George the 52 year old bus driver from Sydney

Good Friday is not a busy day in the Philippines, especially because over 80% of Filipinos are Roman Catholic. I was in Cebu - an island south of Manila that is the nation's busiest port, and has a thriving metropolis.

That day I had walked through the township, completely dead and closed apart from a mob of locals re-playing the scene where JC carries his cross with a thorny crown and Filipino men with painted beards whipping him with tassels. It was relatively tame compared to the tradition up north in Clark where devout Catholics are actually nailed to a cross by their hands and feet.
I was meeting friends who had flown in from Malaysia, however they would be arriving quite late so I scoped the most appropriate bar to meet them. I had a choice of 4 bars: 1. Dimples 2. Pussycat 3. Gentlemen's Club 4. Viking World Bar I tried Dimples because it was closest, but as expected the girls were handsy and the bartender frowned at me when I refused to buy them drinks. The girls were very friendly but it gets tiresome saying "Hindi" which means "No" in Tagalog (now confidently correct).

This was definitely not going to work. I finished my beer and excused myself saying I needed to buy chewing gum from the Caltex across the road. I wandered across the road. Just like Manila I was followed by kids with their hands out. Mechanically I waved them away and said "hindi hindi" as politely as possible. Using the local language to reject beggars is more powerful because they quickly realize you aren't some tourist potato that will be duped by dirty faced povo kids in need.

I decided to enter the Viking World Bar as the name indicated it was the least sleazy. The bar was FULL of people… the demographic was possibly 90% Filipino women, 5% korean men, and 5% flaccid wrinkly old men. I bought a beer from the bar, trying to avoid eye contact.

In the corner of my eye, glowing like a premonition of Jesus wearing green, were two pool tables. Ahhh - this would occupy me until my friends arrived… in 2 hours time.

It was here I met George. He was a 52 year old Australian man playing pool with a twenty something prostitute. I asked him if I could put a coin on the table and he welcomed me to join him. He was jovial and cocky.

Not an attractive man, I assumed he had fought in a war due to his navy style tattoos on his arms. Most probably the Vietnam war. George was stereotypical of a sex tourist, but at the same time unique because of how casually proud he was of it. Most solo men I had seen wandering Borgos St. in Manila seemed to have a guilty look on their face. The few groups of men I had noticed, seemed more like Viking's that guzzle large handles of nondescript lager and clumsily wander around causing destruction to anything that crosses their path.
"The girls are much cheaper here in Cebu" he said holding his pool queue in one arm and lady friend in the other. She was half his size. "1700 pesos (approx. NZD $60) per night here, compared to 2500 in Manila. It's a bloody rip off there, thats why I come here".

This was George's fourth holiday in Cebu, his regular escape from a mundane life as a bus driver in Sydney, Australia. I didn't inquire as to his marital status, his wedding ring answered that burning question. I had an image in my head of George's wife at home watering the pot plants while gossiping on the phone about her next door neighbors messy front yard.

I started to consider from his perspective how he could rationalize this lifestyle. Some say it is better for your husband to cheat on you with a prostitute than a lover, at least then it is purely physical (usually). Possibly there are causal factors that trigger this need - differing libidos, unexplored sexual fantasies, or lack of physical attraction. Maybe his wife was in a wheelchair, and approved of his foray into this dark, seedy world. All speculation of course.

The girl jumped in between us and said "Sandwich!!". George laughed loudly and joked that it would be much cheaper to share the cost between us. Not knowing whether either of them were serious I turned my focus abruptly to the pool table and nervously said "who's turn is it??". Usually girls don't make me feel nervous, but potato hungry prostitutes give me the creeps.
What about the high risk of sexually transmitted disease? Being such a devout catholic country, it has only been in recent years that condoms have been readily available for purchase. Possibly he doesn't have sex with his wife at all anymore, so the risk is only his. Many working girls in the Philippines find new lives through these men. Often older caucasian men and younger Filipino woman can be seen shopping together hand in hand, sometimes even pushing a baby stroller.

Both needs are being met - the man is receiving sex and companionship, the girl is receiving her ticket to a new life where she isn't forced to sleep with dangerous, disease ridden potato men every night just to survive. Whatever George's possible argument or reasoning - I cannot judge him or the girl grinding her genitals on his leg, until I know the full circumstance that bring these two souls together in a bad way on a Good Friday.
I continued to give him shit for being a convict, and in return he hassled me for being a sheep fucker. Shortly after our pool game, he left the bar with girl in tow, and left me with a world of unanswered questions.