Reflections on World Travel
I Wanted to Change Planes; Got offered a Girl Instead!
An unintended detour in Manila
“Do you think she’s pretty?” He gestured toward a slender girl standing on the curb, smiling and waving as we crept past in city traffic. “You know, we have the most beautiful girls in the world!”
“Yes. She’s very pretty. Is the hotel nearby?”
“Oh! I have a better hotel for you. What about her? She’s my friend. Also very pretty!”
Oh my God. How did I get here?
Spoiler alert: I didn’t do it! [But stay with me. It’s a long set-up.]
Besides music, teaching, and naturism, I have another bizarre fixation. I’m a mileage runner.
In case you’re not familiar with the term, mileage runners fly from point to point with no particular desire to actually leave the airport. The flying, and the resultant accrual of frequent flyer miles, is literally the point of the trip.
This trip took place back when every mile counted — mile for mile — so the more miles you flew for the fewest dollars won the biggest prize. (Airlines have since changed that strategy to measure how much you spend, but this was back in the day!) So I was crazy proud of myself when I hammered out an itinerary from New York to San Francisco, with a stopover to visit family, then back on the plane to Tokyo, connecting to Manila, connecting to Guam, connecting to Honolulu with a pause for an overnight stay with a shower and a nice meal, then nonstop back home. The seasoned mileage runner would post that as EWR-SFO-NRT-MNL-GUM-HNL-EWR.
Grand slam!
The San Francisco stopover was great. Time enough to give mom a hug, then back to the airport for a glass of wine to help me sleep on the plane.
A stopover in Tokyo, Narita is always amazing, at least if you have access to the ANA Lounge — (Gold status and above — Woo hoo!) where they have a made-to-order noodle bar and a nice liquor selection that usually includes a Japanese single malt scotch.
But as I landed in Manila, my phone lit up with notifications from United Airlines about cancelled flights due to a typhoon blowing over Guam.
Uh-oh! This is not going to go well.
Asia has some of the best airports in the world, especially those in Singapore, Hong Kong, and Tokyo. And the new airport in Beijing is quite a sight to behold as well. That’s not to say we haven’t had a few clunkers. The Phuket airport is a bit less than inspiring, while Suvarnabhumi International Airport in Bangkok falls short in its efforts to emulate the grandeur of Changi, Singapore.
Then there’s Manila International Airport. Four terminals spread out over a landmass roughly the size of Rhode Island, only two of which are connected by an internal roadway. Should you need to get from Terminal 1 to Terminal 3, as I did, that will require some form of transportation that takes you into mainstream traffic around the perimeter of the airport.
Brilliant!
After several phone calls to the airline, it became apparent that I was not going onward to Guam anytime soon, but perhaps I could catch a flight directly to Hawaii. Or maybe even to Hong Kong. But that would require a terminal change.
I bet if just follow the signs for transfer connections there’ll be some high-tech air-train like the one in Singapore.
Nope!
The signs led me right out the front door of the terminal and onto the street into a melee of humanity. If there was an information kiosk, I never found it, but there was a sign pointing to a bus transfer to Terminal 3. But before you could queue to board that bus, (“conveniently” running every 30 minutes — guffaw!) you had to buy a ticket, with local currency, from a guy with a cash box.
This is not user friendly!
Oddly enough, I didn’t happen to have any Filipino currency since my original itinerary featured a luxurious two-hour stay within the secure area of the airport. I don’t recall how I finagled a shuttle bus ticket with American dollars, but ultimately, it was a moot point. The bus came on the half-hour, as promised, but I was so far back in the queue that making any connecting fight that day suddenly seemed hopeless. It would be three more bus rotations before I’d even be able to board. Defeated, I decided to take my losses on the shuttle ticket and go back into the terminal behind me to re-orchestrate my plan.
For whatever reason, the armed guards at the terminal door were less than enthusiastic about my new tack.
“Where is your ticket?”
“Uh… I don’t have… a ticket. I just need to get back into the terminal.”
“Show me your ticket!”
In fact, I didn’t have a ticket. Or an itinerary. Or even a viable plan, all of which were requisite if I had any chance of getting back into Terminal One. But alas… maybe I could take a taxi to Terminal Three. That would be the last chance for catching that last flight to Hong Kong. I’ll sort this all out once I’m in the right terminal.
Off to the taxi queue.
Johnny, the taxi driver, was friendly and welcoming, quite unlike those armed guards in front of the terminal.
“Where you from?”
“I’m from New York.” My pat response when traveling internationally, assuming most people aren’t too great with the geography of North America. And I wasn’t feeling particularly chatty.
“How do you like Manila?”
At that moment, I was thinking, Manila sucks!
“Nice place!” My response was simultaneously sarcastic and disinterested. “Though airport transportation is a little… complicated.”
“You know, it’s rush hour.” My friendly driver advised. He sped along the airport exit road for just a few seconds before slamming on the brakes into a sudden mass of vehicular metal, all sitting at a dead stop.
“This is a great city. You’ll love it here.”
“Well… I hadn’t planned to stay long. My flight was cancelled.”
Bear in mind, we were supposedly en route to Terminal Three. I assumed most people who take a taxi to the airport are intending to get on a plane and leave. Seemed futile to explain that to a taxi driver.
He changed subjects… abruptly.
“Are you married, Dan? Do you have kids?”
When and why did I tell him my name?
“Yep. Married with grown kids. Happily so!”
By now, I had several windows open on my iPhone, listing flights I had no chance of catching, then on to the next tab with hotel options for an overnight stay.
I think I have enough Accor points for an overnight stay at Novotel.
Five minutes passed. Then ten. Then twenty. We had scarcely moved a hundred meters under the sprawling concrete highway structure separating the airport from a couple of glitzy hotels and commercial glass towers. I doubled down on my search for a place to sleep.
“Hey Johnny, I think we need to reroute. Can you get me to the Novotel in Araneta City?”
“You betcha, Dan. We just need to get out of this traffic.” My driver was cheery and eager to help. “This is a fun town, ya know Dan?”
“That would be great, Johnny. Let’s do it.” I had the Accor app open now and went to work on making a reservation.
“That hotel is very fancy, Dan. How about I find you a better place closer to the airport?”
Now there’s a concept. A taxi driver bargaining for a shorter drive to a closer destination.
“Novotel is good. Thanks.” I tried to sound appreciative of his hospitality.
We were off the main road now, moving beyond the glass towers into one of those marginal neighborhoods you often find near the airport. Local shops and eateries. Apartments with laundry hanging off the balcony. Neon lights flickering to the degree that induce seizures.
“I have a better hotel for you, Dan. Much better price, and not so far. I take lots of customers there.”
My skin began to crawl a little. This was not a good place to get out of the car and take to the streets, though I was certainly sizing up the options.
“We’ll be there in just a few minutes. Very nice place.”
“Does this place have a name, Johnny?”
It was Hotel George or something like that. I typed the name into Booking.com to reveal a stunning rating of 4.2 — on a 10-point scale — but indeed, a stay for one person could be had for about $20 US.
“I’m good with Novotel, Johnny. Will be nice to see the city.”
He changed the subject again.
“Do you think she’s pretty?” He gestured to a slender girl standing on the curb, smiling and waving as we crept by in city traffic. “You know, we have the most beautiful girls in the world, here!”
I sat silent.
“Maybe you like her better.” This time, a girl on the other side of the street. “You know, life is short, Dan. And you’re a long way from home.”
“Thanks, Johnny. Did I mention my wife? She’s very pretty, too!”
I was growing increasingly concerned about this 4.2 hotel rating, but Google indicated we were less than a mile away.
“Hey! There’s my friend, Leah,” Johnny sounded excited. “She can give you a very memorable stay in Manila! Life is short, Dan. Very short.”
Holy shit!
I suspect it was two or three minutes, but it seemed like a lifetime until we arrived at Hotel George. Since this was a mileage run, my only luggage was the day pack I had been hugging like a dear friend in the back seat.
Johnny walked me into narrow hotel lobby. It was smoky. It felt gritty.
He exchanged words with the guy behind the counter who was just finishing a transaction for some sort of lottery ticket before turning to me to take my $25 in cash. I almost argued about the advertised online price, but decided not to prolong the transaction.
“Room 9. Second floor.”
“Thanks, Johnny. See ya ‘round… sometime.”
“They have my number at the counter, Dan. Let me know if you need a ride tonight… or anything else!”
Seems he was going to linger and chat with his desk clerk friend for a while, despite the fact that his taxi was double parked out front, creating yet another traffic jam.
Once upstairs, I found room number nine. Didn’t need the key. The door didn’t lock, from outside or inside. The drooping single bed looked like it had been reclaimed from the sets of The Shawshank Redemption in a bedroom lit by a single florescent tube. There was a two-pane window painted white from the outside — about as transparent as the room rates for a night’s stay.
A concrete step led into the bathroom. Only cold running water with a bare light bulb over the sink. I can’t even remember if there was a tub or a shower as I had no intention of getting naked in this place, but I was most certainly making plans to meander… SOON!
With some trepidation, I sat on the bed, taking a moment to sort out my thoughts. Google Maps! How did we get by before the age of smartphones and Google Maps?
We were apparently just two blocks from a main artery that led toward central Manila. A potential escape route had emerged.
Making my way downstairs, I made a non-committal, glib comment to the guy at the desk.
“Headed out for a bit. Have a good night!”
He probably thought it odd that I was going out on the town with a day pack on my back.
Two doors down was a small restaurant that looked a bit more reputable than my prison-like accommodation. I ducked in, relieved to be greeted in English.
“Am I likely to find a taxi on the main street down the block?”
“Yep. Out the door, to the right. Lots of taxis.”
Just my luck, Johnny would be lurking around the corner with a green light blazing on the top of his cab. But instead, a quiet, old fellow pulled over as I waved from the curb.
I showed him my phone with a map to the Novotel. He tripped the meter, and off we went in silence. About ten minutes later I could see the gleaming lights atop the sleek, tall, modern hotel. I jumped out of the cab, walked through the revolving doors and was greeted by a handsome young man who said, “Welcome to Manila, Mr Carlson. Are you enjoying your stay in Manila?
”I am now!” I suspect my face was emanating relief.
Let us know if we can hail you a cab, or if there’s anything else you need during your stay.
“I think I’m good! Thank you.”
Delivery and context make all the difference.
I’m eager to return to the Philippines. I’m told some of the outer islands are among the most beautiful in the world. Though I’ve also heard that said about the girls as well.
Regardless, I’m going to think carefully and twice before changing planes in Manila.
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