Flights
Standing in front of Lyon’s cathedral, I watched darting swallows dive towards the fountain in the cobblestoned square and listened to their shrill chatter competing with that of a group of school children engrossed in a scavenger hunt of some kind. Clutched in their hands were sheafs of papers of drawings of the many images (saints, etc) on the friezes of the exterior of the church, and their goal seemed to be to find matches. There was much animated shrieking when this was accomplished.
Suddenly I was approached by three equally excited teenagers who asked me urgently in rapid French if I could help them win a competition – another type of scavenger hunt! – by taking part in a flashdance; ‘Trės simple’ they reassured me. “Bien sǔr,” I replied! They quickly rounded up about a dozen more hapless tourists and we were told that we simply had to do Michael Jackson’s Moonwalk. At ‘une, deux, trois’, we all did this for about a minute, amid much laughter. One teen filmed us, as proof of succeeding in this segment of their competition, and then they all darted off, swallow-like, presumably to accomplish the next goal.
When I returned to our hotel, with baguette, cheese, nectarines and a bottle of wine in hand, I found my sister Margaret reclining, leg elevated, having, she believed, sprained her ankle. She had given her presentation at the International Conference of Law and Mental Health, where it was very well received, and as she left the venue with a group of participants, animatedly discussing and walking and talking at the same time, she had tripped over a cobblestone. One moment upright; the next on the ground. She had managed to hobble back to the hotel. After a short rest however, the next time she tried to stand she could not weightbear at all.
That evening my French was put to the test as I requested ice from the front desk and then forayed to a pharmacy to procure a compression bandage and a pair of crutches; the European kind, like Tiny Tim’s, that go up the forearms. The next day was spent in the emergency room of a nearby hospital. We emerged after many hours, Margaret with her lower left leg in a cast due to a broken tibia, a prescription for blood thinners and pain killers, and a document to allow her to fly…. “Madame, you must return back to Canada as soon as possible; leg elevated. You will need to arrange Business Class.” The disappointment at missing Portugal, where Margaret was to have delivered her second presentation and where I would have wandered the churches and cathedrals of Lisbon, was acute.
Knowing that moving to a hotel close to the airport would be important, we checked out of our chic little inn in the old quarter of Lyon and made our way to an airport hotel. This hotel was inside the airport, so we only needed to go down an elevator and voilà, we would be in the terminal. Once deposited by our taxi inconveniently a terminal away from our hotel, I managed to locate an airport wheelchair and piled Margaret and our suitcases into it, her crutches crossed in front of her like lances to ward off anyone who wandered into our path. I was laden down with our two purses crossed over my chest; one of our backpacks on my front and the other on my back. Thankfully and presciently, we had packed with carry-on only for our almost 3 week trip. Then through the crowded airport we charged, with me calling out ‘Excusez moi!!” every few seconds.
Margaret spent the next day and into the evening contacting the various people connected to her travel insurance to see about changing her ticket home. I was on my own for that but phoned my husband Brian to wail for his help. As soon as Margaret was told “we want to get you on tomorrow’s flight at 1 p.m.”, Brian then spent hours miraculously getting me on the same flight. But then….just as he had accomplished that, an email came from one of the many people trying to organize Margaret’s flights: “Sorry, we can’t get you out til Wednesday.”
Margaret did not have a ticket home for the next day, but I did! It was almost midnight, so the only thing left to do was wait until early the next morning to see what we could accomplish.
After a sleepless night, I was starting to gird my loins to get ready to go down to the terminal and try my persuasive best with Air Canada when at 7 a.m., Brian phoned. He had managed to speak to someone who had told him that if Margaret had a French doctor’s ‘Fit to Fly’ document (which she did) and was willing to pay for her ticket herself (which she was), she could deal with being reimbursed upon her return (which she earnestly hoped would happen!).
Margaret and I decided, “It’s worth trying!” We quickly packed and checked out of the hotel (feeling fairly certain we’d be checking back in within an hour or so), and then with Margaret reinstalled onto the purloined wheelchair (which had spent the night in the room with us), we hiked through the airport and throngs of Saturday travellers to the Air Canada desk.
Miraculously, there was no line up, in fact no customers at all, and not only that, but there was an employee at the desk. A very stern-looking woman. My first words were, “Madam, parlez vous Anglais?” “Yes,” she replied without a smile. Nervously, I began to describe our predicament. Just then, Margaret’s phone began to ring from the depths of the luggage and she managed to extricate it before it stopped ringing. It was the insurance contact person in France and once Margaret told her where we were, she asked for the phone to be passed over. Two women speaking together in their own language, and Margaret’s story was accepted!
After paying the exorbitant price for the business-class ticket, we were told to ‘Vite, vite!’ make our way to the ‘Accessibility Counter’ where we were to connect with the employees who would be in charge of getting Margaret to where she needed to go. A kind young man transferred Margaret to a different wheelchair and off we went, with me trotting happily along behind with the luggage. We arrived at the gate for our flight with a whole hour to spare. Our kind young man left us, with reassurances that his colleague would come in time to push Margaret from the gate to the door of the plane.
Margaret and I could hardly believe our amazing good fortune! But then I began to anxiously watch the clock and also peer down the long corridor for ‘the colleague’ in his or her orange smock to arrive. I approached the employees at the gate and was told, “Do not worry Madam; they will come!” Preboarding began. Again I approached the employees, assuring them that I could push the wheelchair my sister was in. “Impossible, Madam. Do not worry; they will come!” Then the last passengers left the gate area for the plane and we were the last two remaining. I was frantic, thinking that after all we’d been through, we were not going to make it on the plane. Then an employee came charging up the ramp that the passengers had gone down, red-faced and shouting at the others, “Où sont-ils?? Où sont les deux passagères??” I ran up to him and said, in French, “Monseiur, I can push this wheelchair!” … and he replied, “Come with me then!”
And so we made our flight. And arrived in Montreal.
Wanting to kiss the soil of Canada upon our return and after only a few more small hiccups (no employee with a wheelchair to greet us; boarding passes that had us on different flights; problems with ArriveCan), we settled into our seats for our final leg of the trip – Margaret in Business class and me back in Economy. I was so relieved and again, could hardly believe our luck in making it thus far. Then, a young woman stopped in front of where I sat….”Madame, I believe you are in my seat.” The two of us had identical boarding passes.
As I got the flight attendant’s attention I thought to myself, “It will be me they throw off the plane; I know it!” The flight attendant shook his head in dismay, “This is bad; very bad…I shall need to see what I can do.” And he disappeared. The young woman and I avoided eye contact, not wanting to bond. Then the flight attendant returned and pointed at me…my heart sank. “You!” he exclaimed, “Shall go and sit up there near your sister!”
And so our last five hours of this extraordinary journey were spent in relieved comfort…and deep sleep.