May 7, 2026
As the Boeing 737-800 accelerated down the runway, already an hour behind on its voyage, I knew that there was no way I was going to make my already tight connection in Amsterdam.
Whoops! Sorry! I’m getting ahead of myself.
I should probably start with who I am and how I got here. Well… “here” in the sense of here on this trip.
First, the “who”.
I think most of the people reading here will already know me. I’m known as pkondz on the DISboards where Liesa and I first “met”, both online, and later, in person. I’m an old dude who likes to travel and try new things and new foods.
Next, the “how”.
(I am nothing if not inconsistently consistent… which is better than consistently incontinent… I am sure that’s next for me.)
When Liesa started posting messages about looking for someone to travel with, I didn’t really give it much thought. I assumed that someone would take her up on her offer. I mean… Come on! Who wouldn’t want to see the sights that she was describing? After a couple more posts where she mentioned asking a plethora of various folk to join her, with no takers, I took a risk and messaged her and asked if she wouldn’t want a middle-aged, fat dude to accompany her.
She said “No.”
(The lady is no fool.)
I got down on my (figurative) knees and begged. I wrung my hands, gnashed my teeth, pulled my hair (when my hands weren’t being wrung… also explains my decided lack of hair), and generally made a fool of myself… until I totally embarrassed myself and shamed her into reluctantly agreeing to let me tag along.
She had very strict rules. “Her way or the highway.” I agreed. And then I quickly made a few suggestions to change her itinerary and she immediately caved.
Okay, that’s the “who” and the “how”. Hopefully the “why” is self-evident. If it’s not, then why are you even reading this??
Liesa asked if I’d write a little blurb about my travel day so here it is. Apologies for the long-windedness and the painfully dry drivel.
I was packed and ready to check in for my flights. Winnipeg to Halifax, Halifax to Amsterdam, and Amsterdam to Prague; with a very short connection in Amsterdam. One hour and twenty minutes, to be exact. I would then have about a five hour wait in Prague, until Liesa’s flight arrived.
I was a little nervous about that last connection. Since I’d booked the flights, Europe had begun using their EES (EU Entry/Exit System) that had snarled border entries across the continent.
I checked in to my flights, only to discover that the last leg’s boarding pass could not be issued. Instead, I was told to see an agent at the airport. Okay. I looked into getting an Uber or Lyft to the airport, and the decision was made for me when I found that Lyft was going to cost $38 versus Uber’s $23. Some kind of discount. I’ll take it. (**Liesa’s note: I’ve used both RideShare platforms a LOT, and it definitely pays off to check both Apps as the prices can vary wildly- same day, same trip!)
The following afternoon, I climbed into my previously reserved, discounted Uber and headed out to the airport. I’d managed to fit all my things into a backpack. A heavy backpack… but still.
Since Liesa’s shown you hers, I’ll show you mine.
For those who want to know, it’s the Osprey Farpoint Travel backpack. There’s a smaller daypack that attaches to the front of the backpack. The backpack meets airline size requirements for carry on, and the daypack fits under the seat and meets personal item size restrictions. I did manage to fit the entire assembly into some overhead bins, but not all. In those cases, I quickly detached the daypack and still was able to shove it in the overhead bin. (I like my foot room, thankyouverymuch.) If, for some reason, you have to check it, the straps can be zipped away and there’s a handle to convert it into a suitcase.
No wheels, though. You’re supposed to have it on your back, after all.
Arriving at the airport, I sashayed over to an agent who informed me that I would have to pick up my last boarding pass in Amsterdam. She explained that they probably needed to see my passport. Okay. Whatever. Tight connection… but I’m sure it’ll work out.
Hopefully.
Maybe.
I have a Nexus pass (similar to the US Global Entry), so breezed through security. I stopped at the Rocky Mountain Chocolate Factory and picked up a small box of chocolates for the airline crew. I don’t always do that, (and when I do, it’s usually cookies) but the flight attendants work really hard and always appreciate it.
There are three classes of seat selection on most WestJet flights. Premium (for the hoity-toity), economy, and ultra-basic. The latter meaning you have to pay even more than the already felonious fees airlines charge for a checked bag, are not allowed a carry on, and are last to board, where you will have to walk the aisle of shame as your fellow (and better off) passengers stare at you with a mixture of wonder, disdain, and pity.
I, however, using a combination of points, cash, and stupidity, had acquired for myself a seat in the premium section. (Well, I am hoity-toity on occasion.) I passed my chocolates on to the first flight attendant I saw, sat down and was handed a menu.
See? Hoity-toity!
Not long after boarding, once everyone was settled, we taxied out for departure. As I gazed out the window, my seatmate informed me that we were using this runway as it was the preferred runway for eastbound departures. I nodded politely. I did not tell him that we were on runway 36 because of the fifteen knot (or greater) wind out of the North. (As evidenced by the windsock.)
Nor did I tell him that the flight would follow a prescribed track of RORMA AXOMA SIDPO DEGVA (aviation fixes) before proceeding on course. Or that the flight had filed a flight level of 35 thousand feet. Or that the civil registration for this particular aircraft was C-FQGG. I did tell him that we were holding and not taking off because a Q400 aircraft had just landed on runway 33 (and the runways cross so can’t have planes taking off or landing at the same time.)
I did not tell him that he was full of it, as there was no preferred runway for eastbound flights (or any direction.) There are preferred routes… and when I say “preferred”, I mean if I see you flying something else, I am going to force you on that route.
Don’t teach your grandmother to suck eggs, son.
Soon we were on our way!
Notice how brown it is? We’d had snow just a day or two earlier.
Shortly after we were airborne, a flight attendant paid me a visit.
FA: “Did you bring us chocolates?” Me: “Yes, I did.” FA: “Thank you!” Me: “You’re very welcome.”
And then… she just looked at me. I looked at her.
She kept looking.
I kept looking.
It would’ve been very weird, except…
Me: “Val?”
FA: “pkondz?”
Small world! I took a few adult tap classes several years ago and she was our teacher! We chatted for a little bit. She explained that she still teaches tap once a week. Eventually, she had to return to her duties and headed farther back in the plane. Interestingly, her young tap class assistant had also become a flight attendant (I had seen her once at another gate for another flight.) Hmm… come to think of it, that may be how Val got her job.
The remainder of the flight was uneventful. I had dinner…
…and watched some shows on my phone. Soon we were descending into Halifax.
My seatmate followed me off the plane and made a comment or two about him being a pilot so he pretty much knew a lot about flying. I asked him if he was a private pilot or if he flew for an airline. He told me he flew for a particular airline of which I was familiar. (Small-ish airline with 25-30 aircraft.) I told him I talked to his dispatchers all the time. When he found out I worked for NavCanada, (Canada’s air navigation provider), he exclaimed: “NavCanada! If I’d known I was sitting beside someone from NavCanada, I would’ve asked you a whole bunch of questions!”
Precisely why I did not tell him.
There was a two-hour connection window until my next flight from Halifax to Amsterdam. Plenty of time to stretch my legs, use the facilities and find my gate. Soon we began boarding. I was given another menu, but I really didn’t want a second dinner… especially after midnight local time.
No familiar faces this time. Boarding complete. Doors closed… and the pilot made the following announcement:
“Ladies and gentlemen, we have a light on in the cockpit, so we’re going to have to wait until maintenance gets here to look at it. We hope they can fix it quickly and we’ll be on our way in about 20 minutes.”
About 15 minutes later, we were informed that it would likely be another 15-20 minutes. Eventually, the light was fixed and we were ready to go. Our original time of departure was scheduled for 11:50pm and it was now 12:45am.
As the Boeing 737-800 accelerated down the runway, already an hour behind on its voyage, I knew that there was no way I was going to make my already tight connection in Amsterdam.