Asia Lite: Part I

Filipino Jeepny

Greetings, from the Philippines!

While John is off bringing this island nation clean water, Miles and I are on something of a field trip. Weeee!

In true tag-along fashion I do no homework to prepare for the trip and know next to nothing about Manila, except it's one "l" not two. We stay in Bonafacio Global City (BGC), one of several newish developments in the capital city. When I say "development", what I mean is "an actual city". I count twelve high rises under construction within eye shot of our hotel. Manila is booming.



Bonafacio Global City

In BGC everything feels new and - I quickly realize - oddly familiar. It turns out Filipinos have an affinity for the United States and all things American, the legacy of a brief stint as a U.S. territory following the Spanish-American war. It's not just their crisp English (which is heaven-sent after two months spending most of my mental capacity struggling to be understood in Indonesian). I stop on a street corner and realize I'm standing between Old Navy and IHOP. It's like Tampa here, with sky scrapers. The roads are laid out in a grid. There are functioning crosswalks. The locals LOVE basketball. Bacon appears on every menu. A bar's chalk board reads: "Alcohol does not make you Fat! It makes you Lean...against tables, chairs, floors, walls & ugly people." Nope. We are most certainly not in Jakarta any more.

Asia-lite. That's how John describes it. I'm a little surprised to find myself very, very excited about all of this. Was I homesick and didn't know it? Armed with some local currency, the first thing I buy is a bag of Cheetos.

But Manila really endears itself to me when - after purchasing a local SIM card at a little telecom store - the lady clerk says to me, "I like your nose, ma'am". Oh, where were you when I was 14!

Of course, not all of Manila looks like BGC and not all of the Philippines looks like South Florida. This is a country, afterall, that televises cock fighting.

I'm determined to emerge from the Americana bubble and see some of the city. But Manila is massive and I'm dealing with the attention span of a five-month old. Where to start? I let my priority-compass guide us, which is how we end up in Marikina City, Manila's shoe district.



Shoe Museum

We search out the Marikina Shoe Museum because I think it's important to Miles' development to see Imelda Marcos' shoe collection. About 800 of her 3,000 pairs are in the museum. It's a tiny place; you can see the entire collection in about 10 minutes, especially since the majority consists of duplicates of the exact same pair in every color. I count about 40 pairs of house slippers...in blue. But the museum also has shoes donated from various politicians, even a ballerina. It's kind of adorable.

We find a little cafe. I order a giant plate of deliciousness. I admire Manila's wide array of motorized transportation options, most of which I won't experience because that would make me an irresponsible parent.



Single serving

There are amazingly colorful buses called Jeepnys, classic American Jeeps extended like limousines and painted like they were featured on MTV's Pimp My Ride. And there are "tricycles", or motorcycles with steel side cars for 2-4 people. Based on the clearance of the side car roofs, they are decidedly not meant for tall people.

Miles and I call Edmund, the taxi driver who brought us to the museum. He is sweet to Miles but is surprised that I only have one child. He lets me know he has five. I feel my uterus cry a little. But Edmund is lovely and shows me a name painted on his cab comprised of letters from the names of his kids. Also adorable.

Our trip to Marikina is our only cultural excursion for the week. I spend the remainder of my time in Manila popping into Lush because I've forgotten face wash and buying John a new moleskin notebook at the giant bookstore that looks just like a Barnes and Noble. Oh, and I stock up on Ziplocks, because a box costs $10.99 in Jakarta.