December 29th, 30th, 31st - NEW YEARS EVE - January 1st, 2nd, 3rd.
A lot of territory to cover. A lot has happened.

December 29th, Zamboanga City, Mindanao, Philippines.
Frilly and fancified roosters cock-a-doodle-dooed all night long. Ignored by the locals, they were a prominent fixture of the still quiet of the southern night. The evening before, Chinot had met up with a local we had met on the boat the night before. Being young and part of the hip crowd, he took us to the swank Alejandros complex of bars, restaurants and a large club. Prior to entry a heavily armed, though well dressed, guard sweeps a metal detector over your body and pats you down carefully. A second greets you as you walk over a small walkway into the fantastically lit open air restaurant. A very festive light display, and servers with santa hats give the establishment a neat feel. Inside, a circular high-ceilinged eating area with a pond in the middle served as an entry to the very popular club. Cameras and digital recording equipment were checked at the door, and another security check and metal detector, then we were in! We were seated near the edge of the seating area, the dance floor wasa few feet below us. The theme of the club was very nostalgic and retro, classic automobile shells hung on the walls, memoribilia and lights decorated every surface - the entire place seemed very out-of-place from what I had seen in Zamboanga so far. The three of us drank a few San Miguels and ordered a few appetizers. I sought the familiar and ordered Calimari, Chinot opted for something more filipino - deep fried pig intestines. After the initial disgust had been overcome, the crispy delights were actually very tasty... A group of five well-dressed filipinos entertained the growing crowds with top-40 and classic American tunes, dedicating a total of three of the tunes to their "foreign guest". Chinot and I discovered that our friend had no money, or had rather given his pesos to some high-school buddies who apparently needed it, and so paid the bill. Our friend would later request a loan of several hundred p's from both of us; he was greeted politely with two no's. Chinot and I took a motorized tricycle back to the discount pension to get some sleep before heading to the airport in the morning.

December 30th
Chinot's 7am flight to Davao meant he was up at the unfriendly hour of 5am. I woke reluctantly and gave my sincerest thanks for all of his help. He had been truly invaluable on this leg of my journey, and despite the hardships of the travel he had been a true friend. I quickly fell asleep after he left. I later woke just before my alarm and repacked my bag, which throughout my trip has had a tendency to explode when unlocked and unzipped. Groggily slung over my shoulder I checked out of the sketchy pension, which featured small rooms, well worn mattresses, less-than-satisfactory locking mechanisms on the doors, a 'shitty' bathroom with no toilet seat and a scoop of water to flush, and a shower comprised of a large bucket of cold water with a scoop. I wandered out onto the street and headed in the general direction of the airport. I was looking for something to eat - anything - but really saw no restaurants. The home fried chicken place we ate at the night before was closed until 10am. Greeting people in my version of Tagalog I walked further and further, eventually coming across what appeared to be a place that served food. Ducking through the bar-style swinging doors I found myself in a long, wide hallway with a selection of Filipino breakfast dishes at the front, many tables at the back - mostly empty. The owner, a toothless rotund fellow with scruffy white hair, very happily greeted me with a spanish accent, I replied with Magandang umaga. As it turns out, while Tagalog is the national language, here in western Mindanao they speak what they call Broken Spanish. Allegedly if you speak spanish you can understand much of what they say... I ordered a series of stew-like meat dishes, some rice, and a bowl of the local soup - a meal that would better suit dinner than breakfast. My 3-in-1 Nescafe reassured me that it was indeed my first meal. After the delicious food and an informative discussion about the area the owner and his wife offered me their contact information and urged me to call them for any reason at all, an appreciated gesture. I made my way back out to the street where I caught a tricycle to the airport, not far away. 20p was more than adequate for the driver, and I made my way through the very high security at the entrance to the airport. Asked to stand on a raised wooden platform the guard with the pump-action shotgun patted me down and another scanned me with his metal-detecting probe. With ticket and passport as evidence of travel I entered and checked in with Cebu Pacific. In the lineup I met a Korean, and later I would spot an American in the open-air waiting area of the Zamboanga "International" airport. I had several coffees while reading the local paper, looking up often to notice army helicopters taking off in clusters in circling skyward maneuvers - a surreal sight that fit more in the title screens of M*A*S*H than in real life. My plane would board late around 10:45, I was seated in the window side of the emergency exit, at my request. Most flights I have had have (is it possible that using the verb 'to have' three times consecutively is proper english?) been very routine and comfortable experiences. As we took out position at the foot of the runway and began our bumpy acceleration I was a little concerned. The seal in the emergency exit of the DC-9 seemed to be broken and the tremendously noisy engine screamed through. We quickly bumped our way towards the end of the runway and finally, reluctantly, became airborn. Our wings tilted this way and that, we jolted up and down, the pilots seemed incapable of controlling the craft. As we rose very steeply the seal seemed to fix itself and the noise disappeared, though my nervousness was not reassured. Finally we reached a level-position in the sky at our proper altitude and I coupld relax a little.
Our arrival in the skies over the city of Manila resulted in many (unnecessary) maneuvers that involved sharp pitches and turns combined with steep descents. Coming in for a sharp landing at Ninoy Aquino Domestic Terminal resulted in a friendly touchdown and one of the most rigid and quick decelerations that I have experienced - surely a few G's! I have no idea why. Needless to say I was thrilled to have landed in one piece. I do not know if all Cebu Pacific flights are as hairy as mine, nor do I know their record of safety... I do know that I will avoid flying with them again...

Deplaning onto the tarmack we walked over to the domestic terminal to claim our baggage. Inside the large open terminal were a large number of foreigners. My bag emerged and I headed to the security clearance at the the exit where I had to show evidence of ownership over my bag. Past the armed guards I walked into the noon sun.

Manila at last!