THE THREAT OF BEING DEPORTED AND A WEEKEND TRIP TO BUENOS AIRES!

So, I got invited by a special friend to join him for a weekend in Buenos Aires. Most of you probably know that Buenos Aires was my original destination of choice.... it was the plan. Chile was just a spontaneous occurrence that happened as the result of me FREAKING OUT about not being able to find a job (because there are none) or function in any other way (because I couldn't speak the language) in Argentina. Chile, at least, had the jobs that I was looking for... and that was basically all I knew and good enough at the time. After about 45 minutes in Buenos Aires, I was sure that I made the right decision in not moving there, at least not right now. Valparaiso is way more my style. (Read: its colorful and full of old things that are falling apart)

Now that we've got my final reflection out of the way, lets move on to the story of the weekend....

Part 1: Getting out of the country.

Seems simple. I know. So, I'm at the airport going through Policia Internacional, what all people must do before they get on an international flight. So far I've executed the days activities of two bus journeys and paying for a reserved flight in Spanish and I'm feeling pretty good about myself. I get to the window.... I am asked for my Chilean ID card... I say I don't have one... she says I need one... I say I don't. She asks me if I registered my visa... I say that I am going to do it next week and then.... OOOOOPS! Major misunderstanding due to a language barrier comes to light! Apparently, this was something that I had to due within 30 days of my visa being issued. I thought it was 30 days after being issued. I'm in the airport, its 3:30, and its the 30th day. I'm told that if I don't register my visa by 5:00, I will lose it. I'm told that I must go to downtown Santiago to do this, then I am told "good luck."

Craziness ensues. I run, cancel my flight, and tell the airline to pull my bag from the plane and that I would come back for it later.

I find a cab driver and ask him how much it will cost to get to the address on a scrap of paper that I have clutched desperately in my fist.

"You want to go to the Police?!? What did you do?!?"

"Uhhhhm, there is a problem with my visa."

"It must be big!"

"Yeah."

We get in the cab and rush off. After much long deliberation in my bad (frantically nervous and bad) Spanish, he fully understands the situation. He starts telling me how people used to be tortured in the office we are going to, but that that doesn't happen anymore. He told me about his family. He told me about his days working at the Congress in Valparaiso. I'm shaking, nearly hyperventilating... kind of responding.

We get to the office and he runs with me to the gate. It closed at 2:00. He steps up in attempt to be my white knight and calls a police man wandering within the gates to try to help. He gives him my passport and explains the situation. The policeman starts yelling at me in Spanish that I largely found unintelligible... but I was able to make out the main point: as of that day at 2:00 I was an illegal immigrant in Chile and could be deported at any time. He then said that I had to go to another office at 8:00am the next day and basically plead my case of why I should be allowed to keep my visa and stay in the country.

While on the way back to the airport to get my bag, the cab driver offered that I could stay at his house for the night... although it would have been the stupidest thing on earth, I almost accepted.
I spent the night in a hotel in some unknown location in Santiago. With the help of favorite friend who was already in Argentina, I was able to arrange to be met my an immigration specialist in the morning. It turned out to be a nothing problem. It turns out that they actually could have registered my visa at the airport, as it was the 30th day, and I could have traveled legally after all.

Two and a half hours later, I was on my way to the airport, and able to freely leave and enter the country. At this point however, I was scared out of my mind. The last thing I wanted to do was going close to anything involving immigration, especially in Spanish, but I was persuaded, and I am glad.


Part 2: Buenos Aires

To be honest, the 27 hours or so of immigration hell preceding my arrival in Buenos Aires kind of over shadowed the whole trip. It was good though. I was given a fantastic 2 day whirlwind tour complete with massive consumption of red meat, antique shopping, a late night taxi tour, walking and walking and walking, architectural history lessons, and lots of espresso.

From this body of research, I have managed to reach this mathematical conclusion:

New York City + (more)Spanish -Stable Economy = Buenos Aires

Basically, a pretty cool place to be. Here are some pictures:

Recoleta Cemetery:

Eva Peron is buried there, and the history of the various places that her embalmed body has been over the years is actually quite interesting. Here is a blurb from the BBC that tells part of the story:

In 1955 General Peron was overthrown in a military coup and he fled to Spain.

Evita's embalmed body was removed and its whereabouts remained a mystery until 1971.

It was eventually discovered that her body had lain in a secret grave for 14 years under the name of a nun in a Milan cemetery. It was returned to General Peron in Spain.

In 1973 Juan Peron returned to Argentina after years of exile to begin a third term as president.

His wife's body was taken back to Argentina in November 1974, four months after General Peron's death.

We actually were at the cemetery on the anniversary of her death coincidentally enough, so we couldn't get close to her grave due to the crowd of still adoring fans. Check out this picture from wikipedia of Liza Minnelli checking out Eva Peron's grave. Just pretend that its me.

Cats... cemetery... feels like Chile.


Morbid.

This strikes me as very Argentine.

Yessssss, decay.



Big Flower thing that mechanically closes and opens as the sun rises and sets.



Antique Chandeliers.



Kids drawing at a free Picasso exhibit that we stumbled upon.



Peeking into someones home.



Well, those are the highlights.

Besos,
Allie