That 'OTHER' Big Apple

(me outside Immigrations)

He lifted the stamp well above his head; paused dramatically, then swung it down: WHOMP!

WHOMP! WHOMP! WHOMP!

We had wound our way around the ferry terminal, skirting the harbor along a busy thoroughfare, through potholed sidewalks, under massacred (you might say ‘pruned’) trees, side-stepping the occasional dropping (or baby diaper) to the large yellow building that housed Immigrations. In through the gate, where pistoled-guards pointed us to the back, along a drive I would not normally consider walking, to the right, in the tall creaky entrance, down the hall, to the oversized door with the frosted glass window.

The Immigration officer rubbed his bloodshot eyes vigorously. I wondered if he had a hangover; looking towards his desktop, I realized an advanced game of solitaire was the problem. He reviewed our papers carefully … checked the names against the passports … and stamped the papers solemnly.

But he didn’t stamp our passports. As ‘crew’ of the ship we don’t clear customs in/out he said. However for Pascal, who had joined us as crew but would be returning to Uruguay on the ferry, it was a problem. Discussions. Phone calls. Rules. Regulations. It looked like we were stuck … until the officer handed over a vial of White-out and suggested Stephen change Pascal from ‘crew’ to ‘passenger’ on the documents … then all was well. Pascal’s passport was opened; the officer raised the stamp high above his head; and with a strike so powerful, the stamp jumped out of his hand: WHOMP! The paperwork was done.

Buenos Aires is a strange place that deigns to be a big, modern, city … but still requires immigrations forms in triplicate: with carbon copies. Where do you even BUY carbon paper these days you wonder? Here, in BA – that “other” BIG APPLE. Here there are skyscrapers lining narrow lanes, like the canyons of Wall Street. The Post Office (correo) is so civilized, it has padded theatre type seating for your comfort while you wait your ‘take-a-number’ to be called. Yet the city is dirty and gritty; the water of Puerto Madero foul with trash and condoms; the sidewalks exist mostly in theory; and people stampede through town bearing the pallor of winter.

Tonight at 10:30pm, we trudged back to Immigrations – watching carefully where we walked so as to avoid the bottomless potholes and missing grates along the way. Back in the office, this time it was an officious woman who tended to our documents … appalled that we hadn’t had our passports stamped on the way in. “You should have insisted,” she told us. Uhm – how do WE insist on such a thing???!! Calls on the broken telephone with the wired handset; keys pressed on the early-model computer; carbon copies stamped – with a flourish – and then, at last – our passports.

So it is official!! We leave Oct 16 (my birthday!) for Punta Arenas. We are weary, but the boat is in immaculate shape. She is powerful, clean, well-stocked, and ready. And me too: I cannot wait to get to sea! Love & blessings to you all ~ Betsy

PS: I will be offline 10/16 – 28(ish) and unable to email; but hope to be able to post my blog from sea!