This post comes to you (yes, well-over due) from the back porch of the Park House Inn in St. Johns, Newfoundland. Jess and I flew in yesterday which was the end of prolonged ordeal.
Here’s the saga. We flew into Toronto after flying into Vancouver (not Washington) and started to try and change our next flight straight into Saint Johns instead of through Halifax, Nova Scotia. We stood in the line for “customer service” desk for an insurmountable amount of time, we finally make it to an staff member after at least two stood up and left for lunch. After begging and pleading and stirring in a few white lies, we had our boarding passes for the flight to Saint Johns that evening rather than wait for the Halifax flight to leave the following night. In celebration of our trouncing of Air Canada, we went to dinner. Since we were able to bypass staying at a two-hundred dollar a night hotel in Halifax, Jess and I found a nice restaurant and decided to spend that newfound extra cash at dinner. After dinner, with my half-drunk thirty-two ounce Molson beer in hand, I was enjoying myself. The airport was quiet…
…a little too quiet.
Jess and I notice that the airport gods that be were no longer making announcements. From our view from the patio of restaurant, we could see a bunch of yellow following many flights indicating they were delayed. Yet, we were resolute, we knew we had two and half hours until our flight and we thought that surely, our late flight would be safe.
See, that’s what hope does to people–it makes them believe that they will persevere, make it through, come out on top.
Hope is for fools.
As I gulped down the last of my gi-normous beer, we tipped the very kind waiter and went to check the boards. We followed the departure board alphabetically, down to Saint Johns. Our flight was marked cancelled… but in French… a nice touch. So the flight that we had fought for, the flight we prayed for, had been cancelled less than an hour after we had switched over. But, as the saying goes, misery loves company and we had an airport full of miserable company. Forty flights ranging from Montreal to London, all cancelled.
Back to the “customer service” desk. Another hour went by in line and we were finally with another staff member. Through a lot of complaining, they finally figured out that we were “Executive class” and told us that we could take the 12:15pm flight instead of the 8:45pm flight. Thankful for a crumb, we ran for a hotel room.
The next day, we arrived at the airport over three hours early… rightfully so, the airport was insanely mobbed. An hour and twenty minutes later, we made it through security, had breakfast and were happily waiting for our flight while reading our books.
An hour before the flight we were notified that the flight would be thirty minutes later than anticipated. That’s fine, we can roll with that. Then it became and hour late. Two and half hours late. Finally at three we boarded our plane. Thanks to the on and off lightning strikes, we continued to sit on our plane for two and half more hours, this was especially entertaining because while the entirety of passengers in the Toronto airport were sitting in the dank, cramped, seat-less airport… I was watching Annie Hall on the airplane, and then an episode of the Office and the Simpsons. When the glory of the electronic media wore off, I watched everyone else’s luggage sitting on the ramp, being soaked by the onslaught of rain because the ramp workers were legally restricted from going outside during lightning. See, this is why I carry on all of my luggage. After a couple hundred text messages between my dad and I, around five thirty we finally took off. Ironically, we arrived in Saint Johns only thirty minutes later than we were originally supposed to arrive throught the Halifax flight.
It was worth it, though, today started off with a great breakfast, then up to Signal Hill, then a great hike out at Cape Pine were we saw two moose and then later seals at a deserted beach.
Back in Saint Johns tonight we had a great dinner (best baked Halibut, ever) followed by cheese cake and white russians at another great pub. Then out onto the patio to have drinks while I update.
This isn’t to ignore the two screaming women across the park who are adamant that if girl number one can bring up what ever “stuff” that she wants to, then girl number 2 can bring up what ever “stuff” she wishes. Ah, I remember my first beer.
Well, since it’s officially July 1st, happy Canada Day.
Now the screaming has become far too high pitched, please, ladies, if you’re going to air out your issues in a vocal manner that can be heard across a large area, please, keep it within an audible range that is easily deciphered by the human ear.