• Andean Geotrail Blog (In English)
  
• Fat Cyclist
  
• Our Long Haul Honeymoon
  
• The Andean Geotrail
  
• The Andean Geotrail Blog (In French)
  
• Up In Alaska
  
• Walking the Andes (In French)
  
• Ze Movers (In French)
  

Can we leave, pleeeease?

By Mike Beris - 2009-09-15

“Welcome to Chile! You have 90 days to get out.”

This is essentially what our Chilean tourist cards told us. The deadline was to ensure that we enjoyed ourselves in their country, but didn’t stay and try to work, or worse, stay and mooch. Day 90 came and went while the four of us were finally reunited in Calama. We were pretty busy with a conference at the church, an overnight trip to see geysers, and another side trip to Iquique. A week after, Daniel was the first to make the “oh, crap!” realization. We decided that we needed to head down to the police station to inquire about our new illegal alien status.

Our walk to the PDI (Police Department of Investigations) was more than a little stressful as we considered the possible ramifications. We figured we were facing at least some fees; we didn’t want to consider what the worst could be. Finding the department of foreign affairs, we explained our story to a well-dressed officer named Victor (the PDI is the plain-clothes, more administrative branch of police in Chile, unlike the uniformed Carabineros). His face like stone, he said, “You realize what this means, don’t you? This is an infraction of the law.” Our tails between our legs, we put on the most pathetic faces possible as Chris probed for what to do next. It seemed we had to return to Antofagasta, the capital of the region, to get an extension of our tourist cards. This would cost us $100 each, not to mention the bus tickets there and back. Plus, we’d have to wait seven days for the paperwork to go through, costing us not only a huge amount of time, but money for a place to sleep. Chile’s grip on us was unrelenting; we were days from the border, yet we couldn’t get out!

Shuffling out of the station, we brainstormed our next few days. There were bus tickets to buy, research to do on hotels in Antofagasta, and lots of money to take out of the bank. Chris ran back inside to ask what time the Antofagasta office opened on Monday, but didn’t return right away. Eventually, we joined him back in Victor’s office to discover Victor schmoozing on the phone. The Antofagasta office had some interesting news. There is a little-known article in the law concerning expired tourist cards that allows the governor of the province to sign a letter allowing the illegals out of the country. The governor works in the capital of the province, which happened to be Calama, the city we were in. Suddenly, things were looking up: our week-long, $400+ solution was not the only option. Victor told us to enjoy the weekend, write a letter to the governor explaining our situation, and return Monday morning. He would personally walk us the half-block away to the governor’s office to deliver the letter.

When Monday came, we walked with Victor around a thirty-person line of other foreigners to a woman he greeted warmly. She took our letter and our passports and we left. The next day, Victor gave us each a signed letter from the governor allowing us five days to get the heck out of the country. No bus tickets. No hotel costs. No extension fees. No fines. No jail time. No problem.