Thrilla in Manila: #1

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…that’s the only accurate way to describe our 48 hours and change in the hub of this chaotic, charming, threatening, beautiful island-style of city. We had a long day of travel, as all really are, but after planes, trains, and automobiles, we touched down on Filipino soil. Almost in coordination with each other, we realized that we were going to be in for an adventure that would easily top our first week in Korea, a feat for the ages.

Once through immigration and customs, again just a formality in this part of the world, not the rigorous and violating Guantanamo Bay-like interrogation process the U.S. seems to subscribe to, our first bout with nonsense came in the form of a taxi ride to our hostel.

I guess the taxi wasn’t totally at fault for our first misstep, we were. In the Seoul airport (more accurate, the Incheon Airport) we attempted to change a small amount of money into Philippine Piso, but the gal working the counter recommended not to because we would end up changing our US dollars into Korean Won, then Won into Pisos and lose much more of the value in the process. Everything we read mentioned that the dollar was widely accepted in the Philippines so we took her advice and planned on exchanging at the airport. Unfortunately, when you arrive at 1:00a.m. there is a noticeable lack of employees working at the exchange counter- like zero employees; it was closed.

I had only large bills, but Cass had a few smaller bills from four months ago when se arrived in Korea. We thought we’d chance it. We navigated the lines, the assistance, and the driver and with a ten dollar bill we were headed in the right direction. Half way there, the cabbie said, ‘long way, twenty dollars,’ despite numerous hostel notices that it was extremely close to the airport. Bouncing through the poverty stricken lanes, what seemed like eerie lit back roads lined by corrugated steel shacks, we arrived at our destination, the Green Mango Inn. Cass, with no other choice, gave him the other ten dollar bill she had.

The hostel was extremely welcoming, an ornamental steel gate opened to a loungey garden and outdoor bar setting before we got to the front door and desk of the business. It was going to be a great place to stay, but we wouldn’t find out that night. Apparently, reservations don’t hold true here, and we got bumped from the hostel and thoughts of a comfortable bed. They booked our room because others decided to lengthen their stay, the exact situation a reservation would avoid. Regardless, they booked us at their ‘sister’ hostel, a two block walk with our packs through the creepy, dimly lit streets, to the El Grande.

El Grande it was not, El Gross is a more fitting name. Cass and I have both utilized the world of hostels, and this earns the Shady Dive award. To be fair, the sheets were clean, though. We gave the girl at the desk 20,000 Korean Won to convince her to give us the room for the night. There, we discovered a seatless, flushless toilet in our room that was, no doubt, designed to encourage ‘green’ living. The constant, low battery beep of the smoke detector piercing our ears throughout the night was much like Enya’a soothing sounds lulling us to sleep. Four hours later, 7:00a.m., we took our face wash showers in the bathroom spigot, packed, and were outta there. We were settling up our bill at the front desk, when we remembered one little fact…

7:00a.m. on a Sunday morning isn’t the most ideal time to scour the neighborhood from the sidecar of a motorcycle in search of a business that would exchange money.

There are two kinds of local transportation, far more popular than the traditional taxi, bus, and even subway varieties; one is called a tricycle, the other a Jeepney. Tricycles are basically a hand made cage welded to the side of someone’s motorcycle. They are not really allowed on the main drives, but are found everywhere in swarms rivaling African killer bees. Jeepneys, are, more or less, elongated Jeep Wranglers with two benches in the back used as a community ride. They look as though they are individually owned by the driver and are decorated up into the most craziness you can imagine. They are fun to use, as we found out. You keep an eye out for the small sign handing in the window telling its destination (it is usually painted all over the outside, too), you hail it like a cab, it will swerve to the side of the road oblivious to the zillions of other drivers on the road, slow down just enough for you to jump on through the small opening in the back. Then, you cozy up to some Filipino, shout your destination to the driver and give your fare, or what you think it may be in our case, to the other passengers that continue to pass it up to the driver. Change is handed back to you. To get off you knock the roof of the vehicle, say, ‘para,’ wait for it to pull over and you eject yourself out the back door and hit the pavement running. If I thought the streets of Korea were chaos, I stand corrected. The perpetual state of anarchy and the intense battle of these two types of transport mixed with the taxis and personal cars makes it completely exhausting to go a mere three hundred yards.

So there was no way to exchange money, no way to pay for the room, no way we were going to stay there again, so I used my spider sense to acquire some currency. I ended up convincing the trike driver to give me all of his money for a 10,000 Won bill. So we could be on our way. Whew. The 220 pisos he had covered the room charge and we had some breathing room to start our day.

We walked back to the Green Mango, we figured since they bumped us, they should help us find a place we won’t catch some kind of communicable disease. It turned out that they had an opening, but would have to bump another reservation to get us in. After explaining things, it turned out that we bumped our own reservation! It was a relief to have a place to keep our things, a roof and bed to come back to, and a worry free day to go explore and tackle the mayhem that is Manila.

Manila, at first impression, is an unkempt, run down, impoverished, and threatening sprawl of a city. ‘Pearl of the Orient’ it is not; a shadow of its former self. The raw energy, intimidating gawks, and oceans of jeepneys are enough to turn anyone away, but we battled it out to see some of the hidden charm of what this city had to offer.

One of the ‘things to see’ in town is the area called Intramuros; the ruins of a former walled in city originally built during the Spanish occupation. Many of the buildings have been rebuilt many times and are in full use today. I had no idea of the turbulent past this country has gone through with Spanish occupation, American occupation, a vicious WWII arena, and that doesn’t include the annual typhoon season. The best kept ‘ruin’ was the Fort Santiago. It was a magical place with a magnificent grand entrance, fountains, and a signed walking tour of the ruins. It is a place where, with just a sprinkle of imagination, you can see Ferdinand Magellan overlooking the moat in deep concentration on where to explore next. It was mind blowing being immersed in the beautiful Spanish architecture and history.

What was truly rewarding was the bicycle ride (see tricycle, above, but a pedal bike version) we took through this part of town. Apart from the fact that our guide was diligent in explaining the sights we were passing and a bit of their history, he was elated that we chose him to drive us to the fort. He was a soft spoken young man, that, when we got to chatting, we found out he slept in the side car of the vehicle we were currently in. He lived this way for the past seven years. With the little money we gave him for the short trip, he would be able to pay for a new pair of shoes. Seeing things like this first hand makes you count the blessings you have in your life. Knowing this was far more rewarding than any of the sights and views we took in.

We had to kill a couple of hours before our destination ‘Hobbit House’ opened. After grabbing some amazing Indian food, we took a walk along Manila Bay. Much to our surprise, there was a parade underway celebrating the Chinese New Year, lucky us! There were floats and bands, native drumming and chanting, and some of the most intricate and beautiful costumes you can imagine. It reminded me of the over the top celebrations you see on the travel channel of Carnival in Rio de Janiero, but with a Filipino flare. Quite the nice surprise.

We headed to the Hobbit House afterwards, a bar whose owner dedicated the entire theme of his business to Bilbo Baggins and the children’s book, ‘The Hobbit.’ As soon as we approached it, we knew it was something special. A little person greeted us on the street and pointed us in the direction of the huge, circular, hand painted door. Other than one bartender, the rest of the staff is little people, or how they are described, ‘Hobbits.’ The décor was all hobbit and it seemed that we had stepped right into middle earth. Despite the interesting theme, the bar itself was known as a great place to catch live music rather than just a tourist trap. We absolutely loved it!

A few drinks in we battled walking the Manila roads, the crowded market at night, the LRT (light rail transit), the Jeepneys, and the tricycles to make home to the Green Mango for a free drink before crashing. Tomorrow we were in store for another adventure no one knew was coming…

To be continued...

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