The sun WILL come out tomorrow...

I arrived at the Airport at 6:30pm Friday, on a whim, hoping to hop onto the next flight to Cebu for the weekend. I had no flights, accommodation or plans… apart from renting a motorbike and two wheeling it around an island in search of paradise and a beer.

I was shit out of luck.

All flights were full, so I decided to book the early morning flight and spend the night at home.

I applied a bahala na attitude and decided to taxi back home, and return again in the morning. After waiting 30 minutes in a queue for an airport taxi I hopped in with a happy komosta ka (hello, how are you?). I said "Forrt Bonifaaceeo, Globaal Cety" in an unintentionally patronizing American accent. It turns out that the New Zealand accent just doesn't register here… and I can't manage to put on an American accent without feeling condescending

He muttered "PG… PG… bad traffic" shaking his head, and half stopped to decline my fare. I repeated my destination and he did the same thing. I assumed he was gearing up to ask me for an exorbitant fixed price, which was not uncommon, and it had started raining which usually makes traffic stop. I said I would tip him if the traffic is bad (in the same filthy accent). He lurched forth.

2 minutes later we entered an expressway and he repeated his original objection and pulled over. He pointed at his dashboard and I realized he was trying to tell me he didn't have enough LPG to sit in bad traffic all the way to Fort Bonifacio. I wish he'd told me sooner. He said "Sorry Sir, transfer… transfer different taxi".

There was no point arguing so I cut my losses and got out, not paying the flag fall of course because now I was left standing in the rain, on an expressway with no stopping areas and heavy traffic.

I waved. Nobody stopped. My arm grew sore so I started walking, hoping to get either some cover from the rain, or onto a road with better flowing traffic and more likelihood of scoring an empty taxi.

I had been having a rough time recently. The previous night I had been scammed by a guy I thought I could trust offering cheap broadband, my regular massage therapist stood me up for the 2nd time in a row, and my water had been cut off in the morning because I forgot to pay the bill. I had gone to work unclean that day, seething from my bad fortune. Personally I don't believe in luck and I had conceded that all of these circumstances were my own doing. But this… this just fucked me off.

What had I done to deserve this? Why was the universe punishing me? Was it because I carelessly littered my snickers wrapper in the office lift? Was it because I had a disgustingly untidy desk? Was it because I was a non god-botherer living in a predominantly Catholic country?

At that moment an empty Jeepney with a flaky Jesus painting on its side panel pulled over. I looked precariously at the driver, he looked at me. I didn't know where it was going, but it was certainly a much better option than standing in the rain like a drenched stray kitten.

I jumped in beside the driver and said loudly in my false American accent: "Forrt Bonifaaceeo" - expecting him to shake his head. He nodded. I repeated again to make sure he understood, and he pointed at the sign that said "Bonifacio".

Jeepney's are unique to the Philippines, and an absolute icon. After World War II American troops left millions of surplus jeeps which were given or sold to locals then stripped down and re-built to add more passenger space. It was a popular and creative way to re-establish inexpensive public transport which had been virtually destroyed during the war. Most were decorated with bright colours, religious imagery and bright chrome hood ornaments.

I have learnt that Jeepneys drive in a fixed circuit, but Jeepney stops are not always sign-posted and if you get on the wrong one, you can really go far out of your intended path.

Locals absolutely rely on them for daily transport, however the upper class tend to dislike them because they cause pollution, and can be inconsiderate drivers.

I asked how much and he said "7 pesos" (NZ 20 cents). I gave him 10 pesos because I wanted to tip him for saving me, he gave me 3 pesos back immediately without hesitation. Although he probably thought nothing of it, I was humbled by his honesty.

He drove for about 10 minutes while I smiled stupidly like I'd just lost my virginity. I was riding a Jeepney. It had taken 3 months of living here and I was 10 out of 10 stoked.

He slowed down at the entrance to another large motorway onramp and pointed out the door. He wanted me to get out… but I had no idea where. He said "Fort Bonifacio" as he pointed. I hopped out with uncertainty, fortunately it had stopped raining. I walked in the direction he pointed, hoping to see something that would indicate another place to catch a Jeepney, which is what I assumed he was telling me to do. If I was in New Zealand, this would definitely be a no walking zone. It was like spaghetti junction on LSD.

About 200m away, a man was waiting on the side of the motorway in the distance. He momentarily jumped on a Jeepney that stopped for only seconds. My heart lifted. I found a woman who directed me to the right place for the Fort Bonifacio Jeepney. I saw one loading up passengers and after confirming with a pedestrian it was the right one, I peered in the back.

It was full. I stalled, assessing if I could somehow squeeze but it seemed like I would have to crouch in the middle under a 4 foot high ceiling, or sit on the floor… should I catch the next one?

The passengers gazed at me for a moment as I stared in. It was obvious that Jeepneys don't usually piss around when they do their pick ups. One beckoned me in with an arm movement so I picked my balls off the floor and entered. A space magically appeared for me on the seat. I sat down and smiled at the other passengers with an "OMG isn't this so cool?!" look on my face. They looked away, then in my peripheral they all looked back to check out the uncommon white man on their very common transport vehicle.

A man sat beside the driver and was responsible for ushering people into seats and collecting payment. Every passenger passed their coins to the front of the bus trustingly. I asked him "how much is it to Forrt Bonifaaceeo?". He replied by saying "Where?", I replied with "Globaal Ceety"… he stared at me then continued collecting money from others. I asked him "how much?" again and he ignored me. I waited patiently albeit slightly alienated. Did he not understand where I was going? We continued driving.

After a few minutes he gruffly said "11 pesos" not making eye contact. I assumed this would be me and quickly passed him the correct change. This was probably the exact way he treated any passenger, I guess I was hoping he would realize I had never ridden a Jeepney and treat me like a 4 year old. Retrospectively I'm glad he didn't.

I sat back in my seat with my head touching the ceiling, and found myself grinning… again. I was comforted by the fact that this bus was going to my destination. Jeepneys weren't allowed to enter the small CBD, but to get a taxi home from close-by would be approximately 40 pesos. (NZ $1.30).

Since the rain had stopped, the heat had subsided, and a cool, exhaust scented breeze streamed through the open air vehicle. The driver stopped and started regularly to pick up and drop off passengers. The ride was enjoyably bumpy and the seat suitably uncomfortable that I won't forget it any time soon. This was definitely the way to get around if you didn't mind being a bit smelly upon arrival.

Through the windowless gaps high rise buildings started appearing. This was home. Global City here I come! A few stops later the money collector shoo'd me out of the Jeepney and to my joy I was at a close by shopping centre.

My lesson: don't sweat the small stuff the universe deals out, the long term game will often throw you some nice surprises and show you that you are on the right course. In my case - I was absolutely frustrated with this country, which immediately lifted once it showed me some adventure.



I am in love again.