I flew in to Clarke with Air Asia. At 12.15am the immigration queue was only an hour long. In the arrival concourse I could see the Philtranco and Victory Liner coach booths were not only shut but folded away. I pondered the situation. I hadn’t booked a room for the night, anticipating a night of coach travel and general faffing around. Now it appeared the faffing around was for certain and the coach travel off the radar.
I overheard a western guy request a taxi of a lady sat in something like a converted wardrobe. I hung some faith on him and explained my predicament. He knew the lie of the land. I needed to get to Dau (pronounced Da-oo). At Dau there was a bus station with regular buses into metro Manila. At the wardrobe I echoed my western experts words, 400 peso, she said, and I received a piece of paper that had a, not accidental, tear in it. There was nothing written or printed on the paper but a least I felt I’d entered a process.
In less than a minute another lady, with a walkie talkie, arrived by my side. She must have spotted my torn paper. Where you going? She asked. Dau bus terminal I said. She beckoned me to follow her. We began in the direction of several taxis but at three paces she was in demand from a man speaking aggravated Tagalog. I ambled on toward the leading taxi. A driver opened the trunk and I heaved my bag in. I took up residence in the front passenger seat. A different driver appeared. Where you going? I told him as if I did this every week. 500 pesos he said. 400 I said. The door slammed and he walked away.
The walkie talkie lady turned up and ushered a couple into the back seat. Another different driver slotted in and we were moving. I’m tired, irritable and irritated. So this is a shared taxi I said into the black night air inside the cab. It brought a grunt of acknowledgement from the driver who was clearly another expert at welcoming new arrivals to his beautiful land, removing any anxieties they may have and cleverly anticipating questions with the content of his friendly chatter. I looked over to see if he had a mouth. How much is my fare? I asked. Two. He said. He had a mouth, on rations.
Down The Road 