Fri 1st Aug - Tues 5th Aug
What goes up must come down!
You may have noticed that my blog has suddenly filled up and the normally short updates have turned into long prententious essay's detailing interior design features and other frilly niceties... don't worry I haven't gone soft, hung up my board and turned into a blogaholic... I have just been bored out of my tiny skull!
I was always concerned about the border crossings, they had potential to be difficult and without a full understanding of the language I was always going to be vulnerable...
In the pouring rain I got on the first water taxi out of Bocas and was back on the mainland by 9am. I collected my bike and loaded up in full aqua man gear. I wanted to get to the border early in case there were any problems.
From Almirante I rode for an hour through Changuinola to the border town of Gaubito. Of the 3 potential border crossings from Panama to Costa Rica I had read that this was the quietest and most relaxed and was therefore hopeful for an easy crossing.
Everything started well, I parked up at the bridge, went to immigration and had my passport stamped. I then hopped across to the customs hut and presented my papers. Despite having a full set of copies they wanted two so I got everything copied again at the copy hut which also happened to be the doughnut hut!
I then went to see two lovely ladies in the stamp hut and paid $10 bucks for a certificate to say what colour the bike was and $3 for a postage stamp to decorate my passport. All was going well, people were smiling and I thought I was about to cross the border within an hour of my arrival!
With all my papers in order I handed them to the rubber stamp man who checked them once, then again, then with a proper rhythmical motion smashed two stamps into the ink and again on each document... gadouche, gadouche! Then a puzzled look descended over stamp mans face and he started asking his colleague a question... apparently I was missing a Transmite Aduanas de Re-Exportation (the bike I had bought was originally from Canada and had been imported into the country by a previous owner, this was all fine, I had the papers to prove that all the duties were paid but for some reason panamanian law requires me to get another piece of paper to say that the bike can leave the country????) I was aware of this and had been told in Panama city by the officials that I would be able to get one at the border for $20. No problem I thought, point me in the direction of the re-exportation hut and I'll go get it!
So the guy gives me a scrap of paper with two telephone numbers and two names and says I need to call Juan Carlos and that I had to go to the officina de Aduanas back in Changuinola, 20mins back toward Almirante. It was now 11:30am and my early start had allowed for some shenanigans so I asked for an address and went on my way.
Typically my GPS was unable to connect to something with intelligence so when I got back to Changuinola I asked a taxi driver how to get to Finca 8, Barria Chexen... confidently he said (in Spanish) keep going straight into town, take a left at the national bank and take a right near the airport about a kilometre out of town (at least that's what I thought he said! ) This turned out to be a banana processing plant and the guys, whilst amused at my setup just directed me back into town to ask someone else... I got directions from the chinese shop owner, then a large guy sat out front of a restaurant, then another taxi driver and eventually after an hour of fruitless (excuse the pun) searching I was getting a little frustrated. I called the office again and twice a woman on the end of the line hung up on me saying Juan Carlos was not in Changuinola.
I needed a new plan so I went to the police station! The officer behind the desk called the number and got nowhere, so I told him the address I'd failed to find and he sent me back to the banana factory!! Back at the police station, when they realised I wasn't going away they offered to drive me there... I jumped in the squad car and a different officer took me to a small bungalow that said Immigracion (I'd asked for Aduanas (customs) but wasn't confident the police knew where I needed to go)... I opened the door to the office where two officials were sat texting on their phones. After some frustrated misunderstandings they pulled out one of the only two people I met in Changuinola that spoke English (the second was a super camp kitchen porter from the hotel, who on my last night asked me if I wanted him to come to my room that night... Why does it always happen to me??! I said no and gave him the wrong room number). In a beautiful rasta lilt this enlightened civil servant told me I was still in the wrong place and that I needed to go straight, then left at the sport shoe's shop and to the yellow building on the left (she repeated this five times as if she were speaking to a deaf person, I was desperately trying not to laugh!)
Finally I had found the officina de Aduanas! It was 2:30pm and hot as hell and I had yet to eat lunch... these guys took me through into their office, checked through my papers and acknowledged that I needed a Transmite Aduanas de Re-Exportation! Sweet, but... they couldn't do it in their office I needed to go to their other office 0.5km away! How many offices can their be in this shitty town?! At least this guy was cool and he called ahead to give the office warning of my arrival and even drew me a map!
Finally at 3pm I arrived where I needed to be only to be confronted by the most heinous incarnation of all that is wrong with self serving civil servants... perfectly manacured, with tons of make up, bling jewellery, an extremely well decorated office and a brand new pearly white Toyota Rav 4... Ana was clearly making a little more than the average office manager! She took a look at my papers and asked me a load of questions in machine gun Spanish... I didn't have a clue what she was asking and asked if she could repeat the question, this seemed to piss her off and she started bitching to her assistant then laughing loudly... in an attempt to explain she adopted a loud patronising tone for a couple of words then resumed normal speed and finished by pouting and laughing loudly in my face! Not sure what to make of this freaky creature I repeated what I needed and she responded by saying the office closed at 3pm... it was now 3:20pm and I would need to come back on Monday. She even, very kindly explained that Lunes meant Moonndaaayy in English. Douchebag.
I offered to pay and lied that my dad was landing in Costa Rica on Sunday and I needed to be there to meet him and she just shrugged it off and shuffled me out the door, jumped in her car and disappeared off to what ever beauty appointment she probably had lined up. An ass reduction wouldn't have gone a miss!
In hindsight anyone arriving at 3pm on a Friday afternoon asking for a complicated document would not be greeted favourably, she didn't need to be such a bitch but I learnt that it was definitely not a good idea to attempt border crossings on Fridays.
So... I thought about options and contemplated going back to Bocas but it was late, I hadn't eaten and there was no new swell so what was the point? I thought about riding back over the mountains to the pacific coast for a couple of days surf and then go for the hectic, InterAmericana crossing, but I would need to ride 6hrs back the way I had come and then I would need to find the officina de Aduanas which could take another day and I just couldn't see that it would be better so I decided to wait out the wknd in Changuinola.
Changuinola is the 3rd biggest city in Panama and is essentially one long highstreet with the tallest building being a MacDonalds! It's classic Panama, dirty looking, half assed concrete buildings with rusty tin roofs that form the central housing area and slightly larger versions of the same making up the scruffy shops on the main street. Stinky sewer water runs along the side of the road and rubbish is everwhere. The suburbs are a bit nicer and the surrounding land is made up of huge banana plantations. Surprisingly there are five hotels here... I checked em all out and chose the classy looking Ken Hong Hotel toward the end of the high street. $25/night for a concrete cell with double bed, cable TV, non existent hot water and WiFi.
The weekend was slow, really slow. Much time was spent blogging with breaks permitted during my quest to find a good restaurant. (The only one on trip advisor with good reviews was gone!!).
When Monday finally came around, I was super excited... there was an amazing sunrise through the window, the random and only picture in my room, which just happened to be of the Golden Gate Bridge, stood out in the light and I felt my time had come! I got to the office at 8:30am and met the two women with a smile...
However... despite them telling me on Friday that all my papers were in order and that they could do the certificate first thing Monday morning they had managed to find a problem. The two women started having a debate about whether or not the re-export cert would be enough and then tried telling me I would need to put the bike in a container or lorry to get across the border... after much arguing I convinced them that that was f*@*ing stupid and like a shifting wind the tack suddenly changed and they asked if I was going to pay the import taxes in Costa Rica... it was as if they hadn't realised I would be importing the bike into Costa Rica and would be paying the duties there... WTF???
With that cleared up they agreed that I would be ok with just the re-exportation cert and that they would have it done by lunch... at 12 the boss lady went off for lunch leaving her assistant / slave to do the forms... the computer system was playing up and I think said slave managed to do some typing for a whole half hour before suggesting I go for lunch and she'd have it ready at 2pm.
At 2pm she said there was a problem and I needed something else which she was working on but it wouldn't be ready till 4pm and that she had to go out to the bank and do some other things for an hour or two! I ranted at her, told her it was urgent and that I was more than a little pissed off already and said I would wait next to her desk until it was ready. At 2:30pm she kicked me out, locked up the office and said to meet her back at 4pm. Arghhhhhhh...
With nowhere to go I sat on the side of the road in the boiling heat and listened to spanish lessons... the boss lady got back at 4:15pm and said she had been out sorting my papers but needed one more stamp (an ink stamp) but the office where the illusive stamp resided closed at 3:30pm so I would have to come back tomorrow... I went flocking mental and after quite a but of swearing I suggested that had she not dissapered for the entire afternoon she could have got it done... it changed nothing. I was sentenced to one more night in Ken Hongs. Argghhh!
Sooo after one of the most frustrating days of my life I rode my bike back to my now familiar concrete cell for another night watching incomprehensible tv and blogging.
What I came to realise is that by far the hardest part of this not so fun experience was simply not understanding the system or exactly what I was being told. My brain was looping round and round convinced that I was being setup and they were either going to rip me off, stitch me up at the border with bogus documents or simply steal my bike... the negative power of a synical, paranoid mind is a dangerous thing especially with no distractions.
Tuesday morning 8:30am I was at the office & ready for a fight... After a quick hello, Vicky (the assistant) left to go get my stamp, 15mins later she returned and started typing away. I asked her was that it, am I good to go??? She said yes, as though she wasn't aware I was keen to get on with my life and then casually told me that it would cost me $100 for the stamped document... Oh man did I flip out! In a Spanglish rage I swore and waved my arms and even tried to rip the papers out of her hands! I don't think I've ever been so angry. I ended up grabbing all my other documents and storming out of the office into the street... unsure what to do I sped off to the other Aduanas office to tell them I was being ripped off and that they had better do something about it... to my surprise they said this service was normally $150 and that this was perectly normal for a corridor de Aduanas.
As a last resort I called David (the guy who sold me the bike) he agreed I was being setup and offered to go his local office and check with the head of customs but he was in a meeting and it wouldn't be possible till the afternoon. Then purely by chance it came up in conversation that the women who produced the transmite were from the corridor de Aduanas and just like that a huge penny dropped... Ana & Vicky were a private outfit offering a specialist service in conjungtion with official Aduanas. Because it was such a small border crossing the main office had limited resources and as such they worked with select offices to out source certain services. Corridor meant they were independent and as such, unlike the official customs offices they charged for their services.
Ana had apparently done me a good deal, charging me $100 rather than the standard $150 and in return I had flipped out, sworn at her and her staff and tried to run off with the papers!!!
I had no choice but to pay the hundred bucks to finally get on my way. I apologised for the tantrum and suggested that next time they have an illiterate gringo come to them for help that they should explain in advance how the process works and what the charges will be... I'm sure she took my advice to heart?!!!
At 1:30pm, Tuesday 5th of August I finally crossed the bridge into Costa Rica. As I reached the other side a huge sense of relief washed over me and the trouble of the last 4 days was instantly forgotten. Bye bye Ken Hong!!!
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