Transporting your Vehicle to St. Thomas: A Step by Step Instructional Guide

(Or How to Slowly Go Insane by way of Caribbean Red Tape)

1. If you wish to transport personal goods to the island, in addition to your car, then I suggest you fill your trunk until it’s questionable as to whether it will stay closed. I managed to pack two large plastic drawers, one small file drawer, a wooden trunk, an old pressure cooker, and some miscellaneous kitchen utensils into the trunk of my Toyota Corolla. I could have shoved more in the empty corners if I’d had time. If I’d really thought ahead, I’d have stuffed the glove compartment and center console too.

But perhaps you’re moving to the island to simplify…

2. Remove any objects from the vehicle you’d prefer were not discovered by Customs agents, human or canine.

3. Drop your vehicle at Tropical Shipping in Riviera Beach before 3pm on a weekday.


Avoid my mistakes, and:

a. Refrain from losing your title, unless emptying the entire contents of your car in the Comfort Inn parking lot in search of the document you spent an extra $20 to expedite sounds like a valuable use of your time. Tropical will accept scanned copies if you are fortunate enough to figure out where your title is. And if someone is able and willing to scan and email you a copy. Once you are on island, however, you WILL need a copy of the original title.

b. Research the correct Tropical Shipping location where vehicles are accepted instead of relying on your not-so-dependable memory. Otherwise, you could spend a good part of the day driving to the wrong place, which, if nothing else, will make the process more adventurous since you won’t know if you can actually make it to the correct location by 3pm.

Note: Even if you are unfortunate enough to commit the aforementioned mistakes, the helpful (no sarcasm here) people at Tropical will gladly help you get your car on a ship, even if you arrive 5 minutes before closing time. Bless Them. But then again, who (besides certain branches of the government) closes at 3pm?

4. Get to the island yourself. No, you cannot travel in your car even though it seems there would be room. Once you’re on the rock, wait for a call from Tropical telling you your car has arrived, but a Customs inspection must be completed prior to retrieval. When you ask when to expect this, your question will be politely ignored and you will be told that they will call when it’s complete. You will thank them and wonder why you bothered asking.


5. When you receive your phone call two days later, it’s time to go to the St. Thomas Tropical Shipping port. While you may think that you’ll leave behind the wheel of your vehicle, you won’t be doing that for the next four to twenty-four hours. What you will actually pick up at Tropical is your Bill of Laden and an incorrect list of instructions about the treasure hunt on which you must embark to actually reclaim your car from the shipyard. You mean to mention the mistake when you return to Tropical, but by that time you will have lost the will.


Note: It is helpful to have a local companion from here on out, especially if you are unfamiliar with the island. You will at least need to borrow a vehicle until Step #15.


6. To proceed further, your car must be insured. I am still unclear on how insurance works here because I’ve been told different things by different people. My original understanding is that, while there are multiple insurance brokers on island, there is but one carrier. It is not a competitive market. They will charge you $350 if you are a new customer, and $260 if you are a current customer. Sometimes. Because my mom, as a new customer, paid $260. And if I’m looking at the documents correctly, we have different underwriters. So, my suggestion is that you go Guardian in Havensight above Caribbean Travel, which is where she paid $260 as a new customer. This covers liability insurance for one year. For some reason, very few people on island purchase comprehensive coverage. I haven’t been able to extract a truly good reason from any locals on why this is so. The vague answer I receive is that it’s not worth the money.


7. Next you proceed to the Virgin Islands Revenue Bureau (VIRB) because that’s where the instructions say you should go. Here you will stand in line for 15 minutes. When you finally advance to the front of the line, the lady behind the counter will tell you, “Road tax is at the inspection lane,” to which you will reply, “What?” and she will repeat in a tone of voice that is not any easier to hear (partly because she’s behind a plastic window, as most clerks are here), “Road tax is at the inspection lane.” You will thank her kindly for this bit of information.


8. Since you have to go that direction anyway, you might as well stop by the Excise Tax station in the Tropical Shipping grounds, behind the junior high school that looks abandoned but is not. Here the old woman behind the window has her chin on her chest and appears to be sleeping. Upon realizing you’ve entered the office, she will look at you with contempt in her glazed eyes and grunt something in your general direction. You tell her you’re here to take care of the excise tax for your car. You will hand her your Bill of Laden and she will tell you with hostility that you don’t need to pay excise tax. Then she will stamp your piece of paper and you are dismissed. The stamp is what you need.


9. If you’re lucky, someone will tell you that the inspection lane where you supposedly pay the road tax is located at the Bureau of Motor Vehicles (BMV). However, the inspection lane is NOT where you presently need to go. You actually need to go inside the BMV. You will probably into the first entrance at the BMV where many are assembled in a long narrow corridor painted a nauseating margarine color. You observe multiple windows with multiple purposes, none of which seem to be yours. After standing there for awhile looking perplexed, a skinny youth who seems to be wearing his weight in jewelry and apparently knows exactly how things work at the BMV, graciously tells you that road tax is actually paid next door. You will discover later that he is a professional who navigates the car clearing process for hire, a service I unfortunately could not afford at this juncture. I think it runs $100-$200. Perhaps this convenience is in your budget.


10. Next door you find a far more spacious room with far fewer windows and far fewer people standing about. You figure out that road tax is paid at the furthest window from the door. After sliding a few of your growing pile of documents under the plastic window, the clerk will turn up the radio and begin to sing along with a song. When she finally notices you, you’ll pay her sixteen cents per pound of your vehicle. My Corolla, a roughly 2500 lb vehicle, cost me $404.


11. Take a short trip to the next window to pay for the permit required to move your car from Tropical Shipping to the BMV. The permit will cost you $5. This is the least amount of money you will part with on your quest to retrieve your wheels. This is my favorite step because while you may think that they will give you said permit at this window where you paid for it, you are wrong. In order to pick up the $5 permit required to move your car one-half mile, it is necessary for you to go back to the other BMV office—the one you mistakenly entered in the first place.


12. After entering the narrow room where many people still swarm looking like they have no clue as to where they should be, the same skinny fellow with the bling points you to the middle window, where there is no sign stating that this is the place to retrieve the $5 permit, for which you just paid. Bless him. You wait in front of the window for five minutes while the girl behind it talks on the phone. When she acknowledges you, tell her you’re here to retrieve the permit you paid for next door and thrust some of your papers through the hole. (At any given time, you have no idea which paper they need to see.) She will give you back your pieces of paper, and you hope the one that contains your permit is included.


13. Now it’s time to go to Customs. Take a deep breath and make sure your patience pants are tightly buckled. When you walk in, you’ll notice an area behind a glass window where three people sit, two men on either side of a woman. A sign on the window advises you to stay seated until you are acknowledged by one of the officers. The woman looks at you and snarls, so you advance toward the window where you notice she is reading the newspaper. You hand her your stack of papers and she looks through them, muttering, “What is this…I’m sure you don’t have what you need. I’m sure you don’t. What is this stuff…?” She sounds as if she’s maybe having a stroke as she speaks to you. Perhaps English is her second language, a fact for which you usually have patience. But since she’s muttering as if you are a stupid person after all the steps you have accomplished just to get this far, you’re quickly arriving at a state in which you almost hope she is, indeed, having a stroke. Because, at this point, you’d like to see someone trapped in the clutches of excruciating pain. And you usually consider yourself a peaceful, loving soul. Take another deep breath. Tell her you need to clear your car through Customs and that you have already paid road tax and have insurance, and a permit, and have been to the excise tax place, etc. You’ll be handed a form with a few items circled, which you assume must be filled out. After filling in the blanks to the best of your knowledge you return only to find her wholly engaged in the newspaper. Fortunately, the man sitting next to her decides to help you. He’ll let you know you filled out the form incorrectly, and you will fix it accordingly. Then he’ll ask you a few questions about what you are transporting. He’ll stamp your Bill of Laden, and you’re done with that step. Phew.


14. By this time you may look at your watch and realize that this is all you can accomplish today. The next step is returning to Tropical Shipping to show them all of your documents, pay, and finally retrieve your car. But Tropical Shipping closes at 3pm and the inspection lane closes at 2:45. It’s now 2:15, and you know accomplishing this is not possible. So you will try again tomorrow. After a couple beers and a good night’s sleep.


15. Your first stop today is at Tropical Shipping. This will be your most enjoyable, as the personnel are helpful and pleasant. Perhaps because they work for a privately-held company instead of the government. After verifying that your documents are stamped and signed appropriately, you will pay for shipping your car across the ocean. They charge by weight. My Corolla cost about $1300. Then they will give you yet another piece of paper and you will meet a nice man in the parking lot. You will inspect your vehicle to make sure there is no horrible damage, even though you don’t care at this point because you really just want to get behind the wheel and drive the damn thing away. After agreeing that there is no new damage, you sign a piece of paper, and the car is yours again!


16. Now it’s time to return to the BMV to register your car. It’s just down the street from Tropical. You will pull into the back of the building where you will see the inspection lanes. Have your road tax receipt, title, and proof of insurance ready. They will tell you when to pull into the lane. Many people will be standing around, including an armed police officer. None of them will appear to be doing anything work-related. A dreadlocked young man will beckon for your paperwork. You’ll hand it to him and he’ll sign it without so much as glancing at your car. This is your inspection. He is nice enough to tell you which window to approach once inside.


17. Find a parking spot and enter the first door at the BMV. Get in line at the proper window and prepare to wait patiently. Not that anyone else waits patiently. Many of the other people loudly complain about the wait, banging on the window and asking if the clerk has gone to lunch. Meanwhile, the security guard instructs those waiting to form a straight line, to which one man replies, “Make them go faster inside,” to which the security guard replies, “They are moving fast.” This rowdy exchange continues during your time in line. At least there is a good chance you’ll be amused during your half hour wait.


18. When you finally advance to the front of the line, you will shove your paperwork underneath the plastic window and tell them you’re here to register your car. She will give you another form to fill out. You’ll step to the side and fill out the required information. When you return to the window, she will put her hand up to let you know that she’s not ready for you yet. When she finally acknowledges you again, you will get a plastic laminated number, and will be told to sit and wait for your number to be called.


19. Numbers will be called in no identifiable order out of one loudspeaker mounted in the center of the narrow, fake-butter corridor. You will strain to hear them, determined to avoid elongating what you desperately hope is the last step to finally driving your car away from this absurd jungle of red tape. It’s not easy to hear what is called over the loudspeaker, partially due to the noise made by bored and frustrated BMV customers (if you can call them customers) and partially because the speaker has a fair amount of crackle, and partially because cars seem to keep passing with music playing loud enough to actually drown out the announcements.


20. Luckily, you are able to hear your number called, as well as the window to which you must report. When you arrive at the window, you again shove your paperwork in the tiny opening. The clerk will not look at you, but you might hear her ask her co-worker when she plans to go to lunch. When she does make eye contact, tell her you’re ready to pay for your registration. She will leisurely calculate your fees and collect your new plates and registration sticker. She will tell you a sum twice what you expect, given the amount registration is said to cost on the posted sign. You will nicely ask her to specify the itemized expenses, and she will tell you registration, license plates, inspection fee ($10 for the dreaded gentlemen to sign the paper without glancing at your car), and a few other items you can’t remember and also can’t refer to later because on the receipt $41 is listed as “Other.” You will sigh and fork over the money, anxious to finally get your new beautiful VI license plates and drive freely around the island.


21. Finally, after multiple hours, thousands of dollars, and with a stack of more than 20 pieces of paper, your new VI plates and registration sticker are in your trembling, anticipating hands. Hopefully, you brought a screwdriver—not, not to hurt anybody— so you can change your plates in the parking lot. Follow the instructions on the registration sticker for application to your windshield.


22. Now it’s time for a Presidente. Or a Painkiller.


23. And for God’s sake, after all this, don’t forget to stay left!

The Payoff: Tropical St. Thomas License Plates