We are generally pretty honest people, but we have been known to fudge a few facts on custom forms from time to time. You know, nothing big or illegal—we never buy endangered or threatened animal products, let alone try to take them in or out of any country, we don’t smuggle diamonds or large amounts of cash (dream on) —but we have told a fib or two about food items we are carrying. Well, Kevin does anyway. I am a rule follower. He always says he has nothing, even when he has something.
The Red Line
These days, when you declare that you have nothing, you almost always get directed to the Green Lane. You waltz right through customs without anyone even giving you a sideways glance. Today was different. We got the Red Lane. Chilean officials were stopping travelers and asking whether they had any peanuts, almonds, or meat products. Well, it is one thing to lie on a piece of paper, another entirely to lie to an armed official in a country where they only recently stopped disappearing people. So Kevin told the truth. Turns out he was carrying exactly those items. What an odd coincidence. Did someone call ahead?
I always feel sorry for those poor slobs who get pulled aside and have to open their bags while some official goes through the contents with a bored and/or disgusted look on their face. It is even worse when the official is wearing plastic gloves and rummaging through what appears to be dirty laundry. A traveler’s worst nightmare, and here it was about to happen to us. Kevin opened his bags first. Out came the large bag of roasted and salted peanuts and the two bags of corn nuts. I pulled out my small snack bag of almonds. At this point, I was thinking it might turn out to be a good thing. They’d take away Kevin’s peanuts, and I wouldn’t have to live with squirrel sounds for the next month. The official turned the peanut and corn-nut bags over and over, asking Kevin questions for a long time.
I was beginning to feel hopeful. Then, the customs guy asked if we had any meat, and that is when things turned sour. Turns out Kevin had not one, but four bags of Williamsburg Market’s best-ever beef jerky. Now you have to understand our relationship to beef jerky. It has saved our butts in places all over the world. Kevin has an uncanny knack for pulling jerky from some pocket just when we are about to starve to death. The best was the night we had beef jerky “cassolette”. After subsisting on rotten onions, cabbage, and rice for days in the Ghanaian jungle, he found some jerky in a pocket that he had forgotten about. We soaked the jerky in hot water for a time, then seasoned it with West African spices and added it to the usual fare of rotting veggies and rice. Oh my goodness, it was the best thing I have ever eaten. Or, the best thing I have ever eaten while living in the rain forest for two weeks, eating next to nothing.
The irony this morning was that, all the while we were planning this trip, we had discussed how many bags of jerky to bring. It was a primary question. Originally, it was just two, but we added four at the last minute. With the discovery of the jerky, the official lost all interest in the nuts, and my hopes of a peanut-free vacation were dashed. He had hit the jackpot. After taking our jerky away and conferring with others, it was determined that we could keep the nuts, but the jerky was just too damn dangerous, so it was confiscated. We were both beside ourselves with visions of climbing to the top of some volcano in Torres Del Paine, sitting down to rest while applauding our accomplishment, and having to do so without our beloved beef jerky. No doubt the Chilean customs officials are enjoying a little treat tonight. Moreover, I am sure they have put an alert out to intercept any travelers coming from Williamsburg, MA, forevermore.
