Hello from Manila!
You thought I’d be writing to you from Bali, and frankly, so did I. But the Gods of Air Travel had other ideas. Let me explain.
The original plan was to fly from Los Angeles to Manila, change planes, then head for Bali. Our layover in Manila was supposed to last about an hour. Like I said, that was the plan. But to paraphrase an old Yiddish proverb: Man plans, and the Gods of Air Travel laugh their asses off while you stew in layover hell.
When we checked in at LAX, the gate agent told us our flight to Manila would be delayed by three hours. That didn’t sound too bad, but then the gate agent explained that we’d have to wait approximately twenty hours in Manila for the next flight to Bali. In other words, instead of arriving in Bali on November 3, we’d get there at the same time on November 4.
Christina took the bad news in stride. She used the delay to book us a hotel in Manila.
“Sleeping in a real bed and showering beats wandering the airport like a zombie for twenty hours,” she said.
My reaction to the bad news wasn’t nearly as practical. Right there at the LAX check-in counter, I went full Kübler-Ross.
Denial – “This isn’t happening. Check the computer. Remember that scene from the movie Summer School? I’m the guy who spent the entire summer in the bathroom, but I got the highest test score! The computer must be wrong. We’re going to Bali. Actually, we’re already in Bali. This. Is. Bali.”
Anger – “You motherfuckers stole a day from us. I’m hiring a lawyer, and we’re going to sue you bastards for a million days! You ever see Bladerunner? I’m Rutger Hauer. I want more days in Bali, fucker!”
Bargaining – “If Elon Musk can buy Twitter, I can buy Philippine Airlines. I don’t care if its for sale or not, I’m paying $420 per share, and you’re taking us to Bali. After that, everyone is fired, except for the finance team, because we’re switching to a subscription model to pay for my folly.”
Depression – “We’ll never make it to Bali. Everything is ruined. Let’s go home. Maybe we can order the world’s smallest violin on Amazon. My sadness needs a soundtrack.”
Acceptance – “Shit happens, I guess.”
Things to do in Manila when you’re waylaid
At this point in the dispatch, it occurs to me that you might be hoping for a win. Like, maybe we used the layover to sample some amazing local cuisine, or see a tourist attractions like Rizal Park? Or, maybe I’m working my way around to a rambling essay about chicken adobo, American empire, the joys of Jollibee, the strange cultural bridges built by outsourcing, the historic walls of Intramuros, how Neal Stephenson’s literary maximalism in Cryptonomicon captures the essence of Intramuros, and the serendipity of traveling to a city you had no intention of visiting. That would’ve been the baller move, the Anthony Bourdain move.
But there’s a reason why Christina and I haven’t been offered a Travel Channel show. Actually, there are several reasons why we haven’t been offered a Travel Channel show, but that’s a different story.
In this story, the Gods of Air Travel handed us lemons, and we took those lemons to a hotel, where we hydrated, showered, slept, hydrated again, showered again, and ate breakfast. The win, if there was one, is that we used the layover to reset our internal clocks and acclimate to the local timezone.
Now, we’re back at the airport, kicking it in some lounge where the internet password is—I shit you not—12345, which also happens to be the combination to President Skroob’s luggage.
ANYWAY, with any luck, we’ll takeoff soon and finally get to Bali—I hope!