I had been awake for over 24 hours.
It was partly anxiety, sure. But mostly it was because of the sheer difficulty getting out of Antipolo in time for a 5.40am flight from Manila to Hong Kong. So I decided to leave Antipolo late afternoon the day before my flight, spend the evening in Makati, have dinner in Greenbelt and watch the last full show of Contraband.
The movie was fine. But seeing a thriller about cross-border violence and crime wasn't a bright idea just before I was to cross several borders, myself. I was hardly smuggling drugs or art or counterfeit money. But being a Filipino male of my age, height and physical appearance, I certainly fit the profile of a drug runner. I know it; I've been "randomly selected" for baggage check and/or carded enough number of times in Hong Kong and Singapore. So Contraband had the opposite effect of relaxing me. It spooked me.
I sprinted towards McDonald's even before credits rolled. I just knew that a Big Mac, McFlurry and a large Coke would make me feel better immediately. I also had an Americano just 'coz I'm greedy.
Purely by chance, I ran into my friends Brian, Ricci and his hubby, Nico, who were also on a post-movie snack break at McDonald's. The boys offered to take me to the airport, which was awesome. It was almost 3am.
We made our way into the deep, cavernous bowels of Greenbelt's underground parking system. Brian's was the last car parked. When we were just about twenty metres away from his car, all the lights went out. Therefore, we collectively shrieked like banshees. Brian and Nico swore they felt the presence of multo. Ricci pretended to be miffed at Nico for not having have shared earlier that he, Nico, indeed had multo-sensing abilities.
I knew that a senseless mountain of paperwork and fees awaited me at NAIA Terminal 3. But I was happily buoyed by sugar rush, caffeine rush and bakla rush. I had a smile not only on my face but also in my heart and my soul as I waved goodbye to my friends.
I was first to check in and first past Immigrations. I was also first at the coffee shop, which was cool because I could carry on watching Survivor: Palau whilst waiting for my final boarding call. I noisily slurped my arroz caldo as I ogled hot daddy Tom Westman.
I had front row, aisle seat on the plane. It was nice to be as comfy as a two-hour flight on a budget airline can possibly be. I had extra leg room, easy toilet access and proximity to exit door - so I was first out of the plane, too, which was awesome coz I was a weepy mess as soon as my feet touched the carpeted familiarity of Chek Lap Kok International.
"I'm here," I texted Chris. I was positively vibrating with mixed emotions. I had missed Hong Kong so much. Chris was by my side before I even received his one-word reply, "Hooray!"
We had breakfast together at the Traveller's Lounge before boarding our Cathay Pacific flight to Sapporo's New Chitose Airport. Five hours of plane travel, along with our dear friends Peter, Greg and his hubby, Allen.
Snowfall greeted us in Sapporo. The entire airport was blanketed in fluff.
"Looks like Russia," I observed helpfully, although I've never been to Russia.
My first "meal" in Japan was some sort of a nori sandwich with a gooey mystery-meat spread from Lawson's. It was disgusting. But I practically inhaled the stuff just 'coz I was ravenous. "This is Japan," I complained, "so where's all the fabulous food?"
We waited two more hours at the domestic terminal before our shuttle bus to Niseko arrived. Then, it was a three-hour ride to the ski resort.
The final bus stop was the resort's Welcome Centre, but we weren't nearly done yet. We spent a few more minutes shivering in sub-zero temperature.
"It's dumping snow," Greg said.
"It's barfing snow," Peter concurred.
Our private van finally arrived and stopped us from ruminating any deeper about the subtleties of snowfall. We were taken to a luxury villa. There, a perky Japanese girl led us on a tour of the fancy, three-storey house which was to be our home for the next five days.
I had just completed another leg of my long journey back home.
// HIRAFU, NISEKO //
