By Lucy

The airport at KK is small, maybe the size of Thunder Bay’s airport, if I’m honest. Once I find the departure customs, I noticed a desk that says “E ticket”. On it is a desk of paper slips to fill out; flight, passport, etc. Do I need one? I fill it out anyway and tuck it into my passport. Better to have and not need.

I did need it. The customs agent stamped it later.

I shuffled through customs behind a group of Chinese tourists heading back to China. Turns out my red-eye was the last flight for the night before they shut ‘er down. Once the flight for China left, it was very quiet.

I got patted down by security, a gloved lady who gave me the most cursory of pat downs. She basically just touched my butt and hips to affirm they were flesh. What, am I so bodacious it looks fake? They also insisted on seeing my flight for exiting the Philippines. Such suspicion.

Around midnight, I got snacky. There isn’t a lot of options even when the airport is bustling. I found a kiosk and bought an overpriced bag of chips. I kept going back and forth on if I should have coffee or hope I could sleep on the flight. In hindsight, I wish I had bought coffee.

I found the below pictures of downtown KK in 1969 vs now. It’s slightly terrifying… where is it? Until you realize it’s the same location and angle, they just dug up the mountains and dumped it in the ocean to make more space.

The euphemistic term “reclaimed land” is doing so much heavy lifting.

I ended up being assigned seat 2B (2B or not 2B) because no one wanted to pay to upgrade to premium for a two hour red-eye to Manila. Curiously, this marked the only time they shuffled us around to accommodate the weight balancing; they asked me to move to the window seat, and moved two other white backpackers into the seats next to me.

After a bumpy liftoff, away we went.

Oh, the Philippines. Where to start?

Depending on how racist you are (although I am curious why a racist would be reading my blog), you might have a dim view of the Philippines, since their number one industry and export is, sadly, their own people. I say sadly because it doesn’t speak well of their economy. I know a lot of people who have things to say about immigrants and I’ll always caution against lumping everyone from one ethnicity together. They seem like nice people who work well.

The Philippines is interesting because, unlike most of southeast Asia and probably owing to the fact that they’re a collection of 7’000 islands, there’s never really been one unifying kingdom in the Philippines. The closest was the sultanate of Sulu, which is why Mindanao is still such a mess. No one’s quite sure if they migrated from Taiwan or Borneo; there’s arguments for both. Either way, the islands have been occupied for a good long time.

The Spanish showed up in the 1500’s and proceeded to take over. They established a little “city within a city” in Manila, Intramuros, and the world’s first “Chinatown”. I’ve also read that at the time, only pureblood Spanish were called Filipino, and the indigenous people were subjected to a number of rude nicknames.

No prizes for guessing that the Spanish were awful and eventually overrun.

In 1896, a young, middle-class man named Jose Rizal was arrested and executed for initing a rebellion.

Poor Jose Rizal (yes I know I’m spelling it wrong, I don’t have a Spanish keyboard) has the Jesus problem; that is to say, everyone likes to talk about how he was a martyr and the image of his death by firing squad is on everything. Which is too bad, because he was a real polymath; technically he was an ophthalmologist, with an MD, but he was also an artist, a novelist, conversant in 22 languages (conversant does not mean fluent) and he was studying law before switching his major as his mother started losing her eyesight.

I also found it curious, in the museum to him that exists at Fort Santiago, they took great pains to highlight that he claimed not to support the revolution. Maybe that’s just me, but if they’re going to execute you anyway, would you not yell “viva la revolucion” with your last breath, just to spite them?

His execution, whether or not he really was associated with the rebels, galvanized the revolution and within 3 years they had run the Spanish out.

Now, fate is twisty here. What’s often not mentioned is that they recruited the Americans to help them secure their freedom, but once the Spanish left, the Americans turned around and subjugated them instead. Eventually the revolution was quelled to the point that some Filipinos got themselves into elected positions and successfully lobbied the American government for independence.

But then Pearl Habour happened. The Japanese invaded the Philippines within hours of the bombings and the American forces stationed there were forced to retreat. They came back quickly and the fighting was fierce, as the Japanese viewed the island as a last buffer against American retaliation. In the final battle, most of Manila was levelled, as the Japanese tried to burn the city to the ground to make sure there wasn’t even anything worth capturing while the Americans shelled it.

It’s also part of the reason the Philippines is so great for snorkeling and diving; there’s lots of sunken Japanese gunboats just under the surface, in pretty good shape.

In 1946, the Philippines were finally independent.

There’s a lot about the Philippines that’s dangerous to publish. Before the war in Ukraine/ Gaza/ Iran, it held the dubious honor of being one of the most dangerous places to be a journalist. If you want to know more, you can look up the Marcos era. Fun fact; his kid is now president and happily churning out propaganda. Does anyone miss Duterte yet?

We landed about half an hour early, turning a 2 hour flight into an hour and 30 minute flight. That’s wild, but not entirely unexpected. Part of the reason for the Silk Road being a 6 month journey is because the winds change every six months, making the journey easier if you wait for that seasonal change.

I shuffled through security quickly. The border guard glared at my passport as if it had personally offended her, then stamped me in for exactly the 30 days I had requested.

And then It was 3 in the morning and I was lost in Manila.

It was about an hour walk to my hostel, but ain’t no damn way I’m wandering around Manila in the middle of the night on my own. Manila is so sketchy even Vlad doesn’t like walking around it.

Manila is overpriced. It’s about 20 bucks for a regular hostel bed. I ended up at this Japanese-style hostel that was located behind the Japanese embassy, which is as close as I’m getting to visiting Japan this year. I was barely able to walk straight, and the hostel page says you can pay half a day’s rate to check in early, but the clerk at the desk only charged me 200 peso, which is not half the day’s rate. Not that I’m complaining!

It’s a nice hostel. Very Japanese minimalist, which I like, although it ended up having the feeling of a concrete bunker. Very little in the way of natural light. Some reviews talked about a free breakfast, but if ever it existed, it has been discontinued, which doesn’t surprise me. Food prices are rising rapidly in the Philippines because of the price of gas. The kitchenette does offer infinite free French press coffee, which I find amusing; is the French press a big thing in Japan, or just this owner? The tables have outlets built into them and there’s also a “quiet room” that has a more comfortable temp.

The bunks are nice, with a shelf, 2 kinds of lights, and a USB plug. They were a bit short; I could not sit up straight in my bunk. The struggling AC unit was set to 16, although I doubt it ever reached that temp, it could be a bit chilly at night. I only got a thin sheet and one night I did wake up freezing and added a second layer of clothes.

It is a hostel dedicated to never leaving; they advertise all kinds of delivery services and have a commissary behind the front desk with some decent options and prices.

I crawled into my bunk and had a nap. Like usual, I was awake by 8, feeling insanely tired still. I didn’t feel much like trying to wander around and ordered breakfast on Grab.

Around noon, I wandered out for lunch. They’re in the process of developing a food court next door, but I never ended up buying anything there because I couldn’t pay for it.

So, there’s an ironic problem in Southeast Asia that I haven’t mentioned. They are chronically online; imagine the worst person you know and double it. The truth is, they have enough coverage that in theory, they could offer credit card service even at the night markets. But none of them use cards; they all scan QR codes to pay instead. Which is inaccessible to anyone without an Asian bank account, although I have heard rumors that you can load Grab with money and use that, I can’t be bothered when cash works just as well. In any case, the food court of this international hostel 6 kilometers from the airport only accepted the Asian QR code thing. Fantastic.

Away I go, once more unto the breach.

Crossing the road is a trip. Like usual. I’ve been spoiled by Malaysia, the traffic was this bad in Vietnam and Thailand. At this point, an older Filipino lady who didn’t seem to speak English grabbed my hand and escorted me across the road.

The Philippines is big on malls. Huge. They love them. Probably because it combines free wifi with free aircon. I wandered across the road to one of the more lavish malls in Manila and eventually found a bank. I need cash. As I stood outside the bank contemplating it, a security guard addressed me.

“How can I help, ma’am?” (Everyone in the Philippines addressed me as ma’am)

I wasn’t listening. I noticed the giant shotgun hanging from his neck. Even American police don’t swagger around with Remington’s on display like that. I’m reminded of the philosophy “The strength of the defense indicates the strength of the force expected”. What are they expecting to justify that?

“Oh, I just needed to take out some cash.” I said, finally shaking my head.

He opened the door and ushered me in to a vestibule with some ATM’s. I immediately took out the maximum and stuffed it into my backpack. before staggering back out into the sun.

Manila quickly replaced Hanoi as my least enjoyed city. There’s no real downtown core – although admittedly, most tourists stay in Makati, which is not where I was – and it’s really not walkable. The city has actually been improved by the gas shortage; it’s halved the traffic. The street markets are harder to locate and they have no hustle. I get that making change is hard sometimes and rocking up to a street food vendor to buy something for 50 peso with a 1’000 is rude, but they often resisted making any change. Paying for something worth 30 peso with two 20 peso coins is the end of the world. Like Vietnam, they’re also bad for never posting prices or names. Even if it wasn’t in English, I could still punch the names into Google translate if I knew how it was spelled.

The poverty is also grinding. In Thailand, the poverty didn’t feel that bad because Buddhism demands you help take care of the poor for karma points, and there was signs of that everywhere. Vietnam, being communist, also took care of everyone, so the hustle was real because it only belonged to people who wanted more than the government mandated minimum. No one is Cambodia is wealthy, so the disparity doesn’t exist. And I never really saw any poverty in KK, although I suspect that’s because all the poor people flee to KL for better opportunities. Here, slums were everywhere. People train their kids to give tourists puppy dog eyes and beg. It felt grimy, even here, one of the wealthier parts of town.

Back to the moment…

I ran into the mall because I did need one thing; a loufee. I threw mine out in KK because it was looking a bit worse for wear and it took up a lot of space. At a grocery store in the mall, I found this flat loufee which was much better for travelling. I also grabbed a fruit cup and some expiring baked goods for brekkie.

I needed food, but there was too many options. The Western chains were tempting, but I ducked into Jollibee, which is prolific. There was a second Jollibee across the road, and another around the corner.

As I waited to order and then receive my food, a street vendor came by and the wait staff ran to the door to get food from him.

Well, that’s enough excitement for one day. I went back to the hostel and hid in the AC for the rest of the day.

The one other person in my room had checked out before I got up. I’d had half a hope the room would remain empty, but I was not that lucky. I got the worst kind of roommate, too, the one who holes up in their bunk. She remained there for a full 48 hours, only leaving to run to the bathroom or downstairs to grab a food delivery. She also never appeared to sleep that first night, and she kept having speaker phone conversations with her boo. To my understanding from being forced to overhear all of her conversations, her flight had been rebooked, which forced her into this layover in Manila. She kept calling travel agents to try and shorten it, with no success.

The next day I headed over to Intramuros.

Intramuros is the Spanish “city within the city”. It’s very pretty. The common tourist path, which is what I did, is to get dropped off at Fort Santiago and walk around, before walking down General Luna St, which is closed to traffic, to the big church and then Rizal Park, where the museums are located. This will take all morning or all day, depending on your pace.

I had a hard time getting in to Fort Santiago. It only cost like 180 peso to enter, but the clerk had no change and declined my 1’000 peso bill. She suggested I just go on Klook and order a ticket there. They only had tickets for the next day, but she didn’t care and just waved me through once the payment processed.

Fort Santiago is interesting but short. There’s not much in the way of signage – probably hoping you’ll pay for a guide. It was built in the 1500’s on the banks of the Pasig river (it’s worth knowing that no one is quite sure where the name Manila comes from). It has been destroyed quite a few times, from battles and from earthquakes and typhoons. There’s a dungeon with a low ceiling where they found 600 bodies piled in a cell after the battle of Manila. There’s also a little shrine/ museum in the part of the fort where Jose Rizal was imprisoned, dedicated to him.

Also because I am a nerd, I’ll note here that most of the historical fort was built with volcanic tuff.

I wandered out and down the road. Tuktuk drivers and tour guides kept trying to solicit me, but I waved them away. The big ol’ cathedral was free to visit and very pretty, although they do make you go through a metal detector to get inside. The alcoves are full of old artifacts. It has also been rebuilt a few times and has signs around for the popes who have visited in person, very rarely, although I’m the furthest thing from Catholic and I find it offensive that sitting popes don’t visit more frequently. Surely it’s not that difficult to pencil out one weekend a year to visit and do a service?

The Spanish or pseudo-Spanish architecture along this stretch of road is very nice as well. I really think you have to walk it to really enjoy it.

I stopped at a 7/11 to grab some electrolytes and was accosted by some child beggars. The general rule is to not pay them, but one of them followed me into the 7/11 and pointed at the racks of hot food in the heating tray, indicating he wanted some. I debated it for a little bit… he’s not exactly bringing the money back to his parents if I just buy him food, after all. But he also might just be a spoilt child wanting a treat. Well, sometimes it’s nice to treat people. But I decided against it.

I passed under a bridge and noticed it is the meeting place for the local Rotary club. They’re very active; their symbol was all over the rebuilt parts of Fort Santiago, often behind or under things, like the symbol of the Freemasons in any movie where they are the bad guys. I considered attending the meeting, and then remembered I’m meeting Minda at the same time.

At Rizal Park, I went into the National Museum of Natural History. Yay, rocks and dinosaurs!

I found this museum a little lacking on facts and a little higher on glitz and glam, but overall good. It was also free, or they forgot to charge me, or it was a free weekend? They also made me go through a metal detector and leave my bag at coat check.

The museum opens into a sunny, glass-ceiling lobby called the Tree of Life. You’re supposed to ascend the glass elevator up to the top floor, and then cycle through the floors back to the ground floor, which was fun.

The Philippines is very interesting, geologically, and not just because it’s a volcanic hotspot. It’s the convergence of 17 different fragments of plates, and many of the island clusters have entirely different ages and kinds of rocks. For example, the province I am heading to, Palawan, is actually a fragment that broke off Vietnam. I developed a list of a second and probably a third trip to the Philippines I can make in the future, to explore the full depth of the geology on offer.

Learning about the mangroves was also interesting. Maybe it’s the witchy thing, but I’ve always found a bit of a draw to the idea of living in a stilt house in a mangrove forest. Although the taxidermied corpse of a twenty foot saltwater crocodile stifled that somewhat.

I learned two new kinds of forest; mossy and montane. Practically, I’ve experienced them already, in New Zealand, but no one called them that. The native trees and fauna are amazing – I wish I could have bothered Paul about Dipterocarps, but he’s gone rather quiet – the ultramafic map… so many new things!

Then the depressing picture, of how much the Philippines has been logged in the last 100 years. It went from 70% forest cover to 18% and diminishing, with Mindanao the most recent victim. Fortunately, for this trip, Palawan is still mostly untouched.

There was a little exhibit about underwater exploration which includes jars of deep-sea fish you’ll never see otherwise. Ooh la la! I wonder why there wasn’t an oarfish declaring my arrival, come to think of it…

When I finished at the museum, I was now stuck in the middle of Manila in the midday sun. Blech.

I wandered through Rizal Park towards the main road and found a small gated park with an attached parking lot. I always try to find a quiet place to order a Grab, so the poor driver isn’t trying to block a busy lane of traffic to pick me up.

This driver was chatty. When I asked him about the traffic, a polite way of asking about the petrol situation, he exclaimed, “Bah, don’t ask me about Manila traffic! It’s my bane, every single day!”

When I got back to the hostel, I couldn’t force myself to go out into the stifling heat again, so I ordered ramen to the hostel and hid in the quiet room for the rest of the day.

The next day, I rolled out of bed at 7 and trotted downstairs to set up for the Soroptimist meeting at 7:30. There was a Rotary meeting about Taipei at 7 that I could have attended, since I guessed correctly that the Soroptimists would be delayed, but honestly I didn’t really care to. I don’t know anyone else who’s going (there are people from PA going, I just don’t know them) and none of the information is new to someone who’s spent 4 months in southeast Asia.

The meeting was a bit of a wash. It doesn’t help that the wifi of the hostel kept cutting out, usually whenever someone was about to say something I actually wanted to listen to. There is a bit of drama; Thunder Pride announced, without consulting us, that they plan to do something at our Gardens. Lee-Ann’s reached out to them, but hasn’t heard back. Considering that they’ve been in a slow motion implosion for a year, to the point that even Scotia left, it wouldn’t surprise me if they never contacted us and never hosted anything either.

As the meeting wraps up, Emily talks to me directly, “You look good.”

Do I? The lighting down here in the dungeon is not great. My tan is also pretty faded after hiding inside for two going on three weeks, although I can still see where the line is on my decolletage.

The meeting finally lets me go at 9:30, so I head upstairs to get ready for Minda to pick me up. I debate wearing the lavender dress; I have no idea what’s planned for today. I decide it’s better to be overdressed than underdressed and change into my business skirt and shirt, then apply a layer of sunscreen.

Minda emails me that she’ll be there between 10 and 10:30, so at 10:00 I step out to wait by the road. I’m well aware of island time/ Manila traffic, so it doesn’t surprise me when the clock rolls on 10:30 and I get another email saying she’ll be there by 11. I head inside to the AC.

10 minutes later, a well dressed Filipino woman steps inside. I pop up instantly.

“Lucy?”

“Hi Minda!” I offer her my hand.

We chat as we walk back out to the car. I know she’s not Japanese, but the gentle sway and sweep of her steps brings to mind Yamato Nadeshiko. She reaches for my arm to steady her as we walk down the alley. The private car is fancy, bordering on a limo; the seats more resemble armchairs than car seats. The driver hops out to open and shut the doors for us. I feel young, sweaty and scrappy. And poor. Very poor.

I really need to have a cheat sheet of answers about our club written on my palm. I forget our club is 70 years old when asked. Her club is the founding club in the Philippines, but it’s only 60 years old.

We get to where we are going pretty quickly; Solaire resort. To say this place is fancy is an understatement. The glitz and glam here makes the Sutera look like a cheap hostel. There’s a shooting range, cinema, and casino inside the hotel.

Boy am I glad I decided to go dressy.

The restaurant she booked isn’t open ’til 11:30, so we walk down the hall to the lounge. I’ve been doing my damndest to not look too impressed, but either she noticed or she enjoys showing off, because she invited me to leave my bag on the couch next to her and do a lap around. I tried to politely decline and quickly gave up. I also don’t want to spend at least half an hour chatting with her about things I will almost certainly have to repeat once the other members get here.

I call Vlad and show him; “Look at this place!” Men in business suits with briefcases and serious expressions glance at me. This is where I should be looking for a rich husband.

“So what? They’re just people.”

Vlad keeps me grounded.

I head back to chat with Minda.

“So, where are you going after the Philippines?”

“Oh, Taiwan. I’m also a Rotarian.” I say, blushing slightly.

“Oh yes? My husband is too, we’re also going for the conference. We know President Francesco well.”

You… you do? Uh oh. To be honest, I never bother keeping up with either the Soroptimist or Rotary leadership. To a certain extent, it doesn’t matter to our clubs; we’re too isolated for anyone to visit, and too insular to travel.

Gulp; but you could be the reason Thunder Bay is on the map, Lucy. You could be the reason Anthea and Renata and Francesco visit.

She pulls up pictures on her phones and scrolls through them as I nod and say “uh huh” and “oh lovely!”.

I can already see it; just like Anthea, Minda dragging me over to meet the President. And he’s Italian… well, Sicilian… I could spend the month practicing my Italian again. Yes I know Sicilian and Italian are as different as Latin and Italian, but there’s no way he doesn’t know Italian and it has to count for something…

As the clock ticks on to 11:40, Minda calls someone, but they don’t answer. We stand and go over to the entrance to the restaurant, which was hidden from our view. Three of the ladies have arrived and been seated already! I get introduced. We’re doing some sort of buffet style, ordering a variety of dishes that everyone can then plate up at their leisure. The food is Chinese; I get asked if I’m allergic to anything or have preferences. No way! Challenge me.

They ordered a lot of food, more than we could eat. Dim sum, chicken wings, sweet and sour chicken, fried greens, rice and noodles. They ordered some sweet salad made of fried shrimp and pineapple, rice balls, egg custard tarts, and something crunchy made of pandan. And chilled mango soup, which was good! Until someone else spilled mine. The lady on my left, Nora, is desperate for grandkids and kept piling food on my plate, including making me try chicken feet. I will say, I don’t dislike chicken feet for the “gross” factor, I dislike them for the same reason I don’t like ribs and other comparable dishes. I tried them and then I didn’t like them. Nora also has a son who is single and she showed me a lot of pictures of him to try and ignite a spark.

There was seven of us in total, and we were eating and talking until past 2 o’clock! They mostly talked to each other in what I presume was Tagalog, as I didn’t recognize anything as Spanish, but occasionally a question would be tossed my way. Everyone found it scandalous that I was leaving so soon and spending so much time on Palawan. Nonetheless, Minda found me the number of a Soroptimist member on Palawan and sent it to me. They really wanted me to come back for their big hoopla on May 22nd, but I don’t see any way that would work. Maybe if plane tickets across the islands were still 40 bucks, but they are not.

The food is heavy in my stomach, plus I still feel tired from the midnight flight. I drink cup after cup of green tea, but it’s not waking me up.

At one point, someone mentioned the political situation going down at the senate. Another one waved and went, “not in front of the foreigner!”

I mean… the political situation here is not unknown to me. I’ll pass on what was mentioned, since it’s delicate.

They also gave me a present and a card. How timely; a rayon shawl, exactly what I need to cover my bare shoulders in an air-conditioned room; a handmade luggage tag, which I definitely need because I somehow still have the paper one from the bus to FF but it’s looking a little worse for wear; and a document bag, which is less necessary but still appreciated.

The shopping bag is nice, but I don’t need it and it will take up space… it’s also too nice to just throw away. Maybe I’ll take it with me to Coron and gift it to someone there.

They pay and we head out; everyone has a bit of a laugh about how they all use their ID’s for a seniors discount. I walk out Mary Lou, the eldest and most fragile member, and she starts talking to me in French because she spent 6 months in Belgium! Lucky that I just started refreshing my French.

When I get back to the hostel, I’m in a food coma. I crawl into my bunk – fortunately the annoying girl isn’t there anymore – and nap for an hour. I spent the rest of what was left of the afternoon working away on my laptop. For an evening snack, I went down to the commissary and got some instant noodles.

Friday… Ferry day.

I got up, had breakfast, packed up my things and “checked out”, before heading back to the common room to hang out for a bit.

When to head out? The ticket says to arrive 2-4 hours before the ferry leaves, but how long will it actually take?

I also noticed a Wendy’s bag around and realized they have a Wendy’s in Manila. One of the things I have missed is a Baconator, so I ordered one for lunch. Oh, heaven!

Around 1:30, I decided to hop to it.

It took the Grab well over half an hour to deliver me to the pier, partially because there was no left-hand turn into the gate, so he had to find a spot to make a U-turn. The area was also congested with shipping traffic.

The guards made me show them my ticket before they’d allow the driver to drop me off. He seemed a little concerned for me.

I was then told I had to walk across the way, with all my bags, to get my ticket printed out. If I’m honest, this didn’t take longer than 15 minutes, but it did involve walking in the Manila heat with all my belongings, and no one really explained anything. A man took my phone with my e-ticket at the office and told me to sit down, before returning less than ten minutes later with the printed ticket. I then had to get back through security, find the ticket office, go through security and got patted down a second time, and then was directed to a seating area to wait. The wall was plastered with “do not make bomb threat jokes”.

I guess because the ferry is still cheaper than flying, the waiting area was crowded with Filipinos waiting to go back home to Coron. There was only a handful of white people, mostly couples or pairs of women, so I sat alone and did my word searches. Even though the ferry left at 5:30, around 3:30 they started loading us on the boat. They did all the announcements in Spanish, so I had to find someone who spoke fluent English and asked them to translate for me. It was disabled and elderly passengers first, then business class, so on and so forth. They loaded us onto a shuttle to drive us to the ferry.

Up the gangplank and away we go!