Barcelona Bound!

Europe 2017: Spain and Portugal

Sept 17^th. Barcelona Bound.

It is Sunday morning, early, as I lug my bags out of the back of the Jeep at YVR, Vancouver’s International Airport.

A smoky haze hangs over the North Shore mountains in the distant, a reminder, I suppose, of the forest fires that have been plaguing British Columbia all summer. Despite this, the promise of beautiful autumn day beckons, the sun already warming the crisp morning air as I trudge into the terminal balancing my Air Canada allotment of bags through the heavy glass doors.

A quick wave and I disappear into the vast expanse of the terminal.

Passport. Tick.

Boarding Pass. Tick.

To the kiosk for the bag tags! (Sometimes I wonder if all this do-it-yourself-everything – check-in-online, print your own boarding pass, haul your own bag to the conveyor belt and plop it on, face down of course – has really reduced the number of staff and overhead, or if it just means the airline workers get to watch us do all the work and make their life easier.)

I bag lighter, I am on to security. A deceptively long line snakes back and forth feeding to two security checkpoints way to the right while business clad travellers, smug and efficient, breeze by, Nexus card proudly clasped in their manicured hands.

“We will BE boarding this flight in Zones”, announces the cheery gate attendant. “Please check your boarding pass for your zone number.”

Despite the fact the plane is still being cleaned and checked and boarding will not commence for another fifteen or twenty minutes, travellers quickly grab their bags and scurry to be first in their designated line. It is tempting to join in that unspoken competition, not to be at the back of the line. But really… after all we all have assigned seats, no one is going to take your seat. So I remain in my seat watching the lines build. Finally the boarding begins, Zone 1 (Business Class, definitely not me – too cheap), Zone 2 (Elite- not, that’s not me – too smug and pretentious).

Zone 3 – I think 90% of the plane – and me- are in Zone 3. The line winds well down the corridor, melding into Flight 342 to Calgary. Confused flyers wander aimlessly, trying to decipher where they should be. Every now and them a bold flyer injects themselves into the line, confidently and assertively. Despite the fact the line obviously winds into infinitely beyond, they determine it is their place to assert themselves well forward into the line. But, being Canadians, we shake our heads politely, grumble a little, and let them in.

Finally, settled in, the plane roars, liftoff, we soar into the clear blue sky and I am on my way. Next stop, Toronto.

A brief stop to met up with my travel buddies, have an expensive glass of wine at YYZ and we are off, Barcelona bound.... Come With Me.