Philippines Stories

Jaelyn: A Brief History and a Look at the Economics of an Angeles City Go-Go Dancer

At Manila's domestic airport, I climb onto the scale. That's right, I myself step onto the oldfashioned, mechanical scale – together with my checked luggage and my carry-on luggage. When you fly to the Philippines' remote northern Palawan Province, to Busuanga or El Nido, you may well end up in a 19seater airplane operated by Seair. And if passenger and luggage combined weigh more than one hundred kilos, you have to buy a "cargo seat", whatever that maybe. And/or your luggage may arrive later than you. Standing forlorn on this scale, I wonder if I'll make it to the gate.

Surprise 9: In the tourist district, the taxi slows down and the driver says, "please show me the way to the hotel". At snail's pace and without much orientation we creep through trashy roads. At one point the driver enters a wrong road and then has to use the rear gear for a frightening 100 meters against the traffic of speeding jeepneys and taxis. (...) Surprise 11: The driver stops, leaves the car and asks homeless street sleepers for City Garden Hotel. After which the family gathers around the rear windows and demands cash from us. I don't find the knob to lock the door.

You swim through an ark in the rocks - and enter another enclosed, rock-walled lagoon. Lazy Nahlee and I hang, literally, out in the waters, tommy-up, holding hands, our eyes wandering around the pitchblack, jagged towering cliffs, spotting one or another Palawan eagle up above.

Aboard a tuktuk we roar down to the pier. 30 boating minutes from Coron town on Busuanga island over to Coron island, and we reach a sand beach with a shack. Huge cliffs block the morning sun. An old, toothless couple approaches first. Later, a young man – "he can read", the boat man boasts proudly – does most of the work.

One night I ask Mr. Gumbo where to rent a motorcycle for the day. Exuberant in his desire to cater to all my whims and needs he promises to take care of this matter for me. And indeed, walking the crumbling winding staircase from my room down to the breakfast area early the following morning a 110cc Honda with off-road tires is already waiting for me.

I don't mean those who have bad breath because they have just smoked a cigarette and had four cups of coffee, or those who have bad breath because they don't brush their teeth and have gum disease-which would include an awful lot of Indonesians, and a not inconsiderable number of other Southeast Asians, and plenty of foreigners who spend time in Asia.

The sun in shining, the birds are chirping, it's a new day in paradise. Well, perhaps not quite paradise, for this is the rural Philippines.

The jar is a good ten to twelve inches on a side and well more than a foot high, and it has a black screw-on lid. It reminds me of a huge cookie jar that my mother got from her mother and that I would regularly raid at the slightest opportunity, and sometimes shamelessly when it was filled with freshly baked chocolate chip cookies.

George claims he is only 34 years old, but looks at least five years older. He is my designated tricycle driver for the afternoon. I picked him because he spoke reasonably fluent English, not always a matter of course with tricycle drivers in the provincial Philippines. He appears to be a cheerful guy to boot, eager to impress with his knowledge of typical quirks of the local populace, worthwhile sites of interest for the ambitious traveler, and his sophistication of spoken English. The latter he soon takes advantage of to share with me his woeful story.

“Akulka, may I please ask you something else?” she inquired politely for the umpteenth time within the past twenty minutes, her eyes yet consistently glaring with seemingly insatiable curiosity. I’m thinking she knows very well I won’t turn her request down. Too intrigued am I by this inquisitive little girl’s wits and her thirst for knowledge.

The first thing I notice is how exceptionally pretty she is. Actually she doesn’t look like your average Filipina at all. Her facial features remind me of an Italian girl I once had the pleasure to spend some quality time with years ago. Despite this she still has a very distinctively Asian look about her. One could say she combines the best of both worlds.

A retired Brit, living in SE Asia for 5 years, I penned this submission because I was struck by the remarkable similarity between the behavior of Thai bar girls and their “ordinary” (non sex worker, but equally poverty stricken) Philippino sisters.

She was an angel. Long straight black hair hanging down to her ass, small but beautiful breasts, and legs up to her armpits.

A view of Angeles City in the Philippines from the point of view of someone who is more at home in Thailand.