My First American Trip Recalled

“Start spreading the news, I’m leaving today...”

It was December 2000 and was singing the Frank Sinatra hymn while packing my bag. For the first time in my life, I would be going to the United States of America, the country that most Filipinos are dreaming of going to.

“Where are you going this time,” my mother inquired. I had not been telling anyone about this trip since I didn’t want them to know just in case I didn’t get a US visa (but I did!). Big Apple, as New York is sometimes called, I told her.

She stood not moving for few seconds. My mother couldn’t believe what she just heard. After all, when I was still a little boy, I told her that one of my dreams was to visit the United States . “Yes, it’s a dream come true,” I replied as I wiped the tears falling from her eyes. She never said a word after that but instead hugged me tightly. “I will be there for just a few weeks,” I said.

Had it not been for Don Hinrichsen, an American environmental journalist, I won’t be able to go to the US . He invited me to co-write a position paper on water and population for the Washington-based Woodrow Wilson International Center for Scholars. We never met yet in person although we communicated every now and then via e-mail. Both of us are writing for People and the Planet.

I was looking forward to see the city that Wood Allen always featured in his movies. The night before the trip, I was not able to sleep well. I was afraid I might be late in going to the Ninoy Aquino International Airport in Manila. So, even if it was still three in the morning, I woke up and took a bath. Afterwards, I took a cab and went directly to the airport. There was a long queue while checking in but it didn’t matter to me.

Our flight from Manila to Tokyo was long – about four hours. We disembarked at the Narita International Airport and stayed there for a couple of hours. Then, we boarded in another plane bound for the United States .

The flight was even longer. For the next thirteen-hours-and-a-half, I was doing what most passengers were also doing: eating meals, reading books and newspapers, walking around, drinking coffee or green tea, playing cards, watching movies, and sleeping (most of the time).

It was not my first time to experience a long flight (I had one before, from Singapore to Johannesburg , South Africa). Feeling bored, I watched other passengers. There was a mother bottle-feeding her baby. An American couple three seats from me were talking, or perhaps they were arguing - sorry, I really could not tell the difference. Too far to eavesdrop.

In another lane, one obese man was snoring out loud (if the lady near him was trying to find another seat, I can only guess). Two men were drinking to their heart’s content while another one was typing in his computer.

Those were the images that captured my attention. But before long, I dozed off to sleep – only to be awaken as the stewardess was serving another meal. No, I was not complaining at all.

Thirty minutes before we landed at the John F. Kennedy International Airport, the captain told us that we will soon be in New York . My heart started to beat fast. I could not relax anymore. This is it, I said to myself. I asked for water, then another, then another. Then, our plane landed smoothly. I was on terra firma again.

I followed other passengers going to the immigration area. There was a long queue; I took my passport and other papers and waited for my turn. Twenty minutes later, I was in front of the immigration official. "What’s your purpose of coming here?” he inquired. I explained to him my reason for coming using some technical terms. I was not sure if he was satisfied with my answer but he stamped my passport anyway.

Welcome to New York , the sign said. Thank you, I said to myself but my biggest problem was: how do I get to know Don Hinrichsen, whom I have not met yet? Five days before my flight, he e-mailed me that he will be waiting for me. Asking how I would recognize him, he replied, “At the airport’s waiting area, just look for a tall person with mustache and wearing a hat.” He must be joking!

Just to be on the safe side, I also e-mailed Dr. James Hansen, a former colleague who now works at Columbia University in New York. He answered back that he would pick me up at the airport, too. Now, if Don won’t be able to make it, then there was still James. Or, vice-versa.

Since I knew James, I looked for him at the waiting area. He wasn’t around; maybe he was late, I consoled myself. Now, I was searching for a tall man with mustache wearing a hat. I spotted three men. Who among these three was Don? Bravely and nicely, I approached one person and asked him if he was Don. He answered affirmatively. Still not convinced, I requested for his identification card.

He showed his ID without much ado. Yes, it was the Don I was looking for. We were talking when suddenly, someone from behind called my name. It was James. “Sorry, I wasn’t able to recognize you, Henry,” he apologized. “But when I heard your voice, I am sure it’s you.”

Since Don knew the hotel where I would be staying in New York for the next 10 days, I suggested that I will go with him. James understood the situation. But before he left, he asked Don about the hotel and then told me that he would pick me up by Saturday morning. It was still Thursday when I arrived. “See you by then,” James said, hugged me, and then he left.

As the taxi entered Manhattan , I was completely mesmerized. I only saw these tall buildings in the movies. Now, I had seen them!

We arrived at the hotel safely. When I checked in, the receptionist asked me if I had a credit card. I told her I didn’t have any but said I would pay in cash. When Don heard it, he brought out his credit card and gave it to the receptionist.

That was one of the biggest lessons I learned. When you go abroad, be sure to carry a credit card. Most hotels don’t accept cash unless you have a credit card.

Before leaving, Don told me not to sleep. After all, it was still two in the afternoon. “Okay, thanks for the advice,” I replied. When I was alone in my room, I tried to do push ups. I watched television while lying in bed. Before long, I was already slumbering. I woke up at 8:30 in the evening and was very hungry.

I went out and looked for a place where I could eat. Not far from my hotel, I saw one Mexican restaurant, not very fancy but was serving pizza, short orders and drinks. Not knowing what to eat, I ordered pizza, chicken wings and soft drink. I ate my food with gusto.

The following night, I went again to the same place. The same waiter was serving me and I ordered the same thing. On the third night, I still went to same place. The same waiter was there. But before I could place my order, the waiter said, “Do you want pizza, chicken wings and soft drink, sir?” Now, he knew me very well!

My first three days in New York was alright; there was no chilly weather. But on the fourth day, I ventured to visit the Central Park , which was not very far from the hotel where I was staying. I woke up very early in the morning and went outside the hotel. I was about three meters away from my hotel when I felt the unpleasantly cold air. As if I was taking a bath with an icy cold shower.

I had to rush back to the hotel. “Anything wrong, sir?” the bellboy who saw me asked. Feeling embarrassed, I answered, “I just forgot something from my room.”

It was already January when I returned to the Philippines. But I had with me fond memories about my first US trip. In fact, I had my first Christmas snow when I visited my sister in Hibbing , Minnesota (but that’s another story to write).

“How was your trip?” my mother asked as I arrived. “It was fun,” I answered. I opened my bag, took something and gave her my pasalubong. “This is for you,” I said. “Thanks,” she said. “But the best gift is having you back home safe.”

She smiled and hugged me tightly.

“If I can make it there…” -- ###