Out in the Cold

My 5 days in Canada were a bit of a whirl as I hectically tried to sort out my flight down to California and a SIM card. I was successful in the former; not so in the latter. What can I say - if you think mobile phone companies in the UK rip you off, you haven't experienced the shiesterness of Canada. They literally make you pay for each button pressed on the keypad, whether it's your phone or not.

I did, however, have a great Couch Surfing experience with a lass who allowed me to double the length of my intended stay. Her cats weren't as welcoming, taking a few days to even get close to me, but I'm sure I'll win them over when I see them again. I also met up with a guy from school who'd moved out here a couple of years ago. Settled with a wife and child, he swears the quality of living is better than anything he could have expected in the UK and I can't be surprised at that. He kindly took possession of the larger of my two bags for safe keeping, leaving me only my mountaineering bag to haul down to LA. I advise anybody making a long trip to follow the seasons. Preferably Summer so you're clothes are lighter. Sometimes I feel like I need my own transport plane to drop me gear off in the latest destination. I am prepped for all seasons: All Weather Action Man complete with Speedos and Ski Jacket.

On the Monday before Christmas I hauled my sorry behind through the snow to the centre of town to catch a bus to the airport. All this was against the advice of my Couch Surfing host who recommended getting a cab from her house. A cab? She only lived about 30 mins walk away from Vancouver. Yes, well that's 30 minutes...on dry ground...without carrying pieces of luggage. I slipped and slided about the place, stoic in my determination to reach town and catch a bus. Problem is that Vancouver isn't used to prolonged periods of snow and the public transport system - such that it is - is as likely to collapse under the powder-like pressure as anywhere in Blighty. By the time I arrived I was knackered and couldn't find a bus. I caught a cab. I saved myself about $7. It wasn't worth the effort.

Slightly put out by paying for a cab, when the journey planned in my head had been so much smoother, I entered the airport and perused the boards. The news was not good. Cancelled. Cancelled. Cancelled. All the flights to LA had been massively delayed or just removed from service. This did not bode well, although I ended up being one of the fortunate ones because the flight had not been cancelled, just delayed for a few hours. Not bad, not bad.

I checked in and took myself off to security and customs. But it wasn't Canadian Security and Customs - it was the US Border Patrol. What were they doing here? It's as if they'd decided that the Canadians simply couldn't be trusted with who they let out of their own country. Let Uncle Sam take care of it. You can go back to your hockey ad moose hunting, or whatever else you Canuks do for fun. I approached the booth with a sense of trepidation. If I was subjected to the 3rd degree on entering Canada, what the hell was this going to be like? Is Torquemada a common American name? Is that a comfy chair I see in the corner? 'bout to find out. I go up, flash a smile and a cheerful "Hello". To my astonishment I get one back. In fact, we had a chat, he asked his questions, I gave my answers, looked into a camera and scanned my fingerprints. The whole process was over in a few minutes, and a pleasant one it was at that.

If I only I could say the same for my remaining time at Vancouver airport. 6 hours I waited in total, while the plane sat at the Gate waiting for a tardy crew. I wouldn't have minded so much, but they were only in Seattle. They could have driven over in that time.

Quicker than flying!