coronavirus, covid-19, covid-19 travel restrictions
When Joyce Noronha-Barrett’s husband had a heart problem in Florida, she knew she had to be with him. She flew out in October, knowing full well getting back to Australia would mean quarantine at her own cost and she accepted that – but she hadn’t banked on sky-high air fares. All she knew was her husband was ill and she had to be with him. “I had to come at that critical time because of his heart issues,” she said. “I was going to stay put in Canberra but when I found he was sick, I had to fly out.” The big problem was the cost of airfares. They continually go on ticketing websites but get quoted one-way fares of $7000 and upwards. One airline quoted $16,000. It’s way beyond their means. They have family in Florida so they aren’t going bankrupt – but they aren’t where they want to be, particularly as their first grandchild approaches her first birthday in Canberra on March 13. They love Canberra – love it, she said. Joyce came to the city at the age of 20 in 1977. She grew up in the United States but had wanderlust. Two people pointed her towards Australia and towards Canberra. Her father from India had recommended Australia even though he had never been there – he had just heard good things about the country. And the Australian consulate official in New York where Joyce had gone to get a visa recommended Canberra. After 44 years, she still remembers his name: S.A. Roberts. “My dad always talked fondly of Australia. He told me wonderful things about Australia,” she said. “He said that if he was going to go somewhere, that’s where he was going to go, so I decided to migrate at the age of 20.” The migration official then told her she would enjoy Canberra: “He said the jobs market was good in Canberra.” And so it was: “That’s where I married and had my kids and had a life.” She and her husband became public servants. She worked for the ANU for a spell. He retired in 2000 from working at the National Film and Sound Archives. They have family in Florida so they often go there but Canberra is home. With children in the US and in Australia, they shuttled between the two until the coronavirus put a hard brake on travel. “I wanted to be back by January but that’s gone now,” she said. They are now hoping to use Qantas air miles to get back – but the earliest that might happen is July, so they will have missed their granddaughter’s first birthday. Joyce Noronha-Barrett accepts the plight of her and her husband isn’t life-threatening. It’s not a crisis and she’s not pleading for anyone to do anything. She has family in Miami so she isn’t paying massive hotel bills. Their plight is just one more of those countless individual stories of quiet pain as the pandemic closes down our lives.
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When Joyce Noronha-Barrett’s husband had a heart problem in Florida, she knew she had to be with him.
She flew out in October, knowing full well getting back to Australia would mean quarantine at her own cost and she accepted that – but she hadn’t banked on sky-high air fares.
All she knew was her husband was ill and she had to be with him.
“I had to come at that critical time because of his heart issues,” she said.
“I was going to stay put in Canberra but when I found he was sick, I had to fly out.”
The big problem was the cost of airfares. They continually go on ticketing websites but get quoted one-way fares of $7000 and upwards. One airline quoted $16,000. It’s way beyond their means.
They have family in Florida so they aren’t going bankrupt – but they aren’t where they want to be, particularly as their first grandchild approaches her first birthday in Canberra on March 13.
They love Canberra – love it, she said.
Joyce came to the city at the age of 20 in 1977. She grew up in the United States but had wanderlust.
Two people pointed her towards Australia and towards Canberra.
Her father from India had recommended Australia even though he had never been there – he had just heard good things about the country.
And the Australian consulate official in New York where Joyce had gone to get a visa recommended Canberra. After 44 years, she still remembers his name: S.A. Roberts.
“My dad always talked fondly of Australia. He told me wonderful things about Australia,” she said.
“He said that if he was going to go somewhere, that’s where he was going to go, so I decided to migrate at the age of 20.”
The migration official then told her she would enjoy Canberra: “He said the jobs market was good in Canberra.”
And so it was: “That’s where I married and had my kids and had a life.”
She and her husband became public servants. She worked for the ANU for a spell. He retired in 2000 from working at the National Film and Sound Archives.
They have family in Florida so they often go there but Canberra is home. With children in the US and in Australia, they shuttled between the two until the coronavirus put a hard brake on travel.
“I wanted to be back by January but that’s gone now,” she said. They are now hoping to use Qantas air miles to get back – but the earliest that might happen is July, so they will have missed their granddaughter’s first birthday.
Joyce Noronha-Barrett accepts the plight of her and her husband isn’t life-threatening. It’s not a crisis and she’s not pleading for anyone to do anything. She has family in Miami so she isn’t paying massive hotel bills.
Their plight is just one more of those countless individual stories of quiet pain as the pandemic closes down our lives.
