Canada, The joy of travel

September 13^th 

I have never been so early ready and prepared for a trip as this time. I started packing and checking and doing the laundry a few days in advance, so I could even cope with a visit of two hours and a 45 minute telephone call the evening before my departure. A kind friend collected me and drove me to Schiphol in plenty of time. Just as well. I thought I had checked everything several times and wondered why I could not check in at home. So I tried the machine at Schiphol, which also refused to check me in. Then an air-hostess told me where to go. So I joined a line, waited till it was my turn only to be told that I had to go to a row of desks opposite.  Again I waited, and when my luggage had been weighed, and all the papers – or almost all – checked and I had been allocated a seat, the airhostess asked for my ESTA document, which I produced. Apparently it was outdated, which I did not know. So I had to pick up my bags again, and go to a special computer, one of three close together, to apply for a new ESTA document. These were dreadful machines with touch screens which either reacted too slowly, not at all, or too quickly. It took ages to fill in the forms, and when they were all done, and it was time to pay by credit card, the forms miraculously disappeared and the screen told me that I could expect the document by mail in about 7 days! That clearly wouldn’t do and I started the whole procedure again, with the same result. It was rather hopeless. And it wasn’t just me, quite a few people, mostly men, were waiting their turn and were cursing the machines. A woman was in tears, fearing she would miss her plane and thus her holiday. There was nobody to give us any assistance. In the end, when we all despaired, an official came to our rescue. No document, but a number was all we got after having paid by credit card. With this I was sent again to a desk, and when I suggested that the other row of desks opposite would be better, she said: No. So I waited again, and when it was my turn the air hostess told me I was at the wrong desk and should go to the other desks opposite. Here I waited again. But lo and behold, when I had given her the number, I was finally issued with my boarding card! The whole procedure had taken an hour or so, which meant there was no time left for shopping as the terminal was right at the other end of the building. I longingly looked at the electronics shop, but had no time to look around. Perhaps just as well, as I noticed that my new camera would have been a lot cheaper if I had bought it here. 
Once on the plane we were all given similar forms as the electronic ESTA form, and I had to start all over again! It seems overdone and rather paranoid to me.

After all the hassle it was a surprise to see the big church in Haarlem from the air, looking like a wooden toy, surrounded by lots of miniature red roofed houses and buildings, straight from the toy box of a young child.

At Minneapolis we landed some 30 minutes late. Here too, the terminal for Canada is kilometers away from the one for the transatlantic flights. So I walked at a fast pace for 15 minutes at least, to get at the gate on time. Because at Minneapolis we had to go through customs, pick up the suitcase and put it back on a conveyor belt and go through security again. Every traveler knows the drill of undressing bit by bit, as if being admitted to prison, no jackets, no shoes, no belts, no metal jewelery, fluids in small quantities in clear plastic bags, laptop open etc. Once at the gate I thought I had made it. But I was called to the desk over the intercom as something was not right. They did not tell me what but started typing in my name and many other data, were on the phone all the time, waiting for a response or the all clear, etc. I despaired of ever getting to my destination on time, but lo and behold after some 20 minutes I was given the all clear, issued with a new boarding card and could finally board the plane just 5 minutes before take-off.

More forms to fill out, now for Canada. But at last, after a rather short flight of just over an hour, I reached my destination. Once more through customs and passport control. I had a seat at the back of the plane, which meant I was the last person out and the last one to retrieve my luggage. But I had reached my destination. My friends who were waiting had almost given up hope as I was the very last person to emerge through the glass sliding doors. It was a happy reunion. All is well that ends well.