Train and Plane, to Ottawa, Again

I seemed so matter-of-fact about going to Ottawa that even Feng was slightly worried.

It was almost suspicious.

“You are coming back next week, right?” he asked one night, a few days before my flight.

“Yep,” I replied calmly.

Maybe I wasn’t so calm because just as I said it, my heart skipped a beat again—literally. It’s been happening a lot lately. Is my body trying to tell me something?

But I love Feng and Mark so I was coming back as planned.

Reality set in 48 hours before the trip.

“I’m comfortable in France,” I admitted.

“There’s gotta be something you enjoy in Canada but not anywhere else,” Feng said. “Food… yeah, no. Peace and quiet?”

“It’s way too quiet in Ottawa. People I barely know feel the need to point out they saw me walking in the street earlier in the day because well, I’m the only person on the sidewalk. It’s getting embarrassing.”

“Right. I’m not selling you the weather…”

“Do trees have leaves?”

“Nope.”

“Okay, so not the weather.”

“The wildlife?”

“It’s true that the last time I saw a rabbit, it was in the meat section at the supermarket…”

There’s no way to get a proper night’s sleep when you have to get up at 4:45 a.m. to catch the 5:59 a.m. train to Charles de Gaulle airport in Paris. I turned the lights off at 1:30 a.m. but I couldn’t shut off my brain. I tossed and turned until it was time to go.

My mum wasn’t sleeping either.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to walk with you?”

“Considering you can’t lift my 20-kilo backpack and it’s 5 a.m….. nope.”

“Did you take your train ticket?”

“… I took my phone.”

“Don’t laugh at me! Sometimes we still get paper tickets!”

And so I left, once again. I’ve been leaving places for 25 years. I’m not sure it’s something I should be proud of.

Crossing Nantes at 5 a.m. is a weird experience. I took a break at the castle (this is the most French thing you’ll read today), then I resumed walking until I reached the train station, the only lit-up building around.

I do not recommend a 30-minute walk with a backpack at 5 a.m. after a sleepless night.

My train was going all the way to Brussels so I set my alarm for 9 a.m. to make sure I wouldn’t miss the short 9:09 a.m. stop at the airport’s train station. On the bright side, I totally forgot I booked myself a first-class seat (it was probably just 5 euros more, I bought my ticket when I was in Salvador) so I had a single seat on the side and I was able to sleep for a couple of hours.

The airport was chaotic because a potential air traffic controller strike had led to the cancellation of hundreds of flights. The last-minute deal had come too late to avoid traffic disruptions and hundreds of passengers were looking for a beginner course to French strikes or possibly alternative travel arrangements.

Not only my Air France flight wasn’t cancelled but it was on time.

Just my luck.

“Where are you going to?”

“Ottawa.”

“Check-in for Japan is over there.”

I hope airport staff gets geography right before the Olympics, or else we’re going to be the laughingstock of the world (again).

I dropped off my backpack (finally!), went through immigration, then security, and walked to gate L42, the same gate as in November.

The middle seat was empty and it was a smooth flight. We even landed earlier than planned.

Going through immigration took forever in Ottawa. When Feng called me, I was still waiting for my backpack to show up on the carousel—it took forever too.

I’m in Ottawa for a bit.

Let’s see what I can make out of it.

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