On the Way

“You got to be careful if you don’t know where you’re going, because you might not get there.” – Yogi Berra

The plane is late taking off. Some problem with air traffic control in San Francisco. I'm beginning to think that maybe I should have spent a little more money on a direct flight to Manila. But I was pinching every penny to save toward my new life in the Philippines. So I booked a milk run from Seattle to San Francisco to Taipei to Manila to Davao. Big mistake.

The woman at the ticket counter tells me that the flight might be canceled. I'm nervous about missing my connecting flight, but two hours later, we take off. Making the connection will be tight. On the plane, I begin to read a book on rural development; Elsa had told me that she had just about completed a masters degree in the topic, so I thought I would try to sound intelligent about the topic.

Image courtesy of lkunl at FreeDigitalPhotos.net

I didn't get far in the book because I notice the passenger next to me is Asian. Possibly a Filipino? I strike up a conversation. His name is Aron and he's a software engineer from Boston. He grew up in Delaware. So much for assumptions. But he was born in Madras, India. For the next hour and a half, we talk about politics, rural development, global warming and the problems caused by the rich not caring about the poor.

I mention that besides meeting Elsa one of the reasons I chose to move to the Philippines is because English is one of the national languages (little did I know how little English is spoken especially in the provinces of the Southern Philippines).

“I had been interested in Ecuador,” I tell him. “But I don't know Spanish. Hope I can learn Cebuano.”

“You'll pick it up fast.”

“I'm a writer and want to spend more time at my craft in the Philippines.”

“I'd like to learn to write, too.”

So after a rocky start, it seems like the trip will be fun. I'd already made a new friend.

We arrive in San Francisco. The plane taxis the runway for another half hour and I'm worried I will miss my connecting flight to Taipei. When passengers finally do start to deplane, there is no attempt to allow those with connecting flights to disembark early – the first time I've ever been on a delayed flight where that didn't happen. An ominous sign.

The first leg of the journey I flew on Alaska Airlines, but the next leg will be on China Airlines. I have no idea where to go. Thankfully, Aron helps me. He knows the general area and runs with me through the terminal finally getting me to the right counter. I thank him and rush up to the desk without having time to get his contact information. If you're out there somewhere Aron, please contact me, so I can properly thank you.

Aron leaves and I speak to the clerk at the desk. I've just missed my connecting flight by five minutes. There are five of us who missed the flight, four Filipino seamen and me. We're only five minutes late, but China Air failed to hold the flight for us. The next flight? Not for another 24 hours. I want to pull out my hair. Because they're not partners, neither Alaska nor China Air will take responsibility for the missed connection.

I sit down in the terminal and fume. What shall I do? Maybe I can sleep in the terminal – but 24 hours us a long time to spend in an airplane terminal and I know I won't get any sleep. So I decide to book a hotel room for the night. 

I call several hotels, but there's a major convention in town and no rooms are available. I keep dialing and finally luck out. Hampton Inn has a room that has just become available. That one night stay costs me close to $200 with a $20 taxi fee tacked on. I have already paid more than if I had booked a direct flight to Manila.

One stroke of luck, I find out that the night clerk is from the Philippines. I strike up a conversation. She, like Elsa, has a big family – in Manila.

“I'm going to Compostela Valley near the Davao area,” I say enthusiastically, pleased that I have made a Philippines connection so soon.

“I've never been to the provinces,” she says with an air of disdain. I get the distinct impression she thinks that the people there are country bumpkins. I get a slight twinge in my stomach.

After a four hour sleep, I awake and get a brief workout at the fitness center, I set up my computer with the hotel wi fi and try to call Els via Skype. No luck. I try to call on my cell phone. No international connection. After an hour, I give up and head back to the airport.

I'm getting worried because I know Elsa is frantic. At the airport, I try skyping and emailing her again. Still no luck. Then, my phone rings. I can't call the Philippines on my phone, but Elsa has contacted a friend who lives in Pennsylvania and asked her to call me. Elsa is indeed frantic and worried that I'm not coming to the Philippines – especially since that's what all her relatives told her would happen. 

Through her friend, I set up a time to Skype Elsa and finally reach her. We both breathe a sigh of relief. I tell her that I am, indeed, on the way, but will be a day late. We agree to connect again just before my plane leaves.

I wait at the airport until midnight when the China Air flight takes off. At the gate, there are at least a dozen people from China Air helping with the boarding – far different from the one or two employees checking in passengers on American flights. A reflection of Asian collectivism values versus Western individualism?

We fly into Taipei, and after finding the waiting area, I slouch in a plastic seat exhausted and droopy-eyed and wait for my connecting flight to Manila. I finally arrive in Manila in the late morning. I make it through customs with no problems and head to baggage claim. My bag is not there. What else can go wrong? A baggage claim clerk takes my information and says they will ship the bag to Davao as soon as it arrives. I'm skeptical.

I finally make it out into the airport and look for a store selling SIM cards. I bought a new phone that takes international cards just for the trip, but I've never inserted a SIM card before and am not sure what I'm looking for. Fortunately, there are several kiosks in the airport selling them. 

The sales woman helps me insert the card, and wonder of wonders, it works! I call Elsa in Davao and tell her I will arrive in the early evening. Unfortunately, there's another glitch. I had booked my flight from Manila to Davao on another carrier, Philippine Airlines. The flight was supposed to leave the day before. Would they honor my ticket?

I head out of the international terminal and there's armed guards all around – police, army, security at every entrance and exit. There's another twinge in my stomach. I ask a middle-aged couple sitting at a palm tree planter where to find the Philippine Airlines terminal. I'm not sure if they understand me, but the woman stands and points at a terminal above us. 

I climb a couple of flights of stairs and head over to the terminal. There's a security guard standing at the entrance. I must pass through another x-ray machine. There's another security guard inside next to the boarding area. I show him my ticket and he sends me to an office building across the way. I exit the terminal and head to the other building, where another security guard checks me and sends me through another x-ray machine before I can enter and go to a ticket counter. I'm beginning to think I will succumb to radiation poisoning.

An agent looks at my ticket and tells me I have to buy a new one; the airline won't accept my one day late ticket – I have to re-book and I'll have to take a later flight. I shell out another $100 and this cheap junket has become rather expensive. The agent hands me a new ticket. I exit through security again and then back to the Philippine Airlines terminal where the security guard again checks my bag and then to the gate where I go through security again. 

I call Elsa again and tell her once again I am delayed; I will arrive that evening instead of late afternoon. I finally board the plane at 5 p.m. There are no further complications and I arrive in Davao two hours later exhausted and smelly from spending two days on planes and in airports. I have no change of clothes because my luggage was lost, but at least I will finally meet Elsa.

I'm in the terminal, but I don't know where to go. I call Elsa, but she doesn't know where I am and can't explain where I need to go. She hands her phone to Manny. He doesn't know either. I ask a couple of people for directions. They don't understand me. Finally, I turn to a National Police officer. I hand my cell phone to the officer. He talks to Manny, then nods and accompanies me to an outside area where everyone is waiting. 

My ordeal is over; my adventures in the Philippines are just beginning.