The first step of my trip to Chicago starts at 9:30 in the morning at the Saskatoon airport. I've been all about the road trips in recent years, and not so much with the flying, so it's a while since I've been here. They've improved the airport quite a bit. Used to be just a large room with one hundred chairs, one window, and two vending machines, and that was your life for the next hour or two. Now, there are full-length windows, a number of actual restaurants (where you can buy overpriced food if you are so inclined - I am not so inclined), and I am currently sitting in a comfy stretchy lounging chair right in front of the windows.
Of course, now that I'm comfortably ensconced here, I can't leave or someone will steal my prime chair. I hope I don't end up having to go to the bathroom. Only an hour and a half to go before my plane arrives! (It's my chair, dammit. MINE.)
Anyway, my first flight is to Calgary, where I will hang out for about an hour and then transfer to a plane going to Chicago. We used to have direct flights to Chicago, but now we don't. Boo! :-(
It's going to be a long day of sitting. I feel like I should be running laps around this airport, but I can't leave my comfy chair.
*****
So, Calgary. That was interesting.
I disembarked in the Calgary airport, then printed off my next boarding pass and searched for my gate. Oh, look - there's the sign for gates 21-24, right next to the food court. How convenient! I stop to buy a Subway sandwich, eat half of it, and then head off to my gate. At which point, I discover that the giant sign leads to these weird locked doors. There are people sitting on the other side. Huh? How do I get through? I go back and ask the WestJet lady. She gets an "uh oh" frowny face, and explains that I can't get through there. (But then why do the giant signs point to doors you can't get through? I will never find out.)
Apparently, what I should have done is ignored the giant signs with arrows pointing to my gates, and I should have instead exited the secure area. Then I should have gone downstairs into the public area, where I would then get back in line to go through security again.
So, now I get to do it at a run! Of course, I have rolling luggage and a heavy bag. So I scurry like a little running rat. Run, rat, run! Scamper down the hallway and down the stairs, and out to the Concourse. Run, run, until I see American flags. Run towards the guard, who sends me back to fill out customs form. Return to the guard and spew my Diet Coke all over him, because insecure Diet Coke cannot go into secure American areas (not like it's an American drink or anything). Scurry all the way to the US customs line-up. One guy is ahead of me in line. Since I am huffing and puffing, he offers to let me go first. I accept. American customs guard says "you shouldn't go ahead of people in line, even if they offer. Also, you have to declare your undeclared Subway sandwich." "I'm sorry. Also, I declare my Subway sandwich." They kindly decide to let me enter in spite of my many deficiencies.
Then I hurry on over to the security screener, where I get to hurry up and wait while they scan my shoes and my Subway sandwich. I'm on the home stretch now: run, run, the last leg to my gate - the signs tell me it's four minutes away, then two, and finally I'm coming up on gate 24, and I'm now on the right side of the locked glass doors. The WestJet people are just checking in the last passengers. "Are you Catherine?" "Yes, I am!" I am congratulated on my running and security dodging skills, since they obviously didn't think I was going to make it.
Am I the last person on the plane? No, there's some poor guy with a lost passport that they're trying to sort out, so I am the second-last person to be checked in. He was miffed at me, because now he was going to be the last guy. Hee hee!
That was the exciting part. The flight itself had a bit of turbulence, but not too bad.
The plane actually arrived early at Chicago O'Hare, but then it seemed we had to taxi for a few miles before reaching the terminal. We were still early when we arrived at the gate, but had to wait because the other plane was still sitting there. When the other plane left, we finally got to move up to the gate. Oh wait, they're having problems with the bridge, they can't line it up with the plane. Another 10 minute delay. This must be the first time a WestJet plane has ever landed here in America.
By the time we finally get off the plane, I think we're a wee bit late. Fortunately for me, I just have my carry-on, so I don't have to wait for luggage. Whee!
Because I'm out in the boonies in Terminal 5, I have to catch a shuttle airport train over to Terminal 2, then make my way through that Terminal to find the trains to the city. Getting to downtown Chicago takes about 45 minutes on the Blue Line train, then another transfer to the Red Line, and then finally I emerge out into downtown Chicago. Whoo hoo! It's cool and windy, and I can't see the top of some of the skyscrapers - they're hidden in the overhanging clouds.
It's about a 7 to 10-block walk to DeWitt Place, where I met Monica and Jen in the lobby. Since I made the reservations, Monica couldn't check in without me, but fortunately she's only been waiting there 10 minutes. Apparently not only am I checking in, I am also paying for the hotel. She claims she'll pay me back - we'll see.
We then have to go to Jen's hotel to retrieve Monica's luggage, then say goodbye to Jen and head back to our hotel. Monica's luggage is excessively heavy. She obviously packed several bricks. Her wheeled luggage is also not excessively mobile. After listening for a while to her wheezing complaints, I decide to help her carry her bag downstairs into the subway station. Whoa! Talk about putting the lug in luggage - so damn heavy. I stagger down the stairs, and some sympathetic man comes along and takes it from me to help us downstairs.
We're at the Red Line station, and hop on the train when it arrives. However, after we sit down, the train operator makes some announcement about not being a Red Line train. A guy next to us suddenly leaps up and hops off the train. We're not as fast, and the train pulls away from the station, and I get up to look at the Brown Line map in confusion. I don't understand - is this a Red Line or a Brown Line? It's a Red station - why does this train have a Brown map?
A helpful guy leaps up, with the disclaimer, "I never talk to people on the train," but he starts talking to us (on the train). Since we're only going a few stops, we'll be fine, because this actually is a Brown Line train, but it will follow the Red Line stops in the Downtown, but later on it will skip the Red Line route and go Brown Line. "Why? Why do they do that?" Because, he explains, something about Chicago is doing repairs to the El on the weekends, and then they have to shift the elevated routes to the subway or vice versa. But he admits it can be confusing, because it just kind of happens, sometimes without a lot of notice.
Thank you, helpful stranger!
We are now at our train stop. Monica's luggage is ridiculously unwieldy. After a while of dragging around her box of bricks, I take a look at the side wheel and realize it's broken. Somewhere, somewhen, the wheel got bent, and now, when you pull it, the wheel is rubbing against the casing, and it's actually shredding the plastic off the wheel. No wonder it's so hard to pull!
Taking a break while on the way back to the hotel, we stopped at a Chick-Fil-A and I had one of their chicken sandwiches (because you can't get them in Canada). Tasty! And there were waffle fries.
And that's that for today. All's well that ends well (except for Monica's bad luggage, because that's not going to get any better.)
Of course, now that I'm comfortably ensconced here, I can't leave or someone will steal my prime chair. I hope I don't end up having to go to the bathroom. Only an hour and a half to go before my plane arrives! (It's my chair, dammit. MINE.)
 |
| Look! A plane! |
It's going to be a long day of sitting. I feel like I should be running laps around this airport, but I can't leave my comfy chair.
*****
So, Calgary. That was interesting.
I disembarked in the Calgary airport, then printed off my next boarding pass and searched for my gate. Oh, look - there's the sign for gates 21-24, right next to the food court. How convenient! I stop to buy a Subway sandwich, eat half of it, and then head off to my gate. At which point, I discover that the giant sign leads to these weird locked doors. There are people sitting on the other side. Huh? How do I get through? I go back and ask the WestJet lady. She gets an "uh oh" frowny face, and explains that I can't get through there. (But then why do the giant signs point to doors you can't get through? I will never find out.)
Apparently, what I should have done is ignored the giant signs with arrows pointing to my gates, and I should have instead exited the secure area. Then I should have gone downstairs into the public area, where I would then get back in line to go through security again.
So, now I get to do it at a run! Of course, I have rolling luggage and a heavy bag. So I scurry like a little running rat. Run, rat, run! Scamper down the hallway and down the stairs, and out to the Concourse. Run, run, until I see American flags. Run towards the guard, who sends me back to fill out customs form. Return to the guard and spew my Diet Coke all over him, because insecure Diet Coke cannot go into secure American areas (not like it's an American drink or anything). Scurry all the way to the US customs line-up. One guy is ahead of me in line. Since I am huffing and puffing, he offers to let me go first. I accept. American customs guard says "you shouldn't go ahead of people in line, even if they offer. Also, you have to declare your undeclared Subway sandwich." "I'm sorry. Also, I declare my Subway sandwich." They kindly decide to let me enter in spite of my many deficiencies.
Then I hurry on over to the security screener, where I get to hurry up and wait while they scan my shoes and my Subway sandwich. I'm on the home stretch now: run, run, the last leg to my gate - the signs tell me it's four minutes away, then two, and finally I'm coming up on gate 24, and I'm now on the right side of the locked glass doors. The WestJet people are just checking in the last passengers. "Are you Catherine?" "Yes, I am!" I am congratulated on my running and security dodging skills, since they obviously didn't think I was going to make it.
Am I the last person on the plane? No, there's some poor guy with a lost passport that they're trying to sort out, so I am the second-last person to be checked in. He was miffed at me, because now he was going to be the last guy. Hee hee!
That was the exciting part. The flight itself had a bit of turbulence, but not too bad.
The plane actually arrived early at Chicago O'Hare, but then it seemed we had to taxi for a few miles before reaching the terminal. We were still early when we arrived at the gate, but had to wait because the other plane was still sitting there. When the other plane left, we finally got to move up to the gate. Oh wait, they're having problems with the bridge, they can't line it up with the plane. Another 10 minute delay. This must be the first time a WestJet plane has ever landed here in America.
By the time we finally get off the plane, I think we're a wee bit late. Fortunately for me, I just have my carry-on, so I don't have to wait for luggage. Whee!
Because I'm out in the boonies in Terminal 5, I have to catch a shuttle airport train over to Terminal 2, then make my way through that Terminal to find the trains to the city. Getting to downtown Chicago takes about 45 minutes on the Blue Line train, then another transfer to the Red Line, and then finally I emerge out into downtown Chicago. Whoo hoo! It's cool and windy, and I can't see the top of some of the skyscrapers - they're hidden in the overhanging clouds.
It's about a 7 to 10-block walk to DeWitt Place, where I met Monica and Jen in the lobby. Since I made the reservations, Monica couldn't check in without me, but fortunately she's only been waiting there 10 minutes. Apparently not only am I checking in, I am also paying for the hotel. She claims she'll pay me back - we'll see.
We then have to go to Jen's hotel to retrieve Monica's luggage, then say goodbye to Jen and head back to our hotel. Monica's luggage is excessively heavy. She obviously packed several bricks. Her wheeled luggage is also not excessively mobile. After listening for a while to her wheezing complaints, I decide to help her carry her bag downstairs into the subway station. Whoa! Talk about putting the lug in luggage - so damn heavy. I stagger down the stairs, and some sympathetic man comes along and takes it from me to help us downstairs.
We're at the Red Line station, and hop on the train when it arrives. However, after we sit down, the train operator makes some announcement about not being a Red Line train. A guy next to us suddenly leaps up and hops off the train. We're not as fast, and the train pulls away from the station, and I get up to look at the Brown Line map in confusion. I don't understand - is this a Red Line or a Brown Line? It's a Red station - why does this train have a Brown map?
A helpful guy leaps up, with the disclaimer, "I never talk to people on the train," but he starts talking to us (on the train). Since we're only going a few stops, we'll be fine, because this actually is a Brown Line train, but it will follow the Red Line stops in the Downtown, but later on it will skip the Red Line route and go Brown Line. "Why? Why do they do that?" Because, he explains, something about Chicago is doing repairs to the El on the weekends, and then they have to shift the elevated routes to the subway or vice versa. But he admits it can be confusing, because it just kind of happens, sometimes without a lot of notice.
Thank you, helpful stranger!
We are now at our train stop. Monica's luggage is ridiculously unwieldy. After a while of dragging around her box of bricks, I take a look at the side wheel and realize it's broken. Somewhere, somewhen, the wheel got bent, and now, when you pull it, the wheel is rubbing against the casing, and it's actually shredding the plastic off the wheel. No wonder it's so hard to pull!
Taking a break while on the way back to the hotel, we stopped at a Chick-Fil-A and I had one of their chicken sandwiches (because you can't get them in Canada). Tasty! And there were waffle fries.
And that's that for today. All's well that ends well (except for Monica's bad luggage, because that's not going to get any better.)
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