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Her head had nestled back onto my shoulder, seemingly undisturbed by the jolting of the bus as it rattles along the pothole-y road from Moalboal to Cebu. It is freezing in the airconditioned bus, so I don’t mind the invasion into my personal space. Plus: the sweet old lady next to me reminds me of my own grandma. Maybe it is her smell. Sweet and flowery, with a hint of rancid. Like the cream she used was a bit past its prime. She and her two girlfriends had boarded the bus in some small little village in the middle of the thick forest. The bus was full, and the only three adjacent seats were next to me. Giggling like schoolgirls, the ladies took their seats and on we went. I glance over, trying not to disturb her. Her wrinkly hands rest comfortably on her skirt. I also notice the patched holes and the scuffed, but immaculately clean leather purse. Her clothes are old, yes, but well taken care of. She is wearing her Sunday’s best. A story starts to form in my head: Grandma and her two besties are heading to Cebu. They were jovial, so the occasion must be a good one. Maybe she is going to see her children or she had saved up some money and decided to go shopping? A big adventure in the big city. I am excited for them. But I am also a bit worried. Would they feel overwhelmed by Cebu, coming from this tiny village in the countryside? I also wonder what she thought of me. Backpackers like me were still a novelty in the area. I am sure though that this was the closest she had ever been to a foreigner, as her head bobbled back and forth on my shoulder. Could she even comprehend, what backpacking meant? Traveling for months at a time must seem as foreign to her as a trip to the moon. In the meantime, the jungle gave way to the densely populated outskirts of the city. My sweet grandma woke from her slumber. We ride in silence for a while. Her girlfriends are still sleeping. Suddenly, she holds a little breath mint under my nose. “Where are you from?” She asks in heavily accented, but easy to understand English. “I, uhm, ah, I am from Germany, but I live in the US.” Flabbergasted, I stumble over my own words. “Are you and your friends going to Cebu?” “Yes,” she says, “but tomorrow we fly to Korea. We go see the Pope there. Have you been to Korea?” I almost choke on my breath mint. “Uhm, no, I have never been to Korea. That sounds exciting!” “Yes, we always go see the Pope. Two years ago, we go to Jerusalem to see him. Have you been to Jerusalem?”