Berry Island Club and clearing Customs and Immigration

May 14, 2013

The forecast winds blew out of the NE around 25-ish at about 0100. I got up to look at the radar, and wondered how the bands of rain, that I had hoped to de-salt the boat, had passed all around me, never raining on our little band of brothers at all.

I went into the dock around 0830 to get a ride with Howard to the airport to clear Customs. Two couples, off two sailboats; the Full Deck, and Simpatico, and I, piled into Howard's pick-up truck for the bumpy ride across the island.

 

The interior scrub of the island looks a lot like the undeveloped areas of the lower Keys, except with a little more elevation. The ride was long enough that I was glad that I wasn't walking. Howard claimed he was familiar enough with the potholes in the road that he could find them all.

It was a little disconcerting that the vehicle that we were riding in had no brakes, but, fortunately, we went around the only hill in the way, and the potholes kept us from developing too much momentum on the slopes. I commented that I was glad that I was sitting in the middle, so that those near the doors could leap out to slow the vehicle if necessary.

I wish I had taken my camera. As we approached a low area, as in sea-level low, there was a sign with an arrow pointing to the right that said, "Danger, Blue Hole." Howard told us that several hundred feet of that road are frequently awash, and the sign was to direct vehicles from driving into the blue hole when the road is submerged.

Clearing Customs and Immigration was interesting. (Note, it would be tremendously easy for me to use the term "fiasco" had I not decided that I would do my best to keep this a positive blog.) I had filled out all my paperwork, with the exception of the fishing permit, which I didn't have, while underway on the crossing. One of the sailboats had their paperwork, and one didn't. They were informed that Customs does not have the forms, that they need to come from the marina (a long way on a pot-holed road with a spring-free, brake-free truck. I have never seen a bureaucratic office without forms, but, I have seen Officers arrive on scene without them. I dug in my backpack, and managed to produce all but one of the necessary blank forms for that couple.



The Officer rebuked Howard and sent him to Chub Cay Marina, which is closer, for the additional errant form. She even lent Howard her truck, since he didn't want to go down the hill in his truck. My fellow sailors were grateful to not have to return again.

While I try to have my little duckies in a row, I must admit than anticipation of meeting the dreaded official had me in trepidation. I realized in horror that I had not brought a pen to sign the necessary places on the forms in her presence, and begged one from one of my fellow miscreants. 

My visit to the principals office only got me demerits for not placing my immigration form inside my passport to hand it to her, rather than including it in the swath of papers as I had. When she insisted I hadn't given her a form, I would say that, "Yes ma'am, it is there," and she would eventually find it. She complained that I had an illegible form (faxed that way to me from the Department of Agriculture, Nassau) for the Import of Domestic Animals for my service dog, Mercy. 

I believe in trying to be prepared, respectful, and confident, even though my confidence had waned considerably in the hour long wait for clearing the two couples ahead of me. When she chastised me for not having the import receipt, my confidence was back in place. "No ma'am, service animals are not charged import duties." 
She smiled at me and cleared me in, for my $300 fee, and limited my stay to 90 days. I can extend that by making another trip to an Immigration Office. Oh well. It was noon by the time we got back to the Berry Island Club.

My sailing partners and I bonded as quickly as any kids who have suffered detention together, and we all placed orders with Howard for dinner tonight at the restaurant. Conch, here I come. I even volunteered to drive the water taxi tonight.

As I went below this afternoon, I was viciously attacked by my bunk, and succumbed to a two hour, well-deserved nap. The NE breeze is cool, and it was a perfect afternoon to be on a mooring, napping.