Lounge Hopping

Greetings from the British Airways Arrivals lounge in London Heathrow Terminal Five.

I have officially begun my eight month long adventure living abroad, and I couldn't be more excited. But getting here was not without its challenges. Getting ready for the flight was sort of like one panic attack after another, interrupted occasionally by brief periods of complete inactivity, or designated "breathing" time. Once everything I was taking with me was packed into my signature bright pink backpack (which sadly had to be put into a dull blue duffle for the flights, so that the straps and other dangly bits didn't get damaged) and my carry-ons, and everything that I wasn't taking with me was packed into boxes or bags and prepared to be stored for eight months, the waiting game began.

Luckily most of my goodbyes had been said far enough in advance that they weren't too emotional or difficult. Goodbyes can be tough, but they're much worse when you're at the end of your rope from packing and trying to figure out what you're forgetting (because you always forget something) and a little bit sleep deprived. Sadly, there were still a few very important ones to get under my belt before I could head out. Namely, my Mom, Dad, sister and boyfriend. Still, it was not as bad as I had feared. Virtually no tears.

As it worked out, my Dad and I were on the same flight to Heathrow, leaving from Pierre-Eliot Trudeau Airport in Montreal, Quebec. So, we got a taxi to take us there... or, that was the plan anyway. Am I ever glad that my Dad was in the cab with me this time. The cab driver, a relative of Dad's "usual guy" who takes him to the airport (brings him coffee from Tim Horton's and everything) seemed very nice. He did not, however, seem to know the way to the airport. I mean, most of the way it didn't matter whether he knew the way or not because there is really only one road to take to get to Montreal, and he was taking it. But he made certain to assure us while we were still in Ottawa that he had the address of the airport programmed into the GPS on the dash, so we weren't worried.

It was only when I noticed that we had driven past P-E. T. airport that I started to worry. But Dad kept saying that we were going to Dorval, and the signs were for Pierre-Eliot Trudeau International Airport, so I figured that I had it wrong in my head. Just to clarify, I do not question Dad's infinite wisdom when it comes to airports. In my experience, to do so is counterproductive and unnecessary. Anyway, the destination had been confirmed when we booked the cab, and the GPS was still directing us onward, so I tried not to worry.

So on we drove for a few more kilometers before Dad spoke up and I started to get quite nervous. We had passed the exit from the highway that he had expected the driver to take. Here's where the fun started. Dad began instructing the taxi driver, whose English was mediocre at best, on how to get back to the Airport, which as it turns out, had been the one that we drove past. Apparently Dorval airport was renamed Pierre-Eliot Trudeau some years ago, but my Dad always knew it as Dorval and continued to refer to it as such.

So Dad was telling the taxi driver where to go, which would have been all fine and well, except that the taxi driver took some time to convince that the GPS was not in fact directing us to the correct airport. We later established that he had most likely programmed the GPS to direct us to Mirabel airport, which is also in Montreal, but would have been profoundly unhelpful to our purposes.

What finally pushed me past the threshold of "nervous" and well into "concerned" was that the exit that Dad instructed the Taxi driver to take to return to the airport was in fact closed for construction. Eventually, we did manage to make our way back to the airport, albeit in a very circuitous fashion, and we only lost about twenty minutes from the whole event. Still, it was a very stressful twenty minutes for both my Dad and I. I think it was easier for me than it was for Dad because I had a parental unit whose travel related wisdom, once again, I do not question. I managed to calm down once we were past security in Montreal and waiting by the gate. I think Dad is just starting to calm down now, approximately ten and a half hours later.

But roundabout taxi rides aside, the trip went very smoothly. There was no line for security, so we had time to stop into the departures lounge in Montreal where I had some complimentary chocolate and champagne (which I think also helped me calm down). I was able to sleep for almost the entire flight. I suppose a pleasant side effect of stressing out all day was that I was pretty exhausted by the time the seat belt sign turned off. I was woken up by breakfast and coffee, which is one of my favourite ways to wake up.

Making our way to the arrivals lounge was pretty straight forward, although I had to keep reminding myself that there was in fact a reason that I hadn't brought my usual rolling carry-on, which would have been much easier to schlep around than my backpack and laptop case.

Incidentally, although we were traveling business class and therefore qualified for the Fast Track lines at both security and customs, we did not end up taking advantage in either case. The reason for this would be that despite Dad's aforementioned infinite travel prowess, he evidently does not have infinite sign-reading prowess and we missed the entrances to both lines. Still, it didn't make much of a difference in the long run, because even the regular lines were not very long.

So we made it to the arrivals lounge, and I promptly had a shower. Yes, they have showers in airports if you're flying in the front of the plane, and I believe this is possibly the best idea that anyone has ever had since the invention of an airport. Somehow, no matter how short a flight is, the recycled and pressurized air in the cabin always makes me feel like I'm caked with a mysterious substance that I have named "travel-grime" that I am always very eager to remove.

But now I am clean and fed and caffeinated and all seems to be well with the universe. I have another half hour or so to relax before I have to clear security again, although happily I don't have to switch terminals. Once I'm on the other side of security, I may have to verify the rumoured existence of twenty-four hour champagne in the departures lounge, you know, just to be sure.

With the comfort of the lounges, and how quickly a flight goes by when you're sleeping, it really just feels like I've been making my way from lounge to lounge. I guess I'm off to do that again, now, as it's coming up on noon local time (almost 7:00 AM body time) and my flight to Accra leaves at 2:40.

More to come on my arrival in Ghana and orientation week! I'll keep you posted.