It seems like there isn’t one system for border crossings. Crossing the border for the 3rd time was very different from earlier crossings. I went from Futaleufú, about 10km from the border in Chile, to Esquel, about 64km further, in Argentina. It involved a short ride in the minibus, walking across, and picking up a filthy, old bus on the other side. All of this is possible on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays, until March comes in, when it only goes twice a week.
At the Chilean border there was only one office. It seemed like, regardless of whether you were entering or exiting, you’d have to get in the same line. It wasn’t too busy and the guy on duty quickly stamped my passport and gave me a small paper on which he had written ‘a pie’, ‘on foot’. We only exchanged a hello and nothing else was asked during this process.
It was a short walk to Argentina, where I again found one office. A long line was quickly forming, but I felt like I was ahead of the crowds. At the entrance someone asked for the white paper and mentioned Chile hadn’t stamped it. It didn’t seem to be a problem, but he wanted to confirm that I wanted to enter Argentina. When I checked my passport I noticed the Chilean stamp was an entry stamp. I worried. The American girl behind me had the same problem. Eventually the guy just waved us through to Argentina customs. Even though I had the white paper, they first asked if I was leaving. I said I wanted to enter, had to give the address of my hostel and was let in. The white paper now had an Argentinian stamp, unlike my passport, which has no evidence of having been in Argentina. And I got to keep the white paper. I was unsure what to do with it, but was glad to have a kind of proof that I’d entered Argentina that day. I mean, a few days later I’d head back to Chile! “Hey, what’s a hostel I can stay at?”, shouts a girl from one of the customs windows as I’m getting my bags through an Xray machine. I show her my booking. That she doesn’t have a reservation doesn’t matter. She just needs an address to be able to cross the border.
One and a half weeks later I made the hop back over the border. This time I got on the bus in Trevelin, which is slightly closer to the border than Esquel. I wasn’t sure where the bus would stop, so I sent a what’s app to the company. They replied that they didn’t know either, but they’d check with the driver. At 10.30pm I got a voice message from an unknown number with a Dart Vader picture. I thought it was spam, but listened to it. It was someone from the bus company, telling me I’d be fine if I waited on the collectivo stop on the main street. I still didn’t know where to go. Luckily the girl at the hostel pointed me in the right direction when it was time to leave.
There was already a family waiting at the stop. The woman seemed very nervous and wanted to know everything about the bus. They’d been told it would come at 8, but it actually leaves around 8.30am. They were only going for a day trip. The bus arrived with the same driver as last time and we were on our way. We stopped a bunch of times, letting people off at seemingly quiet places. The Argentinian border was empty when we arrived and getting the exit check done went quickly. I was surprised I had to put my things through the Xray machine again. Did they think I’d smuggle out precious goods? Also, cars didn’t get a thorough check at all. It’s all very random.
Back in Chile I crossed my fingers. However, I got no questions at all about my previous entry stamp. I guess their online system was updated with the right info and within two minutes I had another stamp. I walked to the minivan and dropped my backpack in the back. Then a woman came to ask if I’d filled out the online declaration. I had literally walked passed 3 customs people and none of them had approached me. So she had to chase me. I took my luggage out again and went into a little office with computers to fill out a form declaring I was not bringing in any fresh foods. I had to take a photo of the end result to show the officers, but they didn’t even look at it. They just asked me again. I even had to open my bags. Someone zipped open my small bag. It was stuffed with things, which made him give up. Another man asked me what was in my backpack as I started unloading. When I’d assured him I only brought some rice and tea, I could stop and stuffed everything back in.
I was still among the first passengers in the van and had to wait for it to fill. The ride back to Futaleufú was quick and felt familiar. One night here, before moving on to new territory!
