A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single email to a travel agent. These are some of the impressions I had of travelling to and from London for LonCon3, the World Science Fiction Convention:
Going
When I arrived at Pearson International airport in Toronto, the song playing on the PA was Joni Mitchell's "This Flight Tonight." You know, the one with the lyric, "Shouldn't have got on this flight tonight." I prefer the original to the Nazareth cover, but is that really what somebody about to get on a plane for seven hours really needs to hear? Really?
Because the airport is large and difficult to get around in, there are a lot of moving walkways. Towards the end of one was a screen on which a video of a person carefully getting off the walkway was looped. The person was a blockily animated figure that moved spasmodically: I couldn't help but think that it looked like it had a stick up its ass.
And, I thought: I may be white, but I'm not that white!
The flight was largely uneventful. I have to believe the pilot had his tongue in his cheek when he announced, "Please remain seated as we are going through weather." That, or he was honing a stand-up comedy routine and his passengers were his first audience.
It's a strange trip, though. Night only lasted about three hours; at one point, I looked out the window of the plane and thought, It's 2 in the morning, WHY IS THE SUN OUT? Changing my watch when I got to London didn't help: why did everybody insist it was Wednesday when I was certain that it was still Tuesday?
The trip to London was really smooth (to give you some idea of just how smooth: it took less time going through customs than getting a ticket for the London subway, and it was only 7:30 in the morning when I tried!) This wasn't necessarily a good thing.
I arrived at my hotel at 9:30 in the morning. Unfortunately, I couldn't check in until 3 in the afternoon without paying an extra 10 pounds. Since the trip was already expensive, I decided to stow my bag and fill the time as best I could. I was tempted by the all you can eat breakfast, but they don't let you eat it unless you have a room, and...you know.
I had to check to make sure I hadn't booked a room at the Kafka Inn and Spa by mistake.
Unlike last year, this year when I went to England I was travelling with a bouncing baby CPAP machine. Before the trip, I fretted that getting it through airport security would be a hassle. As it happened, nobody batted an eyelash - there must be a lot of insomniacs on international flights.
Before I left, I bought an adaptor so I would be able to plug the CPAP machine into a British wall socket. Of course, when I got to the hotel, I found that it didn't fit. (I will admit, the adrenaline-fuelled moment of panic that ensued did momentarily wake me up after the long journey.) When I inquired about it at the front desk, they told me it was an old hotel with odd sockets and kindly lent me an adaptor for my adaptor for the duration of my stay.
Once I had the machine plugged in, I turned it on to see if it would work. It didn't. (The ensuing moment of adrenaline-fuelled panic was, I thought, too much of a good thing.) It took me a minute to realize that the outlet had to be switched on; when it was, I heard the familiar whoosh of air in the mask.
Remind me, again, of how the CPAP machine is supposed to be good for my health...?
Coming
You know how you sometimes see words so quickly that they register in your brain as something different from what they actually are? I was walking past a door in Heathrow that had the sign "sluice room" on it, but I initially mistook it for "suicide room." That seemed a little extreme to me, although I do have to admit that air travel is easier for some people than others...
At the end of the moving walkways in Heathrow, a woman's voice repeated: "Caution: you are approaching the end of the conveyor." Her voice had a warm, reassuring quality (not to mention a delicious accent). And, I was touched by how concerned about my welfare (she must have cautioned me at least a dozen times!).
Can you blame me for falling a little in love? Oh, sure, I know she probably says that to everybody who steps on a walkway, but it's a lovers' conceit that she was only talking to me. And, yes, I know her work will probably keep her from visiting me in Toronto, but that just gives me one more excuse to go back to London, right?
Right.
The flight home was largely uneventful, although there were small moments that made me wonder if human beings were really meant to fly. As we boarded, for example, the plane was steaming hot; the pilot had to apologize for the heat and explain that, although the air conditioning wasn't working, it would start with the plane's push-off.
Then, there was the stewardess who - the pilot was right, by the way. The air conditioning did kick in when the plane pushed off from its berth, a good thing considering I hadn't packed any shorts.
Then, there was the stewardess who said she would never go skiing in the mountains because, "I'm afraid of heights." Honestly, I wish I could make shit like that up.
Then, the entertainment system had to be rebooted mid-flight because of some unspecified computer error. I don't know which was worse: worrying about the electrical system on the plane or having to wait ten minutes to find out what happened in the movie!
Finally, towards the end of the flight I felt a drip of water on my shoulder. I thought nothing of it, except that a couple of minutes later, a second drop of water landed on my arm. And, a third. After we landed, I brought this to the attention of a steward, who explained that it was nothing to be concerned about, that water sometimes condenses in the cabin at high altitudes. If course it does.
There's nothing quite like the ecstasy of flight!