I am home again. Totally exhausted.
After our disastrous outbound journey 3 weeks ago, I figured the natural balance of the universe dictated that the return trip would go smoothly. I reckoned that at least it wouldn't be - couldn't possibly be - any worse.
It goes to show that when you're an optimist and have a healthy positive attitude, the universe can be counted on to mercilessly slap you down one more time.
Our problems began on Friday, which would be Thursday in the U.S., when our ride showed up and couldn't get the car restarted. Dead battery. We only had a couple hours' wiggle room to make the flight. I asked the driver: did the headlights dim while you were driving here? Language barrier. He didn't understand my question. They stole a battery from our jeepney, the car started right up and everybody's smiling. I'm trying to say - do you know it's not the alternator?
Nobody's hearing me. I said: if it's the alternator it means instead of being stranded here at home we'll make it 2 hours down the road only to find ourselves stranded by the side of the road. Nobody's listening. He's a professional driver, my wife said. Smiles all around as we pull away, only a little behind schedule.
2 hours down the road, the headlights go out.
Now we're stuck by the side of the road at 1:00 AM out in the middle of frickin' nowhere. We've got no food or water. The optimist in me says well, this is the pits but at least it can't get any worse. Then it got worse.
We decided to keep driving, find a gas station and get the batteries recharged. Sounds like a terrible idea but we're determined to make our flight and time's running out.
So we begin driving. It's pitch dark on a rural highway that's dangerous even in daylight. We've got two flashlights illuminating the stripes on the road and hopefully warning away oncoming traffic. Not those hefty flashlights a truck driver keeps under the seat, but those tiny AAA-powered flashlights you keep in your laptop case. We can barely see 10 feet in front of us.
At this point it dawns on me that the trip has crossed a line, going from annoying to very real mortal danger. I tried to appreciate the surreal quality of it all, slowly rolling down the highway holding a flashlight out the passenger-side window. My wife's in the back shining her flashlight backward to warn cars approaching from behind.
An hour of excruciating tension goes by, during which we pass two gas stations. The first does not have a charger, the second is closed for the night. Not many all-night gas stations out in the country at 2:00 AM. It would seem our luck can't get any worse, but it does. The engine dies and we roll silently to the side of the road.
Our driver advises that I remain in the car and not show myself, as there have been reports of highway bandits along this stretch of road. I am getting thirsty and it's hot. After a while a tricycle comes by (motorcycle with a sidecar). We try to flag him down but he roars past. I didn't blame him, I wouldn't have stopped either - we could be bandits. Two more tricycles pass, the third stops and agrees to give our driver a lift to the nearest town, where presumably he can get the battery charged. I forgot to tell him to look for some water.
Two hours later, our driver returns with a charged battery. Puts it in, the car starts, everybody rejoices. We can still make our flight! But I am thinking to myself: it'll die again in 2 hours, we're 3 hours from Manila and 4 hours from sunrise. I am, however, doing the math silently so as not to add to anyone else's anxiety.
Sure enough, 2 hours later the battery's dead and we're once again driving down a pitch-black country road with flashlights. We find a mechanic in the next town. Of course, the mechanic is asleep. It's 3:30 AM. We roll to the side of the road in front of the mechanic shop and wait. Fortunately, his 3 dogs chained up next to us bark loudly and eventually lights come on. Mr. Mechanic comes out and verifies: your battery's dead because your alternator's shot. Duh. But he's got a charger.
By the time the battery's charged the sun has begun to rise and there is no possibility of making it to the airport in time. But at least we will get there. My inner optimist wakes back up and says "we can get on a later flight." I'm gonna just slap that inner optimist next time and say "shut the f*ck up".
We get to Manila during rush hour. You have to experience rush hour in Manila to understand just how ugly traffic can really be. You imagine you'll spend the rest of your life trapped there, a life that at least will be cut mercifully short by exhaust fumes so thick it's like a fog. A brown, hot fog.
We finally arrive at the airport 4 hours after the plane has left. I look for the Delta ticket counter. There is none. No sign, nothing to indicate Delta even has a presence in Manila. A security guard tells me there's an office upstairs. Two security checkpoints and a pat-down to get there, I wander through a maze of back hallways and finally find a locked door with a hand-made sign taped to the door that says "Delta". And an 800 number in the U.S.
I turn on my cellphone, roaming charges be damned, and text my business partner back in Seattle: Help! He gets Delta on the phone, texts me back that there is only one flight per day, the one we missed. Now, I know these flights are always 100% full and you have to book 2 months in advance to assure a seat. I'm picturing a week or more stuck in Manila with only enough funds left in our pockets for street food. If we get seats they'll be center-seats, not together, and probably on different days for my wife and I. Driving in the dark with flashlights no longer seems like the low point of the journey.
Another text comes in: he can get us on the next flight the following morning, but we'll have to pay $2,300. We are being held ransom by Delta Airlines. I am getting steamed, thinking how when they cancelled our connecting flight out of Tokyo they felt no need to even apologize, but when the mistake is mine they want ransom to bail me out. Oh, and my visa has expired so technically I am now an illegal alien.
My partner is a resourceful guy. He's the one who does most of the travelling in our little company. After awhile there's another text: he can get us both on a flight and they've agreed to reduce the ransom to $700. My hero. I text back: thanks, dude, I really owe you one!
So the happy ending is we spent the night in a cheap motel near the airport, had a hot shower and noodles, got out the next morning. No window seat, and we had to fly to Portland, Oregon instead of Seattle, then take the Portland-Seattle shuttle. But we did finally make it home. A welcome hot shower and some spaghetti from the freezer and now here I sit, freezing and utterly depleted but happy.
UPDATE: Started sorting the last 3 weeks' worth of mail and found a letter of apology from Delta for stranding us in Tokyo. They've credited 10,000 miles to our frequent-flyer accounts. It's something.
I'd also like to reiterate that although I was angry with Delta management and swore never to fly them again, their ground staff went out of their way to try and help us. They scrounged up whatever snacks they could find and passed out blankets. Most of them had been roused from sleep at home to come in to work very early in the morning. Nothing but respect for the Japanese employees of Delta Airlines.