by Vanya Vetto
I'm walking easy. Manila Bay is off my radar. Those massage guys don't know what they are doing and do more damage than good.
'They aren't qualified chiropractics.'
Jose thinks it's better I get a happy ending massage with a big titted whore.
'It would be more enjoyable and less dangerous,' he says.
It's steady eddy walking again. I always get worse after a massage, never better.
I should have learned. I was too busy helping out poor families, 'got three kids to feed,' where had I heard that before?
It was a long loop down a busy road and back up, taking videos and photos of those long jeeps.
'God Bless,' says one sign, 'Only One Virgin' says another, I'm taking a wide guess they were talking about Mary.
I'm away from the tourist district. You don't see families sleeping on the pavement. The smart ones just camp up at the water fountain.
My eyes are opening up.
Every day I'm away from Chris and Edward, I'm away from the professional humbugging.
The food is that good at Seven-11, it's where I take my meals, drinks, sweets and coffee and fruit and even rice dishes, omelettes and spicy mince.
They are safe, not targeted by insurgents and sell so many yummy goodies.
I think I'm enjoying Manila more.
Once I figured the place out, it got a bit easier.
A cheap and clean hotel run by a Korean who whispers. If he's hiding his throat cancer, he's doing a great job. The Muslim security guard says yes Sir to his boss and the receptionist is now calling me Master Vanya. I handed over the fake stone ring I bought in Sarawak - from that crook from Sumbawa - to the guard.
He wears it all the time I see him. He's from Mindanao, not far from that town that was under siege.
He's moaning about his salary. I said it was twice what they pay in Indonesia, and come on, being a security guard ain't hard work, you sit on your ass most of the time and get to carry a firearm.
He's only been here two months, supporting his two kids in the province. I tell him to hang in there.
We spend a fair bit of time looking out at the street from the hotel where the whores come and go. Being surrounded by Karaoke bars, spas and massage joints does have its benefit.
Two soldiers and a policeman were patrolling the airport.
'I'm not afraid of guns.'
The policeman acknowledged my smartassness with a smile.
Keep up the great work, I said.
There's nothing better than roaming Asian airports and admiring the guys with big guns.
Maybe there's a threat of terrorism. Maybe this is a deterrent.
I just don't know. And I forgot to ask the policeman.
Below my seat was ash and cigarette butts. I was smoking in a non-smoking zone. They are pretty relaxed in Kinta Kinabalu.
It was a shame I was flying to Manila. I was admiring the Muslim girls in their hijabs and tight jeans.
Very sexy for this part of the world. I'd have to come back.
I'm fond of the hijab. Perhaps being taken care of by nuns as a child, I'm used to the habit over the head.
Not bad as whores go, very slim, an ass that would look divine doing doggy and a pretty face, in a pixish kind of way.
A bit on the skinny side. But still very fuckable.
She had just been to LA Cafe.
What's that? I ask.
A place where many girls go, she says.
She’s staying in the same hotel as me.
My bet is that LA Cafe is the place where local whores go looking for foreign tourists just like myself.
Would you like a massage, she asks. She has her rent to pay and apparently I’m her quick fix.
I'm feeling a twitch already.
Thoughts race through my mind. This could be a great intro to Manila and a cheap fuck.
Instead I tell her how I got a fucked up neck and back because of those massage butchers down at Manila Bay.
I know her massage would be more gentle, but I still say no. I can’t let a whore get between me and my wallet.
It's a soft no I'm giving her. I didn't even bother negotiating a price. I”m getting tough these days.
She's angling for a fuck but I'm playing it cool. I’m over massages and humbugging stories.
She had until 12 to cough up the rent money at the Korean run hotel I'm staying at in downtown Manila.
I want no part of it
I'm gonna get stung.
If it’s cheap then it’s not.
It's a quick departure to the room for a wank in the bank. It's a big saving.
There' s a new receptionist. She was even hotter than the whore. Me and the Muslim security guard who is always fucked up on shabu are both enamoured with Jessi Belle. She's a bit unsure what she has got herself into.
A job is a job, I say.
I've saved a fortune today already. I tell Abdul I want to stay here longer and can't afford to get mixed up with messy whores.
I could have got a bargain fuck too. But my heart said just be patient and pay respect to the wank towel. It never lies. It never steals. It never gets you into trouble.
Listen, I feel really bad not helping out a pretty lady in distress. What you have done if you were in my shoes?
The American Embassy in Manila sits at the end of the Manila Bay walkway like an Alcatraz that decided to relocate to the Philippines.
Hundreds of hopefuls wait for the gates to open.
A soldier dressed to the nine, he's carrying something bigger than an M16, is guarding one entrance. Another soldier is playing with his binocular eyesight on his big gun too.
I chat to some security, who are carrying small handguns, more effective in a close combat situation.
The more people immigrate to the US for a better life, the worse the lives of the locals become.
Instead of employing American citizens, they'll employ the shit kickers from the third world countries.
It's a false economy, I told the guards.
Why aren't these people content to live in their own countries?
'Because they can earn more in your country,' says the guard.
But if they have never been overseas, how can they compare?
I said it just comes down to greed.
I had a Kiwi and Filipino lady race me out of a kitchen in Sydney. The Kiwi was a fat Maori and the Filipino looked like a fat Maori.
It's a case of immigrants stealing our jobs.
The guard could see my point. He wanted to immigrate to Australia too.
I said you'd be lucky. We have so many immigrants from Africa, the Middle East, Afghanistan and India who all demand a better life, at our expense.
We couldn't compete with these asswipes even if we wanted too.
PC took care of that a long time ago.
Walking the streets of Manila is an adrenaline rush all within itself.
I carry my wallet.
I've not been robbed. Been trailed a few times.
Don't carry a coffee in one hand, it limits your ability to protect your bag and valuables.
Two young boys were playing chess on the streets outside a little mobile shop attached to a BMX.
Wow, I said, you can play chess and took a few photos.
Then a dog appeared from under the sidecar.
It was a big dog.
It barked.
It barked some more and charged at me.
The fucker.
Rabies here we come I think, as I put my bag between me and those vicious teeth that were only centimetres away from biting me. I was waiting for the dog to twist and go for my ankle. The last thing I needed was another injury.
The owner of the shop was quick to take control of the situation. She got the dog under control.
I won't be stopping there for a 12 peso coffee. I made an executive decision there and then.
Further down the road on Manilla Bay, a black Labrador on a leash sits quietly next to a back entrance of a big
hotel.
'It sniffs for explosives,' says the guard.
It sniffs for explosives. They are serious here in Manila.
I didn't bother asking who would be bringing in explosives to a five-star hotel.
I've been in Asia long enough not to ask such dumb questions.
'Most of us become children again when we enter the slums of Asia,' says Billy Kwan, the dwarf in the movie The Year of Living Dangerously.
Well I say fuck to that. And I'm being really polite just now.
When a dog wants to bite your balls off, or a beggar follows you down the road, there's a primal fear to find the busiest road and try to blend in.
There are some dwarfs outside my local mini-mart. One of them is really polite. I dug deep in my pockets and handed them a few coins. One is very ancient, limps and uses crutches when he's too lazy to crawl. The other one is younger and limps.
They both sleep outside the mini-mart on cardboard boxes with other family members.
The Filipinos are very charitable and it's a given the poor will hang outside the mini-marts. These midgets even open up the door for the customers.
They are no different to the parking guys in Indonesia who collect a fee from motorbikes and cars who park outside a mini-mart or those music men who busk in the cafes, they are aggressive beggars who play off tune only looking for cash for their next drug fix.
But at least here in Manila, you have the option of saying no.
At the fountain near Manila Bay, a midget is gliding around the open space. She was the happiest thing to grace this planet and in her own little world.
There was something peculiar about her. Hobbits or pygmies came to mind. There was a worldliness to her beyond her young years. I just couldn't figure it out at the time.
The 'little' person kept soaring and gliding all over the place, darting almost between my legs.
With the Manila Cathedral in the background, I thought she was a little cherub. For a moment she was as she continued soaring the skies of her mind making cooing and vrooming sounds.
This was like a freak show on legs. That's the feeling I had. Was it a case of Manila overwhelming the senses again?
I couldn't figure it out.
Until now.
She was a dwarf child. And she was putting on a performance for coins.
And I suppose I should have dropped a few coins in her hand. I'm gonna be digging deeper in my pockets.
The slums are a loose term in Manila. If more than fifty percent of the population live out of boxes and sleep on carboards, then technically, the majority of Manila is a slum.
There's always talk of India being the mecca of slums. I'd beg to differ.
At least here there's no romanticising the slums.
Hollywood's aggrandisement of the term is conspicuously absent.
What you see is what you get, people trying to get by.
There's no looking down on them here. It's just a sad fact of life and if you can accommodate that thought, it puts a bit of dignity back into the lives of those more unfortunate than us.
Living off the streets is an art form here.
A few spare coins goes a long way in restoring some faith.
'Thanks again,' says the younger midget, who hands the older one the coin I gave him. It's only fair that each of them gets a coin. How's that for equality on the streets?
Nothing harsh about it.
Dwarves are people, just like you and me, but only smaller.
Which reminds me of the dwarf I saw bringing in the harvest on a rice terrace in Bali. You could hardly see him over the golden brown rice stalks.
Next door in the drinky bar, the girls are practising their Japanese motivational phrases.
Across the road, a Japanese arrives outside a massage parlour on his electric powered foot scooter.
In the gravel parking lot, the massage girls are given a pep talk before their shift starts.
Koreans and Japanese roam the streets.
There's no aggression.
They are here for fun.
And the girls will provide it.
The Japanese on the scooter is the owner of the massage parlour.
He's very business-like and tells the boys to quickly unpack the booze in the truck parked outside.
The truck, unloaded now, moves on and the Japanese owner follows it on his scooter.
Hurry, hurry, he's saying.
I had two propositions from the guards.
Buy me food, salary not arrived
They were carrying guns.
I gave one a cigarette and the other one a dirty look.
I don't mind throwing morsels Abdul's way. He was resting against me last night as we checked out the talent.
The butt of his gun was resting on me.
I've never been so close to a revolver like that.
I'll be keeping Abdul happy. He's the best of the bunch and knows not to outright humbug.
One night in Manila and the world's your oyster.
I'd add it's as quirky as fuck. There's none of the exterior seediness of Bangkok.
Even the streets smell cleaner here.
I'm going for bust.
Twelve crowns. That's right, 12 porcelain crowns.
I'm in the Philippines and Mr John says if my 'new' smile doesn't pull a babe, he'll refund me.
For the last two months, I was moping around Borneo, the Malaysia side.
I didn't have a purpose, at least on the Indonesia side, I had about three weeks of appointments with a dentist.
Most of the work done by her is being ground down and replaced with crowns.
’But she did well getting rid of your infections.'
He says my gums are superb. 'No diabetes. Your immune system is good too.'
He did find a cavity that the Indonesian dentist forgot.
I'm counting my loses and going for bust.
So far I've got half of the twelve teeth ground down and the rest will be done on Monday.
Dr. John advises me to avoid the Jollibee at the end of the street.
'If you want your teeth done without a knife wound, just stay this side of the street.'
He knows all the guards.
And he says if I listen to him, I might just get on that plane in a few weeks with a winning smile.
Dentists like Dr. John don't come any nicer, do they?
'You might even pull a free fuck,' he says if I get a haircut and buy a new set of street clobber.
There is hope, I can smell it. It smells like victory.
There's no pain what so ever.
Is that fucking novocaine you giving me?
'It will make you feel relaxed,' says Dr. Johh, who has crowned almost every whore in the neighborhood. His clinic is nestled between hostess bars and massage joints.
I'm winding up.
The one-hour drilling is just one ball of laughs. I'll even stop him from drilling and renegotiate the contract.
Because I'm not wasting my cash on whores, like I did in Bali the first night, I've got money to invest in my teeth.
Dr. John is really opening up.
A hot Filipino walks in to get a crown.
'She is from Las Vegas,' informs Dr. John. You could even see her boobies through her light cotton shirt.
'I think they were fake,' he says.
I want to be a dentist, and now.
Dr. John reassures me to be patient.
'You'll be the 'new' you soon,' he says. 'And you might even fool your enemies who won't know you because of your new teeth.'
There's hope yet.
This is as close as a physical identity change I'm going to get.
'Dye your hair blonde too,' says Dr. John, 'that way it will confuse your enemies.'
And enemies I have. It's hard being a nice guy, I tell Dr. John.
'And it's hard being a writer here in the Philippines,' he says. 'One bad story upsetting the wrong guy, and it's hasta manana in the afterlife,' he adds.
A
big Korean man, they all seem to big compared to the Filipinos, is resting on his crutches, the stump of his leg is proudly pointing upwards like a stumpy hard on.
He lost his leg in an accident back in 2005.
His other hump-backed looking leg is purple from lack of circulation.
He pulls up his shorts and shows me his scars.
He pulls up his shirt and shows me his scars.
Twenty operations later, he's still alive he says.
The accident happened in Korea.
He's been here 40 years.
He hobbles upstairs to visit his brother.
His brother likes smoking light cigarettes.
He pulls out a wad of money and tells his whore for the day to duck into the mini-mart and get him another packet.
'They don't have,' she says, after a few minutes on her scouting mission.
Yong is his name.
'Nonsense,' he says, 'go back to look again. Obviously, you weren't looking.'
There's a Korean restaurant in my hotel.
It's a meeting place for the Koreans.
After discovering the great work that Donald Trump has been doing in bridging the two Koreas, I barge into the restaurant and tell the three older Koreans sitting at the table about the great news. And congratulations, and isn't life fine.
One of them tells me he played 18 holes of golf today. He points to his drunk buddy, 'and he played 40 holes.'
They were only interested in a hole-in-one.
Why talk about the charade between the two Koreas when you got hot Pinay puntang to salivate over.
Dr. John's cousin runs a Ramen noodle shop next door.
His cousin's girlfriend has the most gorgeous smile.
'I did her braces,' says Dr John who acknowledges that's she hot.
In the Filipino way, he's her uncle. Her name is Mikee.
She is always asking me if I want Ramen.
They have a Thai fighting fish in a little tank next to the cashier.
Dr. John is going to shout me a soup.
Mikee says it's free.
'The chefs are training for the 'hard' opening next week,’ she says.
Dr John entered the nicely designed Ramen shop.
It reeks of well-heeled and Yipponism. Very tasteful, if you ask me, and that Vesper parked outside just compounds the good taste of the whole set up.