Day 18 - Not the greatest end to my trip

08:15
I’ve spent the past 3 hours on the phone, bouncing around three different airlines, all of whom are abdicating responsibility. Bit of context. Late last night, when checking in for my Air Canada flight, I noticed the name on my ticket was wrong. I was listed as Tim, whilst my passport is Timothy. Air France (and subsequently Air Canada) had it wrong, because Virgin Atlantic shared it incorrectly. They have my name for tickets stored as Timothy, but my ‘colloquial’ name recorded in my frequent flyer account as Tim. For whatever reason, when they transferred the ticket to Air France, they used the data field in my frequent flyer record, instead of my passport name. This causes issues.

I start with Air Canada, on the basis that they’re the ones expecting me at the airport in a few hours. Nope. Nothing doing. They tell me to speak to Virgin. I call Virgin. Nope. Nothing doing. They say I need to go back to Air Canada, as I’m showing as checked in, and Virgin can’t do anything until Air Canada check me out. I call Air Canada. YES! They can check me out, and do so. I call Virgin back. Now, bear in mind that for each of these calls, I’m getting an automated call handling system - press 1 for existing bookings, press 2 if you’re gradually losing your mind, that kinda thing. That’s then followed by an average of 10 minutes of the SAME FUCKING HOLD MUSIC on a short loop. I wonder if it’s called a loop, because it eventually sends you loopy? Oh, and also bear in mind that each time I finally get to speak with a human, I have to give a quick rundown of my slightly laughable situation.

Anyways, back to Virgin. After my fifteen minutes of call handling hell, I manage to get hold of a human. When he starts to tell me that there’s nothing he can do, I start to lose my shit. I like to think I’m reasonably good at complaining in these circumstances. When Felix and I travelled in South East Asia earlier this year, he was impressed by my handling of another shitty (literally) situation - go and check out our time in Phnom Penh if you want details. In these circumstances, I do my very best to keep my voice calm, to be assertive but not rude, and not to swear. I’m struggling on all three counts. I point out that this is a problem of Virgin’s creation, both in that they forced the original flight change, and that they’ve shared the name incorrectly. My human pops me on hold to speak with his ‘support centre’ which doesn’t bode well. Fifteen minutes later, he rejoins the call and tells me I need to speak with Air France, as they are the holder of the ticket.

Air France are not answering their phones just yet. Of course not! That would be too easy… I end up calling their UK office, which will doubtless cost me a bunch of cash. After the standard 15 minutes of hold hell, I get hold of a very helpful but entirely unhelpful human. She assures me she will help me, and then doesn’t help me in any way, shape or form. She refers me back to Virgin. Of course she does.

I’m losing it now. One of the delicious lifelong companions of anxiety is what therapists call catastrophising - imagining the worst possible outcome of any given situation. Whilst my anxiety is largely under control these days, there are remnants, and those remnants are massively exacerbated by stress. This is a stressful situation. Is it too early for a beer?

I start investigating alternative flights home, but call Virgin once more, in the hope that I might get SOME kind of resolution from them. My human this time around is called Sasha. When I explain my predicament, and she starts to tell me to call Air France, I come very close to that invisible line between firm and assertive / shouty and swearing. I just, JUST stay on the right side of it. Sasha tells me she doesn’t think there’s anything she can do. I say that’s ridiculous - that there’s always a resolution for the customer. Virgin, could - for example, book me a brand new ticket in the correct name. Sasha doesn’t know how to respond to that. Sasha heads off to have a chat with her ‘support centre’ and I fear the worst.

When she rejoins the call, her demeanour is much happier and brighter. I fear the best. Not quite though. Virgin’s solution is to leave a note on the ticket telling Air France / Air Canada to let me board even though the name is ‘slightly’ incorrect, and that Tim is an acknowledged abridgement of Timothy. Sasha assures me that everything is going to be fine. I ask if she can 100%, set in stone guarantee that. She pauses, laughs nervously, and says yes - it’s a lock. I point out that the automated phone handling hell always includes a statement that the call will be recorded, and that I’ll be back for the recording if I have issues at the airport.

It’s been a frantic and stupidly stressful start to the day. On the plus side, waking up at 05:00 this morning has worked in my favour, as it’s barely 08:00, and I’ve got as far as I can do, without having to worry about my check-out time of 11:00. On the downside, I want to punch someone/something. This whole clusterfuck has rather taken the shine off the past couple of days of my trip. I’m also going to have to head to the airport earlier than is entirely necessary, just to make sure I get through the check-in process without too much disruption. Here’s hoping…

My truncated day starts here. I’ll get showered and packed up, and head out for a wander. There’s a Banksy exhibition I was planning to get to today, and should be able to squeeze it in…

13:00
I’m packed up and ready to check out by 10:00, and head off in the direction of the Place Des Arts, in the heart of Montreal’s downtown district. It’s still snowing. Or maybe it stopped, and has restarted. I can’t tell. There’s about 7-8cm of snow on top of cars parked around my apartment, and a ton of slush on the road. It seems the roads have been pretty well gritted. The pavements are a different matter though. I could definitely ski down the hill that heads down from Notre Dame.

I’m in the midst of my first arthritic episode in months. My Shalamalamadingdong* medication has all but erased these painful episodes, but again - stress is a trigger. My left ankle is very painful, and woke me several times last night. This morning, I’m hobbling. I pop a strap onto it, take some painkillers, and hope for the best. Walking around on it is tricky. The amount of ice on the pavement requires me almost to shuffle along - normally not a problem, but I’m finding it sore to do so today. Progress is slow and steady.

I grab a late breakfast at a very cool cafe called 5 Senses. Another banging Shakshuka. Assuming all goes well with my travel plans today, I’ll have this, and then a meal in the lounge before my scheduled 19:15 departure, so I can maximise the amount of sleep I get on board. Across the road is the Banksy expo, and it’s great. Like, I'm sure, many of you, I’m familiar with bits and pieces of Banksy’s work, but here it’s laid out in hugely entertaining fashion, and with a distinct chronology and narrative to it. There are also many of his works with which I’m unfamiliar - particularly the series called Crude Oils. For these, he shopped at flea markets, picking up cheap replicas of famous historical oil paintings, then added his own, unique touch. Typically some form of satire or social critique. There are a few examples included here, and they’re fascinating to look at. I also spend some time in the Dismaland Bemusemen Park exhibit, again - new to me. It’s a fab way to pass a couple of hours, and am so glad I made it here.

I walk back in the direction of my apartment. It’s too early to head to the airport, even when I’ve been advised to get there super early to negotiate any check in issues with my ticket. I head to a pub called the Wolf and Workman, a couple of hundred metres from my apartment, and order a locally made Irish stout. It’s great - called Cobblestone, and is a bit like a Guinness+. It’s nitrogen treated, so that’s rich, creamy texture, but has a more distinct coffee flavour kicking around in there. It’s delicious, so much so, that…

*not the real name.

16:15
Back at the apartment building, I quickly change out of my very warmest clothes, into some slightly less warm clothes. I don’t need thick combats or long johns for my flight home. I do keep hold of my big coat - for now. The journey out to the airport is slow. There’s a lot of traffic on the highway, and the conditions are still pretty shonky. The snow seems to be changing to an icy sleet.

At the airport, I hold my breath, and approach the check-in desk. Things take a while. The nice lady checking me in doesn’t keep me appraised of progress, or reasons for the delay, but she DOES hand back my passport with a boarding card included. My hold baggage is taken, I’ve got a boarding card. That’s it, right? I’m getting on the flight? Honestly, I don’t think I’ll feel ALL the way comfortable until I’m sitting in my seat, tucking into a pre-flight glass of bubbles.

Security is a breeze. Well - for me it is. For some, it’s the first time they’ve ever been through airport security screening, obviously. One guy has a hard-sided 40 litre carry-on suitcase, and a rucksack. When he’s asked to remove any laptop or tablet type devices, he unzips his case, losing clothes all over the place. It takes him a while to locate his laptop. Why he packed it at the very bottom of his case, no one really knows.

In the departure lounge, I find a bar affiliated with a microbrewery I stopped in at the other day. They had a banging New England style hazy IPA, and the bar here has it as well. I could go straight to the lounge, but I fancy a beer here first. I can just, JUST feel the stress starting to dissipate…

21:30
Well, I’m on the plane, and now I can REALLY relax. From the microbrewery, I head to the lounge for 90 minutes. It’s rammo at this time of day. Air Canada have their schedule of European overnight flights all leaving within a couple of hours of each other.I find a half decent Chardonnay, and have a snack. I’m not particularly hungry though, so I’ll eat quickly (hopefully) onboard, and grab as much sleep as I can manage.

My seat is comfortable. I’ve not flown with Air Canada before. It’s a pretty standard business class seat at the back of the cabin. My flight attendant, Julie, is kinds of great. She brings me a glass of Champagne. Unbidden, she brings me another. Do I exude some kind of aura? She asks if I want to eat or sleep. I say ideally both, so she promises to rush through the food service. We’re a little late taking off, but the Captain reckons we’ll make up time in flight, due to some strong tailwinds. In my book, that’s code for ‘bumps and turbulence.’

The dinner service is very efficient once we’re in the air. There’s an excellent Bordeaux available, so I have a glass with my food. Which is excellent by the way. A salmon rillettes starter, and a kind of Chicken Kiev type affair to follow.

The wine and food combo is just enough to make me sleepy. I can rarely be bothered with having my bed made up properly when I’m flying in business class. I grab a pillow, put my seat in the flat position, and head for the land of zizz.Leggi altro