Landing a flight upgrade has been on my bucket list for ages—along with a helicopter tour and a night in a five-star hotel, just saying in case you were expecting a kinkier list from French me (rest assured, my fun list is doing fine, and I really don’t recommend doing it on a beach).

Of course, I don’t want the kind of upgrade that airlines email you about a few weeks before the flight, adding a zero to your original fare.

I’d like a free, surprise upgrade.

I don’t have fuck-you money, after all.

But so far, for all the cancellations, delays, cramped seats, weird-hour flights, and checked luggage fees (and delayed luggage) over 25 years of travelling, the only “perk” I got was the mandated €213 I claimed by filling out a form when my Paris–Ottawa Air France flight was a bit late a couple of years ago. Thank you, EU air passenger rights.

I wasn’t expecting an upgrade with Air Transat—I doubt they even have a business class—and I certainly wasn’t tempted to splurge for my November flight to Ottawa. In my dream life, my free upgrade takes me somewhere cool and hot.

I took a look at the seat map when I checked in online the day before. I had seat 10A, even though I only bought my ticket in late August. Most seats were greyed out. The flight was almost full. Of course, they always are; otherwise they would be cancelled.

I hadn’t flown with Air Transat in a while. We took the convenient Montreal–Nantes route a few times over the years, much like thousands of families with one foot in Canada and the other in Europe. Try Air Transat in the summer. I guarantee you’ll be with parents who speak one language and kids who reply in another, and one-month-old babies taking their first transatlantic flight to meet their grandparents.

But lately, I flew the newish Ottawa–Paris route with Air France. Same price, nicer experience, no need to drive to Montreal, and it’s easy for me to jump on a train to Nantes once in Paris.

Except this time, Air France was expensive and Air Transat was cheaper.

“I’ll pick you up in Montreal if it’s not too snowy,” Feng promised. My backup plan was the Orleans Express bus from the airport to Ottawa, but the 1:30 p.m. was cancelled, then rescheduled to 3:30 p.m. I was really hoping Feng would make it.

I woke up early—not as early as when I have to take the 5:59 a.m. train to Charles de Gaulle airport, but early enough to take the 7 a.m. bus to the airport. Twenty minutes later, I didn’t even have to queue to drop off my backpack at the Air Transat counter.

I watched the sun (kind of) rise, enjoyed the airport’s well-heated departure hall (indoor heat is rare in France these days!), but I didn’t bother waking up completely—my plan was to board, sit down, and sleep all the way through to Ottawa.

Why be fully awake when you’re going where you don’t really want to go, after all?

With boarding group 3, I was among the first ones to show my passport one last time and step into the plane, and I promptly did because there’s nothing else to do at gate 36 in Nantes airport. I sat down and waited to meet my seatmates—not the family with the crying baby, I hoped. The other option was probably retired people spending a couple of weeks off-season in Quebec, but I wasn’t sure I would be able to match their enthusiasm for what Canada is best known for. Yes, there’s snow already. I know, the accent is cute. No, I don’t have their accent—I kept mine and I live in English-speaking Canada anyway. Yes, there’s such a thing—check on the map, Quebec is a corner of Canada, not the entire country.

I eyed the passengers boarding. Any chance for a busy professional or a seasoned expat who wasn’t going to engage much?

I checked my watch. “It’s taking forever!”

And then suddenly, the microphone crackled and the captain announced we were ready for takeoff.

Wait, what? With two empty seats next to me?

I was almost about to stand up to shout “we’re missing people” when I noticed there were a few other empty seats on the plane. The couple in front of me—the enthusiastic retiree category—were missing someone in the window seat. Same story behind me.

“Meh, they’re probably going to move people around at some point…”

We took off. I watched the plane’s shadow over the runway, then over the forest and over a small village. Five minutes later, we were flying above St. Nazaire and the estuary—I even spotted the long St. Nazaire bridge. Then it was blue sky, fluffy clouds, and time to enjoy my surprise free upgrade.

Because nobody was moved next to me. Crazy. I had the entire row to myself.

As an “Option Plus” passenger—I bought it because it included one piece of checked luggage, cheaper than paying for it separately—I was even given a blanket, headphones, a sleep mask, and, inexplicably, a KitKat bar.

The hot meal was pretty shitty and the movie selection was lame, but I didn’t care. I ate my own sandwich, wrapped myself in the blue blanket, and fell asleep.

I woke up above Nunavut—oops, sorry, Montreal. Snow, snow, and more snow. Picturesque but cold, slippery, heavy, and annoying—ask me how I know.

The COVID tests are long gone, but there was still a massive queue at immigration.

Feng texted me from the parking lot he couldn’t find and ended up picking me up directly from the sidewalk.

It’s cold. It’s dark. It’s winter in Ottawa.

“But it’s okay,” I assure Feng. “It’s not that bad. Especially with two blankets, a hot water bottle, and the heater.”

I came right on time for the polar vortex—lucky me…