There are three kinds of logic I don’t understand.  They are, of course, the logic of the guy in Pittsburgh who believes he is a dog – governments – and my darling wife.  Actually, I sort of understand the dog guy, but the other two are a constant mystery.

As you may know, after two years of locked borders, we’re finally off to Canada to be reunited with family.  As usual, my job has been to keep up with the ever-changing travel regulations, get all the right bits of paper and online approvals in place, and ensure we have enough cords, chargers, and devices on hand to keep ourselves connected if the plane gets unexpectedly diverted to Iceland for three months.  Nanette’s job is – the other stuff.

Here’s how it’s played out so far.

Saturday – 4 days until lift-off.  I’m eyeing the patchy sky and thinking that the yard, soggy after twelve inches of constant rain, might just be dry enough to support my ride-on mower.  The grass is so high that even the kangaroos are carrying compasses, so it just has to be attacked today.  Nanette looks up from her morning coffee.  “We’ll need to get to the shops early today.  It might take a while to get all those things I promised to take everybody.”  Oh well, the rain might hold off till evening.

Sunday – 3 days to lift-off.  I’ve rechecked the Canadian government website and we’re still not able to submit the online documentation we need before we get clearance to enter the country.  Ah well, time to give in and tackle the packing.  I start gathering a small pile of what we Aussies call ‘socks and jocks’ (also known as ‘undies’).  Nanette pulls me up.  “You better not start that until I see how much of your suitcase is needed for the stuff I’m taking for the family.”  I briefly think she’s joking, but then – well, how much do I really need for five weeks anyway.

Monday – 48 hours to go.  Morning was spent finishing off some last-minute appointments.  Time to give that website another crack.  “Please upload your international vaccination certificates.” Done!  “Based on the information you have entered, you are not required to quarantine when entering Canada. …  Please enter full details of your quarantine plan – mandatory for entering Canada.” (I kid you not).

Tuesday – 24 hours to go.  This is the bit we’ve been dreading.  We’re required to undertake a rapid COVID test “administered or supervised by a health professional”, otherwise, we can’t board the plane, and if we do somehow manage to sneak aboard, we can’t get off at the other end.  We’re feeling fine, but there’s all those stories about people who feel fine, but …  We arrive at our regular doctor’s surgery.  He tries to reassure us.  “Don’t worry.  I haven’t done one of these on a patient before, but I’ve tested myself once and it went ok.”  Bam!  The swab goes so far up each nostril that my eyes lose focus.  Then, the anxious wait to see how many lines are showing when the little test window clears.  The medico smirks – “Good news.  You don’t have COVID, and you’re not pregnant!”  I guess that’s doctor humour.

Wednesday – 4 hours after lift-off.  Everything has gone smoothly so far, except for the peak hour traffic delays, and one of us leaving her jacket in our friends’ car, and the check-in lady needing assistance from two different people to sort out special exemptions for us to transit through New Zealand, and all the airport shops and coffee bars being closed.  We’ve finished the short leg of our journey, and as I write, we’re sitting in the eerily empty halls of Auckland airport.  We’re chatting with a pleasant young Canadian guy who we found staring at the sign that usually depicts upcoming flights.

“I don’t understand,” he says, “if our flight is the only one leaving here tonight, why don’t they just show us the gate number now?”  “Ah,” says I, “that’s airport logic.”  Don’t try to understand it.

Addendum – Since finishing this story, we have arrived safe and sound at Vancouver Airport. Bet you can’t guess who got ‘randomly selected’ to go off for an extra COVID test before she was allowed to leave the airport. Yep. True story.