The plane in the days of the corona

I'm back. Like thousands of Canadians, a few days ago I took the much faster route on the plane to come back to isolate myself at home.

The plane in the days of the corona was not easy! 

Two days before, I had managed to change my flight by spending 6 hours waiting with the airline. Then, I was invented new regulations at the Cusco airport in Peru, telling me that I should only have my bike in its cardboard box. 

But there, no other box or wrapping method was available. The agent suggested that I go on foot to buy a "Chinese plastic bag" and put everything in it. Sir, my tent poles (and all my camping gear for that matter) won't easily fit in your Chinese bag.

So I transferred 3 kg of stock in one of my small saddlebags before coming back to say that everything was transferred. “It will be 40 USD more for your 2nd suitcase,” the other officer then told me! (In addition to the 35 USD that I already pay for my bike box ...)

“What if I now transform my 2 saddlebags and my small backpack into just 2 saddlebags? ". The lady finds another problem. "You must be able to carry your personal belongings on your shoulder". Okay, I said to myself, transferring a strap in front of her from one satchel to another. 

- And now ? 
- It's nice.

It took 1h30 to check in my luggage.

The plane then leaves massively late. I arrive in Lima 30 minutes before my next flight to New York. And there must be several thousand people in front of me at every step. I run, pushing my stuff to the business section of United's check-in. 

- It will be 236 USD for the bike box. 
- I have already paid in Cusco.
- It wasn't the same company.

Seeing the minutes ticking by, I sadly hand out my poor credit card. Then I run up the escalator to customs. The line is a few hundred meters long. I use the yellow sticker on my ticket to pass countless travelers. Every employee I ask where to go to go faster seems completely overwhelmed. It's every man for himself. I go under ropes and around lines, but each new step is constantly blocked. 

Finally, I learn that this second flight is also delayed by more than an hour. I have time to respect the last line, which is immigration. I arrive at my door in time, my arms stretched out by my heavy saddlebags.

The flight finally leaves more than 2 hours late, at 1 am. This plane, like the first, is packed. Everyone tries to come home. And Peru is emptied of its many tourists in just one weekend.

In New York, I obviously have to fill out my United States tourist paper, leave customs with my luggage… and re-enter. Fortunately, the airport is not that busy. Customs officers are strangely a mixture of very relaxed - they talk to each other about their weekend plans - and extremely zealous. Like the one who looks at my orange earplugs for a minute, imagining something or other. 

And there, as at previous airports, travelers are overwhelmed and impatient. Everyone is looking forward to it even more than normal. The simple fact of running out of toilet soap exacerbates the most hardened travelers. 

The next afternoon after my departure, I finally arrive in Montreal. The airport is deserted and things are going well. I take my things and head for my XNUMXs.

The contrast is striking. In the last few months, I have lived to ride on the Andes altiplano, at more than 4000 meters of altitude. Little or no vegetation, less oxygen, and faced with such poverty that the few hotels seemed much less comfortable than my tent.

Here I am facing the solid trees that soothe the soul, a slippery winter that I no longer know and a snow of which I had almost forgotten the sweetness.

And I take advantage of these moments of global concern to begin today the writing of volume 2 of these Histoires à dormir dehors.