Greetings from Vancouver, the host city of the 2010 Winter Olympic Games. It’s a long way from Stockholm to Vancouver (via London), and my total travel time, door to door, was 21 hours. I spent ten of them on the plane from London to Vancouver, sitting next to Victor Droop, a Dutch fellow on his way to the Olympics as well.

Just as I had sat down on my seat, 24C, Victor, at 24A, looked at me shoving my bag under the seat in front of me, put my books and magazines in the seat pocket, turn my iPhone to Airplane Mode, and take my shoes off, he turned to me and asked:

“Is there a toilet on this plane?”

I must say that the question surprised me, even caught me off guard a bit. So I said,

“Yes, yes, several.”

Victor seemed happy with the answer, so I went on, jokingly.

“I hope so because it’s a ten-hour flight, heh heh, in fact,” I added, now thinking ihe had cracked a joke, “in fact, I think it may be a human rights issue: they have to provide us with water and a toilet.”

“Aaah,” said Victor.

I turned my iPhone back to the Normal Mode, and texted Wife: “All good, sitting on the plane, next to a guy who’s never flown before.” Then I went back to Airplane Mode, and heard Victor again.

“Have you been to Canada before? You have? This is my first big flight.”

A few minutes later, when the boarding had been completed, the stewardesses went through the security announcement, with their arms waving and pointing the different exits.

Victor showed me where the gas mask would fall, in case of an emergency, slapping the little plastic locker above my head. And then it was time for us to fly.

Victor whistled happily during takeoff, all the way to above clouds, with his nose pressed against the window, admiring London from a couple of thousand feet. When the Fasten Your Seatbelts sign had been switched off, I put my earphones on, and focused on the entertainment system. Victor, on the other hand, was talking to me.

“I’ll be going to Vancouver for six weeks, first ten days as a tourist, and then i’l go to Banff to ski. And maybe the Dutch Paralympics team will be there, and they will, if they’re smart, and I can coach them a little,” he said.

“Ski Cross is my sport,” he said.

A half hour later, he yelled, “this is our plane.” He yelled, because he was wearing earphones, listening to jazz, and doing the air guitar. He’d found our Airbus in the in-flight magazine.

A half hour later, he yelled again.

“Oh, my sport!” he said, pointing to the screen in front of him. There was a man riding a bike.

“Oh, you’re into that, too?” I asked.

“Yes, I used to ride tandem with a Dutch paralympian, a blind guy, really good,” he said.

A half hour later, we were served food. Ten minutes after that, I showed him how to take down the little table so he didn’t have to hold the tray on his lap.

And so it went. Victor would play his air guitar, whistle, get some sandwiches from his red backpack, read a book about a Dutch soccer player, laugh out loud – “This is a funny book! And a great player!” – admire the weather outside – “so sunny!” – and ask me about the remaining flight time.

“Almost there? Just two more hours,” he’d say.

“No, I’m afraid we still have six hours to go,” I replied.

“Nooooooo, two!”

Four hours later: “I think we’re landing now,” said Victor.

We weren’t.

Two hours later, as we finally touched down in Vancouver, I packed my book, my magazines, my iPhone, my laptop, and got up. I looked at Victor who was wearing a blue woollen hat that covered his ears, like a speedskater’s hood would.

“Speedskating?” I asked.

“My sport!” said Victor.