Mis Mascotas Arrivan! (aka My First Mexican APB)

It is challenging to ship animals, and it is challenging to import animals, and that means it is challening as hell to do both. Chewie and Mercedes have been living with Dave and Angie since the end of June, and that was a huge favor to us. We planned to bring the animals with us when we flew to Mexico on August 10, but then found that the airline wouldn't allow animals as cargo when the temperature was anticipated to be 85 degrees or more at any stop on the flight. Texas happens to be hot in August.

So we left them behind, and figuring out how to get them shipped was one of hundreds of tasks made so much more daunting by our new country, language, and laws. We were advised by American Airlines that there was no hope until at least the end of September. I started researching online to see if there was another way. I was nearly ready to drive to Minnesota and back. I was reading the information on Continental's site when I realized there was no mention of the 85 degree rule. I called, and found out that they did not have the same restriction. I was thrilled.

After many calls, a trip to the vet for new paperwork, and tons of worry, the animals were put on a plane in Minneapolis Wednesday morning. They had a long layover in Houston, and spent some time in the kennel there before being loaded on a flight to Monterrey. They arrived in the evening, after customs was closed, so they went to the customs warehouse. I was quite concerned, but there was nothing to be done.

WARNING: Long rambling story of a long frustrating day...

The next morning I left the house at 8:45 for the 1.5 hour drive to the airport. Jason tried valiantly to convince me that I should have a hired driver take me, but I figured it would be a piece of cake--just follow the signs, right? I headed to the north, looking for the signs for the toll (cuota) road, which is a straight shot to the airport. Hmmm...must have missed that sign because I ended up on the free (libre) road, which runs smack through the heart of the city. Monterrey has over 1 million people in the city proper, and 3 million in the metro area, and I don't know ANYTHING about navigating in the city.

Strangely, I was not worried and was confident that if I kept driving straight, I would find signs for the airport. Traffic was SO SLOW that impatience finally got the better of me and I stopped at a 7-11 for a map or directions. No luck with the maps, but a kind man told me that I could take Constitution all the way there. Assuming that was the road I was on, I took off, secure in the knowledage that I had known what I was doing all along. As I drove, listening to the very superior range of options on Monterrey radio, I shot right past where Constitution branched off from the road I was on.

Still confident that my route was viable, I continued for some time until I saw I sign for--Constitution. Well, I guess there are second chances. I took the exit and found myself heading south back towards home. After a detour through the city, a cobblestone street, several one ways, and a stop at a Howard Johnson for bad directions, I was headed north, and finally, finally arrived a the airport at 11:00.

This was just the beginning of my long day. I checked in with Juan at the Continental Cargo desk--they were so on top of things. I got my paperwork, and Juan called the customs broker that is a required to bring animals in through Monterrey. When Alejandro finally arrived from the broker, Juan translated for me. They were going to take the papers downtown to the government agency that handles animals and agriculture in order to get more papers. I sat down in those comfy airport chairs to wait with a big, thick book. (I also managed to find a beer and some nachos.)

Some time later, another guy from the broker came to get me to take me downtown because they needed my signature. I hate to say it, but this place was very much the stereotypical slow bureaucratic government office--five 1970s metal desks crammed into a small room, a 5" B&W TV the center of attention. The man who helped us was very nice, but very slow, transferring numbers one digit at a time from our paperwork to his, typing very methodically with two fingers, in no rush to get anything done. When we were finally successful, it was back to the airport.

Hours and hours went by. My eyes were no longer able to focus, and I had to spend time staring into space. I'm sure that someone lingering this long in a US airport would be arrested or kicked out, but no one bothered me. I checked in with my friend Juan to see if he had heard anything. He hadn't, and was finished with his shift soon, so he passed me on to his colleague Antonio. By 6:30 I was sure that customs was closed and all hope was lost for the day. Antonio was nowhere to be found. I called the broker with no hope of speaking to someone in English. I said my name and was connected with Alejandro, who said something in Spanish about five minutes and the airport. An hour later he appeared.

He said something about the lateness of the hour (no kidding), and indicated that I should follow him. We went to the customs area of the airport, which seemed quite abandoned until we walked up to a desk with a logo that I recognized from the office downtown. The negotiations began in Spanish, and hope crept back in to my day. After much paper shuffling and discussion, the official pointed to the date of Chewie's rabies vaccination (Dec 2005) and then to a photocopied brochure that I understood to say that the vaccination must be in the last 12 months to import a pet to Mexico. Too bad the brochure was in Mexico, and not in the consulate in St. Paul, or on the web site WHERE I COULD HAVE SEEN IT BEFORE!!! I thought I was going to be sick. I started trying to communicate that the vaccination was good for two years and that I hadn't been aware of the requirement, when I caught a look from the broker rep. He was going to fix this, and it would just take a little negotiation.

I stood back and let him do his thing, acceding points where necessary, flashing through all the other paperwork, and who knows what else. In the end, they agreed to release both animals to me, under the condition that I immediately get Chewie a rabies vaccination and fax proof back to the broker, to be fowarded to the officials. Having jumped through this hoop, we still had to get to the customs warehouse before everyone left for the night.

Well, Alejandro talked them into letting us in, greeted many people that he knew, and there were my animals! We went back to pick up my car, and he lead me to the entrance to the toll road so that I would not get lost going home.

It was pitch black, and I had not been able to call Jason in some time. My cell phone battery was dead and there was nowhere to stop along the toll road, and there was no way I was getting off the road and risking getting lost again. I powered through the heavy truck traffic (most pull double trailers here) and through the twisty mountain roads, pulling up to the house at 10:00 p.m. I was utterly exhausted, and not entirely surprised to see Jason standing on the front walk waiting for me. I pulled into the garage, and he was on the phone, relaying to someone that I had finally arrived.

As it turns out, he had finally given in to his worry and called our friend Gerald, who had contacted the state police, who issued an APB for me! Luckily, all this had happened in the 15-30 minutes before I arrived, so the police didn't actually find me. I don't think I could have handled being pulled over after the day I had!