gettin' around

I intend to write more often but find I lose my blog-worthy observations in the distraction of the rickety ride to and from work. My mind has the most time to wander then, with no book or music to keep me company, just the rumble of a struggling engine with exhaust-filled, humid air cooling my body squished between strangers.

Intimidating is an understatement for how I was feeling toward first trying to navigate the undocumented transportation system of a 2.5 million dense metropolis. Trikes, multicabs, jeepneys, and v-hires galore. Strange routes posted in the window with no discernable landmark marking its passage. Locals know the lingo, but where in the world is Jones, MEPZ, flyover, or Maribago? The routes are vague, and no map exists, so a lot of trial and error took place before things started looking familiar. I am more confident in navigating the multiple modes of transportation; I make sure to be assertive so I don’t get overcharged or learn to ignore the stares as to why in the world a white girl is in here instead of in a taxi. The traffic makes me anxious and impatient; by the end of the day I am aggravated and mentally exhausted. Three to four hours on public transportation four to five days a week will do that to a person.

For those you have been to Guatemala or other nations with old buses reconstructed and painted bright colors to suffice as the major mode of transportation, jeepneys are similar here but are constructed from WWII jeeps left behind by the US military. With the bed extended and benches garnering the sides, four people beyond the capacity squeeze onto the seats as the jeep roars down city streets and swerves between traffic. Newer jeepneys take on a more modern look and adorn murals on the side, sometimes a religious theme or more commonly, a sports or popular culture reference. Some are equipped with neon lights and sound systems, like a night club on wheels, still having to watch your wallet and avoid creepy stares. Other jeeps are simply styled, but still get the job done. The short ceiling does a number of my posture and my long legs get in the way of departing or embarking passengers. I try to look out the window openings to learn more about the vast city and its people. A conductor stands at the back to collect the fare, and with a tap of a coin on the metal handle, the driver knows just when to stop.

Jeepneys in the city

Next I might ride a multicab, a smaller version of a jeepney, heading toward neighboring cities or the island I live on, Mactan. I may also choose a v-hire, or van for hire, to take me to/from the big SM mall to/from my barangay; an air-conditioned 15 passenger van squeezing in 19. I pay a flat rate to go the set distance and usually end up at my destination a bit faster. I can rest my eyes or get a little reading done if it is still light out. Catch is, anytime during rush hour the line will be 100 long just to get in the van I need. If the timing is right, the ideal mode of transport. I leave taxis for emergencies or late night traveling, which is rather rare.

Cool Multicab

The final transport, which I even took back in my training days, is a tricycle. No, not a 3 wheeled bicycle for a child, but a motorcycle with a side cab attached for passengers. Four can squeeze into the cab and two sitting on the motorcycle behind the driver. When an empty tricycle pulls up to me as I wait on a main road, I must make very clear “Dili Pacquiao” to the driver. It is said that if Manny Pacquiao rides on a trike with you, he will pay everyone’s fare; hence, they think the ”rich” American girl wants to ride alone so she will pay for all the seats on the trip. No, kuya, most certainly not. Also, if I am to catch a trike at the local terminal, I must wait until the trike is full before any motor starts up. Sometimes a two minute wait, another day fifteen.

Trike!

There is one other way to get around here, but is not allowed by Peace Corps nationally or internationally, and that is by motorcycle. No driving or riding on one. There are many “huble huble” drivers here. I don’t care to elaborate on what the name means, you can try to find out for yourself. Essentially, a person will hire a motorcycle to drive them to their destination. A cheap and quick mode of transport, also incredibly dangerous in a country where traffic rules are a mere suggestion. I’ve seen whole families on a motorcycle at once, not leaving behind the toddler or infant, oh no! Some even have seat extensions so seven are squished on a little Honda. Sometimes it seems intriguing, but I’ll play it a bit safer a stick with a jeep or trike.