My Buddy Found Peace, Culture, and Life in the Philippines

When I first invited Richie to come with me to the Philippines, he said, “Isn’t that the place with the monkeys that steal wallets?” I told him, “No, that’s Thailand, but the beaches are better than your retirement plan.”

Richie had never been to Asia. His version of “exotic” was Dragon Asian restaurant. But one flight, long terminal waits in connection flights, and a questionable airport massage later, he was standing on white sand in Boracay saying, “I get it now.”

He didn’t quite get it yet until a few days later.

By day three, he was fully converted. “This is paradise,” he said, sipping from a coconut with the confidence of a man who forgot sunscreen. “Everyone’s so nice!” That was before a local vendor charged him 900 pesos for a keychain that said “I Love Manila.”

We bounced from one place to another: Boracay, Subic, Angeles, Makati, Cebu, eating everything that looked like food and a few things that definitely didn’t look edible. Richie loved the adobo, tolerated the balut, and once made eye contact with a lechon like it was an ex.

Somewhere between karaoke nights, trikes, and jeepneys, Richie started saying things like, “You know, I could live here.” I laughed until I realized he was Googling beachfront property listings with one bar of Wi-Fi and five beers of confidence. The bartender heard our conversation and gave us a free drink and welcomed us by saying “Mabuhay!” Cost of living? Under $2,000 USD if you live like a regular expat. $5K? You’re upper middle class!

It turns out, he was serious. He’d fallen for the place, the people, the peace, the heat that feels like God’s sauna but energizing. He said it gave him a kind of excitement he hadn’t felt in years. I told him that excitement was probably the local beers and the beautiful smiles from the locals, but still, I was happy for him.

Richie used to imagine retirement as a quiet cabin in the woods, just him, a fishing rod, and the slow decay of time. Now he wants to spend his golden years sipping rum under a nipa hut, debating whether to swim, eat at a local shop, or nap first.

It’s poetic, really. He went searching for peace and found it halfway around the world, in a country that runs on rice, smiles, and mild chaos.

I’m proud of him. Not every man can trade Costco for carabao crossings. He’s learned to haggle, to dance to Tagalog songs he doesn’t understand, and to greet strangers like old friends, meet expats who provided free advice and the friendship developed in such a short time.

And yes, he’s also learned that “spicy” here means “question your life choices” or “really really really hot chili”…but he has no regrets.

So to Richie, my brother in sunburn and in a Hawaiian shirt, I raise my San Miguel Light. May your retirement be long, your visa renewal go smoothly, and your sense of adventure in Southeast Asia not stop.