Boulders to Sand

Transportation in the Philippines is like a jar of rocks. To fill every space, you start with boulders (if your jar is the aquarium at Sea World) or at least some decent stones, like David might have slung at Goliath. Call the boulders "airplanes" and the stones "buses." There are a couple of national discount airlines that hop around among the various domestic islands; or, if you want to take the ultra-cheap route, you can stick out your thumb for overnight bus trips.

Once you've got your boulders and stones in place, and once you've arrive at your city, you need something more targeted. You need some pebbles. Depending upon whether you want to pay for the shiny, tumble-polished variety, or just pick from among roadside debris, you'll either hail a taxi, or hop inside a Filipino innovation known as the "jeepney." A jeepney looks like a smallish 1950s single-wide chrome diner on wheels. You can find hives of them under highway bridges, or just wave at one on the street if it seems to be going in your general direction. Climb in through the open back and inside you'll find vinyl-upholstered benches lining the length of the vehicle on both sides. It's best to grab a seat near the rear if possible, because once thirty more people squeeze in with you, you'll find that exhaust fumes are better to breathe than nothing at all. Most jeepneys have names: for example, "Miranda," "Roadrunner," and "Jesus Christ."

After adding the pebbles and reached your area of town, it's time to really fill in the cracks. You need something small, something fine-tuned, something that really knows the neighborhood. You need sand; which is to say, you need a tricycle. In the Philippines, a trike (as they're usually called) is not a red peddle-pusher for kids. It's a small motorbike--decade-old Hondas and Kawasakis are most popular--with an enclosed sidecar attached. Riding in one of these is similar to being dragged down the street in a tin lunch box. Though their top speed is only about 30 mph, the only padding between your rump and the road is the single bike wheel to your right, and the soldered iron shell around you. That said, because the trikes can only run locally, the drivers know their neighborhoods backwards and forwards, and if you remember to negotiate a price before climbing in, they won't even be able to extort you.

So there you've got your jar of rocks: boulders, stones, pebbles, and sand. Its a haphazard blend, but strangely beautiful the way it all comes together.