I've looked at clouds from both sides now, from up and down, but mainly down.

It is very strange, isn't it, that when you know you have to be awake in a few hours, it seems impossible to go to sleep, and then that amazing body clock wakes you before the alarm goes. In summary, after writing the previous posting to this humble blog, I had about two and a half hours sleep on top of the covers of my very comfortable bed in my very warm room at the Ibis hotel. I suppose my mind was still reeling from the events of the first day of my epic journey to Montreal.

I think the use of the word «epic» is a bit pretentious.

Knowing what lies ahead, I don't think it is at all pretentious.

Ah …. yes, I know where you're coming from, and where you're going to for that matter. Proceed.

I shall. Breakfast at the Ibis commences at 4.00 am, and it was exactly 03.59 when I trundled my hand-baggage through the reception area into the restaurant. There were a few fellow guests there, including a group of children who were clustered round the hot drinks machine with a lady who seemed to be having some trouble in getting the machine to provide her with the beverage of her choice. As I approached she turned and, in an accent which I guessed to be Russian, asked me if I could help. One of the children simply wanted a mug of hot water, to make some tea. It was one of those slightly embarrassing moments for both parties when I simply pressed the button labelled hot water and the machine instantly began issuing forth with, well, hot water. The lady thanked me, as did the children, and then I was able to get a mug of hot chocolate and a cold croissant, which I managed to consume very quickly, before going outside to wait for the Hoppa bus to Terminal 4. The bus was due at 04.18. I was second in the queue, and was then joined by the eight children and their 'mother', who asked me if this was the right place to catch the 56 bus to Terminal 5. It seemed to me that the children were speaking Russian, and so I asked if that was the case, in Russian. No, they were from Ukraine. One young lady, who I took to be about 11, then asked me if I could speak Russian. “немного “ I replied.

“Ha!”, exclaimed Viktoria, “That's what every one says when you ask them if they can speak Russian - немного !!”

Then began a fascinating conversation in a mixture of Russian and English, which continued as one bus came, and then another, but not the 56, which was going to both Terminals 4 and 5. We spoke about London, New York, Moscow, St. Petersburg, and my meeting with Yuri Gagarin back in 1966. So, the bus was late. It arrived at 04.45, and we all piled on board. As I disembarked, I had to shake several small hands, and as I was leaving them the lady in charge said quietly, “You can look us up on the internet – it's …......Horizons” . I thought she said “Research Horizons”, but my brain was still asleep, so I have forgotten exactly what she said. I just wondered if she was one of those wonderful people who bring children from that radiation blighted area of the Ukraine to spend time in the UK and USA. For me it was a special few minutes.

Well, that's the first hour covered!

OK! On arriving at Terminal 4, I checked in and printed my two boarding passes for the flights to Paris and Montreal. I wandered slowly through the duty free shopping area, pausing only to spray on some Hermes “La Terre” from a sample bottle. Very nice, and free! Next it was a bacon muffin and coffee at Costa before going to wait at the gate for the flight to Paris. Eventually all of the passengers were on board except one who had changed his/her mind about travelling. So, for security reasons that person's baggage had to be identifies and removed. Guess what! That meant that we were delayed. My pulse rate was beginning to increase again..... Eventually we took off and arrived at Paris Charles de Gaulle some 40 minutes later. It was then a case of transferring to another terminal in what a helpful lady charmingly called “Le Petit Train”, a rapid transit system just like the one one at Heathrow. Then came an opportunity to wander through another duty-free shopping area consisting of all the top names in French high fashion, parfumerie and jewellery. Very swish and even more expensive.

While I was standing with the rest of the economy class passengers waiting to board the Boeing 747 Jumbo jet I noted with some jealousy the very small queue for business class and priority passengers, and the seeming random manner in which a member of staff would allow someone from the extremely long queue and allow them to pass through the priority gate – lucky s*ds, I thought. Then for some reason I became a lucky s*d, being ushered straight to the desk for the final boarding card check. Don't you just hate it when a computer beeps loudly and the operator looks closely at the screen? So, on reading the boarding pass, the computer beeped loudly and the Air France lady looked closely at the screen.

 “Ah”, she said, “votre passeport monsieur, s-il vous plait.” She must have discerned the concern on my face. 

“Don't worry, it's just that there's something wrong with the boarding card. I need to enter your passport number again, and there is not a correct seat number here.”

Before I could begin panicking, she said, “There we are, a new boarding card and your seat is 69K. Bon voyage monsieur!”

It seemed like a very long walk to the actual aircraft, but eventually I found myself on board and began walking down through the immense fuselage, looking for seat 69K. I couldn't find it! I would clearly not make a good poker player, because the puzzled expression my face must have been displaying attracted the attention of one of the flight attendants.

 “Can I help you monsieur?”

“Yes please. I cannot find seat 69K.”

A smile crossed the face of the attendant as he replied, 

“Ah, monsieur, 69K is not here, it is upstairs.”

“Upstairs? Upstairs!" 

Of course, this was a 747, and there is an 'upstairs,' a cabin as large as some smaller aircraft. And there were only three seats on each side of the centre aisle, rather than what resembled the rows of seats in a cinema in the main body of the aircraft. And the seats were bigger, and there was more space between each row! Yes, dear readers, I had been upgraded! Not to business class, but to some intermediate class whose name eludes me.

Having settled into my seat, it was just a question of waiting for all of the other passengers to board. And they all did, apart from one, who, it seemed, had decided not to travel.

Hang on! Are you detecting some kind of pattern here?

Yes, it was becoming a recurrent event. Baggage had to be located and removed, and time slots are missed, so take off was LATE!!!! About an hour late. I've often wondered how something as huge as a Boeing 747 manages to lift its weight off the ground, and my curiosity prevailed until it did.

The flight was excellent. Champagne served as an aperitif to a pleasant meal. On board entertainment system provided all manner of diversions – films, music, games and the flight details which I find fascinating. So I watched a bit of a film, played touch-screen Sudoku, Who Wants to be a Millionaire and Hangman. The latter two were made a little more difficult because they were in French. My record winnings in Millionaire were 48000 euros!

There were glimpses of the Channel Islands some 30000 feet below, and then more of the Atlantic, before, some six hours later, Newfoundland appeared below us. The aircraft had made up some time, and so it was just 30 minutes late when we landed in Montreal at12.30. I needed to be ready to leave the hotel just after 15.30 with Sylvain, to head for Repentigny, and then on to L'Assomption for the show at L'Ange Cornu. Immigration control took about 10 minutes. Not bad.

Baggage retrieval was next. I did not retrieve my baggage. After waiting and watching luggage go round and around on the carousel for an hour, it was clear that my suitcase wasn't there. It transpired that it was still in Paris.

Probably living it up in Montmartre, or taking a stroll by the banks of the Seine.

Be quiet!

Forms were filled in. Forms were stamped and returned to the place where you fill forms in. After a couple of swift phone calls to Louise, explaining what was going on, I sped off through customs and caught a taxi into the city. It was warm. No, it was hot, and very humid. The taxi had no air-conditioning other than when the window was open, and it wasn't.

I eventually arrived at the hotel, checked in and asked the staff to expect my suitcase to arrive at some point overnight. I just about had time to wash and change …..

Change? That must have been difficult when all of your clothes were in transit from France.

True. But I had packed a lightweight T-shirt or two in my hand-luggage....., pauses for dramatic effect....., just in case of such an eventuality.

In our next posting, read about the trip to Repentigny, the onward journey to L'Assomption, and another wonderful evening in the company of Luce Dufault, her musicians and her very appreciative audience.