THE PARKING REVOLUTION

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Manila -May 2012-

The beginnings are not the best:

  • They try to open my backpack at a crosswalk, I look back and see a transvestite that hides whistling.
  • The hotels are ugly and expensive. In the end we found one that seems unchollo: something bad has to have. And we discovered the night: it was a species of puti.
  • The city is poor. Dirty. Wet.
  • The heat is overwhelming, we are tired, we have been traveling for 8 months throughout Southeast Asia.

Travel is beautiful but not everything is palm trees and white beaches.

Traveling is not going on vacation, traveling tired, it gets into your skin, your nose, your muscles, your brain, your dreams.

The Philippines catapults you in South America, or what we believe is South America. The faces are similar to those on the other side of the puddle, the noodles leave room for meat dishes, the temples to the churches and the spirit of the people is hotter.

They are latin. They are Latinos who like karaoke.
And the cockfights.

The Philippines was Spanish. And looks. Especially in Manila.
It was there, in the capital, and under the gaze of the Immaculate Conception Cathedral that we saw them: a group of children who were talking very animatedly about something.

It seemed very important. Extremely important They were children with bright, alive, rebellious eyes. A bit of rebellion already showed: parked where they should not.

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