Never Again

It is only when one leaves America does the shattering truth emerge that as much as we hate U.S. bureaucracy and deplore its inefficiency and tortoise-like attitude, just one encounter with the Third World has us weeping with relief when all we have to do, say, is renew a driver’s license down at the local DMV.

So New Wife and I decided to deplete our savings and try to repeat our earlier, abortive attempt to visit her #1 Son and family (grandchildren!!!) in Sydney, Australia.  (The first trip, of course, was nuked by Covid and the OzGov’s pathetic overreaction thereto.  That only cost us $1,500 for NW’s air ticket.)

Of course, even without Covid, Straya throws all sorts of shit at anyone who might want to spend some tourist dollars to visit their poxy country (pop. 25,000) — you have to apply for a visitor’s visa (from a list of about 50 different categories) before you can even get onto an airliner.  Cost of said application:  ~$340 per person.  However, the Dept. of Home Affairs boasts, it only takes as little as 36 hours for it to be approved (except where otherwise indicated by ).  Of course, using Covid as an excuse, the time was not 36 hours, oh no:  New Wife applied in February of this year, and it arrived promptly on May 15;  I applied for mine on April 1, and ATOW it still hadn’t arrived.

So I wasn’t able to get on the plane with her last Friday evening, but I was told that if I changed my flight to Sunday evening, they would help me take care of my little visa problem.

Which is where the (further) problems began.  I wasn’t able to change my flight because Expedia can’t do anything if the departure time is less than 10 hours away (on Friday evening, it was about two hours away by the time I’d got home).  No problem, thinks I, I’ll just go to Qantas’s website and change it there.  Except that Qantas must have used the same guy to build their website as homeaffairs.gov.au — there is no way to “manage” your booking — nowhere to enter your ticket number or reservation number, nada.

Last night I discovered the following:  because I hadn’t been able to change my flight, Qantas was going to take the whole fare and give me a “coupon” for $500 to use for my next flight;  additional expense to fly out on Sunday night: $800.

Even worse was my visa experience.  I could actually get an ETA visa (don’t ask) approved in about 20 minutes, except for a couple of teeny-weeny little problems:  the Qantas mobile app downloaded onto my phone, but couldn’t open;  and the visa application cost was going to be another $340, because this was a new visa application fee, you see, and no they couldn’t (okay wouldn’t) credit me for the failed visa application because they are two different visas.

Oh, and did I mention that the Sunday flight was overbooked anyway?

The hell with that.  I would rather take that $1,100-odd and pay for the grandkids to come and visit me.

Hence the title of this post.  Ain’t gonna happen, never, no way, uh-uh am I going to try to visit Australia ever in the future.  It’s just too much frigging hassle, and expensive, to visit a place that was never high on my Wannagothere List in the first place.

It’s not like I don’t have other options;  here’s one just arrived in my Inbox last night:

Cheap Flights: Dallas to London $566-$589 r/t

Don’t need a visa, either.  Buy a ticket, arrive at the airport, fly eight (not seventeen!) hours, and it’s tea and sausage rolls at Greggs for brekkie the next morning.

Other destinations ditto, with local cuisine variations.

Too bad, for everyone.

I think I’ll go to the range later today and get some AK-47 practice.  That’s one thing I can do that I’d never be able to do Down Under.

Landed

Okay, here’s the story of the film so far.  New Wife is safely at home with her #1 Son’s family.

I am safely at home in Plano, minus the cost of a roundtrip DFW-SYD airfare and visa application cost, as well as a Qantas seat-selection fee, seat of course never having been used.

Motherfucker.  I think I’ll go to the river nearby, find an angry cottonmouth snake and bite its fucking head off.

Sounds About Right

Seems as though a Murkin couple went over to Britishland for the first time, and enjoyed the experience:

Two Americans who recently visited the UK for the first-ever time have revealed the good, the bad, the weird and the scary of their trip, with driving in Devon and Cornwall falling into the latter category.

The rest of the trip was a big hit, though, with the locals being nice to them ‘everywhere we went’.
‘We didn’t want to leave,’ the couple said.

‘…the UK seems to have a reputation for having bad food, which we did not find to be true at all. We had so much amazing food in the UK! We already miss things that we don’t have in America like scones with clotted cream or chips with curry sauce.’

No argument from me on any of the above, although I’d pass on the curry chips for a nice sausage roll.

Read the whole article for more.  But they seem to have got it right.

Post-Lottery

If I ever have the great good luck to win some kind of lottery, I’d be faced with a serious choice.

Option 1: 

  • become a jet-setter and travel the globe, visiting unfamiliar places like Helsinki, Prague etc.:

 

  • go shooting in Britishland with Mr. Free Market,

  • sip long glasses of G&T on the balcony of my hotel room in Monte Carlo or in a beach house in the Seychelles:

…and generally spend the rest of my life in strange, exciting places.

Option 2:

Buy a large farm somewhere and live (and end) the rest of my life like Uncle Hub and Uncle Garth, snarling at the world and shooting at strangers from my porch:

And don’t tell me to embrace the healing power of “and”, because the two lifestyles are completely opposite and contrary, and my faltering old brain probably couldn’t handle the sudden shift back and forth.

People who know me well, like my Longtime Loyal Readers, will appreciate the attraction of both options to me.

Back Home

Got back to my lair (see above) late last night, and am now safely ensconced therein.

Of course, nothing ever runs to plan, and in this case it’s because Stupid Kim forgot his laptop power cord in Boise.  But thanks to the ever-resourceful Mo K., it should be delivered to my sooper-seekrit mailing address sometime this afternoon, so proper blogging should recommence tomorrow.  See y’all then.