Eastward Bound - the outward trip

Despite having the sore throat from hell (laryngitis) and barely having slept in the last 36 hours, I feel duty bound to at least start to document this latest episode from the November 2026 run across the water.

Following on from the seat debacle, I checked in for our flights online, and the correct seats were allocated, along with a note that DW was listed as having a "non-visible disability", which I think was how the booking agent justified giving us the seats that she did. So that was a good start.

What wasn't a good start was me having caught Charlie's Laryngitis the day before we travelled, and I was feeling dog-rough on the morning of our flights. Still, there's nothing like popping a couple of Tylenol Extra-Strength and driving for hours to put a little bit if sickness to the back of my mind.

*This was as far as I could manage for that Friday night, the remainder of this post was written on the Saturday and the Sunday that followed

We had decided to do the country run from Chatham to St. Thomas to avoid the construction on Highway 401. It's a lovely drive up Highway 3, but it does take longer. Add in the fact that two of the roads north of St Thomas that I had intended to use to get to the 401 were closed for construction and what should have been an eighty-minute drive took two hours. Not that we were in a hurry, but we may have been better braving the road works. On the subject of road works, Ontario is the worst place for closed roads. I understand that work has to be carried out, but there's never any advanced warning, so you're driving along and all of a sudden there are barriers across the road, and very often no diversion route shown. Given the grid system of roads in these parts, there's always an alternative, but how hard would it be for those responsible to put a sign up maybe a kilometre or two ahead of the closure?

Back onto the manic Highway 401, we made good time with only the intersection of Highway 6 at Guelph slowing things down. Coming through Milton we'd already decided to avoid the mess on the 401 south of the airport and to use the toll road, Highway 407, and go north of the airport. It's a little further but the 407 at least keeps moving. Google Maps Directions didn't like the fact I used Airport Road to get to the airport itself and not the 427, but it was all good as we rolled into the valet parking lot at Toronto's Park 'N' Fly facility. I may use that northerly route again, even though it'll cost me a few dollars; I don't know how much the toll road was this time, and the bill won't arrive for months.

The bag drop at the airport was easy, as was security, and in no time at all we were sat in the departures area with three hours to kill. We've taken to bringing our own snacks because the price markup out at the gates is criminal. DW divined that a pre-made sandwich was going for $12.99, which is scandalous, and double the rip-off price you'd pay for the same thing in a local supermarket. I feel a strongly-worded letter coming on.

We had to move away from our first sitting place at Gate 33 because the piped music there was just hideous, and just too loud to ignore. But we found a quieter spot, and idled the time away with our own sandwiches and trenchant observations of our fellow travellers. We have found ourselves getting to the airport earlier each time recently, but with the unreliability of the road system between home and the airport, it's better to be three hours early than to be ten minutes late when there are flights involved.

While we were waiting to be boarded, there were calls for people to check their carry-on baggage into the aircraft's hold, and because as all the seats were sold, room in the overhead bins was going to be limited. If you volunteered to have your bags checked then it was free, if the airline forced you to do it because your bag was bigger than formally allowed then it would cost you $75. That made me scrutinise other people's bags, and boy do people push that carry-on size limit to breaking point on these longer flights? DW was worried about the size of her bag, but it was half the size of most of the others being taken onto the aircraft, and sometimes people had two big carry-on items. The European low-cost arlines are really strict about carry-on bag sizes, but on the full-service airlines, they don't seem to worry as much.

Our seats on the aircraft, a brand new Boeing 787, were good because we had no one in front of us and therefore had lots of room to spread out in. We had a little overhead bin just above us which fitted our two bags perfectly, so with them stowed we settled in for the flight. The aircraft was pushed back from the gate dead on time, and it fairly dashed out to the north side of the airport for a take off to the west. We must have been heavily loaded because it was a long thrash down the runway before we left the ground, but once up in the air, everything was smooth and relatively quiet. Then it was time to settle in for the six hour, overnight flight.

For this trip I'd decided to use my Android tablet instead of the aircraft's own entertainment system, but my previously downloaded episodes of Fingersmith had disappeared from the Britbox app, something to do with time limits on dowloaded content, so I decided to fire up a film from my own archive which isn't time limited. No sooner had the titles started to roll, then the dinner arrived. Putting the tablet away, I opted for the salmon and rice meal, and was as disappointed as usual with the whole thing. I wasn't really hungry anyway, I don't normally eat at 11pm, and I wasn't feeling brilliant either, so maybe I should have just given the whole supper thing a miss. Once that had all been cleared away, I gave up on the film and chose to listen to an audio book in the hope that I might drop off to sleep with someone talking quietly into my ears. For the first time ever I deployed not only the British Airways blanket, it was quite cold, but I reclined my seat a bit, both things that I don't normally do. I did sleep a bit, though, judging by how many chapters of my book I missed, but grabbing no more more than an hour or two of sleep in the previous twenty, I knew I was going to be wrecked by the time we made our final destination.

The cabin was unceremonially woken by the crew switching all the lights on about an hour before landing, and "breakfast" was served. I declined because I knew that the "egg and bacon" roll that was offered was little more than a bit of pastry with some pulverised egg and bacon inside. Anyway, I wasn't feeling any better.

We were denied nice views of London as the aircraft only popped out of the clouds a few hundred feet from the ground, although I'm greatful that modern technology allows aircraft to land in such conditions. We taxied over to Terminal 5 and given the gate furthest from the terminal, which was a result of arriving ahead of schedule, although it was something that allowed us to stretch our legs as we walked to the little shuttle train that would whisk us to the arrivals area. Unfortunately the shuttle train had a bit of an issue and it was while before we were whisked anywhere, but being on holiday meant that time really wasn't an issue.

We used the E-Gates to get through immigration, a handy automated system that speeds up the entry process if you have all the right paperwork, which we did. I wasn't too impressed with the lady prowling up and down barking orders as to how to use the e-gates, especially as it didn't look like anyone was struggling, but we were through in a very short time and on our way to the baggage reclaim area. The T5 baggage reclaim is massive, and each carousel is massive, too. Even with loads of people milling around it didn't seem that busy, and it was all in sharp contrast to the chaos of baggage reclaim at Toronto's Pearson airport. As ever, our bags seemed to be among the last off, but they were probably first to be loaded on the aircraft, so that was to be expected.

Then it was over to the Sixt Car Rental desk in the lobby of the Sofitel Hotel. I'd pre-booked of course, and told the agent I didn't want to pay more than the quoted sum on my reservation paperwork, but with some jiggery-pokery on the Sixt mobile app, he still secured us an "upgrade" at no extra cost. We had a little confusion as to the correct key for the car at the pickup point, but the ever helpful Sixt staff sorted it all out, and we found our black Peugeot 3008 Hybrid SUV. I'll do a seperate post about the car, but suffice it to say it's not a car that I would choose to buy.

The run westwards to Devon was uneventful, thankfully, despite the mess on London's orbital motorway, the M25. I'd opted to use the M4 and the M5, which is not the most direct route, but it is motorway right down to Exeter, and there are regularly placed service stations along the route, essential when you've flown overnight. I didn't start feeling the effects of the almost sleepless night until nearly at Exeter, and when diving off the motorway towards Newton Abbot and the big Tesco there, the change of driving pattern certainly banished any sleepiness I may have felt.

The first stop in Tesco was to get some credit for my UK cell phone, which in turn allowed us to use the Tesco loyalty card, which took a hefty chunk off the supplies shopping bill. When we visit any UK grocery store, we're reminded just how lucky we are in sleepy Ontario to have so many shops spread among so few people. Every grocery store in England seems to be permanently busy, in a way that Ontario stores never are, and in my sleep-deprived state I wasn't coping too well with the crush. Still, we only forgot a few things, and I pleased myself greatly by remembering the route through Newton Abbot and up to our home for the next three weeks near Ashburton. I was reminded then of how narrow and twisty UK roads can be, especially when heading out into the countryside. The section of road from the A38 to the cottage is, for large sections, effectively only wide enough for one car at a time, and is bounded by tall hedges on each side. We didn't have to back up this time, but we will at some point on this trip.

Then we were at Orchard Cottage again, our little bolt-hole on the edge of Dartmoor, where we'd stayed just nine months before. Having done the essentials, like unpack and have a drink, I fell into bed and slept, instantly, the effects of the lack of sleep and the sickness just knocked me out. But our multi-modal, self-booked, travel plans had all fitted together again, so maybe I was just relieved to have completed the outward leg.

Eastward Bound, November 2026

 

November 2nd, 2026

We're off for our second trip of the year to dear old Blighty, and while we're still three days away from flying, we've had some travel drama already.

Don't get me wrong, I quite like British Airways for our transatlantic jaunts; they have a fantastic terminal at Heathrow, their aircraft are normally pretty new, the staff are universally excellent, and their prices have been very competitive in recent years. But they do have a habit of messing about with pre-booked, and paid for, seating.

Two trips ago, with four of us travelling Premium Economy, we'd booked and paid for two rows of two. For "operational reasons", our seat allocations were changed to a row of four in the centre of the aircraft. I wasn't able to change their decision, so we sat in that four across row, but I did have a moan and claimed a refund of the seat booking fee, which was in the hundreds of dollars. I had a second moan to British Airways because I thought they'd bounced my refund claim, but that was unjustified on my part because they had indeed made the refund, I just hadn't checked the credit card bill properly.

Our last trip suffered the same problem. We'd booked and paid for two Premium Economy seats together, as we always do. When informed of the seat changes, I checked online to find that we, DW and I, were seated in different rows! On that occasion I was able to alter the seating online, more or less back to where we'd originally booked, so I didn't feel the need to claim a refund. I'm glad I didn't because on the trip home, we were upgraded to Business Class, at no cost, so props to BA for that.

For this trip, third time in a row, British Airways did it again. Our two seats together had been changed to two seats in the same row, but with an aisle between us. This time, though, I couldn't alter the seating online as there were no more two-seat sets vacant. DW was bereft, and the prospect of having to sit next to a stranger for eight hours was too much for her, so she did no more than called up BA in the UK and made a very polite, but firm, fuss. Low and behold, we have been restored to a two-seat row, window and aisle, and because it's in front of a bulkhead we get extra leg room, all at no extra cost. The irony is that the seats are directly in front the row we'd originally booked. Well done DW, and thank you British Airways.

The really aggravating thing is that we pay big bucks to choose our seat, and I don't know why we keep getting bumped around the aircraft. I absolutely understand that aircraft changes can impact seating, and even paid for seat allocations are not guaranteed, but why is it always us getting messed around? Yes, we could claim a refund, but if this kind of thing keeps happening, why do they bother charging at all if they then just have to give the money back?

Our return flight seats have been changed, too, but not drastically. Technically I could go for a refund, but we have gained an advantage on the outward leg of trip, so I'll hold off a claim in the interests of balance. Who knows, maybe we'll get another upgrade for the flight home?

Airstream Camping 2025 - July Summer Days

Camping again, only this time it's in the summer holidays. We thought we'd given up rubbing shoulders with the family crowds now that we're retired, but a slot came up at our favourite campground and it was too good to turn down. I thought that we might be the only seniors around but no, the place is full of them, and not all are accompanied by grandchildren either. It seems odd that when you have quiet campgrounds in May and June, and again in September and October, that any retirees would opt to camp when the younger families are scrabbling for sites; it seems almost unfair. It's not unlike seeing all the old geezers grocery shopping on a Saturday when they, we, have had all week to do it. I don't know, maybe Ontario Parks should drop the Senior's discount for July and August to give the young 'uns a chance? Anyway, we're here, we're seniors, and it's very warm.

This past week we'd treated Towed Haul to a clean up inside and out, and she was gleaming. Or rather I thought she was gleaming. Being a total cheapskate, I'd used a pretend Chamois leather to wipe the water droplets off the skin of the trailer and it left horrible smear marks all over, which serves me right for being cheap. Not in my control, though, were the lovely birds that had crapped on the back of the camper; c'est la vie I guess.

Prepping to leave on Monday, we had set a departure time, but that disappeared into the Coleslaw Vortex. As I'm sure you know, the Coleslaw Vortex is when your thrifty wife decides to use up some veggies that are laying around to make a Coleslaw, when you should have been hitching up. Frugality is important, and leaving on time for a short run to Rondeau really isn't, so I'm not complaining, and we were only thirty-five minutes off schedule. These things happen.

At Rondeau, we hit a line of other trailers at the water fill station. It's not the best idea to travel with a full freshwater tank, not least because even with our little camper, that near-fifty gallons of water weighs quite a lot. So most people will travel dry, or almost dry, and fill up at the campground, at least at Provincial Parks that don't have a water supply on the sites themselves. There were two trailers ahead of us at the single water point, and it turned out that the one filling had only just started. We waited, with the car engine running to keep its A/C going in the heat, and we waited. While the first one was filling, another trailer not in the line pulled up on the opposite side of the water point and started to unfurl a hose. There is indeed a tap at the base of the water point, and he connected his hose to that while the first fellow was still filling and started to fill his own tank. While I applaud his ingenuity, he had both jumped the line up, and made a very slow water point run at half-speed for the guy still filling from the proper water point. That's not really cricket, is it? Still, there was nothing we could do. While we waited for the person in front of us to fill, I emptied the black and grey water tanks of the residue from last week's cleaning efforts, and we continued to wait. Goodness, that trailer must have had a massive water tank because it took absolutely ages to fill. All in all we waited a good forty minutes before we could fill, and by that point I'm thinking that one watering point really isn't sufficient. 

There was a reason for my growing anxiety, and that was the fact that Emma and Charlie were due on site, and we had effectively lost our whole time buffer. Trying to set up while Charlie "helps" isn't easy, particularly in the heat, so we were rushing around and getting ever more flustered trying to beat their arrival. Sadly, we didn't quite make it. Curses!

Charlie wants everything at once, of course, so we had to finish setting up with the whirlwind around us. We did manage to get him away with his mother for a while, which enabled me to finish up, but on their return, things were back into rushing mode.

We had promised Charlie a fire and roasted marshmallows, so in the heat of the afternoon, he and I built up a kindling tower in the fire pit, set it ablaze and stacked some logs on top as the flames built up. It was a good fire, even if I do say so myself, but in the very hot sun it all seemed a bit unnecessary. DW had prepared some baking potatoes, in three layers of tin foil, so I positioned those at the base of the fire, while Emma and Charlie did their marshmallow thing. 

Now here's a Canadian thing I don't fully understand, S'mores. S'mores are sweet campfire treats that people go nuts for, but I just don't get. Take a Graham Cracker, put a square of milk chocolate on it, stand a freshly roasted marshmallow on the chocolate, then cover with another Graham Cracker. Squeeze the whole contraption together and eat it. The cracker crumbles, the melting chocolate goes everywhere, while your hands and mouth are covered in the sticky and crumby goo. Emma loves them, Charlie thinks he does, DW spills their contents all down her front and I look on uncomprehendingly. As I said, I don't really get it.

The upside of the fire, though, was three perfectly cooked baked potatoes. If you plan to cook in a fire, though, make sure you double or triple wrap the potatoes in tin foil, and turn them regularly. Oh, and a perfectly set fire helps as well - all that training with the Scouts wasn't wasted.

Once our visitors had departed, things settled down. We tidied the site up a bit, put a few things away, poured some drinks and retired to the bug tent for the evening. I'd strung some coloured lights up in there and it was quite jolly watching the light fade and listening to the campground quietening down. Despite the number of people here, by nine it was pretty quiet and while we couldn't see them, the Raccoons were abroad, if the noises outside were anything to go by. I hadn't intended to have an early night, but I was in bed by eleven, which is early for me, and in the Land of Nod almost immediately. 

Tuesday is going to be a bit of an odd day, but with fine weather forecast, I'm sure we'll make the most of it.

Blighty 2025 - Flying Home

Flight day dawned. All the bags had been repacked and reweighed, and all of them, thankfully, came in under the 23Kg limit. I eschewed breakfast on the grounds that I didn't need to spend another £20 on food when I'd done nothing but eat over the past month, and we moved seamlessly to getting the bags downstairs and loaded into the rental car again.

It's only a couple of minutes drive from the Hyatt Place to Terminal five, but I still manged to be in the wrong lane, and subsequently on the wrong road when trying to get back to the car hire drop off point. I managed to correct things without going too far out of our way, but still struggled with the complicated instructions on how to get to the drop-of point. Essentially it was a case of driving almost all the way around the T5 Sofitel Hotel before finding the entrance. They have a kind all 360 degree scanner you drive through when you leave, and again when you return. I guess it compares dents and scratches and the like without having someone come out and check. To the best of my knowledge, I hadn't added to the car's patina, so that was all good. Apart from dropping the key back in to the office, we didn't have to do anything other than unload the car - onto three trolleys - make our way back through the Sofitel and head into the departures hall of Terminal 5.

Dumping the bags was the first order of the day, so we did a self-service bag drop and boarding pass collection, which was all we needed to do having checked in online the night before. DW and I sat and relaxed before going through security, while Emma and Charlie went for a ride on the T5 Pod system for twenty minutes.

Going through security was relatively painless, for us at least. Emma had her bag opened and manually checked thanks to her carrying a big, resin, Lilliput Village church in her carry on baggage. Time had slipped away quickly, so we decided to head straight out to the gate, which was about as far away as you get from where we had arrived airside. You can walk it, and we have done that in the past, but this take we took the "transit", a little underground train that doesn't run often enough to make it a comfortable trip because it's always so crowded. Heathrow seems to specialize in not realising how many people move through their place; I remembered with horror the wholly inadequate lifts in Terminal 2, lifts that had no viable alternative, and were always bursting at the seams. The world's busiest airport really needs to do better, I think.

Our transport for the flight home waiting at the gate, and with the power of the Internet at hand, I interrogated it and found out that our aircraft was a 2025 Boeing 787 Dreamliner. It has come back to London from Barbados the previous day, and Toronto was its only flight this warm afternoon. How informative.

In our World Traveller Plus cabin, I was surprised to see the seat configuration was 2-3-2 and not 2-4-2 as it had been on the Airbus on the way over. Indeed, the seats were bigger, better padded and altogether an improvement over the outward leg. The Dreamliner also has fancy LED windows that lighten or darken at the push of button and, more pertinently for the crew, could be controlled as one from the flight deck, so no messing about with getting people to lift the window blinds for take off. 

We were sitting over the wing so were treated to a lot of wind and engine noise, and the sight of the Boeing's wing lifting and wobbling. It's a good job I understand the principals of flight or I might be a bit worried. The last time I flew on a 787, I remember it being quieter, but I'd trade the noise for the better seats any day. Flights are as flights are, pretty boring. The food was better this time, and I did enjoy a short while with Charlie on my lap watching Paw Patrol, which is so much better without the sound.

Then we were banking out over Lake Erie for a rare northward landing at Toronto Pearson Airport, getting a great view of the Islands and the CN Tower, which was all the better as it had been cloudy since we passed over Ireland. The airport wasn't much fun, though. Terminal 3 was packed, the customs kiosks were playing up and it took an age for two of our bags to show up in the arrivals hall, thanks to a technical fault in the conveyor system. The magic of Park and Ride was working well, though, as a Valet Parking bus was waiting at the curb, and as I'd already notified them through their phone app that we'd landed, the car was sat in the lot waiting for us. I do like Park and Fly, and it did take the edge off the fact that it had taken us two hours to clear the airport. 

Opening up the back of car to load our many bags, it was quite comforting to see that our Canadian (made in Ontario) Honda CRV had quite a bit more luggage space than our Skoda hire car, so the game of baggage Jenga wasn't quite so difficult. Mind you, two bags "self-unloaded" when we opened the tailgate at the On Route in Cambridge.

We arrived home tired, of course, and out of sorts given that it was 3am according to our body clocks. Still, we'd completed quite the epic journey. A month, give or take a day, and no major dramas (bar the Manchester accommodation), and we did most of the things we'd set out to do. Now, as we Brits are wont to say "we need a holiday to get over the holiday". Next week, people, next week.