G'day! I now move into uncharted territories; making a post about NOT-Russia. Step away from the ledge dear readers, and fear not as I will still complain with impeccable wit. So same-same but different!
Thanks to employment fairies, I have been sent to the hardship post of Australia for work. Alas woe is me! I do not promise to keep the blog apprised of everything that happens, but I will try my darndest. Let us start with my tumultuous (sometimes actually) flight to the magical land of Oz.
I apologize my attention to times, but I hope it will add urgency to the story ala George RR Martin's feast scenes. I left work at a sleepy 3:45pm to make my 6pm flight to LAX, after which I had a 1.5 hour layover until I jumped the much-much-much-bigger pond to Sydney. Fairly straightforward you say! AHA, that is where you are mistaken (mistook? mistook!). I was fairly pleased with myself for getting to the airport at a reasonable time. I have started to eschew the "get to the airport approximately a week before your flight just in case security lines are long" rules and have been sauntering in later and later to my flights. This was an exciting trip (sorry Columbus, OH), so I made my way with excellent timing. I waited for about 30 minutes in line, hands curled in excitement ala T-Rex or a chipmunk, to check-in and drop my bag off. After approaching the insidiously smirking ticket kiosk, I was jarringly told that one needs a visa to go to Australia.
BOOM!
"Ad;lfjkasdasdfadfan;kgkf?!" I exclaimed in horror!
(Not a stock photo: Fear the mighty devil)
A miserable cocktail of fear, anger, shame, and sadness engulfed me as I stared blankly at the United representative, whose smirk mirrored the kiosk's. I should've known better. I was enraged and ashamed at myself, because I had thought about a visa and then come to the genius conclusion that it would be silly to get a visa for Australia. Thanks to my brief stint in Consular Affairs at the State Department, I had memorized all 38 countries that participate in the US's Visa Waiver Program (because my Saturday nights are THAT fun). Australia is one of the 7 non-European countries that participate in the VWP, thus Australians don't need visas to come visit the US. Most visa programs are quid pro quo and mirror each other, so I assumed they would give us Americans a similar ease of travel. My lack of a visa was not based in ignorance, but rather it was based on simply being wrong (the more egregious of the two). After the United rep sated his appetite for schadenfreude, he ushered me along to a line where United could issue me a visa there. Huzzah, all was not lost yet! But my flight was creeping nearer and time was of the essence. I pranced in line like a horse ready to leave the gate. Time ticket by, and it was at 5pm (an hour before my flight) when I finally reached a kind-eyed customer service rep. I explained my predicament in half-English/half-grunts, and she worked with great celerity to issue my visa.
A miserable cocktail of fear, anger, shame, and sadness engulfed me as I stared blankly at the United representative, whose smirk mirrored the kiosk's. I should've known better. I was enraged and ashamed at myself, because I had thought about a visa and then come to the genius conclusion that it would be silly to get a visa for Australia. Thanks to my brief stint in Consular Affairs at the State Department, I had memorized all 38 countries that participate in the US's Visa Waiver Program (because my Saturday nights are THAT fun). Australia is one of the 7 non-European countries that participate in the VWP, thus Australians don't need visas to come visit the US. Most visa programs are quid pro quo and mirror each other, so I assumed they would give us Americans a similar ease of travel. My lack of a visa was not based in ignorance, but rather it was based on simply being wrong (the more egregious of the two). After the United rep sated his appetite for schadenfreude, he ushered me along to a line where United could issue me a visa there. Huzzah, all was not lost yet! But my flight was creeping nearer and time was of the essence. I pranced in line like a horse ready to leave the gate. Time ticket by, and it was at 5pm (an hour before my flight) when I finally reached a kind-eyed customer service rep. I explained my predicament in half-English/half-grunts, and she worked with great celerity to issue my visa.
It took approximately 5 minutes.
So I needed a visa, but it was basically rubbish. Anyone could apply and get one issued on the spot. I'm sure there's some wonderfully sound and logical reason why Americans need a travel visa to go to Australia, but the reason is beyond me. I was able to sprint to my plane, where my zone was just about to line up to board. Phew, thank goodness I made it on time!
And then the plane was delayed for 1.5 hours due to...rain.
The astute reader would gasp and say "But Jenny, that's how long you had as a layover in LA! You missed your Sydney flight!" Thank you, dear reader, for your concern. I too was quaking (not quacking) in my proverbial boots and making contingency plans. Thanks to kismet, another employee from my work was ALSO on the same flight combo to Sydney at the same time, so we were furiously checking flights and sweating bullets. When we landed, we rudely threw our elbows to clear the aisles screaming "WE HAVE A FLIGHT TO CATCH" and exited the plane with 20 minutes to spare. Upon frantically checking the gate information, we turned our heads right, and saw our gate to Syndey....directly next to our own plane we just arrived on. Oh Fortuna! Also the Sydney plane was delayed another 30 minutes...and then another 30... So I arrived ontime, legally, and in one piece.
The LA-Sydney flight was annoyingly long, but luckily was punctuated by turbulence to keep even the coolest of cats awake with healthy thoughts that the end is imminently nigh. Not only did turbulence keep me awake, but so did the cold fear that I was going to contract Ebola and die bleeding from all orifices. Around hour 5 I cuddled into my old-school paperback book about the epidemiology and history of the magnificent Ebola virus. Of course, upon learning an Ebola patient hopped on a flight while wildly infected, my seat-neighbor started complaining about being sick. Symptoms of Ebola include red eyes, a searing headache, and of course bleeding and basic bodily liquification of everything. One of the major symptoms is something called "black vomit" of which I will spare you the details. This poor woman next to me had red eyes and kept rubbing them (contact issues, I'm sure...), complained of a headache, and then almost vomited on multiple occasions.
So dear readers, if I do not survive this trip due to 1) death by Australian nature via shark, crocodile, spider, snake, jellyfish, or really anything else, 2) plane crash, or 3) a violent bout of Ebola, at least I will have done some lovely beachwalking in my last days!
And cuddled some lovely animals!
So there's that.
And then the plane was delayed for 1.5 hours due to...rain.
The astute reader would gasp and say "But Jenny, that's how long you had as a layover in LA! You missed your Sydney flight!" Thank you, dear reader, for your concern. I too was quaking (not quacking) in my proverbial boots and making contingency plans. Thanks to kismet, another employee from my work was ALSO on the same flight combo to Sydney at the same time, so we were furiously checking flights and sweating bullets. When we landed, we rudely threw our elbows to clear the aisles screaming "WE HAVE A FLIGHT TO CATCH" and exited the plane with 20 minutes to spare. Upon frantically checking the gate information, we turned our heads right, and saw our gate to Syndey....directly next to our own plane we just arrived on. Oh Fortuna! Also the Sydney plane was delayed another 30 minutes...and then another 30... So I arrived ontime, legally, and in one piece.
The LA-Sydney flight was annoyingly long, but luckily was punctuated by turbulence to keep even the coolest of cats awake with healthy thoughts that the end is imminently nigh. Not only did turbulence keep me awake, but so did the cold fear that I was going to contract Ebola and die bleeding from all orifices. Around hour 5 I cuddled into my old-school paperback book about the epidemiology and history of the magnificent Ebola virus. Of course, upon learning an Ebola patient hopped on a flight while wildly infected, my seat-neighbor started complaining about being sick. Symptoms of Ebola include red eyes, a searing headache, and of course bleeding and basic bodily liquification of everything. One of the major symptoms is something called "black vomit" of which I will spare you the details. This poor woman next to me had red eyes and kept rubbing them (contact issues, I'm sure...), complained of a headache, and then almost vomited on multiple occasions.
So dear readers, if I do not survive this trip due to 1) death by Australian nature via shark, crocodile, spider, snake, jellyfish, or really anything else, 2) plane crash, or 3) a violent bout of Ebola, at least I will have done some lovely beachwalking in my last days!
(Thank you random Australian!)
And cuddled some lovely animals!
So there's that.
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