7NNT25: Day 19 – Manila

Soundtrack: “Don’t Stand So Close to Me”, The Police

Bit of a catchup time, am pushing out a couple of days at the same time. We’ll see how it goes.

Manila. It’s a big, tall, loud city. From my 9th floor hotel room I can hear all the sounds of Malati, cars, horns, scooters, trucks, people, machinery. I truly sympathise with any introvert who lives in this city, as it’s not a city for quiet spaces.

My main mission for Day 19 (Friday 2 May) was to find the Australian Embassy and vote. I was still unsure of how Saturday would work with the booked tour, so to be safe Friday was always going to be voting day. Fortunately the Australian Embassy was only a 20 minute walk from my hotel. The subquest was to drop my laundry off at a local service.

I had breakfast at the most over the top American-themed diner imaginable, a place near my hotel called the Filling Station. No exaggeration, every inch of wall and ceiling space was decorated, mostly with 50s and 60s US things, but also bicycles, motorbikes, and random shit. There were larger than life figures of the Hulk, Darth Vader, Wonder Woman, Elvis, James Dean, and others. I literally uld not find the way in nor out unassisted, the decor is that busy. There are several cars inside, at least one of which is wired so the lights work. To say the decor is busy would be an understatement. The menu is similarly extreme, full of puntastic names and, for better or worse, an entire page of dishes involving Spam (the tinned kind, not the email kind). I went with something that had “My-Hammy” in the title (i.e. Miami), that had eggs, ham, a fried tomato, and some thin parmesan potato wedges, along with their version of a cappuccino (had I seen or known that it would involve sprinkled cinnamon on top I would have known to avoid, not a mix I like). The eggs etc were okay, it came with two large pots of sauce, one hollandaise and the other ranch, which were also okay. I’ve eaten worse at diner-themed places.

While I don’t particularly feel unsafe in Manila, it’s probably the first city where I’ve actively felt protected. A lot of places have a person on the door, most banks seem to have a security team present who are tooled up and have flak jackets, and many buildings, including shopping malls, have token bag searches and metal detectors to pass through (Uzbekistan had its share of metal detectors, but probably half of them weren’t plugged into power or in use), and a fair few armoured cars driving around. I’ve seen absolutely no trouble in Manila, but I don’t know if that’s just how it is or if it’s because of the large security presence.

To get into the Australian Embassy I went through three metal detectors/bag x-rays: I really only needed to go through two, but I went into the wrong building tower first so that one was on the house. All good, I didn’t need a gun nor a bomb for my mission, I didn’t even need to bring a knife, sword, or pen; I was on my way to commit democracy and I knew there’d be a pencil waiting for me. The Australian Embassy is in the same tower as the German, Canadian, and Republic of Ireland Embassies: FYI we need to lift our game, as the foyer has a huge bear figure in RCMP garb, and another bear in red, yellow and black German colours, but all Australia had was the flag, we need a big koala in Manila. It was my first time voting at an overseas embassy, it was my first time setting foot in any overseas embassy (I’ve only ever been to consulates) so I was a bit excited. I signed in and was given an official visitor pass, and then the excitement mostly wore off when I was directed to the queue. I don’t think the embassy in Manila is very big, so we were basically put in groups of 5 and then had to wait, when one lot came down the next 5 were directed to the lift and taken up to the 23rd floor. There we waited in a small lobby, the walls had pics of Anthony Albanese, Penny Wong, and other members of cabinet, but the local security setup was that we couldn’t take any pictures while we were up there. I mean I get missing out on the democracy sausage for voting early, but not being able to take a selfie with the PM’s portrait is just unAustralian. Remind me to write to my MP. While waiting, a group came up and there was a couple who had a flight to catch, so I let them into the next step ahead of me (insert something about how apparently unAustralian “queue-jumpers” are when they are not white and fleeing their home countries for their lives, but “queue-jumping” is fine when it’s white people who haven’t managed their time effectively). When it was my turn, I was shown into another room that had space for 40 or so people, and handed a number, clipboard and pen to fill out my absentee voting form, then wait until my number was called. I think the staff member was a little confused that I actually knew my federal electorate, but he double checked, handed me my ballot forms, and then the cardboard booth and pencil democracy magic was mine to wield. As seems to be the case these days, it was a struggle to work out who to put last (I’m a big fan of preferential voting, I just wish there was some way to differentiate my absolute fear and loathing of assigning a preference to any of the last 3 or 4 malignant stains of humanity on the ballot) but I managed, and with democracy completed, the rest of the day was mine do to as I wished (as long as it didn’t involve trying to take a selfie with a portrait of the Prime Minister of Australia). Yay democracy.

The Philippines are quire hot about now. Mid to high 30s, and flips between dry and humid quite quickly. To survive, the locals have built lots and lots of huge shopping malls, some of the largest on the planet (made up pretend fact: there is more mall floorspace in the Philippines than the total surface area of the moon, which, for all I know, could well be true). Filipinos love malls. Where else can they find so much airconditioning, restaurants, and shopping? Not wanting to stray too far, I headed for the Ayala Malls Circuit in Malati. Apparently it got its name from being build on a former horse-racing track, and in addition to all of the regular shopping and fried chicken experiences, the mall also has a 1,500 seat performing arts centre, pole dancing studio (“Good Girls Club”) and The Rage Room and Coffee. Not feeling full of rage that I needed to let out, I skipped the latter (though I must applaud the business ideas they have in south east asia when it comes to pumping people full of caffeine and then unleashing them) and settled for some cooling bubble tea. I’m currently keeping one eye on my luggage weight (I’ve got a flight coming with Cebu Pacific and I’m told they are incredibly strict when it comes to weight allowance) and also not totally feeling the shopping bug, in that I’m not seeing anything on this trip that I have to buy, this is more of an experience trip rather than an accumulation mission, though don’t worry I’ll pick up some trinkets for the folks back home.

Evening mall trip was down to the Greenbelt complex, which is a set of malls inside malls and is a total maze. Apparently the whole area is comprised of different malls, so there are 5 Greenbelt malls, that then flow into Landmark, which then becomes Glorietta, and ends at SM Makati. Confused? I certainly was. Navigating the Greenbelt malls is a maze, as not all have a ground floor that provides access to the first floor: I walked through a row of very swanky shops, Rolex etc, looking for an escalator, but there wasn’t one, I had to exit and take the external stairs. Maybe that was their way of making the high end retail feel “exclusive”. And, because the Philippines, in the middle of the Greenbelt complex was an outdoor church. If I was a more mature human being I wouldn’t think that people come there to pray for items to come on sale, but I’m not that person. I also encountered my first Lush store of the trip, and based on the Lush test, Manila smells better than Brisbane (sorry Brisbane, but you’re one of the only cities I’ve sighted the Lush store before smelling it). So many stores, from high-end to home appliances, clothes, books, shoes, even cars. I kid you not, one of that maze of mall complexes has a BYD dealership. Eventually it all got a bit much for me, just too many stores and people, I had to make a break for the nearest exit.

Filipinos are polite, too damn polite. Everyone calls me “sir”. It’s just how they do it, they call everyone who looks male “sir”. So going from countries where only foreigners get called sir by traders, to here where everyone gets called sir, I was starting to twitch every time I heard it, thinking they were talking to me. For the record, I don’t much like being called sir, with all the implication that it sets me on a different level, but I generally get where folks who use it are coming from. But hearing it all the time, and not just from people trying to catch my attention, does make me a little more hyper-vigilant that I’d prefer. The other understandable polite thing that Filipinos do, well, lots of cultures do, but is a little tiring, is shop assistants who attempt to assist me. I know, totally rude of them. I guess it’s better than the way Australia is going, where it’s a case of running half the length of Bunnings to find the nearest red shirt and then rugby tackling them to actually get their attention, only to have them then point to the same webpage you’ve been looking at and shrugging at the question, because you’re asking it as there’s no info on the web page. But I prefer balance, rather than feel like I have my own personal shopper who’ll start talking about a product the second I pause in front of it. I want my assistants to be seen and not heard, until I start to deliberately look around like I want some help. Like I’m here on holidays, I just want to look and admire the huge screen teevee, but there’s no way I’m buying one and trying to get it in my luggage.

So tired, footsore, and a little hyper-sensitive to the presence of others, I headed out into the humid night to find something simple to eat that didn’t involve fried chicken, queuing, or a protracted sales pitch. There’s a little food market near my hotel, 5 or six stalls, a place for a band, and a bunch of seating, and that seemed good. Unfortunately the first stall had an over friendly helper, who after failing to interest me in the seafood skewers (yeah, I’m not sure how long they’d been sitting out without refrigeration) decided I must be a vegetarian. So I went with the sisig from another stall. Sisig is bits of pig, traditionally bits from the head, chopped small and fried until tasty, then served on a sizzling dish with rice, chilli, and a squeeze of calamansi (the small citrus fruit that is everywhere here). Had this with a local San Miguel Negra lager, and the mix of hot crunchy salty pork with the smooth malty goodness of the beer was a great pairing. Full of food, I was in a happy place again.

During the day word had come through from the tour company that Mt Pinatubo was off limits, so I could do an easy hike to Mt Butalao, which meant a 5.20am hotel pickup rather than a 2.30am, which sounded okay. So it was time to head back to pick up laundry and the hotel for some rest.

Or so I thought… Stepped into the laundry place to see if mine was done, and it was, I could see the bag all washed and inside my clothes all folded, so I asked if I could pick it up. No, was the answer, unless I wanted to pay extra for express service. I looked confused because that’s my washing sitting there. all done, ready to be picked up, and I’ve just stopped by and I’m here and it’s there, so surely I can take it? No, because I hadn’t paid for express, I’d have to pick up tomorrow. I tried again, trying to explain that if it’s done, why do I need to pay extra? Because for same day it’s express rate. Given that it would only cost an extra $4, and it would likely be a good thing to wear a long sleeve shirt for the hike, I caved, and they were happy, making sure to stamp my docket as express and handing me the clothes. Given the name of the service was “Let’s Talk Dirty”, I almost said some very filthy words. Where capitalism meets bureaucracy.