Apparently different borders are managed differently, and, coupled with some border agent’s dislike for gringos, crossing into Mexico unofficially is much easier than I ever would’ve imagined.
Shortly after we entered into the Mexican border city, Ciudad Acuña, we went looking for the office to buy insurance and/or a permit for Suby. Having heard that there was some sort of official requirements to drive across the country, we thought the office would be obvious. Though Ciudad Acuña is not a particularly large city, and after a brief cosmopolitan cruise, we found ourselves on the highway out of town. So, in an effort to keep the journey going, we figured we’d check the next municipality. A couple other small cities came and went, and we found ourselves entering Saltillo, our end destination for the day. That evening, after some fruitless research, we went in search of food, and, sadly, ended the night with 7-11 takeout and a poor wifi connection.
The next morning we started with a simple hotel breakfast of eggs, fruit, yogurt, and granola, and promptly continued on our merry way. A few hours down the highway, a member of the Policía Federal Preventiva pulled into the lane next to us and started to motion for us to pull over.
The agent, a surprisingly gentle and kind man, checked our documents, and politely informed us that Suby was here illegally. She could be towed and imprisoned due to the fact that we were outside of the “Free Zone”, an area that encompasses Mexico’s northern border. The area covers the Baja peninsula, a large portion of Sonora, and, for the remaining border states, an area 20km to 26km from the border. Within this “Free Zone”, out of country vehicles do not require an “Importación Temporal de Vehículo” or Temporary Vehicle Importation Permit. We were, perhaps, a mere 600kms beyond this zone, so we thanked the agent for informing us of our offence, and continued on with knots in our stomachs, and a modest 800 pesos lighter.
After a palpably tense and quiet few hours of driving, we arrived at our accommodation for the night in San Luís Potosí, eager to get connected to the wifi in order to figure out what to do next. Luckily, we were able to get in contact with a good friend, a Mexican man more familiar with the local bureaucracy than we were, and he reassured us that he would make some calls and get back to us soon. A short time later, our Mexican friend relayed to us that all of this could be resolved by going to a Banjercito office, and there is one in Mexico City, which just happened to be our next destination.
The next morning, we continued toward Mexico City with nervous, yet optimistic anticipation. Part way down the highway, we were confronted with a rather large traffic jam, due to highway construction. As we sat bumper to bumper, with an occasional roll forward, we were on high alert for any vehicles that resembled the Policía Federal Preventiva. Fortunately, any agents in the area seemed to be distracted by the present circumstances.
After a bit of off-roading (more about that in another post) and a missed exit resulting in an unwanted tour of Santiago de Querétaro, we were on the last stretch of highway before the edge of Mexico City. We entered the perimeter of Mexico’s capital city just as rush hour was getting started, and, despite having three levels on some of the popular commuter roads, our velocity halved and our estimated remaining travel time doubled.
Our hopes of arriving to our friend’s place at a reasonable time diminished at the sight of a pair of Transitos, the traffic police, who had motioned for us to pull over. Apparently we had violated some sort of rule where foreigners are not allowed to drive during rush hour (which upon researching, was made up extension of an actual law regarding the morning rush hour, presumably to extort money from us). Completely uninformed and knowing Suby was an illegal alien, we did our best to work through the good cop, bad cop routine that the duo was pulling. Ironically, the Transitos seemed completely unconcerned by the obvious lack of driving permit. The absence of which indicated by the conspicuously unadulterated windshield, where a large sticker would have appeared, had Suby been properly imported. After a considerable amount of back and forth, a purposefully unsuccessful stop at an ATM, and our wallets considerably lighter with all currencies removed besides a handful of Canadian coins, we managed to find our way to our friend’s neighbourhood. The sense of relief felt upon seeing a familiar face with knowledge of the ways of Mexico was exactly what was needed at that moment.
Our friend guided us back to his residence where we were presented with warm, delicious soup, and the promise of a trip to the Banjercito office in the morning.
The next morning, the optimism in the air was electric as we polished off our morning coffee in anticipation of our trip to the Banjercito office. A short while later, we were pulling up to the airport. Armed with directions, we marched right over to the section that was the home of the Banjercitos.
After a brief interaction, we were devastatingly informed that the process we needed to complete could not be done at this office; only a border Banjercito office was able. Our hopes were now turned into devastation. We’re literally in the middle of the country… Now what?
Travelling Foodie Adventures 