I mentioned in my post at the start of this trip that I only have two jobs when we travel – to make sure all the various charging cables and accessories are packed, and to sort out any official documentation required.  Well, I reckon one out of two really isn’t that bad.

It’s nearly five weeks since that story, and the world has changed quite a bit – or so we thought.

Friday evening – We’re sitting on the couch reflecting on how the small flooring project I was assigned when I arrived may have been just a tad bigger than expected.  “Well, it’s finished now,” comments Nanette, “now you can just relax until we leave on Sunday.”  Sounds great, think I, maybe we can take a few quiet strolls around the neighbourhood to admire those amazing cherry trees that have suddenly exploded with blooms.  “Of course,” she continues, “that’s after we take a trip to the shoe outlet store, then get all the stuff for the family birthdays that we’ll miss when we’re gone, oh, and we need to hunt for some things to take back for the friends and family back home.”

I’m digesting this new information and trying to calculate a mental total of time required when my phone makes that annoying little ‘DING!” sound. Ah, it’s a reminder I set for myself weeks ago.  “Book pre-travel COVID test.”  No worries, that should be simple enough.

About an hour later, we’ve finally located a local clinic that (a) does ‘supervised rapid tests’ and (b) is open in the 24-hour window before our flight, as required by the current Australian regulations.

Sunday afternoon, 1PM – We arrive at the chosen clinic in plenty of time.  The waiting room is full of sick and miserable looking people.  Fortunately, we’re directed down to hall to a little room with three chairs and a pleasant lady wearing one of those outfits you see in nuclear disaster movies.  She glances up from her laptop, then pushes a small plastic box towards me.  “Please tap your card to pay $105 each for your tests so we can start.”  Ok, that seems like a lot, but this stuff must be pretty technical.  Exactly three minutes later, as we exit back onto the street, I suggest to Nanette that we could open one of these clinics then retire to the Bahamas.

Sunday evening, 5PM – We’re at the airport nice and early, so time for a quick check-in, then relax.  We’re only three steps from the counter when a lady with a uniform, a smile, and a torn piece of paper steps into our path.  “Can I please check your documentation?”  I smile back and show her our passports.  “No,” she says revealing a couple of QR codes and some handwritten notes on her special piece of paper.  “You must each scan these codes with your phone, then open the websites and complete the forms to enter New Zealand.”  I comment that we’re only transiting that wonderful country, but she’s firm.  “No.  Everyone must complete these applications before they can board the plane.”  We look around and, sure enough, everyone in the queue is tapping their phones.  After about forty-five minutes setting up our online accounts, selecting passwords we instantly forget, and entering the date, time and type of every vaccination, we’re relieved to see the ‘Application submitted’ message.  (Oh, and I probably shouldn’t mention one of us had to do the whole process twice because she got to the final step then got a message saying she had run out of time to enter her password).

“Thank you,” says the lady.  As we start towards the counter once more, she flips over her scrap of paper to reveal another set of QR codes and scribbled instructions.  “Now you must complete all the online forms for entry into Australia.”

Addendum 1 – as I write this, fourteen hours later, we’re sitting in the departures area of Auckland airport, waiting to board the short, and final, hop next door to Australia.  Nobody from either the airline or the official NZ transit security area has as much as glanced at either our official pre-flight COVID test results, or the digital New Zealand Traveller Passes that took so long to acquire when we checked in.  But, there’s still an hour before we board, so, who knows?

Addendum 2 – we’ve just landed in Brisbane.  The three-hour flight from NZ was crowded, but mercifully uneventful.  We disembark and fall in with the general rush of bodies surging along the generic grey airport corridors.  Now, we only have to scan our passports at that electronic kiosk and we’re good to go.  Ok, open thus and slide in this way and … stupid machine!  What do you mean ‘unable to process’?  Let’s try another kiosk.  Ah, a new message says, ‘go to the assistance desk’.  The helpful guard scans both passports on his special terminal, frowns, then announces – “Hmm, it looks like the stuff you filled in online yesterday hasn’t synced with our system – Oh – Vancouver – everyone coming in from there recently has had problems.  Here, fill in these paper forms and we’ll get it sorted for you.”  

We know we’re beaten, so we smile our thanks and spend ten minutes filling in the same information for what seems to be the millionth time.  When we’re finished, I’m tempted to ask the guy if anyone is ever going to look at our carefully procured pre-flight COVID test results – but decide it’s probably best to leave that can of worms unopened.  

As we finally exit the terminal, Nanette turns to me and says, ever so sweetly, “next time you’ll need to …”