Home for the Holidays, Part 1: Getting There

Every two or three years for the past decade, my wife and I have been traveling to the Philippines for vacation, staying a few weeks to visit family and friends. This year we are at it again, but this time it’s a first of sorts. This will be the first time in eight years that we get to celebrate Christmas with our family. More importantly, our son, Rainier, is turning one and we wanted to celebrate his birthday with family and friends in the Philippines. Which means this will be our first time traveling with an infant on a 22-hour international flight. Whew. They ought to do a Fear Factor episode for this.

The first leg of our trip, from Albany to Detroit, was relatively uneventful. The flight lasted about an hour and a half and afforded our son his first glimpse of clouds from an arm’s length away. I tried to read from his face what he thought about all this—What is all that white stuff? Is this a sea of cotton balls? Fluffy wipes? How many poops before I use them all up?

The international airport at Detroit always amazes me. There seems to be something new each time we stop over. This time, while walking from our arrival gate to our connecting flight, we went through this wide tunnel that had walls that changed color and patterns-like a time machine that got stuck in the 60s. Our son was quite entertained (I think hypnotized) with all this, as we strolled along one of those “walking escalators”.

There are only two kinds of people who take the Northwest flight going to Manila from Detroit: Filipinos and Japanese. Filipinos outnumber Japanese about three to one. When I got our boarding passes in Albany, they didn’t have the gate numbers for the connecting flight in Detroit, so I had to look it up. I needn’t have worried—when you spot the gate with the hundreds of Filipinos forming about 48 different boarding lines in disorderly fashion (but always seem to manage not to delay the flight), then I know we’re in the right gate.

One change that I’ve been noticing with myself (one that I suspect happens to other first-time fathers too) is how conscious and observant I am of other parents and their children. This was certainly the case for the second leg of our trip, from Detroit to Nagoya, Japan. When before I wouldn’t remember if a child was sitting right in front of me (except maybe if he made faces), now I would recall that there were three infants in our immediate vicinity: our son, a 12-month old Japanese girl and a 16-month old Filipino boy. I also remember hearing a few other infants crying at the back (we were seated just behind business class). All in all I think I counted about a dozen strollers checked in. My wife and I both think airlines should have a “family” section in longer flights, given the number of parents who fly with their kids. Even though the plane’s engine still makes the loudest sound, you just can’t help but feel sorry for the person unlucky enough to be seated next to you. A plane’s engine is no match for a baby’s shrieks two feet away from your ear. Fortunately the Japanese guy who sat next to us (and who was really nice to agree to switch places with us so we can sit by the aisle) brought earplugs with him. Smart man.

I’ve discovered that time flies-literally-when you have a baby to keep you busy and on your toes-again, literally. For most of the 13 hour flight, I was on my feet comforting our son and/or putting him to sleep. It was admittedly exhausting but it gave me a chance to interact with the flight crew and other passengers, especially the parents. One of the flight attendants (who herself has three sons) took a special liking to Rainier and was kind enough to shut off the bulkhead lights to help put our son to sleep. If only all flight attendants were this nice!

Stop-overs at Japan are always an interesting experience. While state-of-the art electronics scattered around the airport amazed me, I was equally impressed by commonplace things such as family restrooms (private, very roomy, with padded changing tables big enough for an adult to sleep in). And of course Japanese restrooms wouldn’t be complete without all the toilet bowl “amenities” fit for a king: cushioned backrest, water spray aimed at your posterior, customizable by pressure (high/low) and by position (front/rear), and an air blower to dry you off after.

The last leg of our trip, from Nagoya to Manila, took five hours. Although still long, it was relatively shorter compared to the 13-hour marathon we just finished. This time we were seated with an older Filipina who was accompanying her daughter and granddaughter from Tennessee. The daughter, who is a nurse in a Tennessee hospital, was leaving the granddaughter with the grandmother because she couldn’t find any good daycare. This may seem like an extreme situation but sadly this happens a lot with the millions of Filipino workers overseas.


In one Rainier’s fits (and who can blame him? barely eight hours of sleep, two at a time, for the past 18 hours!), he was crying and screaming a bit louder, and after one of the screams, there was a collective “sshhh!” from a few passengers. Part of it was to distract Rainier and get his attention, but of course part of it was irritation too. And then I realized, almost all of the passengers are Filipinos now… we must be nearing home!

When the plane touched down, there was an appreciative applause from more than a few passengers. It was probably because of the good landing-smooth, nothing to be tense about-but I think it was more because we can now stretch our legs and see if they’re still alive. And as we disembarked from the plane, breathed in that warm, humid, polluted Manila air, and greeted by a sea of humanity (“Welcome Ma’m!” “Good Evening Sir!”)-I know we’ve arrived.