Wait until you hear this. Unbelievable.
Ok, many of you who have travelled to the Philippines will know that it is something akin to controlled chaos. The airport makes a mockery of any organization chart. Or management philosophy.
I mean, take a look at the arrivals hall. This is what greeted me as I deplaned from my butt-numbing SQ flight from Singapore
Now don't get me wrong. I have sort of taken to Manila. It's taken it's time. But I'm there. I think.
It's sort of like that dorky kid at school. But then one day you talked to him and discovered that his sister is a lingerie model.
Or something like that.
Like everything travel related, it's the people that are the glue of any city. And the Filippino people are some of the warmest, friendliest (and polite) folks you will meet.
They love all things American. Quite why is beyond me. Actually, no it's not. You just have to look around and see the remnants of the war and the fact that up until not that long ago, Clark Air Force Base was an absolute monster of an operation.
But like a lot of Asian countries, the Philippines is plagued with its own set of problems. Mainly too many people. And not enough to eat. Not enough clean water. An unstable power supply. And a government that makes Bernie Madoffs ethics look well, "ethical".
Corruption is rife. The white guys who have been here too long will tell you that this is just a way of life. That if you want to do business here, you will need to make certain allowances. Lets not delve too far into this here. Not the time nor the place.
So, after I slowly lost the will to live in customs - I finally managed to free myself from the man with the gun and a stamp and escape to the next challenge. Catching a taxi.
In most cities - airport taxis are pretty straightforward. Most governments know that airport cabs are sometimes the first contact you will have with their city and their people, so they try hard to set a good example. The Philippine Airport Authority were obviously all sick the day they gave that talk. And pity the State Government of Victoria doesn't take any notice - given the rancid state of affairs that plagues the Melbourne taxi industry.
I'm surprised visitors to Melbourne actually don't ask the driver to turn straight back around and take them back to the airport. Problem is, the guy wouldn't have a clue how to get there. He was already lost by the time he left the cab rank. Do not even start me on this.
Anyway, back to Manila.
Even though a client is picking up the tab this trip, I still like catching local cabs. Its a good way to get to know the place. I could have easily arranged a hotel car, but I personally think the fees the hotels charge are extortionate so I normally "go local" and opt for one of these.
They are some sort of Toyota (I'm assuming made from the offcuts on a Friday at 5pm). Powered by nothing stronger than the engine in your lawnmower. They are supposed to be "regulated" and because there are a lot of officials waving their arms and someone actually asks you your name and where you want to go - and pretends to write it on a piece of paper - this process is then supposed to give the average tourist a degree of comfort.
Trust me, it is nothing more than a charade.
It all went pear shaped when 3 unwashed fools pushed into a line that was already starting to snake back into the terminal. Now, I think that as I have aged gracefully, I have become more tolerant. (Do not attempt to ask my wife or children this). At seeing this act of rudeness, I mildly objected and let the closest offender know of my displeasure.
(The fact that I used the F word a lot and was doing push ups quickly in readiness of a full blown assault was of minor inconsequence)
The miscreant started waving his arms. I started waving back. The crowd started to disperse. Then I thought, maybe I had better take a deep breath. It's been a long time since I have actually been in a physical ding dong, and I will have you know that I have won every fight that I have ever been in.
By 500-yards.
Or more in some cases. I'm still a good runner.
I eventually make it to the front of the line and let the man on the desk let it have it as well. The locals simply shrugged their shoulders and said something derogatory in Tagalog. I returned fire in Australian.
The waiting cabbie smiles at me - and the smile widens even further when he hears of my destination. The Edsa Shangri-La is probably a good 45-minutes away, minus any hi-jacking or attempted kidnappings. I kid. Sadly, they don't happen too much any more. I think it would be rather exciting - don't you?
But then it went wrong.
We were no more than 100-yards out of the airport and the toothless driver turned to me and said
"Will you be paying in 1000, 500 or 100 peso notes?"
"What?" I said rather amazed
"Yes Sir, I just wanted to know how you will pay?"
"With cash" I abruptly answered
The driver persisted. He then proceeds to tell me the cab has zero gas, a fact which I confirm by peering over to look at the dash and I see the most anorexic looking fuel gauge I have ever seen in my life. The little 150CC Toyota was running on fumes. Nothing more.
He actually wanted me to pay him now and he was already veering towards the closest gas station.
I sigh. And then, still with the remnants of anger left over from my airport queue incident, let the driver have it as well. By this stage, he must have been thinking his passenger had completely lost it. He decides to take refuge at the gas station we were approaching. I was convinced we were going to have to push the damn thing, but amazingly we limped into the driveway.
I think I insulted the mans village. His manhood. And his general incompetence. Infuriatingly, he continued to smile at me as he helped me with my luggage and pointed me in the direction of another cab. If you could call it that.
The outrageous hotel car service was now, not looking so bad. I was standing in the middle of a gas station forecourt, in the middle of east jesus, holding my luggage and now wondering what to do.
Thankfully, there were other cabs. But these made the little yellow airport buzz box look like a Maybach.
So as I write this, I am stuck in the worst of metro Manila traffic imaginable. I am hell and gone from the hotel, the driver is wearing an oxygen mask as the amount of carbon monoxide entering the cabin would silence Al Gore.
Actually, I lie. I'm writing this from the Executive Lounge at the hotel. It just sounded better the previous way.
The local cab cost all of US$5 (just under in fact). The hotel charges US$65, which in Manila, is lunacy. I mean, if you were pampered by beautiful looking massage therapists, were able to drink copious amounts of champagne and could watch re-runs of the Beverly Hillbillies, I might think about it.
There is more to come. And yes, I managed to take some photos of the hotel. Even the bathroom. But you may have to tell the kids to avert their eyes as I was nude the whole time. I think I must have been holding the camera the wrong way around as I have no idea how I ended up in some of the shots.
I kid. I kid. I wasn't nude at all. I had my Borat man-kini on. The green one.