I arrived in Guam at about 3 am, after what can only be described as the longest afternoon I’ve ever experienced. It started at 6:50 am on Friday at Dulles, when my flight for San Francisco departed. Or, I should say, was supposed to depart. There was one tiny snag – the first officer wasn’t there. Not delayed from another flight or anything, just…not there. They boarded about a third of the plane before they realized that he wasn’t going to be there and then they stopped. They apologized for the delay and said that we’d be delayed until at least 7:40. Just because he wasn’t there.
I dozed off in my seat, and woke up around 7:30 when the rest of the passengers boarded the plane. The first officer still wasn’t there, but I suppose they felt that if they boarded it, he would come. Or something like that. At about 7:45, he sauntered onto the plane, stopped before entering the cockpit, turned and waved hello to the cabin. To all 60-some people who wanted to tell him to go straight to Hell. I didn’t have a very long layover in San Francisco, and I was concerned that I wouldn’t make the connection. Since I couldn’t do anything about it, I just decided to attempt to relax, to read my book, and to nap. Once the plane landed in San Francisco, I got my bags together (grateful that I wasn’t checking anything) and waited for the doors to open. I felt someone pushing past me, and I looked around to see a woman nudging her way to the front, who said “Oh, I’m sorry, I’ve got a connection to make.” I looked at her pleasantly and said “oh, so do I.” She said gravely “well, I’ve got to get all the way up to Oregon.” I said “oh, that’s nice. I’m trying to get to Osaka.” She looked at me blankly, and in her best Romper Room voice said, “Oh, and where is Osaka?”, and I smiled at her and said “Japan.” Her eyes widened a little. Fortunately, they opened the doors and the seemingly interminable conversation was over.
Despite our considerable delay due to First Officer LazyAss, I made it to my gate with about 15 or 20 minutes to spare before boarding began, which I used to buy some chick magazines. I had brought three books with me, one of which I’d already finished on the flight to San Francisco, so I thought some supplementary material would be a good idea.
The flight was uneventful, a little turbulence, but nothing that bothered me too much. I got to watch Kung Fu Panda, which was totally delightful, and see Iron Man again, which still kicks ass and must be made part of our permanent collection once available. I also started on my next book, Traveling Mercies by Anne Lamott. It’s a fantastic memoir, primarily reflections on her faith and her journey. It’s that kind of “I laughed, I cried” book, and it’s just…well, it’s just great. She’s brutally honest about her life, about her brokenness, about her community, the losses she’s suffered, and the joy that she’s found in her life. I love the book so far (I’m not done yet, but I don’t expect my feelings to change significantly) because she’s just so real – she doesn’t pretend to have it all figured out, she doesn’t pretend that she hasn’t made mistakes and didn’t continue to make them after becoming a Christian, she doesn’t put forward some fake “Jesus changed my life and then everything was perfect” story. It’s true that her faith and her relationship with Jesus did change her life profoundly. But it’s also true that, like all of us, she continued to be a real human being, and like all real human beings, she continued to make mistakes and tried to do better.
I think one of my favorite passages so far was when her new car broke down in the middle of traffic, and all the surrounding drivers were honking their horns and yelling and screaming, and she asked her son Sam to pray with her about it. He says “Sure Mom, just one minute.” At which point he puts his head out the window and yells “Stop yelling at us, you f**ing a**holes!!!”, then proceeds to quietly pray with his mom for God to help them figure out how to get out of the situation they’re in.
(Perhaps I can relate because I can make a truck driver blush with some of the things that come out of my mouth on occasion. Not necessarily proud of that, but it’s still true.)
We landed in Osaka, and I followed signs for International Transfers, while just about everyone else headed straight for immigration. I walked…and walked…and didn’t see anything, so I ended up going into the same large immigration room as everyone else. I didn’t know exactly where I was supposed to go, because I didn’t see anything else about international transfers. I figured that, worst case scenario, I just go out and then come back in, since I had seven hours to kill. I heard a voice say “American! Come this way!” and I saw a man gesturing to me and pointing me to the “foreign passports” line. I got in line, but heard a woman ahead of me being told that since she was a transfer, she should go to a different line. My ears perked up, and when she left the line, I indicated that I was also just transferring to another flight and followed her. I wandered around the main terminal for a few minutes, doing some window shopping. I then caught sight of myself in a reflective surface, and realized that I looked like something that had been caught in a drain during a storm. I headed straight for the ladies’ room to clean myself up before I started to frighten small children. It’s amazing what simply washing your face, putting on clean underwear, some fresh deodorant, and a little makeup can do to your self-image. I set out again, feeling a little more human, and found a place to sit down and read a little. I was distracted by a Japanese gameshow that was being played on a large TV screen over my shoulder. It was garishly colored (both the set and the clothing worn by the participants) and I have no idea what was happening, but much hilarity ensued. There was also a musical number by what must be Japan’s answer to the Backstreet Boys, although the only question I thought they ever begged was “why is this necessary??” They were all wearing Abba-esque coordinating silver outfits, complete with long silver coats that had different-colored linings. They danced, they sang, they emoted. It was quite the sight to behold.
I was getting hungry, and reviewed my options. The restaurants featuring local food had, as I’d remembered from a long-ago trip through Narita Airport in Tokyo, garish plastic replicas of their menu offerings outside each establishment. The other restaurant, if you could call it that, was Starbucks. I decided that bland, processed American food would taste just as bad in another country, and that since I like Japanese food, I’d do my best to mime what I wanted. The restaurant offered several things like spaghetti and taco salad, but I figured that I was in Japan, so I’d get Japanese food. The noodle special was a steaming bowl of broth filled with a large tempura-style prawn, seaweed, tofu, scallions, and delicious soba noodles. It was exactly what I wanted, nice and filling, hot, and even though I couldn’t identify one particular ingredient (probably a different type of tofu, if I had to guess), it totally hit the spot.
With some warm food in my belly and still another four hours before boarding, I went down to the gate and took advantage of the fact that the seats in the waiting area don’t have armrests. I laid down across them and slept on and off for a few hours, waking up shivering at one point. I don’t remember it being particularly cold, but I was shivering nonetheless. At 10 pm, seven hours after I’d arrived in Osaka, boarding began. I settled quickly into my seat and dozed off again. It was a fairly bumpy ride to Guam, at least in the beginning, but I was far too tired to care. We arrived at about 3 am, I was in my room by 4, and sound asleep with the shutters drawn by 4:15 after a quick call to Special K to le him know I’d arrived.
I woke up around 9:30 and called down to the spa. That’s the great thing about a place like Guam – it’s a small island, so most of the hotels here are resorts. For $130 a night, I’m staying in a hotel on the water with five swimming pools and a spa. I had decided that the best way for me to feel human after 30-some hours of traveling was to get a massage. I realize that it’s totally an indulgence, but despite my little orthopedic seat cushion, my back, neck, shoulders, and knees were all aching. And having completed by massage, I have to say that it was totally worth the splurge. The only problem is that I, for some reason, have something happen every time I have to lie face-down on those massage tables. For whatever reason, I get a lot of facial swelling, particularly my lips. Well, when she was done, I looked like Jennifer Coolidge with some bad collagen injections. I decided that retreating to my room while the swelling subsided would be a good idea. I’d had some delicious fresh fruit for breakfast, and I ordered grilled prawns for lunch. Mmm…prawns. If only they hadn’t left the heads on them.
Well, you can’t have everything.
So here I am, with a view of Tumon Bay out my balcony window, clouds on the horizon, and some warm, humid air circulating in through my room. The water looks steel blue, and I’m going to see if I can rent a kayak or something later. For now, I’m going to head down to the gym and get some exercise. The swelling in my face has gone down considerably, although it’s not gone completely. I should be able to walk freely without frightening people, but no promises.
I’ve definitely had worse business trips than this.
