 |  |
|
rather than Canadian Pacific -- I think they came first in the phone book. It seems that anyone, had I asked, would have warned me against this folly. Peter Edick took me out to the airport, and we arrived in good time at Terminal 2. This had been built, many years before, as a temporary structure intended to last about 5 years. Governments being what they are everywhere it was left standing, but the airlines all refused to use it. Air Canada, however, are state-owned and have to do as they're told. I bought my ticket in one place, after a long wait, and then had to go away off to the other end of the building to unload my baggage. Fortunately I looked at my baggage tickets, because they said WINNIPEG! Unfortunately my bags had gone, and the woman had to telephone the other end of the conveyor with appropriate instructions. Then I had to transfer to an airport wheelchair because they couldn't arrange to take mine away at the last minute as is usual. Then the place was 25 minutes late taking off - they had a problem with the electrics. It was an uncomfortable old DC8. Needless to say I was seated at the front of economy and the toilet was located right at the back. The flight was very bumpy, as the pilot tried unsuccessfully to climb above the rain. I was seated next to a young man of about 20, who was taking his little sister, aged about 12, to a wedding. Clutching the seats we engaged in light conversation about everything except the weather. Had it not been for the child I would have been clutching him. The pilot gave up climbing in the finish, and just flew through the weather. When we finally emerged from the clouds the charming French- Canadian steward offered the passengers free drinks. I was content with coffee, which was served with real milk for a change. we were over the Rockies gave me such dreadful pains in the head that I really couldn't admire the scenery. I had long since run out of the little capsules of eucalyptus oil that Australian airlines give you for your sinuses, and which are apparently unheard of elsewhere. To avoid the stairs I was conducted through the bowels of Vancouver airport. I was unable to spot Susan Wood in the crowd, so I had her paged. They sent her upstairs to the desk, and then down again, but eventually she found me! recorded that she had cleaned the house especially in my honour. The house was old but comfortable, with healthy looking plants in all the windows -- Susan's "cat substitutes". We talked for several hours, mostly gossip about Melbourne fandom, and I retired at the respectable hour of midnight, which of course was the unheard-of (for me) hour of 3 a.m. Toronto time. see the sights, but a layer of smog had rendered them almost invisible. Consequently we returned to downtown Vancouver, to a part of town full of trendy little boutiques. We ate at a place called "Mozart's" which specialized in coffee and Viennese-style cakes and pastries. I treated myself to crab salad and sachertorte, and then decided to visit the loo. The lights didn't seem to be working too well, and it wasn't until I was inside the darkened cubicle that I realised that the floor was about an inch deep in water. It was clean I suppose, but as l was wearing gym-boots with the little ventilation holes in them I was not pleased. As soon as I emerged a little
|
| |
