.
So the first stop was the Relaciones Exteriores office, where an efficient little employee quickly found the appropriate file and jotted down the passport number. This was necessary in order to file a complaint with the local police.
If you've never been to the police before to file a complaint, you're in for real treat! Forget Sam's, Friday's, Hyatt and Fiesta Americana. Think of those movies with Nick Nolte in El Salvador, Sissy Spacek in Missing and other revolutionary classics along those lines. This is the real Mexico.
Park in front/behind/beside the building and dodging street vendors with fruit, gum etc., proceed past very shady looking characters who look like they:
a) just woke up orMake your way (don't be afraid to use elbows here) past the humid and pungent brown masses of people lolling about and/or waiting for something, to the information "office" where you are issued a number and then assigned an agent to whom you will register your complaint. This is no ordinary or extraordinary office, just your regular fourth-world government office featuring a small dilapidated space with two young women in civilian dress, a battered desk with napkin-wrapped sandwhiches and half-drunk Cokes in the top drawer, an ancient and fingerprinted phone and a monstrous mechanical typewriter - you know the ones that they stand on end when the day is done. This being Christmas time, the delightful and welcoming space featured, as a special visual treat, a ragged Christmas tree and some previously abused garlands hanging on some hooks and some bare wire, a la Grinch.
b) just had the snot kicked out of them
c) have just been released from an overnight in jail
d) are waiting to make a drug deal
The young ladies, one of whom had just become a mother, were more than a little bored with all the people filing some sort of complaint. The new mother was completely absorbed in her newborn, cooing, giggling and wiggling fingers... you know. Then, when she finally got around to facing her latest complainee, her smile vanished and her face became as stony as a Mayan ruin. As the purse-loser was explaining her situation, which warranted a 'lost' complaint as opposed to a 'stolen' one, this 'public servant' turned repeatedly to her charming little offspring to continue the goo-goo ga-ga - ing that she had been interrupted from.
If this should happen to you, and it will, don't get mad or frustrated, that's the way it is and you better like it. Complain, and if you're a foreigner, the locals will become defensive and tell you to take your avioncito back home if you don't like things they way they are.
Finally, after spending an inordinate amount of time registering the complaint, and after the afore-mentioned mechanical monster's keyboard was hammered, a very official little paper is turned over to you and you are ready to see a "crime specialist" in his or her even more charming multiple-user office space, where an "agent" will be "assigned" to the case, and you will be given a case number to quote when requesting replacement passports and other valuable documents that you have lost.
This is the real reason you have come, so don't back out now, even if you feel like fighting with the cerebrally challenged, Coke-sipping individual who is apparently the head honcho in this 4 person office, who informs you that since your MICA was expired, how can you expect him to believe that is was stolen. A casual shrug of the shoulders and a knowing look out of the corner of his eyes tells you "You can't fool me, I know all about U.S. immigration documents".
Of course he knows absolutely nothing about U.S. Immigration documents, and probably very little else as well, since his life is his miserable little government job, scraping by on bribes and subsisting on a diet of stale Pizzerola chips and warm Cokes. The MICA in question was one of several hundred issued in Merida that did in fact expire in the '70s, but were renewed by special bulletin each year until recently. Somehow, this information didn't make it to this dwarf's particular corner of the world.
Again, don't try to argue with this rocket scientist, it's banging the proverbial forehead against the proverbial wall. You'll come out bruised with nothing gained. It's better to say "Oh, si" and leave it at that, perhaps throwing in a reverent look designed to convey your sense of humility and awe at the opportunity to be in the mere presence of such intelligence and wisdom. That way you'll get your all important case number, and you can be on your way, never to return, hopefully.
Once out of the office, that's the last you will hear from them. Try calling or visiting to see how the "case" is coming along! Go and have a chat with that agent assigned to your case - he cares!! Go on, it'll be fun!
Filing these complaints and getting that case number when something unpleasant happens to you, are important for the insurance companies and in this case, the passport and immigration authorities. But do not by any means, expect anything to come of it. If you do, you will become extremely frustrated and neurotic.
Take it, instead, as a delightful way to spend a good part of a day, and a truly enlightening experience for those of you that feel that Merida has changed. It is an excellent way to get to know how the justice system works in Merida, and probably the rest of the country as well, and should be enjoyed as kind of a one-day cultural immersion program for incredulous foreigners. Perhaps it should be mandatory for all those folks that 'fall in love' with Merida after one 2-week visit and want to move here. They may just reconsider...
