Watching Cate Blanchett’s character suffer from a gun shot wound in a rural Moroccan village made me cringe. It was one of those situations that you would never want to find yourself in. I have done a lot of travelling and have been fortunate in the fact that nothing traumatic has ever really happened to me – with the exception of a plane slamming on its brakes prior to taking off on a runway in Guam! I have flown both Air China and Aeroflot domestically and lived to tell the tale. I took a train through Yugoslavia two weeks before they literally shut down the trains and all forms of public transport in February of 1992. That isn’t to say that things have not happened to those travelling with me.
One of my most eventful trips was a trek I did through South East Asia with Sarah and Michele in the spring of 1998. We were all teaching in Japan and I believe it was the Golden Week Holidays that we used to facilitate our trip. We got a great deal on tickets through a travel agent in California that organized tours and packages for teachers on the Jet Program. We didn’t go on a tour, but rather bought tickets that enabled us to hop around Malaysia, Thailand, Singapore and the Philippines rather cheaply for two weeks. The final leg of this journey was a stop in Manila. We had planned to use this short stop in the Philippines to buy the customary Omiyage (souvenirs) that were expected by our co-workers back in Tottori (where we lived in Japan).
It was a Friday afternoon. We were shopping in a mall and had split up, agreeing to meet up at a designated spot at 2pm. Now, we knew that the crime in Manila was bad – bad bad. We had been warned about the pick pocketers and had taken all the necessary precautions. But it was the last day of our trip, and hey, we were concentrating on the shopping. Michele had a fanny pack on and bending over to try a pair of shoes on, she turned her fanny pack around to her back….blam, it was gone within seconds: her wallet, that had tucked in it her passport, airplane ticket, and of course, all her money. When Sarah found me and told me what happened I couldn’t believe it. Finding Michele and seeing her burst into tears confirmed it.
Sarah and I immediately went into damage control. It was Friday afternoon, 2pm. Our flight was at 6am the next morning. We decided our first stop was to be the American Embassy – which proved to be the easiest aspect in what became a long process of document recovery. While Michele wiped the tears away, and had her picture taken, Sarah and I filled out the paperwork and paid for her new passport. The Diplomat who helped us was a former JET himself and he was a great help. Within half an hour, she had a new passport.
The next stop was at the Philippine Airlines office. They would not replace her ticket because we had not gone through the proper channels of filing a police report. We were given directions to a police station, got in a cab, and seemed to sit in rush hour traffic forever. Getting to the police station, there were men walking around with BIG GUNS – and none of these men LOOKED like policemen. We were given seats within arms reach of cells - that had people/prisoners in them. A policeman got out his typewriter and carbon paper, and using two fingers he proceed to type up the report. We then headed back to the airline office only to be told by another employer that we had gone (or rather been told to go) to the wrong police station. Back we went to another police station and pretty much relived the first experience.
By this time, it was after 5pm and the airline office had closed. We decided to head to the International airport to try our luck there. Traffic in Manila is insane and we spent a hell of a lot of time riding around sitting in cabs in heavy traffic. It was dark by the time we got to the airport and NOTHING was open. We managed to find the one greasy spoon of a restaurant open so we went there and sat with 3 other foreigners also waiting out the night at the airport. I can’t remember how we found out, or who came up with the idea, but we decided to go to the domestic airport back in the city to see if we could get Michele’s ticket replaced there. Leaving the International airport, I remember walking by a closed restaurant that had a light on inside: and I couldn’t count the mice that were running around the floor. We stared in momentary disbelief, but were not surprised.
We get to the domestic airport in the early morning and in sharp contrast to the International airport, the place was hoping. We went to the Philippine Air desk, explained what had happened and poof, within minutes they re-issued Michele another ticket. They were so nice and we couldn’t believe how easy it had been. Back to the International Airport we went.
So, at 5am we are in line to get our packs checked and get our boarding passes. Michele went ahead of us and after some discussion she turned around, looked at us, and shook her head. By this time, none of us had slept, or eaten and we were, of course nearly bonkers. I stormed up to the desk and asked what the problem was: She had her passport. She had her ticket – what more could they want? Well, they wanted to see the stamp in her passport telling them when she had entered the country. We explained this was impossible because the passport had been stolen. I said that the airport / customs would have to have a record of when she came in. The airline staff said that it would, but they were uncertain as to when that office opened. Luckily, someone came and opened the Customs/Immigration office at 5:30am. They found the necessary documentation, gave Michele her ticket and we ran – and I mean ran to the plane. We were exhausted. It was the only time in my life I fell asleep before the plane actually took off – and we managed to get on the plane with five minutes to spare.
Prior to leaving on this trip, we had made plans to meet our friend Gwen at Osaka Kuko (airport) when we returned. Her parents had flown in to Japan for a visit and were leaving for the US the day we got back. We got to the airport and sure enough, there was Gwen waiting for us. We all go into a tirade of what had transpired in the last 24 hours. After blabbering on forever, we then remembered to ask how her visit had been with her parents. At that point Gwen proceed to tell us that her father had dropped dead of a heart attack on an Island off Hiroshima that week and had died. Her Mom was on her way back to the US with the cremated remains. We just stood there in disbelief. Then of course we all stood and bawled.
So ya, that is probably my worst travel story ever. Nothing bad actually happened to me, but when tragic events and difficult circumstances affect your friends and those close to you, it might as well be happening to you. Moral of the story:
- Don’t try on shoes in the Philippines. Bad things happen when you do.
- Avoid police stations in Manila if at all possible.
- Don’t eat at any of the restaurants in Manila's International airport.
- If you need to replace an International airline ticket in the Philippines – do it at the domestic airport.
- The easiest thing in the world to replace is a passport.
- It took the death of our friend’s Dad to snap us back in reality and make us realize very quickly how easy our so called ‘tragedy” had been.
