Halfway around the world in Rome and on my way to another tourist spot, I don’t expect to be greeted with a scene just like one from home. Eerily reminiscent of the Hare Krishna guy who used to bug me whenever I’m in Katipunan, though, is a guy handing out flyers, chattering nonstop. Before I can avert my gaze, he sees me and approaches.
Wary of his intentions, I back away a bit, but “T-A-mother-effing-K” from Canada gives me the sales pitch. He points to his shirt—a red one that screams ‘Pub crawl!’—and tells me there’s going to be one later.
Between Tak’s enthusiasm and phrases of “all-night hitting five bars in five hours” and “plenty of drinking, dancing, and talking,” I’m sufficiently convinced. There’s got to be something I try while in Europe, right?
Where’re you from?
To say that the bar is packed is an understatement. As I walk nervously across the floor to pay for my first drink, I get the feeling that a lot of these people are meeting tonight for the first time.
Pub crawls are common in European cities because they allow expatriates and tourists to mingle with the homelanders and their fellow foreigners. There are even official organizers of the events, the most-known being Tim the Tourman who has, by far, arranged the biggest pub crawl ever held.
“Even if I knew what a pub crawl was, I didn’t expect to meet so many interesting people, all from different places,” says Kath Choa, a student on Junior Term Abroad. “A lot of them were just like me—young travelers on their break.”
Among the gathered pub crawlers, conversation has started, with the standard opening line, “Where’re you from?”
“What I liked about the vibe was that people were really open,” says senior Michiko Soriano. “People of different nationalities just went together. In one pub crawl, we hung out with Germans, Australians, and Indonesians.”
Even with a lack of European accent and the presence of oddly dark skin, it isn’t that hard to make new acquaintances. Alex, a Finnish soldier on leave, seems to have taken a liking to one of the Filipina girls. There’s also a Canadian-Filipina girl, who I swap rudimentary Tagalog phrases with.
“Ka-moo-sta?” she asks.
“Mabuti!” I respond, smiling.
The organizers check their watches when the booze runs out. We’re to move to a dance club in fifteen minutes.
Encore abroad
Flashing lights and thumping techno music greet me as I enter the dark room. People are everywhere, dancing, drinking, and flirting. I grab a drink—which tastes like Green Cross Rubbing Alcohol with a hint of lemon—as I take in the whole place: throbbing with a persistent techno beat, the people pulsating along with the music.
It’s almost reminiscent of a Saturday night at Encore, only you can use the excuse “culture-mingling” to enjoy it more. To my right, a couple dances in a manner that would shame strippers. And when you feel like trying to chat up, say, four American girls way beyond your league, you get the bonus of being deflected by foreigners.
As we march on to the next club on the list, everyone is noticeably noisier and friendlier. The Finnish soldier is now chatting animatedly with the Filipinas, and a Russian guy and Australian girl are beginning to show signs of interest in each other.
Even as I carry a conversation with two English backpackers, I realize that despite meeting new people, I can’t shake the feeling that this is only for one night. “It’s like everything about traveling,” says Michiko. “People come and go. You get close quickly, spend a wild night then let go quickly. Sometimes you want to keep things just to that one night.”
Not all fun and games
Fast forward about a month, and I’m in the same situation—walking to a club, with a bunch of drunken foreigners. But the scenery is different: the red lights on the streets, the swans in the canals, the deadly, kamikaze bikers, the neon signs of sex shops, and the ever present whiff of burning grass in the air. I’m in forbidden fruit of Europe: Amsterdam.
The crawl is noticeably different. The streets have bored-looking prostitutes beckoning us closer. The sex-charged atmosphere makes everything a bit rawer and creepier. I find myself reluctant to interact as much as before. “At some level, you’ve got to keep some privacy,” says Michiko. “While I was open about where I was from, I would give a fake name.”
Like in many other bars, things can still get out of hand, even in a more-or-less controlled setting like this. “There was this Indian guy who kept hitting on me,” says junior Mica Peña. “He had his arm on my waist and wouldn’t let me go.”
But being hit on isn’t the worst that can happen. Published in newspapers in Europe are dangerous and disgracing events such as an Australian tourist died in Rome after drunkenly falling off a bridge after a pub crawl, while an English student is facing jail time for urinating on a war memorial—instances that crack down the business of pub crawling.
Last call
Though crawling through the streets of Europe was definitely exciting, the last hurrah of pub crawl put me in a home away from home setting. After being hauled off by a half-Dutch, half-Filipino crawl guide to Coconut Bar—the name itself sells Pinoy—I was stunned to see brown as a dominant color. It’s packed with Filipinos.
Of the three pub crawls I attended, even that last one, it all ended the same way: walking out of the bar with the people I came in with.
“Unless you’re really lucky, pub crawls aren’t really the environment for making new friends,” says Michiko. “Your relationship starts at the meeting point, and ends at the last bar.”
Still, it doesn’t take away the fun in trying out something new in another country. If anything, getting a taste of the rowdier European culture gives me a unique experience and great stories to tell, even if the memory will last only till the morning hangover’s gone.
