I don’t know why I thought that this trip was going to be different. Maybe because the destinations are exotic or the fact that I only have to go to two places this time instead of the usual six or seven. Either way the dread that usually sets in a couple of days before departure was missing this time.

Until the gate came into view.

It happens everytime, I start the trek towards the gate, dodging people sitting in the middle of the hall surrounded by sixteen bags and then wham, all of my movements slow down and this strange emotion descends.

If I was six, with the freedom of expression that goes with youth, at this point I would throw my bags down, ball up my fists and wail, ‘I don’t wanna go! You can’t make me!’ This earnest declaration would be punctuated with overly dramatic sobs as befitting a good old fashioned temper tantrum.

Except I’m not six.

So I will action back into my limbs and shift the emtional part of my mind into some sort of stasis where it remains until I finally walk through immigration in Montreal again.

Unless after travelling for 24 hours my luggage takes an hour to appear, there are no taxis at the airport and the hotel gives me the crappy room overlooking the 5 am garbage pick-up. Then I cry.

But I’m sure that won’t happen this time.