-Going Postal
Everybody in the United States of America should get down on their knees and thank God that they have a reliable, fast, and relatively cheap postal service.
This past Tuesday (January 9), we received a couple of pink slips in the mail stating that we had received 2 packages from the United States. We thought this was a pretty sweet deal; thoughts of chocolate goodies, cookies, and surprises raced through our minds as we scanned the paper. Little did we know that this was the beginning of an adventure that would bring us face to face with one of the most erratic and unpredictable organisms in the world: The Venezuelan Postal Service.
The first leg in this quagmire of a process began as we realized that we would not be able to pick up our packages in Charallave where we live. No, no, no…we must go to Caracas to get them. So we set a date with pastor Ceferino, and on Wednesday at 7:00am, we headed to the bus station to catch the early to Caracas. After 1.75 hours of driving in some of the worlds worst traffic (according to Lonely Planet), and some walking, we arrived at the central post office of Venezuela.
9:15am - At first I was optimistic, but my first sign should have been the lack of busy workers and people going hither and thither. Instead, the place looked like a dead possum. We headed around to the back of the building where the package pick up area was. We walked confidently up to the receptionist, presented our pink slips, and took stock of our surroundings as we expected to receive our packages within minutes. There was a waiting area, almost full of people, sitting around without packages. “They must not have had pink slips,” I thought smugly.
The receptionist said she could only accept one of the pink slips, which had pastor Ceferino’s name first on it. The slip with our name, well, we couldn’t have that package. Why? It still remains a mystery, but even when we presented our passports, she said we would not be able to have the package. Make sense?
So she told us that if we wanted the one package with Ceferino’s name on it, we would have to go around the building to buy stamps for it. Didn’t really understand what that meant, but by now we figured it made sense to someone. So we went to the other end of the building, which isn’t small, and bought $5 worth of stamps. We returned to the package area with the stamps, which we gave to the lady. The thought that they would actually send the package on to Charallave while the package was sitting right in front of us came to my mind. Amazingly enough, this didn’t happen.
After we gave her the stamps, she motioned for us to sit down and wait. We did, and observed three things.
1. Things weren’t moving very fast.
2. Occasionally from behind a fenced gate, employees would call out names of people who had received packages. When the person’s name was called, they would be allowed through the gate, and then the employee would open the package in front of the person, showing them the contents.
3. After they showed the contents, they would repackage it and take it somewhere, while the person receiving the package would return through the gate, back to their seat, and wait some more.
10:19am - After 30 minutes or so, in which Cassie and I enjoyed some crackers, our names were finally called. Cassie and Ceferino crossed the threshold, beheld the contents which were quickly repackaged, and they came back and sat down. Luckily during that brief moment, Ceferino managed to talk with someone higher up, and we were allowed to retrieve our second package, at least after some paperwork.
We went back to the place where we bought stamps and bought more for the second package. Then we came back to the pick-up center where they told us we needed to make a copy of our passports, and sign some more forms. So we walked all the way back to the other side of the building to where they make copies, and of course, you have to pay for those.
The paperwork passed by an act of God, and so we sat back down and waited to see the contents of our second package.
11:38am – “Brea klinenbur” (my name in Spanish). I went with Ceferino, identified the goods, and returned to the desk to see what was next. The receptionist told us that we would have to go to the bank in the post office and present some new slips of paper saying that we needed our packages. I was confused by this new move, wondering if we would get our packages at the bank. We headed back to the other end of the building. We found the forms and filled them out, waited in line, and then presented the forms to the bank guy.
12:02am – “We have to pay how much????” That’s right, $37 to receive our packages. I couldn’t believe it! Even though I couldn’t explain my frustration to the Venezuelan Bank Teller, I let him know through my various facial expressions that this was ridiculous. But what do you do when you’ve come this far in the process? I regretfully handed over the cash.
12:04pm - We find out we have to make copies of our bills, which of course costs money.
12:05pm - I vow never to come to this place again.
12:15pm - We arrived back at the package area…but it was closed for lunch…go figure. So we asked the nearest employee what we should do, and he recommended we eat at the post office cafeteria. Yeah, this place, though not that big, had a bank and a cafeteria in it. So we said what the heck, and headed up to go eat. We had spent this much money, why not spend some more. The food was actually pretty cheap and Ceferino let me have some of his steak. I actually felt better.
1:00pm - Back at the waiting area we showed the receptionist our gigantic buy-your-own-package bill and sat down and expected the worst.
1:22pm - Our names are called for the last time. We go into another room, and there are our two packages. They hand them to us for the first time in four hours, and we turn to go home.
3:45pm - We arrive in Charallave with our packages in hand: 8 hours later and $50 poorer. Luckily we ran out of money before lunch which Ceferino bought. He also paid for our transportation home. Take that!
4:30pm - We open the packages.
Unfortunately I can’t say the beast was tamed; in fact I am pretty sure he got the best of me, but somehow it all felt worth it; that feeling that you know you got the shaft but you endured to the end and still got what you set out for.
Please send only letters and post cards. Thanks.
Everybody in the United States of America should get down on their knees and thank God that they have a reliable, fast, and relatively cheap postal service.
This past Tuesday (January 9), we received a couple of pink slips in the mail stating that we had received 2 packages from the United States. We thought this was a pretty sweet deal; thoughts of chocolate goodies, cookies, and surprises raced through our minds as we scanned the paper. Little did we know that this was the beginning of an adventure that would bring us face to face with one of the most erratic and unpredictable organisms in the world: The Venezuelan Postal Service.
The first leg in this quagmire of a process began as we realized that we would not be able to pick up our packages in Charallave where we live. No, no, no…we must go to Caracas to get them. So we set a date with pastor Ceferino, and on Wednesday at 7:00am, we headed to the bus station to catch the early to Caracas. After 1.75 hours of driving in some of the worlds worst traffic (according to Lonely Planet), and some walking, we arrived at the central post office of Venezuela.
9:15am - At first I was optimistic, but my first sign should have been the lack of busy workers and people going hither and thither. Instead, the place looked like a dead possum. We headed around to the back of the building where the package pick up area was. We walked confidently up to the receptionist, presented our pink slips, and took stock of our surroundings as we expected to receive our packages within minutes. There was a waiting area, almost full of people, sitting around without packages. “They must not have had pink slips,” I thought smugly.
The receptionist said she could only accept one of the pink slips, which had pastor Ceferino’s name first on it. The slip with our name, well, we couldn’t have that package. Why? It still remains a mystery, but even when we presented our passports, she said we would not be able to have the package. Make sense?
So she told us that if we wanted the one package with Ceferino’s name on it, we would have to go around the building to buy stamps for it. Didn’t really understand what that meant, but by now we figured it made sense to someone. So we went to the other end of the building, which isn’t small, and bought $5 worth of stamps. We returned to the package area with the stamps, which we gave to the lady. The thought that they would actually send the package on to Charallave while the package was sitting right in front of us came to my mind. Amazingly enough, this didn’t happen.
After we gave her the stamps, she motioned for us to sit down and wait. We did, and observed three things.
1. Things weren’t moving very fast.
2. Occasionally from behind a fenced gate, employees would call out names of people who had received packages. When the person’s name was called, they would be allowed through the gate, and then the employee would open the package in front of the person, showing them the contents.
3. After they showed the contents, they would repackage it and take it somewhere, while the person receiving the package would return through the gate, back to their seat, and wait some more.
10:19am - After 30 minutes or so, in which Cassie and I enjoyed some crackers, our names were finally called. Cassie and Ceferino crossed the threshold, beheld the contents which were quickly repackaged, and they came back and sat down. Luckily during that brief moment, Ceferino managed to talk with someone higher up, and we were allowed to retrieve our second package, at least after some paperwork.
We went back to the place where we bought stamps and bought more for the second package. Then we came back to the pick-up center where they told us we needed to make a copy of our passports, and sign some more forms. So we walked all the way back to the other side of the building to where they make copies, and of course, you have to pay for those.
The paperwork passed by an act of God, and so we sat back down and waited to see the contents of our second package.
11:38am – “Brea klinenbur” (my name in Spanish). I went with Ceferino, identified the goods, and returned to the desk to see what was next. The receptionist told us that we would have to go to the bank in the post office and present some new slips of paper saying that we needed our packages. I was confused by this new move, wondering if we would get our packages at the bank. We headed back to the other end of the building. We found the forms and filled them out, waited in line, and then presented the forms to the bank guy.
12:02am – “We have to pay how much????” That’s right, $37 to receive our packages. I couldn’t believe it! Even though I couldn’t explain my frustration to the Venezuelan Bank Teller, I let him know through my various facial expressions that this was ridiculous. But what do you do when you’ve come this far in the process? I regretfully handed over the cash.
12:04pm - We find out we have to make copies of our bills, which of course costs money.
12:05pm - I vow never to come to this place again.
12:15pm - We arrived back at the package area…but it was closed for lunch…go figure. So we asked the nearest employee what we should do, and he recommended we eat at the post office cafeteria. Yeah, this place, though not that big, had a bank and a cafeteria in it. So we said what the heck, and headed up to go eat. We had spent this much money, why not spend some more. The food was actually pretty cheap and Ceferino let me have some of his steak. I actually felt better.
1:00pm - Back at the waiting area we showed the receptionist our gigantic buy-your-own-package bill and sat down and expected the worst.
1:22pm - Our names are called for the last time. We go into another room, and there are our two packages. They hand them to us for the first time in four hours, and we turn to go home.
3:45pm - We arrive in Charallave with our packages in hand: 8 hours later and $50 poorer. Luckily we ran out of money before lunch which Ceferino bought. He also paid for our transportation home. Take that!
4:30pm - We open the packages.
Unfortunately I can’t say the beast was tamed; in fact I am pretty sure he got the best of me, but somehow it all felt worth it; that feeling that you know you got the shaft but you endured to the end and still got what you set out for.
Please send only letters and post cards. Thanks.
