The downside of my three exciting overseas trips next year is that I need to acquire travel insurance and book flights. This is not going well so far.
Today my conversation with the insurance agent, who must have been all of twelve, went something like this:
Him: ‘Is that Miss, Mrs or Ms?’
Me: ‘It’s Dr’
Him: (incredulous intake of breathe)
Having established that, no, my christian name does not have double T, nor indeed a double N (to be fair he didn’t ask if it has two Js), I spell my surname with little hope that this will end up correct. I know it is only three letters but people have tremendous trouble with it.
Him: ‘Where are you travelling to?
Me: ‘Alaska, Peru and New Zealand’ (I don’t do things by halves)
Him: ‘So that would be Worldwide excluding USA, Canada & Mexico’
Me: (thinks) ‘ermm, not unless they’ve moved Alaska’
Then the lengthy health questions because what I have fits none of the boxes and is actually is a lot less serious than any of the scary things on their list but does need to be declared and it seems is going to cost me an additional £350.
Him: ‘When were you first diagnosed with this condition?’
Me: ‘February 2016’
Him: ‘Is this in the last 1-3 years?’
Me: (despairing) ‘Yes’.
Him: (question eleventy million) ‘Do you suffer from anxiety or depression?’
Me: (thinks) ‘Well I didn’t before this conversation.’
Then the travel agent for one of our trips who sent us ‘the only’ flights. Outward at 6.20am (meaning 3.20am check in) – much as I love early mornings – just No. It so isn’t the only flight – I can use an internet search engine near me. Dashes off reply email politely declining these options and providing flight numbers of more civilised (and similarly priced) flights. I also quietly pointed out that her suggested return flight was 14 days before the holiday ended – sigh.
I hardly dare try to book our New Zealand camper van.