A Million Minutes in Africa

Giselle and I both were a bit anxious about crossing into Guatemala from Mexico. I have this vein in my forehead that really bulges out whenever I go to DMV to do something I believe is a simple transaction. You know, like you go to renew the registration on your car and the nice lady says there is no record of such a car in the computer. Oh, I have lots of those stories.

The mere mention of the two countries on either side of the border caused my insurance company into something I imagine to be an apoplectic fit. “What! You want to drive where?! Hell no, we won´t insure you. In fact, we are going to increase your rates when you come back just for asking if we would insure you.” We have read, and heard unpleasant stories of sweaty officials swatting flies with their guns just waiting for some gringos to come along and entertain them.

It was all a bit of a letdown. On the Mexico side we pulled into the border station and showed the guy in the both our vehicle permit we had obtained upon entry at the northern border of Matamoros. He took the official windshield sticker from our truck and then wished us a “buen viaje” after giving us another official looking document that showed we paid the necessary fees. No vein bulging so far. But wait, we have the infamous Guatemalan border where people have ossified waiting for paperwork.

We had printouts from the very good website “DriveMeLoco.com” explaining the process. It was a little overwhelming- see this guy, give that guy this document, get the vehicle fumigated here, stop there…etc.

Perhaps we got them on a good day, but it was a surprisingly fast and easy transaction. After we crossed the border, the fumigation guy sprayed the outside of our truck with something, maybe water, maybe DDT. Then we stopped in with the passport inspection office to fill out one form and pay 10 Quetzals (a little over a dollar). Then we moved on to customs to watch the guy fill out a form for us. We paid 41 Quetzals more (about 6 dollars) and that was it. Wait a minute! They didn´t even look inside the vehicle. All they asked was if we had weapons and/or ammunition. Sure buddy, I got a bazooka in the back seat. Is that a problem?

Results may vary, but it was easy and straightforward. All of the officials were polite and efficient. Friendly even. Go figure. Vein intact. Perhaps DMV employees can come to the border to get some learning.

This entry was posted on Thursday, December 1st, 2005 at 9:18 pm and is filed under Travel. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. Both comments and pings are currently closed.