How to get a Colombian Work Visa... or how to voluntarily torture yourself for 4-6 months

First of all, to even consider applying for a Colombian work visa, you have to have a job offer in Colombia. This part of the process I have little insight on, as I was offered a job at a school where I was volunteering. I'm lucky. This guide begins after the job offer.

1. You must convince your future employer to send the necessary documents in a timely manner. This sounds simple, but due to the varying ideas of time in Latin America and the USA, it is not as easy as it should be. For example, if you begin asking for the paperwork in July, you might actually receive it (after progressing to harrassment and sending at least 15 emails a week) sometime near the end of September. If you're lucky.

2. You then must gather up all the contents required for your application. The list is available on the Colombian consulate website. (Of course, you have to make sure you are checking with the correct consulate, as they are determined by the state you live in, not the one that is actually closest to you.) The list of contents will undoubtedly be in complicated Spanish or poorly translated English or both. It will not make sense and there will not be anyone for you to contact to ask questions. This is normal. Deal.

3. Along with the more normal requirements for a visa (multiple copies of every page in your passport, ridiculously large sums of money, your grandmother's sister's birth certificate, and possibly a finger or two), you must have an apostilled copy of your diploma (which is a copy with fake signatures of important people in the state department, a gold sticker, and a price tag of 20 bucks) and passport photos.

4. Your future employer needs to send you a variety of documents, written in Spanish and notarized in Colombia. These include a few copies of your work contract (that you won't understand anymore than you understand tax forms written in English), a letter from the Colombian government that authorizes the school to hire you even though there are thousands of unemployed people in Colombia (essentially it has to say that only you are cool enough for that job), and a letter from the employer that promises it will pay to ship you home if you become a drain on society.

5. After all of this, you will need to make an appointment to go to the consulate so they can see that you are, in fact, a living, breathing human being. Of course, despite the fact that this is a requirement, they will not ever answer the phone or call you back.

6. After calling for two weeks, someone finally answers the phone. Even though she lives in Chicago and probably has for a reasonable amount of time AND even though she most definitely works in an international office, she will only speak Spanish to you. Eventually, she agrees to make you an appointment, but makes sure you realize that it is very inconvenient for you to do so, and wonders why you would even dream of going to the trouble of calling her and making her work.

7. You invest an entire weekend and two days of work into driving to Chicago, or whatever consulate you need to go to. For this, you must get someone to sub for you at work. You must also stay in a hotel, so you might as well take advantage of this and spend Halloween in Chicago. And go shopping. And see the big fish at the aquarium.

8. You arrive early for your interview with the consulate on Monday morning. You are dressed up-- dress & heels, the works. The security guard, who looks suspiciously Colombian, tells you the office isn't open until the exact time of your appointment, and refuses to let you enter the building. You go next door and wait it out.

9. A few minutes before your appointment, you return to the building. The security guard now allows you to sign in. She needs your name, your blood type, your favorite movie, your dog's favorite movie, and your purpose on the planet. Oh- and the last 4 digits of your credit card and your social security number.

10. You finally make it to the elevator on your way to the office of the Colombian consulate. For some unexplained reason, there are already 15 people in the office that was supposed to have JUST opened, and you must wait.

11. After waiting 30 minutes, a lady calls you up and looks through your paperwork. You've organized it neatly into two piles, the originals and the copies, and have marked everything with small post-its. She takes everything--paper clips, post-its, staples--off your documents and mixes them together. After reviewing it multiple times, she announces that you do not have a paper that proves that the company actually exists. You point to various government documents that OBVIOUSLY prove the company exists, but no, there is no "Certificate of Existence." She denies your visa, tells you to get a life, and sends you home. She does the same thing to your boyfriend. You never even have time to take off your coat.

12. You go back home, depressed. You contemplate whether living in Colombia is actually worth it. You email your future employer in desperation, explaining how much time and money you have already lost in this endeavor. The employer makes phone calls. Explains to the consulate that it is being ridiculous. Then your future employer sends the paper that it forgot the first time.

13. You mail all your documents again, with a money order this time.

14. They receive and process one visa application. Your boyfriend's application, however, included a money order that was 50 CENTS too much because the guy who did it screwed up, so his visa is denied.

15. Your boyfriend must re-send the documents, with a new money order. He does.

16. You receive a call that your visa is ready and will be mailed that day. However, your boyfriend's visa is denied again because they've recently decided his passport photos were taken too close to his face. He needs to pay $30 for new passport photos.

17. Your visa still hasn't arrived. It's been 2 weeks. You are supposed to leave in a month and you still don't have plane tickets. You get nervous and consider backing out again. You're fairly positive your passport is lost in the mail. You re-write your resume.

18. Your passport shows up the next day. It was postmarked a few days ago. Apparently, after the consulate called to tell you they mailed it, they actually hung on to it for a few days and enjoyed laughing at your nose, and then they mailed it a week later.

19. Your boyfriend's passport arrives a few days later.

20. You buy plane tickets. One way. A few weeks later you arrive at the airport, ready to fly to Colombia. Delta Airlines doesn't understand why your ticket is one-way. You show them your visa and explain you aren't coming home for a year. You explain you need to get on this plane. They look at you quizically, let EVERYONE ELSE board the plane, and decide that, yes, it is okay for you to go to Colombia. Of course, first you have to fly to Atlanta, then Aruba, then Bogota, and then FINALLY P---.

21. You actually arrive in Colombia a few weeks later (okay, 15 hours later). Generally speaking, it all goes smoothly, although Delta Airlines sucks and you almost miss the plane to Aruba and then you almost lose your luggage in Aruba. Aruba is a bad place for a layover. Delta Airlines remains totally unhelpful. As usual. Avianca Airlines couldn't be better. The man at immigration doesn't seem entirely pleased to see you, but he stamps your passport and lets you enter on the basis that you promise to leave when your visa expires.

22. You enjoy a few lovely days in Colombia and then realize you need to register as legal aliens. To do so, you need a document that shows your blood type, 6 (SIX!!) photos of yourself, a receipt that proves you deposited a large sum of money ($85) in the Colombian government's bank account, multiple copies of your passport and visa, and a winning personality.

23. You go to La Cruz Roja (Red Cross) to get a blood test. They also offer a variety of other services, in case you are interested, related to things like hepatitis and urgent care. It smells a bit like a toilet, but you find out your blood type.

24. You then get your picture taken. It must be on a blue background, 3 cm by 4 cm, and you shouldn't smile, but they forget to tell you that part. For a few critical moments, the world stops as everyone tries to figure out if you should have the picture retaken because you smiled in the first one. Then everyone deems it okay, including President Uribe, and laughs it off. You become the stupid American who smiled.

Oh--at some point during this process, you pay 70 cents for multiple copies of your passport and visa.

25. The next morning you go to the DAS office, which is surrounded by bike racks to keep people out. There are already 100 people in line, but the nice Colombian woman who was sent with you talks to the security guard and you get to go straight in. Bonus for being foreign, apparently. Inside, the man explains that you must make an appointment and asks if you can come back in 2 weeks. No, you can't, because you'll be teaching and also because you are supposed to do this within 15 days of entering the country.

26. Your employer calls DAS and demands they allow you to register as an alien today. The man comes and gets you and looks through your documents. He announces that your copies were not made correctly. You must make new copies of your passport, visa, and blood type card and come back. The nice Colombian woman who is helping you agrees to handle this. A lady from your employer's office arrives and hands you receipts showing that you have paid the necessary fees.

27. The DAS worker has you sign a lot of forms that are written in Spanish and then fingerprints you... 27 times. 27. Yes, the Colombian government now has 27 copies of your fingerprint, and you are totally covered in black ink.

28. You have to fill out a variety of forms that list your genealogical history, favorite kind of cookie, an explanation of why you would prefer to not eat masamora, your weight, height, and hair and eye color. The DAS worker insists that you are blonde and have green eyes, even though you most definitely are brunette and have brown eyes. After a few moments of discussion, it is decided that you have light brown hair and light brown eyes. Since no one around (including you) has any idea of how to convert feet into meters, they have you stand near someone, ask how tall she is in cm, and then add a few cm to that for good measure.

29. They ask you where you were born. The only options in Missouri are St. Louis and Jefferson City. Luckily, you were born in St. Louis County and agree that it will work. They then ask you where you received your visa. You discover that in the Colombian government, Illinois is spelled Ikkinoid. This amuses you. However, you find it odd that despite the fact that the government has a consulate in Chicago, the only city available in Ikkinoid in Springfield. They decide you received your visa in an unnamed city in the United States. This is fine.

30. Finally, your receive your alien registration number and they announce you will receive your Colombian identity card in the mail in a few days. On your way out the door (after only 2 hours!) they hand you a postcard with a picture of their (ugly) building decked out for Christmas and "Feliz Ano" typed on the back.

And that, my friends, is how you get a Colombian work visa.