El Viejo Viajero Goes to Manila, PH: #2

Manila Manila reminds me of nothing so much as Bangkok, Thailand, where I’ve also spent much time and energy. And if the bars and prostitution are the starkest reminder of that, then the signs are also much in evidence elsewhere: the street food and the street scene most notably. The biggest differences lie in Manila’s relatively less development and the lower tourist numbers to match. Part of that could be the Philippines more remote location, and then there’s the greater poverty. There’s also the relative difference in their response to the Chinese presence, but be sure that they both have Chinatowns, Jake. Then there’s Makati, Ermita, old town Intramuros and still more, but they’re all crowded, as the inflated family sizes would indicate, one of the largest outside Africa. But this is the first time I’ve been in Manila in more than a decade, and it doesn’t seem to have changed very much, which is good, I suppose, but I’m not sure. I see parts of Thailand transforming before my eyes, but that’s harder to find in the Philippines. But I’ve hardly seen it all. Ermita is about all I remember of Manila from my previous 2013 visit, and none of that was very complimentary. So, this time I resolved to do some things differently. Firstly, and mostly, that means checking out some new neighborhoods. Halfway interested in seeing a Manila version of Cebu’s Sinulog, I kept my eyes and ears open to that possibility. But, alas and alack, I never really found much there, so I moved on to other things. Since I was staying in Pasay, near the airport, a side trip to Makati was easy enough, and I’d never been there, so that’s where I went, to see the Weekend Market, which is well established enough to have some very positive feedback. And it’s a long walk, BUT... It’s probably worth it, even if the headlines are not spectacular and the balls of my feet are plotting revenge. Pasay, where I'm staying, is little more than a glorified bus terminal in close proximity to a rather shambolic airport best left forgotten. But Makati is more than that, I’m happy to report. If the Philippines comes across as shabby sometimes, at best, and sleazy other times, at worst, that’s not the full picture. And Makati is full proof of that, as the Weekend Market shows. Because this is something that would be right at home at any of my previous adopted centers of chosen existence in the US, whether Boulder, Portland, Berkeley, Flagstaff, Tucson, or Hollywood, whether in the simple fact that they have a hipster market, or in the chosen manifestations of such. Because here do you not only have smoothies and tofu, but you also have tacos and Thai food. And while that’s not totally unusual, it’s not very common, either. But wait, you say. No tacos in the Philippines? Weren’t they a Spanish colony for three hundred years? Yes, they were and probably much closer in many ways to Mexico than to Spain itself. But Mexican food is rare here, and good Mexican food even rarer. I blame it on the beans—and rice, the first of which they don’t love, and the second of which they do. Reverse those relative percentages, and the results might be very different. That’s my theory, anyway. Fried chicken is very popular, haha. Arab and Turkish ‘wraps’ are popular now, too, so the door is wide open for burritos, hint hint. Tortilla chips do have some presence in the marketplace, too, but not corn tortillas, only flour. Chinatown is a disappointment, but that says as much for the name as the reality. Because when you name a neighborhood ‘chinatown’, that means that there is a local Chinese community, but they haven’t really been assimilated. And that’s the reason that that name is more common outside of Asia than within. And so they typically respond with souvenir shops in that case, and half-breed restaurants, but not much else. So, you find them in Mexico City, Lima, Havana, even Guatemala, but not Phnom Penh, KL, Hanoi, or even Bangkok, unless you count Yaowarat, which has only recently picked up that name as a marketing blurb after decades, even centuries, doing just fine without it. Indonesia has laws against anything Chinese. They ain’t Malaysia, hint hint. But the fact that somebody decided in 1954 to make the neighborhood of Binondo in Manila the world’s first Chinatown speaks volumes. For better or worse, today it doesn't look very Chinese-y at all, which is good, if that really means ‘cheesy’, all too often the case where it’s gift shop cliches. Intramuros is where most of the real historic drama of the Philippines took place, the Spanish conquest and eventual loss to America. Because even if Magellan did his thing in Cebu, Manila has long been the dominant city in the Philippines and the Tagalog-speaking region which has always ruled. So, that means there was Intramuros, ‘inside the walls’, and ‘extra muros’, what lies outside the walls. And the two don’t really mix. So, if you want to see the Intramuros, then that will take special effort. You don’t casually wander into Intramuros. For one thing, there’s no motorized transportation there. And for another thing, it’s enclosed by walls, right? But once inside, it’s a colonial gem that likes of which even Lima or Mexico City would have trouble competing with. That means there’s Manila Cathedral, Fort Santiago, San Agustin Church, Baluarte (bulwark) de San Diego, Casa Manila, Museo de Intramuros, and more, all from the comfort of your bamboo bike or muscle-powered trike, as the case may be, all with no motors. You can walk it, but that will be a full day, even though the entrance is not so far from the MRT. Manila is sprawling and shambolic in the Asian fashion, centrality not the operative concept, shared transportation terminals the stuff of travelers’ dreams. As it is, individual terminals are scattered about and around, and so are the other functions of the city. Intramuros is the ancient Spanish heart, the area long enclosed by its eponymous walls and something of a museum at present. It’s pretty nice. Ditto for Chinatown, laid out sprawling across the river with not much more than a few red lanterns to define its presence. Just a guess, but I don’t think the Filipinos—and Filipinas—need a red lantern to tell them where and how to do business. I think they’ve probably got a natural instinct for it. Still “the Chinese” have always specialized in doing Asia’s business, and it’s no different here. Here the difference is that they maintain their separateness from the local population, something not the case in Thailand, where after a generation or two, they’ve somehow “become Thai, so that’s okay,” and Chinatowns as such don’t really exist. Sure, they’ll take you to Yaowarat Road in Bangkok, but if there’s a “friendship arch” by now and epicanthic roof line eye-folds, it’s strictly for tourist consumption. Any urban core in Thailand could pass for Chinatown in the Philippines, that being about the only other difference between the two cultures. Genetically I’d wager they’re darn near identical, along with the other half-dozen or so countries that comprise SE Asia, a region that includes as many languages and every major religion in the world. So Manila is pieced and patched together without much order or too many ordinances, the law of survival pretty much the operative concept. It transforms itself at night, when the antique shops fade into the background and entertainment takes center stage. The bright lights come on—no brownouts, guaranteed, indeed—and young girls in Catholic-girl-school uniform (that’s not fair!) line the entrances to what lies inside. I can guess. At this point in my life I don’t even want to look at the four-color brochures of the touts and taxistas, letting my fingers do the walking and talking to inform them of my intent. One guy on a perch simulates eating a banana air-guitar-style for my benefit—he looks like a monkey—but I ignore the suggestion. I get it, but I’m not hungry. Sex in these parts has been variously described as a commodity on a shelf ripe for selection, or maybe a catalog item available for order, but I’m here to tell you that those reports are false. It’s more like fast food, actually, eat-in or takeout, billing options negotiable. Would you like fries with that? How about something to drink? Don’t forget your condiments! Still it all seems so sanitary and pre-packaged that it must be intended for high-brow Japanese and Korean consumption, an emotion seconded by the food selections available in the neighborhood. So I take another turn down a darker street, like tractor beam GPS honing in on the familiar. I finally find it, three dingy GI bars strung together with raucous blaring music, full of Western foreigners and bar-girls in T-shirts and blue jeans! Any comment would be superfluous. Tomorrow I go to Baguio.