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Hello from Manila, Philippines!

News item: I dropped the idea of doing the web site.

The main reason was constant technical hassles. I haven't hit any hurdles that couldn't be cleared, but it was just sapping to much time and energy and it was taking away too much from the experience. So many of the things we take for granted in the states are not applicable here: power is irregular, phones are horrid (I have to dial an average of three or four time to get through), even water is not always available (as I write this the water has been off here for a day, it seems there was a pipe burst in a local water station and they are trying to fix it). So, in lieu of the web site, I will be firing off a few e-mails every now and then.

All told, the experience has been weird and wonderful. I can't even begin to tell you what it's been like. There has been to much going on, both outwardly, in the things I see, and inwardly, in the realization I have had. It's a very different world here in SE Asia!

But please write me! I look forward to hearing from friends when I check my mail-which might not be but every other week, but I do check it and write back.

March 18th, 1997, I arrive in Manila

After 18 hours traveling from Los Angles, the Captain announced that we were on final approach for Ninoy-Aquino Airport in Manila. For the last half hour we had been flying over northern Luzon (the main island of the Philippines) and I had watched the terrain turn from rugged mountains to rice patty covered plains. The plane made a sweeping arc out over Manila Bay. Below, in the bay were thousands of long, arrows shaped fish traps, with outrigger boats plying the waters between them.

After we landed, I walked through the airport and looked outside. Even though it is still early, the heat shimmers over the concrete tarmac. I was ready for anything.

After exchanging a couple hundred dollars US for Philippine Pesos ($1.00 US = P26, roughly), I headed for the cabs to the airport. I had a hotel picked out; the Yasmin Pension, in Ermita, the "tourist district" according to my Lonely Planet guide. That's where the backpacker (read "cheap") hotels were and all the nightlife was. Having been warned (by the trusty Lonely Planet guide) of cabbies who present criminally high bills at the end of a ride, I decided it was better to negotiate a modestly outrageous cab fare to my hotel room up front-and off we went.

We pulled out on to Roxas Boulevard. I looked around. Run down hovels made of scraps of plywood and rusting sheet metal. Crumbling cinder block walls. Empty buildings. Dirt and garbage everywhere. Throngs of people on the streets. We wove and sped through traffic; jeepneys, ramshackle trucks, old Toyotas, all without mufflers or emission controls, belching thick blue or black clouds of exhaust. More empty hulks of buildings with shattered windows, empty lots with shanty towns built out of rusting sheet metal among the rubble. The Fear began to take hold.

I pulled out my map. I tried to get a fixed point of reference, but nothing seemed to match. The Fear grew. My taxi driver asked me where I was from. Was I alone? Was this my first time in Manila? Would I like him to drive me on a tour of the city? I imagine the headlines: "Body of American Tourist Found. Killed for Laptop and Camera." I try to decline politely, but it comes out rather brusque.

We pull off of Roxas Boulevard onto the side streets. I start to recognize some of the street names. There are groups of people sitting on doorsteps doing nothing, families huddled on street corners, open sewers, crowds of people, small stands selling candies, newspapers and cigarettes are everywhere. More decay and desolation. More crumbling building. Ore rusting sheet metal. Everything is dirty and run down. I try very hard not to let The Fear show. If I show The Fear, Manila might turn on me.

The taxi arrives at the hotel. Not a spectacular looking building, but cleaner then the surrounding buildings. It is a good omen. While I unload my backpack, a shifty looking character asks my cabby where I a from. It gives me a very uneasy feeling.

The hotel room is small, dark and everything clashes, but it has four walls and a door that locks. I take it. It also has air conditioning and Satellite TV, but that is secondary right now. What I need now, is a sanctuary.

For the next four hours I stayed in my room. I shower, I unpack, I read and watch TV. I am terrified to go back out there. I contemplate arranging a flight back home. What the fuck did I get myself into?

Finally, I collect myself. I have to do something, even if it's just to walk a couple blocks to see what's nearby. Eventually I'll need food and water. So I set out on an expedition to map the nearby neighborhood.

At 6'4" with skin pasty-white from the Chicago winter, I didn't blend it well. I was assaulted by armies of touts. "Change money?" "You need hotel Joe?" (Yes, they really called me Joe) "You like girl?" I politely declined all offers and kept moving.

The fumes from the cars were asphyxiating. The stench from the sewage was sickening. More dirt, more people, more traffic. Every store had an armed guard at the door. Banks had two guards, each with an assault style pump shotgun. Signs of the doors of the banks said "Please leave your firearms with the bank guards." This was not cheering me up.

I hated Manila.

But later that afternoon, I stopped in an outdoors Lebanese café and had a couple beers (beer in the Philippines means San Miguel, and at 20 pesos, about 80 cents, for an ice cold one, it works just fine) and started to relax. Maybe it wasn't so bad, maybe it was going to be OK after all. I had survived two hours on the street with no threat to life, limb or possessions.

March 19th-21st, Fear and Loathing in Manila

What can I say about Manila? I can't say I fell in love with Manila, but I came to terms with it. It has more then it's share of ugliness, but there is a lot to like here to. And mostly that revolves around the people. As a whole, Filipinos are friendly and good natured. There are exceptions; some use their reputation of friendliness to con you, but that is rare.

Observations on Manila:

Traffic is insane. Lane markings are put on roads solely as decoration. Roads marked as four lanes can be three, four, five or six lane roads depending upon the skill and brazenness of the driver. The horn is the most important part of the car if usage is any barometer of a features importance. There is no such thing as emission control. I have seen one way streets turn into two way streets and then the traffic switches sides of the road.

As far as the honking goes, I think I have figured it out. Drivers don't look when they change lanes or turn, they simply do it. Other drivers that are in harms way honk to warn a driver they are in danger of collision. It's driving by sound. There is so many cars and so much happening on the streets in Manila that a driver can't track the position of other vehicles over 360 degrees, they just look straight ahead and let the driver behind them (who is also looking straight ahead) warn them if they are in imminent danger. If it's behind you, it's somebody else's responsibility to watch it.

The air in Manila is disgusting. There are to many cars and no form of emissions controls. Cars, busses and motorcycles belch thick blue-brown clouds of exhaust every time they lurch forward. Most women and many men carry bandanas to hold over their mouth and nose when the walk down the street. There have been time the smoke was so thick I felt I was going to wretch. Imagine breathing the belch of smoke that a bus emits when it takes off. That's the average breath on a Manila street-no exaggeration.

It took me a while to figure out the Jeepney, the main mode of transport. To imagine the jeepney, imagine a standard issue WWII jeep. Then give that jeep to Timothy Leary and tell him to make it into a public transport vehicle. The whole jeep is lengthened and the area behind the driver's seat has two benches running the length of it and an isle between. They are covered, but the height is only about 3 ˝ feet. The benches can seat about ten people comfortably, however, there are usually 14 to 16 bodies crammed in at once. On the outside, jeepneys are covered in any and every gaudy item you can imagine. From wild, Day-Glo colors to statues of horses bolted to the hood, all manner of lights and horns and mirrors. All have signs on the front proclaiming their names, names like "Bad Boy II," " God is King," "Eat My Fumes."

Nobody told me how to ride a Jeepney. I was a little self conscious about it, but it was pretty easy getting the drill down. All you do is look for a jeepney going in your general direction (the routes are marked just below the windshield and on the side, usually in red paint) and jump on. I had a hard time negotiating the crawl to the front of the jeepney for a seat, they weren't built for people my height! I have to double over and bend my legs which makes it almost impossible to walk, much to the amusement of the Filipinos watching me.

There is a system to the seating in the jeepney. When you get on, the empty seats are near the front of the jeepney, so you shuffle up, sit down, and pay your two pesos (about eight cents, standard fare for a ride in downtown Manila). As passengers get off, you slide towards the back. This makes more room for the people getting on near the front, and puts you near the exit so it's easier to get off. Entry and exit to the jeepney are rarely done at a full stop. Usually, you jump on or off at a slow crawl (which, not coincidentally, is the average transportation speed in Manila); which often puts you in the position of having to dodge traffic immediately after you hit the pavement.

Other options include the trishaw, a modern version of the rickshaw that is a bike with a sidecar (three wheeled & rickshaw = trishaw).

Most of Manila that I have seen verges on slum. The exception to that is Makati, the central business district. It is like any large metropolitan area. The air is much cleaner there, I haven't figured out why though, perhaps it's the lack of jeepneys. It has a wonderful shopping district and is dotted with small plaza with gardens, ponds and winding paths. It's actually a likeable part of Manila. The air

Sometimes I want to cry walking the streets of Manila. The other day I saw a family sleeping on the street. All of them were sound asleep on cardboard mats, except a sweet little girl, maybe two years old, in a dirty dress, wide awake, smiling at me as I walked by. I see variations of that theme repeated every day, from little kids living in shacks made up of scraps of wood and sheet metal that line the sewage canals to old women sleeping next to their candy and cigarette stands because that's all they have. You want to help, but where do you start? Anything you do is a drop in the bucket; the poverty here seems limitless.

At night Manila transforms itself. After my initial shock, I was sure I was going to be terrified of Manila at night, but Manila, if anything, softens it's appearance at night. The city is well lit with street lamps, but not so bright that the dirt and ugliness that hides in the corners is visible. There are shops lit with neon everywhere and people bustling through the street until the wee hours. On a nighttime wander I came across an evening concert at Remidos Circle, about a kilometer from my hotel. They had three very talented bands and a café set up serving beer and soft drinks on the lawn. Hundreds of Filipinos were gathered around watching the bands, talking, laughing, children playing. I stayed for three hours enjoying watching the Filipinos as much as the bands.

Filipinos as a whole, are just plain, nice people. Of course I am generalizing, there are exceptions. Always smiling, they are friendly and courteous. They are quick to help, rarely cross or impatient and if you look like you need help, they are glad to offer assistance. One person that sticks in my mind is an old man who sat across from me the first time I took a jeepney. I asked the person next to me if we had reached Gil Puyat Avenue. I felt a gentle tap on my toe, and the old man across from me, without a word, gently shook his head "no." A few blocks later, I was craning my neck to look out the window (jeepneys weren't made for people over 5'6") and I felt the same tap on my foot. I looked up to see him shake his head "no" again. About 5 block later, I felt the tap once more. I looked up to see him give me a short nod to say "here."

On Friday night I was sitting at a little café down on Mabini Street called Calle Cinco, reading and sipping a Sam Miguel. A couple tables over were four younger westerners drinking and laughing. After a few minutes, I couldn't resist and invited myself to their table. As it turns out, they were all English teachers from the US, Canada and Australia that had been teaching in Japan and on their Easter break. Two of them, Allison and Kellie, were heading off to Puerto Galera, the next day, which I had been contemplating as well. We decided to head down there together, along with their friend Kate, who was back in their room sick.

March 22nd -31st, Puerto Galera: Sun, Sand & Ocean

I arrived at Allison, Kellie and Kate's room a half hour late. They were just waking up. Kate was still sick, and Allison and Kellie were massively hung over from the night before. So I waited while they got ready and we caught the 9:00 bus and drove through Manila, rice fields, and small villages. From the bus we caught a ferry in Batangas that took us to Puerto Galera on the island of Mindoro.

As we pulled up to the island I went above deck to look. It was gorgeous. A huge mountain rose in the background and fell, palm clad, down to white sand beaches and a deep blue ocean. Motorized outrigger boats (called "bancas") plied the water. As we landed, we were assaulted by a horde of touts trying to steer you to their hotel, carry your luggage or seat you in their friends jeepney-whether it is going where you want to or not. I pushed past the touts and asked a jeepney driver how much to Sabang, a small town about 4 Km away that I read had good beaches and nightlife. "300 pesos for all four of you." I shook my head and walked on (I am starting to learn the game.) Next jeepney, 200 pesos. The next, I offer 10 pesos per person, he counters with 15 pesos each (P60 total). We jumped in. White folk have a different fee charged, unless you know what you should expect and can bluff your way through.

We got out in Sabang and walked a half a kilometer to the next cove over, Small La Laguna and found rooms there. 350 pesos ($14) a night for a single room overlooking palm trees, a white beach and deep blue ocean. Not bad! And it was the holiday season, so prices were rather high!

I stayed in Puerto Galera (actually in Sabang, but the area is know comprehensively as "Puerto Galera") for a little over a week. There was a lot to do-or nothing at all, it was my choice. I did a lot of both.

I spent a lot of time diving and snorkeling. Twenty five yards out from the beach, right in front of the hotel was some of the best snorkeling I have ever seen: bright green, red, pink and purple fan corals, brain corals, and barrel coils, periwinkle and orange starfish, two foot long sea cucumbers, sea urchins, and the fish! There were schools of them, from drab gray to brilliant neon blue. There were parrot fish, puffers, wrasses, tom fish (barracuda looking things too small to be scary) and angelfish. A couple times a day I would put on mask and fins and just swim through the bay.

Better still was diving. I completed my open water dive certification and dove four times. I am looking forward to doing more in Boracay (Philippines) and Indonesia.

Sabang was a place crawling with westerners: Aussies, Brits, Germans, and Swedes, as well as expat Americans and Canadians that were living in Hong Kong and Japan. Most of the businesses were run by westerners who had had their fill of life or a career back home and had decided it was better to live in a beautiful place and make nothing then to go on with whatever life they were living. It sounds nice, but I think that even paradise would get boring after a while

April 1st -April 3rd Back in Manila

I came back here to Manila to get an extension on my Visa (21 days is standard, I will be here a bit longer), and make plans to go north.

I am leaving today for Angeles which is near Mt. Pinatubo, the volcano that erupted a few years ago and buried a large portion of the area north of Manila under few of ash and dust. . I am going to make the climb to see the crater. Then farther north to see Baguio and Sagada, two beautiful cities in the mountains and finally to Banaue, which has extensive rice terraces carved in the mountainside, all made by hand over 2000 years ago and still producing rice today. From Banaue, I am going to take a three or four day hike through the mountains to visit some tribal villages.

I saw a strange site the other day. I was wandering around Makati (the business center of Manila) when I came upon a crowd of people all looking upward. I stopped and looked up to. There were dozens of heads stuck out of the windows looking as well. I asked a man what was going on and he pointed at a guy on a ledge. It seems he was up there threatening to take a dive.

I watched for 20 minutes. The police talked to him. He crouched there, not letting them open the window, bracing it shut. He stood up and hung precariously. I hoped for him to go back in, and at the same time thought how cool it would be to see somebody fall to their death.

Finally, while he was distracted talking to another officer, an officer grabbed him from behind. Pandemonium broke out and he squirmed as three officers tried to drag him in. He got leverage a couple times and I thought he was going to break free, but they wrestled him inside. Pretty intense!

In conclusion…

There is so much more. I can't even begin to get it all down. I will try and capture scraps, bits and pieces that give a flavor of the experience, but I can't begin to make enormity of the whole experience come to life.

All I can say is, it a blast!

Almost Leaving Manila April 24, 1998

Good Friday Crucifixions, San Fernando Pampanga April 10, 1998

Return To Coron, Palawan, Philippines March-April 1998

Old Travelog Dispatches from the Philippines (1997)

Dispatch #4; The Early Days in Coron

Dispatch #3; The Boat Trip To Coron, Palalwan

Dispatch #2, Northern Luzon and Manila Yet Again.

Dispatch #1, Arrival In the Philippines and Third World Culture Shock