There comes a time during every ex-pat’s trip when the “maximum date” allowed on the visa approaches scarily close to the actual date staring back at you on the calendar. If you’ve already approached the Foreigner’s Department and paid $100 for a 90-day extension, have no plans to leave, in fact have already signed a contract for an apartment in an uber-cool part of an even uber-er-cool city, what do you do?

Border Run.

Listen, it sounds shady and illegal and maybe it is in a 100% upstanding-law-abiding-citizen-of-the-world sort of way. But I’m not the only one who relies heavily on this legal loophole. The governments know that extranjeros (foreigners) frequently leave a country for a matter of days or weeks only to return to wherever it was they were staying just to get that extra 90 days. It can be done indefinitely, I suppose, until Immigration starts asking questions. Luckily, it can take years for that to happen. I don’t plan to raise any eyebrows down here, so once it gets suspicious I’ll apply for a different type of visa. Eventually.

This isn’t my first foray with the Border Run. My first experience was Guatemala-Belize when I had my internship with Cafe Yax-ha back in 2008. My friend Annie and I spent a glorious weekend among Mayan Ruins basking in the sun and the strange English of Belize, eating shrimp tacos and sleeping in hammocks outdoors. The Border Run is oftentimes a forced vacation. The level of enjoyment is determined by your attitude and your bank account. Luckily for me, the former is usually pretty good and the second one, well, I’ll make do.

Step One: Buy a ticket to the nearest foreign destination. In this case, it’s Mendoza, Argentina, right in the middle of wine country.  It’s only a 6 or 7 (or 8…or 9?) hour bus ride. The only option they had was the overnight bus. Onward to wine country!

Step Two: Pack very little. Unless your Border Run is a multi-week adventure, this is a chance to experience lightweight travel. Which, for me, is a rarity akin to arriving anywhere at the time I said I’d be there, or spotting Bigfoot. I came to Mendoza with a backpack – a regular school backpack, mind you – and my purse. Here are some of the things I left behind: my towel, my yoga mat (EGADS!), all shoes except the ones on my feet, all pants except the ones on my legs, and the variety of clothing that normally accompanies me and fills up the backpack and ipso facto weighs me down. INCREDIBLE. Editor’s Note: I did bring underwear.

Step Three: Go through Customs and Immigrations without any eyebrows being raised or questions asked. If you take the night bus, this will occur precisely at 4am, right during the deepest part of your profoundly-uncomfortable semi-cama bus ride. The night air will feel like Ohio on one of the coldest nights you can remember and you will wait in line for an hour. You will repeatedly thank the heavens that you brought your winter parka and eventually consume the walnuts you had reserved for food for the next day. However, you will successfully smuggle in the apple you really wanted to eat for breakfast because nobody on the Argentinian side actually checked anyone’s luggage, leading you to formulate an extensive list of all the things you could have smuggled in but didn’t.

Step Four: Witness the sunrise on your winding Andean bus trip that all the other passengers the next day said was nauseating and terrifying but surprisingly was the best sleep of your life…despite the profoundly-uncomfortable semi-cama seat.

HEY, NICE COLORS MOTHER NATURE.
THOSE ANDES AREN’T TOO BAD EITHER.
(Note: Andes Mountains not pictured here.)

Step Five: Arrive to said destination at 8am, buy your return ticket for either the next day or the day after, and wander the city. Locate pink-water-spurting fountain. Drink a coffee and do some work long-distance.

At 8:30am, this was a treat. The city was still waking up and I was able to have a quiet, solo walk around the center.

Step Six: Meander aimlessly, revel in the hot sun and the new sights and the distinct European feel of the streets despite the fact that Argentina is so close to Chile. Eavesdrop on grisly old Argentinian men discussing business. Locate a yoga studio. Converse with hostelmates once you make it over there.

Step Seven: Remember why you reserved the hostel (money! It’s so cheap! How could you NOT?) and remind yourself of this strongly when you find your bed.

Mine is the middle bed of the three-tiered bunk system.

Step Eight: Repeat steps 6 and 7 as necessary until the departure date. Make sure the wine tour falls in there somewhere as well.

I think this is a fairly comprehensive border run guide. I will update as necessary if I discover any missing crucial bits to the Border Run Guide. For now, though, I hope this can aid some of you as you seek to cross borders, renew visas, and otherwise enjoy life on the fringe.