Today, for the first time in two and a half months, it rained all morning. So, imagine the following with heavy rain. Two long lines in front of the bank. Soaking wet, elderly Peruvians, presumably collecting their pensions, and two tourists. I'm put in the shorter line, but it still takes a long time until it's my turn.
The bank clerk informs me graciously that he can't issue me an invoice until he has an order form, and I get that...where?...at the border. Seriously! 3 km from here, exactly where I was two days ago... AT THE BORDER! I have a kind of flashback, a scene from 10 years ago at the immigration office in Bolivia. I was with Claudio. We stood in a long line only to be told at the front that I had to wait at a different counter. There, at the front, I was sent back to the first counter... At the first counter, they needed a copy of my passport, for which I had to run across town to a shop, because there was no copier at the Migracion. Back again, I was told at a new counter that they needed two more copies... At this point, I was practically fuming, ran back to the copy shop, brought back the new copies, and after hours in the pleasant Migracions lounge, I was told that I could pick up my passport and renewal tomorrow, because they were closing right then. That was the end of the fun, I'd had enough, I'd completely lost it. Claudio simultaneously translated what I uttered, half-fainting with rage. There was a sudden awkward silence in the shop. The employees, who were chatting relaxedly among themselves and the ones watching TV, suddenly started moving, called the manager, who tried to calm me down, and, oh miracle, five minutes later, I got the passport and renewal.
Translated by Google •
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