Makati Avenue

Isabel Royale Hotel provided me with a box to sleep in. I hit my head on the 'overhead' TV and couldn't bend over in the shower. I had to shuffle, feet out penguin style, around the bed. On the plus side I had aircon, the bed was clean, firm and long enough.

On check in I was asked to pay 1000 pesos deposit which I questioned as the internet information advised me there was nothing else to pay. With an almost indiscernible shoulder lift the check in girl then said ‘never mind’!! I was asked to sign an inventory list which included curtains and light bulbs without seeing the room which, I pointed out, seemed a little illogical, although I was glad this suggested the room was still equipped with these items. The bell boy took the inventory list to the room and I checked the room was equipped the items on the list including curtains and light bulbs. Surreal.

Having no desire to plot an inventory reduction scheme I left the box and explored. One place along Makati Avenue had roadside tables and beer at twenty eight peso a bottle. I’d just finished a third bottle and was settling the bill with a shoulder chipped Ruby, when a middle aged European, bottle in hand, ambled onto the scene. He appeared to be passing through but enquired of my health all the same. I felt ‘good’, I told him. He suggested I avail myself of a bottle of something even more palatable than San Mig Pale. Holding up the bottle in his hand he advised me of the attractive price, alcohol strength and purchase location. The 7-11 opposite! Other information imparted in the short exchange led me to believe he was from Sweden, retired and living the life of Riley in Asia after an accident insurance payout that afforded him reasonable rooms, travel and enough remaining change for 7-11 alcohol that stood head and shoulders above SM Pale. His amiable throw away manner drew me into the name exchange ritual and I was advised of another somewhat, in my view, outrageous episode of his recent past. He’d changed his name through an official route (in front of the mirror after a prolonged bout of 7-11 alcohol consumption?) to King Sir. Maybe I should have understood what sort of accident he’d had.

I returned to the box for a late afternoon siesta and a happy plan to visit Heckle and Jeckle later but woke at 9am the next day.

Jump in a taxi

I felt a curious internal warmth during the early morning Air Asia flight from KL to Clarke International Airport in Pampangas, Philippines. A warmth, I think, derived from pleasant memories of previous trips to Manila and the friendliness of almost every acquaintance I have made in that heavily populated, hot, busy, polluted city.

Previous visits had either been made on business or to stay with friends. This visit was going to be different. Situations change. My close lady friend of previous years had chosen to find a marrying type and another friend had finished a work contract and downsized accomodation while he looked for another work opportunity in the region.

I was an independent traveller again fending for myself completely on the transport and accommodation scene in Manila.

I had pre-booked the first night at the Isabelle Royal Hotel which is actually more of a Condotel at the northern end of Makati Avenue.

From Clarke International airport the routine is straightforward. 350 peso secures a comfortable seat on a Partas or Philtranco bus terminating at Pasay. About the nearest point to Makati on the route into Metro Manila.

The fun starts at Pasay. There is no shortage of taxi drivers desperate, for some reason, to take me to my desired destination. I have two simple questions for them. Can you take me to Isabelle Royal Hotel, Makati Avenue and will you use the meter. The answer to the first question is always yes. The answer to the second question is either 200 or 250 peso. So I walk away from them. One youngish Manny Pacquaio look alike (they all try, but this one seemed more successful than most) came after me calling 'Sir, SIR'.. I looked round and he said 'OK we use the meter'. In the car he is less than amiable presumably because he has to use the meter.

I don't think we did a particularly long, round about tour of Metro Manila to arrive in Makati Avenue possibly because I had make a couple of remarks designed to suggest I knew where we should be going. As the 20 minute journey progressed it appeared I had more idea than he did of the area and location of the Isabelle. He tried so hard to be unhelpful it was laughable.

We got to within what I thought was a couple of streets of the hotel location and I said 'stop please, I'd like to get out here'. I knew we'd never actually get to the street where the hotel was. The meter showed 150 peso and I didn't feel the slightest inclination to give him a peso more. Unfortunately I was not well prepared and the closest I could get was a 500 peso note. Manny went one round ahead. He has no change of course. 'Never mind... Hang on' was my response and grabbed my valuables bag but left my clothes bag in the taxi and visibly enquired at a couple of the nearby outlets for change of my 500 peso note. The first couple of enquiries couldn't help.

I heard a car horn and the taxi was trickling toward me with another fare on board, possibly a stooge. The nearside front window was down and I looked in to see wad of notes in his hand. Manny said '200?'; I replied..'the meter said 150'. He said 'ok', took my 500 note and passed me four notes in change... three hundreds and another note tucked in between the hundreds. I opened the door and took my clothes bag from the front passenger seat with a 'Jeeez, I don't need this shit' air about me. I dropped the bag to the pathement and peered down at the cash through a haze of carbon monoxide exhaust gas. There was 320 peso in my hand! Manny wins on points. My internal warmth had evaporated. Welcome to Manila from your average Philippino taxi driver.

Isabelle Royal was around the next corner and twenty paces down the road. Please let this be a pleasant experience.