Manila Surprised Me: The City I Thought I Knew Before I Even Arrived
2/11/20265 min read
I arrived in Manila with a sense of curiosity tinged with a little anxiety. I had expected chaos — heat, traffic, noise, maybe some culture shock — but what I found was something far more nuanced. The first few days were spent in Bonifacio Global City, the new business district, a place that, to my surprise, looked more polished than many downtown areas I had seen in Europe. Sleek high-rises towered over wide streets lined with boutique shops and cafés. Luxury car dealerships, including Lamborghini and Ferrari, sat comfortably between modern office towers. I kept reminding myself that this was the same city that, only ten years ago, had been swamp land. It felt surreal to walk past this new world, trying to reconcile the image of Manila I had imagined with the reality before me.
But my hostel wasn’t exactly in BGC. Behind the shiny towers, across a wide golf course, lay a small neighborhood that felt completely different. Narrow alleys, laundry strung between houses, cats basking in the afternoon sun, small vendors frying snacks in the street — it reminded me a lot of Thailand. Life unfolded casually, organically, without the rush of skyscrapers or luxury malls. And yet, there was warmth in every corner. People greeted me with smiles, and I began to feel that sense of safety and openness that I would come to associate with the Philippines. Manila was teaching me that contrasts exist for a reason, and that beauty can be found both in modern ambition and in the simplicity of daily life.
A few days into my stay, I met Carla, a reader of my blog who offered to show me the city. Meeting someone you don’t know in a metropolis of twelve million people might sound intimidating, but Carla was charming, funny, and deeply knowledgeable about her home. That night, we wandered through Makati, the financial heart of Manila. We started at Corner Tree Café, a vegetarian haven tucked among the towering buildings. I had braced myself for the stereotypical “vegetarian-unfriendly Philippines” story, but the food surprised me — fresh, flavorful, and abundant in options. I even found a tiny vegan café near my hostel serving green smoothies and plant-based bowls, a comforting reminder that with curiosity, you often discover exactly what you need.
The next few days were a whirlwind of sights, sounds, and flavors. We strolled past street markets, rooftop bars, and quiet side streets where families gathered in the evenings. Each neighborhood felt like a story — some were polished and cosmopolitan, others lived in the charm of everyday life, with children playing in the streets and neighbors chatting over fences. Manila, I realized, couldn’t be summarized in a single snapshot; it was a city of layers, of contradictions, of history and modernity coexisting in unexpected harmony. And for me, as a woman exploring alone, it felt empowering and grounding all at once.
After Manila, I made my way to Cebu to experience the Sinulog Festival, one of the largest cultural celebrations in the country. I had heard that attending festivals could be overwhelming, but nothing could have prepared me for the energy that met me there. The streets vibrated with drums, colorful dancers spun through the crowds, and the smell of street food mingled with the laughter and chatter of thousands of festival-goers. I learned the first lesson of festival travel quickly: book your accommodations early. Everything near the festival was either fully booked or ridiculously expensive. After a frantic search, I found a modest guesthouse tucked away on a quiet street. It wasn’t luxurious, but it was clean, welcoming, and run by a kind woman who greeted me like family. That human connection, small and unassuming, made the festival experience feel rich and joyful despite the initial stress.
Sinulog itself was a sensory overload — bright costumes, rhythmic drumming, the infectious joy of thousands dancing in unison. I felt carried along by the excitement, taking photos, laughing with locals, and letting myself be fully immersed. But by the end of the third day, my body was telling me to slow down. The crowds, the heat, and the constant stimulation had caught up with me. I realized that experiencing a place fully doesn’t mean ignoring your limits. That’s when I discovered wellness travel in a way I hadn’t anticipated.
Palawan became my refuge. Where Cebu had been vibrant and loud, Palawan was serene and soft. I stayed at a small wellness retreat where mornings began with yoga by the sea, fresh fruit breakfasts, and quiet moments watching the turquoise waves. I had massages that melted tension from muscles I didn’t even know were sore, and for the first time in weeks, I allowed myself to do nothing. Just sit, breathe, and watch the world move without needing to be a part of its rush. This was the balance I had unknowingly been searching for: the Philippines had given me both the exhilaration of festival life and the calm of a hidden paradise, teaching me that travel isn’t just sightseeing — it’s also self-care.
During my weeks on the islands, I met other travelers who had arrived with short plans and ended up extending their stays indefinitely. Some worked remotely from cafés overlooking the ocean. Others had fallen in love with the local rhythm, the affordability, or even considered investing in property. I found myself drawn to those conversations, intrigued not by the idea of buying real estate, but by the sense of possibility the Philippines seemed to offer. It wasn’t just a destination — it was a place where life could expand, in ways I hadn’t anticipated.
I explored little beaches, hidden coves, and quiet towns that felt untouched. Each day brought new surprises — a morning swim in a bay so clear I could see every fish, a street market where I discovered fresh tropical fruits I had never tried before, and the laughter of children playing along the shoreline. And every evening, I would sit somewhere overlooking the ocean, feeling the contrast between the vibrant, chaotic Manila I had started in and the serene, healing Palawan I now found myself in. It was astonishing how one country could hold such extremes, and yet make them feel connected, as if one experience naturally led to the other.
