Falling Back to Earth
By Mike Stratton
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Falling Back to Earth: That's what flying is, really, falling back to Earth. I'm up in the sky, in a plane or underneath a parachute, and my fate is at the whim of the winds, the tightness of a knotted rope, the strength of some fabric or the skill of a pilot. My brain has trained itself in the art of denial, as all my experience in the air has led me to expect that everything is perfectly fine, nothing bad will happen, and the world will just keep on spinning beneath me. So during my recent tri-nation vacation, the one flight I dreaded turned into the most fun, and the one flight I eagerly anticipated turned my aviation denial upside down and inside out. Or maybe it was just the turbulence. And since traveling to the destination has always been as enjoyable as the destination itself, this trip started out like all the rest, as I received a personal escort from the airport to my hotel in Manilla. (l love when drivers hold up a "Mike
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Stratton" sign at the arrivals hall.) I didn't know that I would receive an entirely different type of personal escort at the end of the trip, but we'll get to that. I booked the Philippines because I haven't been there before. Yep, that's pretty much it. If I'm curious about a place, I will go, because those are my travel rules. It helps that the Philippine archipelago is located in the heart of my favorite region, Asia, and it helps that the Philippines is an archipelago. I love archipelagos. Because the unreal azure color of the shallow waters and the mysterious, tree-shrouded, mountainous terrain of the countless islands make the Philippines one of the most beautiful places in the world, and they have Asian food there as well, so what's not to like? And anyplace where you can get off a tiny plane at a tiny airport and hop on a wooden sampan for a dazzlingly beautiful ride to a beach is the travel experience people most seek, and the further away, the better. That distance from home enhances and magnifies your surroundings, turning the odd into the exotic, making every sight, sound and taste a truly foreign experience. And although the Philippines isn't exactly the ends of the Earth, you can see it from there. And that is why you go, to allow a new world to reveal itself to you.
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Where to Go?
Countless people ask me where to vacation, and I always tell them places I like, because I like stuff most people aren't into (skyscrapers, subways, trains, escalators, monorails, cable-cars, giant ferris wheels, you get the idea), but now I can answer simply, "Borocay". Because everyone likes the beach (I hear), and the beaches of Borocay are the most amazing I've seen, with their cool, white-sand purity and their unimaginably placid, crystal-clear, milky blue waters. The fine, white sand is cool on the sunniest of days, and equally friendly to my feet while walking into water up to my neck: no jagged rocks or coral or shells to shred my feet, just a transparent, silver fish making an occasional appearance. So in terms of user-friendliness, you can't do much better. I had a regular morning ritual on Borocay; I would have an ocean swim in the morning, and by swim I mean walking out a couple hundred feet until I was in over my head and treading water for an hour. Something about the calm, still waters here made floating effortless, allowing my brain to take in the mountains beyond the beach, the brightly colored sailboats cruising behind me and the Dash-8-300's landing over on the neighboring island. And since I'm not a beach guy, all this beach time was illuminating. My late afternoon ritual was another swim, floating in the salty ocean, as I watched the color of the water and sky change in the gloaming, floating out there peering over a flat, endless South China Sea. And of course, it was monsoon season in the Philippines, so I had the beach to myself, relatively speaking. I'm the off-season king! But in reality, I got lucky with the weather; a week later, the rains came. And stayed. Whew! But the beautiful weather allowed me to snorkel my cares away above a nearby island reef (another reason why I love archipelagos), and as I'm a newbie to the art of snorkeling, anytime I can return to the boat without getting snatched by sharks, I'm a happy puppy. And since I'm a snorkeling newbie, I wasn't smart enough to take an underwater camera; I should have, because the coral and undersea wildlife is simply indescribable. Next time. But the boat captain was needling me, saying how I should try SCUBA. And I told him, "That's a degree of difficulty I'm not ready for yet, I'm still trying to get the snorkeling breathing down". Maybe next time. Ziplining? Check. Parasailing? Check. Asian food? Check. Parasailing Actually, the parasailing was terrifying, or the thought of parasailing at least. A true neurotic, I look at the seemingly flimsy parachute fabric and the ONE SINGLE KNOT connecting me by rope to the boat far below and I’m scared. I feel this is a reasonable emotion. But parasailing turned out to be pretty amazing, and, after the terror bled away, it was a pretty fantastic experience. And for someone who loves to fly, it is thrilling to find new methods to take to the skies. It's quiet up there, and the ocean once again changed color as I had a birds-eye vantage point on the deeper waters, making them turn the richest, most dominating blue I've ever seen. There is blue, and then there is BLUE. After the parasailing crew of pirates pulled me back to Earth (so to speak), the boat played a fantastic song as I uncoupled from the bewildering gear. The unexpected feeling of exhilaration left me giddy and singing like an idiot, watching the other passenger get her gear on. "Thank you", the pirate said, as we beached ourselves back on Borocay. "I love stuff like this,” I replied, still giddy, as I began my hunt for food. |
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The Philippines is a perfect vacation destination, because the locals are extremely friendly and speak English, the American dollar goes a long way here (stuff is ridiculously affordable/cheap), and even though the international airport lacks the modern infrastructure found in the rest of Asia (nerd-alert), the Philippines has authentic Asian food. Because you know, they're located in Asia, not the strip-mall near the White Castle. Besides, they have those aquamarine waters of your dreams. And those waters are everywhere. Yeah, you will find the occasional creepy 61-year-old British moron walking hand-in-hand with a (hopefully) 18 year-old Filipino woman. That type of "sex tourism" is not uncommon, from what I've heard, but I didn't see much of that during my stay. But that reflects poorly not on the Filipinos, but gross older Brits, and Aussies, and Yankees. Gross. I don't wish to be blind to the economic and social realities of the places I visit, but that component of our human nature is in evidence everywhere in the world, the callous exploitation of those on the margins of society and behind the world's economic curve. Poverty? Sure, the Philippines is afflicted. And yet, their collective politeness and good natured, hospitable personality as a nation puts the vast majority of the world's nations to shame. And where else can you go to see a guy wearing a turban jogging down the beach juggling 3 coconuts? I mean, what's up with that??
Whereas the Philippines was brand-spanking new, my side-trip to Hong Kong was happily comfortable, being my second visit there. I love Hong Kong, and I will pester everyone I know for the rest of my life to go to Hong Kong, because it is the perfect "break-the-seal" destination for anyone curious about Asia. And they have authentic Dim-Sum there, not the faux Dim-Sum found in the strip mall near the White Castle. And yes, I'm making fun of supposedly "authentic" Americanized Asian chains. That they use the term "authentic" means they don't understand the definition of "authentic.” And besides, any American Dim-Sum place will never replicate the deafening din of clanging plates and voices you will find in Hong Kong. And, oh, the heavenly smells. But I digress. And I get hungry. Better wrap this up.
My trip ended with a convoy of Japanese fire trucks and ambulances racing after our taxiing 747, a touching escort after we unexpectedly returned to Earth, following a rather harrowing aborted trip to Chicago. We lost an engine shortly after takeoff, and our plane had to dump fuel while fighting some major-league turbulence. Anyone who has flown knows the special moment when you are sitting there reading and the plane encounters brief turbulence and your heart gets a start and you immediately think you are going to die. And the turbulence goes away and you go back to reading, happily amnesiac. Yeah, after our kick-ass captain (love that guy) informed us we lost an engine and told us to watch the fuel spewing from our wings, I tried to go back to reading. Like that was gonna happen. So the one flight I most looked forward to (747, awesome!) turned into something entirely different. I couldn't concentrate on anything other than the present, so time stopped, for all practical purposes. When you have zero control over an outcome, you understand the word helpless. And I just wanted this flight to be over as soon as possible. First time I have ever thought that. In a circumstance like this, I just have to stop my imagination from running wild with worst-case scenarios. But that's impossible so I just wait. And wait. And feel relief when I see those firetrucks trailing after us back on the ground, after one very fast, very welcome landing. That sweet landing didn't kill my aviation denial, but it was put on pause for about an hour.
"You really have a great attitude about all this,” my fellow frazzled refugees kept telling me after we deplaned in Japan, making our way through unexpected immigration quays and bus rides to the hotel. "This? This is a piece of cake,” I told them, firmly back into aviation-denial mode. "I love stuff like this.” Because who could ever complain. About anything.
Whereas the Philippines was brand-spanking new, my side-trip to Hong Kong was happily comfortable, being my second visit there. I love Hong Kong, and I will pester everyone I know for the rest of my life to go to Hong Kong, because it is the perfect "break-the-seal" destination for anyone curious about Asia. And they have authentic Dim-Sum there, not the faux Dim-Sum found in the strip mall near the White Castle. And yes, I'm making fun of supposedly "authentic" Americanized Asian chains. That they use the term "authentic" means they don't understand the definition of "authentic.” And besides, any American Dim-Sum place will never replicate the deafening din of clanging plates and voices you will find in Hong Kong. And, oh, the heavenly smells. But I digress. And I get hungry. Better wrap this up.
My trip ended with a convoy of Japanese fire trucks and ambulances racing after our taxiing 747, a touching escort after we unexpectedly returned to Earth, following a rather harrowing aborted trip to Chicago. We lost an engine shortly after takeoff, and our plane had to dump fuel while fighting some major-league turbulence. Anyone who has flown knows the special moment when you are sitting there reading and the plane encounters brief turbulence and your heart gets a start and you immediately think you are going to die. And the turbulence goes away and you go back to reading, happily amnesiac. Yeah, after our kick-ass captain (love that guy) informed us we lost an engine and told us to watch the fuel spewing from our wings, I tried to go back to reading. Like that was gonna happen. So the one flight I most looked forward to (747, awesome!) turned into something entirely different. I couldn't concentrate on anything other than the present, so time stopped, for all practical purposes. When you have zero control over an outcome, you understand the word helpless. And I just wanted this flight to be over as soon as possible. First time I have ever thought that. In a circumstance like this, I just have to stop my imagination from running wild with worst-case scenarios. But that's impossible so I just wait. And wait. And feel relief when I see those firetrucks trailing after us back on the ground, after one very fast, very welcome landing. That sweet landing didn't kill my aviation denial, but it was put on pause for about an hour.
"You really have a great attitude about all this,” my fellow frazzled refugees kept telling me after we deplaned in Japan, making our way through unexpected immigration quays and bus rides to the hotel. "This? This is a piece of cake,” I told them, firmly back into aviation-denial mode. "I love stuff like this.” Because who could ever complain. About anything.
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