Let me begin by saying that I appreciate your prayers so much.
I returned to the immigration office today by myself based on the recommendation of Dashgaa who often deals with the immigration office on behalf of his school's students and the recommendation of Davaajav, my lawyer. Davaajav said, "Go in and ask them, 'What do I need to do? Can I talk to the boss?'"
I arrived just before 11 and stood in line for about half an hour. I prayed, rehearsed what I would say in Mongolian, meditated on Scripture. When I reached the counter, the immigration official recognized me immediately, got out my paperwork, and asked, "Do you speak Mongolian?"
"Yes," I responded.
He then said, "Go to the bank and pay 15,000 togrogs [about $14] per person." That amount is the standard fee to renew one's residency permission.
I went and paid the money, gave him the receipt, and he sent me on my way with a claim check to claim my passports with the new residency permission stamped in them next Tuesday.
Frankly, I cannot explain why they did not just do that yesterday. I could have paid my fees and picked up a claim check yesterday. Perhaps they just wanted to show some bureaucratic muscle.
But the end result is that there is no trouble with my residency permission. Let me say again how grateful I am for your prayers!
Showing posts with label bureaucracy. Show all posts
Showing posts with label bureaucracy. Show all posts
Thursday, May 15, 2008
Wednesday, May 14, 2008
Prayer update
Well, I have something to write about this week ... but it's not my choice of topic. With the help of a legal professional, I have spent the last two days gathering my documents together to renew my residency permission, a fairly mundane task. Knowing that I would be finishing up my paperwork and visiting the immigration office today, I prayed for God's blessing on my work before beginning my day.
Everything was in order when my accountant and I visited the immigration office today. However, the first bureaucrat we visited flatly refused to extend my residency permission because my company had not shown enough activity. As far as my lawyer and I know, there is no legal requirement for a certain minimum amount of economic activity which means there is no legal reason for them to refuse me residency permission. Also, my multiple entry and exit visa is valid through May of 2010. All we asked for is an extension of my residency permission, a very typical request at the immigration office.
My accountant called my lawyer and talked for a bit. His advice was to take my request to extend my residency permission to a new window. In other words, seek out another bureaucrat to approve my request. So we did. We stood in line for some time at another window. When we reached the new bureaucrat, he took my paperwork, looked at the same information that the previous bureaucrat had seen, and started to write information on my paperwork as if he were going to accept it. But then the first bureaucrat we visited walked over to a third bureaucrat and had some words with him. The third bureaucrat then came over and talked with the man with whom we were currently dealing. He then began to ask the same questions as the first person.
My accountant patiently explained the situation. The second bureaucrat then took my paperwork, placing it in a separate box, and told us to return the next day at eleven. What he did not say was most significant: he did not say to pay a fee which in previous years was a necessary part of submitting one's paperwork. My accountant reminded him that my residency permission expires tomorrow and asked if everything was going to be fine. He said it would be. But I remain unconvinced.
Suffice it to say, I do not feel good about the situation. It seems odd to me that he accepted my documents, including my family's passports, but did not require me to pay a fee. It may be if they refuse our request to extend our residency permission that we will be forced to leave the country at least temporarily.
Of course, we leave all this in the hands of our Lord and the Lord of all the earth. I am not worried, but I would ask that you would pray with me that God's will would be done. Because I do not think our work here is completed and am not ready to take a break, I am surprised that things did not go more smoothly. But I know that God is in control and am prepared to follow as He leads.
Look for an update tomorrow as I will know more after my visit to the immigration office.
Everything was in order when my accountant and I visited the immigration office today. However, the first bureaucrat we visited flatly refused to extend my residency permission because my company had not shown enough activity. As far as my lawyer and I know, there is no legal requirement for a certain minimum amount of economic activity which means there is no legal reason for them to refuse me residency permission. Also, my multiple entry and exit visa is valid through May of 2010. All we asked for is an extension of my residency permission, a very typical request at the immigration office.
My accountant called my lawyer and talked for a bit. His advice was to take my request to extend my residency permission to a new window. In other words, seek out another bureaucrat to approve my request. So we did. We stood in line for some time at another window. When we reached the new bureaucrat, he took my paperwork, looked at the same information that the previous bureaucrat had seen, and started to write information on my paperwork as if he were going to accept it. But then the first bureaucrat we visited walked over to a third bureaucrat and had some words with him. The third bureaucrat then came over and talked with the man with whom we were currently dealing. He then began to ask the same questions as the first person.
My accountant patiently explained the situation. The second bureaucrat then took my paperwork, placing it in a separate box, and told us to return the next day at eleven. What he did not say was most significant: he did not say to pay a fee which in previous years was a necessary part of submitting one's paperwork. My accountant reminded him that my residency permission expires tomorrow and asked if everything was going to be fine. He said it would be. But I remain unconvinced.
Suffice it to say, I do not feel good about the situation. It seems odd to me that he accepted my documents, including my family's passports, but did not require me to pay a fee. It may be if they refuse our request to extend our residency permission that we will be forced to leave the country at least temporarily.
Of course, we leave all this in the hands of our Lord and the Lord of all the earth. I am not worried, but I would ask that you would pray with me that God's will would be done. Because I do not think our work here is completed and am not ready to take a break, I am surprised that things did not go more smoothly. But I know that God is in control and am prepared to follow as He leads.
Look for an update tomorrow as I will know more after my visit to the immigration office.
Saturday, November 24, 2007
Missing my 15 minutes of fame
I had just finished my lunch at home and was preparing to go out again when a phone call came for me. On the other end of the line was a Mongolian speaking frantically. She said that she was from the local committee (a layer of bureaucracy here in Mongolia) and had some questions for me. When did I arrive in Mongolia? How long was I planning to be here? (How do I answer that one?) Did I have a valid visa? Did I have residency permission? How many foreigners were living with me? What kind of work was I doing?
After I answered all her questions, she demanded that I come down to her office immediately with all my official documents and with copies of them. I hung the phone up and explained what had happened to a Mongolian friend who was at our home.
"Oh yes," she said, "Koreans, Chinese, and Americans have become the most prominent foreigners in Mongolian. Many of them are here past their visa's expiration date or have not obtained residency permission. So the government recently passed a law requiring all foreigners without the proper papers to leave the country immediately."
I pulled my passports out, hoped everything was in order, and went to make copies of everything: passport front page, visas, residency permission, etc.
When I arrived at the official's office, she was on the phone talking obviously to another foreigner. She was putting many questions to the other foreigner too although it seemed that the foreigner she was currently speaking with did not have all his things in order. Finally, she hung up the phone and turned her attention to me.
I handed her my passport which she looked at briefly.
"Where is your visa?" she demanded. I showed her my visa which is valid through 2010.
She fired off another question, "Where is your residency permission?" I showed her my residency permission.
Next, "where is your work permission?" I explained to her that my visa type did not require residency permission. We sparred briefly before she agreed that I did not need work permission. (I do not hold a wage paying, Mongolian job.)
Then she picked up my wife's passport. "Who is this?"
"My wife."
"Where does she work?"
I explained that she did not have a job either.
"What about the other four passports?" She spoke as if she were frustrated that all my documents were in order. I wondered briefly if she was going to pull out a bureaucratic hurdle for me to jump through.
"Those are our four children." Should I add, "They don't work either"?
"Fine," she said taking my copies and handing back my passports and refraining from assigning me any bureaucratic obstacles to overcome. And that is when I missed my fifteen minutes of fame. [CAUTION: THE REST OF THIS POST IS SATIRICAL]
You see, the quickest way for a missionary to become famous is to die on the mission field. But for those who are not ready to die, the next best way to become a famous missionary is to be kicked off the mission field. So that means that by allowing me to stay, the Mongolian bureaucrat caused me to miss my fifteen minutes of fame.
I pulled my passports out, hoped everything was in order, and went to make copies of everything: passport front page, visas, residency permission, etc.
When I arrived at the official's office, she was on the phone talking obviously to another foreigner. She was putting many questions to the other foreigner too although it seemed that the foreigner she was currently speaking with did not have all his things in order. Finally, she hung up the phone and turned her attention to me.
I handed her my passport which she looked at briefly.
"Where is your visa?" she demanded. I showed her my visa which is valid through 2010.
She fired off another question, "Where is your residency permission?" I showed her my residency permission.
Next, "where is your work permission?" I explained to her that my visa type did not require residency permission. We sparred briefly before she agreed that I did not need work permission. (I do not hold a wage paying, Mongolian job.)
Then she picked up my wife's passport. "Who is this?"
"My wife."
"Where does she work?"
I explained that she did not have a job either.
"What about the other four passports?" She spoke as if she were frustrated that all my documents were in order. I wondered briefly if she was going to pull out a bureaucratic hurdle for me to jump through.
"Those are our four children." Should I add, "They don't work either"?
"Fine," she said taking my copies and handing back my passports and refraining from assigning me any bureaucratic obstacles to overcome. And that is when I missed my fifteen minutes of fame. [CAUTION: THE REST OF THIS POST IS SATIRICAL]
You see, the quickest way for a missionary to become famous is to die on the mission field. But for those who are not ready to die, the next best way to become a famous missionary is to be kicked off the mission field. So that means that by allowing me to stay, the Mongolian bureaucrat caused me to miss my fifteen minutes of fame.
Wednesday, September 20, 2006
Buying a car - the Mongolian experience
What follows is a daily journal of the last few weeks as I tried to purchase a car. The goal of publishing this post is not to complain or murmur. I want to give Americans who have never lived an a foreign country an idea of what some of the obstacles are like.
Also there are three reasons that we have a vehicle. The first reason is to be able to take the family out (especially in the winter) without standing out in the cold waiting for a taxi. We've noticed that it's getting harder to get taxis. Of course, the price of gas here has more than doubled since we left and may have something to do with it. We've also found that having a car makes the regular shopping trips so much easier. You can go to one store, put the items you've purchased in the back and then head for the next store. It is such a time saver when shopping. Most importantly, a car gives me the flexibility to visit Mongolians all over the city.
So without further ado, here is a journal of my car buying experience.
Preparation: Wednesday
The goal is to buy a vehicle. I’ve already asked Mongolian friends about it and narrowed it down to two cars. I take Kristie out to show her the type of cars that I am anticipating that I will buy. Kristie likes those choices, but we must wait for the money to arrive from the US. We have picked out a Toyota Mark II. It is a vehicle that is ubiquitous in Mongolia, known for its reliability, and easy to find parts for. The car we buy will probably be ten years old and have about 100,000 miles on it. It may even have a few nicks and dings, but there is no point in buying a newer car in Mongolia where the roads will tear up the suspension and dings and nicks are the norm for a car.
I call Bob that evening and tell him that my money for a car should be here in the next day or two and ask if he has time to take me to look at cars. He says maybe and that he’ll call me when he has free time.
Preparation: Thursday
The money for a vehicle is in my bank account. I call Bob, and he suggests that he can take me out tomorrow.
Day One: Friday
Bob and I go out to look at cars. We look all over and cannot find the car that we want which is strange because they are all over Ulan Bator. One of the last places that we visit has one, but they want almost $1,000 more than I am willing to pay. We finally find someone with the kind of vehicle for which I am searching at a reasonable price. But the windshield needs to be replaced and won’t be ready until Monday.
We go by to look at the vehicle. Not only does the window need to be replaced but also it is apparent that the door to the gas tank does not open. But the price that the seller offers is about what I want to pay. Fortunately, the windshield replacement work is being done right next to the place that does government vehicle inspections. Since a vehicle inspection is required to register the car, we go ahead and run the vehicle through the inspection. With the inspection done, we are ready to register it and get a license plate for it on Monday when the office that does that kind of thing opens.
Day Two: Saturday
The seller of the car wants to do the paperwork and receive his money today. I don’t want to give the seller any money until I see the car on Monday. Besides all the banks are closed and I haven’t withdrawn the money for the car yet. The transaction will have to wait until Monday.
Day Three: Sunday
Nothing happens
Day Four: Monday
Today should wrap up my car buying experience. On the schedule: meet with the seller to look the windshield, complete the sales paperwork, take the paperwork to the district traffic police station to receive a vehicle registration card in my name, take the vehicle registration to the municipal traffic police station to receive a license plate, and put the license plate on the car. If all goes well, I could have the car home by dinner. Then Tuesday I can take it to a mechanic to have the oil changed and some other small things repaired.
We arrive at the windshield repair place and find that they have not even taken the old windshield off yet. The seller is upset and asks why the work isn’t done when they’ve had two days. But all his scolding won’t complete the work any sooner.
We leave there and travel across town to complete the paperwork at a notary public. After the paperwork is completed I pay the seller his money. Bob talks him down $100 because the windshield needs to be replaced. Then Bob and I take the paperwork to the district traffic police station where we find out that we need to have an application form filled out, pay $1.60 for registration, present proof of residence, and pay a fine because the car was not registered within three days of entering the country. We agree to pay all that but the policeman working at the window refuses to take it. We must pay the $1.60 at a bank and then return with a receipt to prove we paid it. Perhaps someone doesn’t trust the police to receive the money directly … of course, if you can’t trust the police, whom can you trust? Probably though, the police do not want to be bothered with carrying change for those who offer to pay with large bills.
We leave, go to the bank, and pay the $1.60. Then we go by my office to pick up the proof of residence. We return to the police station and wait in line for an hour. When we finally reach the window, the police officer complains that we haven’t paid the fine (about $21.50). When we say that we’ll pay it, he refuses to take it. He informs us that we must go to another office in the same building to pay it. We give up our place in line and find the other office, but no one is there. We wait for about five minutes before someone shows up. He tells us that the person who will take the money for the fine is out and he’s not sure when he’ll return. We wait another 45 minutes. Finally, the registration window is closing, and we realize we won’t finish the registration today. We head for home.
Day Five: Tuesday
I arrive at the police station a few minutes before ten and call Bob. He has not even left his house yet. It doesn’t matter: the police officer who takes the fines is still not there. There are several others waiting too. I wait a half-hour for Bob. After he arrives, we wait another forty-five minutes or so. No one seems to know where the police officer we need is. Finally, one of Bob’s friends arrives dressed in plain clothes. Bob begins a conversation with him and they enter the police station together. Soon Bob comes back out with his friend. His friend looks at my paperwork as Bob explains things to him and then takes it inside. He comes back out and says that the fee is about $5. After he goes in a second time, Bob comes back and explains that his friend is doing me a favor and needs another $4. I ask who his friend is. It turns out his friend is a police officer who happens to be on vacation. That’s why he isn’t in uniform.
I wait another half-hour before Bob’s friend returns and says to come back at four to pick things up. It looks like another day lost.
I return to the district traffic police station after four o’clock and the vehicle registration is ready for me. I take the registration downtown to the municipal traffic police station. Behind the municipal traffic police station is the place where they issue vehicle license plates. I find my way behind the building and que up at a window. There seems to be some hold-up as the line, which was moving, is now stopped. But it does not take too long before we start to move again. Approximately, half an hour later and $10 poorer, I pick up a license plate for the vehicle.
I call Bob to see if it’s possible to pick up the vehicle tonight. Bob says that its too early to pick up the vehicle, the seal on the newly placed windshield has to cure. He says that we will pick it up tomorrow.
Day Six: Wednesday
It has now been a week since I started the car-buying process: part of the hang-up has been the weekend, part has been the trouble at the police station. Perhaps today I will finally have a car.
Bob calls about 10 A.M. which is early for him. He asks if I am ready to pick up the car. I thought he’d never ask! As we are traveling to pick up the car, Bob asks me where the triangular sticker is. I know nothing about a triangular sticker; all I have is a rectangular sticker from the car inspection. Bob says I need another sticker for my windshield. That means more work somewhere!
When we go by to pick up the car, the windshield is ready. Unfortunately, the other small repairs have not been done because Bob didn’t trust the car’s seller to have them done right. One of the small repairs is the gas tank door. It will be hard to fill the car’s gas tank if we can’t get the door open. Also since Friday, gas has gone up about 30 cents a gallon! Using a screwdriver, we finally get the door to the gas tank open.
I put gas in the car on the way home, but Bob says that his mechanic cannot look at the car today. He’ll check it out tomorrow.
Later, I go by the municipal traffic police station again. A driver there tells me I need to pay a tax at the district tax office to get the rectangular sticker. I go by the district tax office and pay the tax – they’ll actually take my money at the tax office. But the tax lady says that we need a stamp from the district traffic police station. I was just there for two days and no one said anything about another stamp and sticker. It’s too late to try to get the stamp today.
The entrance to my garage has a slope to it, to allow entrance into the basement of the building. When I go to park my car in my garage for the night, I find that the car is so low that it scrapes the bottom to try to enter the garage because of the slope. I know that the mechanic will raise the suspension tomorrow so I don’t worry about it; I simply park it outside, something I won’t be able to do when it gets colder.
Day Seven: Thursday
Will today be the day that my car is finally done? I take it to Bob’s mechanic and they remove the rear struts and springs. It takes several trips to the car market before we finally have the correct springs for the car. Once the springs are changed the car is high enough off the ground to fit into the garage. We also change the oil.
At the end of the day, we decide that the front brakes need to be changed. By the time all this work is done, there is not time to re-visit the dictrict traffic police station and see about the other sticker.
Day Eight: Friday
I go by the police station by myself on the way to a lunch engagement. I look at signs on different doors. There doesn’t seem to be any place that I haven’t seen before, and none of those places are giving out stickers. I decide to wait until Bob has time to go with me.
Instead I head over to buy a set of brake pads and have the front break pads changed.
Day Nine: Saturday
On my way to the airport, I am stopped by a policeman (not an uncommon occurrence in Mongolia). He tells me that I am missing a stamp on the back of my car registration. I ask him where I get one. He tells me that I get one at the district policestation. I tell him that’s where I got the car registration. He tells me I need to go back and get the stamp. I am very frustrated by the whole experience.
Day Ten: Sunday
Nothing happens
Day Eleven: Monday
Bob and I go back to the police station and ask where I get the stamp I need and the triangular sticker. We’re told to go back to the window that we were at a week ago. We go back to that window. The policeman there says that we need to show them a document that proves that we had the vehicle inspected. Bob reminds them that we gave them that document when we registered the vehicle. They say it doesn’t matter that they need another copy. As we drive to the local vehicle inspection station, I ask Bob if it’s common for Mongolian drivers to have to visit the vehicle inspection station twice. He claims that it is not. I begin to suspect that the policeman who originally gave us the car registration overlooked the stamp on the back.
We arrive at where the vehicle inspection station used to be before I left Mongolia over a year ago. Bob’s friend there says it is no longer a vehicle inspection station for small vehicles, only for public transportation vehicles. The inspection station we want is down the street. We drive down the street and don’t see any place inspecting vehicles. We ask half a dozen bystanders where the vehicle inspection station is. No one seems to know. We drive back to see Bob’s friend at the public transportation vehicle inspection station. He gives us new directions, and we find it. We ask for another copy of the inspection document that we were given a week ago. The lady at the station claims that we have to return to the original station that inspected the vehicle, which is across town. We drive across town and arrive at the vehicle inspection station that we originally visited about ten minutes after the lunch hour started. No one is available to help us. I offer to Bob that maybe he has other work to do; but he’s determined to get this done and says we’ll wait until they re-open in an hour.
About 45 minutes later, we have a copy of the inspection document that we need. We drive across town to the district traffic police station and turn in the document. The vehicle registration is now complete.
Wow! I thought when I began that I would be writing a chapter. I had no idea that it would end up being a whole book.
Also there are three reasons that we have a vehicle. The first reason is to be able to take the family out (especially in the winter) without standing out in the cold waiting for a taxi. We've noticed that it's getting harder to get taxis. Of course, the price of gas here has more than doubled since we left and may have something to do with it. We've also found that having a car makes the regular shopping trips so much easier. You can go to one store, put the items you've purchased in the back and then head for the next store. It is such a time saver when shopping. Most importantly, a car gives me the flexibility to visit Mongolians all over the city.
So without further ado, here is a journal of my car buying experience.
Preparation: Wednesday
The goal is to buy a vehicle. I’ve already asked Mongolian friends about it and narrowed it down to two cars. I take Kristie out to show her the type of cars that I am anticipating that I will buy. Kristie likes those choices, but we must wait for the money to arrive from the US. We have picked out a Toyota Mark II. It is a vehicle that is ubiquitous in Mongolia, known for its reliability, and easy to find parts for. The car we buy will probably be ten years old and have about 100,000 miles on it. It may even have a few nicks and dings, but there is no point in buying a newer car in Mongolia where the roads will tear up the suspension and dings and nicks are the norm for a car.
I call Bob that evening and tell him that my money for a car should be here in the next day or two and ask if he has time to take me to look at cars. He says maybe and that he’ll call me when he has free time.
Preparation: Thursday
The money for a vehicle is in my bank account. I call Bob, and he suggests that he can take me out tomorrow.
Day One: Friday
Bob and I go out to look at cars. We look all over and cannot find the car that we want which is strange because they are all over Ulan Bator. One of the last places that we visit has one, but they want almost $1,000 more than I am willing to pay. We finally find someone with the kind of vehicle for which I am searching at a reasonable price. But the windshield needs to be replaced and won’t be ready until Monday.
We go by to look at the vehicle. Not only does the window need to be replaced but also it is apparent that the door to the gas tank does not open. But the price that the seller offers is about what I want to pay. Fortunately, the windshield replacement work is being done right next to the place that does government vehicle inspections. Since a vehicle inspection is required to register the car, we go ahead and run the vehicle through the inspection. With the inspection done, we are ready to register it and get a license plate for it on Monday when the office that does that kind of thing opens.
Day Two: Saturday
The seller of the car wants to do the paperwork and receive his money today. I don’t want to give the seller any money until I see the car on Monday. Besides all the banks are closed and I haven’t withdrawn the money for the car yet. The transaction will have to wait until Monday.
Day Three: Sunday
Nothing happens
Day Four: Monday
Today should wrap up my car buying experience. On the schedule: meet with the seller to look the windshield, complete the sales paperwork, take the paperwork to the district traffic police station to receive a vehicle registration card in my name, take the vehicle registration to the municipal traffic police station to receive a license plate, and put the license plate on the car. If all goes well, I could have the car home by dinner. Then Tuesday I can take it to a mechanic to have the oil changed and some other small things repaired.
We arrive at the windshield repair place and find that they have not even taken the old windshield off yet. The seller is upset and asks why the work isn’t done when they’ve had two days. But all his scolding won’t complete the work any sooner.
We leave there and travel across town to complete the paperwork at a notary public. After the paperwork is completed I pay the seller his money. Bob talks him down $100 because the windshield needs to be replaced. Then Bob and I take the paperwork to the district traffic police station where we find out that we need to have an application form filled out, pay $1.60 for registration, present proof of residence, and pay a fine because the car was not registered within three days of entering the country. We agree to pay all that but the policeman working at the window refuses to take it. We must pay the $1.60 at a bank and then return with a receipt to prove we paid it. Perhaps someone doesn’t trust the police to receive the money directly … of course, if you can’t trust the police, whom can you trust? Probably though, the police do not want to be bothered with carrying change for those who offer to pay with large bills.
We leave, go to the bank, and pay the $1.60. Then we go by my office to pick up the proof of residence. We return to the police station and wait in line for an hour. When we finally reach the window, the police officer complains that we haven’t paid the fine (about $21.50). When we say that we’ll pay it, he refuses to take it. He informs us that we must go to another office in the same building to pay it. We give up our place in line and find the other office, but no one is there. We wait for about five minutes before someone shows up. He tells us that the person who will take the money for the fine is out and he’s not sure when he’ll return. We wait another 45 minutes. Finally, the registration window is closing, and we realize we won’t finish the registration today. We head for home.
Day Five: Tuesday
I arrive at the police station a few minutes before ten and call Bob. He has not even left his house yet. It doesn’t matter: the police officer who takes the fines is still not there. There are several others waiting too. I wait a half-hour for Bob. After he arrives, we wait another forty-five minutes or so. No one seems to know where the police officer we need is. Finally, one of Bob’s friends arrives dressed in plain clothes. Bob begins a conversation with him and they enter the police station together. Soon Bob comes back out with his friend. His friend looks at my paperwork as Bob explains things to him and then takes it inside. He comes back out and says that the fee is about $5. After he goes in a second time, Bob comes back and explains that his friend is doing me a favor and needs another $4. I ask who his friend is. It turns out his friend is a police officer who happens to be on vacation. That’s why he isn’t in uniform.
I wait another half-hour before Bob’s friend returns and says to come back at four to pick things up. It looks like another day lost.
I return to the district traffic police station after four o’clock and the vehicle registration is ready for me. I take the registration downtown to the municipal traffic police station. Behind the municipal traffic police station is the place where they issue vehicle license plates. I find my way behind the building and que up at a window. There seems to be some hold-up as the line, which was moving, is now stopped. But it does not take too long before we start to move again. Approximately, half an hour later and $10 poorer, I pick up a license plate for the vehicle.
I call Bob to see if it’s possible to pick up the vehicle tonight. Bob says that its too early to pick up the vehicle, the seal on the newly placed windshield has to cure. He says that we will pick it up tomorrow.
Day Six: Wednesday
It has now been a week since I started the car-buying process: part of the hang-up has been the weekend, part has been the trouble at the police station. Perhaps today I will finally have a car.
Bob calls about 10 A.M. which is early for him. He asks if I am ready to pick up the car. I thought he’d never ask! As we are traveling to pick up the car, Bob asks me where the triangular sticker is. I know nothing about a triangular sticker; all I have is a rectangular sticker from the car inspection. Bob says I need another sticker for my windshield. That means more work somewhere!
When we go by to pick up the car, the windshield is ready. Unfortunately, the other small repairs have not been done because Bob didn’t trust the car’s seller to have them done right. One of the small repairs is the gas tank door. It will be hard to fill the car’s gas tank if we can’t get the door open. Also since Friday, gas has gone up about 30 cents a gallon! Using a screwdriver, we finally get the door to the gas tank open.
I put gas in the car on the way home, but Bob says that his mechanic cannot look at the car today. He’ll check it out tomorrow.
Later, I go by the municipal traffic police station again. A driver there tells me I need to pay a tax at the district tax office to get the rectangular sticker. I go by the district tax office and pay the tax – they’ll actually take my money at the tax office. But the tax lady says that we need a stamp from the district traffic police station. I was just there for two days and no one said anything about another stamp and sticker. It’s too late to try to get the stamp today.
The entrance to my garage has a slope to it, to allow entrance into the basement of the building. When I go to park my car in my garage for the night, I find that the car is so low that it scrapes the bottom to try to enter the garage because of the slope. I know that the mechanic will raise the suspension tomorrow so I don’t worry about it; I simply park it outside, something I won’t be able to do when it gets colder.
Day Seven: Thursday
Will today be the day that my car is finally done? I take it to Bob’s mechanic and they remove the rear struts and springs. It takes several trips to the car market before we finally have the correct springs for the car. Once the springs are changed the car is high enough off the ground to fit into the garage. We also change the oil.
At the end of the day, we decide that the front brakes need to be changed. By the time all this work is done, there is not time to re-visit the dictrict traffic police station and see about the other sticker.
Day Eight: Friday
I go by the police station by myself on the way to a lunch engagement. I look at signs on different doors. There doesn’t seem to be any place that I haven’t seen before, and none of those places are giving out stickers. I decide to wait until Bob has time to go with me.
Instead I head over to buy a set of brake pads and have the front break pads changed.
Day Nine: Saturday
On my way to the airport, I am stopped by a policeman (not an uncommon occurrence in Mongolia). He tells me that I am missing a stamp on the back of my car registration. I ask him where I get one. He tells me that I get one at the district policestation. I tell him that’s where I got the car registration. He tells me I need to go back and get the stamp. I am very frustrated by the whole experience.
Day Ten: Sunday
Nothing happens
Day Eleven: Monday
Bob and I go back to the police station and ask where I get the stamp I need and the triangular sticker. We’re told to go back to the window that we were at a week ago. We go back to that window. The policeman there says that we need to show them a document that proves that we had the vehicle inspected. Bob reminds them that we gave them that document when we registered the vehicle. They say it doesn’t matter that they need another copy. As we drive to the local vehicle inspection station, I ask Bob if it’s common for Mongolian drivers to have to visit the vehicle inspection station twice. He claims that it is not. I begin to suspect that the policeman who originally gave us the car registration overlooked the stamp on the back.
We arrive at where the vehicle inspection station used to be before I left Mongolia over a year ago. Bob’s friend there says it is no longer a vehicle inspection station for small vehicles, only for public transportation vehicles. The inspection station we want is down the street. We drive down the street and don’t see any place inspecting vehicles. We ask half a dozen bystanders where the vehicle inspection station is. No one seems to know. We drive back to see Bob’s friend at the public transportation vehicle inspection station. He gives us new directions, and we find it. We ask for another copy of the inspection document that we were given a week ago. The lady at the station claims that we have to return to the original station that inspected the vehicle, which is across town. We drive across town and arrive at the vehicle inspection station that we originally visited about ten minutes after the lunch hour started. No one is available to help us. I offer to Bob that maybe he has other work to do; but he’s determined to get this done and says we’ll wait until they re-open in an hour.
About 45 minutes later, we have a copy of the inspection document that we need. We drive across town to the district traffic police station and turn in the document. The vehicle registration is now complete.
Wow! I thought when I began that I would be writing a chapter. I had no idea that it would end up being a whole book.
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