The globality of government bureaucracies; Getting the VISA:

Government bureaucracies apparently thrive globally.

Clueless to how, maybe, another Gringo in Australia was not what the government wanted, I assumed that my visa approval, which began in late August would be a piece of cake... Afterall, what's not to like?

I breezed through the questionnaire. No communicable diseases, no criminal record, no anti social tendencies (not counting growing up in NY). They told me this could take anywhere from a few days to about 6 weeks. This was in August.

My first clue that I might want to fasten my seatbelt came with a call from the immigration attorneys.

'Where are you?'

'At home in Long Beach.'

'Are you sure?'

'Well I'm sitting here looking out the window, and it seems pretty familiar. Should I be elsewhere?'

'Australian Immigration says that you never left Australia after your house hunting trip'

'Hmmm. Can I send you a picture of me and my dog in Bay TV? Oh no, that might not be a good idea. They may think that I smuggled her into the country...'

'Huh?'

'Never mind, but I swear I'm in Long Beach'

'Is there any way you can prove it?"

'I thought I just tried, but let me think'

So, I sent a picture of my Australian passport departure stamp and records of my subsequent travel from LAX-JFK, LAX-NRT, etc. They finally believed me.

But then, there was health insurance. Australia does not want any aliens to sponge off their national health insurance, so before you can get a visa, you have to show proof in insurance. As expats, we naively thought that we could keep our US insurance (which included international coverage). After going back and forth for a month, we realized this wasn't working and secured Aussie health insurance....makes me wonder ifs the Aussie government owns the insurance companies...

Ok, so now it seemed to be clear sailing, until they decided I needed one more hurdle.

My parents decided to name me Cynthia. I was never called by that name in my life, so after a while, I began dropping it. From my driver's license. From my business relationships.

Oh, but it created an international incident when my employment agreement for Australia said 'Cindy' and my passport said 'Cynthia'. Oh yes, I suddenly found myself in the company of famous name changes such as Cassius Clay to Mohammed Ali, Norma Jean Baker to Marilyn Monroe, Bernie Schwartz to Tony Curtis....yes, as extreme as Cynthia Scott to Cindy Scott.

Several emails a birth certificate in the name Cynthia, and an affidavit that I hadn't nor had I intended to change my name later, this HUGE discrepancy was finally resolved. (Please don't tell anyone that my social security card, my driver's license, and my marriage license say Cindy).

So, in mid October, I finally have my Visa!!! I think this means I can now get a phone contract!

Mateship

I have been reading a book that my friend, Ruth gave me on moving to Sydney as an expat. In the introduction, it describes how Australia's history and culture has influenced society. The book emphasizes the importance of 'mateship'...looking out for your buddies, neighbors, etc. It is borne of the combination of the inhospitable land and the convict origins.

As I read about this, I remembered my first day in Sydney, and had to smile....

I had it all planned...

I checked 3 pieces of luggage...a suitcase with alot of clothing, a duffel with a blow up bed and bedding, and a bike bag with my bike and accessories....

I also had arranged for delivery of a fridge and washer to the apartment that morning.

God, I felt smart....UNTIL two minor things got in the way

• My flight was delayed out of LAX. Would I make it in time for the delivery?
• My 'budget 'bike carrier had wheels, yes. But they did not turn!

So, arriving a couple of hours late, I went to the oversized luggage area to claim my stuff. the wait was quite long. I got a cart and thought this would be a piece of cake.

After waiting way too long for my luggage, I realized that my appliance delivery was in danger of arriving without me. I called the appliance company. The delivery guys were at my door--could we reschedule? NO! I needed a fridge today.

Desperate for someone to receive the delivery, I tried to call my rental agent, but the number didn't work. I tried my landlord, same thing. Apparently, I did not have the knack of dialing Aussie numbers. Panicked, I called the appliance company back (why I could reach them, I don't know). Can you please call this number (my landlord) for me and see if he can meet you? Of course we can.

Meanwhile, all my luggage shows up. My cart suddenly seems hopelessly inadequate. I pile all the bags except the bike on. I go three feet. The cart goes one way, the bike the other. Neither is going in the direction I am looking to go. I pile the bike on the top of the cart. NOW I figured it out.

That is, until the entire pile topples over--on me. We all tumble simultaneously! A lovely man who works at the airport comes to the rescue! He takes my cart, my wayward bike, and me and escorts me through the customs line and out to the curb. He won't accept a tip!

I arrive at my apartment with the fridge connected and cold. The washer hooked up and ready to go! Thanks to the appliance dispatcher, my landlord was there to let them in. My taxi driver schlepps my stuff upstairs.

I sleep well on my blow up bed and crack open a cold diet coke the next morning.

MATESHIP. It works! If you don't think so, write this story, but set it in NY.