Registering the Car

Car buying, stage 2.

So my young friend Alejandro is back in town. You may remember him as the kid who trashed my old apartment. He was my Spanish tutor and got kicked out of his apartment two weeks before he was to return to Canada. Since I was going to be gone I offered him my place. “I won’t tell anyone that I’m staying here,” he had told me. Reports from my Landlords was that there was a party every night, the house was a mess when he left, both toilets “Full to the top with shit,” according to Francois, the owner, and they had to pay the housekeeper extra to clean everything before I returned. And on one night, when Ana Bella was home alone, she looked out the window and was terrified when she saw young men climbing over the wall. Alejandro had lost his keys and convinced the neighbors to allow him to climb over from their side. “He was such a nice boy,” Francois said, “He just like to party a lot.”

Between the extra housekeeping expense and his phone bill, he wound up owing me about $150 USD, which he assured me via email, that he would pay. That was a year ago and while I’ve seen no money, he has kept in touch and even invited me to Cancun to stay for free at a hotel where he was working. (I declined, as that was the week that my family was here in San Miguel.)

So he’s back in San Miguel for a couple of months and has managed to burn through all the money that he saved while working at the hotel. I helped him put together a resume and he now has leads on two jobs here. He wanted to do some work for me to repay his debt. “How about a gardener? Do you need a gardener?”

“No,” I told him, “A gardener comes with the house. But what you can do is help me with translation services. I have to get my car registered and when the construction starts on the house I’ll need someone to translate to the builders.”

(I’ll explain this in dollars so that we don’t have to convert between pesos and dollars.)

On the first attempt at getting the car registered we were told that the state of Guanajuato imposes a title transfer fee of $350. And, since the transfer between the first and second owner was never completed we’d need to pay $700 to get it registered. The man in the office was very nice and told us that we should get this taken care of in Queretaro because it would be cheaper. My initial gringo response was to just throw money at the problem and get it resolved but Alejandro was adamant that we should at least make the attempt. He called the dealer who, understandably, didn’t want to pay the fee for his half because it is not required in the state where he sold the car. So, cash in pocket we returned to the Transito in San Miguel. Even with the cash we were told that we needed to have the car investigated to ensure that it was not stolen. “I did that in Queretaro before I bought the car,” I explained. “That is a different state, you have to have in done here in Guanajuato as well.” (Heaven forbid the agencies should work together.)

Off we went through the back roads of San Miguel, Alejandro asking directions out the window of the car as we wound our way through town. They took us immediately at the investigations office and about an hour later we were good to go. Alejandro and I agreed to meet the next morning and drive to Queretaro. “We don’t even know where in Queretaro the Transito is,” I explained. “It is a city of a million people. How are we going to find this place?”

“I’ll ask around when we get there.”

After the 45 minute drive I took the only exit that I know in Queretaro. The exit to Costco, Walmart, Sam’s club, etc. After asking around and driving in circles for about an hour we found the place right across the freeway from Office Max and Home Depot. Inside we were directed to the appropriate window where we stood in line filling out the requisite form. I was prepared. I’d heard stories about government offices so I had a folder with three copies of everything under the sun.

The official seemed convinced that we would be lacking something. Every time he asked for a document and we gave it to him, he’d push it back saying that we needed a copy, which I would then pull out of the folder. He said that we’d have to turn in the license plates so Alejandro borrowed a screwdriver from him and went out to the car while I waited at the window. Then the man glanced at one of the copies and ran out of the building while I stood there helpless. A few minutes later he returned with Alejandro, without the plates, and said that we needed to speak with the manager.

The manager pointed to a receipt from 1999 and said that it was not valid because it did not display the year of the vehicle. (Never mind that the serial number and engine number were both depicted.) She said that we would need to find the owner from 1999 and have a proper receipt prepared. Alejandro asked if some money would take care of this but she said that it was a legal document and it needed to be accurate and then she walked off. The man whispered to Alejandro. “What did he say?” I asked. “He says that we should just find a typewriter and type 1997 on the form.”

That night, back in San Miguel, I scanned the document into my computer, selected the right font, the right grey scale, etc., and produced a near perfect document. I picked Alejandro up the next morning at 9:30. “If this doesn’t work, I’m just going to drive an unregistered car. This is so stupid. I gave the man his money, he gave me the car, and this should be a done deal.”

It worked (with the help of $20 slipped to the man behind the window). The front plate wasn’t attached with screws so Alejandro borrowed a pair of pliers from a taxi driver, removed the plates and turned them in. After we drove back to the Transito in San Miguel. We had a little difficulty as I don’t really have an address at the new house. It is in the contract as Lot number such and such. “It is a ranchito,” we explained. I paid for the plates and, after six different trips to four different Transito offices over the course of four days, we were done. Total cost, $175 USD. With patience, Alejandro’s help and a tank of gas, I saved over $500.

This is the kind of red tape that drives gringos out of Mexico.
Alejandro is trying to decide what to do in life and I spent an evening playing big brother. I explained how I started out in life thinking that ‘things’ would make me happy. Then I was sitting there with all my ‘things’ and wasn’t happy. I found that experiences are what motivate me in life and ‘things’ do not make me happy. “Except my new truck,” I had to admit. It has made me very happy. Being able to drive to neighboring towns, throw stuff in the back, etc., has changed my life here. I can hardly stop smiling.


It was Independencia Wednesday night. Alex had a group of us over to his rooftop patio to hear the grito (the cry for independence) and to watch the subsequent fireworks. Mary Elena was there from the ranch, seven centimeters dilated with her seventh child.

The grito was really moving. An announcer would read from the balcony of Allende’s former home and during designated sections the crowd would scream, “Viva!” Their cries could be heard throughout the city. This was followed by an impressive display of fireworks. I’ve seldom seen such patriotism anywhere.

On the house front, I’ve got builders scheduled to begin work on the morning of October 4th. However, I just received an email from my tenants who are building in La Manzanilla. They want to delay their departure for a week so I need to check with my builders to see if this is going to be a problem. It is the first construction delay and construction has not even begun. “Patience,” I tell myself. “If you are going to survive this thing, patience.”