I want to go home. I’m not sure where home is, but I really need a shower and a fresh change of clothes. I don’t know why I booked a 19:45 return flight from Montreal to Toronto but we woke up this morning faced with checking out at 11:00 then nothing to do until sunset. Two things turned out in our favour.
I went to the Mock Trial for the end of the CAR conference, which had a dismal attendance, like any Sunday half morning at the end of a conference. It was interesting but I was sleepy. We’ve broken our sleep routine terribly this past four days and I’ve not been to the gym and I’m not 18 any more.
I had forgot that two colleagues from Perth are doing fellowships in Montreal, and I’d messaged Kev on Facebook months ago to ask if he was going to the conference. We caught up in Chinatown for yum cha today. We waited half an hour for a table. Popular place. We’ve had very different fellowship experiences, not just because Kev is doing interventional in Montreal and I’ve been doing Women’s Imaging in Toronto. Kev walked half an hour in Montreal snow up the hill all February to get to the hospital at the top. I’ve been catching the subway in relatively balmy downtown Toronto. We discussed our living experiences, travel plans and next step career plans. He bought us coffee and walked with us back to our hotel.
We decided we may as well just get to the airport hours early, get through security and relax at the gate where we could charge electronics and update blogs. I’m glad we did; our flight has been cancelled. We didn’t know this but I asked Dan to ask at the reception desk if we could catch one of the million earlier flights back to Toronto on the chance they weren’t full. We’ve been booked onto a flight an hour earlier. As the woman handed Dan the new boarding passes she asked, “So why are Brits living in Toronto?” I thought it was either a security question or a comment on the recent Royal visit to Australia (since I forget we are in Canada and Australian domestic news is probably irrelevant). Daniel laughed. “Um, we are Australian not British!” Behind her tan brown foundation we could see her blush, especially as the three other Porter staff around the desk joined in the raucous laughter. It was a flirtatious statement that had gone horribly wrong. We’re still giggling.