Sorrow for the Cagayan Ferry Victims

This short posting is very sad. The ferry accident near Aparri that occurred this week was very near Rebecca’s home, off the coast of Ballesteros. Abulug is 15 km from Ballesteros, and the currents up there are strong. Becky was talking to her brothers this morning and they were helping the PNP search the beach behind their house for victims, and hopefully survivors. Unfortunately, all they found were victims, a mother with child tied to her body. Becky’s brothers are lighting candles for her as I type this, and there is an unofficial ban on fishing for a few days (No-one will buy). Needless to say, this accident shook up many of the people up there. Rebecca and all of her family have ridden the ferries to Calayan many times.

Working in the marine industry, I know the economic forces that drive small vessel owners to operate in the manner in which they operate. I also know that in remote areas, vessels are usually equipped with few safety devices and what little regulation occurs, rules are rarely enforced. Calayan is very remote, with few people living there. Those vessels are normally not very crowded, but with the holiday season, they were trying to get as many people as possible onboard. The ferries are the only lifelines to the mainland that people living there have. Due to poverty, fares must be kept low and most of the vessel operators are barely scraping by, hardly making vast fortunes. Like it or not, the ferries are vital to people’s lives. That is why this accident is particularly tragic. This is the third major ferry accident in the Philippines this year with multiple fatalities. Though the cause is not yet official, I suspect it will be deemed preventable. Unfortunately, life is often cheap, and safety takes a back seat to profit.

One can only hope that this will cause the ferry operators to wake up, though that is unlikely.

Taxi meters…

As you all know, no doubt, in taxis worldwide they have meters which keep track of how far you go and the length of time that you are using the cab.  This information is used by the meter to calculate how much you owe for the fare of taking you where you went in the taxi.  The combination of distance/time used are caluculated based on Government regulations on how much taxi drivers are allowed to charge for their service.

In the Philippines, and every other country that I am aware of, the fare that you are to pay is the amount that is shown on the meter.  In the Philippines, they have recently instituted a new law that you are to add P10 to the fare shown on the meter to cover the increased cost of fuel, but the price on the meter is what determines how much the total is.

In several recent articles on the site, we’ve been talking about taxis, change to pay the fares and such.  There have been a few comments regarding taxi drivers who won’t use the meter.  Most foreigners like us get very upset when a driver refuses to use the meter, or “forgets” to use it (conveniently).  Then, at the end of the trip, he demands some price that is way higher than it should be.  About 7 years ago, I was involved in an experience like this, and found a great way to deal with it.

I was living in General Santos at the time.  The airport in General Santos is a fair distance from the City, maybe 20 to 30 minutes depending on the speed, traffic, etc.  I had just flown in from a business trip in Cebu and was so happy to be home.  When I got into the cab, I didn’t notice that he did not start the meter.  After about 5 minutes of riding, I noticed that the meter was not turned on, but since we were already underway, I decided to sit back and see what the driver would charge me.  I knew well that the fare from the airport to my house should run around P110 or so.  I texted a friend (Filipino) and told him what was going on, and that the driver must think I am a tourist.  We both laughed, and he was also interested to hear the outcome of my experience with the driver.

All along the way, I was very friendly to the driver, we talked, laughed and had a pleasant time on the trip.  When we arrived at my house, I got out of the car, got my suitcases and headed toward the gate.  The driver yelled at me - “Sir, you forgot to pay - it’s P400.”  I turned around and went back to the cab.  I told him that the meter said “Zero” - it was blank, no price listed.  He said that P400 was the normal fare for this trip.  I told him that I knew he was being dishonest, because I lived here and had taken this ride many times.  I also told him that under Philippine law you were to pay the price on the meter, and the meter did now show any price, so I would pay nothing.  He argued with me, and threatened to call the police.  I told him that it was fine if he called the police, and I would also call the LTO (Land Transportation Office) so they could send somebody to take his license, because he was breaking the law by not using the meter.  After a while, I told him that I would give him P100.  He said “the normal fare is P120 from the airport to here!”  ha ha… I said “You just told me that the normal fare was P400, were you trying to steal from me?”  At this point, I gave him three choices:

1. Accept the price on the meter (zero).
2. Accept P100 and move on with his business.
3. Call the police, and I would file a complaint against him.

He pleaded and pleaded with me to give him P120.  I referred him back to the three choices.  He talked to Feyma and pleaded with her.  She advised him that he was supposed to use the meter.  In the end, he took P100 and left.  What else could he do, it was he who broke the law.  I was only obliged to pay what was shown on the meter, and that was blank.  He made a mistake that day and it cost him a few pesos.  Ten or twenty less than it should have been, whether you choose my amount or what he claimed it should be.

Either way, it was he who messed up, not me.

My only advice on this strategy is that you should only do it in a place where you will be safe.  If you are in a public place with a lot of people, I see no reason to pay a huge sum that is not right.  If you let the guy take you into some dark ally, then you need to decide, because it may not be safe.  The guy has already proved that he is dishonest by stealing from you, or attempting to do so.  Violence may not be far off, if you let him get you into an area where he can’t be seen.

Overall, I find that the vast majority of taxi drivers, at least in Davao, are very honest and friendly.  It is very rare that any of them try to rip me off.  I only bring this up because it has already popped up in comments in recent days.  I am very generous with tipping taxi drivers, generally I will give them P10 or so tip, even up to P20 if I really like them and they are nice to me.  But, for the guy who tries to steal from me… look out.  I don’t accept that lightly.

Pay what is on the meter, or offer what you think the trip is worth.  No more.

No change sir!!

All over the world it is a problem trying to keep one step ahead of the taxi drivers add on costs and diversions that circle and circle the City and they think you do not know. LOL.

Here in Davao City the increase in fuel prices have really hurt the drivers who rent the taxi for the day, and its very often the case that they make such small monies after deducting rent and licenses that they really do need to get the passenger to dip in further to their pockets by any means.

One thing here that I find is always happening here in Davao City is that you arrive at your destination and you hand the driver the money and he has “No change Sir” and he means NOTHING as he will claim he just left the depot or the last customer took everything and this is amazing as it happens by pure coincidence to those of Caucasian skin, I have never really worked out why?

Yesterday after a long walk and feeling hot I decided to get a taxi for the rest of the way home as I could feel the dehydration starting, so flagging down the taxi i told him my destination and pulled out my p100 note and said OK this is all i have,which is a small amount too.

He mumbled no change, so I asked him again you have change? “NO SIR”, so I said OK please stop at a service station so we can change the note up, honestly that’s about $2 only.

Anyway he passed four service stations and outside my house I gave him p100 note for a p53 fare and guess what? “NO CHANGE SIR”

He claimed to have nothing at all so I asked why he did not stop at service station as I had requested his answer was lost in a mumble but insisted he had no change and said I had to pay.

Now having had this done many times I lept in with my always winning comment!!

OK, I have no change you have no change so lets sit here for the next hour until your meter clocks up to the amount Ill just rest.

Within seconds he pulls a bundle of notes from his pocket and loose change and snatches my money and gives the correct change.

The thing is if he was honest I always give a tip, Always.

I shall never forget

Today’s Guest Column is again from Jason Dance.  This is Jason’s second guest article on the LiP site.  Thanks again, Jason for your effort!

This article is more about remembering than to forget. For those of you in the Philippines, June 22nd 2008 probably means something to you; if it doesn’t ring any bells than you probably did not know that a passenger class ship sank on that bleak day. I will describe to you my feelings of this happening and that I saw the ship 2 days before it sank!

My wife and I were going to Samar for our honeymoon; unfortunately, it was cut short by a typhoon. I know what a typhoon is and I know first hand the amount of damage it can do. Usual damages mostly occur on land infrastructures or agricultural lands. However, now and then life is lost to mother-nature. We left our house on Mactan Island towards the port of Cebu. While we were on the shuttle bus we saw an enormous ship ready to leave. I had noticed the name and told my wife, “Princess of the Stars, who names these ships?” She gave a small laugh and told me the ship was leaving for Manila. When I thought about it I didn’t think much of it as it was just another ship. I already had some weird feelings embarking on a ship. Anna assured me that the chances a ship would sink are minimal. I shrugged it off and off we were. We were well aware that there might be a typhoon, but we took our chances to leave Cebu for some much need time together.

Once we reached Ormoc Leyte, we knew rain was coming. We didn’t mind as much because we were together and newlywed from June 5th 2008. We did our things and travelled a bit. After returning from Sto.Nino, we went to an internet café to check our emails. As soon as we reached the café Anna was flooded by text messages, but that wasn’t new. I opened my email account and I was seeing over 20+ emails of “Are you ok? Are you alive? ” It hit me that something happened in the Philippines and we didn’t know about it. It must have been big for my family to call Anna’s house. We quickly learned that a ship had sunk 2 days after we left Cebu. We were more surprised to hear that it was the ship we previously saw in Cebu Princess of the Stars! After talking about a bit with her, I never really thought that we could have been on that ship. Family and friends were relieved to know that we were still kicking and coming back home.

Once we were back in Cebu from another passenger ship (I wasn’t too happy taking the ship) we listened to the news and got much more information on the situation. We couldn’t believe that the coast guard and even more the Captain of the ship departed from port knowing full well a Typhoon was on its way! My tatay and I talked about it while we drank and came to the conclusion that it’s always about money. If the boat is late, it cannot take other passengers to go somewhere else. This was only our opinion because the owner of the ship liner has loads of money, but has been on the deep end of the stick many times. The end result in pure insanity was the loss of over 700 lives and only a miniscule 32 peoples. I know that the total is more than 700 because they gradually found more and more bodies washing up to shore. Relief efforts were there but the in my opinion did not seem enough. However, many people including myself understand that the weather had a huge impact on rescue efforts. As I saw family members grieve on television; others were infuriated at the lack of respect and compensation they would receive for lives that irreplaceable.

I was thinking about this incident recently and I wanted to express it in my own words. It also got me thinking that our lives are so very fragile. We spend our lives acquiring materials only to see them given away once were gone and most probably sold away. We squabble about everything we dislike or people we hate. Learn to love your family, friends and others around you. You never know what might happen to people you know you love.

As for me, all I have left to say is…I love you Anna Lou and my prayers will always go to those left behind by the storm!

The Chrome Wagons of Our World

Complaining and curious about my being a capricious E-mail correspondent, a friend in America once asked me, “I don’t ever catch you online; you seem to be the type who gets around quite a lot. How do you do that?”

“Hmm,” I said. “Jeepneys.”

Jeepneys – my friend wasn’t totally unfamiliar with this World War II mode of transport, which, after all, and like so many things Filipino, prevails as a vestige of American colonial occupation. But I hastened to explain that the jeep – their jeep – has undergone somewhat of a severe transformation in our hands, and that riding a jeepney here promises an experience that’s unlike anything else in the world. “You may love it or hate it,” I told him, “but since you had never lived in Manila, you are almost certainly bound to hate it.”

Not that I meant to be brutally presumptuous; but let’s face it: a Philippine jeepney is no Mercedes. It’s not even an oft-unwanted Kia taxi. It’s a third-world, built-from-scratch chrome wagon with wheels, a diesel engine, and a Love Radio sticker on its rear view mirror. It makes sounds which we imagined can have come only from the rowdy cars of cartoons and video games. And for eight and a half pesos a seat, a ride is anything but luxurious – in fact it feels like a punishment. As many as thirty people can be made to squeeze each other inside, all oily with sweat and sticky from the heat, like sardines in a tin can from Dipolog. The thirty-first might be the driver; and there’d be enough room on the roof yet, for the cockerels and for passengers unafraid of being thawed by the sun.

But as I said, jeepneys help me get around – not only effectively, but stylishly, flamboyantly. I love the zinc horses and the sarimanok emblems in front; the wild colours and the graffiti; the trinkets and flowers and scapulars that decorate the interior, or hang from an exhaust that’s blowing hell fumes on God’s clean air. I love the jeepney as mobile art, a collage on wheels, plying the most dangerous routes with most obnoxious designs. I love its enduring symbol as the proletariat’s choice for both movement and expression. I love jumping into a seat to chat with fellow passengers about the dire global economy and yesterday’s ball game. And I love watching Manila roll past at a frightful speed – its sights and sounds and scenes a magical blur to which I am witness.

Well, an air-polluted witness.

Poetry in Motion

Have you ever taken the Manila LRT (Light Rail Transit)? Well – you should. It’s one of the quickest and cheapest ways to commute in the Philippine capital. Now, a cultural project is even allowing passengers to wax poetic during the ride.

The Instituto Cervantes de Manila, led by Director Jose Rodriguez, and the Light Rail Transit Authority have collaborated to install posters inside the carriages of LRT – all of which contain Spanish-language poems by such celebrated writers as national hero Jose Rizal, Jesús Balmori, Claro M. Recto, José Palma, and Fernando Maria Guerrero; Spanish poets Calderón de la Barca, Lope de Vega, García Lorca, Antonio Machado, Luis Cernuda, Luis Rosales, Miguel Hernández and Gil de Biedma; and Latin American writers Pablo Neruda and César Vallejo. The poems, of course, have Filipino translations (so we can stop ogling at strangers and start memorizing some fine verse).

This new promotional campaign, entitled “Verse in the Metro”, was launched recently to encourage reading among Filipino commuters, as well as to strengthen the ties between Spain and the Philippines, two countries that share a common past that spanned more than 300 years.

“With almost one million commuters riding the train every day, it provides a great opportunity for the reading campaign to reach as many people as possible,” Rodriguez said.

Instituto Cervantes is the cultural arm of the Spanish government that promotes and teaches the Spanish language and culture. It is the largest Spanish teaching organisation worldwide, with more than seventy (70) centers in four (4) continents. With its collection of classic and contemporary Spanish literature, movies and music, the Instituto library has become an important agent in promoting the Spanish language in the Philippines and is an indispensable source for those who are interested in Spanish and Latin American cultures.

I may be wrong, but don’t they do this in New York City as well? I do hope that authorities of the Metro Rail Transit line adapt the project, instead of frantically bombarding stations and carriages with advertisements. Because if we’re going to improve literacy, we might as well learn from the masters.

Pull Over

Last week a group of policemen motioned to stop the taxi I was in. A routine checkpoint. Were they suspicious of my baby goatee? We were at the rather dim intersection near Banawe Street, right before the orthopedic hospital and the thriving, brightly-lit hub of coffee shops, Chinese teahouses, and populated automotive shops.

My heart stopped when the policemen rapped on my passenger window instead of on the driver’s. They opened the door, seized my grey shoulder bag, and examined its contents with contained fury.

“Nothing explosive in here, boy?” one of them said. His voice was somewhat friendly yet condescending.

“No, sir; nothing at all,” I replied, like a wimp. Nothing that you hadn’t planted yet, you idiot. All I was carrying in that bag were paperbacks, notebooks, CDs, and file folders, plus a number of broken ball pens. I had left my laptop computer in the mall for repair, thank goodness, for they might as well have held me up for possession of explosive lithium ion batteries.

“A student,” the policeman concluded after his search. “No one dangerous.” A second policeman nodded and pointed his powerful flashlight right to my face. The audacity!

That night I did look collegiate in many respects, notwithstanding my quarter-aged scowl. I was wearing a black shirt (chattering teeth printed on it), faded denim jeans, and a three-year old pair of sneakers. But I’d be a fool to flatter myself by believing other fools.

The incident brings me to another story about another officer, this time from the Metro Manila Development Authority (MMDA). He was posted along the main highway EDSA, near a train station called Guadalupe. I can’t now remember his name because I don’t even know it. And since I don’t know the traffic enforcers’ schedules either, a different person is likely now at the spot, waiting on either a violator or a prey. In any case, traffic seems impossibly worse in the vicinity of these nameless officers.

On my way with colleagues to a crucial press conference for which we were already running late, this officer asked us to pull over for no reason related to any of the traffic regulations decreed in this country. I was sure of this; he thought otherwise (”You swerved to the right where you shouldn’t have,” was his fabrication). But we preferred to sidestep a possible confrontation and avoid the hassle of paperwork, and by that, I mean of course we gave him his lunch money.

These aren’t the nicest, most expat-friendly stories. Like any other place in the world, Manila has its own share of monkey business going on the road. Not that there’s solace in justifying it, nor justification in telling it, but sometimes attention simply needs to be paid to things which the city could definitely do without. (If you have to ask, we didn’t make it in time for the conference.)

I can’t think of any other solution to this than what my thesis adviser at the university once told the class. “Leave for your destination two hours if you estimate your trip will take one.” Now musing upon the futility of it all, because some “authority” might pull you over whenever and howsoever he wishes, I’m thinking that the police officer and I are both glad - and for completely different reasons - that I don’t remember his name.

A Taxi Ride in the City

There are three reasons why I may never drive a car for the rest of my life. Firstly, my automobile skills are as hazardous to the rest of mankind as to myself; secondly, I don’t have the industry to save enough for a car; and finally, even if I grow thrifty enough to be able to afford one, I’d still rather pay the premium offered by a simple taxi ride.

There are cheaper and more convenient modes of transportation in Manila. The city train (MRT), when applicable to the journey, will get me swiftly from point A to point B. And then there’s the bus, and the tricycle, and the pedicab. When the wallet is dreary and thin, there’s the flamboyant, crowded jeepney – these chrome wagons of the third world. Yet my having lived in Manila for over two decades somehow nurtured a preference for taxis. Is the fare obscene? Sometimes. Do all meters work? Allegedly not. But it seems that I don’t mind, for I’ve very much enjoyed the unique pleasure of stepping into the backseat of a taxi, test-slapping the cushion, and announcing my destination as importantly as possible.

Remarkable, how so many drivers share the same listening preferences. During mornings it is either Mike Enriquez or Korina Sanchez delivering the latest political news and transgressions. And by the late afternoon, up until the evening commute, drivers will have tuned in to Love Radio, with its grassroots music, novelty anthems, and corny but funny jokes. It appears that only those fifty and older are discovered listening to RJ Classics or some classic rock or jazz station.

Not that the music matters, it’s just – well, check that. The music matters, at least to me as a passenger, and if a driver doesn’t have anything better than David Pomeranz and Hasselhoff to listen to, then the ten-peso tip is off. Gladly, very, very few get obnoxious with the volume; at least taxi drivers are well-equipped with the decency to avoid turning up the radio such as only hip-hop youths with neon racing car stickers on their Honda Civics are capable. For this I believe I have become an optimistic passenger.

One-sixth of the time, the radio isn’t on. It doesn’t actually work another one-sixth. In any case, I remain quiet, glancing now and then at the reflection of the meter in the passenger window and then at the stoplight which won’t turn green until I say a prayer. Or I close my eyes. I think scattered thoughts. To break the silence, the taxi driver may strike a conversation, usually political in nature, not always for the sake of correctness but always with honesty. One said to me the other day, “I won’t say the authorities have done a helluva job, but I’m just happy the traffic in Commonwealth Avenue is actually moving now. Rush hours, it didn’t use to.”

Better to be the listener in most cases, though, as it is priceless to hear profanity-laced eyewitness accounts of the most recent rally in Ayala Avenue and Welcome Rotunda, or which girlie bars the fun-loving government officials are known to frequent. I’d usually mutter a comment or two, nothing insightful really, just so I would appear abreast of whatever it is that has been happening to the country. Otherwise I don’t have an opinion.

I stammer when a driver would ask me what I do for a living. “I, uh, I – hmm, I write,” I’d say. He’d then have this peculiar look, with gathered eyebrows, questioning the existence of successful authors and waiting for the punch line of a joke he hasn’t yet heard. At times, I would wish I just lied – tell him I was an eighteen year-old philosophy major or something – and get over the anxiety of waiting for a reaction, no questions asked. Or maybe I could say I worked in a call center or was a barista in Starbucks.

But I find out always, though belatedly, that the taxi drivers in Manila are underrated for their poise. Their follow-up statement is oftener a compliment than a second question. They’d ask no more and instead offer warm peanuts to snack on: rich in protein and a couple of anti-aging ingredients. I always respectfully decline and would be left with the feeling that my declining was expected anyway. As the taxi makes a left turn, the last one before we reach my house, I’d scramble for the pesos in my left back pocket, smiling at the thought of having safely reached my destination.