No one I have talked to seems to like
Manila much. “Big polluted city”, “The most dangerous city in
Asia” , “Just get straight out of Manila, it's hideous” etc
etc. I assumed the worst, but do you know, I actually quite like it!
When you have Bombay circa 1999 as a benchmark, any other city seems
fine in comparison.
Hunger woke us up early on our first
morning and after breakfast, we grabbed a map from the concierge desk
and worked out where the MRT station was, then went out into the
sticky heat. Even though there is no way we could ever blend in here,
I try to dress similarly to the locals wherever we are. I got it
wrong this time. It's hot and sticky and we'd be wandering round the
city so I went for a cotton skirt and shirt. Every single Philippine
woman we passed on the way to the station was dressed in jeans,
flipflops and a t-shirt. Haven't got too many of those items in my
backpack...
I have never had my bag searched before
getting on public transport before.... David thought the female
security guard fancied him when she patted his lower back. I had to
spoil it and point out that she was checking for concealed weapons.
We lined up for a train ticket (10 pesos each – about 14p) and
found the platform for the train to Taft Avenue. So easy compared
with the Tokyo subway. There was an armed security guard on the
platform who eyed us with curiosity. In fact, everyone looked at us.
Not in a threatening way, but in a “what are they doing there”
kind of way. We didn't actually see any other westerners on any of
the trains we took that day, but are used to that.
We took another LRT to Central Station.
In Tokyo there are always nice shiny maps pointing out places on
interest. We hoped there would be something similar in Manila as we
didn't know where to go once we got to the station, but all we found
was a doughnut stand and a pawn shop. We ignored the shouts of a
waiting rickshaw driver and asked directions from one of the armed
policeman sitting at a desk
“Go straight”
So we went straight.
Sort of.
This included running across roads,
ducking under street stall canopies and cutting through parks and
then heading into the grand looking post office for directions.
At the entrance to the post office
there was a table of ladies manning a desk with a sign saying
“deposit your firearms here” and we asked them for directions to
an area called Intramuros.
