Cusco and Machu Picchu

Kirsten and I flew from Lima to Cusco, one-time power center of the Inca empire and currently the hub of Machu Picchu tourism. With its clean air, imposing churches, whitewashed homes built on Inca stone foundations, and quaint squares, Cusco is a definite step up from the capital.




We toured a couple of good museums in Cusco (lots of Inca artifacts, as well as some from other native tribes), walked through the central market (vegetables, flowers, housewares, and a meat section that made me briefly consider becoming a vegetarian for the remainder of our trip), and wandered around the streets and alleys, all the while adjusting to the altitude of 11,000 feet.

Our second day in Cusco, we met our travel partners. In one of many trip-planning e-mails, Kirsten told me that her coworker's brother and his friend were thinking about traveling in Peru, and that she'd invited them to join us if the timing worked out. She added something like, "I hope you don't mind, and don't worry; if they turn out to be tools, we can just tell them we want to do our own thing." As we got to know Jeremy and Eric, we were happy to learn that they are not tools; they're both fun and easy-going and we were glad to have them along (and not merely for Eric's pharmaceutical knowledge and supply of medicine, which came in handy when Kirsten got sick on the way to Machu Picchu).

The day after they arrived, we were off on our four-day bike/hike to Machu Picchu. We started out in a minivan that picked us up an hour late, stopped by a couple of other hotels, and then waited, inexplicably, for about an hour on the side of a Cusco street. Eventually we were on our way out of town and into the beautiful countryside. We made a brief bathroom/shopping stop, and soon after that started going up (and up and up) some switchbacks that didn't agree with Jeremy's stomach.

We got out of the van at about noon and climbed on our mountain bikes to begin a descent of just over 10,000 feet. Soon after we started, Jeremy turned to Eric to tell him that his stomach troubles had subsided and that he was feeling the best he had all day. Immediately after that he veered into the cement ditch, tearing some skin off his elbow but otherwise unhurt. The ride was easy in that it was downhill, but not long after we started it began to rain - lightly at first, and then a downpour. Then heavy fog rolled in, making me more than a little nervous about the buses and trucks that were speeding up the same switchbacks that we were going down, often in the middle of the road, and sometimes with steep drop-offs on one side. I think later on Eric used the word "exhilarating" to describe the ride. If I had to describe it in one word, it would probably be "terrifying." Or maybe "freezing." We started out at over 14,000 feet, and it was chilly up there, even before the rain. I had a waterproof jacket, but still felt pretty much soaked to the bone from the downpour. Even after the rain lightened up, we ended up with sopping wet socks and boots when we crossed at points like the one below. (Water-proof boots are not so waterproof when the water comes in over the top!) For a while I was shivering and my teeth were chattering; there was a safety van always backing us up, but of course I was too stubborn and proud to give up and ride in it. Thankfully the steep descent meant that it gradually got warmer and warmer, and toward the end of the three-hour ride the rain stopped completely and the sun came out.



We spent that night in a village called Santa Maria. I slept well, but it was a miserable night for Kirsten; it seemed her stomach was not happy with something she had eaten or drunk the day before and she had to make several trips to the bathroom, to a toilet that had no seat and that didn't always flush. Here's where Eric's drug supply came in handy; in the morning she popped some pills, put on a brave face, and insisted that she would be fine - but before long it was clear that she was really in no shape to hike. The first part of our route that day was along a dirt road, and our guide was able to flag down a taxi/bus passing by to take Kirsten to Santa Teresa, where we'd spend our second night. Soon after she got in the car, the rest of us turned off the road and onto an Inca trail. Not THE Inca Trail, mind you (it's necessary to book that 9 months - 1 year in advance), but a section of the many, many miles of trail network that has survived since Inca times.


Day three was less eventful. Kirsten was still running at much less than 100%, and she didn't manage to keep her breakfast down, but she did soldier on and survived the day's hike. The walk that day was mostly level, making it much easier than the hills we'd covered on the previous day. The last two hours or so we were walking along railroad tracks, which was too bad because in looking down to be sure we didn't stumble on stones or railroad ties, it was hard to fully appreciate the spectacular scenery that was surrounding us.

By mid-afternoon we had checked into our hotel in Aguas Calientes (which, incidentally, featured a roaring river directly below our windows, one which later caused some of the damage I mentioned in my previous post). After hot showers (the first in three days!), we wandered around town a bit. In one of the town squares, we saw a Swiss guy named Frederic that had been on our van the first morning and whom we'd since seen several times along the path, always alone. We invited him to join us for a beer; he accepted, and the fact that he doesn't speak much English and none of us speaks French made for some entertaining conversation. Just one example: before Peru, Frederic had been traveling in Bolivia (which of course, I am now dying to visit.). He was trying to tell us something about a market in La Paz, but when we weren't getting it, he stood up and tried body language. Motions which we later realized were meant to be a witch riding a broomstick looked - well, sort of lewd. His Spanish was better than his English, so at some points Kirsten translated; when she repeated Jeremy's guess of "sex market?" in response to that obscure body language, the Swiss guy turned red and quickly waved his hands and shook his head in protest saying, "no, no, no - not me!" We never did figure out what the witch had to do with the La Paz market, but we did all got a good laugh out of it.

We woke up before dawn on day four to wait for the first bus from Aguas Calientes to Machu Picchu. The line was long, even at 5 am, and it was raining; once again I was wet and cold (and, to be honest, a little grumpy; it didn't help that this all took place without my usual morning coffee). We waited for about half an hour, rode the bus for twenty minutes, and then stood in a long line again at the ticket booth. Our first views of the ruins were shrouded in fog, but nonetheless incredible; all that waiting had paid off! Soon the sun came out, my caffeine kicked in (still no coffee, but Diet Coke will do in a pinch), and we commenced a day of wandering around the ruins, first with a guide and then continuing on our own. Jeremy ended up taking another spill that afternoon - slipping on a wet rock, breaking his camera, scraping his hand, and badly bruising his shoulder. I can't speak for him or for Kirsten, but I'm pretty sure they'd both agree that the chance to see Machu Picchu was well worth not only the morning wait in the rain, but also the cuts and bruises, the time spent in rather unpleasant bathrooms and some grueling moments along the trail.

I'll post a captioned photo album soon, but here's a preview: our first, foggy view of the ruins, and then the same view later in the sunshine.

News from Peru & Day One

Before I get to my own trip, I want to say a bit about what's happened in Peru in the few weeks since I was there. You've most likely heard about the intense rains and the landslides and the tourists who had to be evacuated from Aguas Calientes (a.k.a. Machu Picchu Pueblo), but here's a quick recap anyway. Machu Picchu itself is high on a mountain; there's a swanky, $1,000/night lodge up there, but most people stay in Aguas Calientes, a village of hotels, restaurants, and souvenir shops which is in a valley below the ruins. Only official shuttle buses make the 20-minute trip between the two; the photo below shows Machu Picchu and just a few of the many switchbacks on the road down to Aguas Calientes.


There are only two ways into (and out of) Aguas Calientes: on foot or by train; tourists got stuck there a couple of weeks ago when a landslide took out a portion of the railway. The first news I read basically just said that tourists were trapped there until the weather cleared and they could be helicoptered out; I thought "ok, so a bit of inconvenience and extra expense, but that's not so bad." Then I read that Machu Picchu would be closed for a short period and I thought, "ooh, that is bad." I can't imagine how disappointing it would be to get all the way to Peru - or even to Aguas Calientes, as some hikers did - and then to miss out on the highlight of the whole trip! The other night I searched for the latest on what was happening and was surprised and saddened to read that a couple of hikers and one guide had been killed (by falling rocks and in a tent washed away overnight) along the Inca Trail. Reports now are that Machu Picchu might be closed for weeks or even months, which will be a real blow to the economy in an area that relies heavily on tourism. Many Peruvians have lost their homes or their crops.

So, I'm a bit sobered as I reflect on the time I spent in Peru. We had some of the usual travel frustrations, like waiting for luggage and for people; we also got DRENCHED (it is rainy season, after all) and had to do some of our hiking in wet socks and boots. I got some extremely itchy bug bites (but only a few of them; one of the guys traveling with us was covered from foot to knee), and there were also a couple of disputes with our tour guides as to what we had or had not paid for in advance. The recent news from Peru has helped me to put those issues in perspective, though, and has made me truly thankful for safety and for such an enjoyable experience in the beautiful country of Peru.

Ok, now to day one of our trip. Lima is one of those cities that you visit out of necessity because it happens to be home to the nation's major international airport; we ended up spending two days there (one at each end of the trip). It's by no means the most exciting place I've ever been, but we did find plenty to keep us occupied. We also had really good food, and that always helps!

On our first day, my cousin Kirsten and I walked and walked and walked around the city. We started out wandering around central Lima, where we marveled at the intricately carved wooden balconies and inhaled the wafting scents of barbecue and soaked up the warmth of the sun, and where we toured the Iglesia de San Francisco, pictured below. In the catacombs beneath the church, the bones of people buried there are arranged in rather macabre displays. We weren't allowed to take photos, but you can see one here.


After the catacombs tour we found a simple basement restaurant that served heaping portions of some fabulous ceviche (a Peruvian specialty: raw fish soaked in a lime marinade). Our plan for the afternoon was to tour a couple of museums, but all three that we tried to visit were closed - one for renovation and the others, presumably, for the New Year holiday. The three museums were sort of spread out around the city, which was one reason for all the walking we did. To be honest, though, we also had a bit of trouble reading our maps.

In the evening, we walked and walked and walked some more. Suffice it to say that we had a little trouble with the map again - but we did eventually make it (after asking some friendly locals for directions and then taking a bus) to Miraflores, a Lima suburb on the coast. We had dinner there in a restaurant recommended in our guide book and then, to celebrate New Year's Eve, sat at an outdoor table overlooking the Pacific and sipped fruity pisco (sort of like Peruvian tequila) cocktails. We actually finished our drinks and headed back to our quiet colonial house-turned-hotel before 12:00, but were still awake when the fireworks went off at midnight - and continued for a considerable time after that.

I'd like to make it clear that Kirsten and I are not getting too old to stay up on New Year's Eve or anything; it's just that we had to get up early the next day for our flight to Cusco.

And have I mentioned that we'd been walking pretty much all day?

Beyond the Sky and the Earth

So it's a new year, and once again I've resolved to blog here more consistently. I always appreciate comments on or about the blog, but I'm not that concerned, really, with how many people read these posts. I just know that the details fade fast, and that if I don't make a written record of my travels and of my life in Seoul now, the memories will be fuzzy later.

My blogging resolution was reinforced by a book I just finished - and actually this post will be sort of a report on that book rather than a description of my latest journey (an amazing trip to Peru, which I WILL write about soon; the picture above, from Lake Titicaca, is a preview). Beyond the Sky and the Earth is the memoirs of a Canadian teacher's three years in the tiny Himalayan kingdom of Bhutan. (Thanks to my high school friends Sarah and Sarah for recommending the book!) I loved it for several reasons; one is simply the fact that Jamie Zeppa's descriptions of Bhutan - of the mountains and the complete quiet and dark that you can feel in a Himalayan village, of the people and their warm curiosity, of nerve-racking rides in buses, loaded with people and chickens and tubs of kerosene, that lurch and sway over narrow clearings through recent landslides with long, steep drops below - brought back such vivid memories of my trips to Nepal, which are, hands-down, the best I've ever taken.

Mostly, though, I loved it because she articulated so many of the sentiments that I've experienced in my expat life, especially during my two years in Armenia. She explains the oddity of longing (and I really don't think it's an exaggerated use of that word) for a bagel, then returning "home" and eating one, only to find herself craving the simple foods she ate day after day in Bhutan (or, in my case, Armenia: salty homemade cheese and fresh bread and tiny cups of sweet Turkish coffee).

She explains how overwhelming it is to return to North America and be confronted with the sheer amount of stuff that people have, and with the number of choices there are in the cereal aisle. And how it suddenly seems so wasteful to see so many cars each carrying but one person down the road.

She explains how, when people ask what Bhutan is like, she always seems to say too much or too little, and to walk away from those conversations feeling like the other party doesn't really get it. That just happened to me in Peru, actually. Somehow it came up that Nepal tops my list of been-to destinations, and I tried to explain why I found it so magical. Even though I was talking to other people who share my love for travel, even though we were, at the time of the conversation, traveling in another spectacular, fascinating, mystical place, I'm pretty sure I failed to make them understand.

She explains how hard it is to live in a village where everyone knows everything that you do, even if you have nothing to hide. A co-teacher in Armenia once told me that her daughter had seen me in a store a few months back - and that I had bought markers, and that her daughter had been surprised that I was able to ask for them in Armenian. Harmless stuff, of course, but I sometimes hated the sense that people were watching so closely. Another time, a woman who lived in the building next to mine asked why I burned candles in my apartment. I don't think she suspected a seance or some sort of other odd behavior; she was probably just surprised that I didn't find it wasteful to use candles and electricity at the same time. (Shouldn't the former be saved for a time when the latter went out?) I don't think she had binoculars or anything either, but it did weird me out a little bit that she was peering into my windows that carefully.

So many details like that resonated with me, but I think even people who haven't shared the same sort of experience can probably appreciate the author's explanation of how living in another place can change not only your perspective, but your sense of self and of your place in the world. I think she's absolutely right.

For the record (in case anyone hunts it down based on what I've written here): the book's ending is disappointing. Nevertheless, it's a good read. It's a good explanation of what makes traveling so awesome, and a good reminder to me that someday when I'm reminiscing, my travel memories will be much more vivid if I have a record of them in writing.

The Philippines, part II

After a six-month hiatus, I've resolved to get back to blogging! Way back when I wrote about Manila, but I never posted about the rest of my trip to the Philippines in February. Finally, here is the second installment.



My cousin Kirsten and I spent most of our time together in the Philippines in the Cordillera mountain range, which is north of Manila on North Luzon Island. We started out from Manila on an overnight bus to the sprawling highland city of Baguio. That wasn't our original plan (it changed because I bought our bus tickets based on the erroneous advice of our hotel owner), but actually I think the revised itinerary was probably better anyway.

We arrived in Bagiou EARLY in the morning at a clean, new bus station. We had a cup of coffee there and waited for the sun to come up, then hopped in a cab to get to the bus station where we'd transfer to Sagada, which became our destination after plan A fell through. We booked tickets for an 8:30 bus, which gave us time to hit an ATM and look for breakfast. It didn't take too much wandering to find a small bakery/cafe where we had good pastries and decent coffee; we also picked up sandwiches to eat on the way to Sagada.

That was a long, bumpy, dusty bus ride, but the views were breathtaking. Kirsten and I ended up in the very back row of seats, bouncing and sliding all over the place and feeling grumpy because an older couple (not sure what nationality, but they looked to be former hippies) were in our assigned seats and didn't seem eager to move when we boarded and pointed that out.

My guidebook describes Sagada as "a tranquil mountaintop town where you can walk down the middle of the road and only occasionally be disturbed by a passing vehicle." After Manila and then a night and a day on buses, we were looking forward to that tranquility - so it was a bit disappointing when we finally arrived to discover busloads of domestic tourists there for the town festival. It turned out to be fun though, and we arrived on the last day - so we were able to experience the festive market atmosphere and then the town as its usual tranquil self.

We did some leisurely hiking around Sagada, first with a guide, who showed us hanging coffins and a burial cave outside the town, and then on our own to a small waterfall nearby. Our map to the waterfall was not so good; we ended up doing some backtracking and along the way we ran into a Spanish girl who was also trying to find it. We teamed up and eventually got there. The nights in Sagada were COLD, but it was warm and sunny that afternoon - perfect for a dip in the pool at the bottom of the falls.

From Sagada we took a packed jeepney to Bontoc, the nearest sizable town. We had to kill a couple of hours there before the next leg of our trip to Banaue, so we checked out the Bontoc Museum, which has fascinating exhibits on the local tribes - including their history as headhunters.

In Banaue we arranged a guide to take us on an overnight hike to Batad, which is the highlight of the Cordillera region. Throughout the area there are rice terraces built 2,000 years ago by the Ifugao tribes in the area; Batad's terraces are considered to be some of the most spectacular. It rained a bit, but aside from that it was a great hike. Our guide was friendly and knowledgeable, the overnight stay in Batad was rustic but interesting, and the views all along the way were simply stunning.

I took far too many pictures of the views, but I tried to be ruthless in editing them, deleting more than two thirds of the pictures that were originally in this album. If you're interested in a tour of Manila, a tug-of-war contest at the Sagada festival, those hanging coffins and yes, a few pictures of the rice terraces, click on the album below:

Philippines

DPRK - Part II

Our lunch on the Kaesong tour included many separate dishes, as you can see. It was mostly vegetables and rice, which I found disappointing at first considering how much we'd paid for the tour. Almost immediately after that thought crossed my mind though, I felt pretty guilty; I'm sure there are many North Koreans who would have been thrilled to eat that meal. I had also felt a bit guilty earlier in the day when our tour guide told us that the average N. Korean earns $60/month, much less than I had paid to take this one-day tour to Kaesong. Living in Armenia and traveling in developing nations has certainly opened my eyes to the disparity of wealth in the world and taught me to be much more appreciative of my material blessings, but soon after a trip ends and I'm back into my comfortable routine, I start to take them for granted again. Those pangs of guilt in North Korea made me think that there's definitely truth in that old saying "out of sight, out of mind."

Outside the restaurant we were able to wander around a bit; not too far, of course, but we did get a glimpse of the city. Note the traffic cop standing in the middle of the intersection, despite the complete lack of traffic. All the people on the near side of him in the photo were part of our group. He looked and acted like a traffic officer, but perhaps he's actually more of a border guard whose role is to be sure that tourists and locals do not cross into the same territory at any given time?


After lunch we visited Koryo scholar Jung Mong-ju's home-turned lecture hall. It was literally around the corner from the restaurant, but we weren't allowed to walk to it. To make absolutely certain that there would be no interaction between us and the citizens of Kaesong, we had to board our buses for the short journey. Apparently sites in the city have different opening hours for outside tourists and for locals, or maybe the locals don't go to them at all. I don't know. In the morning we'd also wondered how they manage to keep locals away from the waterfall while tourists are present, but as it was out in the country and the average North Korean doesn't have a car, I suppose it wouldn't be easy to get there. You could bike to it maybe, but then presumably you'd have to somehow sneak past all of those soldiers placed strategically along the way.

From the lecture hall, we boarded the buses again for a trip across town to a stone bridge where that same scholar was assassinated by the son of the Choseon Dynasty founder in 1392; Jung Mong-ju was "the last loyal retainer of the Koryo Dynasty," whatever that means. Basically a loyal follower of the king, I guess?

The view from the bus windows as we drove through town was actually the most interesting part of the day for me. It seemed like that was our only glimpse into anything close to the "real" North Korea. People were going about their daily business, most of them looking surprisingly content: young women walking arm in arm, boys playing soccer and volleyball, girls in school uniforms riding their bikes, kids splashing in a small stream. We also saw elderly citizens watching from their apartment windows as our bus caravan passed by, and when I saw them, I felt guilty again. Honestly, it felt a bit as if we had come to watch animals in a zoo, except that these "caged" people are of course more capable than lions or zebras of analyzing the outsiders that have come to visit. I wondered if they wonder why it is that we can come to Kaesong, but they can never cross the border, and actually probably can't even visit the capital city in their own country. I wondered if they notice that foreign tourists are colorfully, comfortably, diversely dressed, and that we all carry digital cameras (no cell phones or i-pods, though; those had to be left behind in the South). I wondered if they can even imagine what it's like to be able to read any newspaper you'd like or to worship in any place you choose or to freely discuss any thoughts you have about politics. I wondered if they really believe all the propaganda their government feeds them, and whether they're told anything about the tourists that visit Kaesong. Maybe that we come as actors that try to make the South and its Western allies look rich, but that we are actually miserable in our capitalistic societies, slaves to material possessions? Ok, there may be a grain of truth in that last bit, but you get my point.

Our final stop was the Koryo Museum, a collection of Koryo Dynasty relics housed in a former university. Our guides claimed it was the oldest university in the world, but an Italian on the bus begged to differ with that. The items on display were not particularly impressive, but the setting was beautiful - much more peaceful and colorful than the way I'd always imagined North Korea to be. I was also struck by the similarity of the buildings with so many that I've seen in South Korea - again, a reminder that though I think of them as so absolutely separate, the two nations have centuries of shared history.




Before we could cross back into the South, all of our cameras were inspected. I was allowed to keep all of my photos, but the guard who checked my friend Anna's camera zoomed in on one photo that apparently had a tiny soldier in the background. He deleted it.

I experienced an interesting mix of emotions as we crossed the border on our way home. I hadn't really been worried that anything would go wrong, so I was surprised to feel a sense of relief. Mostly though, I felt sad. In a way it was good to have seen the people in Kaesong living such normal lives - at least on the surface. But how normal can life really be when your freedoms are so curtailed?

As I write this now, months after returning from Kaesong, I'm struck again by how quickly I forget. I live less than 50 miles from the border, and yet I rarely think about the people on the other side. How is it that's what out of sight is also so easily put out of mind?

DPRK - Part I

I still intend to write more about the Philippines, and the hyper-organized (if always a bit behind) side of me wants to finish those entries in uninterrupted sequence. But with North Korea in the news so much recently, I'm reminded that I never wrote about my day trip there last fall. This blog is the only form of travel journaling that I do, so I'm thinking I'd better get those memories down on paper, as it were, before they become too blurry.

Many people were surprised when they heard that I was going to North Korea since the common perception is that Americans are not allowed to travel there. It's certainly true that we can't travel independently in the DPRK, but until recently there were two fairly easy ways to tour limited sections of that enigmatic nation.

The first way was a tour to Keumgang Mountain, which a couple of my friends did last year. That tour was especially popular with South Koreans, who love to hike and to soak at the bathhouse - which is pretty much the extent of what you could do at Keumgang. Tourists were strictly controlled and they stayed/ate/shopped in a sort of South Korean bubble, a hotel complex complete with convenience store chains from the capitalistic South. Keumgang tours were suspended last year after a middle-aged South Korean woman was shot and killed by North Korean soldiers. She had strayed beyond the limits of the compound on an early morning walk and ignored repeated warnings to turn back.

The second option was to take a day tour to Kaesong, which was the capital of Korea's Koryeo dynasty (918 - 1392, which preceded the Choseon dynasty, during which the capital was moved to Seoul. Obviously for my entire lifetime Korea has been a divided nation, so it's easy to forget that the North and the South have so many centuries of shared history.) Kaesong is the city I visited last fall - just in time, because those tours have also since been suspended by the North. There was no drama in this case - simply, it seems, someone in the DPRK wanting to prove their power to control people, even if it's for nothing else than to close the border to would-be tourists.

Apparently the North was also trying to prove its upper hand the day of our tour. After we'd gone through an early-morning security check on the South side of the DMZ - and after we'd been reminded again and again to leave ALL printed matter in lockers on the South side, reminded again and again that only digital cameras were allowed, reminded again and again that we should NOT mention the name of the leaders of South or North Korea at any time, etc., etc. - we sat in the parking lot and waited. A phone call needs to go through to the North before any tour buses can cross the border, and it seems the phone operator on the other side was refusing to pick up - a practice which our guide told us this was not unusual. Eventually someone did answer, and we were on our way.


The DPRK refuses to recognize the ROK as a legitimate nation, so ironically we used U.S. dollars instead of Korean won for all of our purchases on the tour. Of course a renegade pseudo-government is not an entity that can license vehicles either; hence the covered plates you can see on our South Korean buses here.



Our first stop was Pakyon waterfall. I've seen bigger, more impressive falls, but it was definitely a pleasant spot to wander around for a morning. The drive to the falls was picturesque too, the fields and forest scenery punctuated every kilometer or so with a DPRK soldier. Some of them were standing in the middle of unpaved roads, some outside villages houses, and some in the middle of fields; all of them were standing straight and tall under the warm autumn sun. They were motionless until the last vehicle in our motorcade passed; at that point they executed a crisp salute. I'd insert a picture of one of those soldiers here, except that of course we were told again and again that under no circumstances were we to take photos of any military personnel - or, for that matter, of any North Koreans whatsoever. It would have been pretty easy to snap a photo from inside the bus, but ALL cameras are inspected on the way out of the country, and any photos which the border control disapproves of are deleted without apology. I'm not sure if there could also be further repercussions for taking forbidden photos, but I certainly wasn't going to try to find that out firsthand.


Time for a break - lunch on the tour day, and from blogging for now. Part II is coming soon - promise! And then back to the Philippines.

Manila

Manila is, as I was told to expect, hot and dirty and crowded. The air is quite possibly the most polluted I've ever inhaled; it's worse than Bangkok and Beijing, even. I'd also been warned that everyone would be out to scam me, especially taxi drivers. It's probably better to arrive somewhere with low expectations and be pleasantly surprised than to be careless and unaware, but unfortunately that meant that I was a bit paranoid at first; it took me a while to sort of get used to the city and relax and enjoy it. I really hate to be suspicious of chatty strangers and taxi drivers and of the people surrounding me on crowded buses or subways, but that's how I found myself feeling. I hope none of them noticed when I clutched my backpack (worn in front, of course, so that I could keep my eye on it) a bit closer or checked to be sure my camera strap was wrapped tightly around my wrist, because I think the chatty ones were genuinely friendly and interested in talking to an American and my fellow passengers were just going about their normal business without thinking twice about my presence! For the record, no taxi drivers did scam us - though a couple started out asking for exorbitant fares. We always insisted on them using the meter, and all of them were quick to do so once we asked.

There isn't really that much to see in Manila; it's mostly a conglomeration of various residential areas, many of them (as in the photo above) very poor. There are a couple of somewhat nicer areas, and also a (relatively) sparkly, new business/shopping district called Makati. I wandered around Chinatown and a market area the day before Kirsten arrived; while not particularly attractive, the street scenes in those places were colorful and the food good! Here's a street sign from Chinatown:


Kirsten's first day in the city we attended church in the morning, then walked through Intramuros (what's left of the colonial section of the city), which we both found quite shabby and a bit disappointing. We also toured an old fortress and then people-watched in giant Rizal Park, where kids were flying kites, musical groups were performing on a festival stage, and martial art students were practicing their moves. These kids in the park wanted us to take their picture:


We'd been advised - rightly so, I think - to spend as little time as possible in Manila. After coordinating bus schedules to match our flights though, we ended up with another day in the city at the end of our trip. We visited a really great museum in Makati that morning, did a bit of shopping, splurged on Haagen Dazs, and then visited a small spa. Kirsten treated herself to a massage and me to a facial, which was lovely. We finished off the day with mango margaritas a sidewalk table in Malate, Manila's main backpacker district. As we sipped our drinks and watched the traffic go by - bikes, cars, pedestrians, peanut and mango sellers pushing their large carts - we both agreed that the city, or at least that small part of it, does have a certain charm. Still, I'd give other travelers the same advice that I received: while Manila might not be as bad as people say, time in the Philippines could much better be spent exploring the beautiful parts of the country outside the capital.