Wednesday, 15 May, 2019
You know those cool dreams where you can fly? It’s never cool for me. I have no desire to be able to fly, actually fly using my arms, or getting on a plane. That’s me. I first flew in 1967. I was a new Canadian immigrant and I wanted to go back to London. This desire got stronger when my parents announced they were relocating to Los Angeles. I was 20 so I wasn’t going to be allowed in without yet another emigration application. I was just getting used to Toronto, I had a boyfriend, and my heart was still in London.
So I saved money every week for a charter flight. I had never flown before but somehow knew I wouldn’t like it. And I didn’t. There were only narrow-bodied planes in those days, no seatback videos, or tablets or mobile phones, but at least they were jets. I was incredibly relieved to land and dreaded the flight back. When that day came, we were delayed, only to be told that our plane was out of service and we would be going home on a jet propeller plane, 13 hours of flight. I wanted to leave the airport but I hung in there. The flight was bumpy, very long, and had a refuelling stop in Gander, Newfoundland, which I remember as very foresty and the greenest sight ever from the sky.
I’ve flown a lot since then. I’ve also attended Fear of Flying classes. I cope – sometimes better than other times. Nothing takes away my fear completely. There’s no 100% guarantee of a safe landing no matter how prepared or educated or reassured you may be – and that’s that. And on the 15th of May I was flying to Toronto – an eight hour flight with British Airways (not Air Canada, who had become my lucky charm over the years – they never crash!)
We were all packed for our very expensive flight – prices have pretty much doubled in the past several years – and we felt remarkably calm. I amused myself with watching Krish’s packing. My own carry-on case was considered ‘a mess.’ Well, I felt OK with it.
So it wasn’t a bad flight. In fact, it was mostly great. I felt less stressed than usual. The seats were narrow and I couldn’t get my armrest up to get in and out. The guy in front of me had a defective seat that reclined too far back, putting the seat and the video almost on my nose. Yet it was pretty good. I watched some movies, the food was actually decent for a change (including an unexpected mini Magnum bar as a between lunch and dinner snack). When we first got on, there were at least three screaming babies. As soon as we took off, the noise of the engines drowned them out – hooray!
Our neighbours to the right unknowingly kept me entertained for most of the flight. A woman, who reminded me eerily of Katie Price came on board with four (yes, four) children. I would guess that the babe in arms was the only boy. The oldest looked about 8 years old. ‘Katie’ sat with the sleeping baby in her lap, next to her, a rather strange fat toddler in a pink onesie, on the aisle a 5 or 6 year old who immediately busied herself with the seat-back video and remained calm throughout. Across the aisle was the oldest girl in pigtails. This one sat, also watching videos, quietly and alone, occasionally getting up to escort the other children for a walk down the aisle or to the toilet. An extremely, almost alarmingly, well-behaved group.
The baby slept most of the time, occasionally given a syringe of something milky. I suspected illness or sedative but not a peep or whimper was heard. The toddler made her presence felt near the end of the flight, apparently jealous of the baby’s attention. The baby was plopped into the toddler’s chair, while the toddler lay in mum’s arms contentedly. The five year old attended to the baby, rearranging limbs as necessary. Extraordinary!
We had discussed taking a cab from the airport but Krish decided we would take the UP (Union-Pearson) express train. To do this, we made our way to a shuttle train, which took us in several minutes to another terminal and the train. I’ve never used it before – it was still being built when I left in 2016 – it was slow but clean. At Union Station we waited for a cab. No one wanted to take us with our cases – weird when we were at Toronto’s main train station! – but eventually we were on our way, passing familiar territory along the way.
And I had my first taste of Toronto nice-and-polite-ness. I struggled with the ticket machine. A young guy came over to help me and, when he couldn’t figure it out either, he pushed a ticket into my hand, saying here’s a ticket for you. Wow.
We’d arrived!