Adventures in Belize Part II: Arrested at the border
My visa in Belize gets renewed every month, minus a day, at the cost of $50bz ($25us). The timing of renewal is tricky. If I am scheduled to be out on the cayes when my visa comes due, I have to go into the immigration office and renew it ahead of time. Which means that however many days I am early, those are days that I lose.
I was scheduled to have a mid-season break, and my departure day was the day my visa was to expire, so lucky me. Then I was asked to stay out another week, as a big group was coming in and they wanted me to stay with them and make sure everything went smoothly. So the day the trip ended I was a week overdue. I figured it might be a problem, but not a big one. I was leaving anyway; what could they do?
I caught the bus in Belize City that would take me all the way to the Cancun Airport. I was scheduled to arrive a scant few hours before my plane was to take off, and this was the only bus that could get me there on time. As I left Belize City, I remembered that I was supposed to hand in a document at Mexican Immigration (INM) that I had filled out when I left Mexico two months earlier. I hoped that wouldn’t cause a problem. My immediate concern was getting out of Belize without a hassle.
The ride to the border seemed to take hours (it usually does but not the kind you put in italics), and my anxiety slowly crept up as we neared the crossing. We finally got there, I paid my departure ransom, and went to the immigration desk. The agent noticed the discrepancy immediately.
“You’re a week late!” he loudly proclaimed. “You are illegally in the country.” I shifted on my feet and gave him my most sheepish grin. “Sorry,” I replied. Just got off the cays today, and couldn’t get to an immigration office to renew.”
He went on. “Here’s the deal. You will spend the weekend in jail. Then, on Monday, you will stand before a magistrate, and the magistrate will convict you. You have no defense as it is written here in your passport. You will be made to pay a $1,000 (bz) dollar fine, then will be deported back to Canada.” I was thinking it would be cheaper for all concerned to let me continue, as I was leaving anyway. That way they wouldn’t have to feed me for the weekend and go to the trouble and expense of court time. I didn’t say what I was thinking.
What I did say was “Let me get my stuff off the bus before it leaves without me.” So I ran out and grabbed my pack, and walked considerably more slowly back into the immigration building. When I returned to the counter he asked me to follow him to his office.
We sat in his office staring at each other for a couple of minutes. He really didn’t want to send me to jail, but he did sweat it out of me for a while (not too much) and eventually he let me go, poorer but wiser. So now I had a new predicament: catching up with the bus.
I trotted over to a casino, conveniently perched between border crossings, and hailed a Mexican taxi. I told him I had to catch my bus, and we immediately fell in behind a car that was crossing the bridge as if he was delivering nitroglycerin in a car with square wheels. Finally we got past the explosives delivery vehicle, and pulled up to Mexican Immigration. The bus was not there. I went in and gave the agent my passport. He asked for my departure document , the one I didn’t have, and I told him, well, you already know.
He informed me that without this document, he couldn’t give me an entry stamp. My mind flashed to Tom Hanks in the movie “The Airport” where he plays a man who is unable to enter the US, and cannot be returned to his homeland, and so spends an eternity haunting the purgatory of an airport lounge in his pyjamas. Except, instead of a modern airport lounge, I had a lovely swamp and a brushy riverbank to haunt.
Then he looks up at me and says, “Go ahead.”, and shoos me out the door. “Ok,” I thought, “that wasn’t so bad. Now to catch the bus.” I knew that the ticket I bought only gets you to the town of Bacalar, where it stops for at least a half hour while the passengers all file into the tiny bus station and pay the rest of their journey. Bacalar was only about forty minutes drive north of the border. So I asked the taxi driver how much to take me to Bacalar. “Three hundred pesos”, he responds. Ok, not a bad deal, so I agree.
As soon as we pull around the corner we see the bus. It is parked in front of Aduana, the Federal Customs Agency. So I gave the driver a hundred pesos – a good fare for such a short trip – and jumped out of the cab. I got a green light, meaning they wouldn’t have to search through my luggage. The rest was a long, but uneventful trip to Cancun Airport and home.