DAY ONE, AGAIN, BRISBANE, AUSTRALIA

We’ve all somewhat recovered from the exhaustion of jet lag, and at 3:00 AM sharp, we are all up bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, ready for the day’s activities. Today was a day for catching up on all our online business, emails, swapping rental cars, and setting up phone service. Boring, in other words.

But it’s done, and tomorrow we’ll head north, to the Tablelands of Far North Queensland, an area we are fairly familiar with, where Jorge can have his tropical flora and I can have my cooler climate at the same time. And casinos nearby! And elevation! Because you know I have to be above that high water mark when the polar ice caps finally melt.

From what the Australian Immigration authorities told us yesterday, once we establish some sort of residence, renting being an acceptable alternative, we can apply for a Returning Resident Visa from several months to five years in length depending on how sad a story we can tell. Prepare yourselves for a real tearjerker.

We’re still planning on a visit to New Zealand, but it will have to be at the end of our trip (sorry, Michele.)

I can proudly say that after less than 48 hours, we can tell the difference between a New Zealand accent and an Australian accent, something of a credit to us if you ask a Kiwi. New Zealanders are more British and proper sounding and swap the vowels “i” and “e”; “sex” and “tin” are numbers. Australians are more nasal and swap even more vowels; “bait rice” is a speed competition between sailing vessels. If you clench your teeth and hardly open your mouth, you’d pretty much sound like an Aussie. Speaking of accents, I thought it would be me, the one who begins saying things like, “How ah yah sistahs?” the minute I get on the phone with Boston family, but, no, it turned out that Jorge is the Madonna of our group, already turning his sentences up at the end as if everything he says is a question.

Today’s quote, courtesy of Becky:


It is a bad plan that admits of no modification.

-- Publilius Syrus