Nice Day for a New Dawn.
Within days his flight tickets arrived; then Christmas came and went. Trevor completed his list of places to go and things to do in Manila, and highlighted hotels in Angeles City where he could base himself while he learned to fly. He would depart on 20th January and return on 11th February.
The five-week countdown raced by as he hugged this exciting adventure to himself. He received a full set of free travel jabs, courtesy of the National Health Service, and was prescribed a course of ant-malarial medication. 'The last course of medication I'll pay for,' he told himself, with satisfaction. On his return, he would be sixty and his prescribed medications would, henceforth, be free-of-charge.
In the final week at work, while he made arrangements to cover his absence, he deflected polite enquiries about his holiday plans saying he hoped to book a week or so somewhere in the sun. No-one queried Trevor's lack of ambition. On the Wednesday his course of anti-malarial tablets commenced. On Friday night he was last to leave the office, working late, ensuring all his work was in good order and covered by a colleague.
On Saturday he completed packing, weighed his suitcase, laid out his travel clothes, checked his tickets and passport were in his travel pouch then, after an evening of television, retired early.
His Sunday began at five in the morning. He checked everything once more then changed into travelling clothes, made his way to the tube station, and an hour later was at Heathrow Airport. Two hours later his plane took off. Ten hours later he was ushered into a transit lounge in the Middle-East. Already he was beginning to wilt and was grateful to be able to stretch his limbs, albeit whilst being shepherded into a terminal. Two aimless hours and he was back in the air for a further eight hours. Finally, the descent to Manila was announced.
As the plane swept low across Manila Bay, Trevor's first close-up sight of land was a vast area of slum dwellings, then, as these passed out of view, low, densely packed, grey buildings, with rust-brown, corrugated roofs, through and over which ran a tangled lattice of wiring. His general impression was of dirt and decay. Tired and uncomfortable, his stomach was now unsettled by the airline food. On leaving the air-conditioned cabin to ascend the gate he first encountered the moist, warm, tropical air that carried an ever-so-slight smell of putrefaction.
The arrivals lounge was noisy, filled with excited voices talking in an incomprehensible tongue. Aware of his tiredness, he effortfully slowed down, focused, and took out and re-read the agency's instructions. He navigated immigration, baggage reclaim, and customs with ease, then passed out into an area reserved for arriving passengers, banks and taxi service booths. He was instructed to change only twenty pounds to pesos, then walk across the roadway outside the terminal building and down, into the parking area beyond. There, passengers being picked-up, met their greeters. As he approached, several people in the throng gathered at the entry, held up placards. One, read: Trevor White.
He walked towards it, a cheerful Filipina matron smiled broadly and greeted him in a sing-song voice.
"Mr White ... Hello ... Mabuhay ... Welcome to the Philippines. I am Marivic, the cousin of Imelda. I will be the one to take care of you this trip. We have our car to take you to your hotel."
Imelda's had been the voice Trevor dealt with at the agency, and she sounded very similar to her cousin. Marivic ushered him to a people-carrier, solicitously enquiring about his journey while offering him the prospect of a hearty meal and a restful night to aid recovery from his journey. She introduced the driver, Manolo, as her husband, and with she and Trevor seated in the rear, they set off. Over the hum of the vehicle's air conditioning the radio played melodic, love songs.
On exiting the car park the vehicle paused momentarily, awaiting a break in the traffic. Manolo asked his wife to check that the back doors were locked, which she did, explaining to Trevor, "It is a safety precaution. If the door is not lock when we are stationary in the gridlock, snatchers can pull open the door and grab valuables, or rob with knives, then disappear back into the traffic."
Soon they were again stationary in gridlocked traffic, and street vendors walked among the columns of vehicles selling water, soft drinks, chewing gum, foodstuffs, cigarettes, novelties and even household items. Knocking on the window to attract Trevor's attention, they looked at him with pleading eyes, holding up their wares.
