THE PHILIPPINES

MANILA, June 23, 2001

 “Purpose of visit?” the immigration officer asked me when I reached Manila.

“Sight seeing,” the reply was as crisp as the question itself. 

He looked at me suspiciously.  He had reasons:  First, it was monsoon season packed with torrential rains and typhoons. Second, CNN & BBC were blaring about many cases of Tourists kidnapping in Philippines. Third, Abu Sayyaf gang was on a killing spree in an open rebellion in the South of the country.  My passport was, however, stamped after some hesitation.

I had been warned that there were no buses or coaches at the airport-terminal.   So, I headed for “INFORMATION”.  Four or five others joined me.  I thought they were in the same flight as me but they were hotel-agents touting new arrivals. They started alluring me to their joints: “Right in the down town”, “Live Bands Nightly”, “All room facing Rizal Park”, “Free pickup”, “Breakfast included.” I had to muscle my way to reach the information counter. “Excuse me, I am looking for a safe and cheap accommodation,” I yelled. “Sorry, cheap is not safe. Ask them,” said the man behind the counter hurling me back to the wolves. I gave up and agreed to take “Hotel Palm Plaza” for Pesos 1200 plus 400 for a taxi ride.  The punch of US $32 jolted me but I was looking for a safe landing.

The road to the downtown was wide but jam-packed with a variety of transports. Most striking were rattling mini-buses. Called Jeepneys, these were gusty, cocky and colourful. When the taxi took a turn to a narrower street, I thought that the hotel was near.  But it still far away and it took long to pass by shopping malls, restaurants, bars, Sari-Sari stores (provisions), moneychangers and discos. There were hundreds of girls, walking in groups of two, laughing and smiling.  Visiting shopping malls or hanging around seemed their passion. Perhaps some residential areas were nearby by as I saw many young mothers with children: one walker, one toddler, one in arms and one in the hopper.

 

Next morning, when I was having a breakfast, a bellhop whispered in my ear, “Sir, a lady is looking for you.” I remembered that last night I gave a call to one and told her my whereabouts. But why so early?  Perhaps, the temptation of talking face-to-face to an email friend was too strong to resist. She was Virginia Baccani, a single mother and a nurse by profession.  She came right away from her night duty but looked fresh blushing with dainty smiles. She was happy to see my in one piece.  I asked her to join me for a breakfast but she only accepted a cup of tea. Later, she picked up a map from the counter and apprised me of the magnitude of Metro Manila. "It is sprawling over 646 sq. kms, has a population of 11 million," she revealed.  "Metro Manila was created in 1975 by the then President, Marcos, just to place his wife, Imelda Marcos, as the first Governor," she disclosed further. Later, it was suggested that we might go to Rizal Park, Intramuros, Santo Thomas University and Makati. That looked plausible.  I deposited my valuables with the hotel and braced myself for a long day.

 

With Ms. Baccani I had no hesitation to ride one rattling Jeepney after another.  She knew all the ropes. We reached Rizal Park with least cost, enduring smoke and screech. I was delighted to see the Park.  It was a long rectangle.  I could afford a leisurely walk without bumping into a bus. The park has many points of interest including a Japanese garden, Chinese garden, an observatory, an open-air concert hall, food kiosks and playgrounds.

 

Next on the agenda was Intramuros, a walled city.  Baccani suggested a ride but I persuaded her for a walk.  I wanted most of my rugged shoes purchased from Hong Kong.  Intramuros was once a big city of medieval time.  Wars, floods, fires and modern development have taken their toll.  Only some parts of the old city remained intact and were well preserved. Entering the walled city was like taking a step back in time. First was Fort Santiago, lush with flowering trees.  There were a lot of homing pigeons around.  Art galleries, souvenir shops, and restaurants, even a cyber café, occupied chambers along the gate. Moreover, horse drawn cars were available for a leisurely a ride.

 In the same area, there were oldest churches in the country like San Agustin.  It was home to religious and historical artifacts as well as priceless artworks. Another place, Grand Manila Church, had detailed stone carvings, stained glass and rose windows. Across the street was Casa Manila, a museum that depicted the lifestyle of the colonial period.

 

Founded in 1611, Santo Thomas University was the oldest university of the country.  This was alma mater of my friend and guide, Baccani, and she showed me all around with pride. The departments of the university were all within the "walled city". There was an excellent museum of natural history beside a huge library.

 

Makati City was like Manhattan of New York, studded with financial centres and prestigious business houses.  Most of the foreign embassies, mission and multinationals had their offices in that area. Fashionable hotels, restaurants, discos, music bars, boutiques and specialty shops converged around the sleek Ayala Centre. 

We got tired with a daylong tour.  I suggested a relaxed dinner in a traditional Filipino restaurant. I really never understood why people stopped by the run-of-the-mill food chains like KFC, Jollibee and McDonald. There were many ethnic restaurants. It was my experience that their food was always good and cheap. We located one such place. We sat in worn out chairs under the dingy electric fan and ordered fish sisig.  It consisted of tuna, onion, chicken liver, salt, paper, calamansi, chili and mayonnaise. All were mixed, fried and  served in a sizzling plate with raw egg topping. This was a delicious dinner and we felt our arteries were stiffening as we ate. 

 Baccani advised me to leave Manila, as it was just another big city, She suggested that I should go to few places around Manila like Pegsanjan Falls, Puerto Galera and Antipolo.  Perhaps, she wanted to avoid me for a few days. She boarded a jeepney going to Quezon City after giving me directions how to go to my area, Malate.  When I returned to Malate well-past midnight, it had the same hustle and bustle as in the evening.  It looked like it was another sleepless district of the city.