Initially I didn’t plan to visit the Philippines since the country was not on my prime list for relocation. I’d never been to the Philippines before, and it seemed the responses of most people who spent time there were either to love it, or to express something less than love for it. It was a bit serendipitous that I got convinced to visit the country during a service call with Comcast customer service just prior to my departure in February, the service rep on the phone being a young woman located in Cebu, Philippines. I don’t usually decide on country visits based on recommendations by distant customer service reps, but she really was quite convincing. What sealed the deal for me, in addition to adding one more new country to my visit list, was the possibility of maybe meeting her when I was there. I know, silly me. I never heard from her again but meanwhile I was locked into visiting the country.

As with my prior post on Bali, I’m back home now, and have been back 12 days as of this writing. As of today, it is three months since I set off on my Voyage of Rediscovery. Being back I am sure influences my memories of my visit to the country as well as my perceptions of it. In all honesty, after ten weeks of nearly continuous traveling by the time I arrived in the Philippines, I was beginning to get tired. I wasn’t so much anxious to return to what passes for home as to just have a break from the continual pressures of travel, the adjustments to new cultures, different languages, changing foods, shifting currency exchange rates, being crammed into aluminum tubes at 35,000 feet, and perhaps worst of all, the incessant security checks prior to each flight. With this growing fatigue came inevitable mistakes, and those became more and more prevalent during my week in the Philippines.

Once more, not to bury the lead, there is much to like about the Philippines. People were remarkably friendly and kind, and I actually made some Filipina friends that I hope will remain friends in the years ahead. Unlike other countries I’d been in, many people actually do speak English, and most street and road signs and even many commercial signs and public announcements are in English. This is a huge assist in being able to navigate the country and make oneself understood, and to understand what is going on around one. I had been led to believe that there was poverty and dirt and crime, and I did encounter the first two of that trio though fortunately never had a sense of being unsafe the whole time I was in the country, even inadvertently pushing the envelope a couple of times during my stay. In fact, I can say that at no time during my entire trip through 11 countries, in big cities and small places, did I ever feel unsafe. Not once. A little awkward on occasion, but never unsafe. I doubt I could make the same claim if I spent similar amounts of time in parts of many American cities.

The Philippines is a big country, an island nation not unlike Indonesia, with a huge number of islands — 7,641 by the most recent count — and many scenic places to visit. It was folly to think that I could see much of the country in just a week, especially given the somewhat chaotic transportation situation. Maybe if I was less tired than I was at that point I could have envisaged taking a 29-hour bus and ferry trip, or other such transits, and enjoyed the adventure they would be, but I was past that point in my thirst for novel experiences. So I settled for flights from Manila to Cebu, departure the same night I arrived in Manila to avoid having to deal with the reputedly larcenous taxi drivers, and back to Manila in four days for three more days in the capital city. Fitting everything together, flights, AirBnB stays, transit times, budget (hell, it’s only money! became my motto during the second half of the trip), completing the required online pre-arrival form, and doing it all while in Bali, proved to be a logistical challenge. Well, the word nightmare comes to mind, but I’ll avoid the hyperbole. In the end I made it all work.

Okay, bottom line: I’m glad I went to the Philippines, glad I finally can say I’ve been to the country, had some good interactions, can see going back sometime when I’m less pressed for time and able to explore more places. But for reasons I’ll delve into in this post, I don’t see it as a country where I might want to live. Maybe the Philippines lovers among my readership, and I am sure they are out there, might convince me otherwise, but I’m not taking any more recommendations from Comcast customer service representatives.

Cebu

My arrival in the Philippines was less than auspicious. The Manila airport — more correctly the Nino Aquino International Airport, or NAIA, named after the leader of the opposition to former Philippine dictator Ferdinand Marcos and who was assassinated at the Manila airport in 1983 — might well qualify as the worst airport of my trip. At least the older terminal would. It seemed that nothing worked, not escalators, not elevators, not people movers, not ATMs, not the wifi. Signs were somewhere between non-existent and misleading. The taxi drivers in the terminal certainly lived up to the bad reputation I’d seen assigned to them. I had opted for a later flight to Cebu, the country’s fifth largest and oldest city, to avoid missing the connection in case my arriving flight from Singapore — an airport recently voted the world’s best, in stark contrast to the Manila airport, and transit point on the way from Bali — was late getting in. This proved to be a smart decision since that flight was in fact late in arriving. And then the Cebu flight also was delayed.

My arrival in Cebu, somewhere around midnight after traveling since 9 that morning, was equally less than auspicious. I allowed myself to fall into the hands of an over-eager young taxi driver, lured by the fact that he knew the very building wherein lay the AirBnB I had reserved. I knew the fare he quoted was too high, but I was too tired to argue about it. And then, upon arriving at my destination, I was too tired to put up much of an argument with his ridiculous contention that he didn’t have change for my 1,000 peso note (about 18 gringo dollars). He lamely offered his extensive guidance, rolled out on the 15-minute ride from the airport, on how to meet girls in Cebu as justification for the extra charge. So I voluntarily surrendered to his larceny — one of the few times on the trip I succumbed to such deceit — and resolved to avoid Filipino taxi drivers to the extent I could.

Two things struck me almost immediately upon arrival in Cebu (aside from the fact that the warnings about the taxi drivers were correct): First, I was surprised how close relative poverty existed to the boundaries of affluence. This, more than anything, is what struck me about Philippine society more generally. I encountered it first in Cebu, where I soon discovered I was staying on an island of affluence surrounded by a sea of, if  not poverty, something much less than affluent. The other thing was the utterly chaotic transportation scene. Unlike an orderly system of public transit I encountered in other places, there seemed to be dozens and dozens of operators of small jitney-like buses, supplemented by the colorful Jeepneys for which the Philippines are known, plus large coaches, motos and scooters that take passengers, passenger-carrying tricycles, and both yellow and white taxis. And in Manila, add a Metro system that is a collection of different lines and systems.

I felt paralyzed trying to make sense of the transportation situation, which really inhibited my exploration of Cebu and the surrounding areas. And I really did feel I was staying on an island of big buildings, shops and restaurants, and mostly young people out partying and having a good time, but which didn’t extend beyond several blocks before suddenly transforming into poor barrios.

See that photo above, of the Ayala Malls? That gives you an idea of the affluent island I’m describing. Late on my first full day in Cebu I set out to locate it and the supermarket reported to be located within the mall. A combination of sketchy directions from the concierge in the building where I was staying, crappy directions from Google Maps, and my own turned-around idea of north and south, sent me walking in precisely the wrong direction. What was supposed to be an eight-minute walk began to stretch out. And stretch out. And stretch out. Nightfall had come, and I was soon off the island of affluence and walking on what passed for sidewalks through those poor barrios. I had a sense — at a certain point, a certainty — I was off-course, but I kept thinking how Google Maps showed the mall just a few blocks away. Which was true. Except the blocks were in the opposite direction from where I was walking.

Let’s just say that eight-minute walk turned into an hour and half expedition, up into the hills, following the local streets, almost getting killed by a thousand crazed motos. The supposed sidewalks, where they existed at all, had big holes in them, holes big enough to swallow up a person, and almost invisible in the dark. So I figured it was safer to walk in the street and take my chances with the crazed motos and cars and vans and buses than to walk on the sidewalks. So that’s what I did for much of the expedition.

I am sure I was a curiosity to the many local people I passed on my perambulation, but no one harassed or threatened me. I got an occasional call-out, and one little girl insisted on coming up to me, shaking my hand, and then touching her hand to her head. I guess she wanted to give a welcome to the odd foreigner wandering through her neighborhood. Everywhere there were political posters for approaching municipal and legislative elections, and I passed two political rallies in progress in the night. I couldn’t help but think of the folly of people expecting that any of the Bozos on the posters or staging the rallies would make their lives any better.

Thanks to the inertial guidance system I maintain in my head I eventually did make it back, soaked in sweat and with worn out feet, from my misguided wandering, which included walking kilometers up one long winding street, thinking it would lead to a main artery, only to discover it was a dead end. And the next day discovered the Ayala Malls actually were just several minutes walk away — if one walks in the right direction.

I took advantage of my stay in Cebu to catch up on my writing and some of my rest, and I managed to have a pretty amazing Korean barbecue meal called samgyeopsal. Don’t ask me to pronounce it, but a friend of half Korean descent in Kazakhstan reminded me what it is called. And in the course of checking out a local market I discovered an actual airport bus which got me back to the airport not for 1,000 pesos, but for 50. Less than a gringo buck. I felt vindicated.

Manila

I had one more stop on my Voyage of Rediscovery, and that was Manila, the sprawling capital city of the Philippines. Three more days before turning homeward, and I was determined to make the most of them. I managed to score a ride in from the airport with a ride share called Grab. They had a table set up at the far end of the terminal and even without the app I just had to write my name and destination on a scrap of paper and I was able to get a ride to the place in Makati, one of the more upscale parts of the city, where I was staying, on the 25th floor, avoiding one more lamentable taxi experience.

The transportation scene in Manila seemed as chaotic as in Cebu so, the next day, I was resolved to walk to where I wanted to go. The walking times weren’t that different from taking public transportation, and without having to figure out fares, where to make changes, and the other mysteries of getting from Point A to Point B or C or whatever. It only took the first leg of my walk for Plan A to go in the trash and to revert to Plan B, but once more that inertial guidance system in my head kept me pointed in generally the right direction, with the large Rizal Park as my goal.

After being in three countries in a row that drive on the left, I had gotten the “look right” thing down. And now being back in a country that drives on the right I had to undo that habit and remind myself to look left. Combined with tricycles that went any way they wanted, and the incessant traffic, it all became very confusing. This confirmed something I’d experienced before, that it is easier to transition to driving on the left than re-transitioning back to driving on the right.

Manila, it can at least be said, mostly has usable sidewalks, which is a point in its favor. But traffic is fierce, never ceasing, and the noise and chaos is unrelenting. I made it to Taft Avenue, a major business street, and that’s where I took the photo above. Click on it to see a video of the scene and hear the noise on the street. Remember to back click back here to see the rest of what I have to say.

Incidentally, walking around Manila I saw places that seemed out of place. I saw a Shakey’s, something I don’t think I’ve seen since St. Louis in 1971. And here is a Tim Hortons, not in Manitoba but in Manila.

Somewhere after that point on Tate, after the animal bite clinic, and around the De Salle University campus, I discovered that concrete viaduct overhead was actually the Metro. Now the Metro I could make sense of, so I climbed the steps — virtually nothing in Manila is designed for the handicapped — found the station closest to Rizal Park, and went to buy a Metro pass. The ticket seller pushed my money back at me. “Free ride,” she said. I thought it was because she didn’t have change, but I later found out the Metro was offering free rides for some days around the May Day holiday, and I happened to be there for that.

That was the good news. The bad news was that everyone in Manila was taking advantage of the free ride days, and the train cars were stuffed to the point where either getting on or getting off was a feat of sheer will power and pushing one’s way through and oblivious to the bodies blocking the way. No stuffers, like in Tokyo, but even stuffers would have a hard time pushing more people into the jam-packed cars. I’ve never seen anything like it on any of the many Metros I’ve ridden around the world. It came close to true torture, riding in those jam-packed cars.

Oh, by the way, here is one more means of transport in Manila.

On my last full day and night in Manila I got over-confident. I wanted to visit the old city of Manila, known as Intramuros. I started out way too late, this time walking in the other direction to the Metro Blue Line, somehow found my way through the convoluted transfer to the Yellow Line, and eventually found my way to the Central stop, a short walk to Intramuros, through an underpass that went beneath an insanely busy road. So far so good. Here is a monument to a different kind of KKK — the Kataastaasan, Kagalangalangang Katipunan ng mga Anak ng Bayan, or Katipunan for short. This was the revolutionary movement formed in 1892 that served as the catalyst for the revolution that ultimately ended 333 years of Spanish rule of the islands in 1898.

I finally made it to Intramuros and explored the original old Manila. It was worth the effort, at least to that point. These are some scenes of what I saw there: A festive street scene, and a wedding about to get under way at the San Agustin Church, the oldest stone church in the Philippines. There also was a big political rally going on in one square, and it was interesting to see that people actually lived in the old quart4er and it wasn’t just a tourist destination.

The problems began when I went to leave Intramuros but had neglected to put down mental breadcrumbs to retrace my steps back to the Metro. By then it was getting dark, and that just added to the challenges. I remembered seeing the Manila Cathedral, which you can see lit up in the featured image, but that just led me in the wrong direction. I’ll spare readers all the gory details, but by the time I made it back to where I was staying I had literally walked halfway across Manila, took three Metro rides, and was just about at the end of my ability to endure any more. An hour trek had turned into three hours. And Manila not being a city designed for handicapped people, I must have walked up and down more steps than if I had climbed the Statue of Liberty, if not the Empire State Building. Let’s just say, mistakes were made.

Back to the USA

My Voyage of Rediscovery was at an end. I had a 29-hour trip ahead of me, Manila to Taipei to Seattle to Orlando, and then the drive home. That’s my first view of the U.S. at the trip’s end, above, approaching sunset over Washington State. All went well, I had my last security check, and then I became the victim of my own stupidity. The misadventures were not over, and even being on time for that last flight to Orlando, through what would be a comedy of errors, except they weren’t very funny, I wound up missing it. It’s too stupid even for me to recount. That 29-hour trip turned into a 42-hour trip, after spending a cold and uncomfortable night at the Seattle airport waiting for the next Orlando flight. Anyway, to eliminate any suspense about it, I finally made it home. Which was still here and not occupied by squatters.

Unlike when I reached U.S. soil following my first round-the-world journey, when I was 15, I didn’t feel the urge to kiss the ground. Lots of things have changed in those intervening decades. The world has largely, if not uniformly, become a better and more livable place. My perspective on my home country has shifted. And perhaps more than anything, I have changed. There was a comfort being back in my home country, but I don’t see it as the only place in the world where I can live and be happy. Which was at least one key reason for the trip.

Here are the raw statistics for the trip:

77 days, 11 weeks.

Second lifetime circling of the globe.

28 flights, 3 overland trips, 5 car rentals, approximately 23 taxi or ride share rides, some number of public bus and metro rides.

0 visits to airplane lavatories.

Visited 11 countries — Colombia, Panama, Costa Rica, Uruguay, Botswana, South Africa, Spain, Thailand, Malaysia, Indonesia, Philippines — plus six transit or plane stop countries — Peru, Brazil, Ethiopia, France, Singapore, Taiwan. Total: 17 countries. That brings my lifetime total of countries and territories visited to 88, including 8 outside the U.S. in which I have lived and worked.

Air miles flown: 41,697 (67,104 kms) — about one and three-quarters of the way around the world at the equator.

Overland miles traveled: 597 (961 kms).

Miles driven: Estimated at about 1,500 (2,414 kms).

Per day cost, including airfare, ground transport, lodging, food, and incidentals: $158.78. That’s a long way from the $8.50/day ($55.14/day in 2025 dollars) I spent on my four-month trip to Mexico and Central America in 1974-75, but my standard for this trip was a lot higher, and I didn’t stay in a single place where the blankets had “L.A. County Jail” printed on them or where I had to share a toilet. Considering that some estimates put the average cost of a 12-day international trip at $271/day, I think I did pretty well.

To answer the obvious question, no, I have not decided where I might relocate to. I’ve ruled out a few places, ruled in a few. Now the hard work of research on the top contenders must begin, but at least I have a sense of what the various places under consideration are like based on real and recent on-the-ground experience. And I’m very happy I took the trip. It was something I needed to do. I hope you’ve enjoyed reading about it, and maybe even gleaned some insights of your own as a result.

Now back to our regularly scheduled programming.

Featured image, Manila Cathedral lit up

Ayala Malls, Cebu

Traffic on Taft Avenue, Manila

Tim Hortons, Manila, not Manitoba

No parking except for a horse and carriage

Monument to the Katipunan

Street scene, Intramuros

Wedding getting under way, Agustin Church, Intramuros

First view of the USA

All photos and video by the author

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