Canada: Don't Say Cheese

Hey guys! We're back. But I have to tell you, there was a point in time when I thought I was never going to make it out of the Toronto (yes, Toronto...not Montreal or Quebec City) airport. First, I thought I was going to be detained. Then, I just thought Mercury Retrograde would conspire to never let me come home.

Allow me to explain.

Although Mercury went into retrograde the day before we left for Montreal, I had a relatively easy time getting to Dulles, which, for those of you who don't know, is right outside Washington, D.C., which is to say...traffic is a giant clusterfuck at all hours of the day. I wasn't sure if I'd be able to get an Uber at 5 in the morning to take me to Virginia, and I wasn't sure that 5 a.m. would even give me enough time to be at the airport two hours before my 8:30 a.m. flight. But as it happened, it only took two minutes to get an Uber and about an hour to get to Dulles where security was so delightfully lax that I was happily eating breakfast by 6:45 a.m.

My biggest problem was really more of a nuisance.

Jen, leaving out of the hellscape that is LaGuardia, was not so lucky.

But logistically speaking, our whole trip was really quite smooth. We had no trouble getting around the cities, no trouble traveling between cities, and our Airbnbs were pretty great. I didn't even have to bequeath alcohol to anyone (although Jen did since she tends to buy wine at wine tastings and has no room in her suitcase for the return trip).

Until, of course, it was time to come home.

First, some context: If you follow our personal accounts on Instagram or you're friends with us on Facebook, then you probably have a pretty good idea of how we spent most of our time. This picture sums it up rather concisely.

Imagine our panic when we couldn't find a bottle opener at first.

I loved Quebecois cheese so much, we made a special trip to the farmer's market the morning of our departure to purchase some cheese to take home...even though bringing dairy across country borders is generally frowned upon by customs. But as has been established, when it comes to airport security, I do what I want (yes, even after Edinburgh, I still laugh in the face of liquids rules).

We did a food tour in QC, and our guide told us that generally it's OK to bring hard cheese into the States as long as it's tightly sealed. However, raw milk (and therefore raw milk cheeses like the ones made in Quebec) is...um...illegal. So when I visited the fromagerie in the farmer's market and told the cheese man I wanted to bring it back to the States, he very kindly, if shadily, replaced the sticker on my cheeses with a fake sticker that didn't say "raw milk," and gave me the raw milk sticker for reference. I had a feeling he had done this before.

Since, like Jen, I purchased some vino on the wine tour, I was already planning on checking my luggage, so I securely buried the contraband in the middle of my suitcase with only slight misgivings about potentially having problems in immigration.

When Jen and I got to the QC airport, she still had five hours to wait, which meant no one at United was there to check her luggage. I checked my own luggage, but I was worried security might take a little while, so we said our goodbyes. Naturally, I was the only one in the security line. I'm not exaggerating. I was the ONLY one.

Scene 1: Security

Staci rolls through security, no beeps, no problems.
Security Agent: You've been randomly selected for a further search.
Staci: Um, OK.
Staci's Brain: Is it random if you're the only one in line?
Security Agent: You have to go through a second scanner.
Second Scanner: <remains as silent as the first one>
Security Agent: OK, you're good.
Staci's Brain: Weird.

Now, Canada is not all that far from Baltimore/D.C. The flight to Montreal was under two hours. But I could not get a direct flight home from QC. So I hopped on a puddle jumper from QC to Toronto for my two-hour layover.

One nice thing about going through Toronto is that after going through security (AGAIN), you go through U.S. customs so you don't have to do it when you get to the States. Although I was slightly concerned about having enough time given the vastness of the Toronto airport, it was nice to know that when I got to Dulles, I just needed to grab my luggage and then I could be on my way.

As I walked through the massive airport to immigration, I was thinking about how great it was going to be to have so many food options from which to choose while I waited for my next flight. And I walked...and walked...and walked. Finally, I got to customs, which to my delight, was largely computerized. Rather than filling out the paper form stating where you were, for how long, why, if you were around any livestock, if you were transporting any food (especially dairy), how much money you spent, etc., I answered all those questions on a touch-screen computer, let it take a picture of me that compared it to my (super glamorous) passport picture, and it printed out a receipt.

More walking and multiple airport staff members later, I got to the area of customs where the immigration agents ask you the same questions you already filled out on the form. Only here they just look at the receipt from the computer and stamp your passport. For some reason though, the agent looked at me, looked at my receipt, looked at my passport, and looked back at me. And then instead of sending me on my way to the gates, he motioned to a set of nondescript, yet ominous, stainless steel doors and told me to go through them for further questioning.

Fuck.

Scene 2: Cavernous, Empty Immigration Interrogation (?) Room

Customs Agent: Come on down, young lady! (Like all Canadians, he seemed inexplicably friendly and happy to see me. Probably because he was bored since no one else was in there but me and another agent.)
Staci: Hi.
Staci's Brain: Fuck. Don't say cheese. Don't say cheese. Don't say cheese.
Customs Agent: You look sad. Are you sad?
Staci: Um. Well, my vacation is over. (I wasn't sad. I was just post-airplane nap and I have resting bitch face.)
Customs Agent: So you were just here for leisure? Where did you go, and for how long?
Staci: Montreal and Quebec City for eight days.
Staci's Brain: Wait, was it eight days? Or was it seven? What if I'm wrong? What did I answer on the computer?
Customs Agent: Were you by yourself?
Staci: No, I met a friend.
Customs Agent: Where's your friend?
Staci: She's going home to New York.
Customs Agent: Where are you going?
Staci: Baltimore.
Customs Agent: Ooh, sorry about that.
Staci: Heh.
Staci's Brain: Har har.
Customs Agent: Did you buy anything on your trip?
Staci's Brain: Don't say cheese. Don't say cheese.
Staci: Wine.
Customs Agent: Just wine?
Staci's Brain: FUCK DOES HE KNOW? DON'T SAY CHEESE. DON'T FUCKING SAY CHEESE.
Staci: Um, you know. Some souvenirs too.
Customs Agent: Like what?
Staci's Brain: CHEEEEEEEEEEEEESE, DELICIOUS CHEESE.
Staci: Um. A magnet.
Customs Agent: Alright, young lady. Welcome to 'Murrica!
Staci's Brain: Cute, but I'm still in Canada.
Staci: <sigh of relief> K thanks.

Then I began another long walk down through what can only be described as the dungeon-like tunnels of Toronto's international gates, which by the way, went all the way up into the 90s. The plush airport I had looked forward to exploring on my layover changed drastically. The Air Canada flights to the States were leaving out of what can only be described as a hot, humid hole. The only restaurant I could find was the Great Canadian Bagel, which I must admit, was pretty good. But as I ate my bagel sandwich at my gate, I was uncomfortably shvitzing, lacking free wiffy, and without an outlet to charge my phone. I settled into a chair right next to the gate where a lady named Leeann in a reflective vest with giraffe stickers on it was preparing to board us within the hour.

Scene 3: Air Canada Gate 86

Leeann: Ladies and gentlemen who are on Flight 7375 to Washington, Dulles, we regret to inform you --
Staci's Brain: Fuck fuck fuck.
Leeann: -- that the coffee machine on board is broken, so if you want coffee, you should probably grab it now.
Staci's Brain: Oh.

Leeann: Ladies and gentlemen who are on Flight 7375 to Washington, Dulles, I've just been informed by maintenance that the main door to the aircraft is broken, so we'll be delayed by about 30 minutes. The good news is this isn't a big problem.
Staci's Brain: The main door being broken kinda seems like a big problem.

<30 minutes comes and goes>

Leeann: OK ladies and gentlemen, the door has been fixed. We'll board Flight 7375 in just a minute as soon as one of my colleagues comes to help me.
Staci's Brain: WTF do you need help with exactly?

Man in a reflective vest like Leeann's but without giraffe stickers: OK, let me look at this. <sits down at computer> You FF'd the flight!
Leeann: No I didn't.
Man in reflective vest without giraffe stickers: Well SOMEONE did.
Staci: <rolls eyes>

Leeann: Ladies and gentlemen on Flight 7375 to Washington, Dulles, we've had another delay. I don't know how long it will be. I'll let you know when I have more information.
Crowd at Gate 86: RAWR.

About two hours after we were supposed to board, we finally did.

Scene 4: Air Canada Flight 7375, a tiny, steaming cesspool

Captain: Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking. Unfortunately one of our engines isn't behaving the way it's supposed to, so maintenance told us not to turn on the air conditioning until we turn on all the engines.
Staci's Brain: Wut.
Lady next to Staci: <audible sigh>

Captain: Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking.
Staci's Brain: I didn't know any pilots actually said that anymore.
Lady next to Staci: <audible sigh>
Captain: There's a disabled tractor behind the tail of the plane, so we can't go anywhere until it's moved.
Lady next to Staci: <audible sigh>

Captain: Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking. Thank you for your patience. The tractor has been moved but now there are two aircrafts behind us. Once they move, we'll be able to take off.
Lady next to Staci: <audible sigh>

<10 minutes later, plane backs up, moves about a foot, and stops>

Lady next to Staci: <audible sigh>

The inching along happened for about a half hour when finally we were sixth in line to leave Toronto. The flight was pretty smooth, and short, only 50 minutes. Which made it that much worse. It was like being five minutes from where you need to be but stuck on a gridlocked highway.

When I finally arrived in Dulles around 10:30 p.m., I had never been so happy to be at that shithole. And then my suitcase tumbled onto the baggage claim belt.

If you're wondering what that is where the fourth wheel should be, it's the sole of one of my shoes INSIDE my suitcase.

Since my wonderful roller suitcase no longer rolled, I lugged it up and outside with me and called an Uber. It said it would be five minutes away, but five minutes came and went and no Uber.

Then:

Eventually though, I made it home after midnight. It took me a couple days to recover, but I am happy to report that the illegal cheese did not suffer the consequences of being unrefrigerated longer than planned.

#Priorities, amirite?

-Staci

Canada: The Land of Ice Wine

En Route: À Bientôt!