Miss Vicki got her groove back!

Miss Vicki back in the States

Why Jeni decided she's a Vicki is really anyone's guess. After seven years with the old girl - the Mini Cooper that is - the name just sort of materialized, and it stuck. Vicki's saga is an interesting tale, but it's all over for now...well nearly. This is Luxembourg. Nothing is ever completed on the first attempt :-)

All of our gear was / is being graciously (and gratis) shipped by US Army. This includes one automobile or POV. Everything in military parlance has a cool code name. I think this means 'Personally Owned Vehicle'. Anyway, Vicki was shipped over on a freight-liner and wound up at an airbase in Spangdahlem, Germany - about an 1 hour and 20 minute drive away from Luxembourg City. One of Jeni's co-worker's, a super nice guy named Jim, hauled us over to the airbase one Friday afternoon to retrieve our car. This is where the story gets rolling - pun intended.

Since the airbase is in Germany and we live in the Grande Duchy, temporary tags were not an option. We were told to strap on our old Virginia plates and head to the border. No one added, 'and hope for the best!' After an afternoon of ID creation, bank account opening and of course shopping it was dark before we were able to leave the base. Thankfully the Base Exchange sells GPS, or we may never have made it back. Spangdahlem is in the sticks!

The GPS valiantly guided us through narrow river valleys and through quaint medieval towns en route to the superhighway that leads back to Luxembourg. Under cover of night, with Jeni behind the wheel, we made it without detection. Only the poor locals behind us had to look at that silly little VA license plate...no doubt with one hand clamped to the steering-wheel with the other repeatedly slapping a forehead or a dashboard. Jeni did an excellent job driving. Cool as a cucumber.

Vicki in her new garage

Once safely garaged, the task of registering the vehicle in Luxembourg was next. Seeing the Virginia tags, a neighbor asked if we drove here. To which Jeni replied 'It would appear that way'. The car does need a good wash.

I'm pretty sure next to rocks the greatest domestic product in the Grande Duchy is paperwork. In order to register a car from a non European Union country (e.g Les Etats-Unis) there are no less than six steps (seven if you work for NATO). Fortunately Jeni's office supplied us with a checklist. Well, most of a checklist...they kind of left off one crucial step.

Briefly (tee-hee), these steps are to;
1.) Go to the Administration of Registration and Customs and prove we're living here legally. For €50 you get a stamp that says, 'OK you are now able to register the car'. This office is in Cessange.
2.) Locate the Customs office next to the train station, hope to choose the correct floor and get another stamp that allows goods to enter the country duty free (this is a NATO perk).
3.) Call Société Nationale de Contrôle Technique (Control Technique - more on these guys later) to get your plate number.
4.) Purchase insurance...yet another sticker for the file.
5.) Actually register the vehicle. This phase was omitted from the NATO checklist, so when I skipped ahead to step number six, things really picked up speed. The immatriculation (pronounced eh-mah-tric-yoo-lay-cee-ohn - I learned this pronunciation on the fly) or 'registration' takes place at the Control Technique headquarters in Sandweiler, a small town just north of the city.
6.) Have your plates made and mounted in Howalt. This seems like a simple step, but if you don't have the car registered, Control Technique won't schedule your inspection. No appointment for your inspection...no plates. So armed with a little white lie and a GPS, I headed to step number 7.
7.)  Contrôle Technique - If your keeping score, that's FIVE different locations. Without a car to drive this can take some doing.

We've heard a lot about this place, Control Technique. None of it good. Even our insurance agent was lamenting his pending visit to the parade of grease, gas, cigarettes and bureaucracy. Apparently every car, commercial vehicle, big-rig (trailer too), personal recreational vehicle and motorcycle IN THE COUNTRY must pass through this place at some point. Seems like you should have an appointment or somethin'.

Looks like the entrance to the Lincoln Tunnel, non?

Yep - an oil truck. Those geezers in the back just kept smoking!

Luck is my middle name.

I arrived at 10am and explained my situation, and to my surprise they were quite helpful. I took my number and went to wait. Remember that Luxembourg has three official languages. It seems that German is preferred in the garage. Fortunately I have enough recall from high-school German class to recognize numbers and general instructions. Even more fortunate is the fact that 4 in 10 Luxembourgers speak English - whew! By eleven I was in the system, and I was pushed through by 2:30pm...quite literally. The battery died while I was going through the tests inside the garage, and I had to shove poor Vicki through the various analyses. They not only check safety equipment, but they also jack the vehicle up shake and shimmy the struts, run it on a treadmill and check the color of the headlights. All in all it was rather anti-climactic, but we passed! Well sort of...

Vicki going through the paces

Mostly legal and ready to roll!

We must now go to the US Embassy and request a letter that states at some point Jeni's last name was actually the name showing on the car title. I can count at least four different last names for her...serial divorcee?! Evidently women in the EU don't take their husband's name. I like our social security system where you're just a 9 digit number. It's less personal, but I won't have to carry an affidavit around with me if I choose to change my name to Metta World Luxem.

Road Trip This Weekend!!!