The Hancock-Henderson Quill, Inc.
by SherryAnne De La Boise
Celebrity Status
My daughter won an international skating competition. Someone in the airport recognized her and asked for her autograph. Suddenly, she was confronted with a huge line of people wanting her autograph.
Heard a woman asking if anyone had a pen for the celebrity autograph. Innocently, I asked her, “Who is that girl?”
“I don’t know. But she IS famous. I’m getting her autograph and will figure it out later.”
When my son was returning from singing in China, a group of us went to O’Hare, with large cameras and paparazzi flashes. When he emerged through the doors of immigration, we started yelling and snaping pictures.
Other people grabbed their cameras. Airport security came to escort “the celebrity” to his awaiting car. For a moment, he was a Star and not amused by our not taking his singing career seriously.
On the flight to Raja Ampat (it’s very difficult to reach), I witness three annoying celebrities. I have no idea who they are and could care less.
A brilliant mind or success in parenting, or work, then I’m impressed. But a Poof, a sexy Star, and a Hanger-oner, nope.
They have been retained by National Geo to mingle with the tourists and increase the prestige. They believe they should have first class seats on the charter flight from Brisbane to Cairns, Aus. Unfortunately, all of the seats are the same lovely leather. This trio really wants some of us to sit in steerage and is noisy about the lack of first class.
The Poof travelled with Mic and Bianca Jagger in the 1970’s. The trip became a film, “Ring of Fire.” He’s been leveraging it for 40 years. Sexy Star was married to the Aussie equivalent of Jacques Cousteau. He decked her out in a tight red, low-cut scuba suit and filmed her from titillating angles. Not only did she become the “shark whisperer,” but she demonstrated on live TV that women have attributes that can float.
The Poof fauns over her. The Hanger-oner fauns over them both. They are loving laughing exclusively with each other, as they sign autographs. I turn away to talk with author James Bradley. James has also been hired to enrich the experience for the tourists. He will be my scuba buddy. His father was one of the ones who raised the first U.S.M.C. flag on Iwo Jima.
A brilliant storyteller, he has written about the lives of the men before and after that flag raising, “Flags of Our Fathers.” It’s an easy read and is available in audible form.
At Cairns, we are divided into two smaller planes. High paying tourists get first class, including one who insists upon the first row and stands the entire flight. I don’t know how she managed the flight from Washington D.C. It’s steerage for the rest of us, including the three celebrities. Funny though, those who knew this trio of stars are indignant that the celebs are not up front.
We fly over the huge Gulf of Carpentaria. It’s the rectangle gulf at the top of Australia, bigger than Texas. We’re flying to tiny Biak on the northern side of Papua Island to re-fuel and do Indonesian immigration.
At Biak, we disembark. They pile our luggage on the roasting tarmac. My ugly blue plastic suitcase stands out in the pile of sensible black bags. A trip through the x-ray machine for us. Then, we are put in a toasty room that overlooks our planes and melting luggage. And, we sit. For four hours! The lady running the attached souvenir shop has been called. To break the boredom, we all peruse her offerings, buying only small ice creams or trinkets. She is disgusted that we don’t spend more, but these folks are well traveled. Once you cross 30 countries, souvenirs become clutter (I am an exception to that). She shuts her shop, leaving us with no food or water.
I sit on the floor playing UNO with the only child on this trip (son of NG photographer). The 9 year old plays for blood. He draws in others to a rousing game of UNO. I give my second deck and a few Halloween candy bars (a woman of traditional build never travels without them) to the security forces guarding us. They return the gift by escorting me, with rifles on their shoulders, out into the front area of the airport. I can see where cars are parked, the open air market, and beyond palm trees the Pacific Ocean. I take a deep breath. It calms me to have this moment of escape from the teeming waiting room. The 3 celebrities have noticed and are demanding, but denied, my special treatment. They had mistaken me for a mere tourist.
After 4 hours in stifling Biak airport, the NG expedition leader realizes a bribe needs to be paid. Duh! Ten minutes after payment, we are released to fly to Sorong, Indonesia where a ship awaits to take us to the Raja Ampat Islands.
Ah, but before we can cross to the ship, we must endure a presentation of local music and dance. Ugh! It’s a dance recital, complete with homemade costumes on smiling little girls and uncomfortable boys backed up by camera wielding mommies who just know that their darling is destined for fame. They definitely want to be seen by celebrities.
Once, I travelled the Princess Michael. For 3 weeks, she sat upfront, applauded boldly with hands at face level, smiled appreciation. She walked up and personally thanked/complimented each performer. I emulate the Princess. Now, the mommies know that I am the celebrity (the 3 are nowhere to be found) and flood me with gifts, which I share as I introduce the travel companions that I have met so far. For this brief moment, we are stars to these mommies.
You can find these mommies the whole world over. They hope and dream for their children to be in a better position. And, having done the assault on my son upon his return from singing in China, I have to admit that I am no different.
P.S. My son says I should end with, “For those who have been with me since the beginning, the ship sailed for Raja Ampat where nothing happened. Join me next week as I travel home.” Wha ha ha haaa (evil laugh)! Not true: Next week, I’m getting Dessa to print a map.