Well, as with all trips, this one started at the airport. A paranoid traveler, I left my office in San Bruno with enough time to not only check-in, get through security, and to my gate, but to also grab a juice, read a book, grab a vegetarian wrap sandwich from the pricey and bougie Napa Valley Market, and watch more than one episode of a television show. I did all of these things. 

All should have been well. 

However, periodically during my time at the airport, I would receive updates from Air Canada via text. Each text alerted me to the fact that my flight had been delayed. Again and again and again I received these texts. 

Mind you, my flight from SFO was only getting me to Calgary. Once I was in Calgary, I then had to make it through customs and catch my connecting flight to Yellowknife. 

With each text from Air Canada, my time between flights grew shorter and shorter. I went from having a 3 hour layover to just 30 minutes. A paranoid traveler, I of course Googled the average time it took to get through Calgary and the internet told me 60 minutes. A good half hour more than I was going to have. This information, of course, did not bode well for my nervous system. I think I anxiety peed at least five times over the course of those few hours. 

Still, I knew that there wasn’t anything I could do and I resigned myself to my fate. I would just have to catch an alternative flight to Yellowknife.

That’s when I got yet another text message. This time, however, it was alerting me to the fact that my second flight was also delayed. 

I once again had an hour to spare between landing and boarding my next flight. 

Relief flooded my body and I felt like I could breath again. I let out a laugh that sounded like a horn blowing and the man at the charging station next to me looked up from his laptop in concern. 

Unfortunately, my newfound enthusiasm for my situation soon wained as I received yet another text message saying that my second flight was delayed even further. 

Suddenly I realized that I had a shuttle booked to take me from the airport to my B&B. They were expecting me to arrive at 22:00 and I was now set to arrive at 23:00. 

I pulled out my phone and quickly sent a message through booking.com. 

Then I tried to read my book as I waited to see if I would get a response. Only a few minutes later, the B&B owner responded and assured me that the updated time was no problem. 

Two and a half hours past my original boarding time, I finally got on my first plane. It was immediately apparent that I was not the only one who had been worried about missing a connecting flight. The man next to me sighed and later explained that he’d been traveling since the previous evening. 

I could understand why he was disgruntled about this additional three-hour delay. However, after a quick chat with the pretty flight attendant (perhaps made even prettier by her ability to speak French), he seemed to let it all go. 

“Yes, but we’re all in the same boat, aren’t we?” She said to him. 

I looked down at my phone. If this had been said to me after it had become apparent that my next flight was long gone, my response would not have been kind. 

However, he seemed to be a better person than I am.

“Yes,” he nodded in agreement (even if that agreement was tinged with disappointment). 

And that was that. No other huffs. No other puffs. Just a simple acceptance of the situation. 

I guess that’s the difference between Canadians and Americans. 

So, this is the attitude that I tried to adopt when I landed in Calgary and discovered that my flight to Yellowknife had been delayed yet again. I would now be arriving at the inconvenient hour of 23:47. That’s 11:47 PM if you’re not familiar with military time. It’s also HOURS passed my bed time and nearly three hours after the original pick-up time I’d scheduled the shuttle for. 

My dismay at this delay made it nearly inconceivable to me when the B&B owner, yet again, replied with my news of the late arrival with a “no problem.”

Here’s the thing though. I didn’t arrive at 23:47. After about thirty minutes at a standstill on the runway while ice was being blown off the wings of the airplane, our actual arrival into Yellowknife wasn’t until 24:30. 12:30 PM. 

Rushing off the plane into the cold air, I raced with my baggage to the security counter where I was sure I was going to meet a wildly annoyed B&B owner. 

I apologized profusely and was, again, shocked to have my words brushed off with carefree ease. 

“We’re used to that here. Planes are always delayed coming into Yellowknife.”

We walked to the car and he checked to make sure I was in warm enough clothes. I felt fine. Once in the car, he explained that it was too cold for the snowmobiling or dog sledding adventures that’d I’d hoped to go on. He warned of frostbite and I nodded in the back seat. I didn’t want to appear concerned, but I started wondering if this crazy trip had been the right choice. 

Why in the world would I head to the arctic northwest territories during the dead of winter?

Sill, I tried to look on the bright side. This meant that I could do more writing and finally read my new book. 

During our drive, I found out the B&B owner was originally from Hong Kong. We talked briefly about the situation there. He spoke quietly and there was something powerful about the frustration that was held in his voice. 

“The government doesn’t care about hurting people. All we can do is complain but nothing happens. They don’t care.”

Then we passed what looked like a small shack on the side of the road. 

“This is really good sea food,” he said, “but it’s really expensive. Everything here is very expensive.”

I nodded appreciatively and made a note to try to visit it the next night. 

“Do you drink beer?” He asked.

“I do,” I said without hesitation. 

He pointed to a more industrialized building with the letters NWT across the front. 

“That’s the local brewery. People really like it. I don’t drink but everyone goes there.”

Then, just like that, we arrived at the B&B. I was incredibly happy when he opened the door to the first room and said that it was mine. It featured an incredible view of the lake and I couldn’t wait to wake up and start the next day with that vista. 

Strangely, late as it was (and how exhausted I’d been during the plane rides), I couldn’t sleep. I suppose I was filled with my thoughts of the next day. Bracing for the cold and exploring this town on my own.