The long flight wasn't bad at all, actually. Well, you know... Business Class and all. It was very comfortable and I got a few short bursts of sleep. But now it's 8:30 in the morning here and there's no way I'm going to sleep today. It's hot, there's much to do, etc. I'll sleep well tonight, I'm sure.
One thing that bothered me about the flight was how incessantly attentive and helpful the flight attendants were. An an American, I'm simply not accustomed to that much customer service. They kept trying to push food on me, over and over. Of course, the food was fantastic, so that worked out. I had all Filipino cuisine, so I have no idea what I ate. When presented with a menu, and being unfamiliar with anything on it, I just picked the dishes that had the chef's name next to them. That's the chef's specialty? Yes, I want that.
The airport in Manila was about as crowded and chaotic as I'd expected. The layout was a little strange, though. I could see that there were all the normal modern things you'd expect to find in an international airport, food courts and shops and whatnot, but it looks like arrivals (at least international ones) can't go there. We have to get our bags and leave. Immigration officer, baggage carousel, customs officer, get the hell out. In that order.
I made it a point while I was amid the crowd to actively be aware of my pockets and my bags. Hey, you never know. The last thing I need is for someone to sneak into a zipper on my backpack and snag something while I wait for my other bags on the carousel.
Supposedly there was a driver waiting for me with one of those cards with my name on it, but I didn't see him. Those guys were everywhere, there was no rhyme or reason to it. One of them was right outside the plane next to the little machine that controls the jetway, and they were randomly dispersed from there all the way into the taxi area. I looked, but didn't see mine. Oh well, I'll just take a cab.
Naturally, being a white guy, all the cabbies noticed me right away and wanted my business. So I went to the ones that had a desk and a sign, because they looked more professional. Where am I going? Makati City, Salcedo Village. 440 pesos? Hmm, where's a money exchange? Ah, right over this way, sir. We'll help you with your bags. Ya, that's cool and all, but I'm not going to turn my back to you with my bags. I'll hang onto them, really.
Ok, exchanged money. I now have thousands of pesos, which roughly equates to $100 in money. Ok, cab guy, let's do this thing. Sure, that'll be 750 pesos to Makati. Um... no. The other sign, which is over there now, said 440. It did? Yes, it did. Yes, but that's for a different car, not as good. I'm not renting the car, I just need a ride, I don't care what car it is. The 750 is better. The 440 is happening. Ok, yes sir.
We get to a car, which is a perfectly normal minivan-style taxi. What was the nicer car? I'm guessing there wasn't one. The guy helps me with my bags, and asks for a tip. Sure, here's a 20. Pesos. Oh, that's not a lot? I can't tell, I don't really know the exchange rate. (Unspoken: Next time don't try to upsell me, dick, and maybe I'll tip you more than 45 cents USD.)
The cab ride was a pretty typical cab ride. He wasn't talkative at all, I normally like cabbies who are. But whatever. The traffic through Manila isn't so much stop-and-go as it is stop-.....................-and-go. They have these count-down timers on the traffic lights, too (even for the greens), so you can at least see how you're progressing at the intersection. (Though I could swear the seconds ticked by at an uneven pace. Maybe they didn't actually get an actual timer and there's some guy somewhere clicking a button every second. I don't know.)
Some of these places were poor. I don't know if "the ghetto" is the right term. To me that conjures up an image of crime as well, and while it's probably rampant in those areas I just can't be certain. That could just be what normal places look like here, who knows. There were run-down buildings with signs on them indicating that they were businesses of some kind. We spent a lot of time in what I guess is the machine shop district. Some of them said they were drug stores or markets, but they didn't even look like real places. Just a house of cards made from corrugated sheet metal. The parts of the building made from actual materials looked like what a building in the US would look like if it burned out a year ago and was just never cleaned up. Kind of sad, I guess.
Oh, and scooters and cycles everywhere. That was expected, of course. Not quite as ubiquitous as they were in that Top Gear episode in Vietnam, cars are considerably more prevalent in the Philippines. And of course there was the style of driving. The road had lines indicating lanes, but those were mostly for decoration. It was a complete free-for-all. Kind of fun, really. I mean, these people know the dimensions of their vehicles. I was expecting to clip mirrors all the time, but it didn't happen. Americans can learn a thing or two from drivers in other countries. If the average American tried to drive his godforsaken SUV through Manila he'd probably kill dozens of people in the process. But he wouldn't notice because he'd be on his phone the whole time.
One important thing I noticed... Not getting hit by a car is a responsibility placed solely on the pedestrian. The car is going to go, no matter what. If you're in the way, get the hell out of the way. Important advice.
Ok, time to wrap this up before the battery dies. I need to find out if I can plug things in here. It looks like I can, but I'm making no assumptions.
More to come.
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