canada

My 2022 trip to Ontario was supposed to be a visit with family and friends. Instead, I spent most of it ill in bed, cancelled almost everything and then nearly missed the flight back to England. We made it onto the plane. Our suitcase didn’t.

By the time I recorded the update published on 1 July, I was back in England and still sounded awful. The cheerful Canada arrival video had been filmed about two and a half weeks earlier. I usually tried to finish videos ahead of time, which explained why I could appear to have just arrived in Canada while actually recovering at home.

A visit that disappeared into sick days

We had roughly five or six days at the beginning for family things, getting over jet lag and hanging around the house. Then I became horribly ill. My partner and sister were ill too, and my mum got a milder version. For me, it meant fever, chills, a painful throat and congestion. I kept going to bed hoping the next day would be better, only to wake up feeling worse.

Eventually I lost my voice completely. I texted my mum, nodded or grunted because I couldn’t speak. After a particularly painful night without sleep, she asked if I wanted to go to a walk-in clinic. Yes, please. The doctor told me I had laryngitis and prescribed antibiotics. I reported that the throat pain eased after I started them, although I was still coughing and feeling unwell. That was my experience of this particular illness and appointment.

Most days, I couldn’t even go outside. I watched Netflix and napped when I could. I’d seen my grandma for about five minutes before getting ill and my best friend once, but the other plans to meet up had to be cancelled. People had asked whether I could film Toronto or Niagara Falls. I wished I could, but I couldn’t do any of it. This was the worst Canada visit I’d had.

Two hours for one baggage tag

The flight out to Toronto had been okay. Coming back was another story. I thought we arrived at Pearson around 6.20pm for our 9.20pm WestJet flight. We were already checked in and had one suitcase to check. All we needed was its baggage tag, then we could drop it off and go through security.

The kiosk asked for my visa and wouldn’t let us finish. We joined a huge queue with one woman at the counter. After about an hour with barely any movement, my partner went to find out what was happening. People near the front told him she had gone for lunch and didn’t know whether anyone would cover. We’d been waiting in a queue nobody was serving.

We switched to the other queue, which was longer but had more staff. That didn’t move for another hour either. I started crying. From talking to people in line, I understood that some were trying to rebook delayed or cancelled flights, while we were trying to catch ours. Sorting out a new flight could take ages, and we were all waiting together.

Finally, my partner asked a member of staff for help because we were going to miss the flight. We were brought forward to print the tag, but it was already after 9pm. We asked whether we could still make it and were told we could if we ran. Security was quiet, thankfully. The gate felt unbelievably far away. We ran with our backpacks and a wheeled carry-on, sweating and still feeling dreadful, and the door closed roughly a minute or two after we sat down.

We got home before the suitcase

The flight itself was fine. At Gatwick, we waited on the tarmac for about 45 minutes because the gate wasn’t ready. While we were waiting, we checked the AirTag travelling in our suitcase. Its recent location was still Toronto Pearson. We had made the flight by running; the bag had been left behind.

We still had to wait at the carousel until all the bags had come off before completing a baggage report. On Thursday morning, when I recorded the update, the report said our suitcase had reached Gatwick and might be delivered that day. We didn’t have it yet. I’d worried it was gone forever, so even that update was encouraging. My laptop and other important tech had been in my backpack, which at least meant I could carry on working.

There was one final annoyance. Our airport shuttle driver asked for an extra £20 in cash because we were late. I couldn’t find a late fee on our receipt or booking and suspected we’d been ripped off. I couldn’t prove that, and we paid because we just wanted to get home. By then, being back in England was enough. I was still recovering, and the suitcase could only hopefully follow.

Watch my full account of the illness, airport queues and lost bag.