Getting my INE Card and How to Get Yours
WHAT IS AN INE CARD?
So, you did it. You took the oath, swore allegiance, and got that beautiful, bureaucratic golden ticket—your carta de naturalización. You’re officially Mexican now. But there’s one more thing you need: proof. Something tangible. Something that says, Yeah, I belong here. For me, that meant getting my INE card.
INE stands for Instituto Nacional Electoral—Mexico’s voter ID. But it’s more than that. It’s the key to the kingdom, the ID that gets you through the doors, past the velvet ropes of officialdom. Tourists flash their passports. Residents wave around their little green cards. But an INE? That’s for the real ones. The citizens. The lifers.
So I wasn’t going to waste any time. You can book an appointment—I’ll even drop a link for you below. But me? I just showed up. Old-school. No reservations, no guarantees. Just me and the system, mano a mano.
NOW SERVING NUMBER 893 AT WINDOW 3
Step one: find your nearest INE module. Step two: bring the essentials—your original naturalization letter, a recent utility bill to prove you exist, and an ID. I brought my U.S. passport. Always good to have a backup.
I rolled up just after opening—8:15 AM—and the line was already ten deep. A security guard worked the crowd, letting people in one by one. Inside, the vibe was pure DMV: fluorescent lights, a low hum of waiting-room despair. First stop: check-in desk. Fill out a slip of paper. Take a seat. Wait for the inevitable.
When my turn came, they took my fingerprints, then ushered me into a small office for a quick interview. All in Spanish. No tricks, no intimidation—just a few simple questions to confirm I was who I claimed to be. Name, birthdate, place of birth, address, how long I’d lived there. Easy. I walked out with a slip of paper saying my card would be ready in ten business days.
VICTORY
Fast forward: January 3rd. Afternoon. The line outside? Brutal. At least twenty deep. But with my golden ticket—aka my pickup slip—I breezed past the crowd, straight through the door. A few minutes later, they called my name, asked for my birthdate, and handed me the prize. There it was. My INE. Officially, undeniably, Mexican.
A quick heads-up: if you’re gunning for a passport, your CURP (Mexico’s national ID number) needs to be updated from migrant to permanent status. As of writing this, mine still hasn’t changed—three weeks and counting. No updated CURP, no passport. But your INE? That’s fair game the moment you get your naturalization letter.
Oh, and the cost? Nada. Zip. Not a single peso. A beautiful, rare thing in this world—bureaucracy that doesn’t shake you down. Enjoy it.
Want to book an appointment? Scroll down. Feeling lucky? Just show up. Either way, welcome to the club.
