This is difficult for me to say, type whatever but F it. I've been holding my tongue for the past 4 days trying, really, really trying to be patient and let things play out before I go and post about what's next. The past 4 days have been the epitome of this wack ass life that constantly resembles a roller coaster in more ways than one: It seems like it's made for children, it's only fun because of the highs and lows(the highest point on a roller coaster is only fun because how low you go before and after it, if you get stuck at the top the ride sucks) and at the end of it (daily) I feel like I've had my ass kicked, whiplash and all. Well folks the roller coaster that is trying to ship a 1981 VW Kombi to Panama is one for the ages.
*-If you're stoked on this post you should stop reading now, the rest is going to be boring ramble about shipping a car and being an idiot...
To pick up where I left off on the previous post rolling into Cartagena was a fairly emotional day in the big picture of this trip. I immediately dried my tears and set out to find the agency that helps tourist ship vehicles, drastically different than Buenaventura, not even the same fucking ballpark. After interviewing with them and learning the next ship was on the 23rd I signed up and figured the rest would just kind of move along right. I mean I had 4 days to sort it out. I went back on the 21st to commence the paperwork and started with the laying out of all of my stuff on the desk and talking it up with Louis when his wife mentioned the word "Aduana". "What's Aduana," I said. "you have it there in the papers" "No I've never heard that word in my life" "No no no. You have Aduana in the somewhere". Well there was about 5 minutes of this, me assuring them I had no Aduana and them insisting that was impossible. See over the next 15 or minutes I learned that this was a completely obligatory piece of paper that I should have recieved when I crossed into Colombia. Apparently with this paper you probably won't have your car taken by the military or police, but without it you're guaranteed to have your car taken by the cops. It's like that, taken. Side of the road with all your shit in hand, taken. No questions(especially for a Gringo) just gone. By now I'm sure you all can understand my surprise at this news seeing as how i had just conducted Kombi for two weeks over the entirety of the country with at least twenty different stops at police checkpoints and lengthy conversations about my business in Colombia. My immediate reflections on how in hell this was possible brought up the usual suspects: my Mom and Mexi and such looking out for me....Constantly. Shit shit shit. It doesn't make sense, I drove all of Colombia with no insurance and no Aduana being the best friend of men in uniform, Christ even talking my way out of a legitimate ticket for making a dangerous pass on a double yellow (I explained that Kombi was old and like a turtle so it was impossible to drive her dangerously, we all laughed, looked at their guns, laughed some more and they sent me on my way without inspecting the content of the stack of papers I handed them. Magic.) So at that point Kombi was basically hot property in this country illegally. This was bad, really bad. I had one day to figure this shit out or wait till the next boat a full week into the new year. Even then I would have to drive to the border with Venezuela exit and return to get the proper paperwork, all the while trying not to get my car taken by the fuzz.
Louis and Sonya were more than compassionate to my situation helping me with the people in the Aduana office here to sort out a solution for this problem but alas at the end of the day they just shut me down. They simply said no. The Gringo fucked up, the Gringo must face the consequences of his own ineptitude. Got it. That night I stopped by and talked with Kombi, basically deciding that I would drive her North through Colombia and surf for a couple of week then try and sell her and fly home. It was a sad night, sad indeed. I drank. I drank with Kombi. I drank on the street corner with drug dealers, prostitutes, and police. Gotta get low to get high.
A new day dawned and upon checking my email, as Louis told me to, I got the best news I could have possibly hoped for: They had a friend in the office at the border with Ecuador and he was going to sneak a Aduana form from the stack and fax it up with all the proper post-dates and stamps and everything. Excellent! The ship had also been pushed back a day so we had some extra time to sift through this. So with all of our ducks falling into line It brought me to last night and heavy, heavy drinking on account of the good news which blurred its way into 8:30 this morning.
I don't normally get hangovers so when I do it really surprises me and I promise my liver, kidneys, brain, stomach and asshole that I'll never drink again. Never. Dammit this morning hurt me in a really bad way. I knew I had work to do to get Kombi entered into the port and sign a bunch of papers but I figured I'm a robust 31 year old man that can handle just about anything. Then this, this fucking email began to make me consider otherwise -
"Dear Will,
We have no good news for you today. I am sorry. All people at Customs Cartagena wanted to help you but Customs at the border have not been cooperative.
There is not any chance to load your car without the Temporal Importation Permit issue at a border.
Hope you can choice the best decision.
Brgds,"
Yeah, exactly. Hungover as hell and receiving the last minute, worst news of all. There are times when you should just cut your losses, put your tail between your legs, admit that you've been beat, get on a plane, and go home. THIS WAS NOT ONE OF THOSE TIMES. It's got to be one of the most serious, grave, hilarious, painful, F'd up situations I've ever been in. I drove to the office of Louis and Sonya, sat down and had a cup of coffee, exchanged stares and glum comments then in a very strait forward manner I asked if it was possible for me to meet the head of Aduana for the city of Cartagena, by myself, no interpreters, no bullshit. They said it could be possible but that they had talked to him yesterday and he was less than responsive to helping a Gringo that caused his own problems. This is where it gets hilarious- Talk about making lemonade, I'm positive, absolutely positive that because I was so fucking hungover, smelling of booze, and clearly in physical pain that when I sat down with this dude at 9 am this morning and rattled off my shithouse of a situation in broke ass Spanish he actually ended up with a gleam in his eye. He stared at me for about a minute in total silence. We both just stared, maybe I blacked out, then he stood up went to the door, told his secretary a few things, she respond with a question, he said "Si", she looked at me for a second and then set about getting me my Aduana. It's impossible to convey via a blog the uniqueness of the human relationship. The human condition, our place, our time, what we do with it. But there are moments when it shows itself, clear as day (I'd like to say it slapped the hangover right off me but it didn't, I was hungover all damn day.) You can't miss it and it's effortless to appreciate it. Just own it, be with it, know it both in the biblical sense and the spiritural sense. I sincerely love it.
So that's it, I just had one of the best days of my life. I was devastatingly hungover till about an hour ago. I stood with Kombi and Sonya in the sun and offices and banks and the wildest chain of bullshit paper work in the history of mankind to ultimately leave Kombi in the port and booked on her ship. I should have waited to post this (I have one more inspection in the morning) but I have to share moments like these, days like this. IT IS GREAT TO BE ALIVE!!!!
I just finished my first beer. Cracked my second - Here's to life....
