On Ships, Horns and Certificates

It’s time to do a quick update on things we’ve blogged about lately, some expected and some unexpected. 

Last week we watched as the Cap Jackson was on the move out of Cartagena.  And while that was totally to be expected, what she did next left us scratching our head.

A couple of days out of Cartagena, she headed north.  Ann sent me this image and we wondered why in the world she would cut through the islands northward to get to Europe.

A bit of thinking led me to wonder about hurricanes.  Sure enough, one was headed right where she would have been if she’d gone due East.  With a second hurricane forming even farther east.  Going North suddenly made sense.

So later that day Ann went back to Marine Traffic to see where the plotted course now lay.  This is one of the things I love about maps and geography.

Looking at a map like the above, you realize just how far north Europe actually is (and Africa for that matter).  I don’t think folks think about it much, but when you hear comparisons of latitude, it simply sounds strange.  Braga is almost exactly the same latitude as Eugene, Oregon.  Rome . . . Washington DC.  Go figure!  Anyway, I guess at some point the Cap Jackson had to head north.  Avoiding a hurricane seems as good a reason as any to me.  Especially given the news from today (September 3) of a cargo ship going down with 43 sailors and a load of cattle from New Zealand just off the coast of Japan due to a typhoon.  

And Ann just forwarded me a new image.  There she is, in the middle of the ocean!

We just got an estimated arrival date into Leixões of September 16.  It seems the tack northward did slow things down a bit.  But she’s definitely on her way.  

Now that we have a pretty firm arrival date, it was time to get the last bit of paperwork done for customs purposes.  We need to get a certificate of residency (that we actually reside here in a house) from the Parish Council.  Given that they are only good for 30 days, we had to wait until we were near delivery to obtain one.  I decided we would try to do it on our own and if that failed, we’d enlist the assistance of Ei!, the migration assistance company we’ve been using for the main immigration stuff.

It was more straight-forward than I thought.  I went online  and just googled Braga Parish Council and I got a hyperlinked map of all the different Parish Councils in the Braga Region.  Ours is the Unified Parish Council of Nogueira, Fraião and Lamaçães, or more properly the União das Freguesias de Nogueira, Fraião e Lamaçes.  I got the address from there, found it on google maps, then did my research on residency certificates (Atestado de Residência).  In-between what our Ei! contact had told us what we would need, and what a couple of Portuguese ex-pat sites said we would need (I compiled originals and copies of everything everyone said we’d need to be safe) we were ready to go.

Next morning we drove to the Junta de Freguesia.  And, of course, we got there a half hour before they opened (everything opens either at 9:00 or 10:00 - this place was 10:00 - I had guessed wrong).  However, arriving early had its benefits.  First, we had a half hour to wander a bit and stop by a café for some espresso (because that’s just what you do when you live in Portugal and you’re early).  Second, and most importantly, as we were sitting in the car figuring out what to do, we suddenly heard a very familiar loud and continuous HOOOOOOONNNNNNNNKKKKKKK.  I looked up and was staring eye to eye with Honking Man as he drove by.  WTF?!?  And then it dawned on us - we were sitting in front of the local government office.  Apparently, just as he drives by the Mayor’s house honking his horn (yes, every day between 7:55 and 8:05, he’s still at it), he also honks every time he drives by the Parish Council’s offices.  The man has . . . issues.

When the offices opened up we waited in line (our trip for espresso did lead to us not being first in line - it was worth the delay) and eventually got to the counter.  While the person helping us did not speak English, the woman behind us in line did, and she explained to the clerks what we really needed.  (Which was followed by “Atestado de Residiencia” like we’d said!).  We were given a form to fill out, which we took to the far side of the room and, in-between Google Translate and our pigeon-Portuguese, I was able to fill out.  One more exchange with someone from the front office who spoke English (“Why do you need this?”  “For customs purposes, we are brining our household goods into the country and they need it at the port when the ship arrives.”) brought an understanding look from the clerk (and the manager).  Eventually, the clerk started speaking a few key words of English and I would respond in Portuguese and she started smiling more and more.  She asked if it would be ok for it to take a couple of days, I of course was agreeable, she would call me.  I responded, “Quinta-feira ou sexta-feira, sim?” moving my hand back and forth meaning one or the other.  She responded, “Yes, Thursday or Friday.  I will call.”  (That exchange wasn’t nearly as odd as the one at the store on our trip back where the clerk asked me every question in English and I responded in Portuguese.  It didn’t dawn on me until we were walking away that that is what happened. [Do not, for a moment think I “speak” Portuguese.  I know a few phrases in a few key contexts.  “I have sacks.  300243200 {in Portuguese}.  Thank you.”  Ask me something outside of that, and I’m lost].

Friday around noon [yes, I’m now writing this on the 5th], we got our call. 

I went home, scanned the document and forwarded it to the shippers.

Now all we have to do is wait for the ship to finish crossing the ocean and (cross your fingers and toes) our household goods to clear customs and be delivered to our house.  What could possibly go wrong?