I just spent an unsuccessful afternoon at the Indonesian Embassy trying to convince them to process my visa with the requirements for Canadian nationals, despite the fact that I am in Manila. I kept waving my Canadian passport around aimlessly; they kept saying “You are in Manila. You will be treated as a Filipino national.” In my travels thus far I have yet to be turned away from an embassy because they treated me as a local. No matter my cajoling, they stood resolute. Eventually, I gave up.
A typhoon is currently barreling toward Samar and Leyte, and the preliminary storms have already begun to drench Manila in terrifically strong rain. I waited at least 30 minutes for a Manila taxi, only to have it stolen by a wizened old lady who swept in out of nowhere and jumped in the front seat, flashing me a toothless grin as the cab sped off.
When I was 16 my dad moved to New York temporarily, and I visited him for a week. There I quickly learned the mercenary art of jumping into a cab before someone already-waiting could stop you. Clearly I forgot this lesson when I got to the Philippines.
Instead, I hailed the next taxi. Five minutes into my ride the following dialogue occurred.
A conversation with my Manila taxi driver
Cabbie: Ma’am. You will pay 50 pesos extra because we will be stuck in traffic.
Me: No, I will pay the metered fare. That’s how it works.
Cabbie: No, you will pay 50 pesos extra because TRAFFIC.
Me: No, I will call the taxi commission and report that you are trying to scam a nice girl like me.
Cabbie: [Thinking for a good 5 minutes]
Cabbie: Ok, no extra charge and then no calling taxi commission?
Cabbie: You look like a nice white girl but you are not nice.
Me: I’ve heard that before.
* * *
Ah, Manila. It’s almost time for me to leave the Philippines. That this country and its unique take on life, food and rum left an indelible impression on me is fairly obvious by my blog entries and my perma-smile; I’m leaving but also wracking my brain as to when I can come back again soon.