Permission to Travel

Wangechi Mutu ©

After 4 months of studies it was time to leave Buenos Aires. It was not easy, as I had grown fond of my host family— but with all due respect, it was the laundromat across the street that I would miss most. For less then $2, I could send in a dirty pile of clothes and return to collect a flower-scented package of ironed cleanliness. So where to now? Our plan was to have no plan. My primary concern was whether or not I could get a visa at the point of entrance.

Chile...no problem. One does not require a visa if traveling in by ground. After 2 weeks of visiting a mutual friend there, we headed to Bolivia. Thirty dollars later, I was stamped in. We drove in, witnessing the public vans kissing one behind the other, with vendors pouring from the doors on the side of the Nissan minibuses cajoling customers—it was borderline harassment. I smiled so hard out of familiarity that I started drooling. One week there, and we were off again.

Another day, another border; another visa, another dollar! This time it was at the bootleg immigration office on the Peruvian side of the Bolivia-Peru border. Not only did I require a visa for Peru, but I would have to catch a bus back to La Paz since the Peruvian immigration did not offer the visas at the border! I batted my eyelids. No success. He took my passport and walked out of the room. I followed him to the closet of an office across the hall. All of a sudden, I felt like a criminal. As he was outside consulting with a group of colleagues, I went into his office and circumspectly took my passport from the table. I left, and without looking back, on the bus we sped off into the flat dusty plains of Peru. Now I was truly a criminal!

I did not think it would be an issue leaving Peru since I had planned to take the bus into Ecuador and just skip the Peruvian exit office. With a change in plans, I was to catch a flight out instead and head to Brazil. This time, they would not let me board the plane! Thanks to a sincere award-winning puppy face, as well as a little candy-coated truth about why I had not been stamped into the country, the official signaled me to cross through as soon as his supervisor disappeared from the corridor. And just like that I was onboard. With Brazil, I did not take any chances—I got my visa in advance while still in Argentina. And besides, any country that is bold enough to charge Americans $130 for a visa (in reciprocity for an identical fee that America charges), but lowers the rate to $20 for most of us foreign nationals, is well

worth advance planning!

Looking back at both the good and not so pleasant experiences, the lesson learned was how to journey light: in luggage, budget, and most importantly, in spirit. Only then do you realize that YOU are your permission to travel.