Multi-Modal Travel

The first part of the multi-modal journey began with a thrash up Highway 401, to Lester B. Pearson International Airport in Toronto. I say Toronto, but it’s more Mississauga, which works for us because it’s on the western end of the conurbation that forms the metropolis of Toronto. Just two of us, two bags, two backpacks and already checked in, we left super-early and arrived at the airport super-early, given that it was a clear run, if quite busy in parts.

Pearson Terminal 3 was our departure point because we’d opted for British Airways this time. It was nothing to do with love of the mother country, but everything to do with the fares being half of those demanded by Air Canada this time around.

Bag drop and security were quick and efficient, due largely to there being a real person checking in the bags, and Security being very quiet. We whiled away our free time eating our homemade sandwiches and doing a bit of people watching. Indeed, we enjoyed the sandwiches all the more for having seen that a single sandwich in the airport, before tax, was retailing at $14.99! I still get a bit riled up at the airport when I see all the iPad bedecked tables that replaced the regular seating a while back, because the desire to part you from your money at Pearson is all pervading. Sitting at a table and ordering drinks and food on an iPad may be a little bit of fun, but it’s a premium service with premium prices.

Our chariot for the evening was a Boeing 787, the famous plastic aeroplane. Our Premium Economy seats were OK, certainly roomier that those in Economy, but flying in the twenty-first century is never a marvellous experience because of the feeling you get that you’re packed in far too tightly. It may be efficient to do that, but spending six or seven hours in close quarters with strangers isn’t my idea of fun. The 787 is certainly quiet on the inside, comparatively speaking at least, but having to share the cabin with a lot of other people snuffling, sneezing and chomping their way through their in-flight meal isn’t ideal. Still, it was going to be a quick flight (six hours), and overnight, so I could at least sleep through some of it.

I was disappointed by the meal choices, which were too fancy and too curry-based. There should be a bland menu available for people like me. The one non-curry dish was pan-fried Cod on Polenta, surrounded by peppers and Kale, which really isn’t my bag, man. As for the breakfast sandwich, well the less said about that the better. There was just one cup of coffee offered throughout the whole flight, too, which is not great.

The aircraft took a southerly route, flew at 41,000 feet (thank you, Flight Information screen) and arrived in London a full fifteen minutes ahead of the scheduled six hours, due entirely to a wickedly fast Jetstream up high, and Storm Ceiran hitting the UK that very day.

It took a little while for our bags to appear, and a little while for us to find the Sixt Car Rental place in the Sofitel, but we were out on the wet English roads soon enough and enjoying the Audi A3 that the young fellow at Sixt had skillfully upsold us.

Driving along the M4 motorway, I took some time to adjust to English driving again. It’s not the driving on the left, but rather the fairly gentle speeds that most people were keeping. The National Speed Limit is 70 miles per hour, but not many were even close to that. Anything from 55 to 70 seemed to be the general flow, and that was perfect to allow me to settle into things. We did stop off at Reading Services, me for a coffee and a Cornish Pastie, and the missus for a tour of M&S and a couple of Greggs’ vegan sausage rolls. Very, very expensive it all was because of the motorway services premium, but it was all much needed. Oh, and our English bank account cards seemed to be functioning nicely, too.

Driving west along the M4, then south, and south-west, on the M5, the weather worsened but the driving was fine. Another stop, at Sedgemoor services this time, was required for natural purposes, and to buy some sweeties, which are required by law when making any road trip.

We rolled into the Travelodge (very basic, but sensibly priced) Plymouth hotel in good time. The rooms are sparse in these places, but this one was clean and sufficient for our needs. A quick shower was taken, and I hopped into bed to snatch a couple of hours of much needed sleep.

It is at this point, dear reader, that I will close this journal entry. We’re in Plymouth to visit family, and that’s not really the right material for my tales from Blighty. My next volume will begin when we’re setting off for Yorkshire in a day or two’s time, when we tackle one of the main reasons we’re here at all, and that’s delving into the past, specifically my family’s past.