I got a cart (free) and found an opening on the far end of the carrousel, people were still pouring around it as the full plane load of Filipinos passed immigration. A few minutes passed, the area was packed with short, tanned people and many of them sniping their bags off of the metal conveyer belt. After half an hour, a last shipment of balikbayan boxes had to be manually loaded onto the baggage claim. And soon enough, the large room was empty, it was just me, a few stragglers, and the few workers on duty at 1230 AM. I asked one of the workers if that was all the bags, and he calmly confirmed. Shit. One of my biggest worries on the trip, that my bags would never make it. They probably got stuck at JFK despite the woman in Boston telling me that my bags were fully checked all the way to Manila. I filled out the necessary paperwork to claim missing bags and made my way through the declarations department a little out of it. My memories of the Ninoy Aquino National Airport are few, but I seem to always have remembered it being bigger than it really was. Probably because the last time I was here was almost three years ago, and before that, six or seven.
As I made my way to the arrival pickup area I spotted a few of my younger cousins and one of the maids at my family’s house. My mood was instantly improved, the first question they asked was where my bags were, and all I could give them was a mumble about how the airline lost my luggage. We hugged and made our way to their massive van. This van was different; they explained how it was new and less than a month old. Regardless of this fact, it brought me back to my previous trips to the Philippines, we would take one of the vans to travel around the Philippines, places like Tagaytay, places around Manila, Batangas, Taal Volcano. Eventually we arrived at their new house. In the house resides my Grandmother, three of my aunts, two of my uncles, my cousins, the nurses, and the maids. The new house certainly looked newer and cleaner than the last one, but not as big. We entered the property through a door in the gate and waited outside the door to the house, one of the maids came and opened the door and let us in. they showed me where I would be staying, my cousins’ work room with a bed in the middle. Apparently they call it the “blue room” due to one of their walls being painted blue. I’m not quite sure why only one of the walls was blue, but I didn’t even notice it until later that day. I put my backpack down on a chair. It was the only piece of luggage that I had, but it had all of what I would consider essential: my laptop, my camera, my travel documents, and my laptop charger. I sit and contemplate what I was going to do without my luggage. I had no clothes, nothing more than what I was wearing on the plane: shirt, jeans, socks, sneakers and two sweatshirts. I thought that it was going to be a rough trip, and that I would have to shell out a good amount of money to buy a new wardrobe. Too stressed out, I went outside for a smoke. It was nice out. Maybe about 70 degrees F, and 70% humidity, I couldn’t see the stars, or the moon. All I could hear was the gentle hum of the power transformer and see down the road. Both sides of the street were blocked by walls ten feet high. The smoke was hot. My American cigarettes didn’t like this thick, humid, polluted city air. But it didn’t matter. I arrived.
The next morning I was awoken by my cousins leaving for school, shouts could be heard downstairs and everyone rushing to get to the car. I said good morning to my Grandma then talked to one of my aunts about my missing baggage, she was surprised that they got lost. I exclaimed that some of it had to be my fault for not waiting at JFK (remember I was there for 7 hours) and some of the blame put on the representative for telling me that I would be all set. Another of my aunt’s came downstairs and asked if I had filled out the claims form, and called the airline. Surprisingly enough, the airlines give compensation for lost baggage, and that they had found it. My bags never left Boston.
What?
Really?
That’s ridiculous. I checked in, and made my flight. It made no sense, but I was just happy that I would be getting some cash and my bags back.
Later that night, my cousins took me out to dinner after my bags arrived. It was pouring outside; the rain was amazing, so much better than the snow. I hope a week is enough time here…
here is a picture of my cousin's dog, he's awesome:
I couldn’t see the stars, or the moon. All I could hear was the gentle hum of the power transformer and see down the road. Both sides of the street were blocked by walls ten feet high. The smoke was hot. My American cigarettes didn’t like this thick, humid, polluted city air.
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