Manila

If roads and highways are the veins of city, Manila's main arteries are clogged like those of a man who sits on his squishy throne all day snacking on crackers topped with butter, pate, camembert and roquefort, plus a Glaswegian scooby snack* on the side. For dinner he asks for a 16oz steak, french fries and a liter of diet coke. Outside his golden palace of delicious goodies lies a wasteland of high rise buildings, next to haphazardly built slums with open sewage systems and giant knots of electric wires. There is a constant hum of traffic, punctuated by shouts and blaring horns as individual cells make their way about their busy lives, selfishly pushing, inching forward one creaking minute at time. 

Meet Manila, one of the most densely populated (and one of the most badly planned) cities of Asia. You might think I don't like this giant capital, and you're right, I don't. I find it difficult to summon any kind of enthusiasm for a city which completely disregards much (if not all) of its potential for long term, socially relevant growth, choosing instead to focus on personal and economic gain. Don't get me wrong, the city is physically growing and it does invest in new globally fluid projects like shopping malls with huge international retailers and ultra modern apartment buildings with exquisitely designed interiors. These are blind projects though – less than 5% of the population can actually afford such luxuries.

Anyway, who wants another mall with the same shops and restaurants when schools haven’t been renovated since the 70s and hospitals are largely inaccessible in the heart of the city? Instead of investing in health and education, the city invests in glossy advertising to improve its image, like make-up can be used to create the illusion of high cheekbones and delightfully youthful skin. While Manila is far from being the only city in the world which uses such tactics to mask its skewed priorities, it is probably one of the most transparent. And when you’re stuck in hours of traffic with nothing better to do than to look at the people and buildings around you, decades’ worth of easily fixable mistakes glaring at you, you can’t help but become frustrated and disillusioned with the world around you.

If trees are the lungs of the city, this man has none, opting instead to fill the blackened cavern in his chest with exhaust fumes and airborne by-products of industrial waste. He takes delight in the pockets of combustion smoke which settle in each tunnel, each underpass, as stalled cars, motorcycles, trucks and buses wait like prisoners in line for their execution. Why should they care if their actions negatively affect others? Their own lives are too short.

  

* A Scooby Snack is a type of hamburger sold in Glasgow. It holds a hamburger patty, square sausage, bacon, potato scone, a fried egg and a slice of processed cheese, served with a hamburger bun, tomato ketchup and brown sauce. Two bites from one of these babies and you're set for the week. Seriously. If you're in Glasgow and interested in trying one out, keep an eye out for The Maggie, a white food van which usually hangs out at the the entrance of the Glasgow Botanics at the top of Byres Road in the West End. 

Christmas in Manila

Uy, I'm exhausted. I have done little here in Manila but live in my little privileged bubble and listen to people talk about the various scandals and "accidents" taking place in the Philippines. Like the bus that crashed through the barriers on the Skyway (one of Manila's major roads) on the 16th of December, flipping over on its back as it crashed on the road below. I believe most of the passengers died, the bus driver was decapitated. Or the shooting in Ninoy Aquino Airport (the one in Manila) which killed Mayor Talumpa and his family. It is debated whether the shooting took place inside or outside the terminal. There are varying degrees of disagreement on this point, but still, there's definitely an issue of airport security being brought into question.

Then there's the rampant corruption (but it's all very hush hush) particularly around the foreign relief money and goods being sent over to the victims of the typhoon in Tacloban. Sure there is some awareness that corruption is a definite threat and barrier - you can read more about it in the Philippine Star - but really, it's not just about making sure the money and relief goods get to those most affected, but also about making sure those in power locally do everything they can to facilitate this. Unfortunately, from what I understand, most residents of Tacloban are in direct opposition (and always have been) to the political party of the current president, and those in power aren't too willing to lend a helping hand because of this. Sure, there are many campaigns being publicized all over Manila, on the radio and TV, urging people make donations for those in Tacloban, but there is very little logistical support being offered.What is the point of sending lots of aid (man power and material) if the local government isn't prepared to put it to good use?

Imagine you are a volunteer heading off to provide some much needed help. You arrive at Tacloban airport ready to get to work delivering food, water and blankets to those who need it most, ready to build appropriate sustainable housing, only to find that nothing has cleared customs. After about a month, the materials finally clear customs, and you realize no logistical support is offered for storage, transportation, security, sanitation etc because the papers haven't been signed. What papers? This is the first you hear about this. You ask the organization  you are working with to help, but there is only so much they can do. Beaurocracy is beaurocracy and it is not within your policy to offer bribes. So you sit on your ass and do nothing but wait. You wait as more relief piles in, more materials and money appear, and somehow as you wait, the large pile of goods becomes starts getting smaller. By the time someone somehow manages to get the goods released, and some sort of support and transportation, you go to pick up the stash, and realize it has been reduced to a third of its original size.

This is an imaginary situation. I am not a frustrated volunteer in Tacloban, but the truth is this is probably what is happening there right now.

It's definitely more fun in the Philippines.
Merry Christmas.

Politics and Transportation

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Writing doesn't come easy in this country for whatever reason. Whether it's the circumstances, lack of quick access or the momentary feeling of complete apathy, at least it's not because of lack of inspiration. Maybe it's because it feels more personal here. Bringing out the inner anthropologists is a lot more difficult when you're living at home in a completely comfortable environment of equity and peace.

I could talk about the transportation system. How absolutely ridiculous it is to put traffic police on what is pretty much a highway to stop oncoming cars 10 minutes at a time in order to allow people to make illegal u-turns. Or the “metro” which is really just a conventional bus with air con, pre-paid cards and its own bus lane. Normal buses are huge privatized vehicles, decorated in the ghetto fabulous style of a latino gangsta; think tribal decorations, catholic paraphernalia, and ACME cartoons depicted on the tire flaps. I'm not sure I understand why the cartoons. Despite their flashy exterior, their shoddy interior and clouds of black fumes they trail behind them provide a more accurate description of the internal state of affairs.

The elections are coming up. Politicians are going wild. And when I mean wild I don't mean wild with impatience to demonstrate political adeptness or eagerness to relay proposed political agendas to bring this country out the slum of violence and corruption. No I mean colour crazy. Never have I seen such obnoxious and extensive displays of propaganda splashed all over a city in every colour of the rainbow imaginable. A glimpse upwards from the valley reveals not natural beauty of tropical rain forests and jungles, but mug shots of the rich, powerful and corrupt. Rocks, lamp posts, sides of mountains, strategically placed broken down cars are all used to relay the all important message “Vote for me”. The city's vaults would be overflowing with cash if the mayor would only install a tax on roadside propaganda. Did I mention there are about 30 political parties running for the presidency? I'm not even exaggerating. In the end what it all comes down to in order to determine the winner of the presidency is who has the most money to pay for the most propaganda.

Orange is winning at the moment.

Thailand

Sunburn and mosquito bites, the holiday has started! Actually it started about a week ago as I soared over the Nepalese mountains catching my first and last glimpse of Everest, now I'm sitting here in lovely Chinatown, Bangkok surrounded by hanging orchids, eucalyptus and bamboo bushes, and trickling fountains stressing about the fact that my Australian visa won't go through. My flight is tomorrow. Stress.

Other than that, nothing much to report. Chiang Mai was ok, not exactly the cultural capital of Thailand it claims to be but maybe I'm a bit spoiled for culture after living in Kathmandu. Nevertheless, hung out with lions, tigers and elephants, took a tour to the Golden Triangle - something which I keep saying I will never ever do again, and this time I mean it, "I will never ever EVER go on another guided tour" -  and stood on the point where Laos, Burma and Thailand meet but unfortunately did not get to step into any of these other exciting countries. Saw the long-eared ethnic tribe - a very culturally diluted and depressing sight, won't say more on that,  and explored countless wats and stuppas. Oh and did I mention we went shopping? Sunday market, night market, fruit market, flower market, air conditioned shopping centres offering relief from the sweltering heat. Yes, we certainly went shopping and certainly added another 2kg to the already overstuffed luggage.

Then Bangkok came along.

Bangkok is an interesting city. Every time I come here I form a different opinion of it. You either love it or hate it. It's dirty, smelly, loud and kind of ugly, but ancient and powerful, wonderfully resilient and self sustainable. Not vegetarian friendly, but neither is the rest of Thailand. Public transportation is fantastic, reliable, clean, efficient, excellent city coverage - German influence of course - and cheap! Spent all day touring the city via river ferry, canal boats, bus, metro and on foot and spent around 50 baht. Just over a euro.   It's nice to be back in a big city, even if it is a little too big, 6.3 million.

Onward travels. Sydney and LA next.

Monday Morning

Early morning start again. Was up at half six to cycle over to the pre-work yoga class I've signed up for with one of my housemates. Pedaled slowly, barely awake enough to register the beautiful sunrise and the early morning fruit stalls dotted along the sides of the pock marked road. Stretch, stretch, stretch. Pain, pain, pain. The more I exercise the more it feels like my muscles are beginning to atrophy. Slight modifications to your posture become more apparent, and each adjustment to whatever yoga stance you happen to be breathing into makes it all the more strenuous.

Rush home, still tired, avoiding the onset of morning rush hour. School buses and SUVs. Expats wearing the local dress, looking ever so slightly (ahem) ridiculous, cheerfully waving and greeting each other across the street. Young locals wearing western clothes, joking and laughing, smoking through their face masks. Older men sitting on street corners sipping on little cups of chiya. Women already 2 hours into their chores of laundry, cooking, weeding and gardening. I get home, gulp down dry cereal and someone else's banana. The fridge is broken and the milk is off. Stress about the fact that despite the mountains of clothes that seem to be piling up in my room it feels like I have absolutely nothing to wear. It's silly, I know that, but it's a daily issue I'm faced with.

Greet the landlady and cycle to work, nearly run over for the upteenth time by a rumbling black cloud of smog and garrish colours overtaking a mini taxi. Work greets me with a genuine smile on its face. It's been a week of holidays, we're all fresh faced and happy, and a wedding band is playing next door. Wailing bazookas, drums and an odd trumpet here and there set the mood for the day. 

A Weekend Away

Long hours of nothingness, long weekend, long work-day of nothingness. This is starting to get unhealthy.

First weekend away from the city and it was lovely. Took a two hour taxi (paid 14 bucks all together :0) up to the village of Nagarkot - a lovely site for amazing sunrises - to not see an amazing sunrise. It was an exciting car journey, the four of us and the taxi driver jammed into a white suzuki, half asleep and unwashed, jerked awake in terror by careening mountain roads and monstrous tourist buses charging to overtake us. It was best to just close your eyes and retreat to a happy place.

Left at 8, an hour and a half later we were up in the mountains surrounded by pine trees and fresh air, stuck behind pick up truck and its billowing black clouds of exhaust fumes. Talk about irony. A couple of wild turns and near death experiences later, little Susuki chugged to a stop on the particularly steep hill that led to our pink monstrosity of a hotel. A rude receptionist man ignored us beyond awkwardness and directed us to the restaurant where we were asked to wait half an hour for our rooms to be tidied. An hour and a half, two English breakfasts, two Special breakfasts and four pots of coffee later, our rooms still weren't ready. It took four stubborn, whining females to get two clean and prepared rooms in an otherwise empty hotel. Despite the distinct unfriendliness, I thoroughly enjoyed sleeping in a comfortable bed and the luxury of the albeit luke warm water in freezing temperatures shower.

We hiked, walked, trekked and explored. Saw the backyards of villages, an infinite number of goats, chickens and kids playing and frolicking in the sun. The view wasn't amazing, it was too hazy to see anything, but the sun was warm and the exercise a welcome relief from keyboard workouts and bad posture. Seeing as it was a holiday weekend most Nepalis seemed to be in a particularly good mood, music and singing echoed through the mountains the way it does during festival season of the British summers.

Sunrise

Viewing tower

Sunday was an early start, 6:15, to catch the (un)amazing sunrise. Mountains were visible to the naked eye, but virtually invisible through a lense. This didn't stop hordes of Chinese, Japanese and Korean tourists from setting up mini portable studios on the hotel viewing tower and chirpily snapping away. It was amusing to watch the crowd dynamics. As soon as one discovered a new sight in the scenery - the emerging glow of the snow covered mountains, or the orange crescent of the rising sun - the rest would quickly follow, running from one corner to the other, external flashes, tripods and telephoto zooms in hand to capture that one perfect moment which never arrived.

The feeding of the masses followed and the hotel made sure to profit as much as possible by serving us leftover potatoes, toast, boiled eggs and instant coffee. We were ready to go and soon enough embarked on a 4 and a half hour hike from Nagarkot to Changu Narayan a world heritage site north-east of Kathmandu. For 100 rupees you get to go in and see an exquisitely preserved village with its tall intricate wooden temples and and metal idols, the faces of which are smudged in yellows, reds, and flower petals; incense and candles decorating the shrines on an otherwise peaceful Sunday. The initial idea was to hike all the way to Bhaktapur then catch a bus or taxi back into the city, but as the day wore on, and our feet grew weary of the sun, dust and mountains, our plans slowly evolved. The visit to Bhaktapur was abandoned and an orange, red and blue boombox of a bus decorated with all the appropriate hindi paraphenelia and blaring bollywood music drove us short of a half hour walk to our houses. Kathmandu city greeted us in all its glory of congested traffic, and suffocating air.

The pink dots on the map below are the points to which my group traveled to over the weekend. Starting in Lalitpur (Patan), taxi to Nagarkot. Spent the night, hiked to Changu Narayan. Collapsed in a heap for lunch, took the groovy love bus of perpetual happiness down to Bhaktapur, looked out the window and continued out journey back to Kathmandu where we were dropped off next to the river. In case you were wondering the bus journey from the world heritage site to Kathmandu cost a whole of Rp 30 - 40 American cents, 30 Euro cent, 25p. Amazing.