After two hours sitting in a dodgy bus station in Zone 1 of Guatemala City, I was already on edge when my Guatemalteco bus arrived at the El Salvador border, and already prepared with my 'No tengo dinero' excuse when some corrupt immigration official tried to scam some money out of my wallet. However this time I wouldn´t actually be lying, as I didn't have any money in my wallet, one of the reasons I was already on edge: if there was a genuine country exit fee that had to be paid before I crossed over into El Salvador, I was in trouble.
I hurried off the bus and into the immigration office. Iff there was a problem, I wanted to have more time to sort it before the bus drove off into the sunset without me, as happened when I crossed over from Mexico to the US. Or at least enough time to get my rucksack off the bus, before it drove off without me.
When the Guatemalan border official stamped my passport and slid it back across the counter casually, I stood staring at him, shellshocked. Was this really it? Was he really not going to try and seperate some money from my wallet? I had been expecting lies. Arguments. Begging. Tears. And me spending the night sleeping at the Guatemala/El Salvador border whilst I worked out how the hell I was going to get back to an ATM at the nearest town in Guatemala without any money for a bus fare.
I skipped back to the bus in jubilation. I relaxed in my seat, as the rest of the passengers returned. I started to get excitement about visiting another country on my travels through the Americas, as the bus drove out of Guatemala. I cheerfully handed my passport to the Salvadoraño immigration officer that got on the bus a hundred metres into El Salvador. And the colour drained from my face as he looked at my passport, then shook his head and said - 'Tenemos un problema.'
- '¿Habla Español?' he frowned, as I stared back at him in speechless disbelief.
How the hell could we have a problem?
- 'Tu passporte dice veinte siete de Julio, pero hoy es veinte cuatro.'
I stared at my passport and then at my watch. The Guatemalan had stamped my passport with 27th July. Today was the 24th. I was not supposed to be arriving in San Salvador until three days into the future.
- 'Tenemos un problemo.' the El Salvador border official repeated, as he shook his head again. - 'Necesito hablar con mi jefe.'
Why? I asked myself as he disappeared off the bus with my passport to speak to his boss, and the rest of the passengers stared at the white-faced extranjero with the wrong date on his passport. Why do these sorts of things always happen to me?
