Querétaro glittered beneath the black sky as we descended. It would be well past 2300 when we landed.
I was ready to get myself and Miko off this plane and into the AirBnb. It was the eleventh hour of our journey. I had been tense through most of it. Anyone who knows me knows I don’t like waiting. I’ve actually gotten very good at it.
But today, I had Miko with me. And she was being a very brave little girl. No food, no toilet, no movement, no drugs. She deserved to be home.
First Airport: Montréal
Pierre-Trudeau sucks.
Nowhere to Charge
It took me years to find an outlet to charge my phone. And when I did, it didn’t work. Neither did the one next to it. Or the one next to it.
The Bathrooms
The only good thing about these bathrooms is the one charger above the diaper change station. This is where I straightened my fringe.
I think there might have been only three toilets in the whole airport, and I’d need a motorcycle to get from one to the other. One had a queue of 19. The other 27.
You know the bathroom situation is hopeless when you’d rather use the one in the plane.
My Own Sour Mood
I wasn’t feeling excited at the Montréal airport. Maybe because I didn’t offer as heartfelt a goodbye as I’d been planning to. I was talking to two women, and found myself wishing they would take a pause from whatever banal story they’re telling me. Even the announcements didn’t stop their yapping.
I’m someone who needs to feel pretty. I guess I wasn’t having the best hair day that I wanted. So when the young dude next to me wasn’t in immediate awe of me, it made me wonder if my best days are over. He didn’t even feign an interest in my cat. I also saw something online I didn’t like, something related to an ex and another girl.
And worst of all, I didn’t want to drag around this irritation.
I wanted to be excited for my new life, the one that’s waiting for me with open arms and majestic skies. Why were my fingers tap-dancing across the screen? What am I hiding from?
And just as we’re about to take off, the AirBnb host messages me. I’d arranged to have kitty litter delivered to the apartment. “It’s not delivered,” he told me, “You need to write or call Amazon.”
But the plane had already started moving…
First Flight
I scheduled some time to cry as we ascended. Mont Royal was so visible that you could touch it. Memories danced off the surface of the earth: watching the sunset at St. Joseph Oratary, drinking forbidden beers in Parc LaFontaine, riding through those streets, taking pictures at that terrace, running through those trees, stories over sparkly nights and cocktails, the music we'd run into in random spots...
Rachel had handed me a letter just as I stepped foot into security.
I got it out and cried some more.
This flight had no entertainment and no free meals.
American Airlines: You’re losing points against Emirates and Turkish Airlines.
At least I was able to plug my phone.
Even though it was a five-hour flight, I was treating it like a 60-minute one. I couldn’t enjoy my books. I kept leaning down to look at Miko. The carrier was too big to swiftly lift up and put into my lap.
I was seated next to a father-daughter duo. They asked zero questions about Miko. This is how I knew they had no soul.
They also didn’t offer me any of their snacks. It made me think of the Polish girl during my bus ride from Paris to Berlin. She had offered chocolate and was therefore far better than them. I also thought it was odd, that this girl was at one point, holding the bag of peanuts between her legs and her dad dug his hand into it to help himself to some.
They never got up to use the bathroom. Another sign that they're not humans. I had to do the awkward dance of asking them to move and let me through.
I had my pee. I poked my head out. No one was waiting. I closed the door and had myself a quick wank. It relaxed me immensely. My skin re-tinged with pink, my hair marginally silkier than before, a smile of mischief beaming.
Airplanes are loud, so I helped myself to a little bit of noise too.
I think one dude heard me. He was bald.
Second Airport
The wheels touched down in America—a land that, for nearly 40 years, had lived only on screens, in books, and in my imagination.
The flight attendant asked the plane to allow passengers with connecting flights to exit first. “Texan hospitality,” she called it. I’d never heard of that. Now I knew. And I wasn’t too surprised. I know a lot of them make bad lifestyle decisions. But even in her voice, I hear the state's sweetheartness.
Bathrooms
-9 points for Montréal, and 967346+ points for Dallas in this regard. Why?
They had a screen outside each bathroom telling you two things:
1/ How many stalls are empty
2/ How long a walk it is to the next bathrooms
I heard everything is big in Texas. And that includes the stalls. I could comfortably pee with Miko, my bulging backpack, and my rolling carry-on had I brought it with me.
The colours in the Montréal toilets were a sad grey. These were a warmer orange.
Each sink had three faucets: one for soap, one for water, one for drying.
Are we living in the future?
This little kid said to me about my cat, “She’s a cute one,” “YOU’RE a cute one,” I told him. Even though that phrase of his was very adult.
Chargers and Burgers
Like a normal airport, DFW had outlets everywhere. See, YUL? Take notes…
Feeling lighter, I walked with a mild smile to the closest burger place that was not McDonalds. I ordered the only thing I can have on the menu: a very expensive veggie burger.
“Excellent choice!” said the guy making it. I could tell he was Arab of sorts. My bet would be Syrian. If I had a hat, I'd tip it.
The bartender tried to pass by as I set down my Miko and bags.
“Excuse me, Ma’am,” he said. I don’t like that word. I know it’s common here. It makes me feel middle-aged and bulging.
We sniffed each others’ pheromones. Subtle sexual tension. I was back.
My burger was enormous. I gobbled it with zero apology.
(Fries on their way)
3. Delays and Communication
I had my burger.
I was happy.
I visited the good toilets.
I was happy.
I stepped out of the toilets, and saw that they changed my gate.
I was not happy.
I thought I was doing well, being a good girl. But with 30 minutes left, I grabbed my cat bag and ran over to the shuttle, over to Terminal B. A very nice man asked about Miko. He could have been Santa without the beard. I was feeling the “Texan hospitality”.
Second Flight
Miko and I got two seats to ourselves on our second flight. Most of my optimism had returned. I journaled a bit on my laptop. Mainly to you, my audience:
“I’m in the plane so I’m writing this on Pages which is the biggest loser of all the writing documents. I think the most beautiful part is that there’s no one in the middle seat, though I hope I haven’t spoken too soon. On va voir.
Maybe you’ve been wondering where I’ve been these past few weeks. But most likely, you don’t give a shit because you’ve got your own lives going on.
And I haven’t cared about you either because I’ve had my own shit going on.
The guy next to me is groaning as he stretches. Oh great, and now he’s whistling. Badly. It’s not a clean whistle. I think maybe I’m entering the culture of people being too imposing with their existence. Of people smacking their gums as they eat, and using vivid arm gestures. I think it might take a while to get used to it.
Oh. But at least he’s friendly. And he said Hi to Miko. I asked him not to point her out to the flight staff. She’s not allowed on the seat.
‘Don’t worry,’ he assured, ‘I won’t tell anyone’. He told me his Dad is bringing the car to the airport, and he’ll drive them back to their home.
‘Why not let your Dad drive?’ I asked him,
‘I don’t like him driving at night,’ he said.
I got warm hearing that.
Wow, what a week. I pack up up my life in Montréal, to carry it to Mexico. I’m days away from my period (hopefully). And one of my best friends decides to pick a fight with me. Friend break-up, period, life move. I have no idea what I’m flying into. But oh - look - there’s Querétaro. I see it! It looks happy!”
[NEXT EPISODE: AIRPORT DRAMA]
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