Route 10 in Tondo is lined with shanty homes. I drive by them often and was surprised to see this new development on one of the squatter blocks. Metro Gwapo is the government's program for city beautification; a mission which more often than not simply covers Manila's unsightly qualities. In this case, pink ply wood was tacked over the squatter homes, giving the facade an uplift. I think they were going for a quaint cottage feel, squatter-chic at its worst. Inside of course, nothing has changed. Mazes of carved spaces are occupied by dozens of families, no natural light protruding, no fresh air flowing. The residents say they like the color though.

I decided to ditch Manila one night and make the 12 hr journey north to Sagada. Known as an artist haven, Sagada also attracts tourists looking to hike among anciet burial grounds and explore its many caves, like myself. I asked for a tour guide at the Information Office, something as a traveler, I try to avoid. But, I never took "caving" in gym class, so I figured it was the safe thing to do. Along the tour, my guide kept pointing to different rock formations, trying to explain something to me. He kept insinuating and gesturing, looking for me to catch on, but I wasn't getting it. He finally gave up narrating the journey and focused instead on making sure I didn't fall into a dark crevice. That night when I got back to my pension house, I saw this postcard tacked behind the reception desk, and I realized what he had been so awkwardly trying to communicate. Like those black and white flashcards psychologists always show their patients in movies and ask, "what do you see?", rock formations are open to interpretation. However, genitals certainly was not the 1st or 60th term that came to my mind. My guide would be terrible at charades.

Every January 9th, thousands of religious followers flock to Manila to participate in the Feast of the Black Nazarene. The statue supposedly came over in a Spanish fleet and became charred black after a ship fire. It is dragged through the streets of Manila on its way to the Saint John Baptist Church in Quiapo. The faithful pile near to try and touch the statue, as it is believed that touching it can bring miracles. If you can't get close enough to be hoisted up to the carriage, holding onto the rope that pulls the float, is a safe second bet. If you can't get the rope, then you can throw a towel with the image of Jesus printed on it to the float and the guards will wipe it on the Black Nazarene's face or cross, and toss it back. Kind of like a religious Mardi Gras. Some settle for wiping their towels on replicas. At first I couldn’t tell which black jesus was the real deal, but as the crowd thickened, energy built up, and all one million tiny black heads turned towards the float, I had a pretty good idea. Everyone cheered as the Black Nazarene neared, twirling their towels like Steelers fans at the big game. It’s like an enormous Team Jesus rally, the participants even wearing uniform maroon and yellow tshirts with a graphic of the main man.

Simply participating in the procession can get you atonement of your sins, bringing out Manila’s criminals in throes, and earning it the reputation as the biggest pick pocket festival of the year. There’s also the promise of good health which draws people with boils covering their entire face, in wheelchairs, and with goiters the size of a baby's head, from all corners of the city and outlying provinces. However, the people walk barefoot, to display humility, which I believe makes it more likely that they will incur health problems than solve any through religious faith.

But, as fanatic and chaotic as the event was the Filipino sense of hospitality never wavered. When men saw that I was being pushed into a wall or shoved around, they shouted warnings to their fellow believers to, “be careful!..woman!..tourist!” Several men even linked arms and formed a wall to protect me against the human pressure.

I read in the newspapers that close to 300 people were injured through out the course of this procession. In past years people have been trampled to death. I saw a boy faint and lifted above the crowd to safety. But thousands think it’s worth risking, given the possibility of a miracle, good health, and forgiveness.

New Years eve in the Philippines involves a ton of fireworks. It sounds like a battle ground, like the hot zone of a war torn country. Some kids that can't afford fireworks simply light gunpowder in the street. Anywhere is fair game, including off the roofs of buildings and hotel balconies. Walking the streets is a task best avoided.

After a night of Manila mayhem, my friends and I decided that we needed to welcome the new year in a more relaxed manner. With only 4 hours of sleep, we headed out January 1, on an adventure. A taxi, two buses, motorbikes, a pump boat, and 8 hours later, we arrived at Anawangin Beach in Zambales. A white sand beach perfectly nestled between pine covered mountains, it was exactly the right escape. Luckily, a friend of a friend warned us of its bare bones accomodations, ie, none at all, so we were ready with our camping gear and survival skills. Almost. We did buy a 5 person tent, but forgot blankets and pillows. Sand is not as soft as it looks, and I think by 5 people, the company meant 5 small children. We also started off the trip with a gas stove, but must have lost it somewhere between bus #1 and bus #2. The care takers of the island helped us with the latter problem, by selling us charcoal and letting us use one of their clay stoves. Our survival skills turned out not to be as strong as we originally hoped.

After three days of sleeping, eating, and swimming, we were rejuvenated enough to head back to Manila and start working on our 2009 resolutions. Happy New Years!

I went back to the US to visit my friends and family for Christmas. Manila-Japan-Detroit-Tampa, then Tampa-DC, DC-Tampa, Tampa-Detroit-Japan-Manila, again. Ten plane rides in under two weeks, and I only missed one of those flights! A-. Upon arriving in Detroit, my first point of entry to the US, I went straight to the newspaper stand and purchased a copy of US Weekly, People, In Touch, and Okay magazine. I then went to Chili's, ordered a cheese burger, and indulged in two great American past-times: greasy food and celebrity gossip. It was as satisfying as it sounds. Being back in the US was delightful. At customs, when lines filled up, another booth opened, and a woman shouted for everyone to "get moving people! a new line's open right here!" Efficiency! Going through customs when I arrived back in Manila, I lost my custom declaration form somewhere between the customs booth and baggage claim. Therefore, I could not submit the forms to the officials checking them on the way out. They looked at me for a minute, shrugged, and let me pass. It was such a pleasure to breath fresh air, walk on clean sidewalks, use a credit card anywhere for anything, eat good pizza, and sleep noise-free at night. It's an adjustment to be back, I didn't leave my apartment for a good 12 hours once I returned. Slowly, I'm working up the stamina to brave Manila, and all its glory, after exposing myself to such a delicate existence back in the first world.