I always like to get to my destination by night. It is how to get twice. In the first, landing cushioned by the shadows, silhouettes are sensed while up stories behind the lighted windows or imagine the stories with which the figures gather around a bonfire night appease. The second coming, that is, you put it and people faces and names to the streets, has just under a lot more magic and reality. And I was standing right there. In Manila, Philippines, for the first time in my life. Or a second-he had come by night.
I was struck by the absence of foreign. And I felt some uneasiness
I walked the streets with vertigo, the smile and the desire of these occasions own. Me colgué me to Canon Cuello, While I buckled shoes and went to Intramuros, the epicenter of the former Spanish colony. Then I noticed the absence of foreign. And I felt some uneasiness. Not that when you travel you need to surround myself with people with English names, Italian Spanish, rather, I usually try to keep them away after what some call "authentic journey", but it is also true that, sometimes, one feels the need to have them around. This was one of those times. Wantonly, reason or basis. Or maybe yes, may already sensed what was going to happen from the time.
At the gates of Intramuros, a voice behind me. “Excuse me, do you know where the Cathedral is?"I had no idea where he was the cathedral, but the wall that lay before us did not look to be very large. Sure had no loss. He insisted: “Are you going there?”. “Sí”, I knew not lie. And I found that tourist accompanying through the bowels of the old colonial capital. Nilson was called, Hong Kong was a medical student in Sweden. The silences between us eterizaban. It was a rare, concluded. This was not the foreign company expected this morning, I added to myself.
The guy hit me with an amazing ability
But, the guy hit me with an amazing ability. I accompanied the rest of the day on my walk around town and when, biting something, I told him that the next day I went to Puerto Galera, I also announced that he was coming. Puerto Galera is a fantastic island of those in which you imagine yourself sipping fruit smoothies and taking a nap in a hammock between coconut. It was eventful. That weirdo kid would not prolonged silences estropeármelo.
The next morning I woke up with the hope of releasing a new piece of ocean. Nilson I met in the bus stop and, after two hours to Batangas and another moment in ferry, finally I was able to dip your feet in the water. I did not take more in the morning and it's time to curl up in a thousand shades of turquoise and quirky told my companion that I was going to find accommodation quickly. "Why do not we share room?”, I said. And that was the phrase that changed everything.
"Why do not we share room?”, I said. And that was the phrase that changed everything
Share. I had done several times in my many trips Asian. Sometimes, as a way of reducing costs; most, simply as a fun way to share space, experiences and impressions. On this occasion, it was neither for one reason or the other, simply was not able to say "no".
We took a modest room with two beds, bars on the windows and sink itself. I let things, I put on my bikini and I announced that I was going to the beach. He said he also came. She seemed willing to leave me alone either sun or shade. Although suddenly, something changed. Once on the beach, while I completely left to the sound of the waves, the slight swaying coconut palms, geometric figures to the sun often draw on my closed eyelids, Nilson's voice pulled me from the reverie of rennet. "You think here is malaria?”. “No”. He ignored my answer: "I go to the bathroom to take my pill". Finally.
I walked to the Guest House knowing full well what had happened
He left. And for the first time enjoyed the silence of that tiny corner, the sunny calm of this little speck of dust on a map. Enjoyed ten minutes, twenty, half an hour, one hour. And I began to worry. Two hours later and roars off emitting guts hunger, I decided not to wait any longer. I walked to the Guest House knowing full well what had happened, while trying to throw me off my alter ego wielding thousand excuses if he was having a beer with another traveler or sleeping soundly in the fourth.
This second excuse was discarded as I pounded the door and got no answer. I was not sleeping. I went down to reception and asked the receptionist that I open the door. He went with me, put the key in the lock and, over a period of time it seemed to me eternal, offering the door gave reality with all its rawness: there was nothing. Neither my stuff, We left by Nilson. It was as if we had never rented that room.
There was nothing. Neither my stuff, We left by Nilson. It was as if we had never rented that room
But this is not a sad story, daunting or intended apologist of mistrust. On the contrary. He who jumps into the world with the hidden agenda of destroying shoes, must assume certain risk; no more, at bottom, that comes out of his house to walk around their neighborhood, in their city, for their country. Trust is essential to enjoy the adventure; in what happened to me there is a moral. This is, instead, a story of discovery, of hope, unique experiences, unusual findings. This story has a name. But not the Nilson, the weird guy that turned out to be a thief. This story is called Albert. The aunt Elizabeth. The two. But one thing.
Albert is the cop who handled my case. He arrived at the hotel with his police uniform and a cap adorned my closet today. The first thing I said, Impostor order that was not llamaba Nilson Nilson, I kind of Hong Kong, or studying in Sweden, nor was tourist. It was a filipino de China Town, assured. I had been carrying my camera in Intramuros and came to steal it being attempted to gain my trust tourist disguised. The truth is, suddenly remembered, the guy took me to places remote and offered to take pictures of me. Maybe look for the right time to run camera in hand, thought. Impossible, concluded. And it was hard to accept that the guy who did not respond to the name of Nilson had been able to fool me that way.
That such was not called Nilson Nilson, I kind of Hong Kong, or studying in Sweden, nor was tourist
While it is true that something about him I always found it suspicious. Maybe it was his silence, his eyes lost, their ability to move around a city that, in theory, unknown. "Why do not I stole the camera at the time? Why it has taken the trouble to come here?”, Albert asked incredulously trying to bring order to all that. I answered myself: at some point in our walk had told him I was a journalist; probably thought, if invested some money and time to travel with me to Puerto Galera, could steal the other cameras and computer. Voila.
With only fourteen U.S. dollars in his pocket was all he left me, carefully placed on her bed, as if at the last moment had pity on me and would have thought it a good idea to lend me some cash in order to take a boat back to the mainland-, do not know how I would handle it. But Albert brokered with the hotel and the restaurants in the area to lend me their services for free. Addition, the police cap decorates my closet today I still had another surprise prepared. "Tomorrow I take a week long vacation, vente conmigo Manila ", said without blinking. His aunt lived near the city, clarified, I might stay at home until my change made effective flight to Bangkok. It seemed like a crazy idea as cojonuda.
Only fourteen U.S. dollars in his pocket was all she left me, carefully placed on her bed
The next day, early, I said goodbye from the ferry of that paradise had become hell. And there I was, junction to police Filipino, blindly trusting someone who did not 24 hours he knew. The story was familiar. He had not learned anything. Fortunately.
Aunt Elizabeth lived on the outskirts of the city, en Capite, an area to which it took forever to get bus-bus and pick up on pick up. We did a sunset, coinciding with the basketball game between adolescents who had entertained the whole neighborhood. Included in my new family. And is that Willy played small forward for the blue team.
Willy was the older brother, Nico the small. Aunt Isabel, mother. And Father, whose name I forget, lived in Dubai for sixteen years -the fair for the small of his sons was indeed hers. They had not seen her since then, even talked to him every day and every month received, promptly, a generous sum of money from the United Arab. This was, actually, the reason he was there: the survival of the family depended on his salary. Aunt Isabel had a small kiosk goodies at the end of the street that was not even much. It always amazed me that two people with that amount of miles between their respective routines, continue so in love.
Bought prawns and beer in my honor, I settled in the only room in the house
The house was modest but cozy. A i memory if le seems preciosa. A spacious dining room, kitchen, a bedroom and a bathroom on two floors. It had a small garden, with a gazebo where my best memories are stored. Scraps of nights when Aunt Isabel, Albert and I sat for hours explaining distract or laughing life to find that "spoon", "World" or "an, two, three, Four "are said the same in Filipino and Spanish.
Your generosity overwhelmed me. It was common to call Aunt Isabel Albert when we were on a tour of the city to ask what I wanted dinner. Bought prawns and beer in my honor, I settled in the only room in the house-the big brother, while they all slept together in the dining room on mattresses on the floor, one day invited to part of the family to meet me and spent an entire photo reel immortalize my stay-photos, certainly, two years later he came to my parents' house in Barcelona with a friend of Aunt Elizabeth who was married to a Catalan.
He had been adopted by that now forever be my Filipino family
I liked it here. It left me wanting and wanted. Really, heart, cheap talk or rhetoric without literary. He had been adopted by that now forever be my Filipino family. And beyond the authentic experience that meant-something that, at bottom, all travelers we seek-, I felt extremely comfortable installed in simple everyday. Nico loved helping with homework, Willy challenge in the basket of the courtyard, Aunt Isabel accompany market, move around Manila with Albert as a Local. The story of the theft was far. Now could only be extremely happy because of the opportunity afforded me to be a more.
Before the end of the story I would like to thank. But in the Albert and Aunt Elizabeth, It would be too obvious, and my thanks to her infinite hospitality is in each and every one of the words, points, commas and pauses that weave this story-. I would like to thank the weirdo guy not named Nilson. And it often, a setback leads to an infinitely better than what we had planned. And lying on a beach tan paradise was a good plan, but being adopted by a Filipino family was infinitely better. Thanks how is your name.