One night in Manila

The sun rises behind the sea of clouds over China. Below, the smog creeps tenaciously through the skyscraper canyons of a country that I neither want to nor can see. The airports in Changsha and Guangzhou scream China’s greatness to the world in sentences of kilometre-long walks and an unbelievable number of controls, stamps through empty giant halls. His mouthguard hipsters breathe heavily filtered air through their Beats headphones. Their money was only three-quarters enough for their trousers.

Touchdown in Manila after 26 hours on the road. Through dust and crowded streets by taxi to the Moonwalk and into the hustle and bustle. Nothing has changed since my last visit seven years ago? Thanks to Duterte, I would no longer be ripped off by corrupt police officers – but travelling through the 13 million people of Manila by car is enough for seven lifetimes anyway.

The first ATM immediately eats my credit card. The attendant then tells me, belching, that I will certainly not get it back before my onward flight on Saturday. With the exchanged emergency funds to the next food market and the finest food for no money: priceless.

The dogs bark. The children scream. Roosters crow in the middle of Manila. My head becomes wonderfully calm. So calm that it no longer wants to remember the second credit card hidden in the jet lag. I panic the next morning until three hours of web design work before sunrise reactivates my brain.

Walking three kilometres to the airport in 31° with full kite luggage wakes you up for good. The sweat is running. As the transfer bus from Terminal 1 to 3 takes almost an hour for four kilometres thanks to the security check, queues and traffic jams on the road through the centre of Manila, I almost miss the flight to Boracay despite three hours’ notice – only to wait an hour and a half in the runway traffic jam for the next free slot for a 45-minute hop. Travelling in the Phlippines never goes according to plan. But it’s worth it.