I
got dumped to the roadside at quarter to four. Not even the slightest
hint of dawn was present. The sky was black as coal.
So I waited next to our carry on bags as Helen drove the car home, and then walked the one kilometre back to my dark bus stop. The bus picked us up a little after five.
We were pretty much alone for the ride. I guess bus people like to get up after sunrise, or at least closer to it.
Next came the ferry ride across Howe Sound, and onto a Vancouver-side bus. Still black downtown as we headed underground to catch the inappropriately named Skytrain. For almost all of the airport run it's actually a subway.
Unlike most urban trains, the Skytrain has no turnstile system. It is quite possible to ride without having paid. I think our bus driver undercharged us, and so our transfer might not have had enough money on it to cover the airport train run. No matter, we just blundered on. Still dark as we unloaded at the airport.
Got checked in, and headed for our gate. Tons of sitting time ahead in a funny, windowless zone. It was then that Helen noticed neither of us had a window seat for the flight. She was ticked.
Used the washroom a couple of times, had a coffee, texted with Bernie, and saw the Dalai Lama.
A party of orange-robed monks, business-suited people, and a Mountie all decked out in his scarlet uniform and ranger hat, showed up. Clearly the were meeting some dignitary. Who shuffled in from his flight but the Dalai Lama?
We got a few photos through the glass, and he was gone.
Barely had that excitement faded when they called us for boarding. With seats near the back of the plane, we were amongst the first aboard. No trouble finding room for our stuff in the overhead bins.
The plane had rows seven seats across. Two on either side, then the aisles, and three in the middle. My seat was dead centre, and Helen was to my left. The other seat on my right sat empty. Turns out that, unlike what they told us, the plane was NOT full.
To Helen's left were a pair of seats with a window which were also unoccupied. As soon as this was certain, she scooted over to claim them. I waited behind to hold onto our own seats.
So that's how we flew the four-and-a-half-hour trip to Toronto. Helen was all spread out over her pair of seats by the window, while I positively wallowed all over my three centre seats like Jabba the Hut.
Funny that we were earlier drooling over all the room they get up in business class. They got nothing on us.
We are just about over top of Sault Sainte Marie, and so have about an hour left in the air. I just changed my devices to the timezone we will be living in for the next month. Instantly three hours vanish, to be recaptured when we head home.
Helen has conked out over in her pair of seats. I've been re-fighting the First World War on my iPad. I managed to end the conflict in under two years.
One very nice thing about having three seats is that I've got all my seat-back screens displaying different maps. That's how I know exactly where we are.
I'll be very ready to land and walk about a bit.
***
Well, I have a new, least-favourite airport.
We disembarked in Toronto and scurried off to find one of those big screens that match the flights up with their gates. About half had no gate number, just the letter F. Off we went to find F.
Over hill and dale we scurried. The path made little sense, and lead to a remarkably small and plain doorway. Inside we self-served ourselves at US customs passport registration, then had to go to step 2, which had dozens of people staring at a screen waiting for their names to appear. Ours were there instantly, so we pushed through to step 3. This was effectively just a double check that we were on the screen then into a line to get talked to by a border agent. Stamp stamp stamp.
Now into our second security check. They were also checking the size of carry on luggage, but didn't check ours. They waved us through. Then the stuff went into the xray machine and us through the metal detector. Shoes-off this time. In Vancouver earlier it was shoes-stay-on. Then down an escalator to the area F gates.
F65 was ours, but it wasn't far. Interestingly, there were no seats at the gate at all. The airport's expectation is that we would all retire to the neighbouring area that served food and beverages to await the boarding announcements This is what Helen and I did.
Everybody else hung around the gate; many sitting on the floor. The concourse got pretty choked off with all the seat-less bodies. We went back when they called pre-boarding. We found all the passengers cranky, and clogging the entry area. Who thought this all out?
Anyhow, got to our seats, which were stupid cramped. Did I mention that they put Helen 3 rows away from me? A perfect situation.
I'm no lanky-legged giant, but even so the seat in front of me put constant pressure against my knees, including the injured one.
Survived all that to find that the car rental place was all out of the teensy sized car category we'd booked. When this happens, they let you have a bigger vehicle and act like it's a good deal. They actually had only one auto left, so I've been driving a Dodge van. Pity we're not a family of six.
So I waited next to our carry on bags as Helen drove the car home, and then walked the one kilometre back to my dark bus stop. The bus picked us up a little after five.
We were pretty much alone for the ride. I guess bus people like to get up after sunrise, or at least closer to it.
Next came the ferry ride across Howe Sound, and onto a Vancouver-side bus. Still black downtown as we headed underground to catch the inappropriately named Skytrain. For almost all of the airport run it's actually a subway.
Unlike most urban trains, the Skytrain has no turnstile system. It is quite possible to ride without having paid. I think our bus driver undercharged us, and so our transfer might not have had enough money on it to cover the airport train run. No matter, we just blundered on. Still dark as we unloaded at the airport.
Got checked in, and headed for our gate. Tons of sitting time ahead in a funny, windowless zone. It was then that Helen noticed neither of us had a window seat for the flight. She was ticked.
Used the washroom a couple of times, had a coffee, texted with Bernie, and saw the Dalai Lama.
A party of orange-robed monks, business-suited people, and a Mountie all decked out in his scarlet uniform and ranger hat, showed up. Clearly the were meeting some dignitary. Who shuffled in from his flight but the Dalai Lama?
We got a few photos through the glass, and he was gone.
Barely had that excitement faded when they called us for boarding. With seats near the back of the plane, we were amongst the first aboard. No trouble finding room for our stuff in the overhead bins.
The plane had rows seven seats across. Two on either side, then the aisles, and three in the middle. My seat was dead centre, and Helen was to my left. The other seat on my right sat empty. Turns out that, unlike what they told us, the plane was NOT full.
To Helen's left were a pair of seats with a window which were also unoccupied. As soon as this was certain, she scooted over to claim them. I waited behind to hold onto our own seats.
So that's how we flew the four-and-a-half-hour trip to Toronto. Helen was all spread out over her pair of seats by the window, while I positively wallowed all over my three centre seats like Jabba the Hut.
Funny that we were earlier drooling over all the room they get up in business class. They got nothing on us.
We are just about over top of Sault Sainte Marie, and so have about an hour left in the air. I just changed my devices to the timezone we will be living in for the next month. Instantly three hours vanish, to be recaptured when we head home.
Helen has conked out over in her pair of seats. I've been re-fighting the First World War on my iPad. I managed to end the conflict in under two years.
One very nice thing about having three seats is that I've got all my seat-back screens displaying different maps. That's how I know exactly where we are.
I'll be very ready to land and walk about a bit.
***
Well, I have a new, least-favourite airport.
We disembarked in Toronto and scurried off to find one of those big screens that match the flights up with their gates. About half had no gate number, just the letter F. Off we went to find F.
Over hill and dale we scurried. The path made little sense, and lead to a remarkably small and plain doorway. Inside we self-served ourselves at US customs passport registration, then had to go to step 2, which had dozens of people staring at a screen waiting for their names to appear. Ours were there instantly, so we pushed through to step 3. This was effectively just a double check that we were on the screen then into a line to get talked to by a border agent. Stamp stamp stamp.
Now into our second security check. They were also checking the size of carry on luggage, but didn't check ours. They waved us through. Then the stuff went into the xray machine and us through the metal detector. Shoes-off this time. In Vancouver earlier it was shoes-stay-on. Then down an escalator to the area F gates.
F65 was ours, but it wasn't far. Interestingly, there were no seats at the gate at all. The airport's expectation is that we would all retire to the neighbouring area that served food and beverages to await the boarding announcements This is what Helen and I did.
Everybody else hung around the gate; many sitting on the floor. The concourse got pretty choked off with all the seat-less bodies. We went back when they called pre-boarding. We found all the passengers cranky, and clogging the entry area. Who thought this all out?
Anyhow, got to our seats, which were stupid cramped. Did I mention that they put Helen 3 rows away from me? A perfect situation.
I'm no lanky-legged giant, but even so the seat in front of me put constant pressure against my knees, including the injured one.
Survived all that to find that the car rental place was all out of the teensy sized car category we'd booked. When this happens, they let you have a bigger vehicle and act like it's a good deal. They actually had only one auto left, so I've been driving a Dodge van. Pity we're not a family of six.
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