A Journey to the East

A funny thing happened to me on the way to the Philippines...China. Or to be more specific: Shanghai, Pudong Airport.

The flight to Shanghai was nothing special; I slept most of the way. I did have time to think about the fact that there were fewer days of my travels ahead of me then behind me, a nice little metaphor for my life, I think. Pudong airport is massive and I needed to find my way from one terminal to the next, easily a one kilometre walk, inside. Wave-like ripples in the ceiling crane above you as you wander across its mirror finish, shiny floors, through a tide of people hustling to and from their intended destinations. The airport itself is based on an H design with a Sydney harbour tunnel like raised walkway between them, and did I mention it was huge; about halfway along this tunnel is a couple of hotels. The smog covers the whole area in a thick yellow film, with only glimpses of the huge city that is Shanghai and the airport a solitary island in the midst of the pink and grey smog, the sun set giving colour where there is none. With the help of some friendly, English (!) speaking girls at the information booth I made my way towards terminal 2 and an eight hour layover, thanks to limited flights and an early arrival.

You immediately notice the people, it can’t be helped, and they are everywhere, and they are from everywhere. A true melting pot of humanity as people from as many countries as you can count drift past you, patches of language steal your interest as you gaze at the many coloured clothing. The thought hits me;  I am just one person amongst a million travellers. Making my way through the most efficient security I have ever seen, I worked my way towards my lounge and settled in for a long wait til 12:30 am and my flight to Manilla. I spent my time between catching up on some favourite TV shows, reading e-books (I love paperbacks, but e-books are so handy!), and just simply watching. Watching the people, watching the cultures, and watching China! But then it happened...

“Flight delayed” til 2 am... No problem. I’m on London time anyway, its 4pm for me, though I had been watching the fog get thicker, swirling around the airport, the hotels and other terminal disappeared until they became nothing in the mist, not even lights. Then, even worse, the magic words “Flight Cancelled”. A groan from the waiting crowd. I messaged Emma immediately with the last of my credit and let her know what was happening. The problem with the airline is that they hire staff from another company to handle their dealings in China. Cheaper apparently, but no loyalty. The staff here did not help us at all and had no answers for us. In jumped an American lawyer. I love the way Americans believe in themselves so much that if they speak loudly, long enough, and offer their business card while proclaiming that they need to speak to someone, it will all get fixed. Not in China mate. A spokesperson for the airline explained to us that the Tower at the airport had closed all flights die to the thick fog that had been rolling in over the night. As she finished speaking a large plane took off behind her, and while she tried to explain that, another few took off over the next 20 minutes. Hilarious.

I wandered back through security, the guards not quite getting why I was coming back, but very polite, and headed for the airline check in desk, to work out what to do for the next flight, at 12pm. I rebooked with them and because I would miss my follow-on flight to Emma’s, I booked a flight with them to Tacloban as well. This flight was only a short 40 minutes after my arrival time and I mentioned this to them, and they were very helpful, seating me at the front of the plane and organising someone to take me through security. I then sat down for my long wait, another 8 hours by this time, no local money, no food. I met a Chinese girl and her family, travelling to Philippines for their holidays. She was obviously very excited to meet someone from Australia and introduced me to her Mother, Boyfriend and various other family members. I think I gave her an excuse to use her excellent English and complimented her on the fact as well. They then offered me so local snacks: nuts (roasted and fried with sesame seeds, yummy), a square, jelly, layered thing that was apparently pork, pork jerky, duck heart, duck liver (not paste), and some mandarins. They could barely disguise their glee as I ate everything, even though I was told what it was. We talked for a while before drifting off and I thanked them as I headed back for the boarding gates.

No cancellation this time, the American lawyer and family, who had showered and changed for the flight, wandered past, he caught my eye and gave me a knowing nod. Know what? I have no idea what he was thinking. People are funny. I climbed aboard, sitting just behind the pilot, and waited. The flight was good and I had plenty of time to get to my next flight in Manilla. My first thoughts of the Philippines only came from glimpses in the airport. But it was warm, sticky warm. I managed to call Emma from the airport, giving her 2 hours warning for what is apparently a 4 hour drive for her! But I had made it! On the plane I met a Canadian (another one!), living in the Philippines, and he started to tell me about the country. We shared a beer and some stories before he offered to take me into Tacloban to a bar so we could wait for Emma.

My first real impressions of the Philippines, are of night-time, exiting the plane at Tacloban airport: the heat hits you first, a sweaty, muggy thickness, that gets into your clothes and covers your skin, breathing is heavier as you pull harder for your oxygen in the humidity. Then the people: such a large number of people in a small airport: porters begging you to take your luggage: taxi drivers and trike riders offering their services: people selling anything and everything, pulling at your clothes and imploring you to buy. Sir, sir, sir, SIR! Outside was just as busy with cars, trikes, bikes, and jeepneys all clamouring for your attention, light colour and noise all begging for your money. My Canadian friend asked me for my ticket and told a porter to get my bag. The we left the terminal, for a beer. And the man found us 15 minutes later, with my bag, and was paid about $2 to do so. We jumped in his car and, with a faint warning bell in the back of my mind; we headed into the city of Tacloban. I called Emma and explained where we would be and she said she was about an hour away.

The city resembles any of those old, poor countries I have already been to in the east (Iran, Iraq, the ‘Stans. A place where money is noticed, but people are happy without it. Several rounds of beer and a few plates of Sisig (Pig brain and the skin from its head, fried in soy and delicious) and other delicacies cost less than $10, and I knew this was going to be fun. I quick cuddle with Emma, and a goodbye to my new friends and on we went for a 3 hour drive through the dark, over something resembling roads (though nowhere near the worst I had seen) and a 15 minute walk through the jungle on Emma’s property. I had made it! I met the family, but exhausted I had to sleep, and fell into bed after a cold bucket shower.

The sound of roosters calling for the sun woke me the next day; it’s a strangely comforting sound and reminds me of being a child at my Grandma’s in Abermain, the smell of coal filing her house. But this wasn’t the Hunter Valley, so it was the scent of garlic rice, honey and soy that filled my nostrils. Random earthy, umami, jungle smells were all around and I walked out for my first day in Leyte. Next the noises of the jungle as crickets chatter, frogs grumble and cicadas clatter in the background, accompanied by her family’s laughter as they go about their morning chores. Emma’s land is a green, leafy jungle on about 25 acres, a couple of hills and a dirt track winds its way through the coconut trees towards the road. Her house is a new, concrete and wood house perched halfway down a low rise. It’s a house, a real house; not a shack and not run down. It’s really pretty and even more so because she built it for the family. Tiled throughout and cheerily coloured on the inside, she has modern things like a kettle and a 48 inch flatscreen, next to a hand pump for water. The bathroom has cold running water and a bucket to wash in. It is a tropical climate and hot water isn’t really needed for washing yourself.

The scenic jungle a perfect frame for the salmon coloured walls, and the original house, a wooden, rustic building, forms an L shape with the new house on a small, rectangular clearing. This open shed is now the living room, family room, entertainment room and kitchen for the family, even more important because it was her father’s home, and the place he died. Emma is fiercely proud of her Father and his achievements, and I’m sure he would be equally proud of her. At the back of the new house is her new bedroom and ensuite, nearing completion it stands on 8 large stilts, taking up the entire back of the house, adding a third to the building. Her views over her land are awesome. Green, leafy foliage full of coconut, banana, and elephant eared bushes, spiky palms, low ferns, birds-nest, and a hundred others I have no idea about in all shades of greens and yellows. Goats bleat through the undergrowth scaring chickens and chicks as they scratch around, peeping, and clucking through the undergrowth, as caribou wallow in muddy pools to keep cool. She will be able to move into her new room before Christmas.

Her family warmly welcomed me when I come out in the morning, they are shy but smiles are huge, and they haven’t gotten smaller as I stay here. Nanai (Emma’s Mum) is the head of the clan, the head of the whole village by the sounds of it, and always has a big smile for me. She is known by everyone and all who know her call her Nanai (Grandma), all of the adults are either called aunty or uncle and it lends a family air to each gathering. Emma’s brothers and their kids are all very friendly and apologise for not having much English; their English is way better than my Tagalog or Besai, the 2 dialects the family speak. But we get by through sign language and always end up laughing at something.

Breakfast is a warm open affair of a variety of food, none that we would normally have at the breakfast table: chicken or pork stewed in soy, rice, vegetables; almost like an Asian buffet. We all eat with our fingers here as well, there are forks and spoons, but it very satisfying to squeeze your rice together with some sauce and meat and shove it into your mouth. My first breakfast surprised everyone as I am not afraid of trying any kind of foods. I’ll try it, if I don’t like it I just won’t eat it again. So they all laughed at me, and in no way with any malice, with me, as I tried these tasty new meals. Emma explained to them that I will eat anything and they laughed again.

My writing style is more for me than you; I’m trying to piece together memories of my whole trip and these bits are for me to expand on later when I get the urge to write! I’ll be filling in some more of my first days in the Philippines next time and also about our great trip to the holiday resort island of Boracay. I hope you all have a great Christmas and a wonderful new year. Be safe!

A Mongolian Adventure with James