StreetWise Philippines

The anti-discrimination regulations in force in most western countries often seem like a politically correct joke in many ways. Especially as we know that even if they don’t specify X in the ad, if you don’t have X then you won’t get the job. Yes, they have just discriminated against you but then we all ‘discriminate’ every time we choose one thing over another, when we buy this brand over that and so on.

Personally I think the rules for advertising jobs are a good indicator of where political correctness can get it wrong, but then I read the job ads in Philippines newspapers. Here are a few taken at random:

Admin Assistant Female, 5′4″ in height, excellent in oral and written english, keen to details and able to work independently, knowledgeable in microsoft word, excel and powerpoint.

I thought English, the language, deserved an upper case E? Maybe why they need someone ‘excellent in oral and written english’. But why 5’4”?

Japanese Speaking Guest Service Associate for Front Office Female, 27-35 years of age, 5′4″ in height, fluent in japanese and english with strong customer service skills, willing to work in shifts, With at least 2 years experience working for a 5-star hotel is an advantage, college graduate.

At least they are consistent and leave out the J along with the E. What if the best candidate is 26 and 5’3”? No point sending in the resume as they will ask for a birth certificate and do a height check. OK, same employer (a five star hotel in Cebu);

Media Communications Manager Female, college graduate at least 5′4″ in height, preferably single, related working experience in marketing, advertising, or journalism is an advantage, has established contact and linkages with counterparts in the city, excellent in oral and written english, customer service oriented.

And this one:

Banguet Sales Executive Female, college graduate, at least 5′4″ in height, preferably single, preferably with 2 years relevant experience with a reputable hotel, excellent leadership, selling and communication skills.

Four out of eight job vacancies require females 5’4” in height. Why? Low doorways to the Ladies toilets? Only one uniform size? Of the other four job openings, one didn’t specify gender, two allowed the candidate to be either male or female and the last one wanted a female for the role, height unspecified but she had to be between 21 – 30 years old.

Trawl through any job listings for Filipino positions and you will be told how old they have to be, what gender, marital status, age and even that their personality must be ‘pleasing’. In some cases they even stipulate ‘attractive’. That means light skinned by the way.

That is the way it is here and just one more thing you will have to accept if you plan to live here. It is their Rome, they are doing it the ‘Roman’ way and you know what they say about ‘When in Rome…’

A recent court case between the mother of a premature baby and the hospital that refused to let the baby go until her bill was paid, found in favour of the mother. A Writ of Habeas Corpus (Produce the Body) was served on Cebu Doctor’s University Hospital to release the baby to the mother, even though the unpaid portion of the bill is P503,000 (US$10K)

Not letting the patient or the ‘watchers’ (patient’s family) leave is a common tactic in hospitals across the country. I waited in agony on a gurney for an hour while my wife looked for an ATM to pay the deposit before anyone would even triage me at Perpetual Succour Hospital, Cebu. That was just to get admitted! Both Cebu Doctor’s and Perpetual Succour are owned in whole or part by the Sisters of St Paul of Chartres, a Catholic order.

My wife’s father was held a virtual prisoner in Cebu Doctor’s Hospital in 2002 until I promised to pay his bill. The body of my sister-in-law was detained along with the Death Certificate until we had paid her bill in full at . She died in Cebu (Velez) General Hospital, a ‘public hospital’ but the mentality is the same. Doctors are mini-gods, nurses do nothing and the rats have the run of the place when the cats are sleeping. I kid you not.

The hospitals in Cebu are a paradox in many ways. They do have some first class hospitals yet the attention to detail is lacking, to the point where the cleaners only clean where you can see leaving dirt and dust behind hand rails and under sinks etc. They have some fine medical professionals also. My cardiologist was trained at Cebu Doctor’s but now practises in Australia.

Try also to see the hospital’s position. They are a business and have their own bills to pay. Until the societal changes necessary to make it fairer for all occur, only those with the ability to pay will be able to access the best treatment.

Read the article by clicking on this link to the SunStar Cebu.

Makati has a reputation amongst some of being the haunt of the rich, effete and privileged. Those fat cat expats with the big salary packages who live here in the company owned house surrounded by walls, guards, with a driver, maids and so on. True. Makati is also home to some of the poorest in Manila.

The city of Makati came about after the Second World War when the Ayala’s bought up Nielsen Field, the old US Army Air Corps airstrip. Even today, a glance at a map of Makati shows how Makati Avenue used to be the main runway and the old control tower is still there, near the intersection with Ayala Avenue, the alternate runway. Both roads are on a similar axis to the existing runways at NAIA as the prevailing winds haven’t changed.

The City of Makati has slums like any other Manila city, especially along the disused railway tracks of the old North Luzon rail line that runs parallel to Taft Avenue along the south western boundary of the city. Across EDSA to the north east and also to the north and north west lie areas of working class housing, squatter “jerry builts” and out and out shacks and shanties!

The super rich areas of Forbes Park are more what we think of when someone mentions Makati. Walled compounds containing huge family homes and servant’s quarters, immaculate grounds kept so by an army of gardeners and dozens of fawning domestic help almost like something from a Graeme Greene novel. It takes serious money to live here. No matter whether it is dollars, euro or peso, expect to hand over a lot of them for the privilege.

Of course there are also very affordable apartments in Makati that can be rented, fully furnished for P20,000 to P30,000 a month. If you want to live nearer the working class but still boast a Makati address you can even rent small apartments for half that!

Some argue that living in Makati is expensive and the truthful answer is yes, it can be. If you choose to live that way. Those single men who haunt P.Burgos Street and the go-go bars that line the curving carriageway would go through vast amounts of cash just keeping up with their bar tab, let alone renting company from time to time. But even there, ‘Happy Hour’ at some bars like ‘Rogues’ above the Pizza Hut can be reasonable with beers costing around P40 until 10pm!

If you are like me and are no longer an avid attendee of these bars, then the best value I was shown would have to have been Chilli’s. Two beers for P65 or six for P180, it varied over the time I was doing my “empirical research”. The same kind of deal could be had at Pier One in nearby Taguig at The Fort, a very flash new development I might say. The food at Chilli’s is very American, huge portions and so on but I love their Ranch Burger for P275. You really had a hard time stepping around the thing it was that big.

The malls of Makati are many and world class. Glorietta has four malls, then you flow into the Greenbelt series of four Malls and some of the café’s and eateries there are simply superb. Not all of them are ridiculously priced in fact all were far cheaper than what I would pay for similar fare in Sydney’s Darling Harbour. I have also been to Rodeo Drive in L.A. and Greenwich Village in New York, Berlin and London and I would have to say for value for money, Makati offers everything the other cities promise.

As well as the great café scene, the shops are full of eye candy for the discerning voyeur and great bargains for the serious shopper. The department stores like SM and Robinsons’ charge the same prices as they do in Cebu, and the malls go on and on for miles!

All of the insider information was passed on to me by my good friend, “David in Makati” as he signs his emails. A retired British Ghurkha Officer, David has lived and worked his own consultancy firm out of Makati for over twenty years. He knows his way around and he also, understandably, knows where to get a decent curry! As he quite rightly points out, “why live in the boonies and suffer when you can live in a civilized part of the world with everything you need close to hand, just as you would in the center of New York, London or any major cosmopolitan city?”

He’s quite right and I think you could live in Makati within a P50,000-P75,000 (US$1,100-US$1,750) a month budget and be very comfortable on half that again. Try living well and eating out regularly in Manhattan or Mayfair for less than US$1500 a month! And there aren’t all of those fashionista Filipina’s to feast your eyes upon, either!

Comparing 21st Century Philippines and Medieval Europe

A thousand years ago, give or take a hundred, our ancestors lived in feudal Europe governed by Kings and Dukes and Lords and what not. Countries were relatively small and there was often much disagreement about boundaries and titles. Many rulers expanded their land holdings through marriage, inheritance and conquest.

Society had several layers, perhaps similar to the A. B. C and D class divisions used by marketing professionals here in the Philippines. The nobility were the A class, they owned most all of the land and ruled all who lived upon it. The B class were the second tier of nobles, land owning but owing allegiance to their Lord, a kind of middle class of sorts. The C class consisted of the artisans, Freemen and merchants, craftsmen and yeomanry. The D class were the serfs, the peasants who tilled the lands for their landlords, who owned very little but a few tools and clothes and would be born into serfdom, live as serfs and die as serfs. They were hardly better off than slaves.

The lines are a little blurred here, today. We have the minority A class who own the majority of the land and the industry and commerce. These are the really big names in Philippines society and most would look more at home in Madrid than Manila. Before the Spanish were sent packing, these were the “Filipinos”. There were the peninsulars who were born in Spain, the insulars born here and the mestizo’s who were of mixed blood. Everyone else was labelled as “indios”, the Malay-Filipino majority in other words. Filipino was a term used to label those who were born here, owned land here but were definitely not “indios”.

The original leaders of the revolt against the colonial rulers were all “Filipino’s”, leading their loyal serf “Indios” into battle against the Spanish. I don’t believe they had any intention of giving the Indios a fair share of the pie, they were merely cannon fodder. Today little has changed and the D class and much of the C class are collectively known as the “masa”. The masa are too busy keeping some rice on their tables to worry about revolt, revolution, redistribution or anything else remotely political.

In medieval days, the serfs were treated similarly and while they may have risen up on occasion, these revolts were isolated exhalations of frustration, quickly quelled. Any long term changes in power were carried out at the upper levels, using the middle levels for management and the lower levels for muscle. The only people to really benefit from the power struggles were the upper classes.

What made it possible for the lower classes in Europe to break free of the bonds of serfdom was the industrial revolution. Mechanization spread the wealth. People with talent and ingenuity and chutzpah were able to get ahead without the traditional leverage of land and the riches that were generated from this real property. People colonised other continents and attitudes changed the farther they were able to move from direct feudal rule.
In the Philippines, it has been only a few generations since the Spaniards were removed from power, fewer still that Filipino’s in the modern sense of the term have had a say in their governance and so the old ways still remain. The wealth of the land for mining, agriculture and industry is still held in the hands of the elite few, maybe 20 families or so. Beneath them, “running” the country and so on are another 100 families and then there is the (slowly) growing middle class and below them the “masa”, or D class.

The D class, a majority of perhaps as much as 65% of the population, are kept in poverty and check by their adherence to the dogma of the Catholic Church. The poverty cycle will never be broken while they continue to breed like rabbits, forbidden to do otherwise by the church. When the government; put in power by the elite and their campaign contributions, toe the church line and focus on agriculture instead of industry (manufacturing), there is little hope for the small land holder who can’t even feed his own family for a year from his acreage, if he has any.

The elite control the church, who do their bidding by telling the masa who the elite want them to vote for, ensuring the cycle continues. There is no real change here, the 20th anniversary of EDSA had more police in attendance than supporters as people perhaps finally grasped nothing changed after People Power.

Look at how people here live. The rich live in walled castles and estates with guards, gates and the modern equivalent of drawbridges. All the way down the line to the C classes they barricade themselves in against the lower classes. If you don’t, the have nots line the boundaries and stare at the haves. Or they squat and take over the land knowing the law will save them because that law (the Lena Law forcing land owners to compensate squatters with money or a new place to live it they cleared them off their own land) was a sop to the masa in the name of “land reform”. The majority of land that was reformed has been public lands and the property of the hapless middle class, too busy earning dollars overseas to protect their land on a daily basis.

You walk any suburban street and it is all walls and gates, barbed wire and guards. Sari sari stalls peer out of barred windows, everything sold must fit through the small gate in the bars or else risk opening the door and a rush of thieving poor people. Every house has some small business going, even if it is just to keep the helpers busy. Even relatively poor people have helpers. Wages are low to non-existent when people will work for room and board and the employer has the status of having other human beings working for them as servants. Serfs. People who have few choices and little say in how they are exploited, mistreated and used to boost the ego of their employer.

The schools are controlled by the church, ensuring the people get little in the way of a worthwhile education but come out well versed in the myth and ritual that perpetuates the church’s stranglehold on their thinking and opportunities. Only the well off can afford a decent education where, funnily enough, the amount of religious instruction is noticeably less with more attention, and time, given to useful subjects such as maths, English, science etc. Out of 23 (mostly college graduate) Filipino’s under 30 I have asked “How many centavos in a peso” only one so far gave the correct answer! But they can all cross themselves and say the rosary!

Often the “Lord of the Manor” is an absentee landlord, off at the Crusades overseas however this time he or she is earning greenbacks rather than Redemption. The church still holds sway over daily life, threatening excommunication and other mythical punishments to fit the dogma they have developed and fine tuned over two millennia. In medieval times the first son inherited everything, the second son would become a mercenary (travel abroad as an OFW?) and earn his inheritance at the point of his sword and the third or often enough illegitimate son would join the clergy. Rich fathers would purchase a bishopric for the illegitimate son, knowing he would make a pretty penny and it would keep him and his mother from usurping the inheritance of the legitimate offspring. Illegitimate offspring would be handed over to the local convent or monastery and brought up there, well away from prying eyes. How similar is that to today’s situation here with the church taking care of these delicate matters for the well heeled and even their own wayward members? Funny how the well off, rich and famous can get annulments in short order, everybody else takes years!

I am no expert on medieval Europe, or the Philippines for that matter. But for me the similarities are hard to ignore. Take a walk around your neighbourhood and watch the village idiot roam around talking to him or herself just as they would have in the middle ages, only the rich can afford proper medical treatment for their mentally ill family members. Look at all the micro businesses that eke out a basic living for their owners, the walls and gates and guards, the dogs roaming loose, the garbage piling up and the simple outlook of the peasants with little in their future but more of the same. Wonder why there are cleft palates and cleft lips and even still cases of leprosy, all conditions born from poverty, poor hygiene and insufficient diet. Then ask yourself when will this country have it’s “industrial revolution” and what will be the outcome?

We Make The Clown Change His Tune! (Or At Least His Clock!)

There is a train of thought, and not without merit, that when in Rome, one should do as the Romans do.  Another way of interpreting this is that if they do something differently to how we do it “back home”, who are we to change them?  What right do we have to even comment?  I say it depends on the situation but if it is something so intrinsic to life, so basic to one’s survival, then you are duty bound to bring it to the local’s attention and suggest how it should be done!  So if it relates to breakfast at McDonalds, then it falls within this critical “life or death” category.  Right?

I have been consulting to a school way over on Cordova island, which is at the far end of Mactan.  It requires me to leave home early to beat the morning rush hour and try and minimise the evening drag for the return in the afternoon.  Some mornings I just don’t feel like having breakfast before leaving the house, I just want to get out there and mix it with the Dongs on the road.

Luckily, my old cobber Ronnie the Clown has one of his establishments near my route.  It is the work of a few seconds to hang a left instead of a right when I exit the old Mactan Bridge, pick up some Macca’s and then chuck a u-ey (Buy McDonald’s food and make a U-turn in Aussie speak) and resume my journey.

So the sign on the wall boasts the place opens at 7am.  It is 7:10am and it is still closed.  I bang on the door, point at my watch and make the usual signs of agitation.  Eventually a manager type opens the door.

“The sign says you open at 7am, it’s nearly 7:15, how come?”

“We go by the McDonalds clock, Sir.  The same time used all over the country.” the manager said, pointing over his shoulder to a large clock on the wall of the kitchen.

“So because that clock is slow or needs a new battery, you open 15 minutes late?  Can you imagine how much business you are missing from people driving past  in that time and turned away because you are following a clock set for Manila?”

“Yes Sir.” Was his open reply.

“Well how come the other McDonalds stores on Jones and Cebu South road open on time? Should we tell Ronald they are not following his clock?”  No answer so I pressed on.  “What is your personal opinion about a store that runs to it’s own clock? I mean, the entire nation of 85 million work to GMT plus 8 hours and you people use GMT plus 8 hours 15 minutes.  Doesn’t that seem a little ridiculous to you?”  Still no answer but I could see the dawn of comprehension starting to break over his physiognomy.

The next day I returned and they were still closed until 7:15.  I reminded them of the fact they were a joke and how did that feel? Shouldn’t someone tell the owner his store is a laughing stock and so on.  I returned the following week and they were still living in their time warp.  Then on the Tuesday, a week after my first attempt to make even one of them see sense, I arrived at 7:10am.  They were open!

As I walked in I saw right away there were already customers sitting at tables, eating.  Cars were in the drive through, their occupants buying breakfast!  Just like I had predicted!  What was even more amazing was the atmosphere!  The staff were pumped!

They were so proud of themselves for having been told they could reset the clock to GMT +8 and open at 7am.  The owner admitted it was silly to open 15 minutes late every day and the staff were rapt!  Now that nasty foreigner wouldn’t be pointing out how stupid they were, even if they were just following orders!  The change in the staff was amazing to behold and quite contagious.  I felt so positive as I left, maybe there was hope for this country yet? Maybe common sense and persistent complaining could make a difference?

A few days later I came again for my breakfast only to find the rope used to block off the carpark and drive through was still up.  I ignored it and drove under, parked and walked in.  The store was open but one of the Dongs had forgotten to lower the rope.  A day or two later the same thing except just across the drive through entrance.  Must have had brain fade that last few feet of rope lowering!  Still, at least they were open on time!

The manager told me they were making between P2000 and P5000 each morning in the first fifteen minutes from 7am to 7:15am. They had been following the late clock for nearly a year, so I figured that roughly they had lost about half a million peso’s just by losing that crucial first fifteen minutes of trade!  That’s nearly ten grand real money, not to be sneezed at in any currency!  Of course it begs the question how much more money is being lost or opportunities missed due to nobody having the bottle to speak up?  I think I figured out what happened to the clock, too.  Some Dong wanted a few extra minutes in bed each morning so he turned the clock back.  Simple!

Your Intrepid Editor Dines Italiano While Typhoon Namandol Bludgeons Manila

The Pollo Diavalo was, to be honest, superb!  The Maple Butter that covered the succulent breast of chicken spread its’ tasty treats onto the accompanying vegetables, the bread was still warm and the butter spread itself without complaint.  I was thoroughly enjoying the meal, and the old guy on the grand piano running through a medley of old standards.

The Jameson’s Irish Whiskey was a nice surprise, not many places even in Makati carry much in the way of whiskies other than Johnny Walker or J&B, even getting a decent bourbon can be an iffy proposition.  Somehow, the meal, the malt and the mood were just right.  I felt decadent, just like the Manila social set dancing, dining and drinking the night away as the army pulled out and Macarthur declared Manila an open city over 62 years ago.

The rain was literally lashing the windows of the Italian restaurant on Tomas Morato Avenue, Quezon City.  Outside it was black, bleak, wet and windswept but “for awhile” I could sit back and enjoy the ambience of the restaurant and the pianist and just enjoy myself.  I rarely enjoy a meal in a restaurant here in the Philippines as much as I was savouring this one.  Admittedly the staff had to leave the plates just that little bit too long before being reminded to clear them away and for some reason my Jameson had taken rather longer to arrive than you would think, given the proximity of my table to the bar, but this is the Philippines. 

If you want perfect service of a standard you would expect in a western restaurant, go to the west!  At least the waitresses were pretty, friendly and tried their best.  If you don’t grow up in an environment that values and demonstrates efficiency then you can hardly be expected to have any idea of what proper silver service is all about.  I called for the bill and after a fairly lengthy delay it arrived.  Three Jameson’s and two cokes plus the superb chicken? About fifteen bucks! I’m not normally this extravagant but what the hey, there’s a typhoon coming!

My meal over with, I decided to head up to Mickey Dee’s for my favourite dessert, a caramel sundae.  Forget the fancy Tiramisu’s and Gelati, give me good old vanilla soft serve ice cream with caramel flavouring any day!  I even bypassed Seattle’s Best Coffee, Starbucks’, Figaro, Liberia, Mocha Blends, Gloria Jeans’ and Baang! on my way to the Golden Arches!  Two of them had already closed to give their staff a chance to fight their way home in the typhoon and the others offered overpriced brews I am seriously trying to give up.  Paying half a Dong’s daily salary for a cup of java does seem a little decadent when you start to do it on a daily basis and get rather blasé about the whole thing.

A bunch of Dong’s were huddled in the rain around a Corolla, trying to jigger the door open.  The driver was looking desperate, probably Ma’am or Sir were due back from their dinner and would be mightily upset that their limo had swallowed its own keys.  I knew from experience they would be hard pressed to open the car with just a wire coat hanger, you really need a brazing rod or something stiffer.  If I had my trusty old Slim Jim with me I could have had her open in a jiffy, but “going about equipped” is probably an offence here too, just like back home.

I had learnt the trade when I was a Military Policeman and had used it numerous times to my own advantage as much as anyone else’s so I know how dumb you feel when you lock the keys inside.  I also know the sweet relief as the door pops open but for this driver it was not to be.  Pretty soon the Dongs drifted away, but not without trying me out with a tentative “Merry Christmas Sir” plea for a handout.  After what I had just spent on a meal and a few drinks for one person, I wasn’t up for a spot of charity, never mind the weather!

My umbrella played hide and seek with itself all the way up the street, the tall buildings making the wind veer and wander so you couldn’t keep your brolly head to wind.  More than once I rounded up like my old sailboat on Sydney Harbour in a southerly just to save the umbrella spokes from terminally twisting themselves inside out.  The rain came in horizontally under the brolly that I had to hold in front of me leaving me walking blindly along the soaked sidewalk.  I had a few close calls with fellow pedestrians before I made it into the sanctuary of Macca’s.

I finished the caramel sundae, said goodbye to the clown and returned to the wind swept, rain soaked street and cast about for a jeepney to get me back to my room.  Two jeepneys roared past, ignoring my signal and naturally, empty.  Finally a very full jeepney came to a halt in front of me and I went to the back to clamber in.  Even though I hadn’t spotted anywhere to sit I scrambled aboard, knowing from experience a place would magically appear as I needed it.  It did and I plonked myself down with what little dignity I had left.  Trying to get my bear size bulk into these cut down sardine tins is an exercise in wishful thinking sometimes.  At least it was so windy and cool outside I was appreciative of the muggy warmth inside the vehicle.

What I didn’t cotton to was the smell.  It was like clinging to the collar of a giant, wet dog.  That damp dog smell, the one you get a whiff of just before he shakes four gallons of water onto you and your new carpet.  That’s the smell!  I hoped it wasn’t me and since the girls squeezed in either side of me didn’t seem to be squirming too much, I figured it came with the jeepney.

Getting from the jeepney stop to my lodgings proved to be another challenge in keeping my umbrella alive and me more or less dry at the same time.  We both made it without further loss or injury and I basically just settled in for what I knew would be a long, wet, windy night.  I gave thanks that I was nice and dry and warm and not wet, freezing and homeless like many would be that night.  Only the other day Tropical Depression “Winnie” had claimed over 300 lives.  I wondered what the butcher’s bill would be for this little spat Mother Nature was giving us?  I called the wife and made sure she and the kids were safe and well, then went to bed.  After all, once you’ve battened down your hatches, there’s not much else you can do in a Typhoon, Nature pretty much has her own agenda!

One Man’s Interpretation Only, Your Mileage May Vary.

Cebu was inhabited centuries before the Portuguese explorer (in the service of the King of Spain), Ferdinand Magellan, ever set fatefull foot upon Mactan’s shore.  Malay immigrants colonized the islands in the Visayas centuries before, driving the aboriginal inhabitants, the Aetaks into the mountains on some islands and wiping them out completely on others.  The later Spanish colonization was merely history repeating itself here as it has everywhere else on this planet.

When Magellan and his fleet of five ships anchored off Mactan island, Cebu, or Zeebu as it was also known, was already a thriving trading center.  Arab dhows, Chinese junks, sailing vessels from Siam and Malacca, all of these were there long before Europeans ever knew the islands existed.  Trade between the islands and other countries had been carried on for hundreds of years.  Cebu was repleat with pottery, textiles, implements and artefacts of other civilizations.  Few remember today how the people of that time had their own alphabet, knew mathematics and navigation and many other skills that were stamped out by the Spanish Friars as they converted them to Christianity.  The people kept their fighting arts alive by including them in religious plays called “Moro Moro” and the alphabet was used as a decorating pattern along the hems of the women’s skirts.

Magellan was defeated by Lapu Lapu, a local chieftain who, with the help of about a thousand warriors, slew Magellan and his less than one hundred men in the shallow tidal waters claimed to be on the east side of Mactan island.  There has never been any archaeological evidence of this battle found there and some argue the low lying coral island of Mactan could never have supported a thousand warriors and their families back in 1521.  They claim the battle actually took place elsewhere, perhaps on the Camotes Islands nearby.  If this were the case, then more than just the re-writing of the history books will need to done as much of the tourist infrastructure of Cebu relies on Magellan and Lapu Lapu having fought it out at the monument site just past the airport!

Life returned pretty much to normal after Magellan was killed.  His body was never recovered, even though the other ship’s captains offered to pay for it.  Most of them had been against Magellan’s inclination to show off to the chieftains and take sides in the local squabbles.  They had refused to send troops from their ships or fire their cannon to aid Magellan.  While the Filipino’s boast of how they defeated the invaders armed only with swords and wooden sticks and spears, the fact is the modern weaponry of the Spanish consisted of a half a dozen single shot muskets. They were able to fire each perhaps once in the battle and then were unable to be reloaded again before the fight became a hand to hand slog with swords and spears.  The Spaniards had removed their lower leg armour, or greaves, to prevent them rusting in the shallow salt water they would have to wade through to get to land.  The Cebuanos realised this and naturally hacked away at the unprotected calves of the otherwise well protected invaders.  When your enemy outnumbers you ten to one, even if every man had been armed with a musket the end result was a foregone conclusion.  Of course the Filipino penchant for grandstanding and never letting the truth get in the way of either a good story or a run for political office was alive and well, even back then.  I can well imagine Lapu Lapu standing over the fallen Magellan and calling for a microphone so he could sing the crowd a song.

In 1565, the Spanish colonizers Legazpi and Urdaneta arrived in Cebu and set about building a fort to protect them from the natives.  Fort San Pedro still stands to this day, although the original fort built by Legazpi was made from logs, the stone fort that replaced it has impressive walls twenty feet high and eight feet thick.  You can visit the fort today, stroll the gardens and visit the museum.  After the Spanish were ousted in the revolution of 1896-98 the fort was taken over first by the Revolutionaries, then the invading Americans and last saw military service in World War 2 when the Japanese holed up there during the liberation of Cebu by US forces in 1945.  Perhaps the best use of the fort was by the Cebu Garden Society as a botanical garden in the 1950’s!

In the nearly four hundred years between Legaspi and the Japanese, Cebu saw much oppression from the Spanish who seized large tracts of land for sugar cane plantations, their Friars who were often less than gentle in persuading the locals to convert to Catholicism, the Americans who assumed the role of the Spanish in 1899 and finally the brutal reign of the Japanese in WW2.  The jagged moutainous spine of the islands still offers succour and concealment to those fighting authority to this day with small, relatively ineffectual bands of NPA guerillas hiding in their remote valleys.

After Independence in 1946, Cebu enjoyed a period of economic growth as did other parts of the country, even surviving the downturn brought on by the implementing of Martial Law by Ferdinand Marcos in the seventies.  The Cebuano have always seen themselves as being different to the Tagalog and other clans and this is clearly evident by their continued use of their own language, Visayan and dialect, Cebuano.  The Spanish influence is naturally very strong in the region, both in the language and architecture. After all, the Spanish were here the longest and set up the first western style school in the country in Cebu which is still operating today as the University of San Carlos.  Cebu existed seven years before Manila, being officially recognised as the settlement Villa del Santisimo Nombre de Jesus in 1575.  The oldest street in the islands can still be walked along, Colon Street, not far from the Fort San Pedro and the San Agustin Church, now known as the Basilica Minore del Santo Niño.

Cebu became a municipality in 1901 and a City in 1937.  Since the end of the American Occupation, Cebu has grown into a small but vital city of around three quarters of a million people.  Many people prefer Cebu to Manila because it is smaller, easier to get around, has most of what Manila has to offer in material terms and yet is close to the beautiful beaches and natural wonders that make tropical living so special

Are There Business Opportunities To Be Had In The Philippines? We Take A Look Each Month.

So far I know of people who are getting involved in bat guano, tempura cart sales, sari sari wholesale supply and a few other interesting ventures, including real estate development, sea shells, prescription eyewear and more! The common denominator seems to be the desire to get involved in something. However, a word of warning.

A business in the Philippines can indeed be started on a frayed shoestring, unlike something you might try back home. But be aware that the less you invest the less it will produce. This has nothing to do with any law of diminishing returns, it is simply that the successful businesses here are successful for the same reasons a business is successful back in the UK or America.

If you have insufficient capital, or a poor location or no real business plan then just because it is only a few dollars to get Dong going doesn’t mean it has any special chance of success or even survival just because it is started in the Philippines. I was in a Chilli’s franchise tonight. Cost of the meals are over P200 and well into P400 with some even more. Drinks were fairly pricey too, but you can have the buy one take one beer deal for P65 that works out pretty good value. Anyway, the points I am making are twofold. Firstly it took a fair chunk of change to put up a decent business like Chilli’s in the first place and secondly, there is money in this country!

There may not be much to spread around in the province where the asawa comes from but in Quezon City there is a lot of it! I was speaking to a car dealer who brings in “gray imports”. On his lot he had a VW Tuareg, a Dodge Ram, a Mercedes, three Honda’s and so on. Plus a 2004 Range Rover HSE going for P6 million! Given the fact Land Rover pulled out of the country due to the gray import market back dooring them for billions, I wonder where the eventual buyer will get it serviced? Woe betide him if it breaks down or the computer chip needs a zap, nobody has the diagnostic gear to fix it!

So between the gray imports and the authorised importers, there has never been more new car metal on the roads in Manila. And it all costs money because financing here is a joke. I left Chilli’s and walked down T.Morato Avenue and turned into Timog Avenue, part of the South Triangle area of Quezon City. The place is wall to wall restaurants, coffee shops, liquor stores, aerobics gyms and anything else you want. By the time you sweat your way onto Quezon Avenue the giant KTV lounges and nite clubs fill your horizon with their ridiculous prices and lurid neon lies of love and popularity. No money here? Rubbish!

So if you don’t have real chunks of cash, then you are in the realm of the SME or small to medium enterprise, which officially lists a micro business as being worth up to P3 million, not including buildings etc!!!! Small businesses are P3-P15 million and medium sized P15-P100 million. Anything with more investment than that gets to call itself a large, or big business. If you don’t believe me, check the official DOLE figures! So unless you have US$60,000 or more in the venture, it isn’t even a “small” business! 

Getting back into Manila, my old stomping grounds, after a two year hiatus in Cebu has proven more than merely interesting. I have really gone out of my way to get back into the street vibe that oozes from this city’s pores. Everywhere you turn in Manila somebody is trying to turn a peso. Across the street from me every morning at 5.30am a young woman sets up a simple stall selling corn, sits there all day and by nightfall it still looks like she hasn’t sold a single cob.

Every second house has its obligatory sari sari store attached, the barred serving hatch the sign of a micro enterprise in the making. On the street corners, food vendors offer BBQ meat, BBQ bananas, squid balls, taho and anything else you can think of. There are ten million people in this city and it seems that at any one time five million of them are trying to sell the other five million something. Like I said, there is money in this country, it’s just a question of who has it and how much at any one time.

We Play Word Association To While Away The Hours Caught In Manila’s Traffic.

The other day I had to take a cab from one end of Makati, (Jupiter and Makati Avenue intersection), down Sen. Gil Puyat/Buendia Avenue to the LRT station on Taft. Straight run down one road, more or less. I entered the cab at 09.21 am, as proven by the printed receipt I have in my possession! Yes, a Manila cab with a receipt printer on the dash! The driver said he mainly works the Alabang area and sadly had to bring someone into Makati when I snaggled him. He promised he was heading back there as soon as he dropped me at the airport. I wasn’t going to the airport. He swore. I digress, where was I? Yes, in a cab at 09.21am heading down Sen Gil Puyat Avenue.

I arrived at my destination at 10.44am, 83 minutes and just 4 kilometres later! At a cost of P152 I had spent 71 minutes of that time standing still. At least the cab was stationery, I was squirming a fair bit in frustration! The “waiting time” is recorded via this machine the taxi was fitted with and this is how I know we didn’t move for exactly 1 hour and 11 minutes, in total. I wonder how long the journey would have been if I had taken it right in the middle of the peak “hour”? Of course peak hour in Manila lasts from 6am to at least 10am and then again from about 3pm to 8pm!

When I arrived in Manila the other week I took a taxi from NAIA2, the PAL terminal. I had to go upstairs to the departure drop off area as the airport management have cleared all taxis away from the arrivals area so they can maximise their revenue from airport “limo” services. In other words, the official going rate for a ride into Makati was P345, yet my cab cost me P120, and that included stopping twice to repair a busted fender and change a flat tyre! And this was at 7pm, the very height of peak hour!

When I came back to Manila this week I grabbed a cab at 9am for the trip to Quezon City. It took 90 minutes and cost me P200. The meter said P172 but the driver had asked for an agreed upon fare. I didn’t mind but I insisted he run the meter just so we could compare. Now maybe he was trying to get as close to the agreed P200 as possible, just so I didn’t do a Filipino on him and change my mind, but another person on the same flight arrived at the same destination as me 30 minutes sooner and for P150! His taxi took him via the “very traffic” EDSA route whereas my driver ducked through the middle of town following for the most part the northern railway line and squatter camp.

Traffic in this city is heavy, no doubt about it. It is, however, better disciplined than Cebu traffic, of that I am certain. Far more policing and more effective policing as well as more stringent road rules do make some difference. My favourite giggle is the “color coding” system used to limit the amount of traffic. On Mondays, cars whose license plates end in 1 or 2 are prohibited from being on the road. Tuesdays its 3 and 4, Wednesdays 5 and 6, Thursdays 7 and 8 and Fridays 9 and 0. Sensible system and one day a week is easy enough to overcome, arrange a lift with friends, work at home, use the other car, swap plates whatever. Now, can someone tell me where the “color” comes in to this system of coding? Another case of Taglish at work, methinks!

I have only been living and working here in Manila for a few days now but already the traffic is the locus of control over my life. Where I go and when I go, even if I bother to go anywhere, all is determined by the time of the day or night, the position of the stars and the planets and the omens in the entrails of the sisig soup the jeepney driver is having for his lunch! Where I am working and staying is right across from the Pantranco Jeepney Terminus, or Bat Cave as I call the dark and dreary dive. What it means is I can hop on any one of several jeepney lines and ride them to the end of their route, then simply ride back the same way and know I will never pass my stop!

Naturally, the best way of beating the clogged streets is to rise above it all and ride the LRT or MRT. These light rail systems are terrific. For less than P20 you can go from one end of town to the other, then swap lines and go somewhere else! The LRT has two carriages at the front reserved just for women, as I found out the hard way! I didn’t follow what the security guard was trying to tell me (move along, the first two carriages are women only you stupid foreigner!) and I stepped into a clean, quiet, orderly carriage…….full of women! I knew something was wrong and, concerned it was a trap set by my wife to tempt me into cheating on her, I quickly leapt out and ran to the next carriage. I was then able to stand at the end of the carriage and look through the large window into the women only car all the way to my station.

It can get crowded and those stairs leading up off the street are steep and many, but the MRT/LRT system can’t be beaten. There is a new east-west MRT line I will take one of these days, just to say I have done it! My only hesitation is to warn that pickpockets love the crowded conditions and they are very, very good at their craft. Never think for a second your wallet or purse is safe whenever you are within spitting distance of an MRT/LRT station or car. Then again, keeping one hand on your wallet is a small price to pay for missing out on sitting in the traffic for hours at a time.! If you have plenty of time to spare then why worry? Of course Manila is hardly an ideal retirement destination so most foreigners here are here for work and time is important.

An alternative might be to have a driver so you can sit in the back, read the newspaper or a report, make some calls on the cell phone and generally get some business done while in the traffic. At least it hasn’t degenerated into what Bangkok residents were forced to do a few years ago; basically live in their cars! They would leave home very early, give the kids their breakfast from the back of the family van parked outside of the school at the crack of dawn, then head for work, drop off hubby then fight back to school for the kids then back to work for hubby and then home so late it was re-pack car with the meals for the next day and hit the sack! What a life!

Manila’s traffic problems won’t go away, even as gasoline prices rise higher than ever before. More and more people are buying cars and more marques are opening dealerships to offer their wares to the car buying Filipino public. As the population moves upscale and can afford more and more luxuries such as personal vehicles, the only question left will be where can they enjoy them? More freeway systems are called for but the disruption caused during construction can be immense. I remember back in 1997 while the Skyway and the Ortigas overpass were being built, the traffic was just as bad as today, and there were fewer cars on the roads! Getting rid of the jeepneys and death-rattle buses is one answer, but hard on the lower income earners who need cheap mass transport. More light rail is another possible solution, but again construction will be a pain. Meanwhile, be as Filipino as you can, smile and go with the flow!

Spending The Day (And Often The Night) With The Whole Family In A Cebu Cemetery Part 1.

The first day of November is All Saints Day. The next day is All Souls Day. Or the other way around. Or both on the one day. It all depends on which explanation from my Asawa I was willing to accept as the right one. It varied each time I asked. I often do that, ask the same question several times or in slightly different ways. The answers rarely remain constant, just another part of the rich tapestry of life in this country.

Basically this is the drum. After Halloween, or all hallows eve, the witches and Onggu’s and evil spirits stop messing about and it’s time to nip down the cemetery, or “cement-tary” in Bisayan, and pay some respects to the dear departed. Apparently they go out and paint the town red on the 31^st October, then settle back into their crypts the next day, ready for the rellies’ visit.

Trying to get anywhere on All Saints/All Souls Day (I’ll combine them for the time being until told otherwise) is not impossible but it is fraught with drama. Buses and jeepneys run from the early hours and all are over loaded, packed to the rafters and then even more hardy souls perch on the roof and risk falling off. This does happen and if lucky they fall to the side which doesn’t have oncoming traffic to contend with! The police and traffic enforcers do actually try and curb the more obvious excesses, at least this is the explanation Asawa gave me this year when I asked why there were so many cops about. Last year it had something to do with overtime payments and the year before that it was a blank stare. Of course that was the first year we were married and communications have improved considerably since.

Having our own vehicle is a big help, of course this now means we can transport the entire family back to the vast family estates in Calape. So I decree that we will leave bright and early, spot on 6am. Naturally the city based family members (and the youngest sister who has been spending her High School break with us), arrive several days before the departure date. This allows them to re-acclimatise with living in close proximity to a foreigner, as well as tuck in to the ice cream, chocolate and other foreigner goodies that are regularly stocked at Chez Bear. Not that I eat them that often, but the Asawa and Anaks have all developed a taste for expensive imported foreigner foodstuffs! So have the rest of the family but I really don’t mind. I enjoy having them around, saves me washing the car, running to the sari sari and lots of other menial tasks.

So as I said, spot on 7am we depart. I am nothing if not Lord of All I Survey, the Supreme Leader! The Asawa pays lip service to my authority as only a “sub-servient” Asian wife can. Not sure how that myth ever got started but it is a standing joke in our household. So off we go, seven souls in a small sedan on All Saints/ All Souls Day. First stop was Jollibee so I could berate the staff for not having the Sausage and Egg Sunrise (like a McMuffin, but sweeter, of course). It is a 50/50 deal whether they will have the only western style breakfast item available during breakfast time. They will have fried chicken and rice, spaghetti, hotdogs, funny noodle dishes and burgers full of sugar but don’t expect them to have any breakfast items. It is all too hard for them to order the ingredients or make the items, far easier to just make the Filipino things they are comfortable with. We later stopped at another Jollibee where the girl was told several times the order was for two of these Sunrises, and of course after a 15 minute wait while they made it, she’d only ordered one. So then we waited another 15 minutes.

Back on the road I introduced the tribe to The Angels, at full volume, of course. Hard Aussie Rock didn’t seem to go down well, but Barry White did. I’ll keep that in mind but listening to the CD three times in a row proved to be too much, even for the most die hard Barry White fan on board. Meanwhile, with the tribe alternately chattering away or sleeping, the kilometres rolled under the wheels and we closed in on Calape. We stopped in Bogo and stocked up with meat and vegetables, UHT “fresh” milk and anything else that would be scarce to non-existent in Calape, like toilet paper.

Bogo has two main cemetery’s and like every other town we had passed through on the way they were doing a roaring trade. Stalls set up along the perimeter fence sold food and drinks, toys, candles, flowers and cell phones. Maybe they thought the dear departed would text them or were simply cashing in on the crowds. The police were there in force wondering whether they should try and control the traffic. While the Asawa shopped I watched and noticed they had a “No Entry” sign up and were trying to operate a one way circuit to ease congestion. After half an hour I saw a discussion take place and the sign was removed, the cops retired to the shade of a cold drink stall and life went on. I was silly enough to venture over and ask one of the cops why had they taken down the “No Entry” sign? He replied that since virtually nobody was taking any notice of it, they might as well take it down and let the traffic get on with it!

ALL SOULS DAY, FILIPINO FAMILY FUN.

Spending The Day (And Often The Night) With The Whole Family In A Cebu Cemetery Part 2.

Bogo has two main cemetery’s and like every other town we had passed through on the way they were doing a roaring trade. Stalls set up along the perimeter fence sold food and drinks, toys, candles, flowers and cell phones. Maybe they thought the dear departed would text them or were simply cashing in on the crowds. The police were there in force wondering whether they should try and control the traffic. While the Asawa shopped I watched and noticed they had a “No Entry” sign up and were trying to operate a one way circuit to ease congestion. After half an hour I saw a discussion take place and the sign was removed, the cops retired to the shade of a cold drink stall and life went on. I was silly enough to venture over and ask one of the cops why had they taken down the “No Entry” sign? He replied that since virtually nobody was taking any notice of it, they might as well take it down and let the traffic get on with it!

Don’t you just love this place? Back home people would obey the sign, or the police would start kicking some butt and make them obey. Here, they accepted the will of the people and simply ceased to try and regulate! I am impressed they took down the sign before handing the streets back to the traffic, that showed guts as well as an acceptance of the inevitable.

Once the Asawa was back with the groceries we drove the final 25 kilometres to Calape. The road is pretty rough in places and full of pot holes. With three adults and two small children in the back the suspension was having a hard time keeping the wheel arches from rubbing away the sidewalls of the tyres. Going home we had four adults, two small children and a baby in the back. To a Filipino all that matters is that you can fit in, any effect you might have on other aspects of the vehicle’s operation, like the suspension, is irrelevant. How many Filipino’s fit into the back of a Mitsubishi Lancer? One more!

Once at the vast family estates the Asawa and I borrowed our motorbike, the Lifan 100cc Super Tourer that we had “loaned to the inlaws last year” and tootled off to see our lot. We have a small farm lot in nearby Bagay and like to visit it whenever we are in Calape. My wife’s maternal grandparents have the lot next to ours so a visit was in order. Lolo the Grandfather was in fine form. Drunk as a Lord!

Within moments of being in the same nipa hut as Lolo I was drunk too! He greeted me like a long lost son ( I have to stop palming him peso’s every time we visit but he is a lovely old bloke). He kept yelling “Ya Tai!” like some pirate of the Caribbean, rolling the last syllable and adding other unintelligible words. Even my Asawa and her Aunt couldn’t understand what he was saying over and over. I decided to quote from Shakespeare’s’ “Henry V”, something I have found handles most situations where you haven’t a clue what to say!

He changed to “arrrgh! Ha tai!” for a while once he realised I meant what I said when I included him in my “band of brothers”. The line about “be he ne’er so vile this day shall gentle his condition” actually made sense to me in a way it never had before! We then “arrrrgh! Ha tai-ed” our way outside where I was able to break free while the Asawa distracted him with some beer money. He is a lovely old gentleman and so is his wife. Well, she smokes hand rolled cigars better than any man I ever met! She can keep the whole thing in her mouth, then open her lips and curl the stogey out on the end of her tongue! At over six hundred years old, that is quite a feat!

We dropped in at the cemetery on the way back, more to check out the roof we had paid for than to really do the All Saints/ All Souls thing. My Asawa would do that later or the next day with her sisters and mother. There were three boys at the plot next to ours. All around 12, one was kicking at the gate to the mausoleum type structure. I asked him if that was his family’s plot and he cast his eyes downward in shame, but replied that yes, it was. I told him to show a little respect to whoever paid for the gate and not kick the “tahi” out of it. If this were Australia, the UK or America you can imagine the response. But this is the Philippines. With eyes cast downwards and a chorus of sorry’s, the three boys ceased kicking the gate and started cleaning up the garbage lying around the plot. That would never happen back home, never!

Back at the stately family manse the cousins were running riot. We now had seven small children taking matters into their own hands. I kicked back with a cold beer and the laptop, the Asawa went to visit an old school chum and the kids went for the world record on decibel production from underdeveloped vocal chords. A feast would be available soon, then an easy evening and tomorrow, back to the city and the daily grind. For now, time to sit back and soak in the local colour. For me, that is a nice amber shade with a white frothy head!