Difficult Day

First of all, the dental visit went very well.  A sliver of tooth had sheared off a heavily filled molar.  The Dentist told me that it would not have been a problem unless I had pain (there was none) but nevertheless she bolstered the tooth with a pin and whatever bonding tricks dentists have at their disposal.  She told me that the tooth should be crowned, and I'll attend to that in Australia.  She X-rayed the rest of my teeth and to my amazement pronounced all fillings good and no infections.

This morning started well.  I woke up early and at 8.35 AM made contact with Sam on SAMMNet.  He gave me wind forecasts through Friday which will very useful to me.

I then dropped by Walter's boat and asked if he would be available at 9AM to help me swing the boat around.  That wasn't suitable but he suggested now, so I went back to the boat to make some final preparations and 5 minutes later he was there with his friend and crewman.  Walter played deck hand, I drove the boat, and his friend remained dockside to help with the lines.  The breeze was practically non existent and I managed to spin the boat around using the engine with no problem.  So at the moment Pachuca is pointed out to the fairway and I should have no problem with departure.

I then decided to reverse my plan for the day and do my clearance in the morning and my shopping for provisions in the afternoon.  It's just as well that I did because the rest of the day was consumed with the ordeal of satisfying my clearance obligations.

My first stop was the port captain which required a bit of a walk to Port Control but went fast once I got there.  A had my clearance from the Port Captain within literally 5 minutes.

I then walked over to the Customs House to attend to Immigration and there the trouble started.  The buisding  security guard told me that Immigration had moved on 1 March.  Fine, I asked, Where is it?  He didn't know!  I got into a cab with the driver insisting that he knew where I must go and he dropped me off at the office of Home Affairs on Barrack Street.  There was a queue of people just trying to get into the building.  Thirty minutes later I was at the main counter where I explained my requirement.  I was given a ticket numbered 3151 and told to wait.  After I got seated I noticed that numbers in the 1100 range were being processed and the estimated wait time stated on my ticket was 736 minutes.  I went back to the guy and asked him if the stated wait time was for real.  He laughed and said No.  But why, I asked are they processing the 1100's when my number is 3151?  He pointed out rather belatedly that I had to go upstairs where a different series of numbers was being processed.

Upstairs I explained to the guy why I was there and he directed me to a waiting area where ticket no. 3093 was being processed.  At 1.35 PM ticket no. 3105 was being processed, giving a rate of 12 per hour, with 46 to go.  I went back to the guy and told him that the sign in my holding area stated that it was for people wanting temporary residence, and all I needed was a couple of stamps to exit the country.  He insisted that I had to wait in the queue.

After a wait of 2.5 hours I reached the counter and the woman asked why I had been sent there.  After I explained how I had been directed there by the cab driver and two of the personnel in her organization she told me that I was in the wrong place.  "You mean I've been waiting for 3 hours for nothing?" I asked.  So, OK, where should I go?  She didn't know and went to another office to find out.  Five minutes later she wrote out a note with "Sea Fisheries Restaurant", " Next Police Station on the Harbor", "Pink Building".  There was no street address.  I went outside, found a cab driver, showed him the note with my explanation, and he told me that he knew where to go.  Except that he didn't.  He called in and learned that there is no "Sea Fisheries Restaurant" in Cape Town.  Eventually we saw a long pink building near a business called "Seafarer's" and visited it even though it had no sign on it and at the curbside was a sign stating "Transnet", the private company that runs the harbour.  At the door we asked if this was a police station and the guard said "No, it's immigration."  Now that I was at the right place the process went well and 10 minutes later the cab driver was taking me to Customs.  At Customs I paid the driver off (with a 50% bonus) then went in and did not have to wait at all and was attended by a very efficient man who knew what he was doing.  I handed in all of my VAT claims and any proceeds will be sent in Australian dollars to my home address in Perth.  After 10 minutes I was back on the street with my official clearance to depart Cape Town.

It was getting late but I decided to drop by Food Lovers' to buy some fresh food and I was then back at the marina at about 6 PM.  The entire afternoon had been shot and  tomorrow morning I would have to make an early morning dash to VandA for my provisions.

So instead of motoring out of the marina at 8 or 9 AM it appears that I'll be motoring out in the early afternoon.  That is not a big problem as long as the wind remains calm.  Whether I depart in the morning or the afternoon I expect to be up all night in order to get south of the South African continent.

From my vantage the implementation of this change of Immigration's address has been one big cockup.  Why didn't the security guard in the Customs House know the new address so that he could direct others?  Why hadn't the RCYC been notified?  Why didn't the personnel at Home Affairs know where to direct me?  Why didn't their line people know the address of the new premises?   Why was the building of the new premises have a big and clear "Immigration" sign on it?  Am I being unreasonable?  Am I expecting too much?  Anyway, tomorrow I'll visit Diane at the RCYC office and advise her of the change so that she can change her instructions.

I finished my day with a long hot shower then dinner at the club, indulging myself with a "the works" hamburger with fries accompanied by two glasses of red wine.  Decadent?  Yes, but hey, I've got to face 50 days of home cooking starting tomorrow.