After a pitstop in Toronto that runs long, we are finally on our way to Frankfurt, where I am meeting An-an in route. I’m seriously hoping that the 55-minute connection point won’t be problem. I have a glass of wine in the airport—a snakebite from an Indian dude who is jovial with his Indian friend (“We just met tonight,” his friend tells me. “We’re both Indian, so we’re friends.”)
I roll onto the flight. The Air Canada agent was right—row 12. The bulkhead, is a better place to be. Stretching out after 2 mini-bottles of wine, I am out like a light.