After the maple exploring and line waiting there was nothing left to do. It took me about 45 minutes to see everything there was to see in the Toronto Airport. Then it was just my muffin and I. And an elderly woman sleeping in a wheelchair whom I ran a series of subtle tests to make sure she was actually living. I mean, it wasn't just the two of us at the gate- every seat was filled. We were just the most interesting ones.

Big airplanes are much nicer. That may seem obvious, but I am correcting those few who still see small planes as a novelty, even after reading about my horrifying tale which lacked both a barf bag and any sense of dignity. No, this plane contained the equivalent of like three big rooms. I was in the ever lovely economy room. I happily took my seat next to a friendly Indian woman who declined to say "hello" back, and cracked open my fluff novel. It really must have been a while since I've been on a big airplane, because I noticed they had now installed television screens. Not the roll out "in-flight movie" screens at the front, but every seat back had an individual touch screen. Still nostalgic for the tiny planes? Even the safety announcements were animated on them, complete with cheerful flute muzak. I entertained myself by watching the uncomfortable people try to calm themselves as we lifted off.

     I was getting more comfortable with airports as I made my way through the incoming passengers gates. I followed arrows up stairs (regular ones, but I still take it slow) and down stairs. I turned corners and traveled down corridors like a pro. One of the passengers on the small plane asked me where I was going when I turned into the "International Passengers" lane. I told him proudly that I was on my way to Oxford to study. I like to pretend that I am at Oxford because of my genius or something, but really it is a program open to most people. He was going to Madrid. Just because. I like the idea that people can just decide to go somewhere like England or Spain and go. Just fly away.You can really do almost anything if you are willing to sacrifice a day of your life to hard airport chairs and recirculated air. But there are usually mini Tim Horton's, which are quite nice.
     With two hours to go before the next leg of my journey, I walked slowly through the duty-free shops. I wasn't expecting the Toronto Airport to be so...Canadian. But I liked it. I watched two men take pictures of each other next to a huge stuffed moose plush statue. When they caught me grinning I turned to take my free sample maple cookie. There were rows and rows of maple fudge and decorative maple syrup bottles. I really wish Canada would start pushing other goods, though. If I were to judge Canada solely on it's airport shops, I'd say it is a land of maple-crazy entrepreneurs who are too jacked up on syrupy sugar to pronounce the word "bagel" correctly.
     I waited in line to buy some ginger antinauseant and a fruit leather and then waited in and even longer line at mini Tim Horton's for a muffin when I came out of my delusion that I liked fruit leather.

     From my two trips to Florida, I knew that a plane can pull right up to the terminal for passengers to board without even seeing outside. This plane, however, was not like that. After getting my ticket scanned and passport checked, I walked down the weird temporary hallway expecting to see a plane doorway at the other end. Instead there was a metal plank connecting to some folded out steps. Now, I'm generally too clumsy for stairs of any kind, but these were metal fold out stairs. They were narrow, too. I probably looked like a lunatic sucking in a big breath and turning my feet sideways to inch my way down.
The plane turned out to be a small one: only 14 people were on it .As we boarded, people made the usual lame jokes including "Where's the rest of your plane,sir?" and "How do I get to first-class?" My seat was right up front behind the pilots. But this plane was so small that I really was right behind the pilots. I could touch the control panel. Not that I would. Which also made me glad that I had that seat and not some crazy who would. Then I remembered my descent on the steps and decided not to judge.
    It was the worst ride of my entire life. Including cars, trains, buses, roller coasters, and ponies. It was like being on the Millennium Force...for over an hour. And why is it that people prone to motion sickness will never admit it? I am included in this. I still ride the spinning rides at carnivals and would never admit the extreme disorientation I get by the mere sight of a playground swing. It is as if there is a mass motion sickness denial group out there.
     By the time we were beginning the descent, I somehow was having both hot flashes and a cold sweat. The person next to me was only a foot away with the rest of the passengers right behind me. The only thing I could do was keep thinking, "Oh God, no. Please no. Not on this tiny little airplane with no complimentary barf bags and an electronic control pad in front of me. No no no no! Think of things that don't make you sick, like puppies.  But, how horrible would it be if I did! They'd never let me into Canada again!"
  I am proud to say that I made it. Limping and looking dazed, but I made it. To the wonderful world of the Toronto Airport.

Airports are  logically marvelous places. What I mean is, they are designed for people who don't know what they are doing and are frankly quite nervous of being yanked aside and frisked in public. The walls are blue and calming, the counters and beams are clean metal. The layout is essentially one huge maze one goes through. If you can read and follow directions (passed second grade) you can do an airport.

I was prepared to deal with people who have become hard and embittered by their government  jobs that they are overqualified for. This is especially true of post offices, the Secretary of State office, and the DMV. Airports are no exception, but the employees weren't that bad. At least, I was thinking that as I went through the metal detector and was yelled at by a woman who overfloweth off her wheely chair for leaving my laptop in the bag as it went through the scanner. There wasn't a sign about that, I swear.

After that, I was in the terminal. With 3 hours. And nothing to do. So, as my carry on/ tote weighed on my shoulder full of books, I walked down the hall of shops. I quickly learned to look as boring and lethargic as possible whilst in an airport. Every expression except completely weary and uninterested makes the guards look you over suspiciously. I found that out when I had the audacity to smile at one of them in passing.

I passed by a Coney Island, two Borders, and a few newspaper/candy shops, all standard airport fare to my knowledge. Then I noticed a mysterious door labeled "Reflection Center." What the heck is a Reflection Center? The windows were glazed and the guard was looking at me again, so I may never know the answer.

I ramble too much. So, to keep the story moving, I went to the Mcdonald's and paid $4 for a hamburger, knocked around Borders and Brookstone for as long as I could stand it (15 minutes), and found my gate. The wait was now 2 hours. Two hours of sitting on a deceptively hard seat waiting for my plane. My father obviously likes to be early.

Airports

With such constant learning and exploring, I wasn't able to post this the very day I was traveling to England, July 7. So, the dates won't match up.

Here's the boring introduction stuff to get out of the way: I signed up for this trip in October. I was one of the very first to do so. I've always wanted to visit the UK, and studying at the University of Oxford seemed like a great place to do that to me. A month hardly seemed long enough. Why not two months? Make it the whole summer?

I was worried about getting here. I had two buses, three airports, and an airport subway in my near future, all by myself. (I'm a big kid now! : )) The day was literally two days put together because of the five hour time difference.

In between the parking lot and the airport, my father and I took a bus. When the doors opened we were greeted by a woman who looked much like one I'd seen on a rerun of Cops the week before. The name plate on the wall announced that she was Penny R. Good enough. Within a few minutes of the drive, she entertained-entertain being used loosely- us with her excitement about going drinking that night. It went a bit like this:

Penny: Where're you off to, hon?
Me: England.
Penny: Oh, I hear it's nice there. Why?
Me: Why am I going? Oh, I am actually taking a course at the University of Oxford. I'll be gone a month.
Penny: Well, I have a party tonight. The airline gave me two whole days off. I'm going to get sooo wasted.
Me: ....that's nice. Yeah.

Then I heaved my bag down the steps and wheeled on to the check-in.