So, my friends, you know my life is not without an occasional adventure. Let me describe today.

Yesterday an announcement was made at the closing event of the conference: some union, the nurses I think, were going on strike and would blockade all the big highways in Mexico on Monday, starting at 8 a.m. We were advised, if we wanted to get to the airport, to leave early, possibly at 4 a.m. My flight was scheduled for 1.25 p.m., and the shuttle I booked advised pickup at 6 a.m. for the four hour drive. Gruesome, but better to be safe.

So I was up at 5.30, rushing about cramming in a bit of breakfast and finishing packing. The car arrived at 6.10 with two women from the conference in the back seat, also going to the airport, although on different flights. One was Lucia, who had asked me about editing her memoir and with whom I’d had several great chats, so we already felt like friends. Our driver drove extremely fast, sometimes over 150 kph, while checking about the strikes on his phone. However, by then, I’d received notification my flight was going to be delayed by 3 hours. Departure 4.30. So of course, we got to the airport in record time, no strike interruptions. My kids were sending pictures of the latest huge dump of snow in TO. Apparently there were gale force winds and more snowstorms all over the Eastern seaboard.

The Air Canada desk wasn’t even open yet; the staff were in a corner chatting while a young Russian ranted about how terrible AC was and he would never take it again etc. Lucia’s flight wasn’t until midnight; she’d come so early because of the possible blockades, so she went off and texted me she’d booked a room at the airport Marriott just for the day. When the AC desk finally opened, they assured me the flight would leave at 4.30 and reissued a boarding pass. It was nearly 10 a.m. A long day ahead. As I was sorting out the flight, I thought I recognized the man standing behind me in line, and asked, “John? John Irving?” It was he. He’d been at the conference to deliver the first night’s keynote and was also delayed getting back to TO.

So began the next phase of the adventure.

John is having health issues and was not happy about what was going on, so I accompanied him through the very long and chaotic security line. He’d been told there was a lounge for Business Class passengers, and I went with him on the long trek to find it. We told the woman at the door that although I have an Economy ticket, I was needed as John’s assistant, and so I found myself in a quiet, luxurious lounge, chatting for hours with John. There was good food. There was free champagne although at 10.30 a.m. it did not look tempting.

Hours later, we were just thinking about going down to prepare for our flight out when Anna wrote to tell me there’d been a plane crash at Pearson.
“Oh no,” John said.

“Oh no,” I said.

We learned there were injuries but no deaths, miraculous because the plane flipped upside down. The photos were terrifying. And then we learned the airport had shut down. And then we learned our flight had been cancelled. We made our way down to the Air Canada desk, where you can imagine the scene, scores of people milling about, and a few poor workers who barely spoke English trying to sort things out. We stood in line for almost an hour, making friends with all the Canadians around us. We heard we might be there until Thursday! John was really suffering; he’d contracted bronchitis in San Miguel and had a lot of medication to deal with. So I took Lucia as inspiration and by some miracle managed to book two rooms at the Marriott for that night on my phone, on which I am not very adept.

We finally got to the AC desk. I should tell you that again I was in the Priority line instead of with the humble folk. We said again I was needed as John’s helper, and we finally got rebooked — for a flight at 1 a.m. Wednesday morning. And then we had to go downstairs and find a certain gate and go through the @#$@ security line again to pick up John’s checked suitcase – mine was a carryon – and come right back out again. And find the Marriott, which you get to through the parking garage. Luckily, as we were stumbling around lost, there was Lucia, who guided us to the hotel.

I was relieved to make sure John got safely to his room and to find mine. Lucia texted to say her flight had been bumped to 1 a.m., so I invited her up to my room to wait in peace and quiet — had to argue with the front desk to let her up because she was no longer staying here. Had to call the desk twice because the internet wasn’t working properly. At last we went down for dinner with John. Lucia came back here for a bit, and we declared that after going through this day, we are bonded for life. I had a hot hot shower and am now in bed at 11 p.m., woozy with fatigue. All through, was texting my kids who were worried and sending pictures of unbelievable amounts of snow, texting my tenant, then writing to my students that unfortunately I would not be teaching them tomorrow night, I’d make it up to them. Wrote to my boss at U of T to explain.

Could be so much worse. Could have been on a plane that flipped upside down; I cannot imagine such fear. Could have been on one of the flights that was midway across the Atlantic and had to turn back. Could be figuring out where to sleep. Could have been travelling with small children. This is a very comfortable bed. I hope to get outside tomorrow at some point, to feel the sun on my face and to breathe real air. But I’m beyond grateful to be here, writing to you, from Room 334.

Yes, I owe you pictures. At some point.