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Friends say that it takes a lot of guts for a single
girl like me to travel by myself. That’s because I am
geographically inept. I’m also not known to plan a trip months in
advance. These make me prone to blunders and mishaps—which are
part of the fun. Often, I’ve had to depend on the kindness of
strangers. Ironically, it is usually these encounters that I
remember most about my travels.
While visiting Paris a few years
ago, I told myself to stop scrimping on food and to treat myself to
an authentic French gourmet meal. Without knowing a word of French
except oui and merci, I walked into a very nice restaurant and found
myself face to face with a menu that was completely in French . . .
without any pictures. When the waiter came to take my order, I tried
to explain my predicament, but his only reply was an apologetic:
“Me no English.” Without missing a beat, he eagerly explained
the menu through a series of hand gestures.
He folded his arms under his
armpits and flapped them, showing me the chicken dishes. Then he
pretended to blow bubbles to mean fish. When we got to beef, he
stopped for a few long moments to think and disappeared into the
kitchen. He came back with what seemed like a butcher’s guide to
the parts of a cow labeled “shank,” “ribs,”
“tenderloin,” etc. He patiently pointing the part of the cow and
the corresponding dish on the menu. Though we made quite a spectacle
of ourselves, we were also having fun, laughing at our attempts to
communicate with one another.
I now cannot recall what I
finally ordered, but to this day I still distinctly remember the
incident that forever dispelled any notion I had about the French
being snooty.
Another time, while preparing to
go to London, my colleague asked her London-based sister,
Helen—whom I had never met—to get me a room for me at the
prestigious hotel where she worked. Due to conflicting schedules, I
didn’t have the opportunity to meet Helen while I was in London,
but she entrusted me in the care of her friend, Mario, also a fellow
Filipino.
Upon check–in, Mario upgraded
my already grossly discounted room to a Junior Suite so that I would
have access to the Executive Lounge and the complimentary food,
drinks and Internet access. Mario even showed me around, stayed with
me to chat and made sure that I was comfortable. Helen called me in
my room soon after to make sure that the room was to my liking.
(Half a rugby team would have fit into the room. What’s not
to like?) Truly, you can take the Filipino out of Manila, but
can’t take our trademark hospitality away from the Filipino.
At a train station in Singapore,
I asked two Singaporean girls how to get to Sentosa, and they
obliged by explaining in detail what train to take. When the ticket
dispenser rejected my paper money after numerous attempts, they
pooled together their loose change so I would have the exact amount
to buy a ticket.
In countless other places, where
I randomly stop a stranger to request for assistance, my thanks are
accepted with a sincere and pleasant smile. It reminds me that at
the end of the day, we are all just trying to find our way around
this world. This is the humanity that binds us together more
than race, color or culture. 
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