Gingerbread Travels, Part One - Canada Here We Come

I set my alarm for five am to give me sometime to get organised and tidy the house a bit, for the burglars.  All week GO had said he’d drive us to the airport.  His only jobs were to organise his parents to look after the house and sort travel to the airport.  When he finally got round to booking a space he discovered that he had left booking the parking too late and it would cost a fortune £140 to park in our usual place.  Quick call to the local cab company later (thank you, me) and we had booked a taxi for less than half the price of parking.  GO was concerned about the cab driver knowing that our house was empty, so we arranged to be picked up at the train station. “I’ll drop you and the bags off, Park the car at home and then walk back down.” I planned everything around that plan, my outfit was for comfort and not weather dependant, I didn’t need any extras everything was packed in order of use.  I had a Mac in case I needed it in the mountains.  As I sorted and tidied he came down and said “I’m not driving let’s just walk!”  He obviously hadn’t looked out the window, at the torrential rain lashing it down, at the thunder and lightning.  I was too tired to argue so hauled my Mac out of the suitcase leaving a trail of destruction as I went and took off behind him, grumbling the entire way to the station.  By the time we arrived (it’s not a long walk) because of the rain I was as wet as a drowned rat, the Mac (bought a couple of years ago) was much too big and so it gapped a lot and water dribbled down it, down to my underwear.  My Toms, which were hand painted were soaking and all I could think was, he could have driven.  We got to the station, annoyingly, with plenty of time to spare so we just waited and waited and waited for our taxi. When he did arrive the driver tried to make chit chat, GO promptly fell asleep, it felt rude to fall asleep so I chatted.  While chatting somehow or another we got onto the subject of where we were headed.  I didn’t want to say Canada, I didn’t want to rub it in, I suppose. So I said Germany “Oh, I love Germany I lived there for thirty years in a place called Bielefeld.”  I was gob smacked, we talked the rest of the journey about places we knew, where we’d been and what was going on in Germany.  It turned what could have been a looooooong journey into a pleasant catch up. 

I hate getting to airports late, the stress and anxiety I feel is unbelievable so I try to arrive an hour or so before the airline recommends.  Air Canada recommended that we arrive 2 hours before our flight, so we were there 4 hours not before our flight but before check in opened.  We weren’t even sure if we were in the right place as it was the end of the airport, we were surrounded by scaffolding and that. plastic sheeting that you see on building sites.  My shoes were soaking wet, I actually rang the out.  After a forty five minute wait they began to make some sort of movement around the baggage drop area, I sent GO to investigate and confirm that it was where we could drop our bags for the Air Canada Rouge flight to Toronto. The little guy he spoke to confirmed it was and we lined up.  Within seconds the Queue behind us stretched the length of the terminal, maybe it was worth the early arrival. All bags dropped off and a quick hop through security, who am I kidding it’s never that quick or easy, we were flight side. 

I love flight side but Manchester has a poor choice of everything.  They must assume that everyone’s a footballer and minted as there are no food kiosks, or cafes everything is designer label and designer price tag.  We had a breakfast in an American Style Diner/restaurant and it was ridiculously overpriced, to make sure we would have something to eat I bobbed into WHSmith and returned with; puzzle books, water, fruit, chocolates, mints, magazines, crisps and two travel pillows.  All cheaper that the diner meals.

We waited in the terminal for our gate to be announced before heading towards it.  Then waited for boarding to commence, I have flown a lot in my life time and I know that you don’t need to queue up when boarding begins especially if allocated seats but I’m a sheep and I cannot help but join the queue, GO doesn’t. He took the time to put his flight socks, he felt self conscious wearing them and in all honesty I didn’t help by calling him “Prince George for most of the journey.

Once on the plane and settled, I bypassed all of the entertainment I had bought with me and hit the inflight magazine.  They always give you little hints and tips about places to go, things to do and locals tips.  I was flicking through reading all about the buzzing art scene and the new foodie trends in Toronto, when I turned the page to be greeted by The Singing Ringing in Burnley.  It really is a small world. There we were looking for recommendations for Toronto and Canadians travelling to Manchester we advised to visit Burnley.