It's all about the journey

Pretty lovely to be home and waking up at 2am, enjoying a world of silence. And breathing. My lungs are a bit battered by 2 weeks of sand, smoke, and pollution, but this is nothing new to them. A mini version of Damascus. I had been blogging off my phone as well, and typing is a good thing. Did you know there is no Academie-Française version of 'smartphone'? Heard the term on the planes when they ask you to turn them off.

Here is the original return flight route, which would have taken 24 hours door-to-door. It was long enough, as it started with a red-eye flight on Saturday:

Dakar - Brussels - Frankfurt - Vancouver

I had been ruminating in bed before leaving, rehearsing how the final act of my time on the Dakar stage would be delivered - the words I would use, the attitude I would have to negotiate a fair price for the 7-minute taxi ride. S+J had said 3000 fcfa. However, on the night that I talked to the taxi driver for A when he left, they wouldn't do it for less than 4000 fcfa ($8 CAD), citing luggage. Normally, 3000 fcfa gets you downtown, a 25 minute ride, and if it weren't for the fact that it's an airport, 1000 cfca should do. This whole thing is also a matter of pride for the traveller subgroup that I am a part of, which still takes it as an affront to be charged more as a tourist.

Fortunately I don't have a lot of luggage. The family of 4 that occupied A's room had at least 12 bags. The terrain between the taxi stand and the door of the guesthouse is sand for about the length of a block, some 100 m. Free sleds for the use of tourists were nowhere to be found, but luckily, there are loads of young boys (40% of Senegal being under 15, so 1 in 5 a young boy) around for those in need.

The beautiful thing is that a taxi angel appears at the 50 m mark, dropping off some travellers. One part of the beauty is that I don't have to lug the luggage for another 50 m. The real beauty is that I get to avoid the taxi stand pimp tax. By now I discovered that he is the real reason why taxis are 1000 fcfa more. He sits on the bench, says that yes, that's his taxi, when in fact the driver is snoozing away.

I say "L'Aeroport." Taxi Angel says, "2000 francs." Then some young taxi-pimp-in-training says "3000 francs." I am a non-violent person, so say something like, "He said 2000 francs." Good thing Taxi Angel is helping the other travellers with their luggage, so he doesn't really hear. Taxi Angel is, however, not a really good driver - maybe he is still testing his wings. He very nearly hit a person and another car on the 7-minute drive. But one cannot be a back-seat driver to angels, they have their ways: the grounded are poor judges of the elevated.

It is Saturday 8 pm. We arrive quickly and unscathed at the airport. I give him a normal looking 2000 fcfa note, and then a crisp new 500 fcfa note on top: "And this is because it is the Prophet's Birthday today." To this, his eyes opened wide and he produced an enormous smile. A happy taxi ride is how all journeys should end.

Or start!

The experience at the Léopold Sédar Senghor Airport was quick and efficient. I divest myself of local currency (they need all my small notes, I had amassed a wealth), bat the mosquitos, wait and board. I arrive in Brussels at Gate B38 on Brussels Airlines, on a nice new Airbus A330-300. This airline was poorly replaced by Blue Panorama on the inbound flight. Brussels Airlines is like Lufthansa, whereas Blue Panorama ... well, there was vigorous clapping at the end, as if there was some doubt. The population on this flight is characterized by middle-class white European families who were finishing holidays, probably at a beach resort. However, too much service is not right. Between 10:35 pm and 5:35 am local times, they served both dinner and breakfast. An appropriate service level would be to ramp down to the weight-watcher Air Canada service levels, and not serve anything gratis.

After the 6 hour flight, we arrive early Sunday morning. I hold a boarding pass for Brussels-Frankfurt that says Gate 43. I hear it is cancelled, but I go there as the service desk is nearby. This is a 30 minute walk and includes passport check and baggage security. The service desk tells me that the flight is cancelled because the plane did not come in last night from Frankfurt (weather?) so there is no aircraft. After being on the phone for a half hour, she presents me with a route to home. It would take an extra 10 hours, so 32 hours door-to-door in total:

Dakar - Brussels - Newark - Vancouver

The Gate? Why, B38, right where I came from. So I retrace my steps, again through passport and baggage check. It leaves at 10:15 am. Just adjacent on the departures board is another 10:15 am to Toronto, which I look at longingly. I use my 8€ ($11) meal voucher for what it is worth. Food prices are quite marked-up, or I'm in Europe, and I manage to get a juice and a croissant.

The airline? Jet Airways, or you could call it Bollywood Air. It was coming in from Mumbai. The service level is somewhere between Blue Panorama and Brussels Airlines. Generally I felt like I was in the 90s (it felt like the 80's with BP). The plane itself (Airbus A330-300) felt like a re-purposed Air Canada plane - and it could have been, given the airline started in 1993. I am in a mid-seat in the centre with an expressive and re-bounding under-2-year-old behind me. Note I am already tired from the red-eye.

I arrive at Newark Sunday at 12:55 pm. Given that it is North America, I pick up my luggage. In this case, it is nice to know that my luggage has followed me all the way. And I am again greeted with the information that my next flight leg has been cancelled. Air Canada ticketing was already dealing with cancelled flights to Montreal; a flight to Vancouver was also cancelled that morning due to mist and fog. I am told that I could either stay in Newark until a space opened up (planes are full to Vancouver for days), or they could put me on stand-by to Toronto, where they would put me in a hotel and then find a flight for me from there.

I opt for the Toronto stand-by option, with the promise of a hotel and a possible flight sometime soon to Vancouver. It looks like this:

Dakar - Brussels - Newark - Toronto - Vancouver

Sunday presented a painful day of unrest for me at EWR. By now it is 3pm, and the flight is scheduled to leave at 9pm. I call Days Inn and they said that it would be $70 for a room - I decide not to go for a 4 hour stay. Had I known my flight would be delayed as it became, I would have gone. I try to hunt down a lounge as maybe I could pay for 4 hours ("It's after security ma'am") but find nothing; security check here is drawn-out process I'd rather not repeat. Terminal A in Newark is designed to divide and herd: very few services. As stand-by, I also wasn't sure what to do with my luggage which I would have otherwise checked in. So I took it with me through the gate. Another reason why I was reluctant to move around too much. And I'm tired, and focus my energy on finding a place to snooze.

The flight is delayed. After some 12 hours in none-too-cheery EWR, listening to the announcements of other flights delayed (getting none too much rest), it is finally announced that we depart at 12:30 am. There is a bit of confusion as to which of the two AC gates is our gate. The announcement says A12, but the plane is obviously at A11. The herd gravitates toward the one with the plane. We arrive in Toronto at 2:12 am - I remember the "Deux heures douze" from the announcement.

After customs and baggage, I head for Departures level Air Canada Aisle 13. I'm obviously not the only one suffering from delayed or cancelled flights, but most seem to be domestically delayed. We are not given hotel vouchers but are asked our last name, and are herded to the bus, and wait an hour before it leaves. At this point, I am fairly cheery and delirious. I comment to the hotel bus driver after he fished out a person's bag correctly from below ("Because you're a professional!" He beams.). At the Four Points Sheraton hotel in Missasauga - by now it is 4:30 am - I overhear people who are asking themselves out loud why they are checking into a hotel when they need to be back at the airport at 6:30 am.

I take a bath. This is a wondrous sensation. The place I stayed at in Dakar offered a bucket and water bottles. I make a tea in the hotel coffee pot. I snooze for an hour and call Air Canada at 6:30 am. Nothing. I decide to offer myself uninterrupted sleep until 9 am.

I call AC again. After some time, I connect with Agent No. 1. He offers me noon or 2 pm. I take 2 pm. He then said he was just going to figure out how this was going to work, as I have a Lufthansa ticket. On hold. Then we disconnect. Agent No. 2 tells me that Agent No. 1 put me on 6 pm, so that's that. She asks me for my e-mail address, but I never receive an e-mail confirmation, and I would have to head to the airport based on something I heard with my ears.

I have a $7 breakfast voucher, which buys a coffee and pastry. I opt instead for a fuller breakfast, and chat with a couple of men off to Istanbul. Passing the ketchup and jam across tables can open worlds.

I ask for a late check-out of 2pm, and luxuriate in 3 more hours of sleep. I head down to the restaurant just before 2, with my $10 lunch voucher (soup and bread?), but am told that lunch service ended at noon. ?

But Taxi Angel No. 2 was right there waiting, and he takes me to the airport. Another 7 minute ride, but this shuttle service costs $55. He tells me to send the receipt to Air Canada.

Of course, the AC boarding pass machines don't work for me, so I am in a line-up for an hour. AC agents are also justice administrators: "Sir, there will be a riot if you do not go to the back of the line. Some of these people have been waiting for quite some time." The computer system is down. However, once I finally made it to a counter, it was a breeze. The agent, like all, tried to figure what was going on with my flights. He tells me, "You've really been on a trip!"

I have a great pre-Air-Canada-flight meal - panini and soup - near the Gate, and buy a book I can barely read: The Art of Travel, which "...helpfully suggests how we might be happier on our journeys.'

The flight to Vancouver was on-time, and was complete with a very uptight flight attendant announcer who would never have made the cut for WestJet (I recall a comedy stage show for the seatbelts lecture). He repeated some 5 times that we must make our schedule and head directly to our seats. However, we did leave at 6 pm and arrive on time at 8:45 pm.

By 10 pm on Monday I was home, some 58 hours after I started. I crumble into bed.