probably written in 2007 or 2008
Not having a car in this country provides quite a lot of entertainment. Although driving here is entertaining too, one can have just as much, if not even more fun, on the buses as in one’s own car and experience first-hand what travelling here is all about. Here is the story of one of our journey’s, as though it would be written if seen through the eyes of our Little Lad - if he could talk: “My dear old dad has been getting into trouble again, as usual. Would you believe he got thrown off the bus the other day? Nor would I, but he did. Good old Dad! I wasn’t there, thankfully, or I’d have been SO embarrassed. My mum told me the story. It was like this: They’d been to stay with friends in Agno, a lovely area near the river. Lourdes has been my mum’s best friend since they were at school together and she was visiting her sister, Josie, in Agno. Lourdes was visiting us all from Hong Kong where she now lives and works with her family, so it was a very special time for my mum to be with her. She also has a house in some town on the far side of Manila from here, so Lourdes wanted my mum and dad to see it, so together they, and Lourdes’ nephew, Christian, decided to travel on the bus. It’s a long journey - 6 hours just to get to Manila, then about another 2 hours to the next town. Anyway, I digress (whatever that means). All went well with the journey from Agno to Alaminos, then they had to change buses to get the air-conditioned Victory Liner bus to travel to the Pasay bus terminal in Manila. After some time, the bus seemed to be gradually getting slower until even my mum was getting a little upset. By this time, my dad, not being as tolerant as my mum, decided enough was enough. As the conductor went by he called to him, but was ignored (a fatal mistake by the conductor as my dad doesn’t like being ignored). On the return trip down the bus, my dad made sure the conductor couldn’t possibly ignore him a second time as he spoke very loudly - I understand that almost everyone on the bus would have heard him. Anyway, he said to the conductor “Is there a problem with this bus?” The conductor didn’t really know what to say, so my dad went on “Or is there a problem with the driver?” The conductor seemed a little stunned, so my dad went on “I just wondered why this bus is going so slowly. I’d like to get to Manila today, not next week”. He continued, “Maybe the driver would like me to drive instead as I could drive this bus faster than he is.” Now I must add, at this point, that my mum was holding her head in her hands trying not to burst out laughing - at least not too much. She said it was so funny. The conductor scurried away to report to the driver and came back with the explanation that he was driving slowly in order to keep people safe and that there was also a speed recorder fitted to the bus to prevent drivers from speeding. Within a short distance the bus got to the big bus station where they were due to have a break. My dad’s party got thrown off the bus and their fares partly refunded as the bus driver said he couldn’t concentrate if they remained on board! Some driver! Anyway, they got on another bus which got them to Manila a little before the original bus - and was a cheaper fare, so all ended happily. My dad is still laughing at this event.” The most entertaining buses are usually those without on-board TV/video and without air-conditioning. Buses for masochists - but a lot of fun.
Management decided that we needed to go to Dagupan. Perhaps I should explain that Management is also known as Grace, my wonderful wife, Honey, Sweetie or some other endearment. Waving goodbye to Little Lad (whom we left with Mum and Nene, his nanny), we crossed the road outside our house and waited for the next bus to arrive. Timetables don’t, in reality, exist in the Philippines. Everyone jokes about Filipino time, where you don’t need a clock - only a calendar; and that doesn’t have to be the correct year. Anyway, within a few minutes a bus lurched into sight and groaned to a halt next to where we stood. We climbed aboard the antique, over-used and under-maintained wreck (maintenance is an English word not used, or even known about, in Filipino vocabulary) and found a seat next to the only Perspex window not opaque - it must have been a new one, fitted sometime in the preceding 10 years. The interior of the bus was a mixture, not exactly a riot, of colour. Blue, green and sea-sick green blended nicely with the painted red centre isle and the bright red plastic tulips that sprouted from a holder secured to a horizontal bar running across the width of the bus, just in front of the driver and above his head level - and which supported two large mirrors so the crew could check their hair style, make-up or any pretty young lady they fancied amongst the passengers. From a shelf at the bottom of the windscreen, like a window sill, sprouted a bunch of vivid sunflowers - also plastic. We stopped next to the butcher's shop. I use this term rather loosely as I wouldn’t really wish to insult the master craftsmen butchers I’m used to seeing in this type of shop. The shop was an old, blood-soaked, wooden table parked on the side of the street next to a little concrete bus shelter. On the table were lumps of meat that, once the flies cleared, could be identified as chopped-up pig. And I do mean chopped-up. It certainly wasn’t butchered. It appeared to have been chopped up by a serial killer let loose with a machete. These lumps of meat could be bought by anyone brave enough to eat it - and shoo away the flies. On we went, the bus gradually filling with more masochistic passengers. The conductor made an attempt to fit the back rest of a nearby seat to its frame using just friction and gravity to secure it. Needless to say perhaps, but his courageous attempt failed dismally and the errant back rest ended up on the floor from where it was later picked up and wrestled into place by three passengers who pinned it back in its place by the sheer weight of their bodies - which also prevented the loose seat cushion they were sitting on from escaping and joining in the with the same sort of fun that the back-rest had enjoyed during its brief period of freedom. As we climbed a hill the noise from the transmission rattled louder and louder. The driver very delicately changing gear as though the linkage from lever to gearbox was somewhat fragile, like the rest of the bus. Despite his heroic efforts, the noise of clashing gears occasionally rose above the noise from the worn out rattily engine. Eventually the bus wheezed its way into Dagupan where I could relieve my painfully aching limbs from the torturous seats. |