I’m back
10:45 a.m.
My first flight, Montreal to Toronto, was very enjoyable. I sat next to the window and a woman about my age sat next to the aisle. No one came between us. We opened our conversation by commenting on how truly lucky we were, as we eyed the several above-average-weight passengers squeezing into too-small seats. We then discovered we had lots more stuff in common, and had a very enjoyable conversation for the first half-hour or so of the flight, before pursuing our own interests for the rest (I read, she watched the in-flight seat-back TV screen). I waited an hour and-a-half for my next flight, from Toronto to Windsor, which turned out to be a propellor plane filled with a very jovial crowd. I had a nice man next to me, mid-30’s or thereabouts, who had been away for a week and was looking forward to seeing his kids. Delightful.
At the Windsor airport (which is tiny, folks) I was met by Len, the driver of the shuttle I’d engaged. He is a portly man in his late 60’s perhaps who drives a Linc0ln T0wn Car (the vehicle of choice for his age group, it seems), and we had an absolutely marvelous trip together. At the border, I was required to tell the U.S. customs officer my business in the States, where I was from, what I did for a living and where before he was satisfied that I was not infiltrating his country for my own nefarious purposes. He asked if I was bringing tobacco or alcohol in. He didn’t ask about explosives or air-borne poisons. I don’t get it. The incomparable j-leem greeted me at her door with a warm hug and I was welcomed into her home as though I were a relative. In fact, I have been given the honorific “Auntie El”, which I find kind of sweet but weird, considering I’m no one’s aunt there. Her son has grown incredibly since the last time I saw him, and her baby is absolutely adorable with a full head of dark, thick hair. She’s beautiful. J’s mother was also visiting and we ended up bunking together (I took the top, she the bottom, her grandson a sleeping bag on the floor).
Saturday was the baby shower/dark-knight’s birthday party, held at the house of a friend of theirs. We (that is, J’s household) supplied the food (her mom made a Trinidadian pilau, I made a salad, and there were other eatables and drinkables) and everyone ate thereof. I met friends, family members, friends of family members, relatives of friends, etc. It was nice. I was introduced as “J’s friend from Canada” and it was only necessary for me to tell one couple that we had met in an internet chat room. No one else asked. Hmm, I wonder why?
I left yesterday morning, Len coming to pick me up at around 10:15. He had originally told me he would probably send one of his employees to get me, but then when he showed up himself, I joked with him, “You couldn’t resist me, could you?” We got to the Windsor airport in record time (the Canadian customs officer wanted to know if I was bringing anything in with me, and I said, yes, a banana, and he laughed), with an hour to spare, so Len invited me for tea/coffee at Dead Tim’s and we spent another 45 minutes in lively conversation talking about many things, including religion and the paranormal. He told me if I’m ever in Windsor, I should give him a call, and maybe I will.
Then I wasted $2.00 in a public internet terminal which gave me three minutes’ worth of service before it crashed (I was entitled to ten), had the bottle of water J gave me before I left confiscated as I totally forgot I’d left it in my carry on bag, the nice security officer even searched my purse and put my lip gloss, tiny tube of hand creme and my eye drops in a zip-lock plastic bag and then tried to stuff them back in my purse. As soon as I was past security, I took them out again.
Once more the short hop to Toronto was on a propellor plane and this time my seat mate was an enormous man who spilled over onto my side. Luckily I’m tiny and don’t take up much room. At the Toronto airport I saw a guy eating sushi and found out where he’d bought it, so I went and got some for myself. A woman traveling from Victoria to my neck of the woods who’d had her flight changed and was rather upset because her sister was coming to pick her up at the airport and she had no way of telling her she’d be an hour late saw me eating my sushi and went to get her own. This is how word-of-mouth works.
The flight to Montreal was on a Boeing 777, an absolutely enormous plane that must have held hundreds when full, but was practically empty. I again had a window seat with no neighbours whatsoever. After my previous experiences, it was kind of lonely.
On the bus home from Montreal, I met a girl who sings in the choir, so we spent the two hours complaining about the repertoire, the choice of soloists, and any number of problems as we saw them. I was quite pleased to see that we held many similar points of view. Hubby met us at the terminus and we gave the student a ride home as it was sort of on our way. I guess I got in the door at about 10:30. So, yeah, that was my trip.
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