Nuku Hiva, 6-8-2017--David's return trip

Back in Nuku Hiva!

After nearly 3 weeks in the U.S., I'm overjoyed to be back with Pearl and aboard Minimus.

I almost didn't get here though, and that's a story I want to share. It's one of generosity, kindness and empathy.

My friend Tom Brightman, who could easily have dropped me off at the shuttle stop just 5 minutes away, instead got up at 4:30 AM and made us breakfast. Then, under the dubious guise of having other business to do in Phoenix, insisted on delivering me to the Phoenix airport two hours away. That's the kind of friend he is.

I didn't know it then, but my day would hinge on that act of generosity. The trip to the airport went well enough. Once inside the airport though, things began to go downhill. I seldom go into large airports, and when I do, find them to be an alien, impersonal and soul-deadening world. One of rigidly adhered to rules and regulations, of hurrying masses of humanity, of endless blaring announcements on unintelligible PA systems.

That's exactly how it began and, but for the grace of two people, that's how it would have ended. I got routed to the international counter, where the French bureaucracy reared it's ugly head. The complication was that no one is allowed to fly to French Polynesia without either a round trip ticket or proof of a bank bond equal to the value of a one way ticket out of the county. I had the latter, and had three documents to prove it. One was a hard copy, the other two were digital copies on my computer.

I showed them to the American Airlines attendant. She winced, then made a call to immigration. Then another one. Then a third. Nope. I would need hard copies of all three documents. Without them, I not only wasn't going anywhere, I'd have to forfeit my ticket, return to Tucson and buy another ticket for another day.

Nothing in the process of purchasing my ticket had alerted me to this impending train wreck. After all I'd been through the past month, my heart sank. Running on only a few hours sleep from the night before wasn't helping either.

Tracy, the attendant, was sympathetic, despite the line forming behind me. She called her supervisor. If I could attach the documents to an email, she could print copies for me. I went into high gear trying to connect to an airport internet connection. Tom meanwhile pulled out his phone and began searching for the nearest copy place to the airport. The closest one was 3 miles away and rush hour traffic was quickly snarling the freeway around the airport. Time was ticking by.

Meanwhile, my efforts to connect to an internet service were going nowhere. I would have paid a premium price for a connection, but my computer would have nothing of it.

Tom, keeping a cooler head than I, remembered that I had emailed him the documents the day before. He attached them to an email and sent it to Tracy's supervisor. She disappeared, eventually coming back to report no dice. Three documents at once wouldn't get through airport IT security. He tried again, one attachment at a time. Two went though this time but not the third one. He tried again and finally the remaining one went through.

Tracy disappeared again. The noise, the crowds, the anxiety, the lack of sleep, had me starting to feel light headed. I leaned against the wall. More time ticked by. I can deal so much better with a mountain storm or a gale at sea. I'm just not well equipped for this kind of stress. I tried to mentally brace myself for returning to Tucson, losing the ticket and then doing it all over again. I felt sick.

After what felt like an eternity, Tracy reappeared. She had hard copies. They were dark and hard to read. She scanned them and called immigration again. The copies were poor, but acceptable. She warned though, that I might face more red tape in LA. I wanted to hug her but feared airport security would haul me off.

Not without a few tears, I embraced Tom and headed to my gate.

Sitting there, I was surprised some twenty minutes later when Tracy suddenly appeared beside me, more copies in hand. Tom had not just dropped me off and left. He'd driven three miles through Phoenix rush hour traffic, gotten high quality copies made, then returned to the airport and given them to Tracy.

She had then gone through security, located me at the gate and hand-delivered them. This time I didn't care, I spread my arms and gave her a hug of deeply felt thanks. She shared that she'd beaten cancer three times and knew well how important empathy was. What a dear, sweet soul.

She was right about the bureaucratic odyssey not being over though. The flight to LA went smoothly enough and then I found myself again in the maw of an overwhelming airport. Limping down what seemed like miles of corridors and escalators, I eventually found my way to the international terminal.

Finally at my gate, I gave the Air Tahiti Nui attendant my passport and the copies that had gotten me onto the plane in Phoenix. She scanned them, then called immigration. Another road block. They weren't satisfied with the poor quality of the copies. I wasn't getting on.

Through my sleep-deprived stupor, I belatedly remembered the copies Tom had made. Brilliantly, he'd had them printed on high-quality glossy card stock. They were much clearer and had an official look. She scanned them and made another call to immigration. Five minutes later the last hurdle was behind me.

Emotionally exhausted, I sank into the airplane seat and spent a long time reflecting on what a blessed difference generosity, empathy and kindness can make.