“You don’t have the right documents” the police officer at the border control checkpoint said to me. I had just passed into Uruguay about 20 minutes before this encounter through a very obscure border. I wasn’t surprised that I didn’t have the right documents because the agents at the border didn’t seem to know how to process me. This particular border handled mostly local traffic and a few commercial trucks. I had gotten my passport stamped at the Uruguay immigration office and the agent had taken copies of my title and registration. She said “Listo!” which means finished and gave me a thumbs up. I thought it was odd that I didn’t receive any documents for the bike but that was also the case when I entered Brazil so I just thought it must be the way it works here. I jumped on the bike and headed down the road where I eventually ran into this checkpoint.

“You don’t have the right documents… let me help you. Park your bike over there and give me a few minutes” the officer said in English. A few minutes later he told me that I needed to ride back to the border where an agent would be waiting for me. “They will take care of you”. I thanked the officer though I really didn’t want to ride back to the border. It was really hot and I wanted to get to camp but there really wasn’t any alternative. 

When I arrived at back the border, a uniformed female agent waved me into a dirt parking lot, asked for my motorcycle documents and told me to come inside. Her office was in a dilapidated concrete building with peeling paint and boarded up windows. The building only had one small room in which there was a simple wooden desk and two metal filing cabinets. A single lightbulb hung from a cord in the middle of the ceiling. I thought to myself… what do you have to do to get stationed here? 

The woman sat at her desk and asked me to sit down. She pulled up a form on her computer screen and then looked over my documents. It was painfully humorous to watch her try to make sense of what she was looking at. I knew what she was feeling because I had to fill out forms that looked just like that one so many times and it makes absolutely no sense. None of the information on my title and registration matched up with the boxes on the government form. Long minutes passed as she poked around trying to figure it out. I leaned across the desk and pointed to my plate number and then point to the screen where it said PLACA. “Esto va ahi” (this goes there) I said. My VIN number goes under CHASIS and the value of the bike goes under MATRICULATION. I pulled my chair around to her side of the desk and we worked through the form together. Evidently, somewhere along the way, I had acquired new border crossing superpowers. 

She printed two copies of the import permit and handed them to me. “Listo!” She said with enthusiasm. I looked at the documents and then said as politely as I could “Creo que necesitas darme tu sello y firma aqui” (I think you need to give me your stamp and signature here). Her smile turned into a grimace and then back into a smile. “Claro” (of course) she chimed as she stamped the documents. I folded one of the documents and put it with my passport. I handed the other copy back to her and said “Este es tuyo” (this one is yours). We laughed. I thanked her profusely and wished her a good day. “Soy la ultima gringo que tienes que ver hoy” (I’m the last gringo that you have to see today). She laughed again and waved me out of her office. It was nice to be back in a Spanish speaking country again.

Now in Uruguay the landscape changed from fields of soybeans and corn to grassland. Uruguay is famous for its cattle and I saw thousands of them grazing along the rolling hills. 

Again I’m camping without any internet so I will upload some photos tomorrow. I’ll be heading into Montevideo, the capital of Uruguay