I stayed in Manila one night, and in the morning, I started my journey toward the Ifugao rice terraces, the 8^th wonder of the world.

During my transfer in Cabanatuan, I had unpleasant experiences. Apparently, too many tourists pass by this main transportation hub, and for me, tourist places are the least safe from trouble. I was waiting for a jeepney from the bus terminal to the main road, where I could hitchhike a bus going on towards Ifugao. A trike driver (trikes are motorcycles with a passenger car attached to the side) apparently decided that by insisting that I take a ride with him (more expensive than jeepney) he will increase the chances of my giving in. I stood firm, and (I admit it was very hot), without thinking, I finally told him in a very simple phrase, “Jeepney na lang” which means, “just a jeepney.” I have no idea if he was offended that a jeepney was a better form of transportation, or whether he detected from the way I said it that I was learning Visayan, and not Tagalog (tagalog speakers look down on the Visayas), but the point is he went ballistic on me in his language waving his fist in the air, before driving off.

After that incident, I got to the main road via jeepney, and had the most annoying experience of a child beggar molesting me the entire time I waited for the bus (20+ minutes). Now I don’t know enough about the child to know if he was really in need, or simply told by his “loving” parents to collect money from foreigners as a supplemental family income. But the 20+ minutes of standing there, as he yelled “give me peso!!” and pulled on my clothes and tried to grab my hand convinced me that not giving anything to him was probably the right decision. Lucky for me a local lady came to my rescue and yelled at the kid.

Once again, I felt my lack of knowledge of tagalog work against me. In general, such kids target tourists because they are the ones most easily intimidated by such public displays. Also, a tourist is less likely to distinguish true abject poverty from the lucrative business of foreigner begging (by the way, the truly malnourished and impoverished Filipinos I’ve seen in squatter areas and underserved provinces are too proud to beg.. and there was not a single beggar in the remote Ifugao village of cambulo where living conditions are far beyond mere hardship). The most a Filipino would give such a child is a couple of pesos. A tourist thinking in euros or dollars might give 50 or 100. Anyway, in cebu, I tell the kid to leave me alone in Visayan, and that quickly makes them lose interest. But in Luzon I was just a helpless tourist, and an English speaking target. I was SO glad to get out of Cabanatuan when the bus arrived. 

It was still light when my bus arrived in the small town of Solano in Nueva Viscaya province. This place is clearly not a tourist destination, which is one of the reasons I decided to spend the night at the Solano Lodge (highly recommend it, the lady owner is an incredibly nice person). The night life here did not disappoint me. Although nearly all of Philippines appears to be enamored with cheesy 80s style elevator music and local style pop that I haven’t yet learned to appreciate (but starting to), Solano was clearly a rocker town. I had a great time bar hopping, listening to live bands play famous English-language rock ballads and, on occasion, things that appeared to be original.

Best thing about being in a such a bar in Solano is that I was able to forget for a while that I am in Philippines, and I imagined myself back in Mexico. It was easy to do – the people in Nueva Viscaya seem to a tougher bunch than Cebuanos and the Manila city folk. For the first time, I did not hear the colonial-style sweetly-insincere “SIR!!! How can I help you SIR!!” thrown towards me by bartenders and such. Maybe I didn’t stay there long enough, but everyone in Solano appeared proud, and not willing to lick the boots of any foreigner. In short, I felt accepted as a person. Eventually I made friends with two trike drivers on their day off, and accompanied them as they went barhopping. The last bar was karaoke, and being already drunk I enjoyed torturing the patrons with my voice at 5 pesos per song, while one of my companions tried in vain to kiss the bar girl for whom he bought an overpriced drink (like in Mexico, buying bar girls drinks costs more). In the end, he got nowhere with her (just a little peck, then she wounded his ego by telling him that the only person she would kiss at the table is ME – spoken in english for my benefit) while I had a good time singing and watching him make an ass out of himself!