Someone else’s story

So it’s related to mine, but I loved this blurb from the details of the trip for Luc’s brothers and mother (who arrived at Pearson just minutes after we did, in a – well the – different terminal, on a different flight, from a different city…isn’t modern travel cool?). Anyway…

On their way through customs, the officer asked the reason for their visit. They responded that they were coming for their brother’s wedding – “he’s marrying a Canadian girl”. With a big grin, the officer responded “good choice!” and barely looked at their passports (apparently) before stamping them and letting them through.

Cute

Another little detail – the smile and the comment cost nothing, but made the travel that much more pleasant for those three people, and reminded me (once again) why I miss dealing with Canadians so much!

Final thoughts of a smooth flight

One more tasty snack, early arrivals, no wait at customs, all bags arrived…
The trip was definitely the smoothest yet. And the tasty snack was a hot pastry with either lamb or vegetables, and both (we each got one) were fantastic. We’d had this kind of pastry the last time, and they were great then too. I kept the box for a while the last time planning to look them up, and, having tossed it ages ago, despite seeing the name again just a couple of hours ago, I’ve already forgotten. Ah well.

Let the pondering continue

Having watched a movie while I wrote the last bit, and while I got a bit of work done, then reading a bit and getting in a nap (in an attempt to get onto Canadian time as easily as possible), I woke up as they were bringing (more) water around, and was pleasantly surprised to find them also distributing ice cream and cookies. I have been served ice cream on flights before, but for some reason it seemed particularly nice today. The cool relief from the dry cabin air (just waking up from a nap, no leas), was just great. With so many empty seats, they also gave some of us an extra package of cookies! Another one of those things that they didn’t have to do, but that adds an extra touch (did I mention Bravo Air Canada?). Of course, just before that I was tempted to ask for extra ice cream, but when the gave us the extra cookies, it just seemed wrong to do so.

So, being on Air Canada, I felt the need to check the origins of the ice cream (with the fun spoon built into the the lid) and was disappointed to see that it was from the UK. Then I realised that it would be silly to have Canadian products (like the salt and pepper in hockey puck shaped mini shakers that I got years ago) on a flight _to_ Canada since, well, flying products somewhere for the sole purpose of having them consumed on the flight back seems a bit ridiculous when you think about it (although I suspect that it does happen often).

Random (or rather Ramadan ;)) thought

As a gentleman near us got his meal ahead of everyone else, certainly due to some particularly dietary need, a thought occurred to me (being that it’s Ramadan): when a Muslim travels through time zones (and therefore the day is suddenly extended by, for example, 6 hours or so, or the night reduced by as much), when are they allowed to eat?

We’re checkin’ in (they’re checkin’ in) aka why I’ll also fly Air Canada again

After first going to the wrong check-in desk (silly us for assuming that buying our ticket with Swiss meant checking in at the Swiss desk) we got to the right place (the Air Canada desk) where there was no line up, which was great, since I was concerned it would take a few minutes having not received a boarding card with my web check-in, but a paper that said “this is not a boarding card: go to the check-in desk”. The woman at the desk greeted us in Swiss German and asked where we were going. In the sliver of German I have, I said hello, told her we were going to Toronto, and then told her that my German wasn’t very good. She respond something pleasant, and then asked Luc (in English) for our passports.

We put the first (biggest) suitcase on the scale and held our breaths: we were right around the limit, but were pretty well prepared for the potential need to readjust. We were lucky though: it wasn’t too heavy. As Luc wrote the paper address tags, I realized that he had not included an address in Canada, so I asked the woman if I could switch them, explaining that my wedding dress was on the bag, so I wanted to be sure it got to the right place. While we wrote the other tags, I realized that she had added a “priority” tag to the suitcase and smiled: “we’d better make sure it gets there then!” and then, looking at Luc and back at me, “but I can’t even ask you what the dress looks like!”. I had almost forgot to tell her that when I checked in online, it had not given us seats together, so she had a look and said “well, the flight isn’t very full, shall I give you to aisle seats with an empty seat between them so that you have more space?”. As I write this (4 hours later, while sitting on the plane) it still makes me smile to think about. For her, these actions are nothing: they cost her nothing, nor did they cost anything to Air Canada or Swiss, and yet the effect on us is huge. It’s a shame that such customer service is so rare, but at the same time it makes it that much more amazing. Bravo Air Canada.

So here we are, in the plane, (not “on” the plane, as George Carlin once noted – around 2:58). As we took off, Luc and I couldn’t help but quote this video that we both saw just a few days ago. And here we are, flying to Canada on our first direct flight ever…ok, so we had to get to Zurich, but that is hardly a burden compared to past trips where we were stuck at Frankfurt airport (3-4 hours from home) for 8 or 9 hours, because of issues with connecting flights.n

Leaving the stress behind

The last day before leaving for a long-awaited 3-week holiday was not without its hitches. With piles of work to take care of and a planned 3-hour teleconference from a client’s office following 2 hour presentation for another. Frankly, it wasn’t _that_ bad, but I’m always a bit stressed when I’m travelling, and despite having tried to make this trip across the ocean the easiest so far, there are always little things.

The plan was pretty good, if I do say so myself: the client meetings were planned on that day since they were in Zurich, and we were flying from Zurich the next morning. A hotel for the night was certainly more expensive then taking the train home that evening and back the next morning (especially in Zurich), but the peace of mind of being walking distance from the airport, and not having to get up at stupid o’clock was well worth it.

After the meetings, I stuck around in “my” meeting room to get some work done, feeling nicely independent with my visitor’s badge getting me in and out (not that I left the meeting room for several hours). A little after 6, and all I had to do was run up to IT (on another floor) to print off my boarding pass, grab my bags (on the same floor), and meet Luc at the train station minutes away to grab a cab for the hotel.

Having grabbed my purse from the meeting room on my way to IT, I (miraculously) had my cell phone, although I left my notes and my computer behind. I went up to the floor where IT (and my luggage) were, and found that my badge no longer opened the door and the receptionists had apparently left for the day. I ran back to the floor where my computer was, and found myself equally stuck. I knew that there was still someone from IT around, because he had told me that I could stop by any time before 7, but I didn’t have the direct phone number, and the line to reception was just that: connecting me directly to voicemail. Starting to panic, I called the client I had met with in the morning to ask what the extension number was for IT…but she didn’t answer her mobile. I tried to get the attention of the cleaning ladies on both floors, knocked on windows, and felt the panic rise. With doors all around the building, there was no guarantee that anyone would leave from the side I was on, and I was terrified of being stuck there without my stuff. I suppose in retrospect, I could have come back the next morning (worst case scenario) but that thought had never occurred to me, and the fact of my computer sitting open in a meeting room would hardly have put me at ease.

Back on the floor where my computer was, while frantically trying to get the cleaning lady to hear my knocking, I didn’t see one of the employees come up to the door to leave. His friendly smile as he opened the door and asked “got locked out?” came as a tsunami of relief. I packed up my computer, but I was not out of the woods: IT was not answering the phone (so that I could ask the guy to let me in the door) and my luggage was still on the other floor. I sheepishly asked a guy in a nearby office if he would let me into the other floor and, after a moment’s hesitation, he handed me his badge. Hurrying upstairs, I ran into another client on my way to IT, but I was a bit too distracted to be as useful I would have liked. I got my boarding pass printed, got my bags, and rushed to the train station afraid to not be there to greet Luc (being much more familiar with the train and station thanks to numerous trips to that office over the past couple of years).

I lashed my two suitcases together and hurried along, checking my phone as I went. A text message from Luc had me worried that he might have gotten off at the wrong station, but as I realized that the train was 10 minutes further away than I had thought, and I relaxed a bit. Nonetheless, I called Luc to make sure that he had not/would not get off at the wrong station.
Luc arrived, we found a taxi, and were on our way. Dinner at the bistro near the hotel was nice, and the staff (/ owner?) as well as the apparent regulars were all very pleasant. I got a bit more work done, a decent night’s sleep, and a relaxed but efficient preparation. The GPS that we bought in part for our travels, in part for Luc’s family’s travels, and in part because we’ve been talking about if for ages, came in handy: pedestrian mode led us through a path we never would have taken (or probably even found) shaving a good kilometre off of our walk.

Ending the silence with another travel adventure

So, I can understand London not being so good with snow (the proof being in the proverbial pudding that was our last trip to London) but you’d think they’d have rain figured out by now.

At Zurich airport we heard flight after flight from each of three London airports announce long delays due to the planes arriving late, and our plane apparently never even got to leave LHR, leaving Swiss to find another plane (and crew) to get us to our destination. With unhelpful announcements like “flight delayed, more info in 20 minutes”, followed 20 minutes later by “more info [in 70 minutes]“, many, like us, were visibly relieved when after another 15 or so we were told that new information was available and that we were scheduled for takeoff in 45, and that boarding would begin soon. Undoubtedly leaving from a (the?) Swiss hub, I don’t doubt that such luck was easier to come by than had we be leaving from, well, just about anywhere else.

Scheduled from a basement gate, the kind that requires a taking a bus to the waiting plane, the first step was to fill a bus…which then stayed there while we (more or less first in line for the second bus) waited inside. One of the more amusing things we overheard during this time was an exchange between two brothers just ahead of us:
older brother: “What are we waiting for? I can see the plane from here”
younger (yet clearly wiser) brother: “There are lots of planes here; that might not be ours”
older brother “But it’s a Swiss plane”
younger brother “There are a lot of Swiss planes here”

Less amusing (except in the eye-rolling kinda way) was the rumour that started spreading that the new delay was because they had found a plane, but no crew. It may or may not have been true, but the captain made a special announcement a few minutes into the flight to tell us that it wasn’t true and that the yo-yo in delays had to do with the changing status of the slot we were able to get to takeoff (probably equally dependent on when we would be able to land in -ahem- Sunny London).

The flight was uneventful (as I like my flights to be) and arrival was slow as we had to wait for a parking position. Customs was even slower, and Luc and I had to stand in different (long) lines, although my customs agent told me that I could probably go in the EU line with him in future as long as my landing card (which is not required for EU citizens) is ready, and I have a copy of my marriage certificate. I’m not fully convinced this is true, and suspect that it depends heavily on the humour of the agent at that moment, and since Luc didn’t seem convinced either when I told him, I suspect that we won’t push our luck anytime soon. Hey, maybe it’s time for me to try for citizenship (ha, that would fly like a lead balloon Since they out and out ignored my request for a 10-year residence permit and sent me a new 1-year one instead last year).

While I’m digressing, let me also digress about this whole landing card business: why is the [my] queen more worried about my comings and goings than those of all members of the EU combined?

Anyway, I got through customs before Luc, got his attention and headed through the maze that is Heathrow to find our bags. With the “which baggage claim” screens not working, I checked each belt, none of which displayed Zurich. One suspicious belt, though, displayed “baggage claim closed”, but was absolutely full of bags. I was just about to continue my search elsewhere when the first of our two bags appeared. The second showed up just as Luc did, and we were on our way to the subway. We didn’t have time to do anything about tickets as we were directed to hurry up for the last train, which was on the platform.

We wondered whether we would get our connecting train (guessing not, since it was after 12.30 and last trains leave 12ish, and still several stops to our change), as well as how we would get out at all, since we hadn’t paid to get in), but we would soon see. One more stop before our change (we hoped).

—–
We made the last train with 4 minutes to spare, and was “treated” to some typical London subway entertainment: a (friendly) 40-something drunk, then, later, 3 young 20-somethings (or less) including one passed-out drunk girl, who had to be carried from the train by the unfortunate male friend after attempts by both he and the unfortunate female friend to wake her failed. The last we saw, they were laying their friend on the platform of one station or another trying to figure out what to do next.

As for us, another several stops were left before our moment of reckoning: we didn’t have tickets, which are needed to get in _and_ out. As we got to the exit, an employee stepped out of the office, and I pulled our oyster cards (a rechargeable travel card that has come in extremely handy on more than one occasion during our Londonian adventures and misadventures) out of my pocket and explained that we hadn’t had time to “touch in” (validate the trip) as we ran for the last train at Heathrow. I’m not sure whether it was our presumably obvious honesty (our bags still had their LHR luggage tags), pity on his part (I’m sure we looked plenty tired), or sheer complacency (he was probably going to lock up the station as soon as we all left since ours was the last train coming through that particular), but he simply opened the gate, making the entire trip from Heathrow free. [Thank you nameless guy at Kilburn Park!]. At the other end of the subway customer service spectrum sitting in Paris, where a ticket agent once calmly watch us validate our tickets, run down to the platform, and look desperately (and breathlessly) up and down the tracks, before announcing to us (via the loudspeaker) that the last train was gone and to please leave the station, then refusing to reimburse us for the tickets he had known perfectly well was useless before he had watched us validate them.

So, for not going as planned, I’d have to say that it went pretty well.

Starting from the end

Since the trip home is already written (contrary to the holiday itself), I’ll just post it first   Here goes:

When the pilot announced an early landing I let myself get my hopes up for the 19h04 train. I tried not to but it just too tempting. It would mean being home up to an hour earlier than planned,without the need to change trains at Zurich HB (as it is there is always a change at Basel). Both prospects: the earlier arrival and the minimisation of train changes were too pleasant not to hope for, but we were at the very back of the plane, and at one of the far gates. We hurried along the moving sidewalks (bless Zurich airport for those!), and Luc tried to get me to relax and slow down a bit. I managed to somewhat, and even told him that I could accept that we wouldn’t make it, but had not let go (I almost believed myself actually!). The baggage started coming out onto the carrousel just as we got there, keeping the dream alive just a little longer. After 10 or 15 bags, my backpack appeared, and I just had time to take out the straps (which are conveniently designed to be zipped into the pack for travel and violent baggage handlers, who have nonetheless managed to rip different parts of the poor bag) and our small suitcase appead by the time I was rolling/tucking away the straps’ cover. We ran through customs (passport control had been before baggage claim) and took a left (Thank goodness for well-signed airports) and took off for the Bahn (train station) conveniently located in the airport (if only Mulhouse/Basel airport was so convenient!). We were closer than I thought to the 4 train platforms, but without my glasses I couldn’t really all the signs that indicated the stops (further proof that I am the grandma that a few of my French friends have often called me). I didn’t see Basel indicated at platforms 1 or 2, but didn’t have time to worry about not seeing it at 3 or 4, Since Luc’s better vision saw it at platform 1. It was 19h02. We hurried down the escalator and saw the train waiting. Annoyingly, the first class cars were the ones closest to the escalotor , so we ran a ways down (or up?) the platform. When the two nearest doors started to close simultaneously, I hit the button to reopen one of them, and we boarded, continuing our journey to second class safely inside the train. We found seats, put our luggage on the rack, and took our coats off while trying to calm down and get over our (my?) astonishment that we had made it. 19h04 came and went, and I got that frequent last second worry that we were on the wrong train. I didn’t make it to door, as a controller was on his way in. I asked him (in more stilted german than it should have been – I blame the adrenaline) and my fears were eased just as the train started moving.

I pulled out my handy Basel SBB books, which give me all the arrival and departure times for the station, and knew we had 20 minutes to change trains, with the platform indicated and everything (the French SNCF isn’t nearly so well organized). We double checked the platform on arrival, and the train was already waiting (no waiting in the cold!). At Mulhouse, the tram was waiting out front, although we had to wait a few minutes before leaving. At Porte Jeune, the tram change was picture perfect: our second tram arrived just as we exited the first. The walk home was frigid, but short, and we actually were home an hour ahead of time.

So there you have it. I don’t remember the last time I had a trip that went so smoothly. I suppose my bad luck was transferred Monday morning though, when one of my teammates showed up 45 minutes late, because her train forgot to stop at the station nearest the office, and she ended up halfway across the city!

Technology is cool

While I’m not actually eligible for my latest discovery, I have just found out that the Swiss train service (SBB) who already has ridiculously convenient tickets that you can buy online and print yourself, now also has electronic tickets that you can have delivered to your mobile phone (well, if you have a permanent residence in Switzerland and a contract with a Swiss mobile phone company – neither of which I have). What makes that particularly cool is that if you happen to have the internet on your phone, you could actually buy your ticket on the platform (or on the train for that matter), and not have to wait in line while watching the train pull out of the station or some such frustrating thing. Of course the major downside is that if your phone dies, I guess you’re kinda stuck, so it’s not quite as convenient as the Arlanda Express in Stockholm, but (to be fair) the Arlanda Express only has 1 possible route, so the system is less complex to begin with. Anyway, I’m babbling. Technology is cool though.

How to potentially ruin a holiday without thinking (before it even starts)

Well actually, it’s the “without thinking” that’ll do it. As it is I put off my shopping wAAy too long, considering the fact that I can’t just show up at the door with stuff I bought hours before, which added a layer of stress that irritated me to no end, but this morning was the real killer: this time tomorrow I should be on my way to the airport to head to Bucharest and spend Christmas with family there. Where does the “no thinking” come in? Too much time and freedom travelling around here, that it didn’t occur to me until this morning to see if I needed a visa. In past travels, I have needed visas twice: Czech Republic and Turkey (although Turkey was all handled for me, since it was a business trip).

So with my stress level through the roof, I got online and went looking. Inevitably, the first information I came across was intended for Americans who, as it turns out, don’t need a visa, but this was little comfort for me since they don’t need one for the Czech Republic but Canadians do (or at least did when I was there a few years ago). I soon came across a partial sentence that put EU and Canadian citizens (among others) in the same group, which seemed like a good sign. Sure enough, a (totally unofficial) website started to put my mind at ease. Next I needed to find an official site that said the same. I found the list of country from whom nationals require a visa, and downloaded it nervously. Once open, I went straight for the search box, while Luc tried to calm me down, pointing out that the C’s were already on screen, and that there was nothing between Camaroon and Cape Verte. And yet here I am only partially reassured. I don’t need to ask how I didn’t think of such a thing: I’ve had a lot on my mind for the last while, travelling in Europe is generally a breeze (plus Romania is part of the EU now), and Canadians generally have it pretty easy getting into foreign countries, but it’s no excuse. Time for me to get back to preparing for trips weeks and months ahead.

Anytime the blood wants to head back towards my brain would be great: I have to be at work soon!