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It isn't easy to find the Immigration office in Oaxaca. Located on the third floor of an unmarked building some distance away from the city center, it takes a dedicated searcher to sniff it out, and when you get there you find that it does not keep what you think of as normal business hours. However, since immigration is a demand-driven business, and nobody there is looking for more clients, they have little need to advertise.

Oaxaca is a state capital, and the largest city between Puebla and the Guatemalan border, so it is not surprising that there are some pretty spiffy government offices to be found here. The immigration office is not one of them. The rooms are small, with low ceilings. Chairs are lined up against two walls, facing a corner desk-and-credenza where the most senior member of the office sits answering phones and typing all day, when she is not answering questions about procedure from her male colleagues who "Man" the intake desk that takes up the rest of the room and never touch a typewriter.

There is a separate office for the agente (director), a files - and - processing room, and a conference room. Recently, a steel slat park-style bench was added in the corridor, to handle the overflow. Open only from 9 a.m. to 2 p.m., Monday thru Friday, this is a busy and hectic place.

There are many different immigration statuses open to the foreign visitor. The most common one is the tourist visa, issued for up to 180 days. There are other limited-stay visas available, for example for clergy, reporters, students, artists and human rights observers. My own visa, for temporary residency, is a one-year, multiple entry and exit visa, renewable four times. (After that, I will be required to apply for a permanent residency permit, which is also good for one year, but which, after four renewals, allows me to stay in Mexico indefinitely without any further paperwork.) Last month, I went to get my second renewal.

I have been visiting this office for one reason or another for five years now, and I have never seen it as busy as it is lately. To a large extent, this is because the left hand and the right hand of the Migra are not pulling together.

In recent years, entering visitors have been receiving anywhere from 30 to 90 days on their tourist visa, even though by law they are entitled to 180. Those who wish to extend their stay beyond the limit set at the port of entry must present themselves, their visa and some form of proof of financial ability to remain (cash, traveler's checks, credit cards, atm bank balance receipt, etc.) at Immigration. People in this category make up the majority of applicants. Generally, provided they show up with the right information, the process is handled on the spot, with no need to return.

Most of the rest are folks like me, dealing with issues involving temporary residency. The process for us is a little more laborious. At a minimum, the prudent applicant will need to make three visits to the office: one to make sure the forms and the requirements have not changed; one to hand in the required paperwork and get a receipt; and one to pick up the renewed permit. The process for initial applications is a little more arduous, and may require as many as five or six visits. Still, when compared to having to leave the country and return every six months (which is, incidentally, illegal: tourists may not exceed a maximum of six months in any given year), it is the better deal by far.

Then there are the special cases: people who wish to work, or who have lost their tourist card, or who are changing their status to some other category such as student. While small in number, they are often long in the time they consume; and while sometimes tragic, they do provide a sort of comic relief as gringos with little or no Spanish try to explain to Mexicans with no English why they must have special treatment. Take "Mary" for example...

Mary lost her passport and her visa card. She doesn't know when it was lost (she says "stolen", although nothing else is missing, and she has no idea when, in the last month or more, it might have happened. When she came in to Mexico, she was given 60 days on her tourist visa. She wants to get it extended to 180 days. She thinks in English and speaks French. Her dictionary is French/English. The immigration agent, confused by her accent and her phrasing (from her French dictionary), spots me and asks me to please translate.

"They can't extend your visa, since you have no proof of when you entered the country," I say. She tells me she is getting a duplicate of her passport sent down from the States. "But the entry stamp is in your old passport, the one you don't have any more." Well, just keep talking, she says, they sometimes just give in if you keep talking long enough.

There are groans among the throng. "Ask the Jefe (the chief), please, if there is any way she can get some more time." He returns and says yes, she can have 30 days from today. She says to me, I bet if we keep talking, they'll give me 60. "I'm done talking," I say, and sit down. "They are being generous, considering for all they know you came in in the trunk of a car, six years ago, to escape from the U.S. authorities." She fusses a little more, and finally accepts her 30 days.

Finally, last in and therefore last out, I am called to the counter. I am asked for my receipt. I say that I handed it in to that other guy, the one who left a half hour ago, when I came in. No matter, just write your name here. A couple of minutes later, out she comes with my papers, and I go through the process of signing and dating six copies of declarations. I pick up my permit, thank her, and she responds "Have a VERY nice day", and gives me a big smile. I, after waiting two hours in this hot, poorly ventilated room with too many bodies in it, feel frazzled. She, having waded through a three-foot stack of typing, answered numerous questions, and put up with more than her share of dumb tourists for 8 hours, is relaxed, pleasant. No money changed hands, no names were mentioned, no secret signs exchanged. Just honest, hardworking civil servants doing their jobs. I leave the office, a smile on my face, ready for another year in Paradise.

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