Philippines – Monkeywrench Your Life!

Distance

What I didn’t expect is how clearly some things would come into focus once I wasn’t inside them every day. How much more I appreciate them. And how little of me is still only American.

I spent twenty-seven months in the Philippines — October 2023 to January 2026. In that time I met, dated, and married Inday. We bought the farm in Dueñas. We developed infrastructure. We built a house for her parents. We lived life.

Then I got on a plane and flew into South Dakota in the middle of January.

That was a shock to the system. Straight from the tropics to a South Dakota winter. I established residency, got my driver’s license, picked up the used F-150 I’d arranged to buy from the Philippines, picked up the Winnebago Thrive 18FBS I live in, and headed south to Texas to get out of the cold.

I spent three months at Big Bend National Park as a Volunteer Backcountry Patrol. I left at the end of April. Had the front cap on the trailer replaced under warranty. Spent a couple of months slowly making my way east to Shenandoah National Park, where I’ve been working as a camp host. I’ll finish here at the end of September, then I have to make my way west to Las Vegas, find a place to store the truck and trailer, and head back to Dueñas for November through March.

That’s the timeline. That’s the frame, not the point.

The point is what distance does.

Inday is at the farm — running things, building our house. I’m back on the itinerant nomad life in the States, volunteering in exchange for a place to park and utilities. We keep the relationship going on video chat and wait for November. While I’m here I’ve also been setting up a trust for my daughter Anju in Connecticut, and gathering the documentation to submit I-130 petitions for Inday and Edrian. Practical life, split across an ocean.

What I didn’t expect is how clearly some things would come into focus once I wasn’t inside them every day. How much more I appreciate them. And how little of me is still only American.

Morning on the farm looks like this: the tubigan — literally “water place,” our riceland — is cultivated with a carabao. Inday gets up, goes outside, and builds a small fire to boil water for coffee. While the water is heating she squats with her phone, and we video chat over the farm-wide mesh network that connects to the Starlink mounted next to the water tower.

Carabao and satellite. Firewood and mesh Wi-Fi. We straddle worlds on the farm. We straddle worlds between the farm and the US.

In the United States, every location has an address. Our off-grid property in Arizona has a 911 address. I had to go into town and show the guys in the county clerk’s office where on their satellite image of my plot the entrance was, so they could register it exactly.

The farm in Dueñas has no address. The address on government paperwork is just the name of the closest named road. If somebody is coming to see us, we tell them to go to the Sawe Barangay Hall, and ask anybody you see where the Kano lives.

I walked into a Walmart not long after I got back. The greeter called out, “Hey Buddy!”

I flinched inside.

I’d grown used to Filipino politeness. Walk into a store with my wife and the guard smiles and says, “Good morning Sir! Good morning Ma’am!” Once we’re shopping, we collect half a dozen clerks who help us find what we need, carry our selections up to the register, wait while we check out, then haul it all out to the truck and load it for us.

Neither version is wrong. They’re just different operating systems. After twenty-seven months on one OS, the other feels loud and abrupt in a way I couldn’t have explained while I was still overseas. Distance made the contrast physical.

I sometimes flinch when I think how crude Kanos must seem to Filipinos.

In the US, when you want to make a point forcefully, you raise your voice and speak sharply. In the Philippines, speaking like that is shameful. You’re demonstrating a lack of self-control. It embarrasses everyone who witnesses it. The one who loses control loses face. And you should never cause anyone to lose face.

I knew that rule existed. Living under it is different from understanding it. From here, I can see how often my low-context brain wanted the American move — say it straight, say it hard, get it done — in a world where that move costs everyone in the room.

On the farm, when I talk to builders or the well driller or the electrician, I know the operating system is different. I don’t know how to emulate that OS in my own brain. I know there is subtext being communicated. I can’t read it.

I don’t know when “Yes Sir” actually means yes, and when it actually means, “Yeah, it would be really great to get this done by next week, but you’re crazy if you think that’s really going to happen.”

I’m autistic. I process language literally. I’m a low-context person living and trying to accomplish things in a high-context society. That mismatch was stressful when I was there. From here, I can name it without drowning in it.

Inday has had to step into the role of translating the Filipino OS for me — and translating me back the other way. That’s an unfair burden. I wish she didn’t have to carry it. She does it anyway, often with a smile and some version of “Sweetie, it’s the Philippines!” She saves me from walking into walls I can’t see, and she softens the walls I create without meaning to.

Building in the province is very different from building in the States. There is no detailed price quote. You start with a sort of general idea. I want a house of so many rooms, about this big. Can we build that for ₱700,000?

A “Yes” doesn’t mean they just agreed to build it for ₱700,000. It means, “Yeah, you’re in the ballpark. But it depends. We can get started.”

Then they’ll tell you what they need to get started. We’ll cut your bamboo over there to build our barracks and for scaffolding. We need this much sand and gravel and cement and rebar to build the footings and columns and tie beams. As time goes by they figure out the next step, and the materials and time needed, and then the next step. It’s all incremental.

On the first couple of projects I was always fearing they were playing the Kano to get more money. Over time I’ve learned that this is simply how it’s done in the province, where it’s common to work until you run out of money, then pause until more money is available.

I couldn’t see that cleanly while I was in the middle of it, bracing for the next surprise. From a campsite in Virginia, with time to think, it looks less like a plot and more like a system I didn’t grow up in.

So that’s where I am. Half a world away from the farm. Talking to Inday on a screen while a carabao works the tubigan and a satellite talks to the sky. Parking the Thrive in exchange for volunteer hours. Doing the paperwork that ties the two halves of this life together. Seeing the Philippines more clearly because I’m not inside it every hour. Appreciating it more for the same reason.

I’ll be back in Dueñas in November. The house will hopefully be done. The farm will have its own new list of incremental surprises. I’ll still be the low-context guy in a high-context world.

But I’m not 100% American anymore. We are a Filipino-American family now.

I’ll be walking back in with a little more distance behind me. Sometimes that’s the only map you get.

Being Autistic In The Philippines

On so many levels, it was an insane choice to move to the Philippines as an autistic person. I did it anyway.

There are some common challenges shared by many autistic people. Being a rather common person, I too struggle with these challenges.

Of course, the Philippines can be a sensory assault.

The Philippines is a tropical country so it is hot and humid. If I am outside and moving around or working, I constantly feel wet and sticky. I deeply dislike that feeling.

The Philippines is crowded. It’s a small country with a lot of people. People bump into me and brush past me on the sidewalk and in stores. I can struggle with people I know touching me, and having complete strangers touch me can be nearly overwhelming.

The Philippines is loud. Filipinos like it that way. If you go into a mall in America, there is quiet background music playing. In the mall here, that music is loud. If Filipinos have a party — and there is always a party! — they haul out enormous speaker towers to play music and sing karaoke, and there is only one acceptable volume setting; MAX! I know that people enjoy this loud music, but I don’t understand how. To me, it is physically painful.

The Philippines is chaotic. Driving in the Philippines is nothing like driving in the West. In the West, I treated driving as an exercise in rule following. Here, nobody follows the rules. It took a long time traveling as a passenger for me to develop a paradigm for driving that would suit me here: I treat driving as an advanced exercise in pattern matching. By carefully watching everyone around me on the road, I can recognize patterns and predict amazingly well what others are going to do. It is exhausting, though.

But the biggest challenge for me is communication. The Philippines, and much of Asia, is a high-context culture. According to Wikipedia:

“A high-context culture places emphasis on nonverbal cues, social roles, and shared experiences in communication, while a low-context culture prioritizes explicit verbal communication and direct statements. In high-context cultures, messages are often implicit and rely on understanding the background, relationships, and unspoken rules within a specific group.”

Now, in this comparison the United States, and indeed much of the West, is a low-context culture. But when comparing autistic people to neurotypical people, even in the West, neurotypicals are high-context and autistics are low-context. Autistics tend to process language literally, and struggle with figurative language and social context.

What all this means to me as an autistic living in the Philippines and trying to communicate with Filipinos, is that I am far to one extreme in communication style while Filipinos are far to the other extreme.

The only way I know to communicate is to say what I mean, as clearly as I can. I don’t mean more than the words I say, and I don’t mean less. But people in a high-context society do not speak this way. In fact, it is often considered rude to speak this way. You never say anything that might embarrass somebody publicly, for example.

So often, I end up feeling like the proverbial bull in a china shop, having made a simple statement and then feeling like I’ve insulted everybody involved. And, conversely, I often end a conversation and am left feeling that while I understood all the words that have been said to me, I somehow have missed the actual meaning of what they are trying to say.

I don’t know that there is a solution to this. I have learned a lot over my six decades of life in a neurotypical world, but I am autistic, not neurotypical. I do not think like a neurotypical and I do not communicate like a neurotypical, let alone a neurotypical from a high-context society.

In the end, Inday ends up bearing the burden of interpreting much of what is going on for me. She often saves me by coaching me on what things I can and can’t say. This is an unfair burden on her, and I wish she didn’t have to fill this role.

Eden will often defuse my frustration by smiling and saying “Sweetie, it’s the Philippines!” Indeed, it is the Philippines. I chose to come live here. There is so much to love about being here. Yes, it was a rather crazy choice for an autistic to make, but I made it. It keeps life interesting! Much worse than living what is at times a difficult life, would be living a boring life.

A Quick Update

I am long overdue in writing this update, but I just haven’t felt motivated or organized enough to do so. So this will be very short.

The lot in Barotac Viejo we were on the verge of purchasing didn’t work out. Everything was fine with the two lots we were going to purchase, but there ended up being a possible issue with access. We needed a right-of-way across another lot purportedly owned by the seller, but on investigation it turned out that another family was contesting ownership of that lot. I know that sounds unusual to my western readers, but nothing here is as cut and dried as it is in the West. You really have to check out every detail on your own.

So, we’re back looking for lots. Meanwhile, we moved out of the condo and into a small rented house in the Savannah subdivision. The house was mostly selected because it has a yard, which is not usual in subdivisions here. There is also a vacant lot next door which we are also renting for Inday’s garden. Inday is a farmer at heart, and she needs to grow things. She has room to do that here.

The condo was fully furnished, right down to linens and kitchen stuff. The house was rented empty. That means we had to buy a houseful of furniture and linens and cooking stuff and plates and cups and silverware and appliances. That took a good bit of time and attention. After looking at the cheap particle board stuff in the furniture stores, we found a custom furniture maker and met with him and told him exactly what we wanted. It took about six weeks, but we ended up with everything custom built, delivered, and installed.

Then, of course, there was Christmas and New Years and all the activities those holidays bring. And now it’s finally 2025, and we are back to our hunt for a place to build the house where I will live for the rest of my life. The best news is that we’ve finally found an agent who we feel comfortable working with, and we might, just might, have found our place. We looked at it yesterday and liked it very much. Now comes the process of checking everything out and making sure there are no issues with the lot, the title, access, etc. Reagan said “trust, but verify.” When it comes to real estate in the Philippines, don’t trust anything anybody tells you, you have to verify absolutely everything.

Okay, that’s all for now. More later.

Here We Go Again!

Writing this sure feels familiar. Was it four years ago I wrote here about the urge to buy land? In fact, that was also in October! That was when I purchased a piece of land up on the Colorado Plateau in eastern Arizona, just below the Navajo Nation. I’ve been thinking about that today since my brother Dana and his wife Claudia have been traveling around the west this year, and paid a visit to my little piece of land today while visiting the nearby Petrified Forest National Park.

So why not do it all again, but here in the Philippines? For a few months, Eden and I have been looking for a piece of property here to buy and build a house. The easy thing to do would be to buy a lot in a subdivision, so of course we are not going to do that. For myself, I am not a city person and would very much rather have some space around me. For Eden, well… Eden is a farmer at heart. She needs to grow things. To plant and to tend and to harvest. And owning land and being able to grow your own food gives one a deep level of security.

All that being so, we’ve been looking for a piece of land out in the province, away from the city but still close enough that it’s reasonable to come into town to buy things we can’t get out in the province. We are also constrained by budget, so we’ve mostly been looking at properties out on the unpaved barangay roads. We’ve seen some beautiful pieces of property, but they were never quite right. One was so far out into the mountains we needed 4WD low on the truck just to get there, and we could never do it if it were raining. Others were too expensive for our budget.

Finally, we found a nice 2.25 hectare (a bit over 5 1/2 acres) lot in Barotac Viejo, just outside of town, that looks like it is going to fit our needs. We’ve visited the lot twice, did some arms-length negotiating with the owner via the agent, then finally had a sit down meeting with the owner to work out the final details.

The system for buying and selling real estate here isn’t as regulated and structured as it is in the West. Basically, you have to look out for yourself because nobody else is going to. So we hired an attorney and had him check the title for the property and that all the taxes were up to date. Yesterday we had a surveying company out to survey the lot and confirm the property lines. We also need to talk to the barangay office and make sure what we think is the barangay road actually is.

The partner of one of Eden’s sisters is an engineer working for a building company, and he kindly came out yesterday and looked at the property with us. He confirmed my fear that the route to the spot where we want to build the house is too steep for a driveway and would require some cut and fill, as well as likely concreting of slopes to prevent collapse onto the driveway. The solution to that is to also purchase a smaller adjacent lot, which would allow a much more gradual approach, and also provide us with another 6/10 of a hectare of more level, cleared land. We made the owner an offer to buy both lots, and they’ve accepted. Isn’t it always the way with real estate that things creep up and you end up stretching to get a bit more? Anyway, if we have to spend more money we’d rather spend it for more land rather than more concrete.

If things keep moving in a positive direction, sometime in the near future we will be the owners of a little piece of Panay Island! I long ago gave up trying to predict how long it takes to do anything here in the Philippines, so the most I can say is “soon”. And then the real fun will start; building a house. That should be worth a few more grey hairs.

Stay tuned…

Here are a bunch of photos taken during the survey yesterday:

End of the road. Our right-of-way for a driveway will be where the path on the left is

The surveying crew at work with my in-laws looking on

Some Random Observations

As the title says, this will just be some random vignettes of my life here in Iloilo City.

Inday and I went to SM Supermarket, which is in SM City, the large mall. We came out with a cart full of shopping bags, ordered a Grab car to bring us home, and when the car arrived the driver jumped out and opened the back of his car to load our bundles. One of the mall security guards, with his long gun strapped across his chest, came up and started helping the driver load everything in the back of the car. It was all done so fast, we didn’t even have a chance to help. Then the guard smiled, waved, and walked off.

Once the Grab driver dropped us off at home, as we approached the lobby door one of the building staff opened the door and greeted us as we entered, then he pushed the elevator call button for us, and when the door opened and we got in, he reached in to push Floor 3 for us so we wouldn’t need to do that with our hands full. I have no idea how they manage to remember that we live on the 3rd floor. There are 7 floors of condos in this building.

Does anybody remember the arcade game Frogger, from back in the 80’s? Crossing the road here is like a game of live-action Frogger. If the road has two lanes in each direction, then there could be three lanes of traffic in each direction, plus motorbikes filtering by on either side and in between. There are signs directing drivers to Yield To Pedestrians In Crosswalk. They are a total waste of time and materials. Nobody stops. When I first got here my strategy was simple: I’d stand on the curb and wait until some locals ventured forth to cross the road, and I’d shadow them. I’ve become marginally competent at crossing the road now, although Inday still thinks I’m not to be trusted on my own and always takes my hand so she can steer me across the road. To be fair, I did nearly get run down by a motorbike right in front of her once. But only once!

Filipinos typically eat using a fork and a spoon. I’ve actually adopted this method at home, although I use the spoon to help load food onto my fork, while Inday uses her fork to push food onto her spoon. In restaurants the staff will sometimes give Inday a fork and spoon, and will give me a fork and a knife. I get a chuckle from that every time!

Back in the States people lament the rise of cellphone addiction. It is nothing like what it is here. Nothing! People seem to be glued to their phones every waking moment. More than once I’ve had Filipinos walk right into me while staring at their phone screen.

When we moved to this condo, there was no toaster. I need to have my toast in the morning, so we headed off to the SM Store to buy a toaster. When you buy something in the Philippines, the store staff will unpack whatever it is and make sure it works before you pay for it and leave. So the sales clerk took the toaster out of the box, plugged it in, made sure it heated up, then packed it back into the box and sent us on our way to the checkout.

Similarly, Inday bought a toy train for her son Edrian, and the store staff unpacked the little train, put the batteries in it, and made sure it ran on the track. Then they packed it all back up, checked us out, and sent us on our way.

Okay, that’s it. Nothing important and profound. Just a few snippets about adjusting to life here. I hope it was worth the few minutes to read.

Fill ‘Er up! No, wait! Don’t!

This morning I hiked out to Laurel Falls, and on the drive out to the trailhead I stopped for gas. As usual, I was going to fill the truck up, but as I was pumping gas I thought “No, wait. You’re not going to use a whole tank of gas before you leave here!” So heck, I’m less than a tank of gas away from leaving. I’ve got about half a tank of gas in the truck. No sense selling it with $50 worth of gas in it.

BTW, when I sold the AdventureMobile last year, it had a nearly full gas tank. At 80 gallons to a full tank, that was a couple of hundred dollars. And it’s not like I got more money from the sale because of it.

Anyway… Two weeks to go. Two weeks until I fly out of here, bound for the other side of the world. I’ve just about go the last few details lined up.

I leave early in the morning on Wednesday, October 25. On Monday, the 23rd, some folks will be coming to get all of the furniture and kitchen stuff in the apartment. I decided to just give everything away, rather than deal with the logistics of trying to sell everything, while also needing it all since I’m living here until the last minute. So it is all going to end up going to an international student at ETSU who apparently is living in a mostly empty apartment.

Tomorrow I’ll be heading over to the local Ford dealer to hopefully come to an agreement for them to buy the truck on Tuesday, the 24th.

The only other final detail left is to sell the washer and dryer. I’m going to try to make that happen on the 23rd as well, so I can leave here with all my laundry clean.

So on the 23rd all the furniture goes and the apartment will be empty. I have a hotel room reserved for two nights starting then.

On the morning of the 24th I do the walk-thru of the apartment with the management company, and they give me all the bullshit reasons why they won’t be returning the full security deposit.

That afternoon, I drop the truck off at the Ford dealer, and take an Uber back to my hotel.

And finally on the 25th, I get an Uber to the airport, and I’m off for the next insane adventure.

50 Days

50 days from today, at 7:45 in the morning, I will be flying out of the Tr-Cities Airport, bound for Dallas, then Seoul, then Cebu, and finally on to Iloilo.

50 Days.

I bought the tickets for my flights almost 3 months ago, so at the time it felt like I had forever to get ready. But now, all of a sudden, I find myself only 50 days out. That’s next month. Next month, I’m leaving the country.

I have got a lot done. I’ve been steadily busy selling things. I’ve sold the motorcycle. I’ve sold my beautiful Cannondale bicycle. That one hurt, but there is no practical and cost-effective way to ship an e-bike overseas. It can’t go by air because of the battery.

I sold the RV. That was a big one. The RV market has flipped since I bought it last year, and it is now a buyer’s market. But I sold it last week to a guy who drove down from Connecticut to get it. That’s a big source of anxiety off my plate, and a very big check mark on my to-do list.

And, of course, I’ve sold dozens of other, smaller things. I’m mostly down to things which, if I don’t find buyers and it’s close to time to leave, I can just give them away and feel fine about it.

The next logistical headache is how to empty out the apartment before I leave, but also have it livable until then. I’ve got some furniture, and all the kitchen stuff, which I’ll need until the end. I’ve got to cook and eat and sleep and sit down somewhere. I think I am going to try to find someone in need of setting up an apartment, and if they have a way to come get everything a couple of days before my flight out, I’ll just give it all to them.

And I’ve got to sell the truck, but I think I am going to sell it to the local Ford dealer, and arrange the date for the day before I leave.

That will leave me with a couple of nights in a hotel, and some Uber rides around town and finally to the airport.

BTW while I’m finishing up writing this, I’m listening to Peter, Paul and Mary sing Leaving On A Jet Plane. Fitting!

It’s All About The Pizza

Have I complained on this blog about the sorry state of pizza in most of the United States? Maybe not. But it is a sorry mess. Having grown up in Connecticut, halfway between New York and Boston, and 20 minutes from Wooster Street in New Haven, I thought everybody had access to great pizza.

Boy, was I wrong! After spending 5 years wandering all over the country, I can report that most Americans have absolutely no idea what good pizza is. And having lived here in Johnson City for over a year now, I can attest that that holds true here as well. There is a local place that claims they have “New York style pizza,” but judging by the product they turn out, nobody who works there has ever been to New York.

But… there is hope! I have found a place outside of the Northeast where there is genuinely good pizza. And you’ll never guess where it is. In Iloilo City, in the Province of Iloilo, on the island of Panay, in the Western Visayas Region of the Philippines, is Giuseppe Pizzeria and Sicilian Roast. And they have phenomenal pizza!

So I’m moving to Iloilo City.

Am I really moving? Yes. Am I really moving just for the pizza? No, of course not. But it’s a nice bonus!

Do you remember why I call this blog Monkeywrench Your Life? If not, you can read the reason why here. And I’m going to do it again. I’m selling the RV. I’m selling the motorcycle. I’m selling the bicycle, the truck, all the camping and hiking gear. I’m selling everything but what I can fit into my two suitcases, and I’m getting on an airplane and moving to the other side of the world. Because, why not?

Change is scary. It scares the bejeezus out of me. It makes me uncomfortable. And I mitigate that as best I can by researching and planning meticulously. But ultimately it makes life exciting. It keeps me engaged. I know there are going to be times when I will wish I had never done this. But Iloilo is a beautiful city, and the people are amazingly friendly. People talk to me when I walk down the street, and those who know me know that I don’t really have a warm and welcoming face by default. A Filipina told me “yes, they all look at you because to them you are an alien.” Well heck, I’ve felt like an alien my entire life! I’m made for this role.

So yeah, there will be lots to write about and share as this latest adventure unfolds. For now, I’ve got another 3 months to dispossess myself of all my things and get ready to fly out of here at the end of October.

This is where I will be living my first month in Iloilo City

Manila Airport

I recently returned from a trip to Iloilo City in the Philippines. I know there are people in the world who get to choose their travel itinerary based on convenience while ignoring cost. I’m not one of those people. I chose my travel itinerary based on which tickets were cheapest. That being so, our itinerary consisted of a 10 hour flight from Boston to Istanbul (Boston because a girlfriend from Boston traveled with me), a 10 1/2 hour layover in Istanbul, a 12 hour flight from there to Manila, an 18 hour layover in Manila, then a 1 hour flight to Iloilo City. If you add that all up, that’s 50-something hours.

I had heard horror stories of Manila Airport. Basically, it’s an old, not well organized airport that is operating far above its designed capacity. There are 4 terminals, none of which are connected to any of the others. International flights operate into and out of Terminal 3. Philippine Airlines operates flights between Manila and Iloilo from Terminal 2.

On the way out we had that 18-hour overnight layover. Since we arrived in Terminal 3, it was super easy to collect our bags, head up to level 3 of the terminal, and follow the signs to Runway Manila, which is an enclosed pedestrian walkway over the highway that deposits you in the Newport area, which is a district of hotels, restaurants, and shopping. And right as you exit the elevator on the city side of the pedestrian bridge is the Belmont Hotel, where we had a reservation for the night.

The next day, however, we had to fly out of Terminal 2. That being so, I asked the concierge whether taking a taxi was the best way to get there. He said “Yes, but they will rip you off. I can order a Grab for you.”

Grab is the Philippine version of Uber. You can get rides, have food delivered, etc. If I remember correctly, the 20-minute Grab ride to Terminal 2 cost something like 270 PHP, or less than $5 USD.

The route from Belmont Hotel to Terminal 2

We were at the airport plenty early. The lines were long, and the gates were pretty chaotic, including a last-minute gate change, but we had plenty of time to deal with it all. Our flight to Iloilo was delayed, but that was our final destination so we had no connection issues to worry about.

On the way back, it was quite a different story.

We had booked an early afternoon flight from Iloilo to Manila, then a 5+ hour layover in Manila before our flight to Istanbul. That 5 hours should have been plenty of time to get from Terminal 2 to Terminal 3, check in, go through Immigration, go through security, and get to our gate.

Iloilo Airport was so quiet and peaceful

Unfortunately, Philippine Airlines being Philippine Airlines, at the time we were supposed to be taking off from Iloilo, our plane was still in Manila. The end result is that we were over 2 hours late arriving in Manila. Then we had to wait an insanely long time for our checked bags to come out. By now, we knew we were in trouble.

My plan had been to order a Grab to take us to Terminal 3, but now our priority had become finding the fastest possible way to get there. That being so, we asked one of the airport personnel where we could get a taxi. He pointed to the door and said “Bay 11”.

As you approach a taxi stand, you’ll be approached by people offering you rides. We told the woman who approached us that we needed to get to Terminal 3, and we were very late. When asked how much, she answered “1150”. Now, we knew this ride should be about 400 pesos. Her explanation was that it was 700 for the ride, and 450 for the toll for the flyway to Terminal 3.

Okay, we knew we were being taken advantage of. But at the end of the day, 1150PHP is about $20USD. Let’s just get going. And our driver did get us there fast. He used the tollway. As we approached the departure area there was a long line of taxis and people trying to enter the terminal, and he said he would drop us at Arrivals and tell us how to get up to Departures. Sure enough, he pulled up to the curb, pointed out which door we should enter through, and pointed out the escalator inside that would take us up to Departures. Off we went.

Because of the way we entered, we came into the check-in area on the opposite side from most traffic. We spotted the Turkish Airways desks, saw the long check-in line, sighed, and got in line. Ha! Naive us. We were immediately approached by a man from Turkish Airways who pointed to his colleague down the way and told us to go see her to get in line. We did that, and the woman proceeded to point to a long line snaking half the length of the terminal, and told us we had to go to the back of this line. So, basically, there was a line to get to the actual check-in line. Sigh…

We did as we were told, and after an interminable length of time we were finally checked in. Then we had to find the Immigration line, which wasn’t all that easy. Things are not signed well in the Manila Airport. Once you get there, there is a big sign, but there aren’t many signs pointing out the way there. But we got there, and thank goodness we were flying on foreign passports. The line for Philippine passport holders was incredible. We probably only waited 10 or 15 minutes, but it felt like forever, as our plane had started boarding while we were still back checking in.

Finally through Immigration, now we were off to security. Another line. More watching time whizz by at lightning speed. Through security, and off on a dash to our gate. Duck under the rope with the sign saying Final Boarding, present our passports and boarding passes, and finally, we are on the plane!

I hope I never get to repeat that experience.