The analogy of paradise on earth is not far from the truth.

You feel like you have to die to get there.

A taxi, a 3 hour flight, a 2 hour wait, a 13 hour flight, a 3 hour wait, a 2 hour flight, a taxi.

You’re born, you walk, you talk, you fuck, you work, you rest, you die. Then you’re there.

Paradise.

From the minute I got there I was free of any hurdles, pressures, burdens, stressors.

I had four weeks of freedom, to myself, for once.

In the open top jeeps made from mismatched relics of wars in the East,

I leaned with my head out the window, taking in the warm breeze, palm trees and banana leaves.

The Coca-Cola huts, smoke and coconuts.

Tiny impoverished faces,

toothless smiles of surprise and joy at the sight of my pale skin,

in these exotic places.

It felt like ’Nam, the mythical land of legend,

heat and death.

Apocalypse Now, Full Metal Jacket, Platoon,

the smell of burning oil in the thick, almost drinkable air.

Jeepneys and motorellas, caked in grime on reds and yellows,

bellowing black smog, like old chimney pots.

While wild cats and dogs, tracked and dodged the sardine-packed, poor sods,

on the dirt track lined with shack-like shops,

on the one road to town.

It was a fantastic contrast of the brightness of nature with the din of humanity.

The Philippines was humble, but rich in natural wonders,

cracking sun, then thunder rumbles.

The most unlikely bundle.

Welcome to ‘the Jungle’.