IT'S 3:45 A.M. WELCOME TO MANILA

After a long day of planes, trains and automobiles, I have safely arrived in Manila. With very big thanks to Genaro Velasquez, the Country Manager for Philippine Airlines, to whom I was introduced in San Francisco by Rene de Los Santos, of the Philippines Department of Tourism during a face-to-face meeting in downtown San Francisco during my six-hour layover, he made a phone call without my asking and just like that, cleared a whole row on board the 747-400 for me to stretch out in.
I definitely relished every inch of space and got about seven continuous hours of sleep on what would be the longest non-stop flight I've ever been on -- 14 hours and 21 minutes.
It was that long not only because of the distance and mileage, but because the airline didn't do a customary technical landing in Guam en route. Normally, the combination of a full flight, payload and pushing headwinds make it necessary to refuel. But because the flight wasn't full, payload was down and there was enough fuel to cross all the way to Manila.
That also meant our arrival was at 3:45 a.m., instead of the anticipated time of 5:40 a.m.
When our wheels touched down, I heard the same familiar sounds I heard when I last landed at Manila 10 years ago: applause. Many passengers applauded as we taxied under the dark skies to the terminal.
Getting through customs was a breeze and I conversed with the customs agent in the little Tagalog I know.
But this adventure, which began with missing a flight, had produced still yet another alarming situation -- midway through the flight, when I was served a glass of water, I searched for my black diving binder which contained a plastic bag of white powder. It is Benefiber and was going to dissolve it in water. But the binder, which also contains my scuba certification cards, wasn't in my backpack. It took me searching everywhere inside it three times for me to accept that somewhere I'd lost it -- most likely in the San Francisco airport. Knowing I could do nothing about it until I could get to a phone in Manila, I mapped out a plan: Call my wife and ask her to call the Professional Association of Dive Instructors (PADI) in Rancho Santa Margarita, Calif. and have them fax all my proof of certification to the dive shop at the Atlantis Resort in Dumaguete; call my mother and ask her to call Continental Airlines and tell them I believe I left my binder near seat 16-F on flight 478 from Houston.
So when I arrived, thank goodness for vending machines selling international phone calling cards and a wi-fi zone in Manila's domestic terminal, so I was able to execute the plan.
And thank goodness again for Arlene's being the most organized and resourceful person I know.
And my mother being the most sacrificing and patient person I know.
Together, we solved the issue.
There's an important phrase I learned in Tagalog:
"Utang na loob."
In English, it roughly means:
"I owe ya one."