Brutal Travel
This has been the longest day of my life.
I arrived at the airport about two and a half hours before my flight was scheduled to depart. Although it would have been nice for the aisle seat I had requested to be available, no such luck. What did I end up with? Centre seat, centre section. Great.
Getting out of Japan was far easier than getting in - I can say right now I was very relieved to be getting closer to departure. I cashed in my leftover yen for Canadian dollars and used the rest to buy some snacks near the gate. Nothing better than an early morning Coke and chips!
I spent the waiting time chatting with this American family that had been vacationing in China - I could tell, judging from the people at the gate, that this would be a very kid-intensive flight. There were tons of them. I saw a few frazzled looking mothers, with three or four kids teeming around. I had a terrible vision of lots and lots of screaming babies on the 14hr flight. Not pleasant!
Got onto the plane and was distraught to discover that I really was centre seat, centre section. I had been hoping that the language difference between the girl working at the check in desk and I would have created this unfortunate arrangement. I was also seated right behind the bulkhead… I was between a kid and a Japanese guy. I was also annoyed to see some kids sitting in the bulkhead seats. I then noticed that everyone on an aisle was Asian - and that the people in the bulkheads in the next section back were all Asian… and that there was a pretty even number of Asians and non-Asians on the flight. Not fair!
So, we had two meals, and I didn’t sleep a wink. I was in a pretty sour mood, having zero room and having to put up with this annoying guy who looked like an old, Japanese Harry Potter (big circular glasses, dorky grin) who kept coming back from business class to visit his kids. If my parents ever booked themselves into business class on a flight like that and left me in economy I wouldn’t speak to them for the rest of the trip - but these kids were always pretty happy to see the guy.
Watched movies, played video games and taught the kid beside me how to play classic Nintendo. I figured that kids these days would have no problem playing classic Nintendo, but apparently I was wrong! I blame it on the fancy new consoles.
The plane finally landed, late. Unfortunately I now had about an hour and a half to get to the flight. Or so I thought. Ends up it was leaving earlier than I had been told - therefore I only had about an hour and ten minutes. The problem with the Dulles airport, however, is that you need to switch terminals by using people movers, and if you get on the wrong one you’re more or less screwed. The people in Japan had also told me that my bags would go direct to Toronto - no need to get them in Washington. That was wrong too.
I had to wait in line, the only white person (this is the only time in my life I have wished that I had an American passport) and apparently the only Canadian - everyone else had to be fingerprinted, photographed, etc. I noticed that the border control guy was a little more relaxed when I came through, which I thought was funny. I got through him, told him I’d be in the US for a total of forty five minutes (thank you long line up and Department of Homeland Security)… I went to the customs guy, who said that although the Japanese had said my bags were going straight through, they were wrong… so I had to pick up the bag, go through the customs guy and then drop them off at another guy. Ugh.
Waited in a ridiculous security line up - have I used the term ridiculous enough? Everything about flying in the States is ridiculous. I don’t feel any safer either. I felt like everything was for show, as if to show the terrorists how great the United States is… maybe I’m cynical, maybe it’s a stereotypical knee-jerk Canadian reaction. Next time I fly internationally, as long as the cost isn’t too high, I’m not flying through the US. It was just such a hassle, it was annoying, it was chaotic, it was ridiculous.
I finally got through security and had to find the gate. I was optimistic that it would be in the same building, but I was wrong. I got on another one of those stupid shuttles and waited three minutes, followed by it moving. I was now past the boarding time. Finally made it to the gate, found there was no one there, gave them my boarding pass, quickly called my father to tell him that I hated flying through the States and would call him from Toronto - he told me that the shuttle to Belleville was at 7pm. The lady at the gate said they were closing the door - she lied - some old doll wandered onto the plane ten minutes after I did. I had felt guilty for holding it up, but it was the old lady. Phew.
The flight to Toronto was pretty quiet. I sat next to this nice woman who was visiting her sister in Mississauga - she lent me one of her Newsweek magazines to read. We waited for our bags in Toronto - Terminal 2 is so obsolete. Fortunately, however, there are free carts! All of the United bags were on the same conveyor - her bags came off, I waited another ten minutes and realized that my bag probably didn’t make it. I wandered over to the desk and chatted with this friendly, hilarious United baggage agent (since the United lady near the conveyor was horrid) who said that my bags would be on the next flight in and were due to arrive at 4pm. Since I had to wait until 7 for the shuttle anyway, I said I’d pick ‘em up.
The next few hours were spent napping in the abandoned part of terminal two, checking out the new terminal one (and its Tim Horton’s), purchasing and consuming overpriced gourmet gummi bears and reading the new Vanity Fair. I got my bag - almost had it searched by customs but she was feeling lazy - then killed time for the shuttle to arrive.
The shuttle was late (of course), but it made great time and we were in Belleville at 9:30pm. I had been expecting to see my father and/or sister waiting for me… but I fortunately had a quarter to call them so they would pick me up. Apparently the terminal said we wouldn’t be in until after 10. Not cool.
Got home, chatted, swore to avoid the United States until a) a new administration or b) mass hysteria subsides, had a snack and finally got to bed at a decent hour after being awake for an untold, uncertain number of hours. I don’t even know what day it is. Crazy timezones!
