The Friendly Skies, Lost Sleep, Lost Luggage, and Expectations

The trip started great! The airport shuttle dropped me 30 minutes early. This was good, as the woman in the seat forward of me had a caffeine transfusion somewhere and went on and on and on… Her traveling partner was regaled with recipes, grandchildren stories, fashion tips and weather related comments most of the 90 minute trip. All this delivered in a voice like a nasal bassoon and loud enough to carry over the noise of a one ton diesel van bounding over the apparently cobble-stoned Missouri interstate between Columbia and St. Louis.

Like a good citizen, I arrived 3 ½ hours early for my international flight as instructed. Dreading the much vaunted security procedures, I walked up to the Air Canada desk, received my boarding pass, went through security and arrived at my gate 3 hours and 15 minutes early. So much for being a good citizen.

The flight plan was a regional jet to Toronto, transfer to the wonderful 747-400 that will take 19 hours to cross Canada, pick up more riders in Vancouver and arrive (theoretically) in Hong Kong at 0630 the following morning. Well, after some confusion in Toronto involving my baggage being lost, found, hauled around awhile, inspected by customs agents, lost and found again and then dragged through customs for a second pass, I boarded the Boeing chariot headed to the East.

Now 747’s are BAP’s (Big-Assed Planes). When I look at one through the airport window I always think, 'no way these things can fly through the air!' They are long and wide with a big lump on the top front that is a second story above the main floor. Looks like God’s golf bag laid on it’s side with some stubby wings tacked on – can’t fly, surely. But they do, and this one does, with me in it, 30 minutes late. Late is good as long as it gets in the air. The second leg from Toronto to Vancouver begins.

I like to sit in the last row. It’s loud as hell (which incidentally covers up my snoring when I manage a few minutes sleep), but is near the toilet and there’s a place to stand and stretch near the galley. I have to stand up and wander around some every hour or so to avoid being a cripple after 19 hours in the air. The trip across Canada to Vancouver is uneventful and Air Canada service is friendly and efficient. After an hour's stop in Vancouver to clean the plane and reload more people, we headed out on a great-circle route for Hong Kong, a path that took us north across the Yukon, the Bering Straits, Russia, Korea, China and, finally, 13 ½ hours later, brought us to Hong Kong at 0630 (bang on time).

This was an uneventful transit of half the world; of smooth take-offs, Bigelow-carpet landings and mostly edible food, except the soup. Despite the fact that Air Canada trusted us with metal forks and spoons, no untoward terrorist activities interrupt the 13+ hours of boredom sitting under a burnt-out reading light. US Airlines should note that we were not hijacked by a fork wielding madman; no one tried to pry their way into the cockpit with the airline-provided toothpicks and spoons weren’t used in any potentially lethal way, other than to convey marginally edible soup to the passengers’ mouths. We flew the friendly skies.

Hong Kong was just like Toronto and St. Louis – overcast, misting and foggy. That’s where the similarities ended. As sure as the sun rises and sets somewhere above the gloomy and persistent clouds, I was definitely not in Kansas anymore.