to travel to Mexico

As a person with a nationality that does not get her to travel to other nations easily, I have to apply for traveling visa almost every time I go somewhere.

So I went to the Mexico Office in Manhattan (Consulate General of Mexico in NY) on a Friday morning, 10 days before my trip to Acapulco, Mexico. The building on the 39th Street between Madison and Park looked cultural and quiet. I walked to the door which was locked with a sign written in Spanish. Is it a Mexican holiday? I thought. Then a person walked by and pointed to a side door and told me to go there. He simply walked by and saw me confused and offered me help with a smile. I thought, what a nice guy.
I entered the building through a glass door. The security gate was obviously not working, for random things were stacked between the gate and no one was standing by or walking through the gate. Therefore, I went on.
A person, who looked no more than 21 years old in a blue security uniform, stopped me and asked what I was going to do here. I told him my purpose, and he turned around, retrieving a number tag for me. There was a number typed on one side and another number hand-written on the other side. Before I said thankyou, he already started talking to another visitor, so I kept going.

The place was like a market, not a westernized supermarket, but a flee market or a what we Taiwanese called a traditional food market. People were everywhere. I did not see any sort of organization but I could feel an organization. I did not panic but I knew I needed to figure out what kind of organization was, and followed it.
A girl, who looked no more than 21 years old in a polo shirt with an ID tag, came to me and asked me what business I would like to do here. I told her, and she said "Go to the 3rd floor". I asked where the stairs were. She pointed the direction.

There were people standing or sitting on the way toward the stairs or on the stairs. I walked up one floor, and a young man in the security uniform was sitting on the mid-level through-way between floors. He saw me and smiled. He did not ask me questions.

On the third floor, rows of chairs filled the small space between cubicles and an office. A few people were waiting on the chairs. I tapped on one waiter's shoulder, "Are you waiting for the traveling visa application?" The Indian man said yes, "Just wait here, and she will come out and call your number." I sat down and wondered who "she" was.
Ten or fifteen minutes later, more people came to wait and asked whether they were in the right place. A young lady with a ponytail came out the office and called names. Another lady, middle aged, with a figure of a mother came out another room, which had an illuminated sign "EXIT" above the door, and called names too.
Now I was more ensured that things were moving forward, and soon my name would be called. But wait... how would they know my name? A person in the waiting line must have been wondering the same thing, and he went up to the office and asked. The answer was "I will call your number. Please wait."
So I waited. And according to the numbers being called later, I was sure it was the hand-written number on my tag would be called.

I was trying to read a student's paper. However, a couple of Taiwanese were talking near me, and my speech recognition system was automatically listening to them. The girl was 25, and the guy was in his early 30s. The guy worked in a software company, trading things with China. The girl had worked in a Japanese company in Japan, went back to Taiwan for some time, and now came to the US for learning English. However, her English sounded much better than the guy's. They exchanged information that I would classified as basic information as if this was their first date. I hoped not.
Slowly, I reviewed the most part of the paper, and the couple were finished up with their application and paperwork. They left. I was relieved that I could enjoy my quiet waiting time. Then a middle-aged man initiated conversation with me. He was a shoe maker from Brazil. I did not know that people from South America had to apply for travel visa to Mexico, and I did not realize that Mexico was in North America.
We chatted until number 11 was called. I immediately stood up and told the ponytail lady that my number was 10 and had not been called. She welcomed me to her office while number 11 was sitting there. Ponytail took all my paperwork and asked me to wait outside. She was polite and nice, so I was polite and nice and waited.

The mother lady came out too and asked my number, and I told her the situation. She went to Ponytail and took my things and asked me to the EXIT room, which was actually a nicer office with an entire wall of windows.
"Mother" reviewed my documents and decided that I was well prepared, and she suggested me to get a 10-year visa. "I have your bank statements, credit card bills, paycheck receipts, and your offer letter. Oh, do you want to make a copy of the offer letter and paycheck receipts? I think they are very personal and you should only give me a copy and you keep the original."

So I went downstairs to make copies. The place was still like a market. Men and women and children were everywhere. I waited in line for the copy machine and was proud of myself that I found some implicit order in this culture. Hey, there was no sign for the line of the machine. The lady operating the machine nicely asked me how I would like to make the copies. She did what I said, and I returned to the 3rd floor.
After handing in the document copies, my picture was taken and my finger prints were captured. I got a ten-year travel visa to Mexico.

On the day of the departure, everyone except me checked in via a machine by themselves. I could not do it because I am not American or holding a green card. So I waited in line for a person to come over and make sure that I had the visa. He went "When are you coming back to the US? They gave you ten years?" and laughed a bit.
Before I was allowed to get on to the plane, a person was looking at my passport and confused. She never saw a Mexico travel visa. So an older guy came and told her that I was alright and let me get on the plane.
When I arrived in Mexico, most people went through the customs point very easily with a nice and loud sound of stamping on their passports. I was stopped for 10 minutes because the officer did not know what to do with my travel visa. Two other officers came and helped her. She was smiling at me all the time when looking at me. It was the same humble warm smile that I had experienced again and again when I was helped to the entrance to the Consulate General of Mexico in NY.

I did not feel very bothered by the whole thing even though much time was spent in waiting.
Honestly, all the Mexicans involved in my trivial visa story were so nice. They treated me as a good-natured human being. They did not question me or my visa. They talked to each other in Spanish and smiled at me. They did not make me feel that I was waiting for an insult or a harassment. So I smiled back and was patient, and here I am in Acapulco, Mexico.

Cheers.