This story makes a lot more sense if you read this and part I first.

Nantes, the train trip to Paris Charles de Gaulle Airport

Air Transat doesn’t fly to Europe this summer, I had to take the Paris-Montreal Air Canada flight.

I booked the 8:02 a.m. TGV train from Nantes to Charles de Gaulle Airport hoping it would arrive at 11:10 a.m. as scheduled. My flight was at 2:45 p.m.

I had to walk from my mom’s place to the train station because of construction work on the tramway line. This is typically a 20-minute walk, yet I left at 7 a.m. with a heavier-than-usual backpack—22 kilos of French goodies plus travel gear I used in Brazil (sleeping bag, guidebook, etc.).

“Should I offer to walk with you?” my mom asked the night before.

“Actually, this time… why not?” I replied.

I hate goodbyes so my relatives are banned from train stations and airport, but since I wasn’t leaving for real—considering I was coming back a few days later—the rule didn’t apply.

My mom walked me to the train station for the first time in decades. It was warm and sunny, and I felt quite awake despite the very short night for a long, long trip.

The train was full. It stopped everywhere along the way and it was about twenty minutes late but hey, I was more or less on time.

Charles de Gaulles Airport, the boarding process

Getting from the TGV station to Terminal B only took me about 10 minutes. There was already a long queue at the Air Canada check-in counter. Instructions were confusing—we were told there was a queue for French passport holders and another for Canada passport holders, but since only Canadians and permanent residents can enter Canada it made no sense.

I chatted with several other passengers and I realized many people had no idea what the latest travel requirements were. I don’t blame them, it’s really confusing. A couple behind me had been denied boarding the day before because they didn’t have their negative PCR test. Two snowbirds left the country after mandatory quarantine hotel was implemented because they somehow thought it would be lifted in April. A guy in front of me argued with the Air Canada agent for half an hour—he didn’t want to take the PCR arrival test because apparently last time he had ended up in quarantine with a false-positive result.

I queued for about 90 minutes. I had to show my proof of vaccination (my European “vaccine passport”) and COVID test result to get my boarding pass, which took about five minutes. The agent stuck a blue dot on my passport—“don’t take it off, it shows you’re vaccinated.”

I forgot I had entered France with my French passport. I handed out my Canadian passport to the border police and obviously they couldn’t find me in the system. Oops. Jason Bourne moment.

Final French moment at the gate, before boarding—there was a smoking room! So many passengers were sneaking in for a smoke—picture ten or twenty people in a very small smoky room, masks off obviously…

Above the Atlantic Ocean, the flight

The plane was empty when we booked the tickets on June 21 but it ended up being completely full. In fact, the night before flying, Air Canada sent me an email asking if I could please change my travel date, “we’re waiving the change fee!” Yeah, I don’t think so considering I had already taken my PCR test and bought my train ticket.

So, who was travelling to Canada?

• Snowbirds who had been waiting for the quarantine-hotel requirement to be lifted (mostly Québécois who were in the Caribbean last winter)
• Canadian immigrants in France going to see relatives
• A handful of Canadians who had travelled elsewhere in Europe (Greece, etc.) to visit relatives and who were connecting in Paris

As far as I know, everybody was fully vaccinated.

This wasn’t a comfortable flight—it was full and many passengers didn’t seem to be familiar with flying etiquette. Except bare minimum service because of all the COVID measures. For instance, you no longer have the famous “chicken or pasta” dilemma, you get a (terrible) pre-packaged dinner and you are constantly reminded you can only start eating when there are no Air Canada flight attendants in the aisle.

Montreal, at border control

Trudeau Airport was pretty empty with just passengers from our flight queuing at border control.

First stop was at the self-service kiosk to complete my custom declaration. I scanned my passport, didn’t remove my mask for the picture and answered a few questions, then my declaration was printed out.

The border officer asked for my proof of vaccination and my COVID test results. He didn’t seem to know what to do with the two sheets of paper I got for each dose and I offered to show the more official digital European vaccine passport on my phone. He shrugged. “Can’t scan it anyway.” Then he asked me if I was bringing food (the “no” surprised him) and that was it.

Montreal, the arrival COVID test

I picked up my backpack and I looked around, confused—wasn’t I supposed to take the arrival PCR test? Where?

Turns out it’s after you exit the airport, right in the arrival hall. You’re literally meters from the exit doors and your loved ones waiting for you. It’s torture.

Unfortunately, there was a long, long queue and instructions were very confusing.

First, some people weren’t sure whether the test applied to Canadians since signs said “mandatory testing for international passengers.”

I was asked whether I was vaccinated and when I replied I was, I was told to just leave. “Don’t I need to get tested?” Another agent said I did. “Where do you live?”

“Ottawa,” I reply.

“Then take a collection kit and take your test at home.”

“No,” I protested. “I’d rather have it done here at the airport.”

I saw “Switch Health” on the box and I read enough horror stories from travellers stuck in quarantine because the company doesn’t process tests fast enough. Plus fuck it, if I have to get tested again, I want it to be done professionally.

“Go then, we won’t stop you!”

“I want to be tested as required,” I explained. “I just don’t want to do it myself at home.”

So I joined the queue and I waited, waited and waited despite booking my test with Biron before departure. Took me two hours to see a nurse and it was the weirdest PCR test ever—this time, she barely inserted the swab into my nostril.

Welcome to Canada, eh.

Now, where is Feng…