Hong Kong & Philippines December / January 2010

It was the day after Christmas, sweltering hot and the first time our son was tasked with taking his parents to the airport – he was being left, a child alone, whilst the parents in the family frolicked in lands quite, quite distant. He was the Lord of the Manor, Keeper of the Keys, Chancellor of the Exchequer. He safely delivered us, and with a wodge of ‘emergency’ money in his pocket and an almost imperceptible smile, departed the airport with almost rude haste.

The flight to Hong Kong was filled with the expected 1 860 Asians, a couple of gaijin holidaymakers such as ourselves, and a Mediterranean-looking woman with stupendous curves, who could not be accused of trying to conceal anything on her body. Her lycra knit top and leggings were possibly bought many years ago and 50kgs lighter, and her extraordinary breasts were mottled with solar lentigines with a network of broken capillaries which made her cleavage look not unlike an old sepia map of the world drawn by early explorers.
After dinner she changed from her purple outfit into a pale pink nightie with an even lower cleavage. She looked like a large Vienna sausage. I did not see her again, although it would have been interesting to see what her frock for the finale was. I have never before witnessed an adult passenger changing for ‘bed’ on a plane before. I hope with all my heart that I will never stop being astonished by people’s behaviour. Indeed, it adds a glorious spice to life.

With the exception of the smell of what my husband believed were Chinese-food farts which overwhelmed the cabin after breakfast, it was a stress-free flight.

Hong Kong Airport is beautiful efficient and clean. We took the metro to the Hotel. An easy task as XXX had done this recently. It was FREEZING!!!

Our 35th floor suite at L’hotel had views across the bay, and revealed the energy sucking, tree-huggers Hades of The Christmas Lights of Hong Kong.

They were a little nicer than those used by the eThekweni Municipality in Durban last year.

We showered and took the metro to Kowloon, and the famous Night Market. The ZAR is roughly worth the same as the HKD, so conversion was not an issue for the numerically challenged. The market is well lit, and knee deep in fake labels, fake shiny things, and fake bargains. It was fun, and followed by a dinner of dim sum and sprite.
Monday 28 December 2010

We took a tram to HK Central – it (the tram) looked like Victoria Beckham – skinny as hell and clad in black and everywhere. It’s the mode of transport preferred by the locals, and has plastic benches, narrow aisles and narrower spiral stairs, where sitting is only for the privileged few. The trams are cheap and monumentally crowded. I spent about 20 minutes with a middle aged man’s bottom brushing my cheek as he swayed with the movement of the tram whilst XXX spent the journey staring straight ahead, pretending to be in a place where people lift their feet whilst walking.

The tram was changed for a bus, which took us to Stanley Market, open, clean and more of the same tat but smaller and less crowded. It was wonderful to be back in Hong Kong after so many years. In some ways it had changed completely, and in others, not at all. It was cleaner, fresher and somehow slicker, but still with pockets of smells, sights and experiences unique to Hong Kong. XXX was there in 2007 for the HK Seven a Side rugby so was the official guide, which was great!

We walked a lot, as one does when with XXX. Aberdeen harbour was cleaner than I remembered, with fewer boats, and a clean promenade that made navigating the area quite easy.

We met with an old colleague of mine and her family at the Bulldog Arms, an English Pub around the corner from Shanghai Tang. They have lived in HK for 6 years and loved every minute thereof. Brave people.
We took the Metro back to the Island, and hunted for a decent restaurant.
We did that a lot. Ended up at Thistasteslikecrap. Travel journals wax lyrically about the fine dining in HK, but we found a dearth of good, affordable eateries, and were generally disappointed with the fare we tried.

TUESDAY 29 DECEMBER 2010

XXX and I split up for the day – he was keen to see the History museum on the mainland, whilst I needed to do some Important Research on Retail Spending Patterns. I ended up having the Longest Walk in the World, accidentally of course, from Wang Tai to Admiralty, and back to Tin Haw. Along the way I was abused by an old bat who did not like me taking pictures of her Giant Lemons at the Ladies Market, A nutter who wanted to shake my hand because I looked like a Christian (what, indeed, do they look like?), and found a shoe shop that was offering 2 for 1. I was up to 3 pairs of boots by the time I arrived back at the hotel. It was good to get back there, because, beautiful as Christmas Carols are; one gets tired of hearing them. The Welsh Men’s Choir is the Boney M of the East , and their ONE Christmas CD is piped everywhere there are speakers.
Beautiful the first 16 times one hears it.
Besides, my Research was getting heavy.

The History Museum was closed.

We really hunted for a fabulous dining experience, but ended up at another mystery meat and noodles affair. One item offered was “Delightfully Deboned Chicken Cartilage with Udon”. XXX said ‘nodaf$#@’, and after a collective 11 mouthfuls of atrocious fare between us, we conceded defeat and wended our way back to the hotel.

Where we passed about 27 perfectly fabulous eateries en route.

Lack of local knowledge has a big role to play in foreigners loving or hating their experiences abroad. The fact that it was bitterly cold didn’t help at all. Fortunately we did not go there for the culinary experience, or we would have been sorely disappointed.

There were still a number of ‘Merie Christams’ signs up – perhaps a parallel holiday in China?

Air Philippines – HK to Manila.

We were 2 of 6 gaijin on the early flight. Breakfast consisted of dim sum, noodles and a cupcake, all of which were gelatinous, and inedible. Luckily there were lumpy bits which were unidentifiable, so we ate those.

Manila airport was crawling with uniforms, CCTV cameras and terribly shifty-eyed types. It is possible that the Medellin Cartel do their recruitment here. As in Vietnam and Cambodia, only passengers arriving or departing are allowed ingress into the airport building.

TRADERS HOTEL

A sniffer dog was set to work on our luggage before we entered the building, which was interesting. Well armed private security personnel were everywhere. The massacre a week earlier on one of the Southern Islands had spooked people, and an up-coming election seemed to have security on high alert.
There was also a rumbling volcano north of the Capital. Interesting times in SE Asia indeed.

Despite the rather blue-collar name, Traders is one of the best Hotels in Manila, offering a very comfortable, well decorated and spacious room.
The handle of my large suitcase was damaged on the inbound flight, and our little bellboy offered to send the Hotel Engineer to fix it. An equally little man arrived with masking tape and cable ties.
Sorted.

We braved the heat and took a long and fascinating walk along the esplanade into town. A beautiful nativity tableau was erected near the hotel on the harbour-front opposite Starbucks. The 3 wise men, Mary and Joseph, Baby Jesus and the sheep were there, life-sized, beautifully painted and housed under a striped gazebo. It was quite lovely, but unsettling too, as the Angel Gabriel was tied to the palm tree above the gazebo by his neck. He looked like he had been caught trying to jump the fence, and had been tied up by the local KKK as a warning to others. The Philippines is a Catholic country,(the Spanish influence) and small altars are found in little niches on the roadsides. There were large nativity scenes in many public spaces, but only one Angel Gabriel, hanging from a palm tree.

The promenade was littered with people sleeping – under benches, upright on bicycles or under brightly coloured cloth tied between the fronds of palm trees. Those not sleeping were selling ice cream, sliced mangoes and pineapples or dried fish on sticks that looked like lollies from hell. It was wonderful.

There are beautiful life-sized bronze statues of people, and families playing, dotted along the esplanade, which indicates money spent on cultural endeavours at some time, but generally, the streets, pavements, and buildings are filthy, rundown, and generally ripe on the nose. More overwhelming still was the noise. Everything that could possibly make a noise does so on only one volume setting, and that is LOUD.

Being the day before New Year, the mood was festive with fire crackers being lit, hooters blaring and The Welsh Men’s Choir Christmas Carols being played particularly loudly. The streets were teeming with people and suddenly “the world was too much with us” (Wordsworth?) and we needed to get back to the hotel. We decided a taxi was faster and marginally cooler.

One has a choice of 3 different types of taxi:

1) Classic 70’s sedan, white, with broken interior everything.
2) 3 Wheeled trike with a sidecar which seat is wide enough for an American seven year old child, or a Philippina family of 8 and their pet pig.
3) Home made truck with decorative steel cut-outs and hyper-enlarged wheel hubs, buffalo-sized bull bars and long bodies with bench seats running down both sides of the interior. Many have religious icons painted on the sides, and are gloriously decorated in all the colours God might have discarded as being too garish.

We decided to dine in-house, although we had only one night in Manila. It was very hot out, and after HK, we just didn’t feel like hunting for edible food.

Happy hour in the hotel introduced a singer who wanted to check the sound quality first, which was reasonable. He hissed into the first mic:


and continued doing so 125 times. He then proceeded to check the other microphones around the stage in the same manner. He left the stage, and we never saw him again. Which was lucky for him. If that was the show, it was repetitive and annoying.

Our cocktail waiter wore a badge that read

CONRAD
I like swimming

We didn’t ask.

We had so much to absorb from the day’s experiences, and enjoyed our meal, whatever it was.

XXX and I had a tender moment during dinner – one of those lingering, loving looks husbands and wives give one another, when he said in gentle tones:
“The veins on your forehead are standing out”.
I have never loved him more….

MANILA DOMESTIC AIRPORT en route to Kalibo.

There is no shopping. Not unless you count 6 kiosks, 4 selling food, I selling Watchtower magazines and one with the shutters down so we didn’t know. Once boarded, our Pilot reminded us that ‘Stealing of life vests, which are found under your seat, is against the law”. Otherwise, the 45 minute flight was uneventful. We were travelling, and in heaven. The only thing missing was our son.

KALIBO

We were hustled onto an 18 seater bus at ‘KALIBO AIRPORT – Height 12m’ for the 1 ½ drive to Caticlan. The countryside was lush with rice paddies, water buffalo, and uniformed school children: the girls all in different coloured plaid skirts depending on which school they attended, and matching plaid ties with white shirts – gorgeous! There was interestingly, lots of rubbish lying around in pockets. Individual lots were generally very neat, with community pride more evident in some villages than others.
Eastern signs remain a delight, with someone offering:

‘Lifeline, Caregivers, Travel Visa’s’
And another, cleverly corrected as ‘Rub²ish’.

CATICLAN

The ferry from Caticlan to Boracay Island takes about 25 minutes. Heavy Metal video’s are broadcast on the small TV set into the wall in front of the passenger seating area. One assumes this was to entertain the passengers, but was not the case at all.

BORACAY: New Years Eve

We were met by a truck / taxi at the Ferry and were taken into the village of Boracay where we were unceremoniously dropped at the side of the screamingly busy main road. It was New Year ’s Eve, the noise was cacophonic, and there was no hotel in sight. We shared another of those eye contact moments that older married couples share, and that one simply registered bewilderment and perhaps a small measure of terror. The veins on my forehead might have been raised.

Ant being a man, was in control and knew exactly where we were and why.

Eventually, a smiling man arrived, hoiked my heavy red suitcase on his shoulder and shouted what could have been “follow me”. We scuttled after him (my new boots were in the bag – I COULD NOT LOSE HIM!!). Around the corner, he placed the bag on a tricycle with a luggage rack. XXX placed his bag there too, and we were invited to take a seat on this contraption. A 7 year old boy proceeded to cycle us down a narrow lane, past houses of ill repute, rundown hostelries, domestic backyards and kiosks selling all manner of comestibles and household items. At some stage I wondered if we were being sold to human traffickers, but realised the underworld had no need for a saggy old tart and a very clever Dutchman, despite his being in good shape.

The tricycle ride ended when the driver turned onto soft beach sand and the bike ground to a halt. The combined weight of our luggage, my new boots, and our bodies was simply too much for those thin tyres and 7 year old legs.

Luckily, XXX was ordered to get out and help push, leaving me to enjoy what remained of the ride to our accommodation. The sea was on my right, XXX was watching my back, (OK, pushing) and we had arrived safely on the famous White Beach of Boracay.
A long way from home indeed.

BORACAY OCEAN BEACH CLUB

Our suite was fairly basic, but superbly located on the quiet end of the pool, which abutted our verandah. One could not ask for more. We were situated on the south end of the long white beach, just off the main thoroughfare of beach bars, restaurants and stores / kiosks, and as such, did not have the noise or plethora of vendors interrupting one’s thoughtful meanderings whilst lying on the beach. The only real complaint was a bathroom design fault - the mouth of the tap was too long and ended just above the drain hole. Unless one could slip ones head into an aperture about 4 cms wide, brushing of teeth would always be an exercise in acrobatics in those bathrooms. Even filling a glass was problematic. Perhaps it was designed by a chiropractor. Nevertheless, brushing teeth in the shower was de rigueur.

New Years Eve dinner was enjoyed on the beach at Bella Vita, an Italian restaurant and namesake of the establishment we use when in Grahhamstown delivering our son, so it felt appropriate. There was live music, (including a perfectly horrendous rendition of Achy Breaky Heart), and an impressive selection of seafood. The daily catch is displayed by all the restaurants on the beachfront on trays filled with ice. Rudimentary, but it works. There was always a fabulous selection.

Towards midnight, the local inhabitants started arriving with their own tables and chairs, and set these up between the hotel and restaurant guests. The mood was very jolly indeed. We were celebrating the turning home of a hard year …

At midnight, giant speakers played The Dance of the Valkyries, as dozens of hotels and restaurants set off fireworks displays along the beachfront, which continued for about 30 minutes.
It was truly spectacular, and a wonderful privilege to share it with my wonderful XXX and those smiling, gentle people.

The following morning, not a trace of fireworks detritus remained on the beach. It had all been cleaned by sunrise.

NEW YEARS DAY 2010

The hotel breakfasts were horrible. A sign at the pool declared that ‘Safe guard not attending’. He was probably eating next door.

Each day they had a selection of KimChee for the many Korean visitors. The gaijin fare offered white bread only, one type of jam and red-skinned sausages with eggs-to-go and fruit. This didn’t tug at my skirt at all.

I ate eggs every day, and bought my own honey which the waiters didn’t seem to object to. XXX could not pretend he did not know me as there were few enough of us at the hotel. Most of the guests were Korean and Russian with a smattering of the Queen’s heavily tattooed countrymen: we knew they were such as they were collectively overweight and the unburned bits of exposed skin was very pink.
The Russian men had better haircuts.

One was spoilt for choice at dinner times, and restaurants offering British, Korean, Thai, Italian, Mexican, Greek, and even Japanese fare, lined the beach and the little open-air shopping mall on the Northern point of the beach. We tried the Greek restaurant in the mall, thinking we’d ‘go around the world’ whilst in Boracay. It was hot inside, and we could not wait to get outside again. Eating on the beach was preferable as it was much, much cooler.

THE NEXT DAY.

Breakfast was horrible.
We spent the day thereafter reading, drinking gin, eating, drinking gin, afternoon sleep, gin, sundowners, and the hunt for a dinner spot. Whilst walking down the main road in the early evening, XXX walked forehead first into a corrugated iron roof overhang. It is, after all, a country of small people, and one supposes that the odd roof will be close to the ground. By the time we arrived at the pharmacy about 10 minutes later, he had a runnel of blood coursing down his face. It looked fierce, but perspiration and head wound make for a more dramatic appearance: once we had cleaned the cut, it wasn’t too bad, and my dedicated ministrations ensured he healed without a scar.

We meandered around the D’Mall, the main shopping area on the island. There is a huge selection of stores lining the paved area, offering a fair selection of the usual touristy things like T-shirts, bamboo and shell trinkets, summer beach wear and inexpensive jewellery.

Always fun, with each expedition producing a little something that HAD to come home with us. It was good for my Study on Retail Spending Patterns.

We settled on Bella Vita again for dinner, where a Russian ‘Mafiya’ couple dined too. He was all muscle, dressed in black from head to toe, and totally shitfaced. He was unable to stand unassisted.
She was all platinum hair extensions and a white almost-there outfit that started in line with her armpits and ended roughly in line with her ovaries, with an awful lot of exposed flesh in between. She did, however, appear to be wearing a G-string, and in fairness, had such perfect, perfect legs and breasts, she could possibly have been a man. She was wearing the sexiest pair of Laboutine heels, with bits of leather and furry things criss-crossed all the way to her knees like Bridget Bardot in Barbarella or Brad Pitt in Troy. It’s always interesting observing our fellow humans.

Whilst playing with the TV remote, we discovered 6 Christian Channels, 8 local channels, 2 shopping channels and our local DSTV Super Sport. My holiday was over – the sporting channel had followed me to Boracay….

In fairness, I did enjoy the SA vs England Cricket test.

SUNDAY 3 January.

A beautiful, lazy day. XXX loves walking and kayaking and generally getting hot and sweaty wherever we go. As a result, he ‘owns’ every place we visit as he gets to know it at ground level. It fascinates me how he needs to understand the lie of the land before he is totally comfortable in a place. He never gets lost when outdoors, but once in a shopping mall, he’s like a child that’s lost its mother…

MONDAY 4 January 2010.

Breakfast was horrible.

Touting all manner of business just beyond the legal boundaries of the hotels are ‘Commissioners’. We caught the eye of one particularly persistent one who inveigled us into going sailing.

The boat was a bright royal blue 36ft outrigger made of bamboo and tied together with fishing gut. It was magnificent!! It cut through the water like a hot knife through butter, and for a couple of seconds out there, a school of hundreds of flying fish arched out of the water alongside the craft. It was breathtaking. The island is not very large, and is about one kilometre across at its widest point and 8 kilometres long. We covered the entire eastern shore in about an hour of sheer perfection.

All the motorised water sport is conducted from floating decks about 1 km offshore, eliminating noise completely from the beach. Lapping water, clinking ice-cubes and the sound of the huffing and puffing of the masseur working on one’s feet are really the only sound one hears whilst tanning.

Dinner was at Serges, a Mexican Restaurant with children’s swings at the front in lieu of bar stools. Late evenings would have been interesting indeed. The menu offered all things Mexican, from Chimmichanga’s to Fajita’s, Burrito’s and Pole. Unfortunately everything was smothered in BBQ sauce so everything tasted the same. This, we discovered, might be the Philippino National Dish: “Everything with BBQ Sauce”. A pity, but not a problem. We had variously, Crab Thermidor, New Zealand Beef Tournedos, Giant Crayfish, Flat Chicken, Samon, various pasta’s – all napped in BBQ.

TUESDAY 5TH JANUARY 2010

XXX went on his daily walk, I did not.

We drank gin, and forced a sleep in ‘midst all this. Dinner was at the Japanese restaurant.

Some might say it was a day wasted.
Naaaahhhhh, it was perfect.

Until about midnight.
The Japanese meal was desperate to escape my body in short sharp spurts (squirts?), leaving me spent by morning. It did not clear completely for more than a week.

Public bathrooms are best avoided in Asia.


WEDNESDAY 6th JANUARY 2010

We rented a Honda Scrambler made for one Philippino or ½ of my bum. Naturally, XXX drove, and I clung to him like the proverbial snot to a blanket, perched on the rear mudguard. The bike had the power of a hotel hairdryer, and we struggled up hills with elderly locals passing us on foot. The helmets were too small, pushing our cheeks out like condoms filled with water. Luckily we saw no-one we know.

XXX dropped me off once my cellulite was evenly distributed throughout my body, and took the bike for a further ride, ‘to see if it’s easier to handle with only one person riding on it…’. Although the bike was hired for the morning, he returned in a scant 1 ½ hour later, bruised and walking like Peter Fonda just before he died.

I took a couple of photographs of big, old, ugly tattooed foreigner types with tiny young local women, hoping these would one day help the police with their investigations, but XXX put a stop to this, and asked me to let other people eat in peace. I saw them in restaurants mainly, so it made sense. I think he was afraid of being donnered.

He was forced to have room-service pizza as I was not keeping much in. There was cricket, there was South African wine, there was me.

Leaking, but who could ask for more…?



THURSDAY 7TH JANUARY 2010

XXX found some Aloe Vera yoghurt which was my sustenance for the last two days. He was a fabulous nurse, and kept me in meds and gin whilst doing guy things. He did not do much shopping.

FRIDAY 8TH JANUARY

The return journey :
1. Walk from the Hotel to the tri-taxi. No sign of the little rickshaw boy. He might have seen us coming and tied himself to a palm tree, out of sight.
2. Ferry to Caticlan: still festooned with Christmas lights and decorations, Guns ‘n Roses on the video. Still ear shatteringly loud. It was sheeting down when we disembarked, and were soaked to the skin by the time we boarded the bus.
3. Bus to Kalibo: through villages with charming South American names like Toledo, des Fleurs, Buenasurte, San Isidro. The bus driver appeared to be powering the bus with his hooter.
4. Fly to Manila: Manila International Airport very similar to Manila Domestic Airport. Utterly crap with marginally better shopping.
5. Marginally.
6. Fly to Hong Kong.
7. Fly to Durban.
8. Allowed the student child to drive us home.
9. Have professional carpet cleaners in to remove wine stains.
10. Pick up broken glass in pool for 2 weeks.
11. Don’t ask about the carpets or about the whereabouts of the ‘emergency money’.

The journey was hard work but exciting and the Philippines is a fascinating country. We were home with our son again and well rested. One could not ask for more.

Someone said that ‘in spite of wars and tourism and satellite images, the world is no larger or smaller than it always was’. The more we travel, the more we realise how much of it we will never see, but are so grateful for the things we have…

And hope there will be many more.