Tsunami Warning

First off, my prayers and good will to all who live in Japan, including my niece Akiko and her parents who live in Nagoya. I heard the news about the horrific 8.9 magnitude earthquake in Japan early this morning. No blog post can outweigh the impact of this catastrophe.

I haven't heard from any of my family in Micronesia or the Philippines, or the Mainland west coast. I did get a message from one of the shipping lines that I work with.

I have a container that just left Tacoma, WA last weekend, headed for Guam. I wish Horizon Lines would send updates too.

Lessons At a Carwash

Pampanga Detour

The flight from Cebu to Manila is just a little over an hour. As short as that is, I still take Dramamine, and especially because it is typhoon season. So I was asleep before we took off. And this is what I saw upon waking up.

Ladies and gentlemen, this is NOT Manila!

I don't care what planet you're one, this ain't Manila!

Aside from the vast fields of grass, I know this isn't Manila because 

1. Use of cell phones and electronic devices are not permitted, yet passengers are not being reprimanded for doing so.

2. The airplane door is wide open, and no one is either getting on, or getting off. By the way, Asian flight crew are very handsome and pretty, don't you think?

Come to find out this is what happened: our flight was instructed to standby over Cavite, over which we were doing donuts. Well, not really; I'd be hurling the entire contents of my stomach if this were the case, even on an entire bottle of Dramamine. After fifteen minutes of flying circles, our captain announced that we were not able to land because of some special ops taking place at the airport in Manila (later, he admitted that the president was boarding an aircraft, and all other flight plans were postponed in the meantime), and because we were running dangerously low on fuel (according to Cousin Nelia, who was picking us up in Manila, "the ground agent told me there were only two liters of fuel left in the tank!") we had to divert to an alternate airport to refuel.

What does that say on the fuel truck's door?

CLARK?!

As in the former Clark Air Force Base, now Diosdado Macapagal International Airport, Pampanga.

Finally, fifteen minutes after taking off again, we land here.

Now THIS is definitely Manila. Ninoy Aquino International Airport.

Now I'm curious. Who is Diosdado Macapagal, and did he meet an untimely demise on the tarmac like Ninoy did?

And by the way, two liters of fuel... Seriously? Nelia, someone was pulling your leg.

On the Sea to Bohol

Once again, I traveled across the Bohol Strait from Cebu to Bohol. Except for this tarpaulin on the damyo, everything remains the same.

The pier pilings are still precrariously standing.

The paddling panhandlers are still peddling.

Steamships are still belching black smoke.

And the sea still beckons travelers to fare with ease. Despite the fact that it is typhoon season.

Bohol, on the other hand, is in the midst of an "upgrade". The pier is getting an extension.

Maajong pag-abot!

We're Not in Truk Anymore

Most definite sign we're not in Truk anymore:

You buy fish at the SUPER market.

This is the seafood department at Park Mall, Cebu.

Manila

Manila. 

Smog.

 Jeepnies.

[Almost] silent jeepnies. 

[There's a new traffic law passed: NO HONKING.]

People. 

Dirty river.

Kids swimming in dirty river.

Restaurants.

Have I mentioned people?

More people.

Ah, but Manila is a drug that one can't quit. I find myself drawn to its smell, its sounds, its niches.

As our plane few over Manila Bay, I couldn't help thinking about Hawaii, the movie adapted from James Michner's novel Hawaii. There was a scene where Jerucia's ex-boyfriend Refer (please pardon me if I've mispelled the names) and his crew went on a marauding spree. Refer grabbed a young Hawaiian girl and enticed her into sailing off with him, promising her such wonders as "the lights of Manila Bay..."

The lights are pretty. But the shopping is nicer!

The Final Hop

The final hop of Continental Air Micronesia's ("Air Mike") westbound Island Hopper route is Truk to Guam, although it wasn't actually THE Island Hopper that I boarded in Truk. I had spent a week on Truk (see My Crazy Relatives corresponding post dates) before continuing on to Guam. This flight was the dreaded Monday 2:20AM flight. Living right off the runway, I was able to get a few hours of sleep that night before being awakened by the thunderous roar of the Boeing 737 touching down right outside my window. And off we went, with a minute to spare before the doors were closed for boarding. (Actually, they would have waited for us; they would have even sent a messenger to wake us up if we hadn't showed up at the airport. Yes, the island is that close knit.)

I was shocked to see this brand new departure lounge. Compliments of the Chinese, I hear. 

(Ahem! Um, nevermind...)

 

This map of the lagoon was donated by Truk Stop Hotel & Restaurant where I received my diver's certification, home of the Hard Wreck Café where I've dealt a few beating blows in a game of nine ball.

 

I was a zombie walking onto the tarmac. Thank goodness Yvette was there to keep me straight.

Next thing I know the runway is rushing at me at 300mph.

And this is all remember before being jolted awake at touchdown.

We're not in Truk anymore, but I know we're definitely still in Micronesia. Nowhere else in the modern world do folks dress identically as a fashion statement.

Good bye Truk.

Hello Guam.