The Pony Express crossed the border on May 26th. But before that there was the small matter of catching up with Indiana Jones. Snag was waiting for me to log in on Sunday night. In my excitement, I'd forgotten to release some requests.
Me: Hi, I'm just back from Indy 4
Snag: How was the trip?
Me: I'm talking about Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull
Snag: Is that a movie?
Me: Lady, which world are you from?
Me: You haven't heard of Indiana Jones??
Me: You haven't heard of INDIANA JONES??
Obviously, she gave me an earful.
"Bangalore? I've seen a lot of people from Bangalore out here" the security guard at Philadelphia Airport beamed, looking at my passport. Terminal F, exclusively for US Airways Express seemed empty. Soon I got to know the reason. The flights were tiny 40-seater aircraft. So small that the overhead compartment could just fit my laptop bag. "Can I have your case, sir? It needs to go into the cargo hold. You can collect it at the gate when you embark." said the crewman as I was about to enter the airplane. Obviously there was a lack of space. As I buckled up in my seat, I realised that all my documents were inside the case. All kinds of worst-case-scenarios started flashing through my mind. What if the suitcase is directly sent to the baggage claim area? What if I am not allowed entry into Canada? What if I am not allowed entry back into the USA?
The last question still haunts my mind. As for the others, I am now relaxing in my suite on the 30th floor of the Marriott Chateau Champlain in Montreal.
Montreal...the best thing about Montreal Airport is that they give you a city guide and a city map free of cost.
The Pierre Trudeau Airport is huge, but eerily empty. There was the absence of the ever-present queue, both at immigration and at the baggage counters. I was still tense. At the immigration counter I tried my best to present an innocent face like the baby in a topless bar. The girl at the counter put me to ease. She seemed confused about what to put as my last name. "You don't have a 'Singh' in your name?" she asked. I may have looked even more perplexed. Amidst all this confusion, she put the occupation as "Agricultural Engineer" in my work permit.
One could be forgiven to think that they are in France rather than Canada. Everything around is in French - the street sign, shop names, metro and bus stations, and what else. With lots of time to kill, I went out for a walk in the afternoon. Massive skyscrapers rise up on all sides of the hotel around downtown Montreal. A small park nestles beneath these steel monsters. Along with these monstrosities, the masonic buildings give the place a quaint European feel. Right in front of the hotel stands the massive Cathedral of Mary, Queen of the World, modelled after the St. Peter's Basilica. I spent an hour photographing the church, which meant that I had to miss out visiting the Notre Dame Cathedral.
Situated on the banks of the massive St Lawrence, the city has a massive promenade. But the place was thoroughly depressing. There was not a soul present at the promenade. Incredibly, there were no tourists - not even the one thousand odd Chinamen. I stood there under the grey clouds, watching the huge container ship crawling along the river. However, across the street was another story. It was as if I had stepped into another time. Stone roads dot the old quarter of the city. Life begins here. A hundred shops displayed their wares. Roadside restaurants and taverns were playing music. The place was full of smiling tourists - and among them I stood.
And then, disaster struck. I sprained my leg.
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