So the morning of the third day in Manila I got up and wandered around Malate finding breakfast donuts, a luxury for me in a place like China, and one I was happy to indulge. That day I took a bus ride out from the city to another town called Tagaytay to the south. It is set out on the northern rim of a crater lake created by an active volcano which sits on an island in the middle. Finances and time kept me from a boat ride to the island, but the journey out into the countryside was enough of a change of pace for me, and once we finally got past the last of the tire repair and aircon shops, I found myself quite enjoying the bouncing ride in the bus.

Tagaytay itself does indeed have a great view of the lake, though unfortunately is too far from the shore of the Lake Taal for the walk to be worth it to me. Instead I opted to wander the town, passing by the flower stalls along the side of the road and making my way out to a Catholic church with an unobstructed overview of the area before turning back. I waited for the bus for a good hour plus until one came by, but was able to enjoy the time (exhaust mouthfuls aside) watching a family who owned a store interact along the roadside.

Back in Manila, I was dropped unceremoniously with the rest of the bus at EDSA terminal which is situated at the corner of a massive intersection of motos, cars, buses, jeepneys, and clogged with pedestrians milling about and moving between the enormous elevated rail stations. The MRT (Metropolitan Rail System) is an inefficient behemoth that crams Filipinos aboard and offers a quick ride over the streets. The system works through ticket booths and entryway security checks after a couple bombings in the past few months at a mall and a major government building. So queues become a massive issue during the day at the stations.

Back in Malate, I was tired from my hours of busing, walking, busing, train-ing and such and nearly spent the remainder of the night reading. However, fireworks crashing in the air from Remedios circle a few blocks away drew me out, and after that I wandered the streets looking for a cheap local bar. I settled into an outdoor KTV pitched under tents on a paved lot between two buildings. Better known as karaoke, KTV is an Asian phenomenon that the Filipinos seem to take quite seriously and, to be fair, are usually pretty good at. Local beers here were cheap (50 cents for a mug) and I found myself wishing I had more money because I had only brought a few pesos along. However at the bar I made friends with a Filipino named Danny out celebrating his birthday, and his good relations with the wait staff got me a beer and a half on the house. It was another pleasant example of the hospitality of the people and general good demeanor.

The final day I used to travel up to Intramuros, the old Spanish quarter that suffered badly in World War II yet has retained a special charm and peace that escapes modern Manila. On my way up I passed through Rizal Park and stopped into the National Museum, free on Sundays, to peruse the near empty exhibits. The building itself looks quite European and has been well-maintained, and gave me a refreshing break from the streets and heat while also a little education. From there, I continued to Intramuros.

On the way I was asked about America by two Filipino women, one of whom’s sister was leaving for DC to do a nursing internship. They were wondering if I could come back to have lunch at their apartment. Such offers set off my sixth sense, and I politely declined the offer, citing time being against me. This pair was also the fourth or fifth to comment on my bearing a resemblance to, in their words, Jesus Christ. Colonial style buildings line the narrow streets and car traffic is held back drastically, creating a nice district for strolling and poking about. A renovated Spanish colonial home was open to tours and I went through it, where I was chastised for my liberal camera use by the guards. From there it was up to Fort Santiago, sitting at the northern end of Intramuros overlooking the Pasay River.

The area contains a small museum over Filipino national hero Jose Rizal, a man who was held in Fort Santiago on trumped up charges in the 1890s, before being executed in the aforementioned park that now bears his name. His execution helped inspire Filipino revolt to Spanish rule, which ended near the turn of the century. Rizal was a small, educated man who used his literary abilities to push the people of the Philippines toward independence, and after hearing about him the entire time on my trip, one stop I made before leaving Intramuros was into an book shop to buy his first subversive volume, Noli Me Tengere. I have been reading it since getting back to China.