Manila
I wake up. I'm in Manila. Except, it's 5am in the morning, and I don't know if I am really here. Maybe this is a dream. Maybe the noises and rush of outside is something that doesn't belong in this world, maybe it is something that is beyond the understanding of a lad from the middle class houses of Tawa.
***
I don't suppose a single day is enough to get to know any city. Some cities, you spend a day or two, and feel like it is time to move on, the streets walked, the bars drunk at, and the sights seen.
Like any city of great size, you can be in it, without actually feeling like you're in it. Instead, you're lost in the jungle, and the only thing you can see is door-to-door traffic on all sides, and nowhere beyond the two story blocks lining the streets. But it's all out there, somewhere.
What can I say, Manila, an area in itself composed of 16 cities, of 12m people, founded by the Spanish on the banks of the Pasig River, is just the start. It's the 11th most populous area in the world.
And it's a sprawl. Most of the shacks and rusted tin roves are dwarfed by the sprinkling of giant apartment blocks and office towers. There's no zoning, or building codes, just a giant collection of structures, whatever which way they may be. Brothels sit next to barbers, family shops sit next to money changers, and slums sit amongst upscale malls and apartment districts.
I suppose too, like any big city, it is the collection of individual experiences that make up the city as a whole. Multiply that by millions and you have the chaotic haze that is Manila. Perhaps the best way to get a feel for it is through the individual experiences of two Kiwi adventurers, however trivial or small they may be.
At the airport we meet a 33 year old Canadian named D'arcy. Travellers stick together like glue when arriving in a city as intimidating as Manila. Literally within 3 minutes of getting into the Taxi, a mini-van pulls right in front of us, which the driver doesn't see. D'arcy casually points it out. The driver swerves. We had successfully avoided our first major crash in Manila.
At street level the grime and grit seep into your shoes, the mould from the buildings attaching itself to your skin. The air is hazy and hot, stinging your eyes, while the gas-like smells from the alleys crawls up your nose. Pork and fish sits rotting cold in garage cafes, a feast for flies and insects. Young and old sit on the side streets, mingling with the street hustlers, money changers, shop keepers, heavily armed security guards, and school children. Their faces leather with toughness, wrinkled with weariness. M16's and shotguns, pistols and bullet pouches go unnoticed, sinking in to the seething hotness and bustle of activity. It's daytime, and anything goes.
Intramurous is the oldest core and historic core of Manila*, a walled city that dates back hundreds of years. Along with the rest of the tourists, we snap photos of Manila's oldest cathedral (400 years), and enjoy the sights of the old city.
From an old fort at the edge of the old city we look out over the Pasig River, as well as the city sprawl. Pollution hangs in the air. To one side we see a wide boulevard, with makeshift, endless grey shacks leading up to the heart of the citys slums and shantytowns. These are the places tourists never go. For a poignant moment, I stand and look at the slithering mess and dirt of the slums. How lucky am I? How sheltered am I? I take a photo. I guess I will never know.
A world away from the slums is the Mall of Asia, the 2nd largest mall in Asia. One could spend days in here and never cover it all. It was 7pm on a Wednesday night, and there were, by my estimate, more than 20,000 people there. For the first time ever, I actually enjoyed shopping (normally, I hate it with a passion), helped no down by the generous helpings of Pilipino girls seductively looking our way.
Our room in Manila is a concrete bunker of the sort found amidst brothels, ever-present pimps, street hustlers and other creatures of the night. Our 1" x 0.5" steel barred window not once blocked out blaring music, horns, shouts, arguments, and other assortments of seedy night life. We fell asleep at 7pm, waking only a few times from the pounding rain and relentless nightlife, otherwise lost in the deepest of sleeps that is known only to travellers.
A day is not enough to know any city - especially one that stretches far out on either side from a plane window - let alone a street. But for now, a day is enough.
And a night, for by the end of it, our feet were well and truly dirty.
* Thanks Wikipedia.
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