Under such circumstances, you can do one of three things: hoof it (under the blazing summer sun), beg for a ride from somebody, or take public transportation.
This was not a lengthy journey, so I dropped the car off for repair near our STAR offices and decided to hop into the nearest available jeepney. My plan was to take another form of public transport back to the service station later to pick up the car. All in all, a mile or so of journeying.
"Does this go to 13th street?" I asked the first available jeepney driver. He shook his head, maybe grunted something back, I can’t remember exactly. Our conversation was actually pretty minimal. "Magkano?" I asked, using up most of my available Tagalog. "Pive-pivty," he replied.
When you hop in a jeepney, it surprised me to learn, the driver is in no particular hurry to get going. I took a seat, among the eight or so other passengers and… waited for us to move. And waited. It took this novice to public transportation a full five minutes to realize that the driver was waiting until the jeepney was as fully packed as a Superferry before he would budge. I noticed the conductor then, hustling people into the back. My wide leg room began to turn into leg cramp. The last passenger to board was a stick-thin librarian type, who managed to wedge herself between me and the guy squeezed in at the doorway. By then, we were 21 passengers, enough to earn the jeepney owner (not the driver, of course) P115.50. Multiply that by 20 or so trips a day, and it’s not such a bad day’s take.
The process reminded me a bit of visits to New Jersey, a familiar haven of many Filipinos, where most commuters take a shuttle bus through the Lincoln Tunnel to Port Authority for $3. After your rounds in the city, you end up waiting for the minivan to fill up before it heads back through the tunnel to Jersey. For $3, you get to beat the hassle of parking on Broadway, or having your car towed away. It usually helps to bring along a book, a magazine or some kind of musical distraction.
No such luck on the Railroad Street shuttle. It was open-air, which was fortunate, because I was quickly becoming acquainted with the cologne or perfume worn by each and every passenger inside. And sometimes, their lack of cologne or perfume.
Anyway, I couldn’t see my stop, the steel slats were too low and narrow, so I had to rely on my visual memory of Railroad Street, with its endless blocks of karaoke bars, turo-turo joints and vulcanizing shops. The street, as always, was littered with semi-trailers – huge dinosaurs that slumber there until 9 p.m., when they begin hauling out onto Roxas Boulevard like monster bats from hell.
Then I realized something. I didn’t know how to tell the driver to stop. I didn’t even have enough Tagalog in my arsenal to yell, "Para, para!" I just kind of rapped on the ceiling with my knuckles, like I was presenting myself at someone’s front door, and climbed toward the rear exit while we were still moving. I jumped off then. I think the driver slowed down a little for me.
A few hours later, I had to find a way back because the car was fixed.
This time, I flagged down a pedicab. This wasn’t difficult. It took about two seconds. The guy probably figured I was leaking dollar bills. He charged me P15, and the rate seemed a little exorbitant for a half-mile journey, but I didn’t quibble. At least there was a roof of some kind over my head. This would cut down on the radiation. He smiled and began pedaling.
As I mentioned, Railroad Street is full of obstacles: people in the street under sun umbrellas, would-be singers spilling out from karaoke bars in the mid-afternoon, lurching drunks and manic pedicab drivers. My driver dodged all of these, still smiling, but I got more and more apprehensive each time he maneuvered anywhere near a moving car or a truck. I began to understand what contestants in The Amazing Race go through. "I don’t want an adventure," I explained, bouncing along and gripping the ceiling tightly. "I just… want… a ride…" He smiled wider; maybe he understood me. I realized I was putting a lot of faith in this man’s ability to pedal very fast. This was not easy for me to accept.
I focused instead on the interior, which of course had one of those Shaldan car air fresheners affixed to the floorboard, even though it was an open-air vehicle. There was also a hand-painted Mercedes-Benz logo there, along with some other puzzling doodles. A plastic crucifix hung down from the mirror, along with a Chinese pendant of some kind. Talismans, maybe, for a safe journey. I considered a new project then: taking my camera to work, and spending an afternoon hopping from pedicab to pedicab. It might make a good coffee-table book, I thought: "Pedicab Interior Design." I looked upward, and there was a poster glued to the ceiling, one of those mystical, Roger Dean-style inspirational posters with unicorns and long-haired sirens. The quote was from Josh Billings. (Josh Billings? Who is Josh Billings? Some 19th-century quotemeister, it turns out.) This was the quote on the poster, the one probably meant to ease my journey: "Consider the postage stamp: its usefulness lies in its ability to stick to one thing till it gets there."
So much for enlightenment. I soon arrived at the service station and all was well. I paid the man and hopped off. But I couldn’t help thinking of another proverb, this one Chinese: "A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step." Yes, but it never hurts to make sure you have a fast pedaler.