The Big Move: Adventures in Bureaucracy

I think that it goes without saying that moving across an ocean is difficult. Getting yourself to the new destination is the easy part. Simply travel to the airport, board a plane and relax until you reach your new home. Getting your things there is the more complicated part that involves a moving truck, a container ship and a long day of paperwork once your things arrive. This is where things get interesting.


Some people that move here choose to leave their things in storage on the mainland, while others opt to bring what they have. We wanted to bring our things with us, because we want to make the VI our permanent home. Before the big move we received several outrageous quotes from moving companies to move our things down here. We knew there had to be a cheaper way of doing things, so Justin took it upon himself to take out the moving company and find us a freight company. This saved us over half of the costs the moving companies quoted to us. WIN!


The only downside is that we had to do all of the work ourselves. We wrapped all of the furniture, dishes, packed all of the boxes, etc. Then on January 7th a truck came to our apartment in Watertown with a 40 foot container in tow. At 5:00 am a trucker awoke us out of a deep sleep with a phone call to say that he had arrived with the truck. Justin, drunk with sleep, told him to wait until 7:30 when help would arrive to load up the truck. I happily went off to my last day at work. I was sad to be having a last day at the GISB, but I sure was happy to not have to deal with the truck. All of our things went on the container. Including our car!

A few weeks later in the USVI our things arrived in tact. Surprisingly the car had not crashed into our things as I had repeatedly envisioned in my mind:

Once our things had shown up at the container yard, we had to jump through about a billion bureaucratic hoops to reclaim what was ours. Justin had to take time away from work, so that we could run around town to get our things back. Our hectic day was memorable. I finally had the chance to know why everyone complains about bureaucracy here.


First we had to go to the container yard, where we met a woman that told us exactly what we needed to do. She handed us a piece of paper with steps and directions of what we needed to do. The list looked like this:


1. Obtain Bill of Lading, vehicle and property insurance (This had been completed already)
2. Go to the IRS office located next to the former cinema building next to the high school
3. Go to Customs located in the former SBA building behind Frenchtown
4. Go to the Bureau of Motor Vehicles to obtain a moving permit
5. Go to Crowley, present all documents and pick up your car
6. Get vehicle inspection at BMV and register your car


When I glanced over the list, I realized that I was thankful Justin had been here for awhile and knew where all of this was. There were no real directions or addresses for all of the places listed above. Just general areas you are expected to know how to get to as a local. That is how they give the directions here. Landmarks.


So off we went with our list. The IRS office visit was no problem, the people in customs had a 20 minute friendly conversation with us and let us on our merry way. Everything went well until we got to the BMV. All of us loathe any visit to the Bureau of Motor Vehicles. Regardless of the state you live in. No problem. I thought...


WRONG. The BMV was the WORST experience of the day and the WORST experience I ever had visiting a motor vehicle department out of all of the places I have lived in. When we walked in there were no signs directing us as to which window to visit regarding our situation. There were also no numbers to take so you could wait in an orderly manner until your number is called. Instead the BMV was a giant free for all! In the first line we went to, the lady went to lunch without warning, shut her window and sent everyone to the line next to us. She really did not give a damn about it either. Everyone in that line and everyone in our line argued with each other about who was next, furiously exclaiming at the top of their lungs, "Can you believe that? She just closed the window and sent us over here. What are we going to do? Can I get in front of you? THIS IS CRAZY!"


I assumed a position in line, while Justin went to stand in another line. We decided that the first one to make it to a window was the winner. Meanwhile, a line on another side of the building also closed without warning and the same pandemonium ensued. These people were sent to the line I was in. A woman in front of me told me, "Be careful. Watch your back. They will try to get in front of you." That was when I pulled out my German style waiting in line tactics, which worked to my advantage because no one made it in front of me. Finally, after 30 minutes or more of mayhem, I made it to the window. We had gotten the permit to move our car, but I left with great sadness knowing I would have to return again to register the car later that day.


By that time we were ravenously hungry, so we ate lunch and resumed the bureaucratic activities shortly thereafter. We got our car inspected. That went something like this:


Inspector: Read your VIN number
Justin: xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Inspector: Mileage on the car?
Justin: 90, 060 miles
Inspector: Okay. You are free to go.
Me in the car thinking: What? That was it????


So on I went to the BMV, where I fought the same amount of ridiculousness that played out earlier that day. Justin managed to meet with a moving company in order avoid another trip inside the BMV. I got the car registered, tagged and titled though, thus ending the process of all that needed to get done that day.


The rest went off without a hitch. A local moving company moved our things up to our side of the mountains the following day and I began to make our apartment feel like home. Pictures will follow at later time, but until then I still have some unpacking to do.