Local Customs

Position: 12°02’40″N 61°44’57″W

“Knock and Then Enter”, the photocopied sign said. I rap my knuckles on a cheap, hollow door that doesn’t fit its warped frame. The door takes a little extra foot shove at the bottom to release. It suddenly swings open and I enter the chilly, air-conditioned room. Hot outside, the sheen of sweat on my back turns clammy as I examine the occupants for clues as to who is who. This is Grenada and each neatly dressed, well-groomed officer has a triangular title on their desk indicating Customs or Immigration. Their starched white shirts with blue epaulets fell straight out of Her Majesty’s Government sartorial playbook, as did the paperwork – all circa 1975.

Six months into our exploration of these islands, each country we visited has its own take on Customs and Immigration. There are essentially three varieties, the French, the Dutch, and the independent. As I’ve mentioned before, the French are the most relaxed and organized about their customs and immigration procedures. You locate an authorized computer terminal, sit down, and log in. When you leave, you sit down and log out. Both transactions produce a piece of paper that is stamped and signed by the protector of the computer. Sometimes it’s completely free, sometimes it costs 5 Euros.

Carbon Dated

If the French were truly organized, your inbound record would pop up when you sign out and you wouldn’t have to re-enter all your particulars. It can’t be that hard. It’s a database with lots of unique numbers in every file. But at least it’s quick and cheap. It’s so superior, that on Saint Martin/Sint Maarten, an island divided into a French section and Dutch section, folks much prefer to enter on the French side than the more expensive Dutch – the island has no land borders.

Most of the remaining islands are independent countries with charmingly analogue bureaucracies. I hadn’t seen or used carbon paper in a couple of decades until coming down here. For our readers under 35, that’s how we used to make simultaneous copies of original documents. The top copy, the original, is layered on top of two identical photocopies, while sandwiched in between are two sheets of mucky blue carbon paper. Think of a Big Mac where the bun is the document and the burger is the carbon paper. Press hard enough and you can almost read what’s on the bottom copy.

Lovin’ It

Invariably, Customs (always follow the money) will see you first. Only once you’ve cleared Customs will Immigration deal with you. Taking a seat in front of the Customs officer, he (all have been male so far) will ask, “Have you filled out the paperwork?” To which I’ll reply, “No.” He will hand over his official-looking Big Mac along with a pen that doesn’t work and point to a remote corner of the room. I retire and fill in Aleta’s particulars.

The questions are all the same. Boat size, weight, registration, crew’s nationalities, that kind of thing. Once completed, I hand in my homework and the officer examines it, along with our passports. A quick set of calculations determines our Customs fees, the basis of which is inscrutable. Fees typically run from $20USD to $75USD. A couple of stamps, a receipt, and directions to the Immigration officer come next.

Women more frequently work Immigration. They are as matronly as the Customs officers are macho. She takes the remaining sheets of your Big Mac, reviews it, and may or may not stamp your passport. Sometimes they charge an administrative fee, but if they do it’s a fraction of Custom’s. When complete, she hands you back the bottom, most illegible copy that you keep until you leave. Checking out is an important part of the process. Without an exit document you’ll have a much harder time getting into the next country.

Q – Anon

If you want to avoid all this falderol – well, you really can’t. Before clearing Customs and Immigration you’re required to fly a plain yellow Q (Quarantine) flag from your boat’s starboard spreader. Once cleared in, you exchange the Q flag for the courtesy flag of the country you’re visiting. ‘Yellow Flagging’ is visiting an anchorage, but not going ashore, without clearing in. Cruisers yellow flag on longer legs to break up their trip with overnight stops. Marlon gets yellow flagged in countries with particularly onerous pet paperwork. Most places tolerate yellow flaggers, but they’re technically skirting the law.

Thus far officers have been professional and polite and the entire process usually takes about 45 minutes. Checking out of Grenada, it turned out my Customs officer was about to take his motorcycle license test. He has a hankering for a Japanese Super-bike, like a Yamaha R1S. But he also found a more traditional Norton Commando 750 an interesting alternative. If it hadn’t been close to quitting time, we might have talked for hours.

---