Semana Santa was a lively holiday here at Lake Atitlan. Apparently that holiday and Christmas is the time when this area is the busiest. Most of the visitors are middle class Guatemaltecas that come up from Guatemala City. This was great for business for my buddy Sune's bar and nightclub, however it made it difficult for me to move comfortably from San Marcos to San Pedro because everything decent was all booked up for the week. Finally, on Sunday, I got a nice room with a lake view to call my home while I take some Spanish lessons.
In my few solo nights here in San Pedro, I have managed to connect with a few of the expats in town who own and run businesses here. Great sources of information and company. One of them, Dee who designs clothing that local women make and sell at her store, gave me a recommendation for a private Spanish teacher named Maria and a bit of info on how to find her. After searching around without luck for most of a day, I finally found her at a new 'Cafecito' she is helping to open in town. She is from Spain and roughly in my age group and Dee was right in that she is a very pleasant teacher which makes the daily classes more bearable. I am interested to see how much I can improve in a few weeks. For the first time in, well awhile, I have homework assignments. Seeing that I don't have much else to do during the day, this is welcome for the moment.
Life here is different from normal travelling because I am not seeing anything new each week. I am getting into a routine and settling for a bit which makes it less of an adventure and more of an experiment living in a very different place and culture.
The lake is a major presence in one's life here in that it can decide where and when you move about. On most days, mornings are sunny and mild - great for swimming if you have a good place from which to hop in. In the afternoon, winds tend to pick up a bit. Not enough to bother those on land, but enough to make the water choppy and somewhat treacherous for folks on the lanchas (boat taxis) that take you from town to town on the lake. If the water is choppy, you are quite likely to get bounced around and get quite wet. This past Wednesday, winds blew hard all day long. My friend Kristen, who is in town on Spring Break from her teaching job in San Francisco, could not make it three towns over as she had planned and had to settle for one town. That was the most punishment she could take for a single journey.
And it is not just the weather that can change your plans. Businesses, those you might plan to patronize on a given day, are subject to closing without notice or a time when they plan to re-open. This creates an air of opportunism for me each day, where I survey the current conditions and figure out day to day what I will be able to accomplish. The control belongs to the town and the lake.
I am looking forward to a boat load of friends from San Fransisco and other cities who are scheduled to arrive some time in the next week or so. That should be a great time. These are friends who mostly know both Sune and I from the Burning Man camp we all were a part of in the past two years.
Let the invasion begin!
Thursday, March 27, 2008
Monday, March 17, 2008
Community
My first week on Lake Atitlan has been different than my travels in Thailand. This time, since I have friends who live here full time, I have inherited a whole community of other friends who are connected to Sune and Marianne. It is like walking into an established life. The friends here, both at work at the Freedom Bar in San Pedro, and at home in San Marcos, both gringo and Guatemalan, are universally wonderful people. Life here is a constant adventure getting around on the crazy roads and navigating the culture and characters of the town.
Sune and Marianne, from Denmark and Norway respectively, have a perfect home for entertaining and have made it a bit of a neighborhood center of socializing, eating, and fun. It is a bit of paradise to be sure. One by one, I have more or less met the people who operate the gringo part of San Marcos: Anika, a German woman who is the town realtor, Alexis and Ariel who operate one of the great restaurants in town, Sarah who works in one of the few clothing stores, Felix a German uber hippy who keeps us informed of the energy ceremonies around town, and Oden who owns a massage center. Sune and Marianne are considering opening a cafe and store above a tienda on one of the more traveled paths in town.
When I say town, there really isn't much of one. There are no roads other than the main road that circles the lake. There are a few brick or dirt walking paths that wind through the trees, and one just comes upon random places in the trees while exploring the paths. There is no central commercial strip like most towns have.
In addition to tranquil San Marcos life, having a friend with the most popular night club in San Pedro means fun, late nights, full of cocktails and dancing. And the party continues day and night. Not in a debocherous way, more in a luxurious, relaxing way.
That said, part of me still longs for the independence and solitude of traveling alone. Staying with them has meant, in the most fun possible way, that I tag along a bit on their life. It's a fun life to do so, for sure. However, I have felt pulled to get my own space. I got a hotel room in San Pedro so that I didn't have to depend on friends for rides back to San Marcos. It seemed like a good plan and the room definitely came in handy.
Unfortunately, I picked a place that was just a bit too shady and it seems the staff entered my room and took some of my belongings: my mobile phone, camera, and I-pod. I really had a strong feeling that my stuff was not safe in there and when I returned to retrieve my bags to move to a better place, the deed was already done. No forced entry, just rummaged-through bags. Did I complain to the hotel staff? Do you mean the nine year old on duty with a cleaning bucket? I did complain but he just wanted his keys back.
The locals assured me that nothing I did would cause my things to return, so I just allowed myself to be pissed off for a couple of hours and then let it go and proceeded to plan replacement. Which I have begun. Some friends will be visiting here from San Francisco in a couple of weeks and can bring new supplies.
In the mean time I am floating a bit, trying to decide whether to live on my own in quiet San Marcos even though I have an open invitation to live with friends, or to live in fun but less luxurious San Pedro. I still can´t decide.
In the mean time, you can catch me spinning fire poi some nights at the Freedom Bar. Yes, it is true. I made it over the psychological hump from spinning mostly harmless rubber balls to dipping balls of Kevlar in gasoline and risking injury for the enjoyment of myself and others. Marianne coaxed me and coaxed me until I finally gave in and took the plunge. My heart still pounds each time I finish. But it is, oh, so much fun, especially to hear cheers from onlookers - and to have overcome some fear and aversion to risk. Wooo!
Life is good here, albeit a little lighter on the electronics.
Sune and Marianne, from Denmark and Norway respectively, have a perfect home for entertaining and have made it a bit of a neighborhood center of socializing, eating, and fun. It is a bit of paradise to be sure. One by one, I have more or less met the people who operate the gringo part of San Marcos: Anika, a German woman who is the town realtor, Alexis and Ariel who operate one of the great restaurants in town, Sarah who works in one of the few clothing stores, Felix a German uber hippy who keeps us informed of the energy ceremonies around town, and Oden who owns a massage center. Sune and Marianne are considering opening a cafe and store above a tienda on one of the more traveled paths in town.
When I say town, there really isn't much of one. There are no roads other than the main road that circles the lake. There are a few brick or dirt walking paths that wind through the trees, and one just comes upon random places in the trees while exploring the paths. There is no central commercial strip like most towns have.
In addition to tranquil San Marcos life, having a friend with the most popular night club in San Pedro means fun, late nights, full of cocktails and dancing. And the party continues day and night. Not in a debocherous way, more in a luxurious, relaxing way.
That said, part of me still longs for the independence and solitude of traveling alone. Staying with them has meant, in the most fun possible way, that I tag along a bit on their life. It's a fun life to do so, for sure. However, I have felt pulled to get my own space. I got a hotel room in San Pedro so that I didn't have to depend on friends for rides back to San Marcos. It seemed like a good plan and the room definitely came in handy.
Unfortunately, I picked a place that was just a bit too shady and it seems the staff entered my room and took some of my belongings: my mobile phone, camera, and I-pod. I really had a strong feeling that my stuff was not safe in there and when I returned to retrieve my bags to move to a better place, the deed was already done. No forced entry, just rummaged-through bags. Did I complain to the hotel staff? Do you mean the nine year old on duty with a cleaning bucket? I did complain but he just wanted his keys back.
The locals assured me that nothing I did would cause my things to return, so I just allowed myself to be pissed off for a couple of hours and then let it go and proceeded to plan replacement. Which I have begun. Some friends will be visiting here from San Francisco in a couple of weeks and can bring new supplies.
In the mean time I am floating a bit, trying to decide whether to live on my own in quiet San Marcos even though I have an open invitation to live with friends, or to live in fun but less luxurious San Pedro. I still can´t decide.
In the mean time, you can catch me spinning fire poi some nights at the Freedom Bar. Yes, it is true. I made it over the psychological hump from spinning mostly harmless rubber balls to dipping balls of Kevlar in gasoline and risking injury for the enjoyment of myself and others. Marianne coaxed me and coaxed me until I finally gave in and took the plunge. My heart still pounds each time I finish. But it is, oh, so much fun, especially to hear cheers from onlookers - and to have overcome some fear and aversion to risk. Wooo!
Life is good here, albeit a little lighter on the electronics.
Wednesday, March 12, 2008
Lago
I arrived in Guatemala City at 5 am. I had read some not so flattering stories about crime around the airport so I hoped to hop a bus directly from there up toward Lake Atitlan.
As expected, there were indeed minibuses ready and waiting to zing everyone from the airport and up to Antigua which is on the way to the lake. Unfortunately, I had made some plans with other people on the airplane to share a private car directly to the lake... and I lost them at baggage claim and couldn´t find them. Should I try to find them or hop this minibus that is leaving right now?
I chose the former and it ended up costing me several hours. If I had hopped the first bus, I would have made it to Antigua in time for the 8am bus to the lake. But since I hesitated, the next one wasn´t until 12:30. But I´m so tired!
The layover gave me a good (albeit sleepy) chance to explore Antigua and take some pictures. Antigua is a cute and ancient town circa 1500 or so. It was the original Spanish colonial capital of Guatemala. It is chock full of cool architecture, some still in business, some only ruins. Most of the town is a grid of bumpy cobble stone streets with the colorful fortress like buildings lining them. Each building has its sunny open space in the center of the building, not on the street. So one must enter each building to see the charm hidden inside.
It struck me immediately how sweet, helpful, and generally cool the Guatemalan people are. Such a generally great disposition. I cannot wait to improve my Spanish skills so I can better interact with them.
As poor as my Spanish is, I still felt fairly able to communicate with people, and they seem patient and pleased that I am trying.
After waiting four hours for the next bus, I almost missed it. Although I am normally on top of what time it is, somehow my sleepyness got the better of me and I was two blocks away from where I was to catch the bus fifteen minutes after I was supposed to be there. I ran to the spot and the bus was gone... but they called the bus back to get me and were very kind about it. Whew.
The road to Lake Atitlan goes through a maze of tiny towns and then ascends and descends a mountain range. The road is of fairly good quality but insanely windy and has no guard rails where there are drop offs of hundreds of feet straight down. Not a road I would like to be on regularly.
After arriving in Panajachel, I managed to just make it to the last boat of the day to San Pedro where my friend Sune is a partner in The Freedom Bar, a popular night spot in town. He lives at the lake most of the year with his delightful girlfriend Marianne. I had not really communicated with either of them in weeks so was not sure if they were expecting me or not. I found them both at the bar and surprised them individually. Such a great reunion.
I felt lucky when I learned that they do not normally spend much time there and it was just pure chance that I found them.
They fed me from their tasty restaurant and later we drove back to their home in San Marcos.
All I could think when we arrived there was that Sune was far more loaded than I thought. The grounds are an enormous and meticulously manicured tropical setting that lead down to a sunny lawn directly on the breathtaking blue lake. Their home is small and cozy and fits their style perfectly.
As it turns out, the cost of all of this (including a small staff) is only around half of what many people spend for a studio apartment in San Francisco. Amazing.
The two towns are a major contrast. San Pedro is full of backpackers and has a lively, party town feel... although it is still quite mellow. While San Marcos is a hippy town with barely a real center to it. A maze of paths leads from place to place and services are far fewer.
During my tour of San Marcos, it became clear that Sune knew almost everyone in town, gringos and locals alike. To give a taste of the vibe there, we were immediately invited by a shirtless hippy kid that a trading circle was being arranged by the lake where folks could trade clothing etc. and generally exchange pleasantries... and juggle I guess.
This will be a very nice area to settle down for a month or so. The only question is where to live.. with my friends in their beautiful but quiet house... or whoop it up a bit more in town.
Decisions, decisions...
As expected, there were indeed minibuses ready and waiting to zing everyone from the airport and up to Antigua which is on the way to the lake. Unfortunately, I had made some plans with other people on the airplane to share a private car directly to the lake... and I lost them at baggage claim and couldn´t find them. Should I try to find them or hop this minibus that is leaving right now?
I chose the former and it ended up costing me several hours. If I had hopped the first bus, I would have made it to Antigua in time for the 8am bus to the lake. But since I hesitated, the next one wasn´t until 12:30. But I´m so tired!
The layover gave me a good (albeit sleepy) chance to explore Antigua and take some pictures. Antigua is a cute and ancient town circa 1500 or so. It was the original Spanish colonial capital of Guatemala. It is chock full of cool architecture, some still in business, some only ruins. Most of the town is a grid of bumpy cobble stone streets with the colorful fortress like buildings lining them. Each building has its sunny open space in the center of the building, not on the street. So one must enter each building to see the charm hidden inside.
It struck me immediately how sweet, helpful, and generally cool the Guatemalan people are. Such a generally great disposition. I cannot wait to improve my Spanish skills so I can better interact with them.
As poor as my Spanish is, I still felt fairly able to communicate with people, and they seem patient and pleased that I am trying.
After waiting four hours for the next bus, I almost missed it. Although I am normally on top of what time it is, somehow my sleepyness got the better of me and I was two blocks away from where I was to catch the bus fifteen minutes after I was supposed to be there. I ran to the spot and the bus was gone... but they called the bus back to get me and were very kind about it. Whew.
The road to Lake Atitlan goes through a maze of tiny towns and then ascends and descends a mountain range. The road is of fairly good quality but insanely windy and has no guard rails where there are drop offs of hundreds of feet straight down. Not a road I would like to be on regularly.
After arriving in Panajachel, I managed to just make it to the last boat of the day to San Pedro where my friend Sune is a partner in The Freedom Bar, a popular night spot in town. He lives at the lake most of the year with his delightful girlfriend Marianne. I had not really communicated with either of them in weeks so was not sure if they were expecting me or not. I found them both at the bar and surprised them individually. Such a great reunion.
I felt lucky when I learned that they do not normally spend much time there and it was just pure chance that I found them.
They fed me from their tasty restaurant and later we drove back to their home in San Marcos.
All I could think when we arrived there was that Sune was far more loaded than I thought. The grounds are an enormous and meticulously manicured tropical setting that lead down to a sunny lawn directly on the breathtaking blue lake. Their home is small and cozy and fits their style perfectly.
As it turns out, the cost of all of this (including a small staff) is only around half of what many people spend for a studio apartment in San Francisco. Amazing.
The two towns are a major contrast. San Pedro is full of backpackers and has a lively, party town feel... although it is still quite mellow. While San Marcos is a hippy town with barely a real center to it. A maze of paths leads from place to place and services are far fewer.
During my tour of San Marcos, it became clear that Sune knew almost everyone in town, gringos and locals alike. To give a taste of the vibe there, we were immediately invited by a shirtless hippy kid that a trading circle was being arranged by the lake where folks could trade clothing etc. and generally exchange pleasantries... and juggle I guess.
This will be a very nice area to settle down for a month or so. The only question is where to live.. with my friends in their beautiful but quiet house... or whoop it up a bit more in town.
Decisions, decisions...
Thursday, March 6, 2008
Intermission
My return to San Francisco was not initially part of my travel plan. As it turns out, one cannot really fly from Thailand to Guatemala. You have to fly through Los Angeles. Since that is so close to home, it seemed logical to pop back in for a visit. Also, as a bonus, that created a round trip flight from SFO to BKK which is cheaper than a series of one way flights. So it was a no-brainer. And here I am.
At the beginning of my trip I wondered if it might be a bit strange to go from the backpacking lifestyle back to home life for a few days. Could all that time spent decompressing from reality on the beach and on the road vanish just by dunking myself back into it?
Well, yes and no. My return means dealing with personal business such as tax preparation, and fine tuning some financial issues and living situation back home. This, combined with the inevitable onslaught of requests to get together, brings on a modicum of stress. But overall, I am so glad to be back in my favorite place with my favorite people that none of that matters. This is a major bonus in my trip. I have, at times, missed home, and this "fix" of home life is just what I needed.
As soon as I emerged from the BART train into the Mission District neighborhood after my airplane arrived, I was immediately struck by the familiar sights and sounds. A black transvestite in red striped tights and black leather singing and skipping across the intersection, a sleazy liquor store blasting really good jazz music out to the street, a jovial conversation with the bus driver on the way up the hill to Oak Street. It all gave me a rush of comfort and joy (no relation to the Burning Man camp with the same name).
I get a chance to give my clothes a good laundering, swap out some items in my pack, and get some face time with my family of friends for whom I have developed a fresh appreciation after some lonely days on the road.
Some folks I have spoken with while traveling have indicated that they are dreading going home and stay out as long as possible to avoid the inevitable return. I pity them a little bit for that. And although no one really likes to go back to work, I'm glad I don't feel that way.
I love my home. It's good to be back.
At the beginning of my trip I wondered if it might be a bit strange to go from the backpacking lifestyle back to home life for a few days. Could all that time spent decompressing from reality on the beach and on the road vanish just by dunking myself back into it?
Well, yes and no. My return means dealing with personal business such as tax preparation, and fine tuning some financial issues and living situation back home. This, combined with the inevitable onslaught of requests to get together, brings on a modicum of stress. But overall, I am so glad to be back in my favorite place with my favorite people that none of that matters. This is a major bonus in my trip. I have, at times, missed home, and this "fix" of home life is just what I needed.
As soon as I emerged from the BART train into the Mission District neighborhood after my airplane arrived, I was immediately struck by the familiar sights and sounds. A black transvestite in red striped tights and black leather singing and skipping across the intersection, a sleazy liquor store blasting really good jazz music out to the street, a jovial conversation with the bus driver on the way up the hill to Oak Street. It all gave me a rush of comfort and joy (no relation to the Burning Man camp with the same name).
I get a chance to give my clothes a good laundering, swap out some items in my pack, and get some face time with my family of friends for whom I have developed a fresh appreciation after some lonely days on the road.
Some folks I have spoken with while traveling have indicated that they are dreading going home and stay out as long as possible to avoid the inevitable return. I pity them a little bit for that. And although no one really likes to go back to work, I'm glad I don't feel that way.
I love my home. It's good to be back.
Sunday, March 2, 2008
Dry
Bangkok seems like there is a lot to it that I missed. I didn't see all of the palaces and the Buddhas and all of the other Thai splendor that is housed there. I probably should have. But I, along with others I spoke with, tended to steer clear of the city for a number of reasons.
To be fair, most travelers get herded to the Khao San Road neighborhood which I am certain is not a fair representation of the whole of Bangkok. It is, however, the lion's share of the impression of Bangkok left on most visitors to Thailand. On Khao San, men are constantly touted for "boom boom", and sex shows, "tuk tuk" and taxi rides, massages, orange juice, rooms for rent, tours, lots and lots of random merchandise... You name it. You literally can't walk ten feet without being solicited for something. Beyond that, there is the poor air quality (my pansy-Frisco-air-breathing throat hurt as soon as I arrived), crazy traffic (motorbikes and cars drive straight through crowded pedestrian areas and sometimes sidewalks).
But, for me, it always seems to have this sloppy drunk aura around it, especially at night. Twenty somethings drinking buckets filled with liquor with six straws hanging out (so you can suck more through at one time). By nine or so, they are generally stumbling around, whooping it up. Mostly just good fun. But a little too much for me, frankly.
I considered staying in another neighborhood for my last night in Asia. But the trouble is, Khao San is just so gosh darn convenient for everything you need. They really do cater to us travelers. Also, there are so many guest houses there, it is easy to just show up in town and look for a place. In other neighborhoods you really need a reservation well in advance and will likely pay more. So there I was again.
But this time, I got a little treat. The next day was election day in Bangkok. They have a law that no alcohol can be sold something like thirty six hours before voting ends. This provided a rare opportunity to see what happens on Khao San when almost no one is drunk.
Don't get me wrong. I do enjoy my cocktails, and normally a rule like this would make me harumph. But I liked it. And the funny thing was, the town didn't appear that different. People were still out in the same places socializing, and walking the streets, only with soda water and Cokes instead of beers and buckets. It was just as busy and bustling, just a bit more quiet and civilized than usual.
Perfect since I had to wake at 7:30 am to make my bus to the airport.
That all went off without a hitch, and I made it to Taipei with a five hour layover ahead of me. Yuck.
As I was leaving the airplane, I couldn't help thinking that I was forgetting something. I do the pat down for my wallet; Checked for my passport, my Ipod, the book I was reading. I guess that's everything. But why do I feel like it isn't?
I got about two hundred yards into the terminal and I remembered. My head cushion! An inflatable one. I had stuffed it under my seat and forgot it. Damn!
This was my second cushion of the trip so far. The first one sprung a leak, and this one had been pricey, even when purchased in Thailand. I really didn't want to buy yet another one, I have a long, long overnight plane ride ahead, and I have a few hours to kill. So I take it upon myself to try and recover it.
I walk back to the gate. Shut and deserted.
I walk back to where an information officer had been directing people. Maybe he could help. Now he's gone too.
The only option here is for arrivals to go through immigration, or take a train to Terminal 2 where my flight is. Maybe someone at the counter can help. So I take the train.
The very nice China Airlines lady in Terminal 2 seems concerned and wants to help, but she cannot leave Terminal 2 and sends me back to Terminal 1 where I am assured someone there can take me to check the plane. So I take the train back.
Apparently Terminal 1 workers don't get the same smile training as the others do. He was not so friendly, but just couldn't quite bring himself to swat me away without at least trying. So he radios someone. They say they didn't find it. I say I know it's there. I know it was left under the seat. He strains to tell me to take a hike, but just can't seem to do it. He lets out a big sigh and tells me he will take me the two hundred yards back to the plane, unlock the gate, and let me in to check the seat for myself. I give him my polite thanks and walk in silence back with him as he punches through a series of security doors. Wow, cool. A dormant airplane.
Only it's not dormant at all. It's party time for the cleaning crew, who seems to have finished early with time to spare for schmoozing. The guy guides me into the plane where the crew are looking flabbergasted at my presence. I check the seat. Not there. I say "It must have been put in the garbage then, because I am certain it was there." He sighs and goes to join the party crew and barks some words in Chinese. At this point, I am pretty shocked at the lengths they are going for my stupid balloon pillow.
I wait patiently as someone goes downstairs to the tarmac and actually digs around in the garbage bags. The guy asks me to wait outside while they look. After about five minutes he emerges with my pillow.
Awesome! I thank him sincerely and ask him to thank the party crew as well. Now I can sleep on the plane peacefully without further expenditure.
Only four and a half more hours to wait... and soon I'll be back in what is still my favorite city anywhere, San Francisco.
To be fair, most travelers get herded to the Khao San Road neighborhood which I am certain is not a fair representation of the whole of Bangkok. It is, however, the lion's share of the impression of Bangkok left on most visitors to Thailand. On Khao San, men are constantly touted for "boom boom", and sex shows, "tuk tuk" and taxi rides, massages, orange juice, rooms for rent, tours, lots and lots of random merchandise... You name it. You literally can't walk ten feet without being solicited for something. Beyond that, there is the poor air quality (my pansy-Frisco-air-breathing throat hurt as soon as I arrived), crazy traffic (motorbikes and cars drive straight through crowded pedestrian areas and sometimes sidewalks).
But, for me, it always seems to have this sloppy drunk aura around it, especially at night. Twenty somethings drinking buckets filled with liquor with six straws hanging out (so you can suck more through at one time). By nine or so, they are generally stumbling around, whooping it up. Mostly just good fun. But a little too much for me, frankly.
I considered staying in another neighborhood for my last night in Asia. But the trouble is, Khao San is just so gosh darn convenient for everything you need. They really do cater to us travelers. Also, there are so many guest houses there, it is easy to just show up in town and look for a place. In other neighborhoods you really need a reservation well in advance and will likely pay more. So there I was again.
But this time, I got a little treat. The next day was election day in Bangkok. They have a law that no alcohol can be sold something like thirty six hours before voting ends. This provided a rare opportunity to see what happens on Khao San when almost no one is drunk.
Don't get me wrong. I do enjoy my cocktails, and normally a rule like this would make me harumph. But I liked it. And the funny thing was, the town didn't appear that different. People were still out in the same places socializing, and walking the streets, only with soda water and Cokes instead of beers and buckets. It was just as busy and bustling, just a bit more quiet and civilized than usual.
Perfect since I had to wake at 7:30 am to make my bus to the airport.
That all went off without a hitch, and I made it to Taipei with a five hour layover ahead of me. Yuck.
As I was leaving the airplane, I couldn't help thinking that I was forgetting something. I do the pat down for my wallet; Checked for my passport, my Ipod, the book I was reading. I guess that's everything. But why do I feel like it isn't?
I got about two hundred yards into the terminal and I remembered. My head cushion! An inflatable one. I had stuffed it under my seat and forgot it. Damn!
This was my second cushion of the trip so far. The first one sprung a leak, and this one had been pricey, even when purchased in Thailand. I really didn't want to buy yet another one, I have a long, long overnight plane ride ahead, and I have a few hours to kill. So I take it upon myself to try and recover it.
I walk back to the gate. Shut and deserted.
I walk back to where an information officer had been directing people. Maybe he could help. Now he's gone too.
The only option here is for arrivals to go through immigration, or take a train to Terminal 2 where my flight is. Maybe someone at the counter can help. So I take the train.
The very nice China Airlines lady in Terminal 2 seems concerned and wants to help, but she cannot leave Terminal 2 and sends me back to Terminal 1 where I am assured someone there can take me to check the plane. So I take the train back.
Apparently Terminal 1 workers don't get the same smile training as the others do. He was not so friendly, but just couldn't quite bring himself to swat me away without at least trying. So he radios someone. They say they didn't find it. I say I know it's there. I know it was left under the seat. He strains to tell me to take a hike, but just can't seem to do it. He lets out a big sigh and tells me he will take me the two hundred yards back to the plane, unlock the gate, and let me in to check the seat for myself. I give him my polite thanks and walk in silence back with him as he punches through a series of security doors. Wow, cool. A dormant airplane.
Only it's not dormant at all. It's party time for the cleaning crew, who seems to have finished early with time to spare for schmoozing. The guy guides me into the plane where the crew are looking flabbergasted at my presence. I check the seat. Not there. I say "It must have been put in the garbage then, because I am certain it was there." He sighs and goes to join the party crew and barks some words in Chinese. At this point, I am pretty shocked at the lengths they are going for my stupid balloon pillow.
I wait patiently as someone goes downstairs to the tarmac and actually digs around in the garbage bags. The guy asks me to wait outside while they look. After about five minutes he emerges with my pillow.
Awesome! I thank him sincerely and ask him to thank the party crew as well. Now I can sleep on the plane peacefully without further expenditure.
Only four and a half more hours to wait... and soon I'll be back in what is still my favorite city anywhere, San Francisco.
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