Sunday night the owners of Artista decided to try something new and invited the guests to a rooftop party. “We’ll supply the food, you will have to pay for your drinks.” So a dozen or so of us spent the evening getting happy, talking … how many hotels do that? I got more stories from Jimmy about the history of Boracay – including pirate attacks as recent as 10 years ago!
Monday, some unexpected excitement. We knew coming in that we had been given what the owners described as the “best” room in the hotel and that we had to move out for the last night. A couple was arriving on Monday and they’d reserved and paid for it last June, so not much we can do. I saw them arrive as we were sitting on the beach.
Later, as we were stretched out at Wahine having lunch, they sat down at the next table and said hello. “Hi! You guys got our room!” But I was smiling, wished them a great stay, we chatted a bit and then turned to our food.
I soon regretted the joke. Not five minutes later, one of the guys starts screaming, “Help me! Help me!” I jumped up, ran over to their table. The other guy was in the process of passing out and slipping out of his chair. Filipino but his skin had turned whiter than mine, his eyes rolling up in his head.
I helped grab him and keep him in the chair till a few guys brought a sofa over. We lifted him onto the sofa. The woman who runs the dive shop quickly called the doctor and wheeled over an oxygen tank and mask and strapped it onto him. The first guy started asking for ice but the girls working there were slow to respond, so my gf started translating everything and lighting a fire under them. She went to work rubbing the ice on the guy’s face, chest, hands.
The guy slowly comes back to life. His eyes open, he looks around, sees me and my gf, and the first words out of his mouth are, “We took their room.” Yeah, I felt really thrilled about my feeble joke.
Finally the doctor arrived. It turns out this guy had some food the night before that didn’t agree with him. He’d spent the morning in the toilet, purging from both ends, never ate anything afterwards, flew to Boracay. The sun, the heat, the dehydration, it all took its toll on him. The hotel staff carried him up to his room, the doc stuck an IV in his arm, and we went back to the beach.
That night, they wanted to buy dinner for me and my gf. I couldn’t accept. We didn’t do that much and we didn’t do anything that special, just stuck around and helped as we could. These guys are from L.A. so I told him the company I work for and one said, “Funny, I saw your t-shirt and thought you might be in the industry.” (I was wearing my Kill Bill shirt, but that’s not from my company, I just like the tattoo motif.) Well, I am, sort of, but for how much longer, I have no idea.
Tuesday morning, the goodbyes took almost half an hour. Jimmy, Nenita, the staff, all the friends we’d made, trading phone numbers & email, etc. Speedboat over to Caticlan Airport. We sat in the “pre-boarding” area where the air cons weren’t working. There were signs all over apologizing. “Commercial power” had failed and “local power” was overloaded, they’re “upgrading” so they can put in bigger air cons, thanks for your patience.
To make matters even happier, we saw no plane on the runway. And at 12:50, the time when our flight was scheduled to leave, they announced that our plane would be late, with no further details. I grabbed my smokes and went outside and asked at the counter if they had any more details. Nope. One hour? Two hours? They don’t know.
Go outside, grab a smoke, go back in, put my smokes and lighter on the conveyor belt and get told that I can’t have a lighter with me. It has to go in my check-in luggage. And I don’t have the luggage slips with me. So they escort me out onto the tarmac so I can point out our suitcases and they can slip the lighter in.
Back inside. An hour goes by. I grab my smokes again. I ask the guard who took my lighter if I can borrow a lighter and he grabs one out of the bin for me. I go to the Cebu Pacific counter. Any updates? Nope. Has the plane left Manila? They’re not sure. They’re not sure? Systems are down in Manila and they have no communication. Hello, you have mobile phones? Sorry sir. Okay, what about coupons for some drinks, it’s really hot sitting in that room? Sorry sir. I go back in, give the lighter back to the guard, get some Chummy prawn chips and a Gatorade and settle in.
Finally at 2:30, a Cebu Pacific plane comes in for a landing and 15 minutes later they announce it’s our flight. We’re in the first row. The first row faces backwards. The plane is half empty. I ask the attendant if we can change seats and she says we have to wait till after the plane takes off. Why? I don’t have the energy to ask. She hands me two barf bags.
Anyway, we get to Manila, drop off our bags at the hotel, wash up and head over to the Fort. I’ve got a list of books I want and, sure enough, Fully Booked, the largest branch in Manila, has none of them. The Kindle is starting to look better and better.
Then over to Abe, my current fave restaurant here. Crispy beef ribs, crispy pork adobo, some prawns in olive oil and garlic, some veg, some garlic rice, a mango shake, all is good.
Oh yes, six days in Boracay, I look like a lobster. Red. Bright red. Everywhere. As Woody Allen once said, “I don’t tan, I stroke.”