March15, 2014: Please Let Us Fly

"It's a different world from when I started traveling" David solemnly voices to me. "I can't believe that just happened."

We sat leaning forward, our elbows on our knees, vacantly looking at invisible spots on the carpet a few feet in front of us. People surround us in the terminal--animatedly chatting to one another or tranquilly drinking their coffee. Everyone seems happy. Everyone is waiting to fly.

I am breathing hard. I unconsciously check my pulse, it's high, and from the corner of my eye I can see the vein along the side of David's head throbbing. He is red, and for a moment I am worried about his health. I soon remember that I am red too, and that the sun, not the stress or the sprinting, is to blame. It's funny, our day started out so well.

That morning we boarded our flight in Portland and eight hours later we were laying on a beach in Hawaii sipping beers and piña coladas. It was the perfect lay-over. Fourteen hours in paradise. That evening we leisurely packed our bags and took a shuttle bus back to the airport--relaxed, rested, and a little sun burnt, but ready to go to Asia, ready to start our adventure.

Adventure. I recently looked up adventure in a dictionary and its definition is not at all what I thought it would be. "An undertaking usually involving danger or unknown risk." I have been using this term loosely to describe our fun, lighted hearted, safe experiences. Yes, we've had some difficult situations occur from time to time, but I usually call those hiccups. 

As we heaved on our back packs, said good-bye to our driver, and headed towards the airport doors our spirits were high. We joked and laughed and smiled widely--completely ignorant of the adventure we were about to have. 

The airport was peaceful and empty--the quiet before the storm. We found our airline, approached the desk and presented our pasports--still smiling broadly. A polite greeting, a swipe of our passports, the weighing of the bags, and a few questions. How long are you planning on staying in Taiwan? What is your exit date? May I see the itinerary for your exit? 

Dave and I paused. Itinerary for our exit? 

"Yes" the man behind the computer said, "Taiwan wants to make sure you are not planning on staying forever."

Oh that's easy. We chuckled as we whipped out our $280 Chinese visas, holding them high and flashy like police badges. We are going to China, you see. Taiwan is only a brief stop, we told him.

"I'm afraid that won't work." He shook his head. "I need to see a ticket for your departure from Taiwan."

Dave and I stood frozen, our smiles long gone. We were planning on taking a flight to a small Taiwan island called Kinmen, and from there jump on a boat to mainland China. We had tried to purchase the boat tickets but had found that they was inaccessible online, they had to be bought in person. We explained this, but to no avail. We needed exiting tickets and that was that. No flying to Taiwan without them. No passing go. No collecting two hundred dollars.

Extremely annoyed, we pulled out our iPad and irritably flipped the flap. We'll just buy some tickets on Expedia--they have that great 24-hour cancellation policy--and we'll be on our merry way. The airline agent even said that if we bought the cheap tickets to Kinmen he would accept them as our implied exit from Taiwan. Fine, we were eventually going to purchase those tickets anyways.

Searching, searching, searching, no signal.

"Oh ya" our airline agent chimed in, "we don't have wifi here."

We stared blankly at him.

"But you might be able to get it at the Starbucks in the main terminal." He added.

"Where is the main terminal?" I said through clenched teeth. I was ready to hurdle the desk and shake it out of him. 

"Out the door and to the right."

In a flash we were on our way, trotting under the weight of the backpacks, and cursing with every exhalation. We soon had a steady rhythm of obscenities flowing from our lips accompanied by the beat of our pounding feet on the pavement.  Our music carried through the still and quiet airport. A few homeless people were the only life we encountered as we ran towards wifi, towards hope. 

After what felt like a lifetime we finally arrived at our destination. The frenzied atmosphere that usually accompanies Starbucks was no where to be found. We stood quietly staring at locked doors. Dave wasted no time pulling out his iPad. This was it, the moment of truth.

Searching, searching, searching, no signal.

Our heads simultaneously dropped to our chests. Now what? How are we going to save ourselves from this hiccup? Breathe. Think. Think, breathe. 

Suddenly, the clouds parted and a light shown through. As if divinely placed in that forsaken airport, we noticed a small family holding electronic devices. What is this? Could it be? Do you think they have wifi? We didn't have to speak, our minds were as one, and so were our legs as we ran towards our miracle. 

They were a family of three from Canada. They had been unfortunately yet fortunately bumped from their flight and were searching for hotels with their, yes! Their wifi! We hastily explained our situation and, with full empathy--the stuff that redeems our species over and over again--they offered us their wifi password with grace.

I knew it would be difficult for David to admit that it was the Canadians who were our Salvationists; but, in the end, borders were crossed, prejudices were transcended and friends were made in the most unlikely of places.

After being rejected three times by technical difficulties on Expedia's finicky website, and running out of time, we had no choice but to purchase non-refundable tickets through a different website. We exchanged hasty, grateful hugs with the Canadians and were on our way--this time at a much quicker pace. 

We arrived at the desk, sweaty and disheveled and were greeted by a different agent. We made it! And with only four minutes to spare, they told us. While they printed our tickets we walked in small circles in front of the desk, stopping to put our hands over our heads and suck in deep breaths of air. We smiled again as we watched our checked bags get placed on the rotating belt and slowly disappear through the small hatch. That was a close one, we agreed. A pretty big hiccup. We congratulated each other on our narrow escape.

As our pulses slowed and we regained our peaceful, traveler personas we were asked by the agent to show our proof of exit. No problem. Dave grabbed his iPad and brandished our recently purchased itinerary with an air of triumph. 

The airline agent scanned the itinerary with an equal air of indifference and glanced up at Dave to flatly say, "this won't work."

"Excuse me?" 

"This won't work" the agent repeated. "You have to show proof of leaving the country. The island you're flying to is owned by Taiwan."

The next fifteen minutes was a torrent of words like, "but we are traveling to China!" and "your travel agent said Kinmen was fine!" along with visa flashing and lots of frustrated hair grabbing. We soon had a crowd of travel agents as well as a few managers surrounding us, all spouting the same dialogue: "we understand, but this is our policy."

Obviously they didn't understand. Thirty minutes before our flight was scheduled to take off we were still arguing and getting no where--literally. We were almost out of time, being asked to buy yet another ticket for which we had no wifi connection, no way to save ourselves, when one of the agents pulled out her phone and offered us our salvation with her personal wifi connection. 

You know the cliche movie scene where time is running out and the hero has to use his steady hands to disarm the bomb? At that moment I was reminded of one of those scenes. I watched Dave, and his nerves of steel, type in the vital information needed to confirm our second ticket. His fingers moved speedily and purposefully as beads of sweat formed on his furrowed brow. There was no room for error. We were out of time.

I clasped my hands tightly as he touched the confirm button on the screen. We waited with bated breath as the hourglass spun and spun. Finally, after what seemed like hours, we heard the beautiful little chime indicating the confirmation email had been received. Hastily we gave the attendants the information they required, they told us to have a nice flight, and we dashed to the security line. Luckily the airport was still deserted. 

'Where are all the people?' The thought managed to escape my muddled brain and float up into the air where it broke with a pop back into panic. 'We're not going to make it!' was my next thought.

The security officers smiled, told us to breath, and that we would be okay. Didn't they know what time it was? Didn't they know that our plane could be pulling away from the gate... with out us? 

We sprinted the rest of the way shouting out to each other. 

"Are we going to make it?"

"We're going to make it!"

As we turned the corner into our gate's boarding area we skidded to a stop--panting and sweaty--and were greeted by a hundred eyes. The boarding process had been delayed and everyone was still waiting to get on the plane. 

What? I expected drama! I thought we would have to yell "hold the door!" Or perhaps I would have to make a scene with some tearful begging--clutching pathetically to some poor flight attendant's leg.

 We quietly took a seat and stared, traumatized, into space. 

"It's a different world from when I started traveling. I can't believe that just happened." David's voice faded back into stillness.

They began boarding. We silently watched the line of people form, watched it flow, watched it fade. As the last of the people disappeared through the doors we stood up, collected our bags, and walked towards the attendant. She scanned our tickets, smiled, and wished us a nice flight.

"Well" Dave said, breaking the silence as we walked down the loading bridge, "At least we have a good story to tell. And it only cost us $960 in air fare and a few years off our lives."

I laughed. We clasped hands and walked through the plane door. 

We had a nice flight.

*For the record, we arrived safely in Taiwan and never had to show anyone our frantically purchased exit itineraries.