We had some general questions about “what happens now?” with the lawyer who fixed up the process for us and dealt with our paperwork, so we made an appointment for said Q&A session. “No problem. DriverBob will pick you up at the hotel and bring you here.”
DriverBob shows up and off we go. When we arrive at LawyerBob’s house, it is like something out of Miami Vice or other drug lord movie. LawyerBob’s neighbors have their own guards out front with machineguns. We are escorted by DriverBob through sliding glass doors into a sort of living room/library. Ornate woodwork everywhere inside (real wood, not the fake stuff), nice furniture. The windows look out in a well-manicured tropical backyard, in which marches a ñandu (ostrich) and a few chickens. It could only have been better if there were a giraffe, or bikini girls hanging out at the poolside. Perhaps sharks in the pool. With frikking laser beams on their heads.
There were also parrots and cats and dogs and armadillos. It was a menagerie.
I was fully expecting to see, waiting for us, a portly man with a 2-ton moustache, a Panama hat, Popeye forearms covered in gorilla fur and a white guayabera half-opened to display a gold chain with a Virgin of Guadeloupe pendant and a thick rug of chest hair. He gestures with a smoldering cigar between his way-too-fat jewelry-festooned fingers and refers to himself in the third person, “Now, what can Pablo do for you?”
A maid came in and brought us water and orange juice. The glass pitchers were chilled. The glasses had no fingerprints or water spots.
Then eventually LawyerBob came in. [details left out for fear I may die]
We had a good Q&A session. LawyerBob spoke of all things Paraguayan. It took a long time. LawyerBob likes to talk. Then the subject came up about how Paraguayans work, which involved explanation of foreigners who come here thinking that they can get things done rapidly and then simply run into the brick wall of bureaucracy. I wondered if it was just in general or if it was cleverly aimed at my panic-laden phone calls from the previous day. It chilled my blood, regardless.
We did have a good laugh about the clusterfuck of the process, though. When we arrived, none of the people who were handling our files for LawyerBob recognized any of the people in the Migraciones office. ThugBob’s “let’s get things done” bee dance was not working in the hive. None of these new people knew any of the drill, so they did not know how to handle any sort of deviation from a set of absolutist guidelines in their little book of how-to-do-it. Migraciones has a history of being wiped clean as different Jefes come and go and fire the staff to make way for friends and favors owed.
Who knows where ThugBob was, but he *should* have been there. When we went back across the street, the people in the lawyer’s office were calling LawyerBob, I was calling Lawyer’sAssistantBob, everyone was calling everyone asking everyone else, “What do we do?”
Clusterfuck.
Then, later the same day, we were out shopping and we get a call from Lawyer’sAssistantBob asking where we were. “Why aren’t you at the hotel?” she asked. We had inquired previously about a service in which a guy from Interpol comes to get another set of photos and fingerprints ahead of time so that when your cedula is ready you do not need to be present in order to have it made, and it can therefore be mailed to you. Yes, we would like to do that, we said, but beyond that we did not know when or where or how it would happen, and had assumed we would be called to confirm a place and time.
“ThugBob is at your hotel and you are not there,” she continued.
“We are out shopping. This is why mankind invented the concept of appointments,” I admit it was rude and crossing the line of propriety but I had had enough of this kind of stuff and my give-a-damn was busted. WifeBob continues to scold me about choosing my battles, and I admit it was a battle best taken in the ass, but I lost my temper. I would send an apology by SMS later on.
“OK, where are you? ThugBob will come to pick you up.”
“I’m at… *beep-beep-beep*” the phone cuts out. Lawyer’sAssistantBob is out of cel phone minutes, and I can’t get a cel signal either. We saw a Claro store across the street so I go there to try and buy more minutes. The guard is waving his hands “no” as the clerk inside is locking the doors. Closed.
We continued to a big grocery store which surely would have a cel phone charge booth or something we could use to our benefit. Can’t buy minutes for a foreign Claro phone here. Shit. I asked one of the girls at the customer service counter if I could make a quick phone call to a local cel phone, fully expecting a “no,” but lo and behold she pulls out her personal cel phone and dials the number. Paraguayans are indeed helpful and generous! I think my odds would have been 50/50 in Uruguay. Ehh, less.
I connected with Lawyer’sAssistantBob, who had just run to recharge her phone minutes, and told her where we were. “OK, let me call ThugBob and arrange a pickup.” We waited a minute or two and then got a call back on my phone. Good, it works now. “ThugBob says the store does not exist.”
“I assure you, it does indeed exist. I am standing right here in front of it, the sign reads blahblahblah, and the street sign here is the corner of blahblah and blahblah.”
“Sorry, can you get a taxi?” ThugBob didn’t want to get off his butt in rush hour traffic. Why not just say so?
“Uh, yes,” another battle taken in the ass.
We climbed into the cab and got back to the hotel where ThugBob was waiting with InterpolBob. We did our fingerprint cards and photos; ThugBob stared off into space and still would not look us in the eye. I fantasize about burying his corpse some day. Pre-emptive strike.
Anyhow, we had a good nervous laugh about it while I am thinking I will become chicken and ñandu feed. Please don’t kill me, LawyerBob!
The time came to leave and LawyerBob insisted we stay for lunch. “No, really, we have to go, we are driving to Ciudad del Este this afternoon and we have to leave soon,” we replied.
“No, please, my empleada has just prepared all this food.”
Ok, we’ll eat, please don’t kill us. …or will eating kill us? I start to fear Indios in dark corners with blowguns and poison darts made from colorful frog venom…
So we talked and talked some more, or, rather, LawyerBob talked and talked. Not that I mind; LawyerBob is full of excellent information on how things work, how the people think, the problems Paraguay must overcome, etc. etc. Eventually the time came when it really was time to go. We thanked LawyerBob profusely for the hospitality and left with DriverBob, who had started the car and had the interior pre-cooled for us, ready for our trip back to the hotel, from which we would leave for Ciudad del Este.
In the car on the way back I reveal my fear and excitement that LawyerBob is probably the kind of person you could call if you had a body to dispose of. A good person to know, and a good person to fear all the same.
expatbob 