Monday, October 28, 2013

Now for something a little different...

A couple of weeks ago I had the immense pleasure of attending (for the most part) the wedding of two people I absolutely adore. One of my best friends in the world and my "best friend by proximity" (in his own words): Emily Wilch and Eric Nolan. It was a long (and not without its share of disasters) journey, from Kathmandu all the way to Muskoka, Ontario, but I can honestly say that I'm not sure anything has ever been more worthwhile in my whole life.
This wedding photo stolen from the Facebook page of Emily and Eric's wonderful photographer: Chad Munro

So, here's the story:

Em and Eric at my first Christmas Party
I have known Emily and Eric ever since I was 18 years old, when I started at Carleton University. Emily lived on the same floor in residence as I did, and she started dating Eric almost immediately. Emily took second year off, moving back to Toronto, but I continued to run into Eric around campus periodically. One day I ran into him and he told me that Emily was planning on returning to Ottawa the following school year, and he was helping her look for a place to live. As it turned out, one of my four roommates was moving out, and we were looking for someone else to live with us. The next year, Emily moved in and we all stayed together in that house until graduation. We all got to know both Emily and Eric quite well over those years. When I moved to Australia after graduation Emily and another former roommate, Amanda, even sent me a special Christmas package from home. When I moved back to Ottawa I lived on her couch (and sometimes in her bed, until she got too snuggly) until I found a job and an apartment (close enough that we could still drink wine together several nights a week).
And sometimes sangria



















When I moved apartments a few months later (even closer) Emily spent the entire day helping me move out (even packing at least half of my stuff and cleaning my old apartment afterwards). She worked on zero sleep (due to an ill-timed but very fun impromptu overnight rafting trip the previous day), calling in sick for an afternoon shift at the restaurant she worked at to keep helping me and eventually going to her evening shift sans nap. When Emily and Eric decided to move in together to another part of town, my new roommate and I followed a few months later.


When I left to work in Helsinki for the summer it finally happened: they got engaged. We had all been waiting for this for several months, due to Emily's "hunch" that it was coming...based on (some might say "happening upon" others would say "snooping in") Eric's credit card statement. I was very happy for the two of them, and wished I could be there to raise a glass to their future properly. Alas, the Atlantic divided us, and by the time I got home they had already moved to Toronto to pursue some further schooling. The engagement lasted about two years, and the wedding was planned for September 21, 2013.

In May 2013 I got the amazing news that I had been chosen for this placement with the UNDP in Nepal, and that I would be leaving for Nepal in a mere month, not to return until December. Through my excitement about the new door opening up in my life, I thought about the wedding, and the idea of not being there just felt deeply wrong. So I named a price in my head and made a deal with myself: if I could find a flight back under $1500 and I could get the time off work, I would come back for the wedding. It seems like a lot, and for a person who was on a virtually unpaid internship it certainly gave me pause once or twice. But something my Dad has said to me on occasion rang in my ears when that would happen: "You know what Bronwyn: it's only money, and at the end of the day you can't take any of it with you." When it came right down to it: I knew that I would be friends with Emily and Eric my entire life, and years from now, when we're all hanging out together at their cottage, I wanted to be able to tell their kids that I saw their parents get married.  So I decided that these things were what life is all about, and that they mean more than money.

Even though I wanted to get settled in the new job before I started asking for time off, I commenced my flight search almost immediately. By late June I had found a round-trip flight from Kathmandu to Toronto for just over $1000, and even though I hadn't asked if I could take the time off, I booked it. Easier to beg for forgiveness than ask for permission, right? The plan was to leave Nepal the Friday morning before the wedding, and the 19 hour flight with Turkish Airlines would get me into Toronto at 7:00pm on Friday evening. Enough time to get to Muskoka, go to bed and wake up in the morning to get ready for the big day.

In early August the Tribhuvan International Airport began to have issues. The runway was deteriorating, and the appearance of cracks forced the entire airport to shut down three times in a single week. When the situation didn't improve I began to get worried about my trip. I had a one hour connection in Istanbul, and if a delay in Kathmandu caused me to miss it, I might not make it to the wedding. So I called Turkish Airlines in early September, asking if I should change my flight to the Thursday, in order to ensure that I made it on time. I stressed that I didn't want to take any risks because arriving on time was of the utmost importance. The friendly gentleman on the other end of the phone assured me that delays were only experienced in the afternoon, and there would be no problem at all with my 8:30am flight. If I wanted to, I could change for a Wednesday flight, but there was no flight on Thursday anyway. Reassured, I thanked him and left my ticket as it was.

The week of the wedding finally arrived. I felt like a little kid waiting eagerly for Christmas day. I couldn't wait to see everyone and to celebrate with the bride and groom. Then, at 3:00am on Wednesday morning I woke up with a bad feeling. Something was not right in my stomach. I ran for it and made it to the toilet bowl just in time to empty most of the contents of my dinner into it. I returned to bed, only to sleep fitfully and have to race back to the washroom again two hours later. By 7:00am I was choking back tiny sips of water, sitting on the cool tile of the bathroom floor, unable to move more than a few feet away from the toilet. When I wasn't feeling any better that evening my boyfriend decided to take me to the hospital. After some blood tests they determined that I had some type of gastro-intestinal infection. I was confused because for the last 48 hours I had eaten only home-cooked meals, and hadn't drank any water that wasn't filtered. After some detective work (and discovering that my toothbrush bristles were brown) we discerned that the cleaning lady had (probably accidentally) used my toothbrush to clean the bathroom. I wish I was kidding. Anyway, the doctor gave me a few medications to take and cleared me to fly the following day. At that time it looked like deciding not to change my flight had been a very good decision.

I woke up at 5:00am on Friday morning, showered, got dressed in comfortable clothes for travelling and got a ride to the airport for 6:30am, two hours ahead of my flight departure. I got through the airport doors with my bags and went to check what counter I had to check in at. The first thing that flashed on the screen at me was: DELAYED (by two hours). Considering I had one hour to transit in Istanbul, this was not at all promising. I begged the people at check-in to help me, the people at the boarding gate, the flight attendants, other Turkish Airline employees milling about the airport. I explained my situation. I told them I had been guaranteed that the flight would take off on time and not to re-schedule. They waved off my concerns, told me I still had plenty of time. Which was quite obviously...not true. When I broke it down again and again, asked them if they could call ahead, if they could get me on a different flight from Istanbul, they all replied with the same maddening phrase: "ground staff will manage you when you arrive." They told me I would definitely get on the next flight to Toronto. I told them the next flight would not arrive until after the wedding and that wasn't good enough. I NEEDED to be there TODAY. "Ground staff will manage you."

I called my mom, had her call Turkish Airlines North America; called my boyfriend, had him call Turkish Airlines Turkey, I tried calling Turkish Airlines Nepal. Mom was the only one who got through. The man told her there was another flight that left Istanbul at 6:00pm (instead of the 2:00pm local time my flight was supposed to leave) went through JFK and would arrive in Toronto Saturday morning. But he wouldn't change my flight. Ground staff...of course...would manage me when I arrived.

In the end, my flight was 3 hours late leaving, my flight to Toronto had LONG since departed when I landed in Istanbul, and surprise surprise...ground staff: not so great at managing things. Long story short, I was the last person they helped, everyone else had left and I was still standing there waiting, with no information, for hours while they kept my passport and apparently searched for another flight for me. I'm not going to lie: it's sort of hard to believe that the staff is doing everything they can to help you when one guy is on a computer and 20 others are hanging out, chatting, drinking coffee and eating Turkish delight (literally, no word of an exaggeration, even though it sounds like a bad joke -- which is what I felt my life was becoming). When I tried to impose myself in the office and asked for information I was talked down to and dismissed. One man even turned around and spoke loudly about me to a colleague in English. I can't remember the last time I was treated with more disrespect, especially in a customer oriented business. I told them about the flight through New York and they told me it was too late, not enough time to get me on that flight. They could try to get me on a flight via Frankfurt that would leave in 10 hours and get me into Toronto at 12:20pm on Saturday. What other choice did I have?

So they gave me a hotel for the night...that took another couple hours to arrange between getting approval for paying my entry visa, pausing to work on "emergency situations" periodically, clearing customs, waiting for the hotel shuttle with 30 other stranded travellers, and taking the 45 minute ride across Istanbul. By the time I arrived at the hotel at 11:00pm I had exactly two hours before the shuttle would arrive again to take me back to the airport in advance of my 4:00am flight. I was told upon check-in that dinner and breakfast were also covered by the airline. Right...because I'm going to eat two meals in the next two hours. I asked where I could get dinner, they told me just here in the hotel. So I went to my room, ordered something simple to be brought up and slept for just under an hour before I got up to take the last shower I knew I would have in advance of the wedding. I had my curling iron in my carry on and planned to get a European power converter in the airport and do my hair during my 3 hour layover in Frankfurt.

Upon checkout I was charged for my room service because it was "something extra", never mind that that makes no sense, and I didn't actually eat anything else for that to be "extra" on top of. I engaged in a bitter argument with the front desk agent about how ridiculous it was that his hotel was getting money from the airline for two meals and he was going to charge me to eat. I lost. That seemed about right. At this point I was so exhausted that I started to feel like I was going to throw up. But given that my recent experience told me that if I threw up once I wouldn't be able to stop for 24 hours, I held it back and drank as much water as I possibly could.

About five hours later I was in Frankfurt, I managed to find a toothbrush, toothpaste a small can of hairspray and a power adapter right away, which instantly made me like Germany more than Turkey. Sound logic, right? I ate breakfast at McDonald's (because even though I almost never eat fast food, after living in one of the few countries in the world with no McDonald's something weird gets triggered in your brain when you see those golden arches...you can't stop yourself), then proceeded to the washroom where I found a power outlet at the end of the women's sink area. Another point for Germany. I got a few weird looks while I curled my hair and emptied the tiny can of extra firm hold hairspray onto it, but I was so far beyond caring what anyone else thought of me.The sole thought in my head was a ruthless determination that I would make it to the wedding. In my mind there was no room for any alternative.

Miraculously, we left Germany on time. Thank you Air Canada! When the meal service commenced I caught the attention of a friendly flight attendant and asked her if, by any chance, my vegetarian meal request had followed me when I switched flights.
"Ohhh, vegetarian..." She gave me a skeptical look. "That will be tricky." What? Vegetarian? How is that NOT the most common special meal request? She returns a few minutes later.
Her - "Hi, hon. I found this one in the back. It says Muslim, but it is vegetarian. Is that okay?"
Me - "Oh yes, of course. That's perfect! Thank you so much." She smiled and left me with the tray. I peeled back the foil to find a nice cashew beef curry.......
Me - "Oh hi, sorry. I just wanted to check. Are you SURE this is vegetarian?"
Her - "Well what makes you think it's not?" All friendliness gone. I guess asking for a vegetarian meal is fine, but not being okay being tricked is too far.
Me - "Uhh...this....beefy bit." I illustrated by holding a chunk up on my fork.
Her - "Well that's all we had."
Me - "Oh I understand, I just don't want to eat it if it's not vegetarian, of course. Could I just have the fish option instead?"
Her - "No, I'm sorry, there's only one meal per person." With that she walked off. WHAT? Who the hell were they going to give this meal to then? So no meal for Bronwyn on that flight. The MOST ridiculous part of this though, is that an hour and a half before landing in Toronto, when they start distributing snacks (a choice of veggie or chicken hot wraps) someone brought me my wrap 10 minutes before everyone else and proclaimed: "Your special vegetarian meal." Seriously? Are they just mocking me at this point? There's no other way to express my reaction to that, but:


We eventually touched down in Toronto at 12:20pm on Saturday (10:05pm in Kathmandu, and 41 hours since I had slept for more than an hour). Okay, I thought, if I can just get out of this airport by 1:00pm I can make it. The wedding started at 3:00pm, about two hours from Toronto. It would be cutting it close, but I had come so far, I had to believe I was going to make it. Just get me to the church on time... Frank Sinatra's chorus rang on repeat in my ears.

And you know what? I would have made it, I really would have. Had they not LOST MY %&*($ %&*($% #)(*%($% BAG!!!! Sorry, that part, more than the others still just pushes me over the edge of madness. So, having to wait for EVERY BAG ON THE PLANE to come out, realizing mine wasn't there, going to log a missing baggage claim and nearly jumping across the counter to throttle the agent who told me in his most patronizing voice that "Ma'am, rushing isn't going to do you any good." I bolted through the gates and ran to the waiting car with my mom at 1:39pm.
"Bronwyn, we can't make it in an hour and a half." She shouted after me.
"We have to! We just have to," I yelled back over my shoulder, as I tore open the car door, tossed my bag into the back seat and dove after it. "Drive!" I barked at my brother who had come for the ride because it was the only time he would see me over my 6 day trip home. "Please."

I changed into my dress, shoes and jewelry (all of which my Mom had brought, or bought, from home for me) and did my make-up in the back seat as we raced down highway 400. When we pulled up to the little country church just after 3:30pm I tumbled from the car with my tiny purse and my camera declaring that I would get a ride home tomorrow.
"Do you have everything you need?" My mom asked?
"Of course not!" But that didn't really matter. As it turns out, I raced into that church just moments after Emily and Eric said "I do." I made it in time for the last reading, a final prayer and the procession out of the church.

But once I was there, once there was nothing else in my way, my panic and stress of the past 50+ hours gave way to elation. The wedding was beautiful, the location was a relaxing lakeside oasis, and I was with my best friends. I felt completely at peace, completely content. I felt like everything was right, and I was exactly where I was supposed to be at that moment. I don't think there's any way it could have been a more perfect event.

So I won't be able to tell Emily and Eric's children that I actually SAW their parents get married. But at least I can say that I was there with them on the day to celebrate, not the beginning, but a new chapter, in an already great story.