Leaving the Philippines

August 16, 2011

Lewis, our couch surfing host, had to go to his first day of work. He left early and gave us the key. Now that I had finally tried balut, seen a cockfight and sang lots of karaoke, I felt like we could leave the Philippines. We would be leaving in the afternoon to go to the airport. Unfortunately, though, Lise was feeling as bad as the day before. She had a high fever and intense muscle aches. There wasn’t much she could do but take the paracetemol and get rest. We were so fortunate to have Lewis’s hospitality. It was a complicated situation because we had to arrange a hiding spot for his key. We would leave before he returned from work, but he welcomed us to hang out in his place all day. This was a godsend for Lise. She spent most of the day sleeping, while I hung around the apartment, also relaxing. Unfortunately because we had both gotten sick, we had not gotten to experience much of Manila. I had been excited to see the chaos of this notorious metropolis, but it wasn’t meant to be.

Luckily when was time for us to leave, Lise was feeling a little better, but not great. Getting to the airport would be a major transport adventure. To save money, we were flying from Angeles, an hour north of Manila. To save more money, we would be taking a jeepney, a light rail a bus and a tricycle to get there. I estimated that we could make it there in three hours, which, in reality was optimistic, as we would be doing it around rush hour.

Finding the correct jeepney to get to the light rail was a bit tricky, especially with our enormous backpacks. It took us a lot of walking and asking around, but we eventually found it. It took us to a short walk from the light rail. We were already behind schedule, so the huge crowds around the light rail were frustrating. We climbed a couple flights of stairs and found a huge line to get through security. When we finally got to the front, they took a surprisingly long time going through my backpack, having me take out a lot of stuff, only to repack it all afterward. When we got to the ticket booth, we found that we had come to the wrong side of the station. We had to fight back through the crowds, go down the two flights of stairs, cross the huge boulevard with a concrete barrier in the middle, and climb the two flights of stairs again. Then there was security again. They searched our bags thoroughly before lettings us through.

The crowded light rail was sweaty, and hauling our bags wasn’t making it any easier. When we arrived at our stop, we found ourselves in an overwhelming mess of wide, crowded streets, pedestrian mobs, and a maze of catwalk-like pedestrian overpasses. Somehow we asked directions to the bus station from a woman who was going on the same bus that we wanted, so she invited us to follow her. We walked up stairst onto suspended walking platforms that crossed large intersections and continued above sidewalks. We seemed to twist, turn, ascend and descend so many times that there was no way we could have done this without her. As soon as we reached the station, we saw our bus getting ready to leave. There were three spots left, so we hopped on and continued on our way. Now we could breathe easy.

I was not so excited to pass through Angeles. It is the prostitution capital of the Philippines, with an estimated 10,000 sex workers. It is estimated that before the American military left the country there were about 100,000 women employed in the city. Needless to say, I did not want to linger here. We tried to get a tricycle to take us to the airport, but the drivers near the station were demanding too many pesos. After a walk around some of the streets, we discovered we could take a jeepney to the airport for far cheaper.

At the tiny terminal, we found our check-in counter (the only one open) and stood in line. I had tried the day before to change my baggage allowance online. When I bought the ticket, I had purchased 15 kg worth of bag. I had realized that I would definitely need more. Unfortunately, it seemed difficult or maybe impossible to adjust this on the website. When my bag was weighed, it came out to 23 kg (50 lbs.). I was told that would be an additional $75. I explained that I had tried to change it online, and she said that changing online was impossible (obviously so you would get grossly overcharged at the counter). Lise took over, arguing assertively that this did not make any sense, and I should only have to pay the difference that I would have paid online (about $7). Perhaps it was from the leftover stress from our journey to the airport, but Lise got impressively angry, leaving the attendant unsure of what to do. So we took the opportunity to start unloading my bag, and moving my heaviest items into Lise’s bag and my carryon. The attendant saw that this was going to be a bigger hassle than she wanted to deal with and the line behind us was growing. She gave in and said to repack my bag and send it through, warning me that next time I needed to remember to buy my bag online next time.

Next we had to pay an unexpected “airport fee” of 750 pesos (close to $20). We had already gotten rid of most of our pesos and there was no ATM at the airport, so we tried our luck making a big angry scene at this booth as well, since we had never heard of this (and usually this fee is included in the ticket prices). The man in charge of collecting the money would not budge. He never got rude (although we may have crossed the line), he just apologized and smiled, saying we could change US dollars nearby. We claimed not to have any dollars, but he still wouldn’t give us a break. We were forced to go find the money changer. The rate was not good, nor was it negotiable. I changed enough for both of us to get through. Somehow I had accumulated handfuls of peso coins, and used this opportunity of bitterness to unload all of them with the man at the “airport fee” booth. As he counted the pile of coins, he seemed to actually think it was kind of funny.

The waiting area was predictably appalling. As we were going between two of the world’s major sex industries, Manila and Bangkok, we were surrounded by some of the world’s sleaziest. Lise was the only (seriously, the only) white female taking this flight. About two thirds of the people were white men (most middle-aged or older and overweight) while the other third were young (at least half the age of most of the men) Asian women on the arm of one of the men. Some men were traveling with multiple women. Most of the foreigners we had seen in the Philippines were of this sort, but seeing them in such volume in an enclosed space was truly depressing. At one point I saw what was most certainly a father-son sex tourism vacation. The father in his fifties had a girl in her twenties, while the son, in his twenties had a girl that I hope was in her twenties. I ignorantly wondered why so many of the men shaved their heads, while Lise pointed out that it was to seem younger. They all were yearning for a time when they were younger and being free and wild was more accepted. Most of them had tattoos and a large gut, a symbol of their hedonistic consumption. Everyone acted like it was all normal, while Lise and I felt awkward. As much as we had avoided traditional backpacker hangouts, we actually looked forward to getting to Bangkok, where tourists of all varieties flock, and the sex tourism, while still huge, tends dissolves into the mix.