It's 1983 and we're living in Urbanizacion el Casalot, Miami Playa, Tarragona.
The Alfa Romeo is sitting in the driveway. With so much red tape anything's possible, even a new deadline for when I have to pay the fine. Ha ha. Come to think on it, what will happen after I pay the bloody fine? Maybe I still won't be allowed to drive this fancy car with the odd pedigree?
This Alfa Romeo is nothing but a real pest. I did do what I was told to by the Customs in Tarragona, which was to take the car over the border every six months. I should have got the Tarragona Customs man's statement in writing!
In the meantime, now we find out that we're moving to the United States in a matter of weeks. Oh? Things change around here from day to day. What to do about the car? We don't want to take it with us. That would be even more red tape.
Finally, after cogitating and ruminating and speculating, I come up with a plan.Guess what I do?
I drive the Alfa Romeo to Andorra. I time the trip so that I arrive on the border during siesta time. That way, the customs people are usually snoozing and won't even look twice at me or my car. I breeze through customs and over the border into Andorra.
It's time to get rid of the car. Surely somebody will buy it? I go to one taller, workshop, and ask if they'd like to buy a nice Alfa Romeo car.
"Where the heck was your car built, lady? The parts aren't even Italian!"
I go to another taller, and another, and another.
"Lady, this is the strangest Italian car I've ever seen. We can't even use it for parts. Who built it? Where?"
"I could maybe rent it to foreigners. They drive anything. But, no. I can't use it, sorry."
So much for the swanky Alfa Romeo! It had indeed been manufactured in Brazil for export to Poland, and had somehow made its way to Germany. Guess it's pedigree was just too mixed. It had a good run all the way from Miami Playa to Andorra and drove well. Surely someone will buy it?
TO BE CONTINUED