In the Air
Well, I’d hoped there would be a wireless connection
way up here in the
sky above the mountains but there’s not! Oh well, I’ll just write you
all as if there was, and I could transmit immediately.
Things are pretty shaky up here at the moment. The
sun is setting to
our rear and the plane is bobbing up and down. This very moment we have
crossed onto the low valleys of the Caribou and should be over the
Rockies in a few minutes.
I’ve had an interesting few days. The ride down from
Vernon was
unspectacular. I actually slept on the old pallid dog, crowded like
sardines tho’ we were. I had a Mom and her 18 month old son beside me,
which was sort of fun. The little guy thought he was on a train and
kept making choo-choo noises, although with his undeveloped teeth
it sounded more like woo-woo! Little guy kept his tootsies warm by
digging them into my outer thighs. It was good for me too, like a
massage of sorts.
Arrived in Vancouver at 5 am on a clear warm
morning. Walked the
seawalk from Central Station out to English Bay where I sat for a
couple hours writing in my journal. Realized while I sat there that the
first thing I ever did in Vancouver was sit on English Bay. It was
1971. I was 16 years old, had a sleeping bag and a $20 bill, and had
just hitchhiked from Toronto in five days. I was quite pleased with
myself at the time, and impressed the $20 had made it all the way
acrosss the country.
I was pleased with myself this time too. I’d
actually slept on the
Greyhound. That hasn’t happened in decades!
Once full of English Bay, I wandered through the
west end and into
downtown. Vancouver is changing fast. It looks like Alberta, there’s so
much construction going on. More and more it is begining to look like
Hong Kong, a maze of steel and glass that all but blots out the
mountains and hides the ocean.
Right this moment I’m looking out the plane window
at what appears to
be a patchwork quilt. It is not. It is the mountains, logged off, with
only slim lines of trees here and there. Really, its quite
heartbreaking for me. I flew across Canada in 1974. There was no
patchwork quilt then, just rugged beauty and a sea of mountains,
untouched for the mostpart. I my short lifetime all that has changed.
After I was done inspecting the big alterations
being done in Van I
checked into the CNN Hostel on Main Street. I splurged and took a
private room, hoping to sleep and get some last minute packing done. It
wasn’t to be. Moments after arrival a young woman recognized me from my
days in Journalism school. She invited herself to my room and we sat up
until 2 am reading one another’s poetry and talking about the writer’s
life. I finally threw her out and caught six hours of solid sleep. It
was
enough.
We’re over the Rockies now. No clear cuts there,
just snow and rock as
far as the eye can see!
This morning I took my time. Showered, cleaned up my
room and did some
of the last minute packing I had no choice but to complete. Then I took
myself for coffee, downed bowl of porridge, and made for the bus depot,
where I rescued Wheels from the freight jail and loaded us on the
airporter. I arrived at the airport at 2 pm, for a 6 pm flight. That’s
when the nerves hit. I told the delighful young woman working the
baggage counter that I was so excited I was shaking in my boots. She
told me: “I was wondering what the vibration was, thought for a second
we had an earthquake going on.”
She then assured me I’d have a
wonderful time and asked me to move on. In retrospect I wondered how
many times a day an old gaffer wants to chat with her.
My next play was to cosy up to the Foreign Currency
Exchange clerk. She
was much more amicable and willing to talk, especially when I flashed
the plastic bag full of $100 bills I’ve been carting around on my waist
since last November. I bought a new plastic bag full of English Pounds.
Funny fat money it is, rather dreary looking really, about the colour
of the Queen’s flesh tone, or what you look like after a few days on a
Greyhound, pallid.
I would orbit about for several hours, browsing the over priced
souveneirs, smoked salmon and other paraphenalia for sale in the place.
I was not enjoying that part of it. Felt a little like an alien, or a
bumkin, or maybe some guy from the pioneer days thrust into the future.
I’ll tell ya kids, I’m not so comfy in airports. Too much glitter and
not enough groove for this road warrior.
A couple more visits to see the Foreign Exchange
Cashier, and to trade
in the last of my colourful Canuck money, and we bid one another a fond
farewell. After a few hours we’d become pals on some level. I’ll have
to look her up when the boat brings me back.
Flying over some long glacier right now, with the
edge of the mountains
in view. The attendants are going around trying to get everyone
liquored up, and I can smell some sort of roast beast, its aroma
wafting through the crowded cabin.
I have a window seat, adjacent to the bulk head, so
there’s plenty of
leg room, not that I necesarily need it. The seat next to me is vacant.
Next to that is a fellow, a dad, whose wife and kids are in the row
behind us. One of the little ones keeps booting my seat, causing me to
skip keystrokes and have to redo my sentences now and then. They are a
cheery lot.
Here comes dinner. More later.
It’s night now. We’re out over northern Manitoba
somewhere, heading for
Hudson’s Bay. My dinner, sits like a boulder in my belly, while I
half-watch a Steve Martin movie on the tiny little TV screen that pops
out from under the seat.
The space beside me has now be taken up by one of my
aisle mate’s
children. The little guy likes to play with his feet, and had them in
close proximation to my dinner all through supper. All I’ve heard about
airline food is the truth. I hope all I’ve heard about British food is
not also true!
The plane rumbles and shakes, so much so the
sound on the
headphones breaks in and out. I’m hoping soon things in the cabin will
calm down and I’ll be able to sleep. Don’t want to show up in England
with a growl on.
Starting to experience a little nicotene withdrawl.
Seat belt lights have just come on, things are
rocking pretty good.
Later.
I have just been through the shortest night of
my life. I’m not
sure how long it lasted but we’re within three hours of landing so it
couldn’t have been much more than a couple hours long.
For the last bit its been lights out in the cabin.
The little boy next
to me got into quite a snoring session whilst I faded in and out of
consciousness with Jim Morrison and the Doors blaring in the headphones.
I woke up long enough to raise the shutter on the
window and spot
Greenland, a mass of sharp rock cloaked in ice. The Atlantic itself
looked like a clear sheet of glass, with the odd deformity in it, which
caused it to ripple and bulge in places. It was while I was looking at
all this, in the early pre-dawn half light, that the sun suddenly burst
through on the eastern horizon. It was quite startling, and I actually
jumped back in my seat when the brilliant flash glanced off the wing of
the plane and through the portal.
My dinner has digested some. From the way the people
on the plane
reacted I could swear the attendants put some sleeping potion in the
food.
Right now it is bright daylight, although most folks
seem content to
leave thier window shades down. Above is clear blue sky, below a carpet
of puffing cloud. There is no land or sea visible, anywhere.
Think I’ll try to catch a few more winks.
Looking out at Greenland it occured to me what I’m
up to. Or at least
I’ve begun to get some grip on it. Until now its all been some sort of
fantasy. Now, all of a sudden, I’m peering from a
window half way
around the world! To a lot of people flying to Europe is all in a day’s
work. For me, its the adventure of a lifetime. I’m a land lubber. Much
as I love to travel, I’ve always kept my feet somewhere close to the
earth and my speed down to something resembling a crawl. Now I’m moving
at hundreds of k an hour, 33,000 feet above it, crossing not only a
continent, but an ocean as well. I feel quite moved and quite in awe,
although I suspect the real shock is going to come when the pilot sets
this bird down and I walk out of Heathrow and into the London tube.
All my life I’ve been hearing and reading and
looking at picture books
of the places up ahead. I think it may take me a while to realize I
cannot only look at them, and read about them, and hear about them, but
actually feel and touch and taste them.
Later.
I’m seeing some land now, I do believe it is
Ireland! The flight
attendants are feeding us and we seem to be slowly descending. There’s
a bit of a buzz aboard as all the sleepers wake and the food and coffee
get passed around. About the only person still napping is the little
gaffer beside me. He’s a bit of a contortionist that boy!
As we descend the flight seems to be rocking again.
Looks like a fairly
nice morning in western Europe! Partly cloudy and warm, from what we’re
being told.
Look out old Blighty, here comes another crazy
Canuck.
Next Day
As the plane flew over England the cloud cover
built. We did not see
land again until the altitude lessened and we began to circle Heathrow.
Twenty minutes later we touched down with a raucous
bump and bounce,
then drifted to a slow stop near terminal four.
It took a while to negotiate the long tunnel-like
structures that led
to customs, where I caught hell for not having the phone number and
address of my hosts readily available. Then, after retrieving bag
number one I had to go find my bicycle box, which I eventually
discovered nearly half a kilometer away, at a totally different baggage
ramp. Then I followed the masses of disembarking passengers through
another tunnel like structure, where we were met by swarms of security
officials and a lone black dog, who took a special interest in my BoB
bag. This of course led to a search! I had to hoist the heavy bag up on
a metal table and start pulling it apart piece by piece. Eventually the
guard, a 20-something woman who was quite pleasant, and a little
bemused by my backwoodsyness, found the offending piece of equipment
that had so interested the dog. It was my copper and glass candle
holder, one that I sometimes use to scribble by late at night when
there is no other source of light around. Turns out the animal had
smelled residual smoke and burn from years of campfire usage. The
animal, I was told, was trained to find not only drugs, but any sign of
burnable content.
Once it was clear what had peeked the k-nine’s
interest, I was told to
push along. Seconds later I was officially safe and sound in London
England!
After wandering the depot for a couple hours, and
finding my host
nowhere around, my felllow cyclist Orla, who was an hour late, finally
appearred. It was great to see here, all big smiles and warmth.
An hour later, following a frenzied and full ride on
the London Tube,
we were at Finsbury Park with the bike all torn apart on the
sidewalk. It took us an hour to reassemble it, then ride through
the dense wrong side of the road traffic to Orla’s Mom’s house.
Helen, Orla’s Mom, is a sixty someting woman who fed
us soup and did
everyting she could to make me feel comfy. She led us several
blocks through the rush hour traffic to the little apartment where I
now sit and write.
Once set up there my pal Orla, and her friend
Peelee, and I went out
for dinner, Mexican.
So there I was, safe in England, with a full belly
and the company of
two very sweet young women who have done everything they can to make my
first night overseas a very good one.
A light rain now falls on the city of London. It is
about 11 pm. I can
barely keep my eyes open and my tired mind on what I’m doing. So I
guess its about time I finally caught up on my sleep, which should come
quickly.
I’m safe and sound in London England tonight.
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