Buscando La Extranjería

Moving, on one hand (a very big hand), was lovely. I’m so glad to be living where I am. On the other hand, I’m presented with a small visa-related problem. My visa has been in process for quite a while now. And I moved just when my visa was ready to be mailed (to an address that I don’t live at anymore). It’s just a small problem, requiring me to visit el departamento de extranjería, and the policía international. It all sounds quite daunting, to be honest, and that is precisely why “I haven’t had time” to take care of this little issue for the past week and a half or so.

Yesterday, I finally made my first attempt. (I would have put it off longer, but…well, you see…there’s this very nice woman helping me with my visa, etc., and she gives me my paycheck every month—so, she’s not someone I want to have be irritated with me. And, what’s more, it’s so much quicker for me to pass by her office on my way to classes. But, knowing that she will ask if I’ve gone to extranjería when she sees me, I’ve been taking the long way around. Clever, eh? She’ll never know…)

First things first.
1) Ask someone at the Instituto where exactly where this formidable “Extranjería” would be located.
Check.
He told me it was located in the Moneda plaza, which is big, but close. No problem. So I go there. Things are looking good, so far. Next—ask a carabinero where “Extranjería” is. He struggles to hold back his laughter, points, “segundo piso.” Ok.
Not knowing if I just told a funny joke on accident, or if he was playing a funny joke on purpose, or if I possibly just asked where “Foreign” is…I attempt to gain access to the second floor of the building he directed me to.

Door men—“Digame.”
Sara—“Busco ‘Extranjería’? Para un visa.”
Door men—“Queda en Santo Domingo con San Antonio.”

Okay. It’s just a few (several) blocks away. And here I am, Santo Domingo con San Antonio. No. Nope. Not seeing “Extranjería.”

Sara—“Busco la oficina de Extranjería. Sabe dónde queda?”
Shop keeper—“¿Extranjería? Pero no está aca. Eso queda en Independencia. En un edificio blanco cerca al metro Cal y Canto.”
Sara—errrrrr

Okay. It’s just a few (more) blocks away. I can see Cal y Canto, crawling with cats. But no, I don’t trust this fellow. I’m going to have another consultation.

Sara—“Busco la oficina de Extranjería. Alguien me dijo que la queda en Santo Domingo con San Antonio.”
Carabinero Numero 2—“Bueno. San Antonio está allá.” (Pointing to the corner of Santo Domingo and San Antonio, where I have just come from.)
Sara—Yeah, I know that, chum. “Pero……la oficina no está allá………”
Carabinero Numero 2—[Fielding 4 or 5 consultas from other passersby, he’s figiting with his radio (doesn’t work) and his cell phone.] “Voy a llamar.”
Sara—Muchas gracias.
Carabinero Numero 2—“Hay que ir a Bañololellolamento.”
Sara—mmmm
Carabinero Numero 2—“¿Conoce esa calle?”
Sara—“Claro. … ¿¿Cerca a Cal y Canto??” It’s just a guess.
Carabinero Numero 2—mmhmm
Sara—“Muchas muchas gracias.”

Should have gone with the immigrant shopkeeper in the first place. Of course he would know. And so I bumble on over to Cal y Canto, and its cats. And then…

And then I just got tired of it all, so I got on the metro and went home.


A friend of mine in Santiago prefers to wander blindly around the city, and ask people on the street for directions. It’s a nice thing, really. You end up meeting some interesting people that way. But…it just doesn’t work so well for me. So, in preparation for my second attempt, I looked it up online. Clever, eh? Yup.

I still ended up at Santo Domingo and San Antonio, and I still have to go to the big white building at Cal y Canto on Monday, but I found my way. And I know where I’m going. And it’s all in the works. I should have my official Chilean ID card in a matter of days.