Proofs of Belonging

Meet neighbors.
Find out where to buy sugar and toilet paper and the best corn tortillas.
Be able to leave street maps discreetly in your pockets.
Fill out many forms.
Indicate what type of nose you have.
Make copies of papers.
Make more copies.

These are all steps in coming to belong here.

How do we prove that we belong in a given place?

As part of our FM-3 visa status, we are required to register at the Registro Nacional de Extranjeros, the National Register of Foreigners. This means making a LOT of copies (of our entire passports and visas and grant documents and more) and completing several forms, one of which asks for very specific information about physical characteristics, including what kind of nose you have (options: straight, convex, concave, or wide) and what kind of eyebrows (thin, full, or waxed).

So today we drove an hour to the picturesque town (and expatriate enclave) of San Miguel de Allende, where the Registro is located for the state of Guanajuato, to try to complete our paperwork. We were helped promptly and amiably, but learned that the rental agreement we brought as proof of our domicile would not be accepted because it is in English. We would need to have it translated by an official translator and stamped with an official seal. This required us to drive into the center of town (kudos to Mark for driving the pick-up truck on narrow cobblestone streets crammed with tourists!), pay $40, and then receive the translated document only after the Registro had closed for the day at 1 p.m. So, we will have to return to San Miguel de Allende for a second attempt in a few days. (But in the midst of this paperwork adventure we were able to meet friends from Hailey, Ted and Marty, for lunch in San Miguel, which was delightful!)

Coming back to Guanajuato late in the afternoon, we took a wrong turn and ended up lost in the maze of tunnels that go under the center of town. These are old river beds that have been converted into subterranean roads that bypass the tight cobblestone streets of the colonial downtown area. The tunnels even have bus stops and intersections, and every few minutes they surface in the daylight of a chaotic plaza, then drop back underground in medieval passages. We spent about 20 minutes trying to find our way up and out of this tunnel system. It seemed like the perfect metaphor for our day of paperwork: It's confusing, but we know there must be the proverbial light at the end, and then we'll be back on familiar ground.