Tag: customs

Border Crossings and Empty Airports

I’m sitting in the emptiest airport I’ve ever experienced. I suspect they only operate a couple of flights a day from Tacna.  Consequently my only company appears to be a bored check-in attendant for a different airline and a barman who’s mopping the floor.

And I’ve finished all my books. I have little else to do except get the phone out, take advantage of the free Wi-Fi in Peruvian airports and get blogging.

So, let me tell you about how to get from Arica in Chile to Tacna in Peru.

The two cities are only some 40km apart, but transport between them isn’t what you might expect.

The simplest way is to get your hotel to order a taxi to your destination on the other side. They will deal with the crossing, but from Chile this can be expensive, running at around £35.  Similarly, in the opposite direction it’s perfectly possible to get ripped off, as I did last week when I arrived here.

You need two things…your passport and some local currency. In Arica you can take a taxi for £2 to the “Terminal Internacional” where you’ll expect buses but will actually see a huge number of USAnian cars.  You find a driver going to the border pay the station fee (200 pesos, 40p) and then go to an office to do some paperwork.  You then get shown to your collectivo.

These are always US cars of various vintage. I got a really seventies Crown Victoria driven by a brassy old lady whose hair waved in the wind out of the window.  The car contained 5 passengers…a handy one extra than a European or Eastern equivalent, hence more profit.  For her troubles you pay just 2000 pesos, about £3.

She took us to the border, made sure we were OK and left.  There, waiting, were other collectivos heading to Tacna. They all pass the airport, so no problem. You go through Chilean customs and then get driven the short distance to Peruvian customs, again in a USAnian car, albeit this time I got a more modern but nondescript GM thingy.  Cost here was 2500 pesos (they take Chilean money cheerfully.)

That’s it. For less than a tenner you can cross the border.  Don’t do like I did the other way last time and get ripped off by a driver taking you to the airport…you should spend more than about £5 to reach the border from the airport even by taxi as it isn’t far.  Ask first for the price.  Also check whether it’s all the way to Arica, or just to the border (say ‘aduana.’)

Arica – Day 1 – Arrangements

Phew… so what a day.  It started off with a cold shower and a blandly unsatisfying breakfast of a cheese sandwich, juice and tea.  But whilst eating a man came up to me and introduced himself as Joaquin Alvarez… the Honorary British Consul in Arica!  It was an unexpected surprise… I thought I was meeting him later in the day.

Sadly it was just a few minutes as he teaches English in the mornings.  But one thing I have to remark upon is that he immediately expressed astonishment at how similar I looked, sounded and behaved like my father.  He had been a friend of my father’s for years, not knowing of any family, and to see a similar, younger version standing in front of him.  It was a shock to him.

Later, we met properly, and we talked.  I’d brought him some union jacks and tea as a thank you for his help so far.  I didn’t expect the help he was about to give.

First the formalities… he showed me the paperwork he had, and my father’s passport.  This was the moment when I’d see what my father looked like recently.  In the picture was a tired man looking older than his 60 years.  But it was definitely him.  I will take a picture and add it to this post later.

Joaquin then took me to the hospital to discuss the matter of the hospital fees.  My father had been in the intensive care unit, and these had added up.  The positions were argued as so:

From the perspective of the hospital, a fee would be necessary in order to secure my father’s body and to help pay their costs.

From the perspective of the consul, many Bolivians and other illegal immigrants die in the hospital and there is never any money to pay for their care.

From the perspective of the social worker, if I was rich enough, and cared enough, to travel halfway round the world then I could surely afford to pay the fees.

The discussion went on.  As you may have seen in my earlier post, I had a particular position I planned on setting out.  In the end, we came to an agreement… I would pay half, and there would be an unofficial agreement that should I have more money in the future I could make a donation to the hospital.

This seemed to satisfy everyone enough to make progress.

The next stage was finding an undertaker, and to choose the coffin.  Now that was odd.  I discovered a few cultural things:

  1. Hearses here are white, and often just large American estate cars.
  2. In the UK a basic coffin is a pine wood thing in what we consider to be a classic coffin shape.  In Chile it’s the same shape as typical US coffins… but covered in fake fur.  I’m still trying to work out how that’s cheaper than a layer of varnish, but it is.
  3. There isn’t necessarily a church service… it’s just straight from hospital to cemetary.
  4. Most funerals tend to take place within 24hrs of death.  Over a month is extremely unusual.
  5. Cremation is rare and therefore a very expensive option.

Once a coffin of suitable size for a six footer (people here are short) had been found we were off to the cemetary. I had to settle for a sort of beige fur, incidentally, so my father looks like he’s being interred in a poorly cut Bungle costume.

Chilean cemetery by rob-sinclair, flickr, cc-sa

And the cemetary was a real eye-opener.  You can’t bury people when your town is built on rock.  So instead, it’s simpler to build what look a little like mini concrete apartment blocks into which the coffins are inserted.  See the picture above right.  The cemetary is also surprisingly brightly coloured.  In due course I will take pictures… it’s a fascinating difference in the way death is treated here.

And you know what amazed me most today? The effort put in by Joaquin, the consul.  He spent six hours with me, going backwards and forwards between the hospital, banks and funeral parlours.  He made a string of phone calls, and helped me way beyond the call of duty.  Truly, a great man.  I’m lucky, really.