October 15, 2023, Daet, Camarines Norte, Philippines– The beleaguered security agent had less than ten seconds to assess my situation, and so quickly sent me and my bags on our way, with the advice: “Take a motorcycle to Terminal 4!” I left her to her other, more immediate charges, and caught a Grab Taxi-whose driver looked at his watch and said, presciently as it turned out-“The ticket agents will tell you it is impossible for you to catch the flight, but two hours from now, you will be landing in Naga.”

My life has come to making careful choices, most of which turn out well. Relying on a temporarily slow-loading cell phone was probably not the best of those; an International SIM Card loads much more slowly than T-Mobile, and when I have to call up an e-mail, for official viewing, and do so “on the double”, a slow load is no load at all. (I have since gone back to the T-Mobile SIM card, since it works better.)

At any rate, I did land in Naga, two hours after the ticket agent told me that it might be impossible to catch the flight-even as there were thirty-five minutes left before boarding and I had already checked-in electronically. He made some calls, gave me a boarding pass, and I went through domestic security and on to the waiting area. There were still twenty minutes left, before the plane started loading, enough time for me to order and get coffee and a muffin from the Seattle’s Best kiosk.

Naga’s small airport had plenty of taxi and tuk-tuk drivers waiting, once we disembarked. The security guard got his friend, Jhun M., to take me to Naga Train Station, at a reasonable rate. Jhun is personable and a careful driver, so in a pinch, I will text him again for the reverse trip on Thursday. The train ride started promptly and the carrier itself moves a lot faster than many U.S. trains. It’s a local train, though, so it took 1 1/2 hours to get from Naga to Sipocot.

Filipinos are a gregarious lot, though, and before long, I found myself being chatted up by a lady whose interests are farming, nature-and the importance of doing what moves a person. Arlene guided me to an ATM and to the bus for Daet, by way of which she managed to contradict Rome to Rio’s insistence that the only way to the beach town, from Sipocot, is by taxi. In fact, the bus is reliable and used by many-as is the case in most countries around the world. (Arlene told me I am her first North American friend-and there was none of the stereotypical nonsense frequently attributed to women who befriend men, in Asian-American encounters. She has her full life here and is not out looking for love.) Having people of substance as friends is really what moves my life,but you, my readers, already know that.

I am now safely in Mirasol Residences, Daet, after an interesting bus ride through the mountainous terrain of northern Bicol- the collective regional name for eastern and southeastern Luzon and the nearby island of Masbate. Daet is a beach town, and though Mirasol is on the west side of town, away from the surf and sand, I will take a hike over to the ocean on Tuesday, weather-permitting. It is raining now, and probably will do so again tomorrow morning.

Here are some views of my home for four days: