Dancing With Death in Manila Taxicabs

The grinding howl from underneath the cab brought a grinning apology from the cabbie, "Sorry. Sir, no brakes." as he worked the gearshift to slow and swerved left; just missing a large truck by an inch or so.  On entering the back seat I had noted the shattered remains of his right-side mirror and realized that it was the first I had seen in over twenty rides we've taken since we returned.  It was certainly not the first near miss, and will surely not be the last.  We have five more days here and I don't plan to spend them indoors.
The photo was taken to try and illustrate rush hour in a monsoon downpour.  Traffic is bumper-to-bumper, speed ranging from almost reverse to fer-chrissake-slow-it-down fast.  Hanging off the back of the jeepney directly in front are the conductor and a hapless passenger who wants to get home no matter how wet he gets.  He could be wet a long time.  Our ride from the airport to Pasig took two hours for a trip of about 25 KM-longer than our flight from Dumaguete to Manila.  Anyway, the rides are always entertaining; if you enjoyed the car chase in The French Connection.  More likely than not, the seat belts are missing or buried under a seat cover.  Apparently they aren't required, but that must be for passengers, as I've noted 50/50 use by drivers.  Mandatory equipment is the rosary hanging from the mirror.  Sometimes there are several hung in various parts of the cab.  Could they be at expected impact points?  Usually there is a plastic Jesus and/or a bobblehead on the dash in front of the driver; perhaps functioning as a rudimentary aiming device. 
Cabbies run the gamut from the wannabe tour guide to the taciturn technician.  They have all been honest, though not necessarily knowlegable of Manila's micro-geography.  Traffic law compliant?  I'll remain silent on that, but will state that they are all excellent accident-avoiders.  A discussion of drivers' philosophy here would keep me up all night, but let me paraphrase it: " I can get to that space first, whether it is rightfully mine, and besides, my cab is worth less than your car or I have a bigger knife hiding behind my bigger balls."  I wish them all a safe trip home.

Bacolod to Dumaguete and points north

16 June, somewhere south of Manila.  Staying with Is' brother Charles and his wife Joy.  They are all off getting massages-a Fathers' Day treat.  I'm staying home because my body is a temple and I'm pretty selective about to whom I allow access. 

Had a good stay in Bacolod, and got to see a bunch of friends and classmates.  As usual, ate too much.  Checked out the new "Arts District" which was fairly close to where we stayed.  A couple of nice galleries there and we connected Therese Hinojales, artist and atelier owner.  We discussed our various techniques, materials and favorite artists; exchanging email addresses and websites.  At another gallery Is asked whether they had any works by Rafael Paderna, one of her long-ago instructors who originated on Negros.  Turned out that he has his own gallery in Bacolod (we had last heard that he was in California), and after a phone call we had a date to visit him the next day.  That was the highlight of our entire stay, so far. 

Paeng, as he's called, lives in a beautiful house/gallery/studio he designed and partially built himself.  We spent over an hour with him and his wife viewing his works, old and new, as well as his latest passion-sculpture in cast and welded metals.  Beside his own work he had many works by former students and current popular artists.  Below is a quick shot of his "Birdman" which won top national prize in a contest wherein the winner was to have his work recreated or placed in a Manila park.  It never happened and he learned through the grapevine that it was because he was from the provinces and not a big Manila name.  Effing politics.

And then we were off to Dumaguete, and visits with Geneva, Ave (Is' neice) and the Valencia town office where she paid the staggering sum of PHP 600 as taxes on her land.  The photo below, right is a shot of the club pool at the development where her lots are.

The other photo is a street scene shot in Malibay, one of the less glamorous neighborhoods of Metro Manila. A scene from the opposite end of the spectrum.  Of course, they are not the extremities, but pretty close. 

Catching up from Bacolod

Last week was my first taste of Korean food.  I've avoided it since the 60's when I had a Korean roommate at the University of Hawaii.  Whenever Sam would open his jar of kimchee, 4/5ths of us would leave the room.  Fan, who was Chinese, was too polite to leave....or was he secretly gorging on the questionable stuff.  Anyway we hosted all the clan that could be gathered on short notice at HoGalbi, a very nice restaurant that sits in place of the one where we had our reception two years ago.  The food was delicious.  Joining us were Anthony and Lope Consing, (seated are) Chico Locsin, Maurice Locsin and Tito Hector Hofilena.

Our last night in Manila we tried a (hand-pulled) noodle shop we'd walked past almost daily.  We'd shied away due to Is' wheat allergy, but decided that she could look for rice noodles or just plain rice.  The food was amazing!  Can't remember the name or the style of cooking, but it was picante, though not as intense as Szechuan.  More details to follow, if I can get back there on our return to Manila.

Here's the security specialist doing the pre-flight manifest check.  He's just finished shaking down the woman on the left; looking for guns hidden in her hairdo.  Pilot in background, inhaling some sort of powder.  Maybe he had a cold.

Then there was the flight down to the provinces.  We decided to hedge our bets and leave for the airport early, so as to beat the rush hour.  We over-estimated and were able to check in with one and a half hours to kill before our noon flight.  THEN, they announced a two and a half hour delay.  We sat in the departure lounge for four hours dozing and people-watching.  I was amazed.  Lunch was two steamed red hot-dogs on buns that tasted like the real things.  Only thing missing from my favorite road-trip meal was the relish, the half-pint of milk and the salt and vinegar chips.  I made up for that with a San Miguel; all for the equivalent of $4.57.  Hell, in an American or European (forget France) airport you couldn't even look at a beer for less than $8.00.

In Bacolod, now, to catch up with classmates and Millie K. and check out the visual art scene.  Taking advantage of |Is' hair appointment to do internet stuff.  'Later

Becoming a mall rat

Suman.  This one's for you, Nick

Tuesday we went to a huge 5 storey mall to get some business cards printed and wound up ordering several T-shirts decorated with some of our paintings, as well. We were told to come back in an hour, so we decided to give them two and had lunch.  Upon our return, we learned that theshop had only had two sheets of transfer film and that their regular supplier was out of stock as well.  Bukas is manana so we wandered around looking for an evening bag to go with Is' gown.  5 hours down, no joy.

Wednesday we found that the shirts were done, approved the set-up on the cards (six different versions) and were told that they'd be done by 1600 on Thursday.  Bueno, as Is had a fitting at 1400 relatively near the mall.  Continuation of bag-search with added task of finding AO Sept solution for my contact lenses.  Another 6 hours gone and all I found was that Pollo Loco is nothing like that  which Joe fed me in L.A.  I did get to experience rush hour in Manila, since we queued up for a cab at about 1730.  After at least 45 minutes in line, we were spit out into inchworm-paced traffic for an half hour trip that usually takes fifteen minutes.  That proved to me that Monday's two hour ride from the vicinity of the US Embassy to Russ' house, a distance of no more than 15 km. was not an anomaly.

True to our luck, the seamstress never showed and we wasted half an hour waiting; only to be told that she would come to our place tonight at whatever time.  That screws up Thursday evening.  The cards weren't ready both times we checked...

BUT, we had the good fortune to reach the fourth floor where the art galleries lurk.  We spent two hours killing time visiting most of them and viewing some really interesting pieces.  We were warmly welcomed at ART CIRCLE by it's proprietor Allan Caspe who, upon learning that we are painters, was most helpful with our queries about authentication, pricing and the art scene in general.  He gave us an exposition brochure in which we located Rafael Paderna, one of Is' former art teachers who now has a studio/gallery in Bacolod.

Finally, here's a photo of a really interesting scuplture by Ral Arrogante, called Horseman Figure:

Sweltering in Manila, 6 June, 2013

No marvelous color photos with which to grace this post-it's too damn' hot and muggy to carry a camera.  The ever-present cloudbursts are of no concern, as I have my underwater camera, but it's just another thing to weigh down the clothes and make them stick to the skin. So far, I've re-hydrated with a case of San Miguel numerous bottles of water and half a litre of tequila to kill anything in the water.  I'm beginning to feel like a carachter in a Michener novel; bouncing from sweltering bar to almost-air-conditioned bar in the eternal pursuit of something to kill or ward off tropical parasites.  The only thing I look forward to other than de-planing at Madrid is the cold shower at the end of each day.  I've been here a week, and there's twenty days to go.

Don't be surprised if I pull a double-Van Gogh and cut off both my ears.  If you've been following this blog, you'll remember my 2011 rant about the incessant noise here in Manila. I can't say that it's gotten worse, but it isn't any better.  Anyway, we fly to Negros for a week, starting the 7th, then rush back for second fittings of her gown and my suit.  Had to go to a tailor, as all I could find on the racks here were dark woolens, shiny sharkstooth or piped "guido" suits that look as though they should be worn by a cross between Elvis Presley (on drugs) and a Times Square pimp.  So I ordered a conservative, light linen suit which will probably turn out looking like something Don Johnson would have worn on Miami Vice.  I think his tailor was a pimp.

Looking forward to going home to Spain.