When I Moved to Costa Rica, Illegally - Pt. 1

     

      If I could describe this season of my life in one word it would be: inconvenience. I mean, just getting here legally is a story in itself, not to mention the every day things that will drive a girl mad. But before we get ahead of ourselves, allow me to share with you the story that many of you have asked about. A lot of you probably saw my mom’s Facebook status or a random post from me about immigration so here is the full story of my 84758423957 hours spent in the hellish place called La Oficina de Migration. But first, you need to know a little background information. No one is allowed to come into Costa Rica for more than a few days without proof that they are in fact leaving. So if you're staying more than about a week or so, (like me), you need to show a plane/bus/train ticket that proves you WILL leave Costa Rica in a timely manner. If you do not have this, they can legally put you back on a plane (or whatever) and, at your expense, send you back to where ever you came from.

     In case you're wondering, I was one of the lucky people who got in without an exit ticket. But it caused quite the uproar, to say the least. Here is the full account: 

     On Wednesday, Aug. 21 my mom and I entered Costa Rica with 8 suitcases and excited hearts. I wasn’t nervous at all but rather excited for what God was stirring up between the CR and me. (Duh, I know it’s not called “the Costa Rica” but I like it, so work with me here). We went through the maze of the airport and finally reached immigration where my mom told the officer she would be here for one week. He gave her a 10 day visa and asked for my passport. Without hesitation, he stamped mine for the same: 10 days. As soon I noticed it, I corrected him but it was too late. He asked two different men before telling me that I needed to go to the immigration office in San Jose to ask for an extension. “No big deal,” I thought. I’ll run up there tomorrow and do it real quick.

Ha.

Yeah right.

     That Friday my mom, Marielos (my host mom), and I went to San Jose to get my extension.  Let me pause here and tell you that getting around from town to town is not convenient if you do not know where you are going. Even if you DO know where you are going, it still takes 3-4 different busses and a LOT of walking to get to immigration. (Or at least it did for us that day). Once we arrived, we so graciously received “the run around” and went to about 4 different lines before we found someone who could tell us what to do. Keep in mind that neither my mom nor myself speak Spanish so we were totally dependent on Marielos. I finally found someone who spoke Spanglish and I figured out that I need to buy an exit ticket from the country and possibly pay $100 in order to get my extension. They handed me some random brochure in Spanish and sent me on my way.

$100.

Possibly.

But it could be less, they said.

???????

     Moving on. Frustrated, we left. I talked to my friend Megan who has two things I desperately needed: a car and a boyfriend who speaks Spanish. We coordinated our schedules and found a time that all three of us could put our lives on hold, travel to San Jose’s Tica Bus station, buy me an exit ticket, and head back to the immigration office. I’m a teacher, right? I have school and responsibilities so we went after I got out of school at 2 pm. By the time we got to the office it was about 3:30 pm which was fine because no office with any sense would close before 4 pm, right? 

Ha.

Let's keep going.

     The visa/residency office was closed. They close at ..... 12 pm. (Yes, you read that correctly. The office that is in the highest demand for the whole country is open from 7 am to 12 pm. It makes so much sense). However, being the stubborn one that I am, I walked throughout the building until I found someone who spoke English and was willing to listen to me whine about my little “situation.” Jose was his name, and he was a nice man. Except that he couldn’t complete all of my paperwork that day. Why, you ask? Remember the random little brochure in Spanish. Yeah... that was a list of NINE different things I needed to bring with me to get my extension. He told me to bring it back Monday. When I started having a mini freak out moment on him ... something like, “Sir. You don’t understand. I don’t live here. I live in Heredia. I am a teacher. I have a job. I can’t just come here whenever I want. I don’t have a car. I don’t speak Spanish. My 10 days expire tomorrow, Monday will be too late. I need to find a translator and a ride and take off work and....” You get the picture. He finally said, “Ok, if you have half of the paperwork today, I can start your process and you can bring the rest Monday.”  

Click here for part 2!!