Hot Pursuit: The search of proper documentation

This week our adventure really got started in earnest. Wednesday night we camped out in the parking lot in order to be first in line on Thursday morning. No, it wasn’t for World Cup tickets. And no, the Scorpions aren’t coming to town. We were at the regional offices for People’s Documentation and we had forms to fill out. Boy, did we.

With the help of a dozen friends and relatives we were able to present the local officials with signed certificates attesting to the fact that we are here strictly for purposes of tourism, and that we are not nor have we ever been associated with any anarchist groups or terrorist organizations. We proved to the moving vehicles bureau that our van was equipped with fully operative windshield wipers, airtight hubcaps, and a particle filter that reduces emissions in accordance with Rudolf Diesel’s third law of acceleration, as well as an empty butane tank and a dirty stovetop as provided by the federally licensed used car dealer in Bavaria.

Next we persuaded the education board that our children were too mentally impaired to attend school and would be better suited as fixtures in our vegetable garden. We then convinced the department of commerce that we would not be trafficking any refugees or human organs across the border to or from Poland, the Czech Republic or the Principality of Lichtenstein. In order to be thorough, they also examined and countersigned every bodily orifice of each family member and sent carbon copies to the United Nations. Finally, they tested our dirty laundry satchel for hazardous off-gassing, and with that our humiliating process of transmigration seemed to be finished.

But no sooner were we shuffling our victory dance across the parking lot and back to our bus, than the sound of sirens was heard blaring from the guard towers. A quick scan they had performed on my laptop had seemingly uncovered some tasteless limericks, including one in which a certain German football coach was portrayed in a particularly unfavorable light.

With as much haste as our diesel camper could muster, we barreled through the barricades, lurched through the alley, and turned head-on into the flow of early morning traffic on a narrow oneway street. In a series of red lights and illegal left turns we were able to evade our pursuers without difficulty. Through the rosy tint of our rearview mirror, we observed their absolute compliance with the letter of the law and a dazzling inability to bend the rules.

As soon as we crossed the state line, out of Thuringia and into Saxony, we pulled into a rest stop and celebrated our triumphant getaway. We had escaped their jurisdiction, and it would take them hours to complete the obligatory police reports and summon federal agents to the scene. So now we’re just biding our time, staying under the radar in one of East Germany’s most far flung outposts, and putting the neat-o in incognito. Someone suggested that we flee south and spend the summer in neutral Switzerland, but I could only think of two words: rain boots.

Stay tuned next week, when the authorities catch up with us and surround our remote villa near the Polish border with 40 cubic yards of impenetrable paperwork, making it impossible for us to get outside and pull weeds or perform any yard work whatsoever.