Up, Up, and A-Team

by Adam Slade

First, a little backstory. Back in June of 2010, I flew to Canada to meet with my sweetie for the very first time. The flight was brief and pleasant (a mere 8 hours, including layover), and the fortnight I spent among the moose and poutine was pleasant, to say the least.

Jump ahead to the next year, and I decided it was about time I pulled up stakes and headed back over there. For six months.

People, especially family, were a little surprised. They kept saying, “When are you off?” to which I’d answer, “Uh, April,” and then they’d say, “Have you started packing?” to which I’d reply, “It’s January.”

Each month, I altered my reply to suit, until I realised that the month of leaving was this month. 

Ah.

As you can imagine, the sheer scale of preparation for such an upheaval would make lesser men weep. I had to write three whole lists, and buy a big bag. Then, using said lists, I put things in the bag. It was intense. I lost a foot to stress.

All the while, people kept telling me to pack more, pack less, make more lists, and to stop rolling my eyes when they gave me suggestions.

The day of epic travellage began at three in the morning, when I was roused by a mild heart attack brought on by the ‘apocalypse’ volume setting on my alarm. By four, I had said my goodbyes and was on the way to the airport.

See the picture above to see me sat at the wrong departure gate. Always a good start. I was wondering why it was so quiet.

After the first flight, I landed in the monstrosity that is London Heathrow, and had a three and a half hour wait before the next flight. Now, most seasoned fliers tell me the same thing about layovers. Stay stood up, as you’ll be sitting when you’re on the plane.

Stand up. For three and a half hours. Pfft.

There’s a finite number of times one can look at the same books, electronics, and £2,000 watches before one loses the will to live. I spent as much time upright as I could, though, then gave in and sagged into an uncomfortable seat to watch the minutes tick by. They took their bloomin’ time.

The next flight was the biggy, and I have to admit, I was dreading it. Six hours in the air, with only bad inflight movies and some smelly individual with a gut that hung over the armrest for company. In actual fact I got a row of three chairs all to myself,  and watched The A-Team and Kung Fu Panda. Pretty sweet. Even peed for the first time on a plane. In the right place, too!

I’d show you the pictures I took from the window seat, but it turns out that iPod cameras don’t like shooting through scratched and cloudy plastic windows.

We landed in Nova Scotia, I managed to get through customs, despite the fact that I was smuggling both a British accent AND sarcasm, and then was kindly informed by a gentleman that my hold luggage was not booked onto the final flight.

Cue second heart attack.

It turns out that it was easily resolved, but tell that to my blood pressure. The last flight was a speedy one, and I touched down in Newfoundland, Canada some seventeen hours after I left the house, to be greeted with a temperature of minus two degrees, and snow.

Oh, and my sweetie. And a warm hotel room to snooze in. Prior to the next day’s 350km drive.

*cough*

The result of a caveman breeding with an ingot of un-distilled sarcasm, Adam Slade was always going to go places. Some days he even makes it as far as the kitchen. Adam is an author of fantasy and humour works, and when he's not writing, he's reading or goofing off on the Internet. You can read about his exploits on his blog, Editing Hat (http://www.editinghat.blogspot.com/), and on his (occasionally updated) Twitter (http://twitter.com/adam_slade).