Of jeepneys & Manila's charm
MANILA, Philippines - “You’re going to the Philippines?” people supposedly in the know would ask me before I arrived here. “Get out of Manila as soon as you can and head for the islands.”
How wrong they were. I’ve been here for less than a week, but already am growing to love this city.
For someone from New Zealand (total population 4.4 million) the very reasons cited by people to avoid Manila — its sprawling size and relative chaos — have proved its considerable charm.
For a Westerner used to mundane order, a ride across town from Makati to The STAR offices in the Port Area is up there with watching sunsets from Roxas Boulevard or the crumbling history of Intramuros as a rewarding Manila experience.
There’s the mad theme-park traffic, but a cross-section of the city’s life also glides past the window — well-dressed shoppers clutch designer bags, young men lounge on the pavement smoking and waiting for something to happen, a beggar asks for alms from a truck driver at the lights, a group of children play with a collection of their parents’ flip-flops as their mother cooks inside, her kitchen open to the traffic rumbling past.
The American-accented radio blares cheesy pop ballads and advertisements for hair straightening shampoo, while outside a man sails past on a bike, his t-shirt rolled up to expose a large brown belly to the humid air.
It’s a feast of observation, and for me the main dish are the jeepneys.
Each looks like it has gone through an episode of the MTV show Pimp my Ride, customized with bright colors and themes, with an abundance of chrome and colored lights. It’s not clear to me whether such displays are to attract passengers, or to impress/shame competing drivers.
I’m certainly impressed. At home I take bus 706 to work — here I have the option of catching the “Robocop,” “California Dreamer” or “Jonathan.”
I think of the jeepneys and their cocksure drivers as the peacocks of Manila — cooly cutting in front of scooters and flash 4-WDs alike, leaving drivers to stare at what is surely a rhetorical “How’s my driving?” sign.
Locals tell me with almost fond annoyance that the jeeps are a law unto themselves on the road, prone to simply stop without warning to pick up, offload or scout for passengers.
But as an outsider such behavior hardly stands out in the scramble that is Manila’s traffic. I’m yet to understand why lanes are marked on the roads as they are happily ignored by 4-WDs, cars, motorbikes, tricycles and hawkers.
The lovely thing about it all is that maneuvers that would bring screaming horns and abuse back home are met with calmness here. Pedestrians smile as they edge their way through the roads’ currents.
By the time I reach the office I’m invigorated in an entirely different way to how I would be after a week on a two-toned tropical beach.
So when I return home after my time in the Philippines and people ask me for travel tips, I’ll tell them in all sincerity to come to your city and get stuck in traffic.
