Manila Cathedral Tour
Cathedral that refuses to die, gardens that tell stories, and an eating habit that left me staring with my mouth open
I left Fort Santiago with my head full of stories about José Rizal. After a short walk, I saw Manila Cathedral towering before me.
I learned that this cathedral had been destroyed and rebuilt seven times—by earthquakes, typhoons, and wars—each time, the Filipinos rebuilt it. This gave me a new perspective on this nation—people who refuse to give up.
I entered after a quick security check—the high ceiling, the light streaming through the stained-glass windows—breathtaking. I arrived right in the middle of a prayer service. The priest’s voice echoed through the vast hall. I couldn’t explore freely, so I simply stood there, taking it all in. I watched the locals pray. For me, it was an impressive building. For them, it was so much more.
My tour continued to gardens recommended by ChatGPT. "Since you’re in the area, stop by Puerta Real Gardens—beautiful greenery and great photo opportunities!"
I reached the entrance bridge and suddenly noticed a group of around 30 men in white suits. "What’s going on?" I thought, stepping aside to let them pass. But it turned out they were filming a video. They let me go through so my brightly colored dress wouldn’t ruin their shot. Once again, I was the most colorful dot in the scene.
The gardens were beautiful, with towering trees and tropical flowers in every shade. Ancient stone walls enclosed the space, shutting out the city’s noise. I found a quiet bench and sat down to recover from the heat. A couple was taking wedding photos by a small fountain, while colorful birds fluttered above me.
From that quiet corner, I understood the charm of Intramuros—how, in the middle of a chaotic city, you can suddenly stumble upon a pocket of tranquility, like something from another world, another time.
I continued walking toward Rizal Park but decided to stop at Jollibee first, a fast-food chain I had seen on every corner.
Curious, I stepped inside. At first glance, it looked like just another burger and fries joint. But upon closer inspection, it was something else entirely—Filipino fast food. Like everyone else, I ordered fried chicken with rice.
What arrived was a crispy, golden piece of chicken, a neatly wrapped portion of rice, and a savory chicken gravy that was delicious. The entire meal, including a drink, cost only 85 pesos—about 5 shekels or $1.50. I walked out full and satisfied.
But what surprised me more than the price, and even more than the fact that toilet paper seems to be nonexistent in most public restrooms, was what I saw at the table in front of me.
A Filipino family was eating, and I noticed the father dipping his fries into a cup. "Is that what I think it is?" I wondered, trying to figure out what was inside. Then he tilted it slightly, and I saw—vanilla ice cream. He was dipping his fries into soft-serve ice cream, and so was the rest of his family, as if it was the most natural thing in the world.
I couldn’t believe it. Was this a genius or a terrible mistake? Was this a Filipino thing, or was this just one particularly odd family?
Later, I found out—it’s a Filipino thing. Filipinos are known for their love of sweet flavors, and the sweet-salty combination is a big part of their food culture. Jollibee even encourages it in their ads. The Philippines is one of the world’s largest sugar producers, and it’s evident in their daily menu.
After this unexpected culinary discovery, I continued to Rizal Park—another tribute to the national hero I had just learned about. After so much concrete and stone, I was ready for a bit of green.
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