Pearson International Airport, Toronto: Day 1

We awaken at 4 am to arrive at the airport in good time to ensure a place on a flight to London. Greg and I are into day 6 of a departure delay due to the spewing volcano in Iceland; all airports in the U.K. have been shut since last Thursday (April 15), our original departure date. We have had to cope with false hopes of leaving: highly frustrating. Airline, airport, and media websites provide contradictory information, leading to confusion over whether to bother going to the airport simply to be told to go home or risk missing a flight (we have already had one false start and one missed flight). It does not look likely we will be able to leave today either.

A mob scene at the airline counter desk as frustrated British nationals, waiting for a week to get home, express outrage at airport staff for lack of transparency. Some have young families and have to put up with mounting hotel costs they are having to bear on their own.

Good thing we are stranded on this side of the pond. Paranoid thoughts waft in and out: once in Europe, what if the volcano resumes activity and we get stuck and cannot return in time for me to teach in the next term? We are ready to give up on Europe and just go somewhere on the continent (maybe New York). We have looked into last-minute flights to other European sites not affected by the volcano, but they are too costly, at this late stage.

We spend hours looking out vast windows onto the tarmac. We notice typical airport activities and interactions one does not normally take in. Being here for this long gives one the opportunity to observe closely. I intersperse long periods of reading with computer work and amblings in the terminal.  I feel a combination of excitement at the prospects of finally seeing Europe - a lifelong dream - with the fear of that dream dashed.

I remark on how beautiful the terminal interior is, how the light changes, and with it the mood of the place, as the day unfolds. I had never noticed it before; clearly, I have been here too long.

In all, we return to the airline desk three times: the first at 5 a.m., the next at 10 a.m., and the last at 3:00 p.m. The first two attempts produce nothing but crushing disappointment as staff tell us we are low on the waiting list. Priority is given to stranded Europeans waiting to get home, understandably so.

Despite feeling frustrated, I feel for the airline staff, who have never had to deal with these kinds of circumstances before. In particular, the front-line staff, who have had to cope with the extreme stress of having to be polite while dealing with rude, clamouring customers, as they await orders from their well-insulated managers. I imagine many of them have aged years in the past week.

Finally at 3:15, a miracle: we are told to go to the Gate for immediate departure! Bewildered at the sudden turn of events, we rush over, tickets in hand, hand luggage in tow.

We have been at the airport now for 12 hours, our nerves frayed and hopes for a European holiday spent. The sudden change in circumstances is shocking enough to leave us incredulous the long flight over. After a week of anxious waiting, we are finally on our way.

See slide show below for more images (click on slide show to enlarge):