Posted under Philippines
We are back in the Third World and startlingly so. As we rode into Manila in the dark of night, tacky neon signs illuminated long rows of night clubs, restaurants and hotels. At a stoplight, a young, filthy girl, holding an infant, knocked on my window, begging for money. After two-and-a-half months of living in the Western world (New Zealand, Australia, Japan), I was not mentally prepared for India-caliber poverty and the wretchedness of her appearance gave me a start. I quickly switched to Third World mode.
It was Friday night and the streets of the Malate district were roaring with rampant intoxication and melodies from various outdoor venues. Our hostel, Malate Pensionne, was right in the middle of the action, buffered from the street noise by, of all things, a Starbucks! (Angels singing: “Alleluia!”) After a long day of travel, our tired bodies wanted only to shower and crash but the bright lights and entrancing street music beckoned us outside and, since we had to buy water anyway, we ventured out and succumbed to the alluring Cuban music pouring out of Café Havana. We ordered a couple of San Miguel beers and the melodies of the live band melt away the fatigue.
The next day, we explored the city on foot. The Philippines is a small, impoverished nation masked by pockets of prosperity in the form of high-rises, higher end hotels, and gargantuan shopping malls. The broken streets reek of sewage and auto emissions from the taxis and jeepneys – jeep-style converted open-air buses, ornately decorated with bright lights, colorful decals and religious artifacts. Homeless families sleep on the sidewalks; children snooze the day away on flattened cardboard boxes. We saw a man bathing his two naked sons, who looked to be about eight-years-old, in the muddy rainwater collected in a pothole in the street. Tricycles – man-powered bicycles with small, two-person sidecars attached – roam the streets in search of fares, though more often we see the drivers sleeping in the carts. As we walk along, we are constantly approached by money changers flashing their note cards with the day’s handwritten exchange rates as well as young men selling random goods such as leather belts, fedoras, small electronics and cheap knockoff watches. Families camp out all day along the sidewalks, operating small food carts or selling cigarettes and gum.
Despite their seemingly depressing circumstances, Filipinos possess an enviable love of life. They are friendly, humble, happy people who have made us feel graciously welcome. The population is predominantly Catholic – a result of 16th century Spanish Catholic crusades – and English-speaking, although its ethnic origins are thought to be Malay, Borneon, and Indonesian. The Philippines struggled for centuries to find its political voice and united identity amid a stream of oppressive foreign occupiers including Spain, Japan and the United States. More than a million Filipino lives were lost over the years in the nation’s long struggle for independence and when they finally won their freedom and elected Ferdinand Marcos as president in 1965, the nation’s political and economic woes were far from over. (Lonely Planet Philippines 2006)
A striking contrast in the Philippines today lies in the circumstances of its women. Having already elected two female presidents in the last twenty years and boasting a middle management demographic dominated by women, the nation is well ahead of many Western countries. In contrast, while prostitution is illegal in the Philippines, it is one of the nation’s biggest industries. The Philippines has often been promoted as a sex tourism destination and, even more disturbing, an estimated 20% of the nation’s sex workers are children. (Lonely Planet Philippines 2006) You don’t have to read about sex tourism to realize that it is going on. An unsettling number of unattractive, middle-aged white men can be seen conspicuously walking hand-in-hand with young (often teenage) Filipino girls. The practice is so commonplace that no attempt is made to disguise it. While I am fully aware of my inability to affect these circumstances, I make a point of attempting to make eye contact with as many of the teenage sex patrons as possible. They appear unapologetic but I find solace in knowing that they know that their reprehensible behavior has not gone unnoticed.
On a brighter note, we regrouped in our room after a long day of intense observation and gussied ourselves up for a night out in Malate. I had bought an inexpensive little silk dress in Thailand, thinking that I’d wear it once and mail it home after it had fallen victim to the cramped conditions of my backpack. After donning it in Thailand, I folded it into a large Ziploc bag and carried it like that for over a month in my pack before pulling it out again in Australia. Miraculously, it came out virtually wrinkle-free as if it had been hanging in my closet. I pulled it out several weeks later in Manila with the same fabulous result. I’m shocked at the resilience of this little dress and tickled by the pleasure of having something delicate, pretty and feminine to throw on once in a while as a reprieve from my t-shirts and cargo pants.
With endless venues to choose from, we went back to Café Havana, this time to have dinner and make a night of it. The food was average but the service and ambience were outstanding. A different, but equally entertaining six-piece band belted out a variety of Spanish and popular songs for a disappointingly small Saturday night audience. After dinner, we moved into the adjacent cigar lounge, which impressed us with its selection of Cuban and locally produced cigars. We each chose a Filipino cigar and puffed away (sorry, Momma, but we don’t do it often, I promise) while sipping Grand Marnier and admiring the beautifully decorated cigar room. The walls were painted a soft, tropical shade of red and were covered with framed cigar labels and large black-and-white photos of Che Guevara. After literally smoking ourselves out of the room, we sat for one last San Miguel and then called it a night. We would depart early the next morning for Puerto Galera, where we eagerly anticipated dipping our fins into the Verde Island Passage between the Sibuyan and South China Seas.
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