Despite feeling lousy, I went into town on Monday to try to get my
car out of Brasil. When I arrived at Sr. Santos' office, he told me
that I would need to get a CPF, the Brasilian ID number. The computer
refused to allow a car to be shipped out of the country by anyone without
a CPF.
Together we went over to the Banco do Brasil, which apparently would
assist in filling out the CPF request form. Unfortunately, doing anything
at a bank in Brasil involves waiting in a huge line. We took a number,
which was '008'. The display on the wall read '132'. I couldn't imagine
that we were 875 people away from being served, especially as the number
only seemed to change every few minutes.
We sat and waited. And waited. After an hour, the counter still hadn't
advanced much. I knew that I needed to get some paperwork notarized,
so I suggested that we get that completed while waiting for our number
to roll around. Sr. Santos initially looked a little shocked at the
thought, but I insisted and off we went.
We returned a half hour later and the count was only up to 172. It
was three in the afternoon, and I didn't see any way that we were going
to get to the desk in the next few hours. I wanted to ask Sr. Santos
what was going on, but didn't have the language. So I just sat on the
floor reading.
The numbers reached 180, and then reset back to '000'. After that
it was a short wait until we went up to speak with a clerk. She filled
in my information, copied my passport, and told me to return the next
morning after 10am.
Oh, and I also needed to pay R$4.50 at the teller window on the other
side of the bank. I looked across the bank to where an enormous line
slithered back and forth (Disneyland-style) across the floor. Oh, no.
Sr. Santos told me to pay, pick up the CPF the next morning, and then
come to his office. And he was off. I got in line. An hour later I finally
reached the window and paid my US$3 equivalent. They gave me a receipt
and I went home.I awoke on Tuesday feeling a lot better. Sr. Santos
had assured me that once I had a CPF I could return home and my car
would follow, so at 8am I went to a travel agency and bought airline
tickets. First to São Paulo, then Miami, and finally to San Francisco.
The tickets were for that afternoon at 3pm. I was cutting things close.
I wanted to be home.
The doctor came by the pousada at 9am, and was a little dismayed that
I was flying while still suffering from some pain. But he prescribed
some antibiotics and wished me good journeys.
I returned to the Banco do Brasil only to be told that I needed to
go to a federal building to pick up my CPF. I went there, waited for
about an hour, and finally my number came up. I went to the indicated
desk, where the clerk immediately started complaining about her job.
She spoke fast, and I didn't understand her, but I knew what she was
saying. The body language, the tone of voice, all told me that she was
bitching about the office. At the first break in her rant, I smiled
shyly and said that I didn't speak Portuguese. She paused a second,
laughed, and then continued complaining about the System.
After a few moments, her computer spit out a sheet of paper which
she stamped twice and signed. This was my CPF, the number that I needed
to be able to leave the country. I was free!
I returned to Sr. Santos' office, and he nodded approvingly. Then
he told me that he needed notarized xerox's of a number of different
documents, including my title, passport, and CPF. He told me where to
go and I was off. It was 11am. The clock was ticking.
Another line, another wait, and then I was back at Sr. Santos' office.
He shook my hand and wished me good travels. I asked him again if he
needed anything. Nope, everything was ready to go. It was noon, and
I returned to the pousada.
I packed quickly, paid the bill for the stay, and then jumped into
the waiting taxi for the ride to the airport. I got to the airport around
1pm, with plenty of time before the flight.
Tonight I'm in Boston, not San Francisco. From Recife I called Dan
to tell him I was coming home and learned that he was going to be at
a meeting in Boston until Friday evening. I re-routed my flight from
São Paulo to New York, then to Boston before returning to San
Francisco.
It's cold in Boston. The leaves are shades of orange and yellow. The
streets are clean. Everyone is talking about the election, one of the
most interesting in a century. The antibiotics seem to have helped...
I'm feeling great both physically and mentally.
I grew up near Boston. It's good to be home.
Ron
