By Lucy

Days in England: 0

My day started with an email informing me I could check-in to the flight on the app. I did so, because it also meant I would sign up with Aeroplan and get free wifi on the plane. I watched the last season of Sons of Anarchy in an attempt to distract myself from my anxiety, and it worked somewhat, cuz characters drop in Sons of Anarchy even more than they do in Game of Thrones.

Adrianne arrived somewhat early and after we put the rest of my stuff in her car, she said it might be too much and her brother might request money. I mean, sure, I drove her 15 hours to Thunder Bay, to and from work every day, and to the store when requested, but they couldn’t extend to me some free storage? Rich pointed out at this point I might as well just pay him as requested, because it wasn’t worth the hassle to try and work on a back-up plan.

Luckily, that was not an issue, because the house she is renting is easily twice the size of the one I was living in, with the basement unfinished and practically empty, and a small pile of her brother’s belongings in boxes in the corner. So we simply merged my pile with his and hoped he wouldn’t notice or comment, and so far he hasn’t.

Thus we were onwards to the final leg of my journey, the airport. If you’ve not been to Pearson, it’s actually fairly easy to navigate. There’s parking lots for each terminal right off the highway, and clearly marked. I got to the airport shortly before 3, as planned. Having already checked in online and received my digital boarding pass, and no bags to check, I breezed right into customs/ security/ the place where they make you remove everything from your person and go through the scanner. I got somewhat turned around because a guard guessed or noticed, somehow, that I have German ancestry and was asking me which part of Germany I was from. So I messed up and forgot things in my pocket, but everyone was very cool about it and I got through customs without much of a fuss or losing anything.

And there I was! With almost 3 hours to go til my plane departed, in the terminal and with nothing to do!

In case I’ve not mentioned it before, I bought a small carry-on bag, and I found a “personal item” bag that is exactly the maximum dimensions allowable, although Rich informed me that the main concern with the personal item is that it can fit under the seat in front of you.

I walked down to the gate on my ticket, which was 71, the end of the terminal, and collapsed into the first chair I saw before calling Rich to unload a bit. Once I’d calmed down, I had to walk to the other end of the terminal to find a Tim Hortens and order a cup of hot water, which they charged a dollar for, for my medicinal tea (no it isn’t cannabis tea). Then, naturally, I walked all the way back to my original seat with a cup of boiling water in my hand, dodging and weaving through people gawping at their phone, and as soon as I got there received a text saying the gate had been switched to one next to the Timmies I had just left!

Again, if you don’t fly often, departure terminals are ridiculous. There was a small amount of seating sandwiched between a Gucci store (store!) and some opulent bar. A man noticed I was bewildered and called me over to the seats near him, so I just sat down next to him. I half expected him to start flirting with me, but he didn’t. I popped open a book and read for a bit, until the hours and the effort took a toll and I couldn’t focus. Well that’s fine, only half an hour ’til boarding.

I was amused by whoever pressed the wrong button, because there was a few moments between the texts where I was trying to parse military time and wondering if I was very mistaken because that was two hours after my flight was expected to leave so how could it be early?

They decided to put us on a plane that was coming in from Montreal shortly. Rich being Rich, he was watching the flight plans and listening to the pilot chatter, so he let me know that the replacement plane was arriving early. I informed my seat buddy, who was wearing an Air Canada jacket, and asked him if he was dead-legging to the UK, which Rich said would be unusual. He was confused but recovered quickly; turns out he’s actually a aircraft mechanic heading to an airfield in the UK to train some rookies. I told him I’m a carpenter with an interest in machines, so we spent a couple of hours talking about our respective trades. And because the replacement plane was early, we got to board half an hour before we were expected to. He even pulled me to the front of the line with him, which was nice.

Being on the plane itself was less nice. Since I’ve been reducing costs wherever possible, I got a seat at the back of the plane. I ended up with an aisle seat, next to a surly girl with the window seat. I put my personal bag on my seat to throw my carry-on in the overhead compartment, and it fell over, to which she gave me such a venomous look I resolved not to bother trying to engage with her.

We got sorted and ready to take off fairly quickly, or at least fairly quickly from the impression I have from sitcoms. Rich was still listening to the pilot chatter, so I put my phone in airplane mode immediately and tried to access the free wifi. No luck! A wire had gotten crossed somewhere, because it didn’t register my Aeroplan account, so I had no contact with anyone from that point. Luckily Andrej had given me airplane headphones, so I plugged in and put on the Barbie move as something upbeat to distract me.

It didn’t work. As we taxied to the runway, I put the small pillow they give you on my lap and clutched it to the point of white knuckles. My seatmate was staring interestedly out the window and had turned on the overhead light for some reason. Every accidental sideways glance out the window made my head spin as the light of the city shrank away and my ears popped and I chanted “why do I do this to myself why do I do this to myself whydoIdothistomyself”. Surely the plane was going to fail and we were going to fall out of the sky and die in a fiery wreck…

But then it popped into my head. “Feeling ambitious, girl?“

Right. I am brave, and ambitious. Bravery is acting despite fear, not lack of it. I organized the move and the trip, on the same day and of my own accord, and I pulled it off, more or less. I’d rather die in a fiery wreck than be curled up in my bed, too afraid to move. I still white knuckled the pillow for a good long time after we had reached cruising altitude, until around the time they served food.

Dinner was depressing, as plane food has a reputation for being. There was a tiny bottle of water (for some reason), a small plastic box of something that might have been aspiring to coleslaw but I didn’t eat it, a small roll that was resistant to cutting with the wooden knife and some cold butter that didn’t want to spread (why not margarine?). The main was some plain chicken and overboiled potatoes that I ate with my spoon because they disintegrated under the touch of the fork, served with some sort of red sauce that I actually scraped off before eating because I was concerned it might disagree with me. The brownie was the best part, somewhat confusingly; it was soft and spongy, slightly dry but not disappointingly so. There was also a small piece of cheddar.

After dinner and Barbie were over, they turned down the lights, and I discovered I still can’t sleep on planes. The problems are two-fold; the first being my disability. The food being limited in options and far between, I soon developed the grumblies, to which there are two cures. My tea, or laying down. Laying down is not an option on planes, and they denied my tea because we had quite a bit of turbulence on the flight and they wont serve hot beverages during turbulence.

The second is that I sleep on my stomach and it’s hard for me to fall asleep reclined as a result. I was also very cold, for some reason. Me and Rich agreed it was probably shock, but I had myself wrapped up in my hoodie and the thin blanket they give you, and was debating grabbing a second one from a seat not taken. Nonetheless, I popped a couple of muscle relaxers and resolved to sit with my eyes closed until either I fell asleep or we arrived in London.

I stuck with my resolve for a couple of hours (and before you argue I might have fallen asleep and not noticed, my Fitbit says I did not), until my seatmate stirred and I decided I should try to tire myself out a bit more. This time I put on Guy Ritchie’s Sherlock Holmes. I also discovered the pillow attached to the seat can be bent, so I wrapped it around the right side of my head. Took off my shoes and crossed my legs on my seat. Some combination of these things enabled me to pass out for a bit.

There I was, 35000 feet in the air, dawn breaking across the UK over the oppressive cloud cover endemic to the island. I’d made it.

Breakfast was better. I was handed strawberry yogurt, unfortunately the flavour I hate the most. I turned to my seatmate and tried to trade with her, to which she frowned, and it occurred to me that she might not even speak English, because I hadn’t heard her speak. She hadn’t even asked to be let out to go to the bathroom. So I ate the hated yogurt. The lemon cranberry loaf was alright, surprisingly tart (but I prefer it that way) and very moist.

We arrived at the airport half an hour early, the pilot almost making up the entirety of the delay. As we taxied to the terminal, there was an announcement about connections to Vienna, at which point she perked up and I asked if that was hers. Turns out she was surly because the delay meant she had half an hour to sprint across the airport to her connection (and she did speak English). When they told us we could start deplaning, I stepped aside so she could run down the aisle, then grabbed my own bags and waited for almost the entire plane to get off before me.

I tried to turn on my eSim, only to discover I needed Wi-Fi to activate it. Having no checked luggage, I walked several clicks across the airport to customs, finally found some free Wi-Fi, and turned on my data plan. I breezed through customs quickly, stepped out into the arrivals area, and found Rich waiting for me in his favourite hideous purple shirt. [Editors Note: whether my shirt is hideous or not is subjective and matter of opinion….I think my shirt is awesome – Rich]

I made it. Having moved all of my belongings (twice), hauled an overstuffed suitcase across two airports, and functionally been awake for 24 hours with no sleep in sight because it was 8 AM, I was finally in England!