How Far Will You Go? (Part 2)

Well, time DID have the last word.. within roughly two hours. I was determined that part 2 was not going to begin with “well that was interesting..”, but..

Well, that was interesting. The big questions regarding “why” are just too numerous to argue here but it’s sufficient to say that the holiday did not last as long, nor go as I’d expected, and believe me I had considered a fair few possible outcomes as part of my preparations.

I made good my escape from Britain. For anyone about to enter Amsterdam’s Schiphol Airport for the first time, relax. It is both sensibly designed and something of a treat with its shops and amenities – almost worth a holiday in itself. Do allow yourself at least thirty minutes to traverse its entire length though - and considerably more time if you fancy exploring. The flight to Manila, whilst long was also very pleasant as these things go. It was my first truly long-haul flight but it worked pretty well. I recommend setting your watch to your destination time as soon as you board your long-haul plane, and adjust your mindset to this new time as soon and as painlessly as you can. I’d also like to take a moment here to endorse KLM Dutch Airlines for their in-flight facilities, light but damn good airline food and graciously attentive staff.

Manila itself is a curious city, almost continental in feel - yes, definitely the spanish influence. The overall impression I got was rightfully one of a city which had been constructed over a very long period of time.  Whilst perfectly capable, the indigenous culture did seem at odds with their environment, as though they’d been given the city without asking for one and were now making the most of it. I should add this impression is personal to me, reasoned as it is with only a mere 24 hours of experience, so my apologies to any Filipinos left with a feeling of misrepresentation. I sat in the arrivals area at the front of Ninoy Aquino Airport (NAIA) feeling as if I were on an auction block as hundreds of Filipina’s stared at me as they awaited the arrival of their own friends and families. It’s likely a safe bet that they don’t get too many long blonde-haired British guys sitting in the waiting area. An attendant assisted me in finding my girl, who duly turned up (complete with a taxi and driver), so the dreaded “no show” was off the cards at least. She’d just arrived back from her parent’s that morning and managed to do a complete 360 to get here in time to meet me, only a little late really to be fair. She’d said she was petite but she was actually more so than even I’d imagined, not so much under my chin as up to my chest. It has to be said she was also vastly cuter than even her pictures had made her out to be. I've been told by my friend that it's a bad idea to compare any girl you are dating with anyone else (he's right of course), but I have to say her eyes were simply stunning - somewhat akin to Zhang Ziyi's striking looks in "Memoirs of a Geisha".  I was all smiles.

The anticipated “stop-start-stop-screeching tyres-horn” behaviour ensued for the next twenty minutes as we hunted for the hotel. I had an address but that didn’t prevent the taxi driver from having to consult my web map and a couple of loitering traffic police officers – the cost was a very reasonable £4 or so for the five miles, plus multiple confused trips backwards and forwards along a few of the same roads several times (UK taxi drivers take note!). Eventually we found the place – it didn’t look a thing like its pictures, but show me a hotel which does. It was a simple three-level building on a typical street, two entrances front and back, and a covered but airy courtyard leading to the lobby. I had no idea where the advertised pool was supposed to be - on the roof perhaps? We checked-in, I grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge, unpacked my case, freshened up and basked in the delightful air-conditioning as we chatted. I asked her if she intended to continue with her plan to stay with me or commute from her home here in the city. She said she’d stay as planned but she obviously needed to go home, collect her belongings and return - within the hour. We went to get her a taxi and after she’d left I had a quick chat with the hotel security guard out front about the trip, the coming holiday and the awesome heat – I suppose we Brits talk about the weather wherever we are. I retired to the room and reorganised my unpacking to make room for her belongings. Imagine my surprise when she phoned twenty minutes or so later to say that her Dad had called to announce the arrival of an aunt from Chicago at their home some 350 miles away, and told her to come home. Imagine further my incredulous expressions at her blind obedience to his demands and her apologies before hanging up, leaving me alone in a strange city half way around the world and with a distinct lack of purpose. You may now be imagining that this didn’t go down terribly well with me. You’d be right.

I went to the communal sitting area on the same floor and sat in the heat, which seemed somehow less tolerable now. I sat drinking my warm water, overlooking the courtyard, trying to figure out what had just happened and why. As a momentary distraction I noted the courtyard felt very Cuban in design - wrought iron balconies and wooden-shuttered windows. A girl appeared from nowhere and sat down at the opposite end of the room, lit a cigarette and chilled out with her back to me – not very sociable. As I contemplated the possibility of salvaging something from the clusterf**k I found myself in I noted a sign at the foot of some more stairs leading upwards, saying that the hotel pool was closed for repairs. Did someone want to kick me in the nuts for good measure? The smoking girl disappeared. Some more hotel staff wandered back and forth. No other guests appeared at this time – maybe there weren’t any. No one appeared for nut-cracking duties. I retired to my room and looked at my unpacked items. Locking up, I dropped my key off at reception and went for a walk.
For a city which was supposed to be a nightmare for both pedestrians and drivers alike it had quietened down considerably – it was holy week I suppose. The place looked like set of a zombie film. It was still and virtually empty, with vehicles parked at all angles and in all places. For thirty minutes I pottered about, and in that time I saw five jeepneys, a handful of cars and a small number of people (some walking and talking quietly, some laid on the pavement asleep, some sat around smiling and looking distant as though awaiting Armageddon). The sun was too strong to be out in, so I retired once more to the hotel and looked at my stuff again. At a loss I wandered to the lobby and spotted a couple of computers – the Internet. With a link with to the world I’d left behind I set about popping in for a chat. The hotel security guard logged me in and I let friends know the state of play. Much confusion and surprise rattled back and forth across the net as I explained what had happened and what I was contemplating. With neither the heart nor (strictly-speaking) the funds for two weeks of reckless island hopping/exploration I re-packed my belongings and within twenty two hours I was not only once more “single”, but also on a relatively hastily-arranged flight home, unaware of the masses of emails offering local help in the wake of my ‘post-dump’ Facebook and forum conversations - I was not to discover these offers until my second stopover at Schiphol, thirteen hours later.

The return journey suffered from a similar littering of inexplicable gaps in reason, both good and bad – the great speed with which we both got back to and through Manchester Aiport (landed, repatriated and stood in the train station with all my baggage intact in 20 mins!), the lack of ANY trains from Manchester to Sheffield at 10pm on a Saturday night, even from Manchester Airport (consider yourself warned), the expensive but available hotels (well, that they would be available when they were charging £235 per night - consider yourself warned again). One excellent side effect to this whole episode however was the chance to finally meet my friend Mike and his Japanese wife Junco, who kindly gave me a roof for the night in Macclesfield and a lift to the train station the following morning to complete my ordeal. I paid them in kind with a couple of my holiday gifts. As befits efforts to travel in the UK the train from Macclesfield to Manchester Picadilly turned into a bus at Stockport and the return journey from Picadilly to Sheffield went the ‘scenic’ route, packed to the rafters like an Indian rail freight carrier (minus livestock). One family with a particularly boisterous father-figure sat his daughter next to me and then proceeded to have her talk to me on the grounds that I didn’t look unfriendly. I still don’t know to this day how he managed to make this assumption. Most people I know would be horrified at the thought of their sons or daughters making conversation with someone who looked like me. I could sense that she felt trapped between her own embarrassment and her father’s social expectations. I tried to lessen her discomfort by reassuring her that I was an okay guy. Blushing slightly she noted that it looked like I’d had an interesting time. I felt obliged to make conversation and disarm her father’s over-enthusiasm with a brief recount of my having travelled 14,000 miles in 72 hours via four different international airports, four trains and a bus. That seemed to knock the wind out of his sails. She smiled and he went strangely quiet. The first person I bumped into a few minutes after leaving Sheffield train station was my cousin, who had no idea I’d even been away. She looked down at my bags for a moment, looked back up at me and said that it looked like I’d been somewhere interesting.

After all this you may consider me mad for beginning to even think about contemplating my next journey. Well, I have to say that I feel quite enriched and emboldened by the whole affair. This consisted of quite a few “firsts” for me, some planned and many unplanned (haha!). One thing you can guarantee is that none of this has deterred me in the slightest. The one thing which WILL be different though, is the raison d’etre for my journey. Next time it will be for me alone.

KLM, keep a seat warm.. I just need to pay this last one off and then I think I’m going to see Japan.

Peace.