Catch-22

Back in Tempe AZ now for the second time. We got back from El Paso at about four in the afternoon on Saturday and (almost) immediately dove into our computers to research the car permit process and anything else we might need to go to the interior of Mexico. Plus anything that might help us figure out how to get the Tahoe back. No luck on that score, but it was plenty easy to find out about the permit process we *should* have followed – if we had known about it.

We drove down to Deming NM Sunday night so we could get to the Aduana in Las Palomas at 9am Monday morning when they opened. We didn’t know how long it would take to clear everything up, but, given that it took nearly 5 hours to issue the citation, we figured it would be best to allow all day. Danny, Ken’s son-in-law, was going to come down to Deming Monday night, get his vehicle permitted Tuesday morning, and drive Ken down the 90 miles to where the car is impounded. All our research on the permitting turned up the nugget that I couldn’t drive Ken’s second car down because only immediate family (spouse, parents, siblings, children – with proof of relationship) can drive another person’s vehicle solo. Hence Danny. Once they were down there and starting on the anticipated paperwork there, I would turn around and head back to Tempe.

So we arrive at the Aduana in Los Palomas at ~9:15am and immediately walked into another situation where there was only a smattering of English among the employees. Something we did not anticipate at a border crossing where some Americanos might want to ask about things. (Deming has a lot of snowbirds in residence who cross the border for dental & eye care. I did during my RV days - that’s why I was somewhat familiar with Las Palomas. Although most of these are day trips and don’t involve customs.) Sigh.

So they rounded up someone with a smattering of English who said they (the Aduana) didn’t issue permits and we would need to go across the street to the Banjercito. Not totally unexpected since the Banjercito is the agency that issues the permits in the normal course of events. However. The Banjercito people (not much English there either) said we needed a permit back-dated to Friday (when the car was impounded) and they couldn’t do that. The Aduana people needed to do that. Back to the Aduana. No, they don’t issue permits. After a few more rounds of attempting to understand (and another person with a bit more English brought in and us asking “You mean we can never get our car back?!!” “Si.”) the suggestion was made that we needed a lawyer. And the nearest ones licensed for Mexican law were in Juarez. At that point we decided to just go back to Tempe. Once lawyers are brought in, you have to ask the question “Is it worth it?” At this point it’s probably cheaper to just abandon the car and its remaining contents.

Ken has gone to the Mexican Consulate here in Phoenix this morning to see if he can get any more information. There should be some bilingual people there who can at least skim the documents and maybe give us more information besides “You needed a permit to be driving there. You didn’t have one so your car was impounded.” We know that already. Frankly, he doesn’t expect much help there, though. Even though I can’t believe we’re the only people in the world who have made this mistake and that they need to invent new procedures to help us out.

The funny thing is, the officer at the check point was very courteous and helpful. Even if we couldn’t understand each other very well, there was no hint of pleasure on getting one over on us or any other smarmy nuance you can think of. These were just people doing their jobs. We had also formed the impression that there was a standard procedure we had to follow. He emphasized that if we couldn’t make it to Las Palomas Monday, we needed to call a certain number (in our paperwork) and say so. And that we had 10 business days to do whatever-it-was. He offered us soda and water and stopped a bus for us to get on. All that is what caught us by surprise at the Aduana yesterday. No one seemed to expect us, no one seemed to know what to do with us, and no one seemed to want to find a way to help us. And this was not a large place. Even if we had gone to the wrong department, everybody should be aware of everybody else, and, if they’re like most other people, have their noses in other departments’ business.

On the plus side, I found out that my smattering of Spanish was helpful in the ordinary things we needed. That’s because the “Learn Spanish in Your Car” CDs I was working with started with phrases about typical tourist stuff. Stuff I didn’t think we would be needing and certainly nothing to make casual conversation with. Stuff like “Where is the bus station?” “These are my suitcases.” “Is there a restaurant near here?”. My tenses were lacking (never got beyond present tense), my verb/pronoun agreement atrocious, and let’s not talk about masculine/feminine nouns. But I was able to make myself understood. And to understand.

And the bus we took from Nuevo Casas Grandes to Juarez was really quite comfortable, clean, and inexpensive. I would not hesitate to take another bus there.