Authors: Robert A. Heinlein
He shrugged. "That's the law."
I could hear Ticky winding up and getting ready to pitch, so I stepped on her foot. "All right," I agreed. "What do I do and where do I go?"
At least he had the forms. So we went through all the old tired rituals again: age, sex, citizenship, marital status, home address, temporary address, occupation, length of residence, and a dozen other matters even less consequential. It did not take as long as an income tax report back home for the reason that all of the significant entries were either "no" or "none." At last we handed them in, swore to them, and signed them. "Where do we turn these in?"
"You can give them to me. You said you were staying at the Hotel Australia, didn't you? The Company will leave a message for you there when you have permission to leave the country."
"You mean you still can't sell us a ticket?"
"Not until these papers have been processed, certainly not."
"How long will that take?"
"It shouldn't take long, not over three or four days I should imagine."
"Uh . . . well, thank you. You've been very patient."
"Not at all."
I took a deep breath, dismissed the income tax matter from my mind, and turned to the next matter, an attempt to get passage from New Zealand to the United States. The Union Steamship Company had ships which made this run, but they had refused to book us from the States and had returned our deposit, saying that they could not book that far ahead-but the letter contained a weasel-worded phrasing which, while it accepted our names for a waiting list, implied that it would not do us much good as New Zealanders would probably want the space. I had written back and inquired specifically on this point but the inquiry had been ignored.
So I asked the booking clerk, not very hopefully, about booking passage from New Zealand to the States. He referred us to another clerk, where we were told that no bookings were available. Nor was our name on the waiting list so far as records here showed. I asked them please to let the home office know that we had arrived and were still interested. Would they accept a deposit?
No-but the clerk did promise to write a letter to the home office. Perhaps when we got to New Zealand-
We left with a list of shipping companies which had ships to our west coast-or to Canada, Hawaii, or Panama City. We even asked about ships to the west coast of South America, for we were beginning to realize that the situation was desperate, but there were none. It would appear that there is no trade of any sort between South America and Australia plus New Zealand even though they face each other across the Pacific.
It did not take "three or four days" to get our income tax clearance; it took the whole time we were there. In consequence we were never able to get out of Sydney any distance greater than could be driven in one day; our longest drive was about four hundred miles and did not take us past the Great Dividing Range which parallels the east coast, never got out of the coastal, eucalyptus forest geographical region.
Each day we would first telephone the Union line and ask about income tax clearance and our ticket; each day we would be told to call back the following day. Then we would do local sightseeing-except that the first Monday was spent in tramping from one steamship agent to the next, trying to find anything from a raft to submarine which would accept us for passage to any port on the other side of the Pacific. There were none.
Perhaps I should not say "none" for we had one very promising false alarm and once were actually offered passage the long way round via Manila and Hong Kong, then back across the Pacific, in the Cunard Liner
Coronia,
which was making a circum-Pacific cruise originating from London. The agent had to stop to figure out what our fare would be for that portion we wanted. Presently he looked up and said cheerily, "Better sit down first."
"Pretty expensive?" I asked. I had done a rough calculation in my head, based on the number of days we would be in the ship and what I knew of usual first-class fares; I had estimated it at $2000, or perhaps a few dollars over-almost twice what it would cost to fly home, but worth it in view of the way Ticky felt about flying over the ocean. So I was braced for a sizable figure.
"Just over seven thousand dollars," he said.
I blinked. "I don't want to buy the ship, I just want to ride in it."
"Yes, I know. It is a fantastic cost. I wouldn't pay it."
"Nor I. It's way out of my price bracket. What do they give you for that? Dancing girls? Pheasant for breakfast?"
"Well, it
is
a luxury ship. It has a swimming pool and dancing in the evening, all that sort of thing."
The
Ruys
had had a swimming pool and dancing in the evening, and all that sort of thing, but no megalomania about the worth of such. From curiosity I studied the ship's plan. The
Coronia
had a swimming pool not noticeably bigger than the one in the
Ruys
. . . for ten times as many passengers. Her other "luxuries" were on the same meager scale when compared with the ample arrangements of the
Ruys.
She was a floating sucker trap. Seven thousand dollars indeed! "Hmm-" I said. "Would you do something for me? Tell them to take the
Coronia,
fold it until it is all corners, and-"
"Robert!" Ticky said sharply.
Ticky was right. The agent was a nice chap and seemed as shocked by the larcenous attitude as I was. So I thanked him and we left.
The second false alarm concerned a ship whose owners had no delusions of grandeur. She was going to Panama, an acceptable enough destination by then, from where we could fly home or might even manage to catch the good old
Gulf Shipper.
The home office was in New Zealand, and the booking clerk in the Sydney office, a most pleasant lady, could not tell us positively that space was available, but was glad to attempt the booking through the home office.
"Good!" I agreed. "Suppose we wait while you phone them."
"Excuse me? Did you say 'telephone them'?"
"Certainly. There is telephone service between here and New Zealand, is there not?"
"Well . . . yes," she conceded.
"Then let's telephone them at once. I pay for the call, of course-perhaps I didn't make that clear."
"But I couldn't
telephone
them."
"Why not? There's a telephone right there on your desk. Just call them and we will know at once."
The poor woman seemed quite agitated at my insistence. I finally found myself talking to her boss; where she was agitated, he was bland, but he was quite as firm in his refusal to permit a call to be made to the home office. "Airmail will do nicely, my dear chap. We'll get one off at once and we will hear promptly, probably tomorrow."
I explained that it was decidedly worth the cost of a long-distance phone call to me to tie down the reservation at once. "It is possible that someone might walk into the New Zealand office later today and book the last available stateroom in that ship. I don't want to chance it; it means too much to me."
He frowned and smiled, seemed perplexed by my stupidity, a little surprised that I would propose anything so obviously improper, even though I was an American. "But we can't, you know. That isn't the way we do business. Sorry."
And there the matter stood. The phone call was not made. We Americans are used to telephoning twice the distance from Sydney to New Zealand, as casually as we call the corner grocery, on any matter of business important enough to warrant the minor expense-or simply to inquire about a relative's health, for that matter. A branch office will phone the home office several times a day; that is how business is done.
But apparently not so in Australia. My willingness to pay the cost had no bearing on the matter; one simply does not telephone the home office. It is not done.
We had still hoped to make a flying trip outback, starting Tuesday, but this delay kept us in Sydney two more days . . . to no avail, as the New Zealand office turned our request down. Then we still hoped to make a trip at least to Melbourne the last two days of the week even though our income tax clearance still had not come through. This time we were stopped not by red tape but by a chance in a thousand: Queen Elizabeth was in Melbourne that day, which meant very simply that a hotel bed was not to be had under any circumstances in Melbourne . . . plus crowds dense as a Mardi Gras, plus choked public transportation.
So we never got out of Sydney. I do not know what would have happened had we entered the country at Fremantle, crossed by train, and arrived in Sydney only a couple of days before our scheduled sailing. Would we have been allowed to catch our ship and leave the country? Or would we have been held there while our null & nothing "income tax" returns were processed? I don't know, but I have no reason to think that Australian red tape will budge for anyone no matter what the predicament. I suspect that it might have been like the telephone call that "couldn't" be made. (And I shall always wonder if we missed being able to reserve passage by that one day's loss of time.)
This income tax nonsense for tourists, indulged in by both Australia and New Zealand, caused me to wonder if our own country indulged in such a useless, time-wasting irritation, so I inquired of Internal Revenue on our return. We do not-neither under the old law nor the new (1954). A non-resident alien, tourist or other visitor, who has earned no money in the United States, is not required to make any income tax report of any sort-nothing! Which is as it should be.
Nevertheless we liked Australia on the whole. In seeing Brisbane, Sydney, and the environs of Sydney we did see that part of Australia occupied by more than half of the population, even though we did miss "the salt pans in the middle of Australia" where Yellow Dog Dingo chased Old Man Kangaroo. We saw two of their three biggest cities and found them no worse than and much like American cities of similar size. The countryside outside those two cities was magnificent; I kept feeling that a landscape architect had been through ahead of us, rearranging it into perfect composition and beauty. In fairness I must admit that the random views around Sydney for a hundred miles or so (as far as we got) are superior to random views in the U.S. countryside save for certain areas overtly touted as tourist beauty spots.
But before we leave the subject of the shortcomings of Australia, let's list the others that came to our attention. The hotel we were in was not very good and Australians readily admit that their hotels are not much. The Hotel Australia is comparable to the Commodore in New York in size and age; it is the best Sydney has to offer, which is hardly true of the Commodore in New York. But the Commodore is a much better hotel in plant and immeasurably better in service and in cuisine. The prices of the Commodore are about half again as much as those of the Australia-which makes the Hotel Australia quite expensive in view of the scale of other prices in Sydney and
very
expensive compared with a similar hotel outside New York.
No need to itemize the shortcomings of the Australia, but here are a few that are typical: we were placed in a room built like a railroad tunnel with a single window at the far end. The only shaving mirror was located the room's length away from the wash basin, which made shaving a source of healthy exercise. The beds-well, never mind the beds; we didn't sleep much anyhow. The cooking was adequate but dull; the menu never changed. Food was available only at set meal hours and a late Sunday morning breakfast in your room was a metropolitan luxury not to be had.
That was Australia's "best" hotel, not bad but not good. The primary cause of the poor hotels in Australia-and the ordinary run of them are conceded to be much worse than the one we were in-is the liquor licensing system; a hotel is primarily a saloon. The profit lies in beer sold over the bar; lodging and meals are supplied only to meet the requirements of the law. The secondary cause lies in union rules; organized labor dominates Australian politics to an extent that American union men would find amazing and union rules of a type undreamed of in most parts of the United States are taken as a matter of course there. In my opinion they have taken advantage of a good thing in a fashion of no real benefit to the union workers and detrimental to all.
For example, I tried to get a glass of water in the restaurant of the Australia and I made the mistake of asking the table waiter for it. But by union rules he is not permitted to pour a glass of water, nor is the bus boy; water being a "drink" must be handled by a liquor waiter or not at all. But a barman was not available at that time. I could see empty glasses and carafes of water not ten feet away, but the table waiter was literally afraid to touch it; the job was not authorized by his union classification.
Groceries may not legally be purchased on a weekend. This makes it tough on working housewives. There are grocery "bootleggers" of course, with their back doors open and with higher prices. I went to one of them with a Sydney housewife; it reminded me of a speakeasy during Prohibition.
Ticky and I, one day when we were sightseeing in Sydney, decided to wait until the business lunch-hour rush was over before eating, for Sydney is a place where more than a million people try to crowd into restaurants sharp at noon. So we waited and so we missed lunch-the restaurants close as soon as the midday rush is over. Union rules again.
This list could go on tediously, so let us consider the examples multiplied by almost any one you can think of and many that, fortunately, have never been thought of in this country. I mean to say, we have proved repeatedly that short hours are not incompatible with high production and good service. The feather-bedders in Australia don't seem to know that. This anti-productive attitude was the very last thing we ran into as we left Australia. Our ship was trying to make the tide and there was just one more sling to be loaded-when it came time for the dockmen to have "smoko," the midafternoon break for a cigarette. Our captain sent down word asking the men to
please
postpone "smoko" for twenty minutes and get that last sling aboard. No go-the rules, rules with the force of law from a government "awards" commission, said to break at that hour. So the ship missed the tide.