Visa Anxieties

Emotional weariness and physical weakness are the only things that keep me from foolishness any more. Like I've written, I have the propensity to invent unrealistic and immature acts, then cry to friends and family for help when things fall apart – like the Brazil trip that almost killed me.

The BBC said the other day that Brazil and the U.S. have reached an agreement to eliminate the need for a visa from American tourists. This means that passports don't have to be sent to the Brazilian consulate before the traveler gets on the plane. Now, it's only a matter of getting a dated visa stamp upon arrival in country.

When I heard that, I started thinking that I might sneak past the huge lines in the airport and get into Brazil without the Polícia Federal knowing about me. When I arrived this last time, I was able to avoid the huge lines made up of two Boeing 747's full of hundreds of Chinese and American tourists by asking a young employee if there were any way to allow an old man like me to sneak by. She opened a door and I walked into Brazil without spending an hour or more in line. It was a good deal for $20 and made me feel like I still knew how to manipulate Brazilian bureaucracy, It felt like home.

Due to lack of forethought, I wasn't familiar with their regulations concerning my time of stay in the country. I foolishly assumed that a visa was valid for six months, with renewal giving me another legal half-year as a tourist. That would be enough time to normalize my situation and obtain a green card for permanent residence

After delaying longer than I should have, I stopped by the Polícia Federal to renew my tourist visa I got in the U.S. They told me that it lacked just 12 days before expiration, and the law allowed tourists only six months in-country residence a year.

It was a different polícia than I knew during the 1970s and the military dictatorship. In those days the feds knew they were in charge and had full support to do anything they wanted. They were educated and respectful, but sure in their actions.

This time they were open and good-humored, advising me that I couldn't renew my visa, but wouldn't be deported or jailed if I overstayed. They explained that when I wanted to leave the country, I would be subject to a $1,000.00 fine, plus a token charge for each day spent illegally in Brazil. I didn't like it, but there was no choice.

When my sister travelled clear to Cuiabá, Mato Grosso to get me out of the hospital that spent three weeks trying to kill me with their 24 hour infusions that had my feet swollen so badly I couldn't use flip flops, she had things beautifully organized, with wheelchairs and pushers waiting for me at every airport.

With my visa situation like it was, and knowing that the polícia were the last stop before boarding, I was obsessed with worry my that life would get complicated when they saw my illegal status.

We were the last people in line, and the chap at the booth didn't look overly friendly when they pushed me up to him. I gave him my passport and he thumbed through the pages. Not finding a current visa, he looked again, with more intensity than the first time. I was sick with worry.

He stared vacantly as I explained my situation. Then he said that he'd be right back, and disappeared through an ugly steel door.

It took only 15 minutes until the man reappeared with a piece of paper and my passport. He looked serious and the situation looked bad.

He said the fine and late payments came to over $3,000. That was a killer for me, but then he smiled, informing us that the money would come due only if I tried to return to Brazil in the future. He said he appreciated my ability to speak Portuguese and my ironic Brazilian attitude toward failure and tough times. We joked some about the political situation in his country, then my sister pushed me on board for the Orlando leg of the trip home.

The irony of my interaction with the polícia is that they had changed from the stern people they were when the military government gave them carte blanche, into an open, smiling department ready to bend any rule they considered pointless.

The young girl who allowed me to bypass the throng of Chinese and Gringo tourists when I arrived and the federal cop who gave us a financial break when my sister and I left were two of the best experiences I had while in country. The innocent cynicism of the old days is gone from Brazil now, and that's what allowed me to love the country back when we were both younger.