What happens when you “lose” your passport in the Philippines
I don’t suppose this post will be very helpful to someone who actually needs this information. It’s too late by then and you couldn’t look for this post, since your laptop has just been stolen; however, I offer it as an explanation of the tardiness of this month’s blog post… and for whatever amusement it may offer.
I was attending a trade show in Manila this month, working on my laptop in the booth when a representative of the US embassy arrived for a chat. I closed my laptop and slid it into my case and turned around to converse with the embassy officer. Within 2 minutes, I turned to reach for my computer and it was gone! Case and all… passport, all sorts of accessories… it took only a moment for it to sink in. The booth was not large and there was no explanation for it’s sudden disappearance other than the intervention of an opportunistic thief. No one saw anything.
Not one to dwell on spilt milk, I turned my attention to replacement strategies. First, I had to get a new passport — pronto! Then an exit stamp so I could leave the Philippines; then a new visa to enter the next country on my itinerary, China; then a new visa so I could return to my base in Viet Nam.
The passport replacement was the easiest feat and the American embassy in Manila was reasonably accommodating (though they did make me come back the next morning to begin the process causing a one-day delay. The next day, I showed up in the morning, showed my driver’s license, was directed to a photo booth onsite, paid my fee, and was told to return at 1:00 pm to pick up my emergency passport, which I have to replace within one year (I can apply the fee to the new passport, a nice touch). And, helpfully, I was provided with a map to the Philippines Department of Immigration to get an exit stamp so I could leave the country.
Getting my Philippines exit stamp was where the fun started. I began at the Information Desk, where I was directed to window 6. After a short wait in line, I explained what I needed and was given a form to fill out and asked for a copy of my new passport. “I don’t have a copy of it. Here it is you can see it.”
“You must provide a copy of it,” she maintained.
“OK, where can I get a copy made?” She pointed to a man standing next to a copy machine across the room. What astonishing luck! For only a few pesos, he made a copy of my passport and I was on my way.
Next, I was directed to window 8 for payment. I handed the clerk the documents that I had; she looked through them, made some notes, took my money, handed the papers back to me, and told me to go back to the Information Desk. Back at the Information Desk, I again explained that I needed an exit stamp in my new emergency passport.
“Where is you folder?” I was asked.
“I don’t have a folder.” I replied.
“You must have a long folder.”
“Where can I get one?”
“Over there,” she gestured across the room. On the other side of the waiting room was a “store,” whose sole product was manila folders. I bought one for 20 pesos and returned.
“Where is your clasp?” inquired the clerk impatiently.
“I don’t have a clasp,” I replied.
“You must have a clasp so I can fasten your papers,” she informed me.
“Where can I get a clasp?” She again gestured to the store across the room. Apparently, they sell two products at this store. Seeing my obvious dismay, she changed her mind and decided to punch the holes in the folder herself and supplied a clasp from her desk drawer. She then looked over her shoulder into a small room staffed with four people who were all busy. She directed me to sit down and wait. So I did.
After awhile, I noticed that people were coming and going from the small room at random. There was no numbering system and the woman who told me to sit had walked away. Not wanting to spend the rest of the day there, I walked up to the desk, papers in hand, to see if I could gain admittance to the back room — I had no idea what I would do if this worked — but it seemed the next step. It worked! I made it to the first desk (which had a leg cut off since it was actually protruding into a stairway). There was nowhere to sit, so I stood waiting for a young man to examine my papers and ask me what I needed. I explained again. He wrote: See Larry, room 306 on a post-it note and said, “Third floor.”
I was making progress! A few flights of stairs later, I was at room 306, but Larry had gone home for the day. “Who does the work Larry does when Larry is not here?” I inquired. A woman took my papers and kept them. “You need to go to ‘Receiving,’ window 21 on the first floor. OK. back down stairs. Not sure what happens at receiving.
Upon reaching the front of the line at window 21, “What do you want?” the clerk asked. I explained. “Where are your papers?”
“The woman on the third floor kept them,” I replied. The next fifteen minutes elapsed as numerous people searched for my papers.
Finally, the clerk asked, “What window did you start at?” I told him, “Window 6.”
“Go there,” he suggested. I left window 21, but I decided to go back up to the third floor where I last saw my papers — why would window 6 have my papers? Arriving back at room 306, the woman who kept my papers informed me that I needed to take my papers with me to window 21. Ahhh, now we’re getting somewhere!
Back at window 21, I cut to the front of the line (by then I was beginning to understand their system). The clerk recognized me and took my papers and date stamped them, adding his initials. OK, back to room 306! Now that my papers had been properly “received,” I thought I was home free. Wrong. The woman took my papers into another room and soon returned saying that I needed an affidavit. “What sort of affidavit?” I asked, “I can write an affidavit,” I said confidently.
“No, no, this must be done by a lawyer!” she proclaimed.
“Ok,” where can I find a lawyer to do this right now?” I asked.
“See the security guard on the first floor,” she answered, rolling her eyes, obviously realizing that it was past closing time, and offering me this information was going to delay her going home. The security guard at the front door knew exactly what I needed and made a quick phone call.
In a few moments, a casual looking fellow arrived asking, “You need an affidavit?” I followed him and at his urging we ran through the streets in order to make it back before the staff went home. We took a left down an alley and arrived at an outdoor office with a shed roof and four secretaries sitting at computers typing out affidavits. For only 300 pesos, I soon had a very professional-looking affidavit stating that my passport had been stolen, signed and stamped by an attorney.
I raced back to room 306 on the third floor and found my clerk still waiting for me. She again took my papers to the mysterious back room where a someone with great authority reviewed my papers and pronounced them properly executed. My clerk then stamped my passport and wrote a note in it — mission accomplished!
Actually, the whole process was not difficult, just inefficient. The place was staffed with a lot of people, but lacking clear procedures & systemization, and with a bit of opportunistic entrepreneurialism going on. What could have taken five minutes took hours, but that’s the nature of bureaucracy, isn’t it? On the positive side, the people I encountered all along the way were pleasant, some even cheerful, and no one deliberately tried to make it more difficult for no apparent reason (making a few extra pesos qualifies as a reason). What I find truly galling are bureaucrats on a power trip, which I have encountered at some American embassies (but not in the Philippines).
Anyway, thinking on the bright side of things, I’ll be employing more drastic measures to safeguard my belongings at trade shows from now on and I’m familiar with the drill of losing one’s identity papers in a foreign country.

