Maj Oh Maj

After a seemingly normal Island Hopper through three previous islands, we finally arrived in Majuro. Only to find out that we were stranded. Here is the story. A plane load of travelers disembarked the ailing aircraft, and were checked into hotels by rank of seniority. Passengers who embarked in Guam, the origin of the eastbound Island Hopper, got the luxurious Village Hotel; passengers from Truk and Pohnpei got the newer, upgraded Long Island Hotel; the rest... I didn't even stick around Air Mike (Continental Air Micronesia) terminal to find out.

So this was our hotel room.

Majuro is an atoll, which 5-Star Scotty so accurately describes as a string of link sausages. Indeed, the "island" is made up of tens and tens of long and narrow islands connected by one road. One. If I had to ask for directions to Long Island Hotel, I would have gotten "chuss trife town teh roht." Just drive down the road. No, there is no left or right turn. Just drive, and you'll get to it.

Sure enough, there was our hotel, just as the directions would have been. Just drive down the road.

We, the stranded hotel guests, all had pancakes, scrambled eggs, ham, and a choice of coffee, tea, water, or orange juice. Quite a limited choice, but it sure beat airplane food.

On the up side, this was right outside our hotel room.






On the down side, I didn't indulge. We were violently awakened by the telephone; it was the front desk telling us that our plane (a new plane that specially flew in from Guam to "rescue" us) had arrived, and was leaving at nine thirty.

"It's eight forty-five..." said 5-Star.

Yes, and the bus leaves at nine o'clock sharp.

We HAD TO be Stateside by May 7! We jumped out of bed, barely washed the shampoo out of our hair, and ran out to the lobby with clothes still sticking out of our carry-on bags.

There was no bus. 

Noooooo!

But wait... there were a good dozen of us milling around. In fact, there was probably another half dozen stranded travelers having breakfast in the hotel restaurant next door. So we decided to have breakfast as well. And that's how the pancakes, eggs, and ham story came to be.

I still wish I had had time to take a dip in that water...

On the ride back to the airport, we saw pristine ocean to our left...

And crystal clear ocean to our right...

Kids played and did their Saturday chores on this breezy May 7th morning in Majuro.

And just up the road is our rescue plane that would take us Stateside, where May 6th was coming to an end.

The clock ticks for us, but for some fellow travelers, Majuro was welcome interruption.

And the locals sit in the shade without a care on the atoll about what day or time it is.

When the ground crew finally called our row to board the aircraft at one thirty in the afternoon-  yes, four hours after the hotel morning call told us-   we rushed down the tarmac as if wasps were flying after us.

We HAD TO be Stateside by May 7 for this.

Island Hopper Gone MAJ

It was the 6th of May in Truk. Our goal was to get to the States by the 7th of May. We got through airport security screening in plenty of time for our flight. We were excited!

Then we waited.

And waited. 

I had a feeling something was amiss.

Two hours later, we were still waiting. And I knew right away that we weren't leaving anytime soon when I saw ground crew take our luggage back into the shade of the terminal awning.

Come to find out, our plane was half way to Truk from Guam when they had to turn back because of mechanical problems. The plane that finally landed three hours later was a different plane, a replacement. Our only consolation for the lengthy delay was that we were given emergency row seats. We had to study the emergency pamphlet, but, ahhhh, leg room.

Our first stop was Pohnpei. For those of you unfamiliar with the Island Hopper flight from Guam to Hawaii, let me explain briefly. You stop over five Micronesian islands en route to Honolulu, dropping off and picking up passengers along the way. And each stop requires a security sweep of the airplane cabin, where the passengers have the option of stepping off the plane during such sweep.

 Our stop in Pohnpei took an hour- thirty minutes longer than usual. Turned out, a "failure" light kept going off during the short flight from Truk, and lucky for us there was an available part on the island to fix the problem.

 And on we flew... to Kosrae...

 To Kwajelein...

 To Majuro... And that's where all hell broke loose. 

Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking. We will be performing a test on the aircraft, which requires that all systems be turned off for a few minutes. At this time the emergency exit lights will illuminate...

 Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain again. I am very sorry to inform you that we are not able to continue our flight to Honolulu at this time. We thought we had fixed the problem in Pohnpei, but this test indicates that it was just a temporary fix, which allows the aircraft to fly only short distances. There is no way this aircraft can make the four hour flight from Majuro to Honolulu.

It was now close to midnight. 

 *ACK! We must be Stateside by May 7!*

At this point, there was no more consolation in our roomy seats.

Despondently, we gathered our belongings...

And trudged off the no-good airplane for a night of uncertainty in Majuro.

 Both ground and flight crew were not enthusiastic about any of this.

MAJ. The airport code for Majuro, the capital of the Marshall Islands.

It's hot, humid. We're hungry, sticky, and delirious with lack of sleep. We had been traveling almost nine hours now. No amount of frequent flier miles would get us any further at this point.

Now it's a matter of which hotel we'll be placed for the night.

 In Guam they say Hafa Adai.

In Truk, Rananim.

Pohnpeians say Kaselelia.

In MAJ it's Yokwe.

And on the US West Coast it's  Good Morning America! (on May 6, one day behind...).

To be continued...

Slow Down

When you see a sign like this on the road, it usually means there is some kind of work going on on or near the road.

In Truk, the entire road was being worked on. Needless to say, traffic was slow.

It's treacherous going for huge trucks like this one.

It's to the point where walking gets you further than riding.

Unless you're riding a bike.

But if you're a kid, you wouldn't care if it took you forty-five minutes or four minutes to get to school. Heck, if you were a kid you probably wouldn't care to go to school!

 Whoooooah, slow down... is that a kid on the back of a flat bed truck?

Indeed it is! She couldn't be more than two years old!

This little guy couldn't even be in pre-kindergarten!

Indeed, slow down!

Time on the Loboc River

It had been several years since my last visit to the Loboc River. The latest visit was prompted by the unexpected arrival of Dr. J and his family, in Bohol for a day and a half to close out the Catholic season of ordinary time. 

I was greeted by a whole new system on the Loboc River since the last time I visited.

The pump boat cruise port used to be a single outfitter that sailed from a rickety bamboo dock off the highway side fo the river, just below a souvenir shop that attracted gawky-eyed tourists with wide-eyed, catatonic Tarsier monkeys held hostage in a tentlike cage. [I'm digressing, and thank goodness it is now prohibited by law to keep the world's tiniest primate in captivity for commercial purposes.] This time I was quite awed to see an efficiently managed port nestled on the other side of the river, with a variety of shops selling Bohol souvenirs.

It was a wonderful setting for photographers of all ages and experience, like Dr. J's youngest boy...

... and Freda, a dainty young photographer who shot with a Nikon D60. "Just like mine!" I squealed with camaraderie when she showed me her camera.

While waiting to board our boats, we were entertained by soulful guitars...

While on the boat, we were entertained by a soloist singing tunes from Jimmy Buffet to Max Surban.

Even on the river itself, singers and dancers from seven to seventy years of age sang and danced for us.

The boats now are catamarans pushed by flat-hulled pump boats. As we approached our boat approached the other boats on the river, I noticed their names. Is it just in the Philippines where names are so far from originality? Riverwatch, as in Baywatch... Love Boat...

How long has the river's edge been retained by gnarly roots? I wonder.

What kind of nature-defying stunts will continue to crop up in this wilderness? The tiny, barely visible dots suspended on cables in the sky between the trees are people zip lines. I find it ironic that they wear helmets. What for? That's quite a long drop from the cables to the river... Just sayin'. Again, I digress...

Anyway, on to brighter thoughts. Like food. We ate like kings and queens on the river boat!

Don't let that glum face on Dr. J's second son fool you. We all had a great time.

I think we all had a great time. No? He looks like he's having a good time. Maybe.

After the river cruise, we all packed in our car like sardines, and headed for a refreshment for the more sophisticated connoisseurs of modern tastes.

The mall. Specifically Jollibee.

Time flies when you're having a great time!