The Hell We Endure

I used to love flying.

I'd become excited as my trip approached, wouldn't be able to sleep, the night before. I loved looking out the window and the ground disappeared below, as my familiar landscape was left behind and I saw the world from a new perspective.

As I approached my destination, I'd look for famous landmarks, would wonder at how foreign people lived in the cities and towns above which I'd soar. I loved seeing the ground rush toward me as the plane came in to land.

I loved flying.

Now, flying—in fact, airports, airlines, and airplanes—are the depths of Hell that we must endure to reach paradise and to get back home.

Last year, when DW and I booked our vacation to Mexico, we arranged to fly directly from Ottawa to Cancun. We wanted to avoid larger airports like Montreal and especially Toronto. Lester B. Pearson International Airport is huge, crowded, and the lines are insane. Add to the fact that you have to walk great distances, between terminals, to get from one gate to the next.

But with less than a month before our departure, our airline, Air Canada, cancelled the direct flight from Ottawa and had us fly from Ottawa to Toronto, and then onward, to Cancun. The airline left us with few options: we could cancel our flight or accept the change.

A month after we returned from our vacation, DW found a deal for the same resort, also through Air Canada Vacations, whereby we could stay at the resort for nine nights, for the price of seven, in January of 2023. We loved the resort so much that we took the deal, which also promised a direct flight from Ottawa to Cancun.

A couple of months before our departure, Air Canada repeated the bait-and-switch routine, cancelling the direct flight and routing us through Toronto.

That's fraud, isn't it? When you offer a product but don't deliver it? There was no apparent reason to cancel a direct flight so far in advance. And just as we discovered, last year, when we called ACV to get more information about the flight changes, the wait times to speak to a representative was at least two hours. On two attempts, the call was dropped after being on hold for two hours.

We weren't able to do anything about the cancelled direct flight but at least this time we didn't have a long wait between flights, like the four hours we had in 2022. At least, that's what we thought.

On the morning of our departure, we were awake at 2 AM and were at the Ottawa airport for 3:30, to make our 5:30 flight to Toronto. Our connecting flight was scheduled for just after 8 and we were scheduled to arrive in Cancun for 12:25. We expected to be at the resort no later than 3.

When we arrived at Pearson airport, we learned that there was an unscheduled maintenance that was being performed on our plane, and that our departure was delayed by an hour. That delay became three hours, then five-and-a-half hours, then six hours, and then seven hours. No other explanation was provided.

For our troubles, Air Canada gave us $20 vouchers for food, which could be used anywhere inside the airport. I had a beer and two slices of pizza.

Our time in  the airplane wasn't great. It seems that every time we board an airplane, people cram the overhead compartments with more belongings than are accepted. I always have to pull down a backpack or handbag and ask for the owner, only to find that the person who claims it has not put anything under the seat in front of them, as they should.

Selfish. Thoughtless.

It seems that every year, the seats seem to be more and more cramped, as though the airline has maximized capacity at the cost of minimizing passenger comfort. As soon as I sit in my seat, I can't wait to get out of it and off the plane.

DW and I have opted for aisle seats, unless there are only two seats per side of the aircraft. We don't want to climb over strangers if we have to use the washrooms. I'm barely interested in looking out a window.

And although the mask mandates are not required, I wish they were. Countless unmasked people are coughing without covering their mouths. I wear a mask from the moment that I enter an airport until I arrive at my final destination. I don't want to pick up any germs from strangers and I don't know if I've caught anything while on my vacation, and don't wish to risk spreading it to others.

I really dislike flying.

By the time we arrived at our resort, it was 10:30. We were exhausted and famished. And we had lost the late afternoon and evening of unwinding, comfortably, after our flight.

I can't blame the airline for the delay in leaving Cancun, on our way home: the airport had some delay in fueling the plane, and a storm hit as we were taxiing on the tarmac, resulting in nearly an hour's delay before we could finally take off.

By our calculations, our connection in Toronto was at risk but not impossible. We had 35 minutes to make it between gates. But when we landed at Pearson, we had to hold still on the tarmac as air-traffic control freed up some congestion.

We waited for more than 20 minutes.

But there was some relief, as we learned that our connecting flight to Ottawa was delayed for half an hour. We had, overall, a little more time to get from one gate to the next.

Or so we thought.

Still in the plane from Cancun and pulling up to the gate, we had to stop about 100 metres short because there was no ground crew available to secure us, and then there was no one to open the door and let us out of the plane. By the time we were inside the terminal, our flight to Ottawa was gone.

DW found another plane that was leaving in an hour, and saw that while economy was full, there were seats available in business class. Surely, the airline would rather see seats filled up than go vacant.

But at the airline counter, the computer would not let us get boarding passes. The agent's hands were tied. DW and I would not be allowed on the last flight to leave Toronto, for Ottawa, that night.

We were issued $20 food vouchers, again, to be used inside the airport, and were also given a hotel voucher and limousine passes to and from the hotel. We were booked on the first flight to Ottawa, the next day.

By the time we were settled in the hotel, we were starving, and we ordered in food. By the time we had eaten, it was 1:30 in the morning. We had only four hours to sleep before we'd have to wake up, order a limo ride, and make our way back to Pearson.

Of course, the flight was delayed.

By the time we landed in Ottawa, we were more than nine-and-a-half hours later than we would have been, had we made our original connection. And, of course, we had lost even more time than we would have, had Air Canada honoured our original direct flights.

Yes, we had a wonderful time in Mexico. The resort was every bit as excellent as we had remembered, if not more so, now that even more restrictions have been lifted (the buffet seemed more abundant and offered more selection than last year). Akumal Bay is nothing short of paradise.

But we had to endure the depths of Hell to get there. And we had to endure even worse in getting home.

I'm not about to give up travel because airlines and airports can't get their shit together and seem to have lost any regard for making passengers comfortable. It's what we must endure to get to where we want to be.

God, how I hate to fly.