I walked across the marble floored lobby towards a bank of elevators located all the way the back.
"No way," I thought as I looked around me. "This can't be right."
I was on the ground floor of a rather posh looking hotel in Manila. It was the first night of my trip to the Philippines and I had just either gotten fleeced to the tune of 500 Pesos or was about to discover a hidden diamond in the rough as the taxi driver had promised me.
As I got to the elevator, I reached for the button and stopped myself. Looking around, I surveyed my surroundings. The expansive lobby was elegant, yet cozy. The cold air conditioning was a welcome reprieve from the hot, muggy Manila evening.
Looking across the lobby, I saw the revolving doors through which I had entered. Standing dutifully by the doors was a nondescript security guard dressed in a formal Barong Tagalog, who had patted me down to check for weapons. Next to him was a police officer in uniform with a bomb sniffing dog. Right nearby was the front desk where a Korean couple was talking with the concierge.
Seems like a normal hotel scene like you'd find in any of the upscale hotels here in Manila
To my left, there was a clanking of dishes. In the lobby cafe, there was a Filipino couple having a late night snack and coffee. Entertaining them and the other patrons was woman in a red dress singing a jazz tune, while a man played on a piano.
I looked back at the elevator and shook my head. I walked over to a nearby bench and sat down.
I'm in the lobby of a normal fucking hotel.
I resigned myself to having lost 500 Pesos to that damn cab driver.
*****
The day had started well enough. I had arrived in Manila at about noon on a flight from JFK by way of Incheon, South Korea. After a nightmarishly long line at Immigration and getting my bags, I was met at the airport by a hotel driver. After a short drive to the hotel along Roxas Boulevard, I was able to get checked in. After settling into my 24th floor deluxe room overlooking Manila Bay, I made a few calls, and then crashed the whole afternoon.
When I woke up, I got ready, and hopped a cab from my hotel going to Makati. At about 7pm, I met my cousin Ramon at The Greenbelt Mall. It was an open air mall with several restaurants, bars, and high end shops. It was in an upscale section of town and the place was a favorite among tourists, expats, and some of the upper class Filipinos for shopping, dining, and entertaining.
It had been a few years since I had seen Ramon. He was the son of my Dad's sister and worked in banking in one of the local branches of a multinational bank. Growing up, we saw each other nearly every summer as his family would visit us in New York. Since we were both only children, we became like brothers, despite the distance. Over the years, whenever he came to New York on a business trip, I'd show him around. We'd hit the bars, chat up and bed beautiful women, and have an all around good time.
This time, however, it was his turn to be the host. When we were younger, since his family made the yearly trek to New York; my family never made the trip to Manila. The last time I had been here, I was too young to remember. After years of him bugging me to come visit him and "see the motherland and raise some hell" as he put it, I had finally broken down. I put in for three weeks of vacation that I had accumulated due to my workaholic tendencies and had made the nearly 20 hour trip to this tropical setting.
Over a bucket full of San Miguel Beer, rice, grilled squid, and the sizzling pork dish that is sisig, we got caught up. He apologized in advance that he couldn't stay out too late, the next day being Friday, he still had work to go to. However, he assured me that he just had to work this coming week and then he would have two weeks of vacation of his own. So I had a week on my own to do whatever (or whomever) I'd like, then we'd have two weeks together to cause all sorts of trouble in the old country.
We made some tentative plans as we people watched. He pointed out a few local celebrities in the crowd. I noted quite a few striking Filipino women who were accompanying foreign tourists. Ramon laughed at my observation.
"Dude, maybe a few of them are local girls on a date. But I'm thinking most of them are...well, they kinda do that professionally." He smiled.
I laughed. I knew Manila and the Philippines' darker reputation. To be completely honest, in the past Ramon had used that aspect as reason why I should visit.
"So Ryan, do you have a girlfriend or anyone you're seeing back home in New York?"
"Nope"
I looked over at my cousin who sported a Cheshire grin.
"You are going to have a memorable 3 weeks my friend! Just let me take care of things and you'll find that there ain't nothing finer than a Filipina."
"It didn't stop you from having a threesome with those Puerto Rican chicks that one time."
He smiled at the memory.
"Still. Just go out and meet some and tell me for yourself. But I stand by my words my man. Ain't nothing finer than a Filipina."
I grinned. I knew my cousin well enough that he wasn't being nationalistic or ethnocentric; he was just a connoisseur to put it mildly.
"Just keep your cellphone close, so I can keep in touch with you." He had earlier given me a local SIM-card to use with my phone.
After a few hours, another bucket of San Migs, he stumbled off to head home. He promised to get in touch with me tomorrow, so we could plan "the best fucking vacation you'll ever have here."
After he left, I looked at the crowd again. I had to admit that Ramon was right in one aspect. Many of the Filipinas in the crowd were striking, pros or not. Because I grew up and lived in multiethnic New York City, I had only dated a few Filipinas. Well, not really. They were really Filipino-American just like I was. More American than Filipino.
I had never really been with a full blooded Filipina.
I made my way over to a nearby taxi stand and opened the door of a waiting cab. I told the driver the name of my hotel and he began to drive off into the Makati night.
He looked back at me in the mirror and I met his glance.
"On vacation sir?"
"Yes, I am."
"You look Pinoy sir, but you have an accent. Are you a Fil-Am?"
"Yes, from New York."
"Ahh, New York! My brother lives in New York, maybe you know him?"
