Consider us light packers. Having traveled together for several extended trips—to Alaska, NYC, and Seattle—all during fall or winter, we’ve always managed to pack one piece of luggage¹, to. My tendency to buy crap and random snacks along the way, paired with my indifference to strut in sweats², has taught me to pack as little as possible. Besides, no one cared if photos looked like they were taken on the same day or across an entire week! A good coat concealed everything incoherent underneath.
The check-in counter had barely opened when we arrived.
Thanks to our last-minute flight change, we now had a 19-hour layover in Singapore before the next leg to Sydney. I’d already started scouting new food spots, looking forward to eating our way through the city yet again. I thought we might even revisit the Botanic Gardens, where I daydreamed about an alternate reality while watching helpers walk rare dog breeds and expats jog before 10am. The lifestyle I will never attain.
We made sure to stow away all non-essential items except anything with batteries, which meant I still had to lug around two laptops³, two watches, a camera, a journal, and a novel. We also made sure to dress for tropical heat and humidity before boarding: I wore a sheer button-up and yoga pants, while d was in shorts from head to toe. In retrospect, these poorly planned (wardrobe) decisions would later physically bring the trip to a halt.
But we had bigger issues hitting us when we finally reached the front of the check-in line.
Ground Staff: Would you like to take the emergency exit row seats?
Me: Not really. eyeing d
d: Sure, why not.
Staff: So just one?
Me: No, make it both. switching hastily
Clickety clack, furrowed eyebrows by the Staff.
Staff: I’m not seeing your names listed for the visa.
Me: Excuse me? eyes widening in disbelief
Staff: I cannot check you in without an approved visa. Please step aside and complete the ETA.
d: I genuinely thought Australia didn’t required one…
The following 20min became a string of 3min intervals of excruciating agony and panicking swipes for info.
I hovered my phone over passports like a broken metal detector, retook selfies under different lighting and angles, then all over again after the system rejected my face. I then copied and pasted an unknown person’s address and phone number. Anything it requested so I can get my ass on that flight.
The entire process was filled with doubt, uncertainty and frustration, made worse by the literal ticking clock in our faces. d later admitted he was certain we were about to be sent home, given visas aren’t normally approved on the spot. Even the app warned it could take up to 72hrs to process. As I waited for the credit card to go through, I watched the check-in line, which once wrapped around the pillars, dwindle down. So has my hope.
Bing! “This email is automatically generated.”
My visa was granted, thank god! I imagine the staff must mock foolish travelers all the time.
Footnotes
- In reality, we only own one large suitcase and several duffel bags.
- Despite packing a long skirt, jeans, light wool dress pants, and Lululemon bottoms, I ended up wearing the jeans almost every day because they were the only weather-appropriate option. Why bother carrying deadweight if I only wear less than 25% of the clothes?
- I had far too much confidence that I'd be sipping flat whites and working on this blog. Psych!