Argentina at last! Bill was “home.” If I’d known what was going to happen next I might have stayed in California.
Because of the altitude, season and lateness of the day it was very cold out. Yes, we did have heat in the motorhome, but it was still cold.
We were all busy putting on sweat shirts and jackets. Bill was fussing through a drawer.
“What are you looking for?” I asked.
“My Argentine passport,” was the answer. “I want to enter Argentina with it.” (Up till now he had been using his US passport.)
“Why, what’s the difference?” I naively asked.
“I was born here, I’m proud of it,” he replied as he pulled it out of the drawer. He put on his coat took the rest of the paperwork and our passports and stepped out into the increasingly cold air.
I watched as he disappeared in to the beige stucco Aduana building. Then I went back to digging out more warm clothes.
A half hour - 45 minutes - an hour passed. What was taking so long?
Mean while inside - Bill walked up to the counter and handed the paperwork and passports to the fresh faced Milico (private) behind the counter. Glancing around he saw that the room was decorated army style, everythinga drab olive green.
The young man picked up the paperwork and studied it for a minute. “Where are you from?”
Bill, “The US.”
Milico, “Where do you live there?”
Bill, “Los Angeles, California.”
Milico, “Why are you here?”
Bill, “I drove all the way here with my family to show them my country.”
Flipping through Bill’s Argentine passport the Milico asked, “Why doesn’t your Argentine passport show the countries you have come through?”
Bill, “Because I was using my US passport until now. But I am proud of being from Argentina and I want to use it to come home.”
Milico, “Hum! The vehicle is yours? Well there is a problem now. You can’t bring in a vehicle registered in another country if you are from Argentina.
Bill, “But I’m from the US.”
“No Argentine citizen is permitted to come in with a vehicle,” emphatically stated the Milico.
“Oh, then what happens to an Argentine who drives to Chile for a visit and then comes back to Argentina? Do you take his car away?”
Emphasizing each word a very agitated Milico said, “That is different you are from the US.”
“Call your Sargento! I want to talk to him,” Bill responded.
The young man picked up Bill’s passports and went to a closed office door where he knocked. When it opened he looked over his shoulder, frowned at Bill, and entered closing the door behind him. All this time several other soldiers sitting at desks behind the counter were keeping busy pretending not to listen. Now everyone was very quiet and looking from Bill to the closed door waiting to see what would happen next.
The Milico came out his shoulders back and a smile on his face. He was followed by his Sargento, an older more confident looking man, who now carried the passports. The Sargento walked over to the counter and slammed the passports down keeping his hand on top of them. Several of the soldiers at the desks jumped and grinned.
Pulling himself to his full height he bluntly stated, “As an Argentine you cannot come into Argentina with a vehicle that is registered in the United States. You and your family can continue but the vehicle will stay here. Or you must use your US passport.”
Bill was starting to get angry. “Don’t bullshit me, I know better. You can’t threaten me. I’m an Argentine citizen and you can’t say I can’t use my passport. I want to speak to your boss, now!”
At one of the desks a soldier quickly stood up and went through another door. He came back preceded by the Mayor (Major) in charge of the Aduana.
This professional career officer went up to Bill and asked what was going on.
Bill answered, “I have come back to my country with my family after living 20 years in the United States and this gentleman (pointing to the Sargento) says I can’t come in with my vehicle because it is registered in California.”
The Mayor picked up the passports again and looked through them, “I can see you are a citizen of the US from your passport. And you are still a citizen of Argentina. I can give you a three month Tourist Visa for the vehicle and then you can extend it later in Buenos Aires. That’s if you use your US passport. If you want to use your Argentine passport then the vehicle can’t enter the country.”
Bill blew his top. “Look I’m an Argentine citizen and that vehicle is mine. I’m going to come in to my country with it as a proud Argentine. Or, I’m going to go outside start a fire with my Argentine passport and warm my hands with it. Then I’ll come in with the US passport and say to hell with the Argentine government. “
“You can’t do that.”
“Watch me! I’ll burn it right outside your door. Who can stop me?”
The Sargento spoke up, “I can stop you, we have power…”
The Mayor broke in, “Wait I will call my superiors in Mendoza. I can see what you are trying to do. You want to be able to show your family how proud you are to be Argentine.”
“That’s right.”
“Let me call.”
Bill stayed at the counter leaning against it as the Mayor made his call. While standing there he reached into his pocket and took out an Eisenhower dollar coin and started playing with it. All the time trying to catch what was being said on the phone. Every so often the Mayor would say “Yes Sir” and as he did he would half salute and his heels would click together. An officer to the core.
The Sargento was watching Bill play with the coin. Curious he asked, “What is that you have?”
“It’s a US dollar coin,” Bill said extending his arm and handing it to him.
The Sargento took it and turned it over and over in his hand then took it to show to everyone in the room. “Look it’s a real dollar. From the US, a coin." Turning back to Bill he asked,"Can you sell it to me? Do you have any more?”
Bill hesitated then said yes he had some more out in the motorhome. But he shouldn’t really sell them they were worth much more than a dollar.
“How much?” everyone was interested now.
Bill tossed out a figure, “Five US dollars.” (At this time the peso was 750 to one dollar US.) so that was a lot of money, we had about 20 of them and he sold them all.
The Mayor came back and told Bill the Coronel in Mendoza said there was no problem. To complete the paperwork and make Bill feel welcome.
The Argentine passport and vehicle papers were stamped and returned.
Smiling, Bill returned to the motorhome.
“What was going on in there? I was beginning to think you had disappeared. What took so long?” I questioned as he put the papers on the table. Listening to his story I figured we were lucky we didn’t end up in prison or worse. “Why couldn’t you just have used the US passport?”
“It was the principle of the thing.” he replied.
By now it was 8 p.m. And very dark out. Way to late to head down the mountain. We would have to spend the night up here in the freezing temperature. During the night it went down to the high teens .
Oh, oh the Major was coming out of the building and heading towards us. Maybe they changed their minds and we'd go to jail after all. He knocked on the door and when Bill opened it he apologized again for the mix up and asked if he could come in. He brought us some eggs and fruit and toasted chestnuts that he said were from the men. Then he sat and visited for awhile.
The next morning we crawled out from under the piles of blankets and said Good Bye to the guards who were still asking if we had more Dollars.
We had reached Argentina at last. Soon we would be driving down the Argentine section of the Pan American Highway. This would prove to be another truely exciting part of the journey.
Because of the altitude, season and lateness of the day it was very cold out. Yes, we did have heat in the motorhome, but it was still cold.
We were all busy putting on sweat shirts and jackets. Bill was fussing through a drawer.
“What are you looking for?” I asked.
“My Argentine passport,” was the answer. “I want to enter Argentina with it.” (Up till now he had been using his US passport.)
“Why, what’s the difference?” I naively asked.
“I was born here, I’m proud of it,” he replied as he pulled it out of the drawer. He put on his coat took the rest of the paperwork and our passports and stepped out into the increasingly cold air.
I watched as he disappeared in to the beige stucco Aduana building. Then I went back to digging out more warm clothes.
A half hour - 45 minutes - an hour passed. What was taking so long?
Mean while inside - Bill walked up to the counter and handed the paperwork and passports to the fresh faced Milico (private) behind the counter. Glancing around he saw that the room was decorated army style, everythinga drab olive green.
The young man picked up the paperwork and studied it for a minute. “Where are you from?”
Bill, “The US.”
Milico, “Where do you live there?”
Bill, “Los Angeles, California.”
Milico, “Why are you here?”
Bill, “I drove all the way here with my family to show them my country.”
Flipping through Bill’s Argentine passport the Milico asked, “Why doesn’t your Argentine passport show the countries you have come through?”
Bill, “Because I was using my US passport until now. But I am proud of being from Argentina and I want to use it to come home.”
Milico, “Hum! The vehicle is yours? Well there is a problem now. You can’t bring in a vehicle registered in another country if you are from Argentina.
Bill, “But I’m from the US.”
“No Argentine citizen is permitted to come in with a vehicle,” emphatically stated the Milico.
“Oh, then what happens to an Argentine who drives to Chile for a visit and then comes back to Argentina? Do you take his car away?”
Emphasizing each word a very agitated Milico said, “That is different you are from the US.”
“Call your Sargento! I want to talk to him,” Bill responded.
The young man picked up Bill’s passports and went to a closed office door where he knocked. When it opened he looked over his shoulder, frowned at Bill, and entered closing the door behind him. All this time several other soldiers sitting at desks behind the counter were keeping busy pretending not to listen. Now everyone was very quiet and looking from Bill to the closed door waiting to see what would happen next.
The Milico came out his shoulders back and a smile on his face. He was followed by his Sargento, an older more confident looking man, who now carried the passports. The Sargento walked over to the counter and slammed the passports down keeping his hand on top of them. Several of the soldiers at the desks jumped and grinned.
Pulling himself to his full height he bluntly stated, “As an Argentine you cannot come into Argentina with a vehicle that is registered in the United States. You and your family can continue but the vehicle will stay here. Or you must use your US passport.”
Bill was starting to get angry. “Don’t bullshit me, I know better. You can’t threaten me. I’m an Argentine citizen and you can’t say I can’t use my passport. I want to speak to your boss, now!”
At one of the desks a soldier quickly stood up and went through another door. He came back preceded by the Mayor (Major) in charge of the Aduana.
This professional career officer went up to Bill and asked what was going on.
Bill answered, “I have come back to my country with my family after living 20 years in the United States and this gentleman (pointing to the Sargento) says I can’t come in with my vehicle because it is registered in California.”
The Mayor picked up the passports again and looked through them, “I can see you are a citizen of the US from your passport. And you are still a citizen of Argentina. I can give you a three month Tourist Visa for the vehicle and then you can extend it later in Buenos Aires. That’s if you use your US passport. If you want to use your Argentine passport then the vehicle can’t enter the country.”
Bill blew his top. “Look I’m an Argentine citizen and that vehicle is mine. I’m going to come in to my country with it as a proud Argentine. Or, I’m going to go outside start a fire with my Argentine passport and warm my hands with it. Then I’ll come in with the US passport and say to hell with the Argentine government. “
“You can’t do that.”
“Watch me! I’ll burn it right outside your door. Who can stop me?”
The Sargento spoke up, “I can stop you, we have power…”
The Mayor broke in, “Wait I will call my superiors in Mendoza. I can see what you are trying to do. You want to be able to show your family how proud you are to be Argentine.”
“That’s right.”
“Let me call.”
Bill stayed at the counter leaning against it as the Mayor made his call. While standing there he reached into his pocket and took out an Eisenhower dollar coin and started playing with it. All the time trying to catch what was being said on the phone. Every so often the Mayor would say “Yes Sir” and as he did he would half salute and his heels would click together. An officer to the core.
The Sargento was watching Bill play with the coin. Curious he asked, “What is that you have?”
“It’s a US dollar coin,” Bill said extending his arm and handing it to him.
The Sargento took it and turned it over and over in his hand then took it to show to everyone in the room. “Look it’s a real dollar. From the US, a coin." Turning back to Bill he asked,"Can you sell it to me? Do you have any more?”
Bill hesitated then said yes he had some more out in the motorhome. But he shouldn’t really sell them they were worth much more than a dollar.
“How much?” everyone was interested now.
Bill tossed out a figure, “Five US dollars.” (At this time the peso was 750 to one dollar US.) so that was a lot of money, we had about 20 of them and he sold them all.
The Mayor came back and told Bill the Coronel in Mendoza said there was no problem. To complete the paperwork and make Bill feel welcome.
The Argentine passport and vehicle papers were stamped and returned.
Smiling, Bill returned to the motorhome.
“What was going on in there? I was beginning to think you had disappeared. What took so long?” I questioned as he put the papers on the table. Listening to his story I figured we were lucky we didn’t end up in prison or worse. “Why couldn’t you just have used the US passport?”
“It was the principle of the thing.” he replied.
By now it was 8 p.m. And very dark out. Way to late to head down the mountain. We would have to spend the night up here in the freezing temperature. During the night it went down to the high teens .
Oh, oh the Major was coming out of the building and heading towards us. Maybe they changed their minds and we'd go to jail after all. He knocked on the door and when Bill opened it he apologized again for the mix up and asked if he could come in. He brought us some eggs and fruit and toasted chestnuts that he said were from the men. Then he sat and visited for awhile.
The next morning we crawled out from under the piles of blankets and said Good Bye to the guards who were still asking if we had more Dollars.
We had reached Argentina at last. Soon we would be driving down the Argentine section of the Pan American Highway. This would prove to be another truely exciting part of the journey.
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April 19th, 1978 - We are at the Argentina Border in the Andes in our Motorhome
Spending the night on the top of the Andes
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