The Philippines Was Never on My Bucket List — Until Lizz Was There

In my last article, I told the story of the strange chain of coincidences that eventually led me to Lizz: Fiji, German friends, Skype, and one unexpected “hello” from a woman in the Philippines who was apparently a little bored at work.

It still sounds ridiculous when I write it down.

If someone had told me earlier, “One day you will go to Fiji, meet Germans there, later install Skype because of them, receive a random message from a Filipina, fly to meet her, marry her, and eventually live in the Philippines,” I would probably have asked what they had been drinking.

But life has a strange sense of humour. Sometimes it does not send a clear plan. Sometimes it sends a Skype message.

After that first hello, Lizz and I started chatting every day. At first it was curiosity. Then it became routine. Then it became something I looked forward to. And then came the dangerous thought:

Maybe I should meet her in real life.

This is always the moment when the internet becomes serious. Until then, everything is easy. You can chat, laugh, send photos, write clever things, and pretend that time zones are romantic instead of annoying. But meeting in real life? That is different. Suddenly, an airport is involved. And passports. And the possibility that all the magic disappears the moment you stand in front of each other like two confused penguins.

But I wanted to know.

And luckily, Emirates helped.

The Most Useful Raffle I Never Knew I Joined

At that time, I was already a frequent flyer with Emirates and had collected enough miles to fly to the Philippines almost for free. I would only have to pay the taxes, something around 100 US dollars.

That alone already felt like destiny had opened a travel agency.

Even better: I had already spent many of my miles the year before on tickets to Australia. But then, after arriving in Sydney, I received a message from Emirates telling me that I had won all my miles back in a raffle.

A raffle I didn’t even know I had joined.

This is the kind of raffle I fully support. No lottery numbers, no effort, no emotional damage — just an email saying, “Congratulations, here are your miles back.” Wonderful. If only German tax offices worked like that.

So suddenly I had the chance to fly to the Philippines for almost nothing.

Which was good, because the Philippines had never been on my radar at all.

The Philippines I Thought I Knew

Back then, the Philippines was not really present in German travel brochures. At least not in the ones I saw. Thailand was there. Bali was there. Sri Lanka was there. Australia was there. The Maldives were there, smiling in turquoise colors.

But the Philippines? Almost invisible.

And what I “knew” about the country came mostly from German media—which meant I knew mainly the dramatic parts. Poverty. Manila crime stories. Children searching through garbage dumps—the People Power Revolution against President Ferdinand Marcos. Martial law. Corruption. Typhoons. Volcanoes. Mount Pinatubo and its massive 1991 eruption.

Mount Pinatubo, by the way, really was a huge event. Its 1991 eruption was one of the largest volcanic eruptions of the 20th century. It covered wide areas with ash, affected global temperatures, and became one of those images the world connected with the Philippines: dramatic, dangerous, and very far away.

Then came Marcos and martial law, which deeply shaped the country. In 1986, the People Power Revolution in Manila became world-famous because ordinary people gathered on EDSA and helped end a dictatorship without the kind of bloodshed many had feared. It was historic and impressive — but again, from far away in Germany, what reached us was mostly crisis, poverty, and political drama.

Not exactly the kind of advertising campaign that makes you say, “Darling, let’s book three weeks in Manila.”

The internet did not help much either. Today, you can find millions of beautiful photos of the Philippines: Palawan, Bohol, Siargao, Banaue, Siquijor, Coron, Siargao surfers looking cooler than humanly necessary. But back then, the photos I found online were often terrible. Small, blurry, grey, and usually taken by people who apparently believed that photography was a punishment.

So my image of the Philippines was distorted. I knew it was probably unfair, but I could not help it. Except for meeting Lizz, I did not expect much.

To be honest, I was even a little afraid.

In my imagination, arriving in Manila would feel like entering some dark political thriller: soldiers everywhere, suspicious faces, men with black sunglasses, everyone staring at arriving passengers as if each of us had personally hidden drugs inside our socks and would soon be thrown into jail forever.

Yes, I know. Very dramatic.

But fear is not always intelligent. Sometimes fear watches too many news reports.

Landing in Manila During a Typhoon

At the end of September, I flew to the Philippines.

And because life wanted to make sure I got the full introduction, a typhoon was hitting Manila just before I arrived.

This was 2006, and if I remember correctly, it was around the time of Typhoon Milenyo, internationally known as Xangsane, which caused heavy damage in Luzon and Metro Manila. Power lines went down, trees were ripped apart, billboards collapsed, and sadly, people lost their lives.

When my aeroplane landed in Manila, much of the city was dark.

Fantastic.

The airport was running on emergency power. Leaving the aircraft felt eerie. The lights were dim, the atmosphere strange, and I thought, “Ah yes, very good. First impression: the Philippines, land of catastrophes. Thank you, universe, very subtle.”

But then something unexpected happened.

A man in uniform smiled at me.

Not a suspicious smile. Not a “we know what you did” smile. A real friendly smile.

“Good evening, sir. Welcome to the Philippines.”

I was confused.

Where were the black sunglasses? Where was the dramatic airport tension? Where was the scary atmosphere I’d imagined?

I kept walking, and another uniformed man greeted me, smiling as well.

Again: no sunglasses. No interrogation face. No feeling that I would be arrested for importing emotional confusion.

And suddenly I felt much calmer.

Even immigration was quick and friendly. A smile, a stamp, and I was in.

So much for my Hollywood airport thriller.

NAIA Terminal 1 was still dimly lit by emergency power, and yes, it looked a bit tired. But the people were friendly. That changed everything immediately.

Manila by Night, After the Storm

Before arriving, I had already arranged a limousine transfer to my hotel in Makati. Lizz had warned me about predatory taxi drivers in Manila, especially those with manipulated meters or creative pricing systems that could turn a short ride into a financial investment.

I had no desire to begin my first visit to the Philippines by arguing with a taxi driver in the dark after a typhoon. So it was a limousine transfer.

Very elegant. Very practical. Also very “I have no idea what I am doing; please deliver me safely to my hotel.”

We drove through the dark city. Along the roads, I saw collapsed billboards, broken branches, and palm trees stripped of their crowns by the storm. The typhoon had been strong indeed. The city felt bruised.

And then, suddenly, in the middle of the darkness, one building appeared fully lit.

The InterContinental Hotel in Makati.

It looked like an island of light.

After the dark roads, the damaged billboards, and the strange emergency-lit arrival, this hotel looked almost unreal. I stepped out of the car and looked back into the darkness, then back at the glowing entrance. It felt like I had reached a safe harbour.

The InterContinental Manila was one of Makati’s classic hotels. It opened in the late 1960s, as Makati developed into the business heart of Metro Manila. For decades, it stood near Ayala Centre, close to shopping malls, offices, restaurants, and the financial district. Today, the hotel is gone, but in 2006 it still had that old international hotel feeling: polished floors, professional staff, and the kind of lobby where you immediately walk a little straighter even if you are exhausted and slightly sweaty from travel.

The staff were extremely courteous. Within minutes, I was in a truly posh room.

On the table sat a plate of fresh fruit, including some of the sweetest mangoes I had ever tasted. Philippine mangoes deserve their own love poem. They are not just fruit. They are proof that nature sometimes knows exactly what it is doing.

I ate, looked around, felt safe, and quickly fell asleep in a very big bed.

After the storm, the dark city, and my nervous arrival, that bed felt like a diplomatic solution between me and the universe.

Morning in Makati: Wait, This Is Manila?

The next morning I woke up, opened the curtains, and looked outside.

And there it was: a Manila that did not fit my old image at all.

In front of me was Makati, the business district, with high-rise buildings, malls, wide roads, and tidy sidewalks. It looked modern, organised, and surprisingly familiar — more like parts of Frankfurt, Singapore, or Chicago than the disaster movie in my head.

No slums outside my window. No chaos in the first view. No suspicious men waiting under palm trees to steal my shoes.

Instead: office towers, hotels, traffic, shopping centres, and people going to work.

Makati is not the whole of Manila, of course. Metro Manila is enormous, complicated, rich and poor, glamorous and rough, modern and chaotic, sometimes all within the same kilometre. But my first morning view was important because it immediately corrected something in me.

I realised how one-sided my picture had been.

Yes, the Philippines is a poor country in many ways. Yes, Manila has serious problems. Yes, poverty exists and cannot be talked away with hotel mangoes. But many other travel destinations also have poverty — they are just promoted differently. The Philippines has received a lot of negative attention in the media, while its warmth, resilience, humour, beauty, and everyday life often go missing from the picture.

What I saw that first morning was not paradise. It was not perfect.

But it was real.

And it was much better than my imagination.

A Conversation Before Davao

Later that morning, I went downstairs and talked with a staff member at the InterContinental.

He asked where I was going next.

I said, “Davao City.”

His eyes became bigger immediately.

“Davao is nice,” he said, with that look people get when they are thinking about good food.

I would understand this reaction better later. People in Manila often rave about Davao. Sometimes they talk about the orderliness, sometimes the safety, sometimes the slower pace — but very often, sooner or later, it becomes about fruit.

And Davao has fruit.

Lots of fruit.

Durian, pomelo, mangosteen, bananas, pineapples, mangoes — the south of the Philippines is blessed with abundance. It is the kind of place where fruit feels less like a snack and more like a lifestyle. Davao is also close to Mount Apo, the highest mountain in the Philippines, and faces the Davao Gulf, with Samal Island just across the water.

But I was not going to Davao for fruit, mountains, or geography.

I was going to meet Lizz.

Which, frankly, was more exciting than any pomelo.

Back to the Airport Through a Damaged City

A little later, I headed back to the airport.

On the way, I again saw the typhoon’s aftermath: broken billboards, damaged trees, palm trunks standing bare like embarrassed umbrellas, and parts of the city still recovering from the storm.

But even then, my impression of the Philippines was already better than the image I had carried with me from Germany.

The people had been friendly. The arrival had been smooth. The hotel had been excellent. Makati had surprised me. And the feared atmosphere of danger and suspicion had not appeared.

Instead, I had landed in a wounded city that still smiled.

That made an impression on me.

Davao: Not Beautiful in an Obvious Way, But Human

Then I flew to Davao City.

Davao is on Mindanao, the large southern island of the Philippines. For many Europeans, Mindanao sounds complicated because the news often connects it with conflict. And yes, parts of Mindanao have had serious political and security problems. But Mindanao is huge, diverse, and cannot be reduced to headlines.

Davao City felt immediately different from Manila in 2006.

It was more laid-back. There were fewer high-rise buildings. It didn’t try to impress the same way. It was not glamorous. It wasn’t a city that shouted, “Look at me, I am world-class!” every five minutes.

But it felt cosy.

And more human.

There was traffic, of course. This is still the Philippines, not a Swiss mountain village. Malls, jeepneys, tricycles, markets, churches, restaurants, street vendors, and the warm tropical air immediately remind a European body that it has been overdressed for most of its life.

But Davao did not feel hostile. It felt approachable.

It felt like a place where ordinary people lived ordinary lives. Where development did not only mean glass towers and expensive cafés, but also safety, community, food, family, and a certain relaxed rhythm.

High-rises aren’t the only sign of progress. Sometimes a city feels better because it is not trying too hard.

Davao wasn’t the most beautiful city I had ever seen, but it had something that mattered more to me then: it felt comfortable.

And then there was Lizz.

Meeting Lizz in Real Life

After weeks and months of chatting, there she was.

Real.

Not a profile photo. Not a Skype message. Not a voice through a computer. A real person standing in front of me in the Philippines, after I had crossed half the world with Emirates miles, a nervous heart, and a head full of wrong expectations.

Meeting someone from the internet in real life is strange. You already know so much, but you also know nothing. You know the way they write, the jokes they make, the little details they tell you late at night. But you do not yet know how they move through a room, how they smile when they are shy, how their voice sounds in the same air as yours.

With Lizz, it felt natural.

That was the biggest surprise.

Not dramatic. Not like a movie with violins and slow motion. More like, “Ah, there you are. This makes sense.”

We spent time together in Davao, talked, laughed, got to know each other properly, and slowly turned a strange online coincidence into something real. I had come to the Philippines mostly because of her, and because of her, the country around me became warmer, clearer, and more meaningful.

Without Lizz, I might have looked at Davao as just another city.

With Lizz, it became the place where my future began to take shape.

From Skype to Munich

During that visit, we also started planning her coming to Munich.

That was not a small step. A relationship across continents is not exactly convenient. It involves visas, flights, paperwork, waiting, money, patience, and the emotional sport of trusting someone who lives very far away.

But we planned it.

One year later, we married in Munich.

When I think about it now, it still feels almost impossible. A message on Skype. A flight to Manila during a typhoon. A night at the InterContinental. A morning in Makati. A flight to Davao. And then Lizz.

The Philippines had never been on my bucket list.

I had not dreamed of it as a young traveller. I had not circled it in a brochure. I had not said, “One day I must see Manila.” In fact, before Lizz, I mostly knew the country through bad news and blurry internet photos.

But then I went there.

And the country surprised me.

First, with friendly smiles at a dark airport. Then with Makati’s skyline. Then with mangoes. Then with Davao’s relaxed humanity. And finally, most importantly, with Lizz.

A few years later, the Philippines even became my home.

That is the funny thing about life. Sometimes the places we never planned to visit become the places that change everything.

And sometimes love does not begin with candlelight or poetry.

Sometimes it begins with Skype, Emirates miles, a typhoon, and a woman from the Philippines saying hello.