Lunacy

Manila Traffic photo by tadzima

There is no other word to appropriately describe Manila traffic.

I'm going be the annoying, complaining, stereotypical Pinoy ex-pat just this once and not be apologetic for it... I need the stress release after just having had the most harrowing time trying to get back into the Pinoy driver every-man-for-himself mindset - easily translated as "Kill or be road kill."

Maybe cars don't go quite as fast in Manila as they do in Oz. But over there, I don't have to contend with fellow drivers who think they're either in some rally race or in Enchanted Kingdom's bumper car ring. There are no jeepneys that swerve from the middle of the road to pick up passengers on the sidewalk with absolutely no warning. There are no buses bearing down on you like huge angry monsters trying to bully you into submission by using their size.

There are no insane pedestrians that come out of nowhere and dart in front of your car just as the lights have changed. No motorcycle drivers or cyclists with death wishes who use the narrowest of spaces in between cars with no caution or heed. And it's unheard to sit in traffic for one hour covering a distance that can actually be driven in 10 minutes elsewhere.

It's utter chaos.

Try as I might, I don't think I'll ever understand the psychology of Manila traffic. Allowing one car to move ahead of you in a traffic queue seems tantamount to having one's teeth pulled. "Giving way" is a concept that seems completely foreign to us Pinoys driving in Manila - probably because any driver who practices "giving way" here will never get anywhere because other drivers will mark him as a wuss and run all over him.

I'm not sure we've realized the sheer ill logic of our behavior. We refuse to follow traffic rules because we figure no one else does so, hence not following the rules will probably get us to where we want to go in a shorter amount of time. But it's actually our refusal to follow traffic rules that increases traffic snarls exponentially - and gets all of us stuck in our cars, wasting precious time sitting in traffic jams unimaginable to anyone who's never been in one.

Driving in Manila again after just six months of driving in Perth, where traffic rules are not merely suggestions and where "rush hour congestion" means moving at 60 kph on an 80 kph road, has been akin to being thrown back into hell after experiencing a fleeting taste of paradise.

This is definitely not something that I've missed.

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Disaster Queen Strikes Again

It's the last day of my long weekend, but, despite not having gone off somewhere far away as originally planned, I've had a fairly good one. Apart from the fact that I almost got hopelessly stuck in a beachside city of Rockingham last Friday with only twenty cents to my name after my car keys disappeared.

How could she be so stupid?, you must be asking yourself with a shake of your head. Believe me, I asked the same of myself several times the next few hours that followed.

The day started out pretty great - I'd managed to drive all the way to Freo to have lunch with a friend of mine who works there (her treat, which is always a good thing) and, as part of my resolution to use my long weekend right, I decided to go further afield to somewhere I'd never been before, let alone driven to. As I drove along Stock Road, veering towards the southern beaches, I even flirted with the idea of going as far as Mandurah - which is almost 80 kilometers out of Perth - but settled for Rockingham, which is just around 50 kilometers out.

As soon as I saw the almost swimming pool calmness of the turquoise waters and the golden sands from the foreshore, I was in love.

Much as I love the beautiful Aussie beaches, this was the first one I'd seen that had absolutely no surf. Which is a god-send for me because, while I know how to swim, I don't consider myself a strong enough swimmer to really spend too much time in the rough and ready waters of the beaches to the north. So, understandably, I completely abandoned my plans for sight-seeing and photo-ops for a chance to hit the beach instead.

I had a fun couple of hours just floundering alone around in the clear, calm water and doing a bit of baking in the sun (what's summer without a bathing suit tanline?). I had decided on a run along the foreshore to top off my idyllic summer day, having brought both my beach gear and running gear (one of the best things about having a car is that you can bring EVERYTHING with you), so I got out of the water with just enough time to spare for a shower, a run, and still be on my way home before dark. After walking in ignorant bliss to my car to get my running gear, I was completely shell-shocked to find that MY CAR KEY WAS NOT ON ME AT ALL.

So there I was, the solo traveler wannabe, staring helplessly at my locked car - where my handbag and wallet and all my money were - dripping with sea water from my afternoon frolic in the sun and close to tears. I could have sworn I had taken my car key with me when I changed into my bathing suit. But after having gone through each item inside my beach tote and laying them on the hood of my car one by one, I had to face the fact that IT WAS GONE.

In a stunned daze, I went to the shower rooms to change back into my street clothes to give myself time to regroup and figure out what to do. All my money was in the car, so I couldn't take public transport to the house (a two hour trip one way at least!) to get my spare key. There was only one way to get out of the scrape - call for help. Thankfully, I had the foresight to have my mobile phone with me, and promptly rang one of my co-residents the only person with a car who lives in my suburb.

Just my luck - he was on duty until 11 pm. Of course it was out of the question for me to wait for him until 11pm - this being Perth, all establishments close at 9pm at the latest. So we hatched a plan for me to get a cab back to Armadale, which he would pay for when I got there since I had no money on me, then drive back to Rockingham after his shift with my spare key so I could take my car home.

When my other Pinoy friends caught wind of the trouble I was in, they vetoed the plan and proposed an alternative - for them to pick me up instead. They would go to my house (at least 18 kilometers from where they lived) to get my spare key then drive the rest of the way to Rockingham (another 30 to 40 kms away). And they wouldn't take no for an answer.

It was so embarrassing to have to be rescued. Nonetheless, I was just so glad that I was near enough for them to be able to rescue me!

As a mortifying postscript to an already mortifying travel disaster, I found my car keys the next day under the piles of stuff inside my trunk. It must have fallen from my pocket or I must have tossed it in withe rest of my stuff when I was so excitedly preparing for my swim. OH MY GOD.

Er... Is this someone who thinks she can actually go on a solo holiday somewhere in the woop-woops? Go ahead, you can say it. Claire is a disaster area. I must be out of my fricking mind to even consider it!

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Happiness is a Plate of Tocino

Tocino by Jepster

One of the things I miss most about home is being able to eat Pinoy food.

I do get samplings of it every now and then during get-togethers with my fellow ex-pat friends, but Filipino feasts are few and far in between. I do know how to cook traditional Pinoy meals, but for reasons I've already explained before, I really, really hate cooking for one. And I'm also not very good at improvising in the kitchen with western ingredients.

But now, thanks to my ex-pat friends (and this is just one more reason why it's a MUST to have fellow Pinoy friends abroad) and by virtue of having my own car, it's no longer a pipe dream to have a taste of home.

A few weeks ago, my friend Michelle took me to an Asian grocery store in a suburb about a 30 minute drive from where I live. It was well worth the drive as I finally got to stock up on my favorite Pinoy comfort foods - Barrio Fiesta bagoong, preserved green mangoes, dried squid, Mang Tomas lechon sauce, and Lucky Me instant pancit canton, just to name a few. And guess what else? Tocino mix!

Tocino has always been my favorite all-day breakfast food - probably in part because of my sweet tooth. Tocino plus a serving of garlic rice and one fried egg with atsara or vinegar on the side is my idea of a great Pinoy meal. It was too hard to resist flirting with the possibility of being able to eat it again - so I bought myself a pack, a half kilo of thinly sliced pork tenderloin, and decided to experiment.

Not that it takes a lot of culinary skill to dump pork in a container, mix in the sugar-food-coloring-and-nitrite concoction, and let it sit overnight to let the pork cure. But I'd tried the same with chicken fillets a few weeks before, and the results were not exactly great, so I was really putting a lot on faith that my new experiment would turn out well.

After an overnight soak, in just fifteen minutes cooking time, I had my picture-perfect pork tocino, which I paired with my trusty microwaved steamed rice. (Unfortunately, I was too hungry and excited to take actually pictures for my blog and just dug in.) And it tasted just like what we had back home. Yes, success!

Next time, I'm definitely splurging calories on the garlic rice and the fried egg. If any of you happen to have family living in Perth who know where to get good atsara to go with my tocino, please let me know - you will be in my "God-bless-you" list for the rest of my life.

Hmmm, living down here has certainly expanded my definition of "life's little joys." At the moment, a plate of home made tocino happens to be one of them.
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Expanding my Territory

People who have been following my blog for a while know that driving has always been one of my favorite metaphors for life. Being the wanderlust that I am at heart, it's difficult not to see life as one long drive on a meandering network of roads and choices, leading to landmarks and destinations, being almost constantly in motion one day after another.

It's also hard not to keep coming back to driving as a metaphor these days when it's the current everyday skill that I am currently trying to figure out. And it's hard not to compare this experience with how my life out here is shaping up to be.

I've been driving regularly on the wrong side of the road for about a week now, learning to understand the road rules, getting the hang of crossing wide highways without the protection of a traffic light, becoming comfortable with speed, trying to familiarize myself with the roads that I've been so used to only walking.

Most of my drives so far have been short and to places pretty close to home - to work, to the shops, to the occasional fast food chain drive-thru. I've even chanced a few long drives under supervision of friends crossing the city to the coast and back. And every day, I try to do a little more, drive a route that I'd been afraid to try the day before, and go just a little farther afield.

Coming over here was a pretty drastic way to jumpstart my life. By finding the gumption to travel further from home and choosing to wander into the unfamiliar, I have been rewarded many times over. And I find that every day, I am able to do learn a little more, change a little more, and grow just a little further - in the way I see the world, in my willingness to embrace experiences, and in the way I see myself.

There's still so much to see, so much to discover in this wonderful journey of life -and this new place I have chosen to meander in. But I love knowing that I am, without a doubt, constantly expanding my territory.

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Like Starting from Scratch

After months of vacillating, I finally went out and bought myself a cheap little run-around car last Friday. The crazy thing is, while I have had it for two days, it's just been sitting in my driveway and I have been making one excuse after another not to take it out.

Okay, I admit it. I am terrified of taking it out. I live less than 2 kilometers from work, a distance which I walk every day, but I have yet to find the courage in my lily-livered heart to finally drive it by myself.

Having been a proficient commuter all my life, I'd never felt particularly motivated to learn how to drive - which is why I didn't really start driving back home until I was in my mid-twenties. Once I'd gotten the hang of it, though, I quickly fell in love with being behind the wheel - traffic mishaps, meandering journeys, and all. Driving was just such a great way to tune out and enjoy my own company in the comfort of my own car, going to where I wanted to go at my own pace. But, of course, getting to that comfort level was a long time in coming.

Unfortunately for me, I happened to choose a country where people drive on the other side of the road and where they have some pretty definite speed limits. For someone who has, under normal circumstances, always had a case of slight right-left confusion and is used to taking her sweet time in everything, this is something out of a nightmare.

It hasn't helped that my friends from back home and family all have such a huge level of confidence about my driving that they never fail to warn me in dire tones that driving here is very different and much more difficult - and to ask me if I was absolutely sure I could handle it.

No wonder I'm having tension headaches at the thought of having to take out my little hatch (with no power steering and manual transmission) anywhere on my own.

The last time I felt this twitchy about getting behind the wheel was at my first driving lesson back home. I've taken a few driving lessons here in a manual car, but I felt a lot more secure because there was someone beside me watching what I was doing and had his own set of pedals. The idea of driving alone to anywhere over here feels like I'm being shoved off the deep end of a pool, not knowing how to swim.

But if I don't start now, I'll end up putting it off and putting it off until it's time for me to go home.

Still all I've had the gumption to do by myself has been to park it into the driveway, back up into the road, and take it for a spin around the block - with my heart in my throat the whole time. And one of the first new lessons I've learned in my new car is that without power steering, I don't have to go to the gym to get a good upper body work up - all I have to do is maneuver into a parking spot.

I can do this. I've been driving for four years, for cripes' sake.

Now if I could only believe my own pep talk, I just might be able to take my car those two kilometers down to work tomorrow - even if I'll be driving on the other side of the road.

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Wheels

Ballerina on a Bike by humminggirl

Because I've been so wishy-washy about looking for a car, my friends have been at me to ride a bike as an alternative to all the walking I've been doing. (Perth, being the outdoor city that it is, has an amazing network of dedicated bike paths that can take anyone almost anywhere.) And since I've become fairly more fit since I got here, everyone believes I can probably handle a bike. After all, it's supposed to be a skill that you never forget once you learn it.

However, due to my inherent pessimism (and my kinesthetic stupidity), I wasn't about to buy into that last assumption blindly when I hadn't been on a bike for almost a decade. Besides, in all things there were exceptions, and I was pretty sure that the exception would be me.

For one thing, I wasn't one of those kids who grew up with a bike. My parents were on the verge of buying me one when I was around six, at the time still blissfully ignorant of the fact that their eldest child was athletically challenged. Just to see if I was ready for a bike of my own, they borrowed my next-door neighbor's bike with training wheels, put me on it - and I ended up tipping over and hitting my head on the gutter and getting knocked out. The details of that fateful afternoon are fairly sketchy to me for obvious reasons, but I do know it warranted an emergency room visit.

Needless to say, my parents never considered giving any of us bikes ever again.

After that debacle, the next time I even got near a bike was in high school. Learning to bike as an adolescent presented one major dilemma: the absence of training wheels. You just had to hop on a two-wheeler even if you didn't know squat about keeping it upright and pray you didn't tip over and get crushed under it. And we aren't even counting the humiliation factor in. Surprisingly, I did learn to bike eventually - in the parking lot of PICC on a rented BMX. And, by some miracle, managing to do so without any memorable or remarkable spills.

Me being me, I was completely charmed by the wind on my face as I rode, the relative speed of it, and being able to indulge my inner wanderlust. I was hooked, and even not having a bike of my own could stop me. Borrowing our neighbor's BMX bike, I used to tuck my hair into a cap, dress like a boy, and ride around our subdivision almost every afternoon. I even tried to move on to an adult bike - a mistake which I paid for with some considerable embarrassment when I rode into the neighborhood tennis wall because it was too high for me to stop with dignity. Despite this minor setback, I kept at it until the end of that summer - but had to give it up once school started once again. I only got to ride again a handful of times after that, when my cousins and I would hire bikes on weekend outings with the family. I'm fairly sure that I hadn't been on a bike since college, at the latest.

Hence my understandable reluctance to get on one again - let alone make it my primary mode of getting around.

Happily enough, I've just spent my afternoon proving myself wrong and the adage right.

There's a certain symmetry between past and present to have my very first bike ride in ten years on a friend's borrowed bike in an empty parking lot. With no training wheels, of course. Just armed with a helmet (required for riding anywhere in WA) and a prayer, I wobbled my way into the first round, completely forgot my brakes, and almost ended with a spill.

I may have looked like a crazy overgrown kid to all passers-by, going round and round the parking lot with no apparent purpose or destination in mind. But it was worth looking a fool to feel the speed of it again, with the wind on my face washing over my huge grin at knowing that I could still do it.

No, I'm not ready to get out on the bike paths just yet. Fingers crossed, a few more sessions in the parking lot ought to do it. But once I get the hang of things - I'll probably be on my way to owning my very first bicycle.

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Keep Left!

photo by Roger C.

Learning how to drive on the left side of the road with a right-hand drive car pretty much encapsulates the experience of adjusting to life abroad. It's all about having to concentrate hard on doing things that you used to do without thinking.

Being of a more cautious temperament, I opted for proper driving lessons before braving Aussie rules traffic, optimistically thinking I'd only need a couple of sessions since I've been driving back home for a few years. After my first experience on the driving on other side of the road, I am convinced that switching from right to left is much easier said than done.

The hour started out with my narrowly avoiding a disaster. The driving instructor picked me up at the hospital, which is located along a major highway. A mere five minutes into the lesson, I was blithely attempting to cross the highway to get to the other side of the road - and I would have succeeded if my instructor hadn't floored the brake pedal on his side of the car. That was just the beginning.

I quickly discovered that driving in Australia is a far cry from the chaotic, every-man-for-himself driving I was used to in Manila. The cars here go so much faster - 50 kph in built up areas, 60 in main roads, 70 on the highways, 110 on the freeway. And these speed limits are not mere suggestions - you are obliged to follow them to the letter. Speeding has never been one of my myriad bad habits, but driving fairly leisurely is - something that is also not allowed here.

I also fell victim to another peculiarity of vehicles here - the indicator light switch and the windshield wiper switch have been swapped around. Every time the instructor told me to start signaling for a turn, I'd flip the switch and see my wipers start up instead of my indicators flash. Short of time, I'd hit my indicator switch and turn into the next street - all the while with wipers going until I'd have enough time to switch them off.

And don't even get me started on the confusing rules governing roundabouts and intersections without traffic lights. I still haven't figured out when it's acceptable to go straight into your turn or when you should make a full stop and give way, even after I've read their road rules handbook cover to cover several times. There are so many nuances that it just gets too darn confusing.

I would love to take a full course of lessons before I finally get my own car, but each hour is so unbelievably expensive that I can only afford so many. My work situation is also making it more and more necessary for me to drive around as soon as possible. With shifts that start at 10 pm and others that end at 11 pm, even getting a cab could become quite difficult. Walking at that time of night alone would be, of course, completely out of the question.

I guess the only real choice would be to confront the driving issue with the same aplomb that I've approached everything else in this adventure so far. There's no other way to learn but by doing. And just hoping against hope that I won't end up crashing in one big splat.
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Car Dunce Seeks Car

one of the models i'm considering: a mitsubishi mirage

I admit it - I am the quintessential lady driver. You know, the kind that most (chauvinistic) males drivers roll their eyes about and in whose presence they wonder (aloud) why women were ever allowed to get behind the wheel.

I have a fairly stuffed sense of direction complemented by an occasional tendency to be indecisive about what route to take. I do know (in theory) how to change a flat, but I know absolutely nothing about the mechanics of a car. Frankly, I don't really mind that I don't, as long as it runs when I put the key into the ignition - awful, I know.

It's quite easy to understand why, as I am beginning my foray into the world of second-hand car hunting on a budget, I feel like I am jumping off the deep end into water teeming with sharks.

Sometimes I wonder if I really do need a car, specially since I am thinking of staying only a year (for the moment). To be fair, I've been getting on okay with walking and public transport.

On the other hand, weekly grocery shopping has become a bit of an Olympic sport for me - a hybrid of long-distance walking and weight-lifting every time. I've also been drenched fairly regularly by motorists cruising down the highway, as I, the lone pedestrian, plod to work in the rain. And, since walking along the fairly deserted highway late at night is hardly a wise idea under any circumstances, I've had to endure taxi waits of over 2 hours from the end of my shift.

In an ideal world, a car dunce like me would be best off buying brand new, regularly bringing the car in for prophylactic servicing, and then selling it off before it has any serious problems. Unfortunately, I don't live in an ideal world - but I need a decent car on a very modest budget that won't cost me more to service it than the price of buying it.

I'm not really looking for anything fancy - just a fairly well-maintained little hatchback that won't kill me with fuel expenses and car repairs. I've been doing a bit of research, and I've already zeroed in on certain makes and models that may suit. However, given my current automotive know-how, anyone could hand me a lemon of a car and I'd probably drive it away with a smile on my face - until it refuses to take me anywhere and needs to be towed to the nearest service station as soon as I've bought it.

Frankly, I can't think of any solution around this dilemma at the moment. While I have made a few acquaintances here, I'm still a bit wary about dragging any of them car shopping with me - not only because I wouldn't want to impose, but also because I don't know who might have the best amount of know-how to help me out. Short of taking a crash course in appraising cars, I'm not sure what else I can do. Of course buying anything that pre-owned always comes with risks, but despite my desperation, I wouldn't want to throw away my money on a dud.

If there are any natives out there reading my blog - I'd love to hear some suggestions. (Or maybe you have trusted friends who are considering selling off their cars!) As for my readers from back home and elsewhere, let's just all cross our fingers together and hope I don't get gobbled up by the sharks alive.

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Lost in Makati-land

My visa sponsorship finally came in Wednesday. I've been busy putting together my papers to send off to Australia - and I finally got to do it yesterday afternoon. Looks like I may make my deadline after all.

But that's not really what this post is about.

This morning, as part of my visa requirements, I had to go into the heart of the Makati central business district to get a medical exam done. Not being a bona fide Makati yuppie, I haven't really had any chance to wander the CBD. Apart from my occasional visits to the malls, Makati is a foreign to me as another country.

After today, I have come to realize that it is as confusing to me as Wonderland must have been to Alice.

Murphy was certainly working overtime on me today. For one thing, my alarm didn't go off, and I left the house late - which considerably complicated my plans. I couldn't get an FX that would go directly to Ayala Avenue, where I could get off across the street from the clinic. After almost an hour of waiting along Ortigas for a ride, I hoofed it back home to get my car and drive to Makati - smack at the height of rush hour traffic.

Being of a practical bent, I wasn't about to take the car directly into the heart of the CBD, where parking rates were atrocious. I chose to park the car at Glorietta, the biggest mall complex there, and was planning on taking a bus or a cab to the clinic instead.

Easier said than done, given the confusing maze of underpasses and lack of pedestrian crossings along Ayala Avenue.

I emerged from the parking complex in front of Rustan's and found the underpass that let me cross the road to the side where I mean to catch the bus. At the stop, I was refused a ride by the driver, who told me it was only an unloading zone. I needed to walk further down Ayala to get to the loading zone.

Obedient commuter that I am, I followed his instructions and walked a couple of blocks to the intersection of Ayala and Makati Avenue. I could see the bus stop in the distance, a few meters away - only to have my way barred by a fence that screamed, "No pedestrian crossing!"

What the fudge? How was I supposed to get to the other side?

Incensed, I walked back the way I came, looking for an underpass that would possibly allow me to emerge on the other side once more... but I couldn't find any until I came to the first underpass I used. Left with no other choice, I crossed back to my starting point and walked the same couple of blocks back towards Makati Avenue until I finally came to another underpass that finally led me to the loading zone.

What should have been a simple walk a couple of blocks long in a straight line turned out to be one confusing zig-zagging among the underpasses. Anyone who plans to go around Makati on foot should arm himself with a map of the underpass network rather than a street map!

I appreciate the efforts of Makati to keep their pedestrians safe and maybe to improve the traffic situation, but is it too much to ask them to make the underpasses less confusing and allow pedestrians to cross at street level on intersections not provided with an underpass?

It was an incredibly confusing and tiring day overall. And that's not even taking into consideration how I had to take two and a half liters of fluid in the span of 30 minutes for my medical exam... but that's another story!

It's a good thing I have the prospect of another new summer travel adventure to brighten my day. Tomorrow... destination: Anawangin!


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Loving the Open Road

my sister and my cousin in our mobile home
(summer, 1996 - location: aosta, italy)

A road trip is often more about the journey itself rather than it is about the destination.

As a child, I learned to appreciate the joys of traveling by car. My father hates to fly (with "hate" actually being a euphemism for "absolutely terrified"), so any place we would go to as a family would have to be accessible by land. So while I've had my share of plane rides growing up, I find that I still have a soft spot for long drives to distant places.

Despite the butt-numbing, leg-cramp-inducing torture of an hours-long drive, I'm convinced that it's still a great way to travel.

I've never actually driven farther than Batangas myself, but I have been on several long-haul trips with friends in recent years. The summer after internship, my blockmates and I made the grueling 13-hour trip to Ilocandia by bus. Once already there, we set about to exploring the territory with borrowed vehicles, guided by two friends native to the region. The time-consuming drives were definitely made faster by the great company and lots of laughter. Travel by car is, hands down, great bonding time.

block J and friends at Paoay Church, Ilocos Norte (summer, 2004)

While quality time with friends and family is a great reason to travel by car, for me the best thing about traveling by road is discovering places you never would have found otherwise. On one of my most memorable road trips ever, my uncle rented a mobile home and took my cousins, siblings, and me on an unforgettable, meandering drive from Aachen, Germany all the way south to Rome, Italy - with a stop at Pisa, Florence, and Paris along the way. We would park from camping ground to camping ground - all located in remote, unknown pockets of beauty in the European countryside.

When people ask me about that summer trip to Europe, they marvel at our unconventional itinerary - because despite being there a month, we weren't able to hit all the "must-see places." But I'm pretty sure that people who do "the grand tour" to cover all the highlights have not been treated to the gorgeous sight of Tuscany countryside in the early spring; or the breathtaking view of a medieval castle on top of a verdant mountain, its spires rising above the mist. That trip was, without a doubt, an awesome experience I would love to relive again.

our Europe road crew sans our driver (summer, 1996)

Any long-distance trip by car requires a good deal of patience and eyes on the goal. It also requires a healthy sense of humor - most needed when faced with the inevitable mishaps that crop up along the way, given the lengthy travel time and the many factors out of one's control. The best way to enjoy any road trip is to simply embrace every experience, making every one taken a life lesson in itself.

As I look back at my career as a budding wanderlust, I find that when armed with great company, the right attitude,and an openness to take detours along the way, going by open road can be the best way to see the world. And - at the expense of mixing my metaphors - when you choose to take the journey, finding yourself at a destination well-worth the trip ends up as merely icing on a really amazing cake.

worth the 12-hour journey
(caramoan, camarines sur)

So what are you waiting for? Gear up, tune your cars, and get going!



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For the 5th edition of TBR - "I know what you did last summer" at Doc Ness' place.


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Lost? See U-Turn.

photo by Inky Bob

Ever since I started driving, my terrible sense of direction has become a running joke among my friends. Knowing this, they usually give me a lot of leeway about being late whenever I am required to drive from unfamiliar point A to unfamiliar point B. This is because it's rare that I arrive without greeting them with my usual rueful, "I got lost."

I find it strange that once I get behind the wheel, I automatically set myself up for getting lost. I'm a pretty intrepid commuter on foot, honest. Set me loose on in a new (albeit English-speaking) city armed with a map, and I have no trouble getting around. It's usually just when I am driving that I get into trouble. I have so many direction-blind driving fiascoes that it will take all day for me to share all. Suffice to say, if you've ever been caught driving up a main thoroughfare against ONE WAY traffic completely unawares, then we are kindred spirits. My meandering journeys around Manila are so common that it becomes more of an event when I find my destination WITHOUT losing my way.

Because it happens so frequently, I've developed a certain elan about getting lost while driving which some people find disconcerting. I adopt the philosophy, "It doesn't matter if we're lost, there's always going to be a U-turn somewhere down the road." (This is usually said with a broad shrug and a smile that would put Pollyanna's to shame.)

Given the cost of fuel nowadays, this attitude makes my gas budget sky-rocket considerably. But I've learned that it takes me less time to find my way when I don't stress about it too much - and when I don't try to rectify my mistake by getting into another unknown side street and getting caught in traffic and more lost than ever.

If only taking U-turns in life were just as easy! It wouldn't be so hard to make decisions with the thought that you can always go back to where you came from if you don't like where you find yourself. That the only cost of getting lost is the cost of a few more gallons of fuel than usual. (Environmentalists will lynch me for this metaphor, but you know what I mean, right?)

But with Life being as complicated as it is, every decision has irrevocable consequences. You can never really go back to where you used to be - because everything at your point of origin changes the moment you leave. And your presence in any destination, no matter how transient, changes something there as well.

Sometimes I wish I had a magic compass and a map that would point me in the right direction every time I had to make a major decision in my life. But in the end, the only time anyone ever knows if they chose right is in retrospect - that is, if they are given the answers even then.

As I spend this time in my middle-of-nowhere, I realize one lesson I have yet to learn: to face life with the same equanimity as I face getting lost on the road. With the faith that no matter how uncertain the future seems to be that I will always end up where I am meant to be. That while Life may not allow me perfect U-turns, I will always find my way to where I belong.

In the meantime, I meander on without map or compass and hope that I find my way soon.

* * * *

Just a Post Script I wanted to share:

My friend Honey, another of my single sisters, wrote a post for me at her blog, Amazing Space. Honey is a lawyer, an awesome writer, chief wanderlust, and Beloved of God - and I've always said I wanted to be her when I grew up.

Yes, sis, here is to not settling. Even in my worst moments, hope - though small as a mustard seed - will always spring eternal. Amen. (We really, really have to get together for that coffee soon!)

Okay... I'm off to prepare for one of those weddings I told you about! I hope I don't get lost on the way...

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Beach Club Car Adventures

While my friends would be the first to tell you what a lousy driver they think I am, I thought that my 3-year city driving experience was qualification enough to drive my club car. How hard could it be? No stick shift to be operated, just a forward-neutral-backward switch. Two pedals - one to go, one to stop. It would just be like driving a bump car. Easy as pie.

I should have known that kind of arrogance was a challenge to fate to prove me wrong.

Not everyone on the staff is assigned a Club Car, but everyone here knows how to drive one. The nature of my job as resort physician requires to me to get to any point on the island at the drop of a hat, so I've been assigned one all to myself. Until yesterday, I had been riding shotgun with the regular resort doctor since I arrived. Since I assumed driving the buggy was not a problem, I never once asked if I could try driving it under supervision.

Handling the Club Car on the island is quite different from city driving. For one thing, I need to kill the motor when I switch gears from forward to reverse. For another, I didn't realize how much I've come to rely on rear-view mirrors when I am backing up - and these buggies don't have one. Getting out of a parking spot has always been a challenge, and doing so in a Club Car has certainly upped the level of difficulty for me. In fact, I almost tipped my club car over yesterday when I shot out of my makeshift parking slot in reverse and went straight up the embankment across the road. (Of course it was still my own stupid fault for panicking, when I should have lifted my foot off the pedal as soon as I felt it going backwards.)

But biggest challenge of all when it comes to getting around the island is the complete absence of any obvious landmarks from the road. Since the villas, casitas and other infrastructure were all designed to blend in with the natural landscape and built far from the roads to ensure the privacy of the guests, the view from my Club Car is the same. And you can only imagine how much worse it gets at night. (No, there are no street lights.)



If this place were any bigger, I could end up driving lost around the island for hours. Thankfully, though, I've been lucky enough to drive by members of the staff who point me which way to go. And if all else fails, cellphone signal is great even here in the middle of nowhere. I have the option to call the clubhouse for one of the staff to escort me home - which I hope I never have to do!

It's early days yet, and I am, to my relief, becoming a bit more familiar with the roads in daylight. I can already get to and from the clinic to my bunkhouse even in the dark - an essential skill since I get called at night to see patients and have to pick up meds for them in the clinic and deliver them. But being somewhat direction impaired, I still tend to take roundabout routes to get from point A to point B even in daylight (to which my evil friends would say, "What else is new?")

It can only get better from here. After all, I'm going to be here for a while.

I just hope I never have to call for a rescue - I'd never live it down!



I think I promised you guys a picture of the beach on the side of the casitas - so even if it's not really related to my post, I've put it up anyway. You can visit the Amanpulo site if you want to see better pictures. I can attest that they're not advertising hype - what you see is really what you will get. If only I could ever earn enough to come back here as a guest some day!

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Motor Therapy

Everything they said about driving in Manila is true.

In a city where there are too many vehicles in horribly crowded streets, getting behind the wheel is like descending into your own little corner of hell. Traffic rules are mere suggestions, and the only rule that operates for real is the one that says, "Kill or be road kill." The streets of Manila do not respect anyone who drives like a wuss.

I have recently joined the mass of idiots crowding our congested city streets, and, at the grand old age of 27, have finally started driving myself. (Before this, I had mostly gotten around via our crazy public transport system and the good grace of my friends.) And despite the fact that I am a novice driver and on occasion admit that my driving is anything but respectable - I am actually finding myself enjoying the experience.

Yes. Hard as it is to believe... I like to drive.

Of course my enjoyment of the experience does not extend to being stuck on EDSA in rush hour traffic, my foot permanently glued to my clutch as I painstakingly crawl towards home, afraid that the next reckless bus is just waiting for an opportunity to cut me and drive me into the Pasig River.

But there's something about being behind the wheel with no one but the purr of my engine and my thoughts for company as I sit in the darkened cab, driving on nearly empty streets during odd hours of the day. I don't speed - I can't go beyond 80 kph, even on the highways - but there is a certain comfort I get from simply driving around. It's a soothing, healing kind of quiet that I can't get even when I'm alone elsewhere - probably because I have to concentrate on driving so much (because I'm new at it) that I have to empty my mind of nearly everything else. It's like... therapy without a therapist. (But with fuel prices being what they are, it's almost as expensive as seeing a therapist.)

Unfortunately, all journeys, aimless or not, have to end somewhere. Then I have to park my car... and that's another piece of hell on earth that almost negates all the good feelings I got from driving. But that's another story. Click here to read the rest of this post.