Old Manila: Between Dungeons and Tales of Heroism
A doctor-turned-writer who never knew he had become a national symbol, and what I learned as I walked in his final footsteps through the walls of Intramuros.
My tour began in the old city.
I quickly realized I needed to take some form of public transport—not only because it was far, but also because I had lost any desire to walk down that street again.
Standing near a bus station, I watched the chaos of Manila’s roads unfold around me. I tried to figure out how to navigate this new fear I had just developed—crossing Manila’s streets. It all seemed like pure mayhem.
I considered taking a bus, but then I noticed they never really stop completely. People just jump off while the buses are still moving. Drivers don’t pull over at the stop—they just honk repeatedly to signal their arrival, and if you want to get on, you jump in.
A city in constant motion? People were also hopping onto tuk-tuks while they were still moving. But when I approached one, it actually stopped—probably realizing I wasn’t moving at the local pace.
"Do you go to Intramuros?" I asked, showing him my phone.
He reached for it, and I instinctively tightened my grip, making it clear—don’t touch it.
"No," he said, and I stepped away.
(Later, I realized they only drive on main roads, not into neighborhoods.)
I decided to leave this challenge for another day. I really wanted to understand how public transport works here, but it was only my first day—better to ease into it.
Before arriving, I had already downloaded ANGKAS, which is basically the Uber for motorcycles, along with JoyRide, its competitor. I was familiar with motorcycle taxis from Thailand, and as a rider myself, I love this fast and efficient way to get around.
After a quick sign-up with my local Philippine number, I booked a motorcycle taxi. It picked me up exactly where I stood and took me directly to my destination in the old city. A 15-minute ride for just 80 pesos.
The app required me to wear a face mask and ask the driver for a disposable hair cover to separate my head from the helmet lining. I wasn’t surprised—everyone here still wears masks because of the air pollution. A short ride on a smog-filled road left me feeling like I needed a shower.
As soon as I arrived, I felt the shift—wide sidewalks, beautiful colonial buildings, a sense of calm and history. The chaos of downtown felt far away.
Of course, people still approached me every few steps—offering "opportunities" to spend my money: guided tours, food stalls, professional photography, and of course, tuk-tuk rides. But the atmosphere was entirely different.
I started my tour at Fort Santiago, a massive stone fortress built in 1571. I wandered along the thick stone walls, then descended into the dark, damp prison cells where a museum detailed the fort’s grim history.
The dungeon beneath the fort was especially chilling. I walked down the narrow stone steps into the dimly lit chambers, and suddenly, my bright summer dress felt completely out of place in such a somber setting.
Throughout the tour, I kept hearing one name—José Rizal, the national hero of the Philippines.
To my surprise, he wasn’t a warrior or a revolutionary fighter, but rather a doctor, writer, and philosopher. Rizal fought for his people’s freedom, not with weapons, but with words. He wrote two famous novels that exposed the injustices of Spanish rule and called for reforms.
The Spanish authorities saw him as a threat and executed him in 1896—right here in Fort Santiago, at the age of just 35. His execution was the final spark that ignited the Philippine Revolution against Spain, which had ruled the islands for 333 years.
After learning some Spanish, I immediately noticed how much of it still lingers in the Philippines.
For example, they still use Spanish numerals for telling time, which are different from the numbers used for money and other things. And the Filipino language itself has retained several Spanish words and expressions. Every now and then, I caught familiar words in everyday conversations.
As I walked past Rizal’s photos and quotes, I couldn’t stop thinking about how good people have often had to pay the ultimate price for change. It’s such a painful thought.
He never knew that his sacrifice would lead to Philippine independence. He never knew he would be declared a national hero. He never saw the statues built in his honor, the streets and parks named after him, or his face printed on Philippine currency. All of that came only after his death.
I left the fort with mixed emotions—fascinated by history, moved by Filipino culture, but also reflecting on the cost of freedom.
The late afternoon sun cast long shadows on the cobblestone streets of the old city, and I knew this was just the beginning of my journey here.
I still had a few hours of daylight left, and next on my list—Manila Cathedral. But that’s a story for another post.
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