After hours contemplating where we should spend our last day in Philippines, we finally arrived at a consensus. That;  considering it was an epic fail to go to Bananue (our original plan which supposed to be executed day one), while a short trip to Corregidor Island is too costly and browsing Manila shopping malls is never our idea of traveling (not that I don’t visit the malls whenever we go travel but dedicating a whole day just for it seems absurd). Shooting the Pagsanjan Rapids was opted out as the day was cloudy and we didn’t bring any suitable clothing (since we didn’t plan for it either), leaving Tagaytay the only practical solution. So, Tagaytay it was!

 Philippines in the morning, on our way to the LRT station in Gil Puyat.

We took the LRT from the station in Gil Puyat to Cubao in Quezon City, where the bus terminal to Tagaytay is located. One could also take the public bus at Taft Avenue but the information I got wasn’t so clear, and most of my notes are about Bananue not Tagaytay. Our initial itinerary was to hit Bananue straight away after we land in Clark before returning to Manila the same night. However after spending almost 7 hours in the plane and on road to Manila, the thought of surviving another 10 + 10 hours bumpy ride into the far flung mountains of Ifugao sounds a bit too ambitious, thus giving it a miss. Well that’s quite the usual dilemma when you have so little time and for being the habitual “go first, think later” sort of people.

 DH in the LRT to Cubao.

Arriving Cubao we looked for exits that will lead us to the bus terminal. I searched all around for any indication on the direction but there was nothing except 2 meaningless signboards pointing to Exit 1 and Exit 2. It was already 9.30am and I really didn’t want to waste time finding them out. Although busses to Tagaytay are aplenty, they depart at every one hour interval. So if we missed the 10.00am bus we have to wait for the next bus which only leave an hour later, and got the whole journey delayed.

As we were looking around I saw a lady that looked kind and decent, so we walked to her and asked for direction. Somehow we caught her by surprise, and after analyzing us for a few seconds she told us to take the left exit and to ask the direction onwards from the security guard. We had read all about Manila travel warnings and from her appearances we thought we had carefully chose who we were going to ask, but was unexpected of her next words.  She kindly reminded us not to talk to anyone no matter how decent they look, especially here in Cubao. The safest is to ask from the security guards.

We did exactly as we were told and finally found the terminal just a few blocks away. Locating the bus was easy, and soon we were cruising the Aguinaldo Highway to Tagaytay.

Inside the bus to Tagaytay. Unlike the public bus in Malaysia, there were 5 seats per row, and we found them a bit small. We chose to sit by the three seater, and occupied two half of the space. Luckily it was on weekend and there were not so many people, so we got the whole seats for the two of us most of the time.

The whole ride costs us around 60 pesos each (one way), instead the Php2000 if we choose to go by private car.  We told the driver to drop us at Olivarez and got a bunch of ticket stubs as a token for that. Thank god I keep it well, cause along the way a ticket inspector boarded the bus and starts checking everyone’s ticket.

Our trusty travel source (the net of course!) mentioned that it will take two hours to reach Tagaytay from Metro Manila albeit only 50km apart, so DH set the countdown on his watch. We past through nondescript towns and housing areas, and I was getting sleepy from all the idling. Apart from making a few stops to drop and pickup passengers, the time was also made up by slow traffics in some of the areas. We reached Olivarez exactly 2 hours later and I was happy for being able to finally get off from the bus. 

So, what is all about Tagaytay that made us came here?

For your info, Tagatay is a highland in the Batangas province not far from Metro Manila, and home to the famous Taal Lake and a volcano of a same name. What makes this lake and volcano stands up from the others owe to the facts that the volcano and lake are both within another volcano and another lake. Sounds confusing? Well that’s not before I said there is an island within a lake within and island within a lake within an island! No kidding, these are not typo error. I’m telling facts here! Ain’t that mind-boggling?

Apparently it just rained in Olivarez, a small town in Tagaytay and the gateway to the Taal Lake. Being 1500 metres above the sea level, we somehow felt rejuvenated by the cool and fresh air after days breathing the polluted Manila. A pedicab had been following us since we got off from the bus, trying his best to lure us for a ride down to the rim of Taal Lake. To be honest I wasn’t ready to jump into the first pedicab I saw, and thought of looking around for a while. But the pedicab driver was quite insistence, and he kept on following us even though we had said ‘no’. However we must admit that we were quite lost after a while, and the lake isn’t anywhere near. After his few attempts we finally gave in. Furthermore he was asking 250 pesos to the lake and back, of which I thought quite reasonable.  

The trip down reminds me of the 44 hairpin bends of Lake Maninjau, another caldera lake in Sumatra which we had the chance visiting back in 2011. But somehow this trip was more hair raising than the previous, cause our pedicab driver had the sudden rush to test out his GP riding skills as soon as we jumped onto his bike.  The street was narrow, and it was wet and slippery from the morning rain. The smells of hot rubber screeching against the tar at every corners were suffocating and I felt nauseous from those emergency brakes. Not to mention the deep ravine nearby.   Grabbing at the metal handle I silently pray for our safety, especially at times where the bike skidded and I almost thrown out from the sidecar.

Speeding our way to the Taal Lake. There’s a warning sign of the dangerous curve ahead, but I don’t think our driver paid much heed to it.

Along the way the pedicab driver stopped at one of the lookout point, which unveiled  the picturesque Taal Lake and its volcanic island.

After a few ‘near death’ experiences we finally arrived one piece at the small village at the rim of the lake and our pedicab driver straightly entered the compound of a tour office. As predicted, we were swarmed by those tour agents as soon as he parked the pedicab, persuasively offering us the package to the Taal Volcano.  Quoting at 3000 pesos (about RM220) per person   for the banca ride to the nearby island I could simply said we have been ‘ridiculously overcharged!’

Perpetuating our memory at the serene Taal Lake, which in reality I was surrounded by aggressive tour agents while taking the snapshot!

Aerial photo of Taal Volcano by Pinay Photographer George Tapan [source]. This is what I mentioned earlier, that make Tagaytay so unique. The Vulcan Point (indicated by the smallest dot in the above picture) is actually a tiny volcanic island that forms inside the caldera lake of volcanic island of Taal, which is eventually sits in the middle of Taal Lake which so happen in the middle of Luzon Island. An island within a lake within an island within a lake within an island!  Pretty amazing, huh?

Bancas, the double-outrigger boats that are so synonym with Philippines.

Kid in a banca overlooking the Taal Lake in Tagaytay.

Taal volcano in the middle of Taal Lake surrounded by the fish farms. 

 Another view of Taal Lake that we managed to capture before going back to Olivarez.

The agents kept on harassing us and won’t let us be, despite our absolute refusals. Tired of their constant touts we told them we reanlly can’t afford anything above a thousand. The last offer we got was about Php1200 per person and it was quite good actually (compared to the initial fare), but time was against us. The whole trip to the volcano island and trekking to the crater will take at least half a day, and we need to get to Clark very early the next morning for the flight back to KL. We could not afford getting stranded anywhere. 

Another thing that I notice, these people are very manipulative and like to twist words around. Something like we experienced with the pedicab at Intramuros earlier. Let say you agreed with 100 pesos, but after you use their service they will simply quote a different price with one thousand and one reasons to justifiy it. Even our pedicab driver at Tagaytay was trying to do that to us. From the Php250 we agreed earlier, he tried to push it to Php350, in case I forgotten. I was getting sick with all these tricks so I told him firmly of our agreed deal, which I think startled him a bit. Paranoid, I told DH to turn down the boat offer no matter how lucrative it may sound, cause I’m afraid that they will simply overcharge us later.

Uncomfortable that we couldn’t even take a photo or move a step without being blocked by those aggressive agents, we decided to head back to Olivarez. This time our driver was riding even faster than before. Throttling to the max, there were many times I have this strange feeling like his trying to kill both of us. Perhaps we were climbing uphill and accelerating was necessary in order to maintain the momentum. Or was he upset for not getting any commission from the boat touts and not able to trick us into paying him more? Those were the questions that lingers in my mind to this day.

 This is no Photoshop. I told you our driver was speeding.

Back at Olivarez we had our quick lunch of fries at the McDonalds, seeing it is already past three. I was having a headache from all the rain but unfortunately I left my medicine supply back in the hostel. While we were eating DH saw our bus passing through so we quickly finished everything and run for it. It was funny though cause the bus eventually stopped in front of the McDonalds waiting for more passengers and not moved on for another 20 minutes or so, and we were running like mad! I thought of buying those buko pies sold by the street peddlers but had to forget about it as we were afraid that we’ll missed the bus. Fortunately those peddlers boarded the bus and we were able to bring back home a few.

Souvenir stalls in Olivarez. I didn’t buy anything for nothing caught my eyes. I couldn’t even find the fridge magnet apart from the many key chains and the typical night market stuff.

The buko pie (coconut pie) we bought in the bus back to Manila. The taste? Honestly it is not to my liking.

The journey back to Manila was rather tiring, and it took more than 5 hours to reach the city due to bad traffic congestion along the SLEX highway. 5 hours! Luckily we didn’t get into those outrigger boats in Tagaytay otherwise we won’t be able to reach Manila in time. Walking back from the LRT in Gil Puyat to our hostel we stopped by Ukay Ukay cause DH wanted to buy the original North Face pouch he’s been eyeing for the last 2 days. After much bargaining we got a brand new pouch at just 450 pesos. And it’s original! For just RM100+ we could get the 60L original bagpack of the same brand. Fortunately we didn’t bring enough cash, otherwise we had gone into a shopping spree! We have our own 100L and 70L back at home, but DH said let’s come again to Manila so that he could buy all those cheap bagpacks and sell them to his friends!

Next day we woke up early, took the first bus to Clark and flew back to KL. As we looked down at the Pinatubo through the window we found ourselves wondering the next time we will see it again.  

The End.

Of all the places of interest in Manila, I always wanted to see Quiapo. Of course anybody who knows anything about Quiapo would advise skipping this place unless you are attending the mass at the famous Quiapo Church or some important business you could not avoid. Locals rated this place as dirty and dangerous, as the home of the black Nazarene is also the den of thieves and pickpockets.

But I was more curious than scared.

Ever since I found the word ’Quipo’ in the net while doing my quick research on Manila, I had been curious. Other than my desire to visit the muslim settlement of Quiapo, from the photos  I could tell that it is lively and colorful, and I thought that spending some time there could be much more worthy than strolling the posh malls in Makati and the affluent district of Ortigas. And I know now that I was right.

So, after our short tour to Intramuros we thought of spending the afternoon in Quiapo. We hopped into a jeepney with “Sta. Cruz” written on the side, and as it cruises the hectic Quezon Boulevard I cautiously observed the landmarks. But the window was too small and I wasn’t sure where we should disembark. After a while I realized that we’ve gone too far as the road was getting bigger and the neighbourhood seems alien.

I quickly tapped the lady who sat in front of me, clearing my throat and asked her “Quiapo?”. She looked at me and mumbled some Tagalog sentence which I cannot grab, neither do DH. Seeing my puzzled face she repeated her words, but now in English.

“Sorry, I thought you were Filipino. ” She continued, “Where do you want to go?”.

“The mosque of Quiapo.” I uttered the word again. Trying to be exact this time.

“Sorry? I can’t hear you” she replied. The engine was too loud that I had to shout a bit. The driver overheard our conversation and slowed down. He turned to her and they started talking in their native language; while I and DH was totally lost. But my ears caught something sounds like ‘lepas’.

“Already lepas?” I interrupted, couldn’t  contain my patience any longer as every seconds were dragging us further from our destination. I pointed my fingers to the back of the jeepney hoping that my meaning of ‘lepas’ is similar to hers.

“Yes, lepas, lepas” she nodded vigorously. That sort of confirmed it. “You get off here, and walk back to the second stop” she finally said. Yup, we past that second stop about 10 minutes ago. She then said something to the driver, which immediately pulled off the jeepney by the side of the road. The driver looked worried, scratching his almost bald head as if feeling guilty for not letting us down at the right place.

“It’s okay,” I assured him.  “We can walk”. I smiled. Knowing it is not actually that far away, and again walking to us is always a great way of discovering something.

“You take care” said the lady, waving at us with concern look as we walked back to Quaipo. She reminded me of my mom, and suddenly I feel warm and safe by her words.

We walked along the corridor of some old shops and it was an interesting place. Colorful helmets lined up the shelves, and pirated DVDs being sold by the sidewalks. Speakers and amplifiers were stacked to the ceiling.  Sunglasses, leather shoes, belts, stylish metal lighters and fishing rods were flashing at every man that pasess  by. A fast walker I am; there were many times DH had to pulled me from behind to slow me down. He was excited with the surrounding, and had his focus distracted by the merchandise displayed along the way. 

Credit goes to source. I was too chicken to take out my point-and-shoot.

Being warned of Quiapo ill reputation, we carefully kept our camera inside the bag, and braved the streets like we really belong there. Off course the anxiety was there all the time – what if we were followed and robbed, what if we fall into a conman scam, what if that, what if this. But I try as much not to think of the bad things. Negative thinking after all, attracts negative event, no? So that quite explains why this entry was very wordy and less photographic. 

Muslim area in Quiapo, taken from the window of Maod Restaurant.

We detoured to the back alley after a few minutes walking, and the environment changed drastically.  All the thrifty goods were now replaced with some burka and muslim’s praying mats, and nasheed - a muslim song were feast to our ears. DH stopped by one of the stalls, gave a salam and asked for direction to the mosque. A beardy man with a kopiah (a muslim cap)  replied and asked almost instantenously if we are Malaysians. To our surprise, he directed us to walk further along the street in fluent Bahasa Melayu, with a hint of Sabahan.

We followed the man’s direction and finally saw the mosque gold colored dome in a distance. Since it was already past three, we decided to eat first by one of the restaurant before performing the jama’ prayers. The menu was chicken briyani; the look and taste was similar to the one we tasted in Bangkok. While I was doing the ordering, a few kids entered the restaurant and started begging the patrons for money. They were dirty and shoeless, and were mostly ignored by the folks there. I was hesistant too at first, as I was reminded of the syndicate that uses kids to get easy money. But when I saw how they gobbled at the left-overs given by one of the restaurant workers, I realized how wrong I was! It was a heart-breaking sight, and I lost my appetite. How could I eat while these kids, too young to face the hardship of this world, stood in hunger in front of me. I bought a few samosas and gave it to them which they grabbed and scrambled greedily at the corner of the restaurant. I wonder where their parents are.

It suddenly rained while we ate, so we idled a while observing the surrounding from the restaurant second floor. The once crowded street was now quiet. Laundry were hung to dry outside the shabby windows in between messy wires, and pedicab drivers took shelter inside their moto. A few people walked in the rain with their colorful payung.

 Kids playing on the water puddles after the rain. Well kids will always be kids.

DH in front of the Golden Mosque of Quiapo, the largest mosque in Metro Manila. The construction was initiated in 1976 by the former First Lady Imelda Marcos to welcome the visits of Libya’s President Muammar al-Gadaffi, although the engagement was later called off.

We left the muslim settlement and crosses over to Plaza Miranda via the underpass,  which eventually bursting with people. It was very difficult to walk without bumping into another person. Apparently there is a market under the bridge, selling fake jeweleries, beads, handicrafts to immitation bags and clothings and that was the reason for all the ruckus. I later learned  that the market is known as sa ilalim ng tulay which simply means ‘under-the-bridge’. Again we were too chicken to take out the camera in fear of being recognized as tourists, so just imagine the market as any typical night markets you have ever been in South East Asia.

The commotion was all the way out of the underpass, covering the vast expanse of Plaza Miranda up to Carriendo street and Hidalgo. The alfresco market was more of a wet market, where fish, vegetables, fruits and flowers were sold side-by-side with plastic-wrapped St. Nino figurines and Virgin Mary, dizzying arrays of colorful anting-antings, rosaries and talismans. Herbal concoctions and medicinal remedies were stacked on a makeshift stall next to a row of candles and scented incenses. At one corner there was a congregation of faith healers, palm readers and fortune tellers, providing service to those seeking the spiritual salvation.  The hymn of prayers from the nearby church which was intesified through the instalment of huge flat-screen LCD tv added to the loudness and vibrancy. With all the talking and bargaining, laughing and chanting – it was like a fiesta. 

Vendors selling local delicacy,  and they look similar with Kuih Celorot I found in Kuching, Sarawak . I tried searching for balut, but couldn’t find any. Perhaps I was not looking properly.

The Minor Basilica of the Black Nazarene at Plaza Miranda. Mass was in session, and the place was crowded with devout Catholics and market goers.

Couple at Rizal Park

We milled around Plaza Miranda and the nearby cellphone mall (DH was looking for earphones), while I lost myself around Hidalgo street (I was in heaven!) before taking a jeepney back to Malate.  En route we decided to stop by the Rizal Park and walked up to the gigantic statue of Lapu-Lapu (The Sentinel of Freedom) before it started to rain again. We ran back to the main road thinking of taking a jeepney back to the hostel, but apparently Manila was on its worst time of the day – all the vehicles were stuck on a really bad traffic that walking seemed to be the fastest mode. So that was how we finally end our second day in Manila: walking in the rain all the way from Rizal Park to our Inn in Adriatico street, arriving cold and drenched from head to toes. 

Fortunately we didn’t encounter any mishap during our brief escapade to Quiapo, and I could say that like the typhoon of Kai Tak, the danger of Quiapo was overly exaggerated. That off course, with due respect that all safety measures have been taken into consideration. 

To the southern bank of Pasig River there’s an old Spaniard city built within a fortress. Nicknamed “Intramuros” which in Latin literally means “within a wall”, the city was founded by the Spanish explorer Miguel López de Legazpi circa 16th century, on the site of the Islamic Malay Kingdom of Maynila. It had become the capital and seat of Spanish sovereignty in Asia until it was surrendered to the Americans post Spanish-American War in 1898, and by the end of WWII most of the structures in the city had been decimated along with 100,000 Filipinos. Restored as one of Philippines historical site and national heritage, Intramuros is now a tourist spot and home to several Universities.

Going to Intramuros on our second day, we took a jeepney heading to Quaipo and got off by the Manila City Hall. The fare was a standard Php8 per person and you could just pass the money to the next person seated near you. It is a common understanding between jeepney riders;  the money will be passed from one to another until it reaches the driver, which by then will ask of your whereabouts and return the change the exact same way. It reminds me on our public van ride in Hatyai and the Angkot in Indonesia.  

From Manila City Hall we crossed the street via the underpass, and a after a short walk past the golf-course we arrived at one of the Intramuros gate, known as Puertas. During its heyday the city was surrounded by brick and moat, and entrance to the city was passable through a drawbridge which opened and closed at dawn and before midnight. Pedicabs, motorbikes, cars and pedestrians now cross freely over the asphalt road of present day Intramuros.

We decided to explore Intramuros from Fort Santiago, the furthest end of the city where most of the historical buildings are located. It was quite a walk from where we stood, so we flagged a pedicab. The driver was asking 40 pesos for the one way trip, and considering it was a good bargain we accepted his offer. 

En route we bypassed the Puerta de Isabel II and the many bastions (aka baluarte) before stopping by an old neoclassical ruin, of which our talkative driver mentioned ‘Aduana’. From his tour brochure we learnt that ‘Aduana’ is a Custom House that governed the taxes of merchants’ imports and exports during the Spanish period, and one of a few that survived the wars. Later the building was used as ‘Intendencia’ (central administration) by the Spanish, and converted into a mint by the Americans (Casa de Moneda) post WWII. The 1979 fire however destroyed most of its structure and the then impressive building was now left to its crumbling state. 

A peek inside the grilled windows of the once magnificent Aduana, now covered in shrubberies and moss.

We proceed from Aduana and within minutes arrived at the manicured lawn of Plaza Moriones, the entrance to Fort Santiago.  I pulled Php40 from my wallet and handed it to the driver, which suddenly asked for a double. He said that I had misheard him when reminded of the amount we had settled earlier.

“I remember correctly you said Php40 to deliver us to Fuerza de Santiago!” I said hotly. I know it was petty to quarrel about the mere Php40 that will do more good to him than us, but I felt cheated and it raged me.

“But it was a long way and you stopped for photos, so it is a different charge” he tried to justify.

It was just a 5 minutes photo stop and with that he was able to catch his breath, but that fact has been manipulated against us. I was about to argue but seeing his tired looking face and dimmed gaze I suddenly felt ashamed of myself. DH looked at me with puzzling eyes, but he didn’t say anything. My eyes rested on the driver, while his gaze fell on his dirty feet. He was thin and small, and thinking back how hard it must be pulling the pedicab under the hot sun with the two of us inside, I took out another two yellow notes and gave it to him. He looked at me with the unspeakable Salamat Po,  took the money and cycled away.

We paid the Php75 entrance fee at the ticket counter, and were given a pamphlet with map. Fort Santiago was just across the promenade, but my attention was distracted by these cute lanterns hanging from the trees at Plaza Moriones. 

The execution of Gomburza at Plaza Moriones. Gomburza is actually acronym of Father Mario Gomez, Jose Burgos and Friar Zamora –  they were the three Filipino priests that first evoked the nationalist spirit of the Philippines, and the inspiration to Jose Rizal. 

Sleepy kalesa driver, in front of the US military barracks next to Plaza Moriones.

The gate of Fort Santiago across the man-made moat, a look alike with the one we have back in Malacca built by the Portuguese.

Fort Santiago was once a fortified military post built by de Legazpi  as part of the Intramuros defensive structure. The site originally belongs to the Islamic king of Rajah Sulayman, which has been taken over by Spanish after the colonization of Philippines. It was also the place where Philippines national hero, Dr. Jose P.  Rizal was imprisoned prior to his execution in 1896.

 Inside the fort was the bronze-plated foot step of Jose Rizal, that represent his final walks from the prison cell to the execution site in Luneta.

The statue of Jose P. Rizal in Fort Santiago. A patriot that reformed the conventional thinking of the Philippines and support the Filipino nationalism against the Spanish colonization through his writings. 

Facing the statue is the Rizal Shrine, a memorial built on the Spanish military barracks where Rizal was incarcerated, and home to various memorabilia belongs to the nationalist. 

Ruins of the Spanish barracks, next to Rizal Shrine.

 Old candles at Rizal Shrine in Manila.

 DH and our new friend at Rizal Shrine.

A mural illustrating the execution of Rizal hung at the wall inside the shrine.

We entered the dark Chamber of Text quartered at ground floor, which dedicated to Rizal’s  photos, manuscripts, books and artworks. His masterpiece and the main reason for his death penalty, the excerptions of “Noli Me Tangere” (The Social Cancer) - a novel he so boldly written condemning the Philippines catholic church for their support of Spanish colonization was imprinted on the black pillars in five different languages.

From the Chamber of Text we wandered to the pantry and store room, where replica of Rizal’s prison cell was setup. Some of Rizal’s last words were etched on the surrounding walls.

A doctor by profession, Rizal tended to his patients if he’s not busied with writing the anti-Spanish movement articles. This painting was hung at the stair on the way to Reliquary Room at second floor, where Rizal’s artifacts inclusive a piece of bone with bullet hole were kept.

The notable Mi Último Adiós – the last poem written by Jose Rizal on the eve of his execution on 30th December 1896. The poem was secretly written and was found by his family concealed in a small alcohol stove, shortly after his death. 

Exiting the shrine we walked along the walled passageway that connects with the Baluarte de Santa Barbara, a bastion that once protect the entrance of the Pasig River, now facing the booming Manila.

Another view of Pasig River from the Falsabraga de St. Barbara, the tip most wall of Fort Santiago.

Powder Magazine of  Baluarte de St. Barbara. 

Initially all the ammunitions were kept in the storage vaults down below, but due to its dampness it was relocated to the new powder magazine on top of the baluarte.  The dungeons were then used as prison cells.

Street lamps on our way out of Fort Santiago. 

Walking across Plaza de Roma we arrived at the Manila Cathedral. Also known as the Basilica of the Immaculate Conception, this building was the eighth reconstruction of the original building, which had survived several earthquakes, typhoon and war.

Pedicab drivers waiting for passengers behind the Manila Cathedral. I think I’ll walk this time.

Colorful Palacio del Sana at Cabildo Street.

Escaping the embattling ambience of the Spanish fort and dungeons, we sought refuge at the warm and beautiful Casa Manila at General Luna Street. Rebuilt by Philippines First Lady Imelda Marcos in 1980, the museum let us experienced the lifestyle of the Spanish high society during the colonization era. From the antique furniture and crystal chandeliers, to the intricate renaissance drawings of angles and cherubim that usually adorns the ceilings of the Roman chapels - I’m thinking of moving here!

The door knocker at Casa Manila, with Roman impression.

Courtyard of Casa Manila, the only place where photo is allowed.

DH at the door of San Augustin Church, the oldest church in Philippines and UNESCO world heritage site. 

 A street in Intramuros.

A window at Baluarte de San Andres, a bastion named after St. Andrew, brother to the apostle St. Peter. It was  designed to protect the Puerta Real and southeastern part of Intramuros.

 From Baluarte de San Andres we took a walk along the parapet, a path that in the past was beaten with marching army.

Walking along the Intramuros southeastern perimeter we were brought back to the Baluarte de San Francisco de Dilao, our initial starting point. Surrounded by Philippines University, Mapua Institute of Technology and Manila High School, the bastion where the Spanish artillero would stand to shoot is now teeming with students.

That was the end of our tour to Intramuros.

End of August was a stressing week for me – cleaning the house for the coming Eid-ul Fitri celebration (muslim major celebration that marks the end of Ramadan, the holy fasting month), rushing to finish my work before the long holiday begin  and preparing for my next trip to the Philippines. While everybody was on their Eid-frenzy shopping  mode at Masjid India in KL, I on the other hand was busy scouting the money changers with Peso’s best selling rate. It has been over a month after my last trip to Saigon, but my daily routine had kept me occupied most of the time that I haven’t had much time to study about the country. Some info about Manila I managed to dig out last minute from the web - mostly travel cautions from the locals and fellow travellers didn’t help much either, and the news of the recent typhonic Kai-Tak engulfing central and northern Luzon had made it worst. A Pinay I met in Masjid India told me that situation in Manila was not as bad as portrayed, but her words alone couldn’t convince me. Fear that I’d to  drop the trip altogether, I rang the embassy for reconfirmation. The lady who picked up the call was kind enough to redirect me to their National Disaster & Risk Reduction Management Council’s website. It is informative and the stats had me rest assured.

We finally arrived to a beautiful morning at Diosdado Macapagal International Airport in Pampanga, Clark while everyone back in Malaysia was still celebrating Raya. Surprisingly (and to our relief), there was no sign of typhoon anywhere, not even a single drop of rain. The sky was bright, and we could see the Pinatubo clearly from afar. Immigration went on smoothly, and for a certain reason the local custom restrict the non-declared cash to Php10,000 per passenger only. I accidentally read about it while searching for info, and made sure we comply to the bit. Philippines is not the country I would like to mess with.

From the airport we took a bus to Pasay City in Metro Manila. The fare is Php450, which is equivalent to RM35 per person. If the budget allows, it is advisable to land in NAIA. It will save you the 2 hours travelling time.

Diosdado Macapagal International Airport, shortname DMIA, an ex-US military air base abandoned in 1991 following the eruption of Pinatubo. It is now a second international airport in Manila serving local routes and budget airlines.

Vast land of greens with the cloud-capped Pinatubo standing guard, accompanying our journey to Metro Manila. Except the look of the people and a hint of similarity in the language, Philippines doesn’t feel so much Asian to us. I had a difficult time digesting the Spanish name of the towns and the streets on our way to the town center and a constant bump into every Juan, Miguel and Alejandro had me forget that I was actually a distance away from Sabah.

 Malate area in Metro Manila.

Arriving at Pasay Bus Terminal we take a cab to Adriatico street in Malate (pronounced “Melati”) and it was super-expensive. We were asked Php250 for such short ride, but after the strenous four hours in the plane plus another two hours by bus, we were too tired to argue. We did checked with a few others, all of them flagging the same fare. Nobody wants to use the meter anyway.

“Cannot madam, it’s too far” was their common feedbacks.

So I guessed that price might be the standard here, and hesitantly jumped into the back seat. As the cab droved past the busy streets of Manila, my eyes caught sight of the nearby gas station. A signage that reads ‘Unleaded : Php60 per litre’ staring back at me. I rest my case.

Our room at Adriatico Pensionne Inn. This photo was taken at the door (the only possible angle), so you could imagine how tiny it was.

Twenty minutes later the cab pulled in by the roadside of Adriatico street. I was undecided to where we should spend the night actually, but my instinct was telling me to look around Malate. Mentioned in LP and Wiki as one of the recommended budget hostel in the area, we decided to check out the Malate Pensionne. The entrance was hidden behind the big green Starbuck signage, with a few gypsum boards, plasters and construction materials obstructing the way – a sign that renovation was in progress. I wasn’t sure but the doorman has already open the door for us, and it was rude to turn back. The inside was much better and the ambience no doubt hispanic. A gigantic painting of a Filipino family clad in Maria Clara and Barong Tagalog - all prim and proper; hung at the wall next to the stair. From the receptionist lady we found out that all standard rooms have been taken, and the cheapest they have at the moment was a deluxe at Php1400. I must have been spoilt by all the pampering I got back in Saigon that my spirit crashed upon seeing the room. It was a small windowless room of about 10 square feet, with the super single bed fully occupied the space. The damp and musty, wood smell of old furniture hit my nose. The corridor was dimly lit, and the floor beneath us squeaks at our every steps.

“It must be pretty creepy at night”, I said to myself.

We returned to the lobby, thanked the lady and excused ourselves. Wandering aimlessly for the next 20 minutes we finally arrived at the Adriatico Pensionne Inn. My 50-litre rucksack was weighing me down and we had already missed lunch, so we decided to hit the place. The room was more or less in the same tacky condition, but at least it was cheaper – half the price offered by Malate Pensionne inclusive breakfast and free laundry. Robinson, LRT and halal joints are within radius thus made the location a bit strategic. I wouldn’t recommend it to the fussy though. Hostel 1632 next door is an option to consider if you are not travelling on a shoestring.

Briyani in Malate. After a short nap we looked for food and my readings of the map directed me to this halal joint not far from our lodging. The price was fair, and a plate of briyani was actually enough for two.

Considering that it was already ten past five, we find it was best to stick around Malate. A short walk from Ghazal Restaurant we arrived at the polluted Manila Bay. Two ‘bronze’ men was enjoying the view at one of the bench there, and we joined them.

A bunch of kids frolicking in the polluted water of Manila Bay, while a man scraping the trash infested seaside looking for anything recycleable that’s worth selling.

A man with his day ‘catches’. I was hoping to see the sunset, but it was cloudy and the sea was rough, indicating of a coming storm. The non-stop pushing by the kalesa driver despite several polite refusals  was bothering us too, made us left the place even sooner.

DH at Manila Bay, and the pushy kalesa driver doing his round.

Later that night we spent our time browsing retail outlets at the Robinson and checking out the bookstore for some postcards.  Oh, did I mentioned that most of the shops here are well guarded with armed securities, which perform thorough body check at the entrance? Even their seven-eleven is not an exception. Manila crime index is quite high that I didn’t even bother bringing the DSLR. Walking after dark should be avoided especially  in the red district area, and it is advisable not to trust anyone. A lady we met at the LRT station in Cubao even warned us about this when we asked for directions. Not that I say KL is all safe. Crime is a cancer that looms every city. I totally blamed poverty, and money after all is the root of all evil. Just don’t give crime a chance to harm you.

Apart from that I was grateful that we didn’t venture into any unfortunate event throughout our trip. With guards at every door who would say that I was sleepless in Manila?

That, except for the few tiny crawly bed bugs.

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