DON'T FLY AMERICAN. THEY SUCK.

MONTREAL
•    Mum and I got up at the crack of dawn (in fact, a good hour before dawn) and flew on a tiny wee plane (I’ve been on bigger tour buses) up to Montreal, where it was snowing like there was someone sitting in the clouds shredding tissues. So no white Christmas for me, but at least a white Boxing Day! It wasn’t too cold though; colder than New York for sure, but the temperatures weren’t down to freezing.
•    We got to our hotel around midday and then made our way to the underground city, which is basically a network of shops underneath St Catherine’s Street, which is the main shopping street in Montreal. It was way, way warmer down there. The shops got manic around 1.30 or 2pm (having only opened at 1), and by 4pm we gave up and returned to the hotel. A bit later, mum decided to go back and find a bookstore, whilst I stayed in the hotel and typed up some of my travel journal (seriously, you ungrateful wretches, maintaining this thing is a full-time job!).
•    After mum got back, we went out and found a restaurant for dinner. It was on St. Catherine’s Street, and done up like a retro diner. Both of us really enjoyed our meals. Then, for dessert, we got “Tarte aux Pommes Hollandaise” (Dutch-style apple tart). Apparently the Dutch REALLY like their cinnamon, that’s all I’m saying.
•    The next day we went to the McCord Museum of Canadian History, which was just down the street from the hotel. In this museum, there was no mention of anywhere in Canada except Quebec, because apparently French Canadians are a little precious about the vexed issue of being a part of Canada.
•    After that, around midday, we hopped on a three hour tour of Montreal. Our tour guide took us to famous churches, Olympic parks, and mountains, whilst also managing not to say the C-word (“Canada”) once in three hours. When we were in a park over near the Olympic stadium, there were three flags flying, which our guide identified as the flag of Montreal, that of Quebec, and “that one… I don’t know.” This last was, of course, the, oh, CANADIAN flag.
•    That evening, we went back to the same diner for dinner; although we’d planned to eat at the hotel restaurant, the diner was cheaper, and I suspect the food was better too.
•    On the 28th, I spent the morning exploring the shops landside (as opposed to underground) with a friend and bought a dress and two tops.
•    After that, we headed to the airport (mum had a flight booked back to New York for an hour after my flight to Denver via Chicago). Alas, it turned out that the second leg of my flight (Chicago to Denver) had been cancelled due to a blizzard closing the runways in Denver International Airport (DIA). Okay, after a moment or two’s discussion, we decided it would be best if I flew back to New York with Mum. They were able to get me onto her flight, and booked me onto a flight to Denver the next day, via Dallas-Fort Worth (DFW), in Texas. I said I preferred to go via DFW rather than Chicago, which was ironic, given the events of the following day.

BACK IN NEW YORK (WHAT THE HELL)
•    So, we flew back to New York, and it turned out there was an earlier flight doing the same run that I was booked to do he next day, so I switched to that. It flew out of La Guardia at around midday, and I was on it, having bid a (Second) sad farewell to my family.

AND OFF TO DALLAS (WHAT THE HELL)    

•    So, the flight to Dallas was uneventful, until we began our descent and found ourselves in a cloud bank of epic proportions. We were told that there was a storm on the ground, and air traffic control wasn’t letting people land. We did a holding pattern over DFW for about an hour, and the pilot began talking about rerouting to Tulsa, Oklahoma, before the plane ran out of fuel. It didn’t come to that; there was a break in the storm long enough for the plane to land. Then, we had to sit on the tarmac for almost another hour while the lightning passed over. This was because while there was lightning they wouldn’t put the ramps down so we could disembark, because of course the ramps are metal and therefore we or the ground crews could get fried if lightning hit it. This isn’t an issue with the planes for some reason I am not absolutely sure of; I just know I saw at least one bolt of lightning hit the wing of the plane, and we didn’t even feel it.
•    Anyway, we eventually got off the plane and into the terminal. I immediately made my way to the nearest departures board, and confirmed what my suspicion was: that my flight to Denver had been cancelled. I went to the rebooking counter and asked them and they said that they could put me on standby for the next flight, and I could phone some number and try to get a confirmed ticket.
•    They also said that my bags were going to Denver whether I did or not. I had had some idea of just retrieving my bag and heading back to New York, and calling the whole Colorado malarkey a bad deal. But because they had so, so many bags on the tarmac, they pretty much laughed at me when I asked if they’d go find my bag.
•    Anyway, the only phone I had on my (that worked) was my Australian phone, which has international roaming on it, but DUDE is expensive. So I phoned mum, and they were out, so I sat down at an internet terminal and I didn’t have any American money on me, so I just swiped my credit card. The terminal proceeded to freeze, and I had to phone (on my Australian phone) tech support just to get them to restart the terminal so I could be sure it wasn’t like… keeping my credit card details. After that, I found an ATM and pulled out some money, which I used to buy a bit of internet time and e-mail Liana who I was staying with in Colorado and my parents telling them to CALL ME when they got home.
•    Then, I sat around for a bit with a bunch of other people who had been stranded there… it was around this time that I found out that they had basically closed the airport… not because of a blizzard in Denver—as near as we could tell, flights were going in and out of Denver just peachy. No, on the contrary, DFW Airport was closed… because that storm we were getting was part of a TORNADO moving across the middle of Texas.
•    It was about this time that I phoned and got ahold of mum, who’d just got my e-mail. I filled her in, and she told me I should go find a hotel, but I was threatening to spend the night in the airport. I moseyed out into the rebooking queue (even though I was on standby for the flight going out at around 10pm, I was pretty sure it would be cancelled, and, indeed, about a half hour later, it was), while mum got on the phone and booked me a hotel that had a shuttle service to/from the airport. I did feel much better knowing that I would be going back somewhere to sleep.
•    In the rebooking queue, I met a couple of guys from… Pennsylvania I think. They were brothers, and the elder’s name was Jordan and the younger’s… Ben or something? I’ll call him Ben. Anyway, they were a bucket of laughs. They were both I’m pretty sure stoned, and like five minutes into our epic wait they got rebooked on a flight via the rebooking hotline, but they hung around in the queue with us anyway until their dad showed up a two and a half hours later to pick them up (they were from Dallas).
•    Jordan, at one point, made a handmade sign that said “Approximate wait from this point: 2 Hours” and actually stuck it up at the beginning of the roped part of the queue (there was a good hour’s word of people waiting before that point), and everyone was like, “whee! It’s like Disneyland!” We were all such comrades in this queue, I swear. In Australia I think everyone would have been pretty reticent and sticking with people they knew, but we were like having a slumber party, young and old, and seriously, it took about four hours to get through this queue so it was a LONG slumber party.
•    Jordan, Ben and I also made friends with a woman named Karen who was trying to get to Florida, and she ended up booking a room in the same hotel mum had booked me into, so we figured we’d take the shuttle together.
•    Oh yes, Jordan and Ben (and this was about the time I became pretty sure they were stoned off their faces) derived endless amusement from the “don’t take this stuff on the plane” cabinet, which had like… drano, and a CHAINSAW and that sort of thing in it, and we were speculating about whether they were actual confiscated goods, like someone had actually tried to take a CHAINSAW in their hand luggage and had it taken off them.
•    Anyway, about three hours in, the brothers were finally picked up by their dad, and Karen and I had about eight people in front of us in the queue. It was by this time about 11.30pm, and the shuttle to the hotel stopped running at midnight, but we kinda thought we’d be through to the front by then.
•    We weren’t. At 11.45pm, mum rang again (and she was an hour ahead, so it was the wee hours of the morning for her), and said that the holding time on the rebooking hotline was about six minutes and would I like her to just book a damn flight for me. I said yes, and that I’d phone her if I got to the front of the queue and she’d get the call-waiting beep and know she should hang up because I’d book my own.
•    She phoned back just before midnight and said she’d got me on an 11am flight to Denver the next day. We had about four people in front of us, so I figured Id wait it out and just confirm with the desk lady and get her to print me an e-ticket so I had PROOF DAMMIT that I was getting on that goddamn flight.
•    It took another half hour to get through that queue. There were these two girls who were at the desk yelling at the desk guy for literally HOURS, and as soon as they got done, we all CLAPPED and he ran for the employees only door. I bet he was MEANT to go home at like… 10pm or something. Anyway, these girls then proceeded to another line to see if they could get their bags pulled and took ANOTHER HOUR yelling at that guy about something NEITHER OF THEM could help. So we clapped again when they finally just gave the hell up and went away.
•    I got to the front of the line and went up to the lady, and she confirmed I had a seat booked, and printed me off an e-ticket, and I said thank you very much, and about ten minutes later Karen was done and we headed for the taxi rank (it being 12.30am by now, the shuttle wasn’t running).
•    Finally, blessedly, we got to the hotel and crashed in our respective rooms—me around 1am.
•    Bright and early the next morning, I was up and had a shower and got a call from mum saying that the flight she’d booked me on, which was coming from Atlanta, Georgia, had had the Atlanta-DFW leg cancelled—I theorise this was because the, oh TORNADO that had shut DFW down the previous night had moved east. She said, and I agreed, that I should get to the airport ASAP in case I had to rebook again.
•    So, I had a quick breakfast of bagels and hopped on the shuttle back to the airport. The check-in line was HUGE, but I made the pleasant discovery that what I had thought was an e-ticket was, in fact, a boarding pass, so I got to skip that queue (my checked baggage, recall, was being held hostage on the tarmac and going to Denver whether I did or not) and head straight for security.
•    I also discovered that my ticket said I was flying first class—they must have randomly upgraded me when mum booked the ticket. I was pretty convinced at this point that I wasn’t going to get on this plane, because Murphy really had it in for me, and traveling first class seemed a bit too lucky.
•    They SECONDARY SECURITY SCREENED ME to get into the airport, and I’m going to digress for a moment to have a rant about that. I got on FOUR planes originating in the States over a two-week period. And on EVERY SINGLE DAMN ONE they did a secondary screening when I went through security. NY to Montreal, NY to Dallas, Dallas to Denver, and Denver to LA. Every. Single. One. A secondary screening basically involves their going through your stuff and testing it for bomb materials in a lil’ machine, and getting patted down, so it’s not too bad, but it’s annoying, and I hate having people in my stuff, so by the time I got to DFW I was tired, cranky, convinced I was never going to get to Denver or see my bag again, and so I got a little irritated when they yet again herded me to that SPECIAL line.
•    The guy said that it was the airline who picked the SS people—it’s actually printed on the ticket. So. Dear American Airlines: I HATE YOU. I HATE YOUR SECONDARY SCREENING. I HATE YOUR RUDE AIR STEWARDS. I HATE THAT YOU CANCEL FLIGHTS AND THAT THEY’RE ALWAYS DELAYED. OH YES, AND YOUR MEAL SERVICE SUCKS. NO LOVE, Susannah.
•    Anyway, got through to airside about two hours after my flight was scheduled to go. This account is getting quite long-winded, so I’ll fast0forward a couple hours to the point where I was sitting in the lounge watching, the news sories on which cycled between: 1. Death of Saddam Hussein. 2. Death of Gerald Ford. 3. Death of James Brown. And 4. TORNADO IN TEXAS. Mmm, yes, cheery.
•    So yes, there I am, sitting there, and the PREVIOUS flight meant to leave from our gate hasn’t gone yet. A lot of people don’t realize this and think it’s our plane, but I, being a cheery sort, immediately disillusion them. Then, miracle of miracles, that plane actually GOES. And, not only that, but we get an announcement over the PA that OUR flight, OUR FLIGHT TO DENVER, has a plane, it just hasn’t arrived yet.
•    I, jaded and beaten down by my recent experiences in American air travel, was skeptical, but sure enough, a plane taxied up and then, a half hour later, they actually called us to board! I was flying first class, so I boarded first, and then phoned my dad and said, “Um, hi… I’m on a plane to Denver, and I… think it might actually take off!” I had to get him to e-mail Liana in Colorado, because my phone wasn’t loving hers, but other than that, it was actually looking good for me to be actually going to actual Denver.
•    Of course, then I started having visions of being TRAPPED IN COLORADO FOREVER and having to like… transfer to UC Boulder, and never seeing my family because blizzards kept the airport and the roads shut 24/7. But that is a story for another heading, because despite all my fears, the plane took off, and we were bound for…

BOULDER (COLORADO).

Dude, this post is almost 3,000 words. You don’t want anymore right now.