It is the night of our arrival in Manila, and usually on the day we arrive and before we begin principal photography, I spend my first few hours meeting with our fixer to discuss any changes or adjustments to our shooting schedule.

After that, I reach out to tomorrow's locations to touch base and remind them of the times that we are coming to film with them.

Finally, I head up to my hotel room and make sure the mini-fridge in my hotel room is functioning properly by testing the coldness of a beer before I go to sleep. It sometimes takes two beers to be certain, but up to this point I have not found a broken mini-fridge.

That is a normal arrival day.

My first night in the Philippines is not a normal arrival day.

It's nearing midnight, and I am riding in an ordinary looking white van through the hectic streets of Metro Manila. There are people everywhere I look, all doing their usual night time routine ...the city feels alive with energy, and it is all moving past me in a blur as I scan the storefronts of the many bodegas that line the crowded sidewalks. I am looking for something vital for our upcoming shoot days. Something that, quite frankly, we need badly seeing as the temperature here doesn't seem to ever go below eighty degrees and it's humid.

I am on a desperate mission to find a drugstore that is open at this late hour to buy some deodorant.

Yep ...that's right. Deodorant.

We (the crew) are in desperate need of toiletries, and I am trying to find the one item that quite possibly has changed the face of the modern world. I keep reminding myself it is a noble quest as we pass more and more closed drugstores. Reminding myself to keep my eye on the prize.

Why, you may ask, is there such an urgent need for this solo excursion into the streets of Manila at this time of night after nearly 20 hours of flying with so many other things to do before cameras go live tomorrow morning?

I will explain -

As any traveler knows, there are apt to be some hiccups in the great world of trains, planes, and automobiles. Mostly those hiccups take place on the planes ...not so much in the air, but the process of getting them in the air on time. Delays, cancellations and missed connections ...these things happen - and since the travel situation on this show is more akin to "planes, planes, and more planes" it is surprising that things do not go awry more often.

We hit a triple hiccup (delayed, cancelled, missed connection) on the way to the Philippines, and as to not bore you with the exact airport logistics, I will simply say that it was not our day at JFK. Certain things occurred at the airport that caused us to arrive in Manila 12 hours later than planned, and with only our carry-on luggage and three cameras.

No personal checked bags (Including toiletries, socks, underwear, outerwear).

No additional film equipment (Including many items that are vital for our shoot, items that are hard to replace while on the road).

And most disturbing, perhaps...

No way to tell when any of it would arrive (Including me figuring out how to purchase everything we may need to properly shoot this show. It's a long list without having to buy us all clothes for the week. So now it's a longer list).

Granted, we always carry-on the cameras and sound kits for our shoots, so we have what we need to start filming the episode tomorrow morning, but no matter how much you rub a Sony-V1U on your underarm you wont get all day wetness protection coupled with a pleasant scent.

You will most likely get a rash, almost definitely have someone give you a nervous glance and quite possibly be arrested.

It is close to midnight when I find some, and I feel about ten pounds lighter as I hop back into the van to head back to the hotel to start my usual arrival day work.

--

Our missing bags arrive at the hotel the next morning, and I end up leaving five travel sticks of varying brands of deodorant behind on my hotel sink when I leave Manila at the end of the shoot.

The housekeeping crew must have thought I was a little strange.

JA

As the newbie on the crew I knew that it would take some time to gain Anthony Bourdain's respect. No Reservations is entering it's fifth season and the man has met and worked with countless different people … and like every job that involves being accepted as "part of the team" (and no, there is no I in team) you have to earn your medal of honor, you have to gain your place in the ranks.

After my first shoot in Chicago, which had gone very well thanks to the guiding hand of Chris - my boss and long time Tony friend - Mexico was next. My second shoot, with veterans who between them have racked up well over 40 episodes. I was going to have to step it up somehow. I had heard through the grapevine that it may take a while for Tony to look me in the eye. This was true, but it did eventually happen ... So how, and when, would I make it to the next level? Beyond eye contact to perhaps a conversation or even a shared joke or two…? What would I have to do to gain his respect, and be able to call myself a member of the No Reservations crew and really mean it?

It happened on a dark street corner in Puebla around 8pm local time … After a long day shooting with our friend Carlos and several of his family members, we all stopped for tacos at his favorite roadside stand. There were several different choices of meat, including tripe, tongue and sausage. Everyone it seemed was waiting for the chorizo… As 12 hungry people clamored for the same taco varietal, it happened. She said it softly at first and I thought no one had heard her. "Ojo?" That's eye right? She took the tongs and sure enough an eye appeared from the boiling pot of meat. I was starving… I saw my opportunity and took it. From my place at the back of the hungry group I fearlessly raised my hand. "Uno de ojo por favor".

And that was the moment I gained Bourdain's respect. From my left I heard him: "Wow, that's really impressive…" And then as the rest of the crew slapped me on the back and told me how impressed THEY were with my order another comment: "Somebody raised you right". Puffed up with pride, I hungrily ate my eye taco (the only one of our crew to do so I might add) knowing that something had changed and that hopefully Tony (as I now like to call him) and I would go on to have a beautiful working relationship … Thanks Mum and Dad for raising me right. And if you ever have the option - go for the eye. It was quite delicious.

It is easy to recall the day I learned that I would be one of the segment producers for "No Reservations, "I was ecstatic. What an amazing adventure! My imagination ran wild with the places we would travel, the people we'd meet, and the food ... Oh crap, the food. What was I going to do? How could I tell Anthony Bourdain, vegetarian loather, that his new segment producer had never eaten pork or any sort of red meat in her entire life? My conclusion, I couldn't. My food flaw was a serious offense and would have to be kept top-secret for three meals a day.

When I say I've never eaten red meat or pork, I mean never. From birth I have been mostly vegetarian - a little chicken here, a little fish there. My parents didn't cook meat so we didn't eat it. It was a challenging thing to hide, especially from someone like Tony. Throughout the Romania and Hawaii episodes I employed a number of maneuvers harkening back to childhood and my grandparents disdain for my eating habits. There was the chewing-and-spitting-sausage-into-the-napkin trick, the careful switching-the-plates-of-Spam, and even the under-the-table-ham-hand-off.

My main concern is not offending my host, which is why my failsafe has always been the stuff-yourself-silly-with-something. We had been prepping for our Spain show for about 6 weeks and we had a kick-ass show on our hands. Everything was perfect ... the locations, the menus, the chefs, the sidekicks, it was all there. "Spain," as Tony would say, "is triple X on the food porn." We scheduled nothing else, just loads of luscious meat. Meat, meat, meat and more meat. Granted, I may have never tasted half of what we researched, but I knew, theoretically, its importance to those carnivorous taste buds.

I fantasized how I would tell him. A scene from "Who's the Boss" where Tony is, well, Tony and I am Samantha. We would have just wrapped for the day, the crew scoffing down leftover plates of ham iberico. He notices that I haven't partaken of these piglet pieces of perfection. I look guiltily out from under my bangs. He gives me that Danza frown, "Samantaaaaa" and we burst into laughter, Tony wondering how a vegetarian could have infiltrated the ranks. I shrug smiling and eat a carrot stick. Cue the hugs and rolling credits.

Bourdain's hatred of vegetarians is no secret. I had read the interviews, seen the episodes and even heard it from the man himself. Maybe he would dress me in antlers and bow-hunt me in the next episode. Or worse, tie me to a chair in some dark, abandoned warehouse, with various cuts of meat laid out like the tools of a torture mastermind. Sausages, prosciuttos, and sirloins. Would he break me and use me as an example? String-up a meat-stuffed scarecrow to ward off future vegetarian segment producers?

It was time to get on that plane to Barcelona. I was going to come clean once and for all, no matter what the repercussions. As anticipated, I was surrounded by plate after plate of cured meat and not a vegetable in sight. Tables of ham iberico stretching like an endless pink fleshy super-highway. Tony, the crew and our hosts feasted on the bounty before them. Like admitting to an affair on Valentine's Day this was not the time for confessions. So I activated the failsafe. In this case it was sardines. I went through more fish than the feed truck at Seaworld. I ate them until I was safely out of ham's way. And that is how it went for 10 days in beautiful Spain. But this story isn't over, just to-be-continued. There will be other trips without fish or any other safety net I have used thus far. And as most of you can predict, it will now become mission number one to convert me. I guess it's all on the table now.

I know it is going to be a unique shooting day for No Reservations the minute I jump out of the drab green helicopter the Colombian Government provided us with for this scene. Since I am first out, I bolt like my a** is on fire towards the shoulder-high plants at the edge of the clearing we chose as a landing zone. My feet sink into the soft soil as I run, making the few yards I need to travel to reach the safety of the crops seem to take forever.I look back and see our military handlers file out next ... there are three of them, and all are dressed like Navy SEALs, ready with their MP5 machine guns to provide us a blanket of what is known in the military world as "suppressive fire" to protect us in case an emergency extraction is warranted while we are filming the upcoming scene.

Todd and Zach from our crew emerge from the heli next, and as they near my position, they both perform a perfect tuck and roll into the safety of the brush. Watching this, I am immediately amazed by how nimble our camera guys are while carrying around 30 pounds of lenses and gaff tape.

Tony and Tom hop out last. Tom boldly takes what is known as the "human shield" stance to protect our host in case things get hairy on the ground. They make it to our position with no incident, and we are all safe and under cover in the field.

I do a quick head count, and while doing so, notice Todd frantically plucking leaves off a nearby plant and jamming them by the handful into his camera bag. He sees me staring and shrugs, "When in Rome...ya know?" I let Todd get back to his gathering, and start thinking about our next scene.

What I had considered was the logistical difficulty of filming a hot dog scene in the Colombian rain forest. It is just a b***h to get in here in one piece...and it is hot -- hotter than one could imagine. My backpack is full of bottled water for the crew, and I offer one up to Zach - he shakes his head, too busy looking for a spot in all this green to white balance his camera.

What I had not considered was that Zach's intricately modified camera rig looks dubiously like a shoulder-mounted Stinger missile launcher ... this may create problems for us, especially if someone sees us from a distance.

As our helicopter lifts off and heads to the rally point I begin to wonder how the hell we are going to pull this thing off...and if the hot dog will end up being the end of Act 4 or possibly the beginning of Act 5 in the final cut of the show. Hot dog scenes are delicate in that way -- it all depends on the quality of the toppings, and if the bread is fresh baked or not, also if the actual dog is pork or beef.

BOOM

Our transport helicopter explodes mid-air with a shockwave so powerful it blows my annotated copy of the filming schedule for the day out of my hand. The explosion is followed by the arrhythmic popping sound of machine guns on full auto - I can hear the bullets cutting through the vegetation around me.

My first thought is - I hope the guys are filming this.

Our handlers scream for us to "hit the deck", and as I dive to the ground, my ears are still ringing from the blast. Landing face first, I spit out a mouthful of dirt as my head spins, and there is a redundant sound pulsing through my head akin to a phone ringing at full volume inside my skull...is this what shell shock feels like?

I gather myself and try to make a another head count - to my right I see Tony calmly drinking a beer and eating a slice of pizza while chatting up one of the soldiers working with us (where the hell did he get that piece of pie?)

To my left is a collection of spent mortar shells and ammo cases as well as an old style rotary phone, half buried in the moist Colombian soil.

The phone is ringing in cadence with my head.

So I answer it.

"Hello?"

"Buenos Dias, this is your 7AM wake up call."

I hang up the phone, and tuck and roll out of my plush bed at a beautiful and safe hotel room in the walled city of Cartagena -- it is time to go to work.

As my dream fades, I laugh out loud at it. Turns out Colombia is a completely different kind of dream...it is one of the most amazing countries I have ever visited. The Colombian people are awesome - unbelievably kind and accommodating, and the food is out of this world. Cartagena de las Indias is spectacular in its old world glory, and Medellin is as progressive a city as any I have been to in the USA (and much, much, more into their food).

You need to see it to believe it. But right now, I really want some coffee - I need to think about our trip to a remote fishing village off the coast of Cartagena that shoves off in about an hour.

This is going to be a great day. - JA