My first flight is simple. I take a Continental Express plane from Newark Airport to Quebec City. I leave the sticky, humid, heat of New York, arrive in Canada and encounter my first obstacle. Customs had not been warned of my arrival, so I sit, patiently waiting for them to figure out what the word “intern” means. After an hour they finally agree that I am to leave Canada by August 11 and I will not to be paid. I walk outside, where the Caribbean-strong sun beats down on me; a cold breeze sweeps by.
As I board a second plane, I realize I have entered the commercial version of a privately owned plane. I, along with everyone else, have a window and aisle seat. We take off, and before I know it we are preparing for landing. I look out my window to see the green mainland, and off to the side an island. With a strip of shore and hills of trees, it is small enough that I can see the entire town. I have arrived in Sept Iles.
I eat an early dinner and wait to board my plane. Then the announcement: It is too foggy to land in Blanc Sablon, and we are to return tomorrow morning for a flight leaving sometime between 5 and 8 a.m. The lady at the desk helps me get a hotel room and a taxi.
As we drive I see only the road and trees ahead of me. Suddenly stores, restaurants and gas stations line the street. I arrive at my hotel, where I discover the woman cannot speak English very well. She gives me my room key and offers no other help. I drag my heavy bags into the room and fall onto my bed. I’m tired and confused so I call my Mom to let her know I’m okay, talk to Tom who’s been helping me, and then talk to Andrew until I fall asleep.
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