Dirty Digs in Cebu City

August 4, 2011

We arrived in Cebu City, the Philippines’ second city, around 9:00 PM. We had taken enough looks at the map to have a good idea of how to get downtown from the port on foot. The Lonely Planet suggests that you should not stay downtown as it is very difficult to find something acceptably clean, even if it is only $2. They suggest to go uptown and spend about 5x as much. That sounded like sane advice in hindsight, but it still didn’t convince us, and the thought of $2 rooms sounded pretty nice.

When we finally stumbled into the downtown area after wandering around lost for a while, we could get an immediate feel for the sketchiness. Nothing good seemed to be going on after dark in this part of town. There seemed to be quite a few rough looking hotels, so we picked one. Indeed, they had rooms for $2, but they said they were full. I actually believed them at the time, but now I just realized that having foreigners staying in brothels made the staff a little nervous. Another hotel nearby told us they were also full and directed us to the hotel we had just come from. Then we went to one with a big garish sign that seemed attached to a night club. They advertised “theme rooms” and a “Mexican room” for $4. We didn’t know what a Mexican room, but the receptionist told us it was for “members only”. We didn’t want to know what it took to become a member.

We started to get worried, but then we stumbled into another fleapit that was being operated by a few giggly guys in their young 20s They were surprised to see us wanting a room, and their amusement seemed to lead them to be more open to letting us stay there. The cost was about $3 for the tiny room. As we put our things down, the guys got immediately into hospitality mode. They enthusiastically got us fresh sheets, and one of them asked if we wanted a cabinet. I didn’t understand, but said, “sure! Let’s have a cabinet”. The cabinet actually had a lock on it, so that was very reassuring that they thinking of our safety. I doubted other people got locked cabinets. Then one of the guys arrived with a spray bottle with a mysterious liquid in it. He started spraying it on the walls and the door jam, smiling and saying “No more germs! No more germs! Make it clean! Everything’s cleans.” It was as if they acknowledged that this place was filthy and they felt bad for us staying there. They made me feel really comfortable in this rough part of town.

We didn’t linger, though, and just headed right outside. It was the kind of place that is chaotic and busy during the day, but due to safety concerns can barely support any but the most immoral or low-budget businesses at night. Brothels, McDonalds, a couple of dirty-looking nightclubs and a produce market were all that remained in our vicinity. When we exited, we walked past a row of scruffy horses with wounds and disease that were attached to carts for local transportation. Down the dark street, dozens of people slept on the sidewalk next to or on top of large piles of garbage. A little further on we approached a market. Before we got there, I saw a man bring his daughter out next to the sidewalk where there was an exposed sewer drain so she could relieve herself. I don’t think I have ever seen a market quite like this. It seemed that the only reason it was open at this hour was that entire families lived at this market, so the best way to keep their goods safe was to keep it open 24 hours. More than half of the people at the market were sleeping on various surfaces around the produce displays. Most everything was being sold off the ground. Nobody had stalls. It was 11 PM and it was clear that this was a 24 hour market. It was hard to imagine an entire family’s life existing in such a small space. Their little territory was there home, their business. What I saw around downtown Cebu that night shocked me. It was probably the worst urban poverty I have seen outside of Kolkata.

We needed to get out. It was hard to find a place to eat, but somewhere there was a tiny food court. Of course there was karaoke, which we were quickly becoming addicted to. We got a couple of cheap burgers, a beer and waited our turn for karaoke. Then we walked and surprisingly found a strip of nightclubs with a youthful vibe. Most of them were girly bars, but one of them seemed chock full of college student age people. This was appealing to us, since most of our nightlife had been the equivalent of Midwest saloons or dive bars. Of course, when we got in, we were a little disappointed. First, the beer was too expensive, and they didn’t sell them in the large liter bottles. Those are probably looked down upon by the more classy segment of society. Also, everyone was so well-dressed and into their image. It is probably the same materialistic vibe as you would get in any night club in the world. Still, it was nice to hear some different music on a quality sound system, even if we didn’t go to the dance floor (that would have meant a $2 cover). As we finished our small beer, a young Filipino guy invited himself to our table. The place was crowded and we had some of the only seats left. Then he bought a bucket of beers and insisted we dive in. His girlfriend came over, though she wasn’t drinking. This was one of the few places that we did see women, particularly young women, drinking freely, so we were disappointed that she was not joining in with us. She seemed really shy, which contrasted this guy’s extroverted behavior. He was a nice guy, but he was too drunk to get very far into the bucket of beers. We also quickly realized that we saw things very different from him and he had the kind of upper class arrogance one might expect from people at this club. As dirty and classless as we were, he was probably happy to be seen hanging out with westerners. He was using us for this, and so we didn’t feel bad drinking his beers. We wouldn’t have even stayed otherwise. I am always amazed at how much about nightlife is about showing off. At least it is possible to have an unpretentious night out dancing in America, but in much of the third world, it is just impossible (though I would say it is possible in West Africa).

We slept in the next morning, having little ambition to get out. We were considering leaving to the neighborhood for the more middle class “uptown”, but it just made sense to stay. When I went out to the reception to pay for another night, there was a different staff. They asked if we wanted another 12 hours. I said, no I want another night. They told me the price was per 12 hours. I explained that the night before we had checked in for a night, not a 12-hours. Their English quickly deteriorated in a manner that seemed intentional. They turned into a broken record just repeating their “12-hour” price innocently, no matter what arguments I made. I went and got Lise. She is good in these situations, but she didn’t get any farther. The guy was being completely ridiculous, though maybe he was simply annoyed at his late-night staff at letting us stay there. Finally, Lise said, “So, do you just want us to leave?” The two men looked at each other and just said, “yes,” nodding their heads. Bitterly we went back to our room and slowly packed our stuff. Now we had to go uptown. There was a place supposedly only a km or two from downtown, so we tried to walk there. It was a long way in the heat, especially in the daytime chaos of downtown. I would say the difference between the city at night and the city during the day was like night and day, but that would sound ridiculous. The sidewalks were filled with pedestrians and vendors of all sorts of stuff. There was a block that seemed lined with shoe repairmen, another with key-cutters and of course everywhere people selling different kinds of drinks and snacks. After emerging from the downtown chaos, though, we weren’t able to find the hotel we were looking for. The next one that was semi-affordable was only a km further so we kept walking. By the time we finally found the place, it seemed that we had used most of our day already. Sure, it was far nicer than where we had left, but wondered if it was $9 nicer. We didn’t even have an attached bathroom.

We still had some time in the day, so we decided to go back downtown to get some culture. Although Cebu is famous as the place where Magellan landed back in 1521, this was no “discovery” and there were already foreign ships there from Siam and Arabia. He brought religion though, and although he was killed by Chief Lapu Lapu soon after his arrival, his initial visit would be one of the most important event in the course of the history of the Philippines. Most of the principle sights of Cebu relate to this history. First, we visited “Magellan’s Cross”, which actually still has some of the original wood from the cross that he planted here nearly 500 years ago. As interesting as the cross, and the 160 year old paintings in the rotunda it was housed in were, our fellow tourists were fun to watch as well. A Japanese-speaking Filipino was leading a large tour group around the site, as they each took their turn having their pictures taken in front of the cross. One tourist recorded video with his iPad. Filipina women wandered around, trying to sell candles for them to light and plant around the cross. One shady character approached me holding a watch and a pair of sunglasses. He seemed desperate to sell them. He kept lowering the prices I hadn’t cared to know. It wasn’t until I started to ask him where he had gotten these two items that he finally left me alone.

One of the Philippines’ most important churches is the Basilica Minore del Santo Nino. At 450 years old, I can only assume it is the oldest operable church in the country, although it has been burnt down three times. It is an important pilgrimage site for Filipinos, who come from far and wide and wait hours to have a moment of prayer in front of “Santo Nino”, a small statue of an elaborately dressed Christ child. Outside, people were capitalizing on the abundance of pilgrims and tourists, selling miniature and not so miniature replicas of the Santo Nino, candles, and other religious paraphernalia. Inside, the church was of a typical style of the era, and I felt like I could have been in an old church in Spain or France. It was peaceful, and Lise and I sat and watched as the pilgrims filed in, having their moment in front of the glass-encased Christ child. There seemed to be a general ritual that family’s would go through. A prayer, kissing the glass, wiping off the glass, lifting the kids up to do the same, then waving goodbye. The people coming to say prayers in the pews around us would also stand up and, just before walking out, would wave goodbye to baby Jesus. I have a lot of respect for religious ritual, but there was something that just seemed too comical for it to be real. I felt bad for wanting to laugh, but waving goodbye to a statue of baby Jesus just seemed too silly. I decided that after I said my prayer, I would also stand up and wave goodbye before leaving. I thought it would make it seem more real to me. Unfortunately I had to strain my lips from curling into a smile as I waved goodbye.

We walked over to the Fort San Pedro, where Magellan’s replacement, Miguel Lopez de Legazpi had built a base as he conquered the Philippines. It cost something close to a dollar, and there were enough informative plaques outside for us to get a feel of what was inside. Lise predicted rain, so we decided to lay low in a gazebo in a plaza in front of the fort. Some teenagers were hanging out in the plaza, practicing their break dancing. When one of the boys took his shirt off, I heard a whistle blow from a uniformed man nearby. He yelled at the boy for his indecency and the boy had to put his shirt back on. Then the rains came, as Lise predicted and everyone rushed into the gazebo. We already had the best spots. Some of the teenage girls were quite taken with our presence. They bashfully came by, after I watched them mull over it for some time, and asked to take pictures of us with their cell phones. For such a westernized country and in a large city, I was really surprised that we would be seen as so exotic. A few child ruffians were wandering through the plaza. When they started to splash around in the puddles, the uniformed man blew his whistle at them too. I don’t know what the problem was, but this guy was really serious about maintaining order. The kids ran off to a different spot. When they started splashing around again, I wondered if the officer would actually risk getting soaked by the pouring rain to stop this barbarism. And he did! He ran towards these boys and they ran away from the plaza.

Within twenty minutes, the rain was over, and we went to check out one of the main markets. Although it takes up a small place on the map, it bleeds out for blocks, crowding streets, seeping into whatever open space is available. It was predictably chaotic and smelly. We found a sweet old lady serving halo-halo, the over the top shaved ice treat. This one was truly inspiring. She had about ten different preserved fruits to put in the cup, as well as peanuts and fresh avocado. We rarely saw this being served in such a humble street side stand, but we wished we could find it everywhere.

Further along in the market, we came across some guys shooting around at a puddled basketball court. They waved to me, and I asked if I could play. I had seen pickup games going on all over the Philippines in towns big and small, and always wanted to play. I felt this was my chance, even if it was for five minutes. I took my sandals off, split the six of us into two teams and said we would play first to three points. Lise didn’t seem so interested so I wanted to keep it short. It was a lot of fun. Everyone’s fundamental skills were weak, but it was street ball and there was a lot of spirit. When it was over, I didn’t mind that my team had lost, but did mind that I had cut my foot open and now was walking through dirty puddles. Still totally worth it. Lise had wandered off, so I went to go find her. It was getting dark, so we decided to go back uptown and see what it would be like up there at night.