No Soup For You!

You have to get permission from the national police in Panama City before you can stuff your vehicle in a container to Colombia. In the US a Vehicle Identification Number (VIN) verification is easy. Here, not so much.   

Today’s excitement is all contained in the rather grubby parking lot of an extremely down at heel neighborhood of Panama City. Indeed they do the VIN verifications in the impound lot of vehicles being held as evidence after accidents. The atmosphere is Mad Max meets Frank Kafka. 

We spent the night in a rather nice clean truck stop well known to us on the PanAmerican Highway outside the town of Penonomé about three hours from our destination. Without air conditioning (the rooftop a/c has been removed temporarily to allow us to fit in a container) it was warm and slightly sticky but nothing unbearable. I got up at three and walked Rusty and off we went. 

Driving at night in Panama is not the drama it can be in other Central American countries. There are some potholes on the PanAmerican but there aren’t animals bicycles or un-illuminated pedestrians on the edges of the highways. We made good progress until we got to the city when we were advised by Google Maps to anticipate a 15mph average speed thanks to the morning commuters who are on the road by 4:30!

We arrived a few minutes before seven and I had time to put on a pair of long pants, required by law in all Panamanian government offices… no seriously, they will turn men and women away if they show up in shorts and expect to be served! Check it out and I doubt Mr Protect and Serve would be thrilled to know I snuck some pictures in his office. 

And, by the way there is no office. I kid you not, he appeared at the door and handed out the first twelve numbers, then he disappeared inside and came out with a chair, a desk, a stapler and a flashlight along with his clip board. It looked like a skit from Monty Python. 

Then he went back in and came out with numbers 13 through 25. If you want number 26 you are shit out of luck as they do 25 a day. I got number 19, the best number of all of course but number one wasn’t interested in exchanging his for mine.

One through 15 lined up first and got told in no uncertain terms to have their copies ready “IN YOUR HANDS” when they arrived at his desk set up in the gravel. Some poor unfortunates didn’t get it so he had to get up and do some more drill sergeant yelling to gain compliance. Meanwhile the loud rattling air conditioner thundered overhead making his orders even easier to understand. Heaven help you if you don’t speak Spanish. 

This is where ordinary Panamanians come to get their car papers verified if they want to transfer the title or make any bureaucratic modifications to their car papers. Can you imagine if this was how the DMV operated in your state?

There are bank receipts, affirmations from notaries and piles of documents like you wouldn’t believe. I saw two people turned away for lack of correct papers and others spent time begging arguing and pushing papers. This guy drove eight hours to get his Hilux Truck title transferred to his name after his uncle died and left it to him. A bit of a poison pill really.

They park the cars with the hoods up like baby birds waiting to be fed and that’s because to transfer a Panamanian title you also need the engine number. That had me worried for a while as I’ve never located the Promaster engine number. 

Then we had our moment of drama as Tweedle dum and Tweedle Dee tried to do some line jumping. With number 25 they stood at the end of the line for the first round, after number 15. Protect and Serve was having none of that; he pushed us in line and started with 16 checking the photocopies. 16 had a motorcycle but he had a problem with his papers  and after 90 minutes waiting in line with us he left with nothing but a promise to come back with some corrections another day. That sucked but he was smiling as he got on his bike with a shrug and left. 

I sent Layne a WhatsApp message telling her I was getting close. When my turn came I presented my copies with a flourish before he could ask for them. Two copies each of my drivers license, passport, two copies of the entry stamp in my passport, registration, title, Temporary Import Permit ( which allows GANNET2 on Panamanian streets for up to 90 days), and then after he circled the important numbers in the papers he asked for the originals. I put my binder on his table as I groped inside my document case where we carry all original papers for travel in each country…that was a mistake! Mr Protect and Serve screwed his face up in annoyance and flipped his fingers indicating the desk was his and was not to be messed with. I hastily picked up my folder and balanced that and document bag and my phone as he checked and handed back my papers. Eventually it was my turn to take the last step and get my vehicle identification number checked. 

As you can see the location of the impound lot is pretty gross, and the public housing behind it is positively scary, even for me,  but the man I had been calling Protect and Serve, actually his mission as described on his uniform shirt, revealed himself to be known to the world as Ramon. He wasn’t really a Soup Nazi, just a bit brusque.

I sympathized with his daily task  of keeping us all inline but he said it was an easy job and as police jobs go I guess he has a point, no gun no report writing and no arrests to be made. A pre-retirement role perhaps. 

Come back at one pm to get your exit permit were his last words as we got ready to go to the vets office to get Rusty’s exit papers.  He didn’t tell me the building where the papers are issued is the Judicial Police Headquarters across the highway and it was a long involved walk. Follow the red line!

Somehow he happened to meet me while I was looking for the distant office and he yelled “Follow me!” And took off on his very long legs. I ran as fast as I could to keep up as he strode off down the sidewalk, up a footbridge over the four lane highway, down the sidewalk before slipping into a gate like Alice’s white rabbit.

The pick up was after we drove across town to the vet to organize Rusty’s papers to enter Colombia. Our day ended at 4:30 after an afternoon spent waiting for our sheet of paper with the VIN number on it. What a country! What a waste of time! What a bureaucracy!!!

This one was a great vet we will recommend to travelers with pets. Rusty got his rabies and parvo/diphtheria shot as well as the kennel cough vaccine and a new clean pet passport recording all his vaccines. 

Rusty is getting old. He has some slight cataracts and his red platelet count is down so he is getting a vitamin pill now as well as his parasite medicines. The vet, Dr Maria also ran a blood test and he has no parasites or problems. 

The idea that he is aging visibly  freaks me out but Layne told me to harden up so I suppose I should. 

That was $300 well spent I think to know he is in great shape for the next continent. 

Wednesday is container loading day. 

Last Day In Boquete

After lunch on Sunday we start our drive to Panama City. Monday morning at six, dressed in long pants, I line up to get my police clearance for GANNET2 to leave Panama by container.

Meanwhile we got one last day in town Saturday and went for a walk. Liz and Remy from Alberta, last seen in Guatemala last year have shown up here at Pension Topas in Boquete and Liz is as enamored of the town as is Layne. 

It’s the irritation of travel, having to say goodbye. They show up…you leave. 

So we made the most of it and wandered around one last time checking out what is on offer. 

Rusty of course was perfect. 

Saturday was a rainy day, in the middle of dry season, so we blamed the Canadians for bringing that irritation with them. 

But it was a good day to be indoors and watch Remy slicing delicate chocolate cake with a Neanderthal tool:

The pastry to the left above is a Portuguese “pasteis de nata” which I have read about and never expected to find in Panama. It’s a simple custard pastry which reminded me of the similar things you sometimes find in Chinese restaurants. Chalk that up as another experience even if it was no big deal. 

We ducked in and out of the rain and I took a few pictures of Boquete as we went.

Arizona tagged motorcycles came and went. Boquete appeared to hold no appeal. 

If you enjoy Monty Python comedy you know what I was thinking as I saw golden chocolate frogs: 

When you crest the last rise  on the main road from Davíd this is your view of Boquete, 3500 feet above sea level, 25,000 inhabitants of which 5,000 are foreigners and mostly Americans. English is widely spoken, the climate is cool and comfortable year round though rainy season in the summer months is very wet. If you seek escape, look no further. We, however are travelers not settlers and plan to end up back in the States. 

Rusty loved it here and I was sorry to tear him away. 

Six weeks in one spot was a bit too long! 

Air Conditioning

Without the rooftop air conditioner our Promaster van will fit in a high cube 40 foot container. The “high cube” has a slightly taller door opening than a regular container. So we took the air conditioner off. 

The electro- mechanical genius known to us as Sergio did that Thursday morning and then covered the hole in the roof of the van with a sheet of acrylic seen above. 

It didn’t take long to unclip the electrical cables and unbolt the unit from inside. He thought it was all great fun but I have butterflies in my stomach. 

The only way around the Darien Gap where the PanAmerican Highway stops in Panana is to ship your vehicle to Colombia to resume the journey. If your vehicle is small enough like a sedan or a motorcycle the shippers can send it by plane in one day. We have to prepare to be without our home for two weeks.

For people used to traveling to the tune of their own whims, shipping a campervan is a pain, a stress, an all-consuming worry.  At least our Promaster is now in good working order and once we get to drive away from Cartagena towards the Andes we will know the Promaster is in the best shape it can be. 

Sergio will clean the a/c unit, put new bearings in the fan and deliver it to us in Panama City on Tuesday so we can put it inside the van before we go to our air BnB for the night. The loading process starts before dawn on Wednesday. 

The Overland Embassy, our shipping agents try to make it as easy as possible but there are so many details to wrap up in the end if you are like me you can get overwhelmed.

We are putting the finishing touches to GANNET2 with new rear tires, and a thorough underbody cleaning. 

After we get clearance from the police to export the van we will need to go to a vet to get clearance for Rusty to leave the country. Then we will need to finish cleaning the vehicle so it arrives in South America not carrying agricultural contaminants from the north. 

Then we will empty the fridge turn off the electrical breakers and remove  our water filters from our Berkey. We have new filters to install in Colombia. 

Sunday night at nine we fly Copa Airlines for one hour and fifteen minutes to Cartagena. We have bought a third seat so Rusty will fly in the cabin with us and that fact relieved at least one stress. He has never flown so I am hoping this flight will feel like nothing more than a ride in a car.

We tried to get his papers in David but the vet was out of town and tried to do a conference call because no one else in the office spoke English. In vain we pointed out we spoke Spanish and they kept ignoring us in the office.  

“I speak Spanish” I said, in Spanish! No one introduced themselves or addressed us. They took another customer who just showed up and kept ignoring us. It was like they were sending a message. It took a while but we got the message and left after asking rather loudly  and angrily why they wouldn’t serve us. “We don’t speak English,” the clerk said in Spanish, and I said so what? in Spanish. Then another customer got in my face and she told us to fuck off this is their country. She said that in Spanish. I said what’s that got to do with it. In Spanish and she looked down and waved me away. Then the man child who finally identified himself as a vet told us told us to leave, in Spanish, as this was private property. This as we stood waiting for them to unlock the door which they keep locked all the time (the neighborhood didn’t look that scary). It was just another weird interaction in Panama.

I cannot wait to escape this lunatic asylum.