The Long Way Out of Anda
Our stay in the Philippines was drawing to a close, but it could not have felt more different from our arrival. Back then, we had three flights and a car ride in a single day. Leaving the country stretched over three days. While it wasn’t exactly relaxing, it was definitely less stressful.
Phase one was getting from Anda to Panglao, where the airport is located. With an early morning departure, we decided to spend the night near the airport instead of attempting to get there directly from Anda for a 9:15 a.m. flight. That turned out to be a very wise decision.
We had our last breakfast at the Anda market, saying our farewells to the lovely ladies who had fed us every day. After breakfast, we took the 9 a.m. bus from Anda to Tagbilaran—and that’s where our adventure began.
The ride was painfully slow, with the bus stopping at what felt like every corner. At one stop, a passenger jumped off to run into the market, leaving his bags behind on the bus. The driver waited patiently for five minutes, then began sounding the horn. After another five minutes of honking, the passenger still hadn’t returned. The driver removed the bags, placed them neatly on the pavement, and we finally drove on.
We were lucky to get on the bus at the first stop and secure seats. As we went along, the bus became more and more crowded and hot, and I was happy to be sitting by an open window. That happiness didn’t last long. It started raining. Even after closing the window, I kept getting soaked—water was leaking straight through the frame. As we approached Tagbilaran, the rain turned torrential. I watched ankle-deep rivers flowing through the streets and wondered what awaited us at the station.
What awaited us was more rain and more ankle-deep water. Even our backpacks, stored in the bus hold, didn’t escape—water had leaked in there too.
After more than three hours to cover 101 kilometers, we finally got off the bus. But our journey wasn’t over.
Panglao: Close to the Airport, Far From Easy
We still had to reach Panglao Island, another 25 kilometers away. This is where we made a mistake: instead of calling a Grab, we took a public bus.
First, we waited a long time for the bus to arrive, miserable on the wet platform. Then, once on board, we waited again for it to depart while rain pounded against the windows.
The ride itself was slow, stopping anywhere passengers wanted to get on or off. When the bus reached the airport, there was yet another long pause. It began to feel like we would never reach our destination.
Even after getting off at a road junction, we still had to take a tricycle for the final two kilometers to our guesthouse. All in all, using two buses, it took us over five hours to travel 130 kilometers between our accommodations on Bohol.
There was at least one small consolation: the rain had finally stopped by the time we arrived.
We were too tired to explore Panglao properly after our arrival, but what little we saw was enough to confirm that staying in Anda had been the right choice. Panglao felt busy and crowded, lined with shops, restaurants, and tour agencies catering almost exclusively to tourists. Luxury resorts sat awkwardly beside ramshackle local houses, creating a jarring visual contrast. It was worlds apart from the quiet authenticity of Anda and nearby Bacong village. Valery still managed a short walk to Danao Beach, but came back equally unimpressed: tour boats crowded both the sand and the water, leaving little sense of space or calm.
Just a Dash of Manila
The next morning, we were lucky to find a small carinderia nearby, serving good, cheap food—perfect before our short ride to the airport.
Our flight to Manila was smooth, and from the airport we took a Grab to our accommodation. We had one night in Manila, with about 36 hours before our next flight. It was more than enough time to get a taste of the capital—and to confirm that our decision not to spend much time there had been the right one.
We visited two areas of Manila. Our apartment was in Makati, so we spent our first afternoon and evening there.
Makati: Vertical City Life
After weeks on small islands, Valery’s first impression of Manila was that of a concrete jungle. Towering skyscrapers lined the streets in every direction. Even the mobile network struggled, screened by the buildings. One small saving grace: it was easy to avoid the sun, as almost everything was permanently in shadow.
We visited Greenbelt, a small park combined with an upscale mall and an outdoor chapel. We had planned to visit the Ayala Museum, but it was closed for a private function, so we went to the Yuchengco Museum instead. While the photo exhibition was excellent, the rest felt underwhelming—especially considering the rather high entrance fee of 200 pesos per person.
Our apartment building felt like a small town in itself, probably housing more people than the entire island of Siquijor. Our place was on the 55th floor—a staggering contrast to island life. From that height, Manila stretched endlessly in all directions, skyscraper after skyscraper fading into a slight haze. The city’s noise, so overwhelming at street level, barely reached us up there. After dark, the lights came alive as far as the eye could see, transforming the city into something unexpectedly beautiful.
Intramuros: History, Memory, and Colonial Legacy
Our flight to Hanoi was late at night, so early in the morning we left our luggage at the apartment and took a Grab to Intramuros, Manila’s old quarter.
On the way, we passed through some very run-down areas. After the concrete-and-glass splendour of Makati, we suddenly saw a very different face of Manila—one that had been completely invisible from our 55th-floor view the night before.
Finally, we reached the old town and wandered around the cathedral. It was pleasant, but after Mexico and Spain, it didn’t leave a strong architectural impression. What truly stood out was its history. The cathedral has been destroyed and rebuilt eight times—by fires, earthquakes, typhoons, and war. Standing there, it felt less like a monument to faith and more like a testament to Filipino stubbornness and determination.
We also visited Fort Santiago. The most interesting part was its connection to the country’s history.
José Rizal, the Philippine national hero, was imprisoned here before being executed by the Spanish colonizers. His death inspired Filipinos to rebel against Spanish rule and eventually gain independence.
There is an entire museum dedicated to his life and death, and it becomes very clear just how much he means to the people of this country.
Another deeply touching place was one of the dungeons, where several hundred Filipinos died from suffocation and heat exhaustion during the Japanese occupation. Somehow, I had never really associated World War II with Asia before. Seeing this made it painfully clear that this region, too, suffered deeply—just as people did in Europe.
The San Agustin Museum had a few surprises as well. It tells the history of the Philippines from a missionary perspective. I was particularly surprised to learn that a monk served as a navigator on one of the early Spanish voyages, charting the first route from the Philippines to Mexico.
Of all the museums we visited, we enjoyed the National Museum of Natural History the most. It was fun to see native plants and animals and finally put names to some of the species we had encountered during our travels.
Five Kilometers, One Hour
We finished with the museums around 5 p.m. and assumed the rest of the day would be easy. All that remained was to return to the apartment, collect our bags, and head to the airport. What could be simpler?
Wrong. The most memorable part of the day was just beginning.
The distance to our Makati apartment was only five kilometers. It took over an hour for a Grab driver to reach it. At times, it felt like we could have walked faster. Adding to the stress, I hadn’t been able to check in online for our flight, and we started worrying we might be late.
Sometimes the car crawled forward through the steadily increasing traffic—those moments felt like progress. Other times it stood completely motionless while the minutes ticked by and our departure time crept closer.
Eventually, we made it back.
We rushed up to the 55th floor, grabbed our luggage, and waited for another car—this time to the airport.
Thankfully, the ride there was slightly better, and we arrived in time for our flight.
Time to Move On
One and a half days in Manila felt like enough for us. It was an intense final chapter to our time in the Philippines—one that made us appreciate even more the quiet places we were leaving behind. We boarded our flight tired, slightly overwhelmed, and ready to move on to Hanoi, the capital of Vietnam. It would be interesting to see how it compares to Manila—another huge city in Southeast Asia.
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