Trippin’ In Canada
Small jet not at all like mine.
Big jet.
Part 1- getting there:
I started my family trip on a recent Friday waking up at 2:00 am. Hey, when I got up that early, I thought, why not just stay up, since the Uber was coming at 3:40 am?
I was packed, dressed, and had my neighbors coming later that day to pick up my little dog, Nincompoop. I had prepped them about her and she knew them from other times when they had dog sat. She would really miss me but they loved her.
Ninny the Pomo poo being left with neighbors while I traveled out of the country to visit my daughter and family in Canada.
Me: Good dawg.
Ninny: You expect me to be loyal when all I get is a lousy cup of water?
I was excited to be flying to Ottawa, Ontario Canada to visit my daughter, her husband and my two grandchildren. My daughter and husband had just sold their house and everything they owned in the states to relocate to another country. Her husband had relatives there and things were calmer and less crowded there. It was a major change for them and they had been through a lot in these past two months. On top of that, they speak French in Ottawa and use metrics. They eat poutine and love Hockey. It’s a challenge just reading their signs. Mac and cheese is called KD.
I got dropped off by an Uber driver who talked my ear off. Then at the San Jose airport, I tried to check in but had not paid the extra $75 yet from when I had changed my flights.
At 4:15 am. I strode up to the desk to ask for help from the airline representative. The two ladies I approached were more than helpful. They walked me slowly through what I needed to do. I hadn’t even put a name tag on my bag so one gal gave me one and told me what to do kinda like a kindergarten teacher helping a 5 year old, me being the 5 year old.
The other sweet airline agent helped me with the app on my smart phone, since I wasn’t as smart as my phone and she knew it. I paid the $75 and was in their computer system and soon could go to my gate, if these two sweetheart women gave me the go ahead. I was patient, I was obedient and I needed them.
The one older lady must’ve felt sorry for me when she discovered my birthday would be in six days and I was definitely 70ish. I told her I was going to celebrate with my daughter and family. She said I could check my tiny bag for free as a complementary treat. I jumped up and down. I clapped. I yelled, “Awesome!” So that way now I only had to carry my purse and my bag would meet me in Ottawa at the end of this long day. Holy moly – I liked her! She asked me to show my passport even though I had it on file and told me where to go, nicely and patiently and what to expect. I was super relieved! I thought she’d give me a sticker but she didn’t have time.
I skipped away and up the escalator like a little kid. I was happy go lucky, even happy unlucky, to know that there are still helpful, kind people to assist 70 year olds who are more mentally like 5 year olds and act like clueless teenagers, and aren’t used to airports nor travel to another country. It warmed my heart to get help since I was…well…helpless. I was also well behaved and used eye contact as I smiled. I expected a gold star but sometimes just getting attention counts.
I got upstairs at the airport and walked around. I went through some magical area called Security and through X-ray machines. I bought a few snacks for the first leg of my flight to Chicago. I put them in my purse. Now I waited. I behaved and did not fuss. I sat quietly.
Next came the cattle call. You sit at the airport by your airlines gate with your boarding pass or have one on your phone app. You are quiet. You don’t talk to strangers. I was in Group 3 so I waited til I was called. A young guy and I let Group 1 and 2 people go ahead of us. As they walked by, I yelled snootily, “Prove it! We don’t believe you.” He was the only one out of about 100 who chuckled. It was a small chuckle. Then we walked by Group 4 with our noses in the air and boarded the plane feeling pretty special.
This was better than having a sticker or even a gold star.
I could even feel more prissy because I’d paid a bit extra for a bulkhead seat. The foot and half of legroom was to die for which I probably shouldn’t say since I would soon be 25,000 feet straight up kept aloft by jet engines in a tube with wings, piloted by people I’d never met but was asked to trust with my life and luggage.
I had to sit between two guys each about 30 years younger than me. They looked disappointed when I crawled over into my seat trying not to touch elbows. My purse was kicked in front under this bulkhead thing. I tried not to bother them. I read my book and ordered ice water and got a bag of about one tablespoon of pretzel mix as a snack. As I reached for my ice water from this kind flight attendant, I spilled half of it down the pant leg of my fellow passenger.
I apologized and he laughed saying his pants would dry. I also saw them pop out these cute little trays from out of nowhere! I asked both guys how they did that and they showed me these secret compartments hidden in the armrests. Ingenious.
After reading my book and using the restroom which was as big as half a small closet, and getting a second drink, we were landing in Chicago.
I waited by my gate and used my phone to contact people I hadn’t seen nor heard from in decades just to pass the time. I watched silly videos on Instagram and passed the time until I could board a smaller plane and found my seat which was in the very last row in back. I chatted with a lady across the aisle, looked out the window at no view whatsoever and watched people. A young guy came and sat next to me. I read my book. He just smiled and opened his giant four gallon water bottle after we got in the air.
His water bottle spurted water everywhere all at once…on me, on the seat on him, on the seat back in front of us. He apologized about 5 times and I gave him napkins from my purse and helped wipe up water. I blotted my pants. He kept apologizing. I told him he had apologized enough.
He said, “I can’t help it. I’m Canadian.”
I found out that most Canadians are super polite.
When I landed in Ottawa I had to go through customs, but it was easy using a machine that prompted me to enter my US passport for a closeup photo and answer a few questions like what my business was in Canada and how long I was staying and did I bring drugs or any guns or Pokémon cards or designer jeans into the country and at the end it said: Please don’t expect to learn French in the 11 days you plan on staying. Pick up after yourself and be kind to all peoples.
Meeting my 4 year old grandson after getting through customs in Ottawa Canada.
He wanted to see the waterfall inside the airport. He said he liked my shoes because he likes pink. I told him I liked his green ones.
My sweet daughter and her son met me after I went through customs at the Air Canada exit. I found my checked bag thanks to a kind Canadian customs officer who treated me like I was 5 years old like the US airlines lady had treated me back in San Jose.
I was so happy to be in Canada. They actually let me in. I had to shape up plus I was a grandmother visiting my two adorable grandkids aged 4 and 22 months. They would keep me on my toes. Plus I didn’t want to embarrass my grandkids nor my dog Ninny back home.
Merci.
Me trying to read the French signs and being kind to all people. I know. I should keep my mouth shut.
Those 70ish Girls 
baseball team all over the country. He spent so much of his time coaching us; but as I recall we WON!Liked by youEdit