Sunday, January 20, 2008 Estremera: Horror tales of Metro Manila By Stella A Estremera Spider's Web
THE promise of a pair of Scubapro jetfins was dangled in front of me, and thus, as the old lyricists would say, "Hahamakin ang lahat, makamit ka lamang."
But Wednesday evening at the peak of rush hour in Shaw Boulevard, I was whining, all ready to burst into tears, "Probinsiyana lagi ako!"
That was after I stepped out of what was my first MRT ride on my own. (Did I hear a lot of gasps out there?)
Backgrounder: While I do fly out to Metro Manila every so often, I do my best to reduce that number of trips to the lowest necessity. Yup, like all Dabawenyos, I hate Manila. But there's work and so at least three to four times a year, I have to go there. These are all business trips (I wouldn't go to Manila for leisure and vacation, no thanks), and so, I would always be billeted in Makati or Malate hotels, depending on the venue of the event I was going to. The short in-betweens where I have no hotel accommodations, I have two bosom buddies who come in handy, James with his condo along ADB Avenue in Ortigas right in front of the Podium, and Jesse with his condo along Ayala Avenue (yup, buddies have their very convenient uses). What do these mean? It means every time I'm there, I'm walking distance from what matters: the malls, the bars, the restaurants, and that's the way I want it.
Since the only place I need to visit whenever I'm there are Music 1, Power Books (both at Greenbelt), and an occasional popping in at Fully Booked (at Rockwell) when I'm with James, then all I do really is walk. The other necessary trips, I get by riding taxis, like to and from the airport.
But it wasn't to be that way early evening Wednesday last week.
"Alam mo naman ang MRT, di ba?" James asked.
"Hindi," I replied.
"Sa may SM lang 'yan sa Makati!" he said. "Alam mo na?"
"Okay," I replied. Not that his description made it any clearer, it was just that I know I'd find my way with less badgering from James (he's my friend, and all my friends are badgers).
"Hindi ba pwedeng mag-taxi na lang ako?" I asked. I've met him several times before in Ortigas on a taxi, and I thought, why not now?
"Rush hour, walang magpapasakay sa iyo na taxi," he said, prompting memories that those times when we did meet at Ortigas, those were on weekends (when a business trip has ended and there's just the plane schedule to wait for) when traffic was low.
Grumble... but his pair of jetfins is waiting and he's flying home to Bacolod Friday that week.
And so, right after we were dismissed from class at the Asian Institute of Management at around 5:30 p.m., I crossed the street to Greenbelt 1, determined to find my way. But... where?
I looked around and observed throngs of people entering Greenbelt 1, as well, in a rush. They didn't look like they're malling, and so they must be headed somewhere, I thought. I joined the rush from Greenbelt 1 to 2 to 3 to 4 to Landmark to I don't know where already, and was led to an even bigger mass of people going up one last escalator that opened up to, tadaaaah! The MRT station. Wow. This must be how Harry Potter felt when he landed at Diagon Alley through the Weaslys' fireplace.
Lesson No. 1: Remember to follow the spiders. (Shades of Hagrid in Harry Potter).
Having been directed by James to ride the front cabs because those are for women and... "mas maluwag doon", I followed the throng of women and gave up on the first train that came. It was too full and James said "mas maluwag doon".
The next train came and I wasn't given much choice here because the throng behind me just pushed in and I found myself squashed between a mother holding tight to her small daughter, a woman who was squashed by the door, another woman who was conveniently right beside the entrance post, and one more woman somewhere behind me.
It was a tight squeeze, I thought. I banished that thought at the next stop as yet more women pushed their way in. When before there were four women squashing me -- front, back, left and right -- as we would have thought was the only way possible, by the second stop my body was squashed into a sexagon, sharing sweat and body contact with six others. I never thought people could be squeezed in that much. But again the door opened. The whole mob had pushed me toward the middle of the aisle between the doors, I was wondering how I could ever get out.
Lesson No. 2: Einstein's theory of relativity was right. E=mc2, that is energy and mass are equivalent and transmutable.
My stop came, Shaw Boulevard. I tried to push my way out, I couldn't. I said, "Excuse me." Nobody budged (on hindsight, they can't). I was getting desperate. One kind lady saw my distress and shoved me toward a very small space at my left, vacated by a woman who just got off.
"Dito ka dumaan, miss," as she pushed me with her full body.
I literally popped out of the MRT, the mob squeezing back into a solid mass as the door closed.
By then I hated crowds and didn't follow the one that rushed out. Instead I followed a couple who went down the stairs. I was too dazed to appreciate my surroundings, just determined to leave the station and the mob ASAP and get some fresh air.
I found myself among jeepneys spewing diesel fumes instead...
"Excuse me, saan po ang Shangrila Plaza?" I asked. That was where James will be meeting me.
"Sa kabila po," the man said, pointing across the boulevard that had not just the wide lane of the boulevard full of buses and jeepneys, but also that wide cemented trench of the MRT and the opposite lane of the boulevard full of buses and jeepneys. Across I could see the lights of Shangrila Plaza winking at me. Had I followed the crowd up at the station, it would have led me right inside Shangrila.
Lesson No. 3: "So near yet so far" is being on the wrong side of Shaw Boulevard.
I went back to lesson number one and followed the spiders, and found myself at the street corner with what was at that time a most welcome sight: a pedestrian lane.
Lesson No. 4: Even a pedestrian lane will seem so heartwarming when you're in Manila.
Later that night after dinner and several rounds of beer, with the jetfins tucked inside a plastic knapsack slung on my shoulder, I flagged a taxi down, swearing, "Never again." http://saestremera.multiply.com
