Laters Baby...

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After a hasty mish mash of planning and preparation (let’s say none), I arrived at Heathrow. I had a couple of hours to kill before boarding, so naturally I headed to the bar for some dutch courage and more importantly, FOOD. It wasn’t until I sat there stuffing my face and idly watching people come and go, that it suddenly dawned on me what I was about to do. Travel thousands of miles, ON MY OWN?! Fast forward an hour or so and the mixture of nerves, alcohol and over eating got the better of me and I subsequently spent the next half hour in the ladies resisting the urge to throw up. Thankfully by the time I boarded, I felt confident enough that I would be able to endure my flight without becoming separated from any more of my innards.

My first flight would be via Air Canada to Montreal, Quebec. Then after a short wait I would catch a regional flight from Montreal to Newark. I umm’d and ahhh’d about whether or not to get a direct flight, but for me having a stopover was worth it. My flights worked out to be a couple of hundred pounds cheaper and having a stopover is actually less faff free than most people would presume. Your luggage is all handled for you, you don’t have to go through the complete security shebang again and you are helpfully fast tracked through to your necessary gate of departure. I’m sure some people would sooner pay the additional cost for a direct flight, but for a financially stricken solo traveller like me, it was definitely worth it.

My flight to Montreal was pretty straightforward. Although French being the native language for the crew and most of the passengers, meant that the majority of in-flight announcements and safety notifications were lost on me. If something had actually been wrong I would have probably been oblivious.

It was after a few disturbed hours sleep and an in-flight meal (a dish to rival the delicacies served by a) your local kebab shop or b) your high school canteen), that I took a quick glance out of the window to try and establish my bearings. It suddenly dawned on me that I couldn't actually see the ocean. My techno savvy, in-flight virtual map said I should still be 30 miles off the coast.

Where was the blue?

Why is there only a mass of white spread beneath me?

You’re probably thinking, idiot. That white stuff is called clouds. True there were specks of blue among the white, which would make you think that.

Except it wasn't.



We were gradually descending and it was a pretty clear day. After a couple of minutes I was able to establish that, yeah that white stuff? That was actually where the sea had completely frozen solid, creating an ice sheet as far North of us as the eye could see. Those blue bits? Yeah that was the sea, but that was where there were holes in the ice or where huge blocks of ice where just floating aimlessly close to the main sheets’ edge. As we travelled further inland, the ice turned to snow topped mountains, frozen waterfalls and snow drifts. My blurry pictures hardly do it justice…

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Photos

ICE
The blue ripples are where floating ice blocks meet the ice sheets edge..