thedrifter
04-30-09, 07:44 AM
Reporter's notebook:
Manila’s have and have-nots coexist amid a beautiful backdrop
By T.D. Flack, Stars and Stripes
Pacific edition, Friday, May 1, 2009
MANILA, Philippines — Hot and poor, yet incredibly beautiful. Each time I fly into Manila, I have the same first thought about the country.
Granted, I’ve seen only a small portion of the island nation, but I think anyone arriving here would be struck with similar impressions.
I’ve never been to another place where the difference between the haves and have-nots is so openly illustrated. Those traveling on government orders will find themselves in Manila’s five-star hotels in neighborhoods like Makati, where a room-service burger can cost more than the daily salary of the guy who delivers it.
High-end malls with the world’s most famous stores dot the neighborhood, but armed guards man each door, vetting customers and waving them down with metal-detecting wands. Outside, the homeless sell cigarettes, snacks and souvenirs. Or they just beg.
Checking in at my hotel at nearly 1 a.m., I watched several Western men — none of whom appeared to be in the military, which has taken a tough stand against human trafficking — sign in young Filipina "visitors."
Out of the city, a whole industry springs up to serve U.S. servicemembers there for training exercises.
On the former Clark Air Base last week, two Philippine men on motorcycles sat on the edge of a parachute drop zone trying to peddle Balikatan exercise T-shirts for 500 pesos — about $10. Children wandered across the zone to pick mangoes to try to sell to the troops.
At the Crow Valley Corridor, local Filipinos set up dozens of tents in a row to sell food and other goods. Dollars were preferred.
After the troops fired thousands of live rounds, and before they could finish clearing their weapons, locals raced from the trees to gather the brass.
One little girl — maybe 12 years old — told a group of reporters on Saturday that a kilogram — or 2.2 pounds — of brass can be sold for $2.
‘This is the Marine Corps I remember’
CROW VALLEY CORRIDOR — I left the Marine Corps nearly 10 years ago for a civilian job. That led me to Stars and Stripes. And that recently led me back to the Marine Corps.
There was something disconcerting about needing a young Marine to explain how to wear the body armor before I could hit a Philippine training range for the final live-fire session in the annual Balikatan exercise last week. The gear I was holding looked nothing like what I remembered from my Desert Shield/Storm deployments. And the Marines looked much, much younger.
An hour later, crouched in the back of a 7-ton truck, sweating bullets through the gear, I was struck with a bit of nostalgia. There was the hurry-up-and-wait, suck-it-up, and grit-it-out mind-set I barely remembered.
And when it started to rain 30 minutes later, I almost laughed. When the rains turned into one of the Philippines’ infamous torrential downpours, I tucked my chin to my chest and watched the water drip from my helmet onto my soaked pants, thinking, as I had during nine years of similar deployments, "This sucks."
The public affairs officer escorting our media group laughed.
"Reliving those Marine Corps days?" he asked, just as drenched as everyone else on the back of the truck.
"Oh yeah," I answered. "This is the Marine Corps I remember."
Ellie
Manila’s have and have-nots coexist amid a beautiful backdrop
By T.D. Flack, Stars and Stripes
Pacific edition, Friday, May 1, 2009
MANILA, Philippines — Hot and poor, yet incredibly beautiful. Each time I fly into Manila, I have the same first thought about the country.
Granted, I’ve seen only a small portion of the island nation, but I think anyone arriving here would be struck with similar impressions.
I’ve never been to another place where the difference between the haves and have-nots is so openly illustrated. Those traveling on government orders will find themselves in Manila’s five-star hotels in neighborhoods like Makati, where a room-service burger can cost more than the daily salary of the guy who delivers it.
High-end malls with the world’s most famous stores dot the neighborhood, but armed guards man each door, vetting customers and waving them down with metal-detecting wands. Outside, the homeless sell cigarettes, snacks and souvenirs. Or they just beg.
Checking in at my hotel at nearly 1 a.m., I watched several Western men — none of whom appeared to be in the military, which has taken a tough stand against human trafficking — sign in young Filipina "visitors."
Out of the city, a whole industry springs up to serve U.S. servicemembers there for training exercises.
On the former Clark Air Base last week, two Philippine men on motorcycles sat on the edge of a parachute drop zone trying to peddle Balikatan exercise T-shirts for 500 pesos — about $10. Children wandered across the zone to pick mangoes to try to sell to the troops.
At the Crow Valley Corridor, local Filipinos set up dozens of tents in a row to sell food and other goods. Dollars were preferred.
After the troops fired thousands of live rounds, and before they could finish clearing their weapons, locals raced from the trees to gather the brass.
One little girl — maybe 12 years old — told a group of reporters on Saturday that a kilogram — or 2.2 pounds — of brass can be sold for $2.
‘This is the Marine Corps I remember’
CROW VALLEY CORRIDOR — I left the Marine Corps nearly 10 years ago for a civilian job. That led me to Stars and Stripes. And that recently led me back to the Marine Corps.
There was something disconcerting about needing a young Marine to explain how to wear the body armor before I could hit a Philippine training range for the final live-fire session in the annual Balikatan exercise last week. The gear I was holding looked nothing like what I remembered from my Desert Shield/Storm deployments. And the Marines looked much, much younger.
An hour later, crouched in the back of a 7-ton truck, sweating bullets through the gear, I was struck with a bit of nostalgia. There was the hurry-up-and-wait, suck-it-up, and grit-it-out mind-set I barely remembered.
And when it started to rain 30 minutes later, I almost laughed. When the rains turned into one of the Philippines’ infamous torrential downpours, I tucked my chin to my chest and watched the water drip from my helmet onto my soaked pants, thinking, as I had during nine years of similar deployments, "This sucks."
The public affairs officer escorting our media group laughed.
"Reliving those Marine Corps days?" he asked, just as drenched as everyone else on the back of the truck.
"Oh yeah," I answered. "This is the Marine Corps I remember."
Ellie