I decided to do a whistle stop trip of a handful of capital cities of closely clustered Asian countries. I was curious about Manila and had long put off a trip to Tokyo. Brunei and Kuala Lumpur fit in nicely. I had 11 days, and I booked my flights meticulously. The first stop was Manila. A 14-hour direct flight from Vancouver.
I know that most people visit the Philippines for the beaches, and the country does look beautiful, however, I was mostly interested in the city; a city that I had heard nothing good about. In fact, the thing the Manila was most famous for, for me anyway, was karaoke. I had read that the patent holder for the karaoke machine was from Manila and that Manila was karaoke crazy; so much so in fact that there had been a series of murders in Manila based around people singing Frank Sinatra songs in karaoke clubs. When the singer sung the song badly—and usually that song was ‘My Way’—people in the audience became enraged and on several occasions this resulted in murders. I haven’t fact checked this, but there is a Wikipedia page and multiple articles about it. As a Sinatra fan and person with a bit a fascination in all things morbid, I was curious.
I’ll tell you right now that I did not do karaoke when I was in Manila. What I was looking for was that club experience. I imagined some sort of dark room full of inebriated locals singing Sinatra songs and torch ballads. I wanted to try my luck; however, when I got there, yes, there were lots of karaoke bars, but they were all the kind with private rooms where you go with coworkers or family members or friends and sit in a sofa and sing to a small TV screen in privacy. That wasn’t the experience that I wanted. I probably should have looked harder. Next time.
Beyond karaoke murders I don’t really know what I expected from Manila. Sometimes I think that’s the best way to approach a place because there’s no chance that you’ll be disappointed.
I checked into my accommodations: the Stay Malate Hostel at which I had booked a small, dingy, but clean and serviceable room with shared bathrooms and I set off to enjoy and explore the city. It was in Malate, which seems to be to be a perfect place to base oneself. Walkable to the sights and surrounded by an authentic, lively and central neighbourhood.
Manilla had a good energy. It was busy and friendly and welcoming and didn’t seem off-putting or dangerous, despite some of the reports that I had read. I think the thing that surprised me most on first appearances was how much it felt like a Latin American country? That assessment may be way off base, but walking around seeing palm trees with coconuts and architecture that wouldn’t have looked out of place in South America, Catholic churches, Spanish sounding names, etc. It just didn’t feel like Southeast Asia.
I was staying in Malate, which is a central area. It was very busy. The streets seemed to have an endless array of what appeared to be strip clubs, karaoke bars, all you can eat meat BBQ joints, and local shops. I devised a sort of a walking tour around that area looked at local monuments and churches and squares; it was all very pleasant, though nothing in particular caught my attention.
The thing that so far was my biggest take away about Manila is the transportation. It was fantastic. There were so many different means of getting around, and all of them excellent. There were buses and taxis, trams and trains, but on top of that there were jeepneys, which as I understand it at one point were modified American World War 2 jeeps that were tricked out to be a form of public transportation. The ones that I saw in the street certainly weren’t that old, but they did still have that look: the front of a Jeep but then a long body and decorated like the chicken buses of Central America with religious pictures and words, art, fringes, velvet lights flashing, and music playing. The back was open with two long benches inside and people just sort of hopped in the back and paid their fare and went on their way. I only rode one once for a short distance. I wasn’t entirely sure what the destination was or how I would know where it was going so one point, I just hopped on one and rode it for a ways down the street in the direction that I was heading and then eventually hopped off. Maybe that’s the way they’re supposed to be used.
There were also two and three wheeled means of public transportation. There were motorcycles that people just rode on the back. There were motorcycles with weird high benches next to them where you sort of sat on an open metal platform next to and higher than the driver of the motorcycle. There were bicycle rickshaws. There were motorcycles with little carts in front that you sat on. And then there was my favorite: the motorcycle sidecar.
I’ve always wanted to ride in a motorcycle sidecar and while this didn’t look exactly like the ones that I had imagined whizzing me around Paris in World War 2, it was pretty outstanding. It was a little rickety motorcycle with sort of a gray semi enclosed seated compartment next to it. Like a little cage. It looked like it might become detached at any moment and I was sitting very low to the ground but it was wonderful to sit inside and have the sights whiz by me and have the air in my face – a little bit like riding in a tuk tuk, but much dodgier.
From the central area I walked up to Rizal Park which was filled with people. It was Sunday and everyone seemed to be out picnicking or playing sports blowing bubbles and eating cotton candy. It wasn’t really my scene, but it was pleasant for a wander. I looked at the fountains and at the public art that was on the edge of the park.
And then I continued on, determined to walk to the central historic area Intramuros . Walking there was a mistake; too far and dull for a walk on the main road. At any point I should have gotten on one of the many methods of public transportation, but I was stubborn and didn’t realize that it was as far away as it was.
Somehow I overshot my destination and ended up at a small slum next to a river. It wasn’t a big encampment, but it was right across the river from one that was fairly large and equally if not more dingy. Families were living in tents cooking with open fires and selling food and snacks and objects to the other residents of the encampment. It didn’t seem dangerous at all; and it was interesting for a wander except for the fact that I did feel desperately out of place it was clear that I wasn’t supposed to be there. I don’t think people appreciated me gawking at them, so I did a loop and went back the way I came, eventually finding my way to Intramuros.
Intramuros was objectively lovely. It looks very Spanish colonial with perfectly maintained buildings in bright colours and ornamentation, cobblestone streets, gorgeous squares with trees and statues, and impressive churches. It was postcard picture perfect; it was not however particularly exciting. I walked around and I had a cigar. I tried an unusual drink made of soft tofu and brown sugar and had lunch at a cafe that had vegan Filipino food (Delicious), which was the only time that I got to try any sort of local food while I was in the city.
Once I was finished exploring that area I walked back in the direction of my hotel towards the park and through the centre, but I did visit the National Museum of Fine Arts. That was excellent. It was free and full of a range of artworks by local and international artists.
Back in Malate, where my hotel was, I walked around and looked for a place to eat. That wasn’t the easiest, vegetarian-wise. There were lots of delicious local fruits but when it came to actually eating a meal in a restaurant there wasn’t a lot to choose from. I ultimately ended up having dinner at my hostel on the rooftop patio, which suited me just fine. The food there was good and cheap it had a view of this busy streets below and there were there was a handful of elder backpackers there with whom I could chat and share mangoes.
I went out after dark and eventually found a place where I could go and sit and have a juice and smoke a cigar. Smoking in Manila wasn’t the easiest of things. Most restaurants and cafes didn’t allow smoking on the patio and the interiors were entirely smoke free, so over the two days and three nights that I was there, the patio at my hostel became something of a haven. The night scene in my neighbourhood was very lively. It was full of super busy restaurants and bars; everyone seemed to be out until all hours of the morning and there was a lot to look at. I enjoyed it even if I wasn’t out partaking.
It was a pleasant first day. I enjoyed myself. I wasn’t blown away by Manila, but I was glad to have seen it. As far as first days go, it was fine – and I can’t write off the fact that I may have been suffering from serious jet lag after my 14 hour direct our flight from Vancouver. I slept very soundly that night and had plans already for day two, which ended up being much more to my liking than day one.
