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A sign near the airport says: "Welcome to South Cotabato: Dole Country." The pineapple not the politician. The taxi driver, Bengi, says between three and 10 white men arrive every morning looking for wives. This is depressing. I feel like a spawning salmon.

Do I even want a wife? What if I meet Cecilia and have nothing to say? The dog chases the car. What does he do with it? I have to remind myself: "A man chooses a wife like an Indian chooses a paddle: for love, for children, for company."

"What do Filipino men think of white men taking their women?" I ask.

"No comment," the cabbie is suddenly political. After a second, he is PR again.

"Good feedback," he says (i.e. the women are happy.)