After some pre-trip research, Dorin decided on the Tinker, a rubber inflatable, for our tender to get back and forth from the boat to the shore. It would also double as a lifeboat. This orange and yellow rubber ducky was manufactured in Great Britain, there were great reviews, and it was endorsed by Prince Charles. How could we go wrong?
The Tinker, a dinghy made to order in England, caused problems before we even got it. I had called England in February:
“We are leaving on an offshore trip in May. Will it arrive on time?”
“Oh, most certainly,” replied a delightful British accent. “I would say it will be shipped so it will arrive in…um…Portland, Maine…is that near you?”
“Yes, just a couple of hours away….”
“…and it will arrive in Portland on April 28.”
“What airline will you be using? I’ll need to know so I can find out what flight…what time it will be arriving.”
“I really couldn’t say. I would imagine you could ring up the airport and ask them. Now how are you going to pay?”
“Can I send a check?”
“That would be difficult. Can you arrange to have it transferred to our bank today?”
“I don’t know how to do that.”
“Your bank should be able to take care of it. I’ll give you our international bank number. Are you going to do it today?”
“Well, I could, I guess. Does it make any difference if I do it today or tomorrow?”
“Well, yes, actually. The price I will give you today is based on today’s exchange rate. It changes rapidly, you know. Tomorrow, it could jump a bit, and it would cost you more.”
“Okay, I’ll do it today. How much will the whole thing come to?”
“Do you want the CO2 inflation bottle to arrive full or empty? If it comes filled it will cost quite a bit more. It’s considered a cargo risk, and there’s an extra cost. Seventy dollars more, I believe. And the bottle will have to be shipped separately.”
“Separate packages or separate flights?”
“Separate flights, different days.”
“If they are shipped empty, can I get them filled here?”
“Oh, yes, I’m quite sure you can. If you have any problem, we have a representative in Maryland…is that near you?”
“No, that’s quite far and….”
“…well, you can ring him up, and he’ll help you, I’m sure. I’m certain there will be no difficulty.”
“Okay, then ship it empty. Then I won’t have to make two trips to the airport. How much will the whole thing cost?”
“With two sails and lifeboat canopy, the foot pump, hum…and shipping…hmm…at today’s rate of exchange…do you want the amount in American dollars?”
“Please.”
“It will be $3,427.”
“What? The catalog said $2,200!”
“Well, unfortunately, we just had an increase in our prices. And of course the price in the brochure didn’t include shipping. How old is the brochure?”
“We’ve had it for a year or more.”
“Well, then, there it is. The exchange rate was much more favorable to you then. Do you still wish to order it?”
“Um, I guess so. I didn’t…I don’t…um, oh, okay, go ahead and order it, and I’ll call you back later today if we want to cancel the order.”
“What?!” exclaimed Dorin when I met him for lunch. “That’s what? More than a 50% hike in price? That’s ridiculous! That’s gouging, that’s what it is.”
We talked through the alternatives, and Dorin decided to stick with the Tinker, given its stellar reviews. And he figured it would last us for many years.
After lunch, I went to our bank and found that the only person who knew how to do the transfer was at lunch. I went back at 2:00, and she said it would take several hours to do—it might not even go through today. I asked her to give me a bank check for $3427, and I took it to another bank. The transfer was made rapidly. “That’ll be $40,” the teller said. It hadn’t occurred to me the service would cost. The Tinker now cost us $3467.
On April 27, I phoned four airlines in Portland to see when they had a flight coming in from England on the 28th. I got the same response from each one: “What’s the flight number?”
“I don’t know. I just know it’s coming from England. How many flights do you have arriving from England?”
“None, directly,” she said in an irritated voice. “I can’t help you if you don’t have a flight number.”
When I explained the problem to another airline, the person suggested I just come to the airport and ask around at the various airline desks when I got there.
So at 6 a.m. I left Waterville, arrived in Portland at 8 and went from airline to airline asking about flights coming in from England. They kept brushing me off—directing me to other offices.
Finally someone listened to me and sent me to the Airfreight Company, which wasn’t part of the airport and was located a mile down the road.
The man at the airfreight company said I was at the right place, but my freight hadn’t come in yet because it had been routed through the Baltimore airport and wouldn’t be in until April 30! In addition to losing a full day of work, add $20 for gas, tolls and a hamburger–$3487!
When I arrived on the 30th—add another $20, now it added up to $3507—they said it was in Portland, but it hadn’t cleared customs yet. They were in the process of trying to find the name of a customs broker who would handle it for me.
“Also, you’ll have to go to the Customs House in downtown Portland to pay the duty on it.”
I hadn’t even thought of duty. “Okay, if I go pay the duty myself, why do I need a customs broker?”
“They have to take care of it. That’s just the way it is. Here’s the name of a broker.” She handed me a scrap of paper with a name on it.
“Can’t you phone him and make the arrangements for me?”
“Nope. You have to do that yourself.”
“Can I use your phone?”
“They’re all tied up now. We’re using the modem…probably be tied up for an hour.”
I didn’t know my way around Portland very well except for the airport area, but I drove randomly around and found a mall where, after I bought toothpaste to get change, I used a pay phone.
“I understand you are a customs broker. Can you tell me what you do?”
“I handle items coming into the country,” he said in a rough, gravelly voice.
“Well, I have a small boat that just arrived from England that I want to pick up today. What do I do?”
“Go to Customs and pay the duty.”
“Then what happens?”
“Nothing. It’ll be released and the freight company will pick it up and you can take it.”
“How much do you charge?”
“Ninety dollars.”
“What?!” Is that the duty?”
“Nope, lady, that’s my charge…doesn’t include the duty.”
“But what do you do? If I go pay the duty and Airfreight picks up the package, what should I pay you $90 for?”
“This is the way it has to be done. Look, if you want to get somebody else, go ahead! I don’t need your business. But I can tell you one thing. You won’t get your boat until you pay a broker. Goodbye.”
“No, wait, wait! Okay, How do I pay you?”
“Go pay it to Airfreight. Today.”
“Then I can pick up the boat?”
“Yep. It’s too late today, though. I can’t take care of it until tomorrow.”
“But it’s only two o’clock. I drove all the way from Waterville today.”
“Sorry, lady. You aren’t satisfied, get someone else.”
“Yours is the only name I have. Can you give me someone else’s name?”
“Forget it!”
“Wait! Okay, all right. I’ll go pay right now.” I drove back to the airfreight people and gave them a check to cover the cost of the freight–$120–and the customs broker fee and went home. The cost of the Tinker was now $3597. This boat had better be a spectacular success!
The next day, May 1, Dorin had to work at his consulting job in Bath, which is halfway to Portland, so we figured we’d save gas. I’d leave him off at Bath, go pick up the Tinker, come back and get him. Cory agreed to go to give me moral support. Add $23 in gas and tolls plus three hamburgers–$3830. Cory, exercising his new drivers’ permit, drove from Bath to Portland, and we found the Customs Office without too much trouble. The customs men were super polite and pleasant. We paid them $173, bringing the cost of Tinker to $4003—and drove back to the Airfreight Office.
“Hope you brought a truck,” they said when they saw me. No, we hadn’t brought a truck. We’d brought Dorin’s hatchback Toyota. The brochure had said the Tinker could fold up so small you could carry it in the boot of a car. We had figured if we folded down the back seats, there would be room to spare. It took two men fifteen minutes of twisting, turning and shoving to get the thing loaded. Still, the mast stuck out of the driver’s window about four feet. When we got back to Bath, we scratched our heads…when Dorin got in the car, where could Cory sit? Finally he climbed on top of one of the boxes and scrunched over with his chest on his knees. His head touched the roof. When he got tired, he alternated this position with lying on his side in a fetal position.
We had just picked Dorin up when it started to pour, but we couldn’t close the windows because of the mast sticking out on one side and the oars extending out of the front window on the other side. I couldn’t move my head, and Dorin had trouble reaching the shift. Our tempers were precariously short long before we arrived home.
We opened the boxes when we got home and had to admit the Tinker was pretty. The mahogany seat and stern gleamed and even the oars were beautiful. Perhaps, we thought, after we had a chance to sail it, we’d decide it was worth the effort and money.
We tried to get the CO2 cartridges filled at a local gas distributor, but the fitting on the tank was British (metric) so they couldn’t fill it. Twice we phoned the representative in Maryland whose wife took the messages, but he never phoned back. $4.73 in phone calls.
“We’ll just have to fill it in Bermuda,” Dorin said. “Bermuda was a British colony until recently, but there is still a British influence. There’s no doubt we can get it filled there. Meanwhile, we’ll have to inflate it with the foot pump. As long as it’s not an emergency, we should be okay.”