I forgot many things: the fruit, meat, and food stands right on the street where buses, jeepneys, cars, and every mode of mechanized transport zoom mere inches away from where you bargain for 5 mangoes., the stench of open air sewage flowing leisurely by with refuse and excrement, the burn of breathing in the raw pollution of Manila traffic on EDSA, the itch of trapped sweat under your skin not prepared for the sudden onset of heat and humidity, or the overwhelm of hundreds of people walking on each city block (the closest I have felt to this is standing in line to get my ticket checked at a Jets/Raiders play-off game with all of the side comments and pushing of exuberant Raider fans), then there is the complexity of language that to my ear is familiar yet unintelligible, or the surprise of how far your dollar really goes.
For my second lunch back in Manila I had grilled gindara (sea bass) I had the neck portion of the filet which in Japan is considered a delicacy. Many of my favorite sushi restaurants in the Bay Area offer Hamachi Kama, if you would like to try a close equivalent. But nothing could match melt in your mouth goodness of freshly grilled sea bass perfectly salted. The meal came with rice and is cooked in front of you. I also ordered a side dish of Laing (sautéed taro leaves in coconut milk with fresh chopped chili pepper). The whole meal cost less than 60 pesos and I got 50.25 pesos to my US dollar. I've paid $17 dollars in a fish market in the US for less fish than I received.
I took a taxi to go visit my godfather across town. It's the equivalent of going from downtown San Francisco to Daly City. It cost three dollars. Papa, that's what I call my godfather, is Yakan and from Basilan. He's the head coach for the PhilSilat Team. He wasn't there when I arrived, but I got to hang out with his colleagues at the PhilSilat headquarters in the Rizal Memorial Sports Complex. This is the training complex where the majority of the national Olympic teams train. For those who are interested the PhilSilat Headquarters is the Football Stadium dugout across from the new Athletes Lounge.
Papa's colluegues were both Muslims who had done their Hadj to Mecca and had worked as oversea labor in Saudi Arabia. Imagine two proud Tausug warriors from Jolo in the Sulu Archipelago now teaching Sports Silat while telling me they still keep the real stuff secret and for their families. It was interesting to hear the pride in their heritage while talking about working and raising a family in the modern Philippines. They had a guest, a sports reporter from Malaysia. We talked about the Christian Filipinos who form the majority of the National Ohlaraga Sports team and why they train, while delving into tangents of other martial arts, and life in America and Malaysia.
It was dark when I left them; I started to walk while bats chased down flying bugs above. Ever present as I left the compound was the intense screaming of Basketball fans. It sounded like an American playoff game. I walked intentionally yet without a clear goal: I think I needed to take in Manila.
I walked for six hours and got lost three times: once in Quiapo, again in some side streets near UST, and finally in some side neighborhood off Timog near East Avenue. I had a map with me the whole time but didn't use it until I got home until to see where I had been. I had walked from just south of Ermita to Matalino Street (Where I am staying) near Quezon City Hall. I never felt it was wise to pull out a street map while walking where I was walking.
I'm a city boy at heart and walking city streets at night is a familiar past time. I learned early via my father's guidance how to case the blocks ahead looking for possible ambushes. He stressed how to read the bodies of those who are reading you. The only time I truly felt fear was on a few darkened streets where only one visible lookout was watching me, though rarely directly. This was always a strange contrast to the other areas of Manila bustling with pedestrians.
Once near home while walking in the Park-like area around the Quezon City Circle I had an individual attempt to stare me down and approach me. I choose to keep on my intended path, nod an acknowledgment, and keep on my way. I used an approach I learned from several of my silat instructors for increasing my rearward peripheral vision: look at the ground and you rear ward vision increases another 90 degrees. My father also taught me this years ago when trying to teach me Basketball; he said it was especially useful when you are stopped and double teamed. As I passed him, he stopped to pause, took another two steps towards me and then faded back. I looked back and he turned away. I guess I'm not an appetizing target.
