Hallelujah!
Today Michael and I went for our dreaded third visit to the Serpost lair in St Martin, armed with copies, copies and more copies of anything and everything but optimism. We walked up to the lady who is in charge of processing "rectifications of recipients" and proudly presented the savage murder of a small forest that was our application. She took one look at the date on the parcel receipt slips out of the corner of her eye between shouting down the phone to presumed customers and across the hall to colleagues, and exclaimed "too late". My heart sank, but of course I had shoved it down already so as not to be disappointed. The lady then told us that now the matter was out of her hands, and we would have to go to the customs in San Miguel, i.e. back most of the way that we came, and try to smoothe-talk the jefe there. But first we might take the time to check whether my parcels are actually still in storage....
Said and done. We checked, and there they were. The woman in that part of the hall took another look at the date and explained that it was too late...and that the only possibility would be for Michael to ask to have the contents evaluated as commercial goods, potentially pay taxes, all according to the customs officers personal evaluation, and maybe the shoes would be confiscated...
In the meantime, while we were waiting on uncomfortable chairs, we had observed that most of the staff was new, this probably due to the change of government that took place in Peru in the autumn, sorry; spring. In particular our "friend" "así es la ley" was nowhere to be seen. At his desk sat a much more amiable guy who looked like his life did not just consist of making other people's existence a living hell...he even looked as if he was being helpful with other customers!
Michael decided to give it a go. He told the secretary the lamentable story, while I was sitting in her direct field of view doing my best to look devastated and lost. She gave in and said we should talk to the boss. He listened to the story, looked at my blue eyes and said he would attend to the matter personally. We almost began hoping again.
A new customs officer opened the first box again, whereupon selected tampons, sanitary towels (there was empty space to be filled, and those things cost a small fortune, you know!), makeup and shoes became visible. He took one look and more or less asked us what all the fuzz had been about the last time. He signed some papers, Michael signed, I paid 80 soles (instead of the >500 soles I had expected to pay) and we found ourselves walking out the front door, fighting down an urge to run like the wind and never look back.
***
This afternoon I received the login and password for my second distance learning course, and am already stressed. It seems that while I was away, First Class software has invaded my country, subjecting my fellow citizens to slavery under fluffy icons and windows lacking all help texts, instructions or menus. Apparently it is all explained in the introduction letter (the one that got lost in the mail)...I vaguely remember taking one look at the First Class interface in my first week of Term 1 at Heriot-Watt, discarded it as cumbersome and mysterious, spent the time required to find out how to forward mail to my hotmail account, and never used the software again. Alas, it has come back to haunt me.
***
Yesterday I booked my tickets for going to Brest. After much trotting up and down streets in San Isidro (where all the major airlines have their offices), which was quite a shock to me - it appears the Peruvian equivalent of those artificial-looking American suburbs you see in films, and all the street names are named after fruit trees - I decided to fly with Lufthansa. They not only had the most pleasant office staff and least queue time, they also provided the cheapest ticket at the earliest date - in your face, BA/Iberia (45 minutes of wait in a stuffy, loud office, then I left)! Admittedly I have to stop in Caracas and Frankfurt, and my luggage will probably get lost somewhere in between Taca International Airlines and Lufthansa, but never mind. It also seems as if maybe Michael would be on the same plane, if the people booking his ticket will ever make their mind up. Bonus!
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