Manila

yes yes...
hong kong was very nice.
met some locals, ate some razor clams, met some canadians, had some pre-st. pat's strongbow at an irish bar, saw a beauuuutiful fishing village and fell in love! (with the village... ), witnessed one of the great monuments of the world on a very quiet day for said tourist attraction... island hopped, coffee shopped, shopped in general...
but i couldn't stand to go back to beijing after such a short journey. hong kong has an enourmous international airport and it would be a shame if i didn't visit it at least once! right?

With barely any time to think out a plan of action, and acting solely on click-of-the-finger instincts (and annoyance of travel agents and wanting to prove to them that YES! there are air-fare deals out there...) I suddenly booked a ticket to the Philippines for Monday the 17th of March 2008.

As I sat on the bus crossing through the city, over the enormous Tsing Ma Bridge, and past HK Disneyland, en route to Manila... I thought a lot about the year's events. Time flies. A lot has happened. A lot has changed, a lot has stayed the same, but mostly we have all just gotten a little older. What a polar opposite March 17th though. I certainly could not have predicted being on the other side of the world from home right now... but on the other hand, it seems like the best place to be. Away from grieving, away from loss, but still feeling quite close to my father and my family, and motivated by the memory of mr. john webb. who somehow, continues to inspire me from within, each and every day. even if just to say, "suck it up buttercup!"

At the airport my eyes scanned the departure berth desperately for some other wandering traveler who had no idea what they were doing... or better yet, someone who did. Instead, I found a young married woman going home from the states to see her family up north for holy week vacation, and 2 sweet and gentle older filipino ladies who were taking a week's break from their back-breakingly labourious jobs in HK. The younger woman offered some good luck in my direction as she dove into her novel, and the two women's pupils grew large and worriesome as I told them I was travelling alone without any plans or any contacts in the country.
"Don't tell that to anyone you meet!" they said. "Most filipinos are very sweet and very kind.. but the Filipinos who live in Manila are not Filipinos at all. They are a different breed or people. They will take advantage of you at all costs, especially being a foreigner... and especially being a girl!!"
Thanks LADIES!!!

As the plane touched down, the humid tropical air touched my face and made me smile. A handful of maps, and some very smiley, yet extremely unhelpful ladies from the tourism board later, I ran out to find a taxi to somewhere. Although I had no lonely planet, I did copy down the name of a hostel from my last encounter with that sweet bible of a book and (thank god english is widely spoken here), and we headed out to the Pension Natividad in Manila.

It was grand. Absolutely the perfect place to stay in this city! Away from the madness one hears so much about. An outdoor terrace with a few tables and chairs, greenery falling down from above to knock out the heat of the sun, friendly staff, and cheap prices for the dorm room which had barely anyone staying in it. I threw my stuff down, grabbed Atlas Shrugged and a jug of water and sat outside. Lucky me! Two Americans and a Danish dude were out there too and after flashing them a smile that said "helllpppp" we became fast friends. And what do friends do together? Well, they get on the subway and head to Quiapo to buy fake electronics and fertiized duck eggs at the market, of course!

Quiapo was the most crazy market I have ever seen. Sensory overload smacked you in the face from the decked out jeepneys and tricycles riding over your feet, the abundance of small children grabbing you and yelling at you for a peso or two, babies who should have been at home in a bed, crates of browning bananas, sandals, watermelon rinds, blankets, t-shirts, yelling, loud scratchy music, people, people, people, churches, monuments that would have looked picturesque once, and were now just a part of the poverty strucken streets. Some smiles, some contempt, some weary eyes watching our every moves...
Needless to say the battery charger I bought did not work, and since buying a new memory card for my camera, I lost the old one. Lucky Quiapo.

Back at the hostel we meet Steve. Steve from Ireland. Irish Steve who doesn't know that its St. Patrick's day. We all joined forces in rounds of San Miguel at a local joint. Yaye Manila!

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