“Inking is meditation in liquid form…”―J.H. Everet
How do you register a van you’ve just bought, if every country within driving distance is telling you its impossible?
You need proof that you live in the EU, so the bone collector can come take an arm and a leg for insurance purposes. Would have been good to know when I bought the car. My bad. As luck would have it, Germany is the only country that allows foreigners to even purchase the vehicle and drive away.
I called and visited offices along the Balkans. I browsed blogs and forums. Until: a glimmer of hope called Bulgaria. If you start a company, you can register a car under the company name.
Crossing into Bulgaria felt like opening the door to possibility. We called various offices offering the service of incorporating; but one was too expensive, the other too sketchy. Finally, we found one that was juuuuust right.
Messages exchanged through WhatsApp led us to a tall building next to a bank. Once we summoned our courage, we opened the door onto the most hectic two weeks of our lives.
Mr.Incredible took us under his wing, once we had convinced his secretaries to contact him.
“So you want to drive you car? Don’t worry we’re the best”.
We handed over all our papers, as this was our last hope. As the lawyer drafter papers, Mr.Incredible dazzled us with foreign currency collections and Jesus. We left holding bank notes and bibles.
Over the following days, we zoomed across town to a notary: Sign here.
Back over to a bank: Sign here and here.
Back to the headquarters: Sign here, see you in three days.
On the fourth day, I became the owner of Following Flowers Ltd., a legitimate Bulgarian company. (Travel writing business).
Our capital was in the bank, the sale of the van from myself to myself was notarized, and hands were shook as the deal was done.
With five days left of our export plates, it was time to register the car in Bulgaria… or so we thought.
Niet.
Our translating apps switched from English, to Bulgarian, to German, to Russian, to English. No use, we did not have the paper they wanted. Over the following days, we kept trying to open doors only to find emptiness behind them. Without this paper, we’d be unable to sell the vehicle to anyone else, so the scrapyard was our only way out. A bureaucratic stretch would be to return to Germany sans-auto and plead our case to draft a new paper.
On the final day of our export plates, we knew we’d have to make our way to Germany. An appointment was booked, and we had two weeks until we’d have our hearing. In defeat, we packed up our van and carried our heavy bags with slumped shoulders.
“Hallelujah its a MIRACLE. Is this not your paper?”
Mr. Incredible sent us a picture of the last piece of our puzzle. In disbelief, Chance and I hugged and laugh/cried. It was 1pm, and we only had 4 hours before the car registration closed down for the week-end and our export plates expired.
Zoom to headquarters to pick up the paper.
Zoom to car registration bureau.
Zoom to insurance bureau in order to get license plates.
Zoom to bank to withdraw capital to pay everyone.
Zoom to car registration bureau for inspection and cubicle gauntlet in Bulgarian.
At 5pm, on the last day of our plates, new ones were installed and a year of car insurances stamped onto our documents. Exhausted and bewildered, we had our freedom drive towards the wild mountains of Bulgaria, away from all the ink and paper.
