Monday was an interesting day, on many levels. First, I'll tell you what prompted it to be such an interesting day: We picked up our car in Galveston! It's finally resting safely here in Wimberley. Totally legal and somewhat handsome despite the ocean spray, 750 miles' worth of family travel yuckies plus buckets of dog hair inside. But all of that, my friends, will vanish as soon as we clean it at sunset. Sounds almost romantic.
So Monday, Henk and I left early in the morning for Houston. First stop, McDonald's and an Egg McMuffin. I hadn't had one of those in about 7 years! Wow. Although the flavor was not intriguing in the least, I wanted another. But I resisted another one of those fattening, little morsels. Then drive, drive, drive - about 160 miles until we reached our first destination: the Dutch Consulate. Henk needs to renew his passport before October so he did it Monday. It saves us another trip to Houston.
The street address we had for the Consulate was correct but when we went upstairs, the given suite address was the Consulate General for Peru. Henk walked in and, after looking around and listening to some pan flutes, asked the window clerk ' Am I in the wrong place?' 'Que?' After a few more inquiries, we found the Consulate which was 3 floors above Peru. I wonder if this has anything to do with latitude lines.
First thing Henk says to the Dutch clerk is, 'Hello. Do you know the address is incorrect on your website? I just came from the Peru Consulate blah, blah, blah.' Obviously thinking we were the Google Map Police, the Dutch woman says, 'Really? Excuse me, I have to check that.' She was on her computer for about 15 minutes and to pass the time and also trying to fight the dense humidity in Houston, I went to go fluff my hair. Unsuccessfully I might add. Eventually, Henk was given his documentation and told to go to a particular travel agency to make the passport photos. Dutch passport photos are different from American ones. For example, there is a large emphasis on the ears.
First photo = 'Can't see your ears. Can you do something about your hair?' Before he tried to flatten his hair, Henk responded, 'My Mother always told me that ears close to the head are a sign of beauty!' Second photo = 'Still can't see your ears. Can't you do something else about your hair?' As most of you know, Henk's hair leans towards the mad scientist type of hair style. Third photo = I stepped in at this point and not that it did any good, I tried to slick it down using my own, well, spit. EW. That too did not suffice. A few rolled up tissues stuck behind the ears later, the pictures were somewhat acceptable. I'm now officially married to Opie from Mayberry via The Hague.
Back to the Consulate and all was fine. Then on to the Customs office in northern Houston - a mere 20 miles which took over one hour to drive. We had to go there to officially 'clear' our car through Customs, solely using paperwork. My point being: Since the car was 50 miles away in Galveston and Customs had never even SEEN the car, how is it possible that they could clear it? Re: no contraband found inside, no stolen ancient artifacts, etc... Bureaucrats work in strange and mysterious ways.
The Port Authority policeman was concerned that our paperwork (which the shipper sent in an email) was not the official 'Arrival Notice' document which is apparently what we needed rather than an email saying the car had arrived. Let's not even start with the broker/company who shipped our car. It has been such a complete catastrophy. PA policeman stamped our stuff as approved and said, 'I hope this works in Galveston.' Oh, great.
Off to Galveston! In the traffic and rain! One and a half hours later and when we finally found the port where our car was supposedly waiting for us, we had to drive through a very intense security gate. As we rollled to a stop at the barrier, the guard asked our business. A confusing question. Henk said, 'I have a medical lab and we also do tours.' And I piped in, 'I'm a personal chef. Used to be, anyway. And a Mom.'
After a few minutes of scrutinizing our identification, the PA cop said, 'Oh, so you're here to pick up that car. Where's your TWIC card? Gotta use that or I can't let you through.' Henk responds, 'What's a, what did you call it? A twit card?' 'No, TWIC.' (Not spelling out the letters, just repeating that same silly word which was quite difficult to understand. Especially since it's an anachronism and not a real word.) Henk: 'I don't even know what that is.' PA guy: 'Oh. Hm. Well this is a problem. You gotta call Fred or Mac.' Then he starts to walk away. 'Wait! I just need to pick up my car. I don't have any idea who Fred or Mac are; plus, my cell phone isn't working because my charger is IN THE CAR I'M PICKING UP! Can I use your phone and do you have their number?' The PA guy came through for us and Fred showed up about 14 minutes later - only to tell us that we cannot get the car because it hasn't yet been 'released'.
I, getting more than annoyed at this point, said 'What?' (That's a good response, don't you think? Kind of gets through all of the formalities, lays it on the line, let's them know exactly where I stand, etc...) My response apparently shocked Fred so much that he invited us to follow him to his office where he would try to find out what happened. Not to bore you with silly details, the bottom line is the Belgians who received our car didn't file the necessary paperwork. Instead, they simply gave the papers back to Henk and fortunately for us, he had it with him, in a folder. The problem was the people in New Jersey didn't have any info and therefore couldn't 'release' the car to us. The whole process was actually so much hairier than that; I don't even want to go into it.
Fred called and faxed documents, called again, faxed again, called, faxed and then politely excused himself, leaving us in his office for an hour. Before leaving, Fred said, 'If the Coast Guard guys come by, hide. I'm not supposed to leave you alone. Especially since you don't have a TWIC card.' As we sat in Fred's office for an hour, we had 3 truckers come in with some sort of papers. Although I was simply sitting in a chair reading a book, the first guy came in and just thrust this piece of paper in my face, at the same time saying, 'Here. Where's the doc?' Or maybe it was dock. I took the paper, looked at it and said to the man, 'I have no idea. I don't work here.' The worst thing is he didn't believe me and started to cackle a bit. 'No, really. I do not work here.'
'Oh! Where's the guy?' 'I don't know. We're waiting as well.' OK. Silence. Meanwhile Henk is doing some mind exercises combined with relaxation techniques in the big Lazy-Boy recliner in the corner of the office. The first truck driver was kind of like a Hank Williams Sr. kind of person and soon he assumed a different posture of amusement and incredulation. Probably wondering where our TWIC card was.
Then in came the second guy. Let's call him Chief Runofthemouth. Guy couldn't stop talking; call it speed or cocaine, Red Bull or just plain idiocy. Then he too put a paper in my face and received the same response. Still on the Lazy-Boy, Henk didn't even give this guy a look. Talk, talk, talk about nothing until he asks Henk, 'You the one got that orange rig out there?'
Glancing upward and to the left, Henk was about to respond but Chief Runofthemouth was lucky because at that very moment, in walks another guy. I looked up from my book and said, 'No. Don't even ask.' Hank Williams Sr. busted a gut, Henk smiled and the Chief confusedly looked around.
Eventually Fred returned; he took care of the fellows before us. Which was fine. After checking his email he announced, 'It's clear. You can get your car. I'll take you in a minute. By the way, you guys look familiar. Have you done this before?' Of course we haven't, and I assumed this was a loaded question a la Port Authority and all that. So Henk replied, 'No!' and after a pause I said, 'We're famous movie stars. That's why we look familiar. '
Fred believed it and kept stealing glances at us whenever he thought we weren't looking.
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