MANILA STOP-OVER

New Zealand Listener, Volume 26, Issue 667, 18 April 1952, Page 18

MANILA STOP-OVER

by

MICHAEL

HARDWICK

NLESS you travel the Hong Kong way, the air route from Tokyo to Sydney takes you via the Philippine Islands. It is a strenuous journey -three hops of about twelve hours each, with only an evening and a night in Manila on the way. Autumn was coming on, and it was cool when I left Japan. We crossed hundreds of miles of dreary sea. The roadscarred face of Okinawa was the only thing worth looking out of the window for. Even from the height we were flying I could see the great bombers lined up in bays alongside the many airstrips.

Luzon came into view shortly before it began to get dark, and the pilot started to let down. Almost at once I was conscious of the increasing heat. By the time we taxied to the front of the Manila airport building I was perspiring. As we entered the terminal a girl handed us bottles of iced coca-cola. In spite of bags in our hands and passports and papers between all our fingers we were glad to accept them. Taxis waited outside to take us to the hotel. The streets near the airport were narrow and the disorderly buildings seemed to be holding one another up. Young men and women, in gaily coloured shirts and slacks, lounged in the lighted doorways, apparently untroubled by the near-by heaps of garbage and the unhealthy-looking dogs which sniffed around them. We came on to the side road that runs along the sea front, and the character of the buildings changed abruptly. © We passed flashy restaurants and night spots with big neon signs and ultramodern interiors. At a check point a fat policeman in khaki drill and a solar topee looked at each of us closely and peered suspiciously at our baggage. I gathered he was on. the lookout for weapons. Small arms are all very well in Manila, but rifles and machine guns they consider bad taste. I noticed all the policemen wore revolvers, and I got ready to duck when a little further on one blew his whistle at us and our driver responded by putting his foot down hard on the accelerator. No shots came, however, and when we seemed to be out of range he slowed down again and explained that the police run a_ little racket of fining drivers for speeding and pocketing the proceeds. If the taximan refuses to pay he is booked on a false charge and faces a court action. We arrived at the Manila Hotel, the biggest they have. MacArthur used to use it. It is a big, modern building, and I found it hard to realise that a few years ago it had been an empty shell. The Americans fought the Japanese from floor to floor and room to room to win it back. Bed and Dinner, & The foyer was large and contained several shops and travel agencies. A few white-clad civilians -- Americans I guessed-sat about on the heavy sofas. and perspired freely as they puffed on long cigars and eyed the passing parade. Amongst ‘all this splendour I was surprised by the dreariness of the little room to which I was led. It was

stiflingly hot and the lighting was poor. As I walked in I was in time to see a fine figure of a cockroach scuttle under the bed. I needed a good night’s sleep, so by paying another 5 pesos at the reception desk I got myself transferred to the air-conditioned wing. Here my room was spacious and well furtished, but my taking it brought the combined amount paid by the airways company and myself for one night’s bed and a dinner to 25 pesos-£5 in New Zealand currency. The dining room was huge, with a dance floor and a noisy band playing

pot-pourris from Italian opera. Obtaining something to eat proved an unexpected problem. I counted ten waiters in my vicinity, all ready to encourage and advise one another, but none prepared to do any serving. At length one wandered across and placed before me some lukewarm soup in a chipped bowl. I had not ordered it (there was no menu, anyway), but I accepted it, and I was glad I did, for I was quite unable to eat any of the courses that followed. I tried fish and chicken and a dessert, but one mouthful of each was enough. It was a bitter experience to sit in surroundings of such splendour and toy with a meal that might have cist a hash hoise. I spent the evening talking with a local airways officer and his wife in one of the bars. They were English, but they seemed to like the life there well enough. I couldn’t see why when they told me a week’s housekeeping for their family of four cost the equivalent of £20. Two pounds of sirloin beef, the lady told me, cost£2. But services were good; their grocer delivers three times a day. While we talked I ordered three small bottles of beer. They cost me £1. Departure Delayed Our departure the next morning was delayed. Someone had backed a truck into the aeroplane’s wing during the

night, and there was a rumour that we might have to stay in Manila four days. We were told we should have a decision by rioon, so we found ourselves with a morning to fill-in. My empty stomach insisted on breakfast. I sat down at a table opposite another passenger, but for some minutes none of the waiters made a move to serve me. I called one over. , "How about some breakfast, please?" "Well, what do you want?" "What have you got?" "Pinapple juice." For an awful moment I’ thought it was going to end: there. The man at my table was. eating eggs. The waiter pointed to them and raised an enquiring eyebrow. I had eggs. Three of us joined forces after breakfast and hired a taxi, to see what we could of the city. It was a large

American car. The driver showed no sign of wishing to speak, but we kept up a barrage of questions and at length irritated him into responding. He was a staunch patriot. He started by letting it be known that everything in the Philippine Islands was as good as (mostly better than) its counterpart in the United States. All the top American Generals and Admirals owed their fame to their service in the Philippines, he contended, and followed this with the strange claim that his countrymen spoke better English than Norwegians. We had noticed the large number of new American cars everywhere, and he told us that in parts of the Philippines there are four cars to every head of population. A yellow Cadillac convertible flashed by as he spoke. I glanced at our speedometer; we were doing 80, and seemed to be cruising. We asked him how much a car like that would cost. "About 22,000 American dollars," "But," we protested, "for a price like that you could buy a new Rolls." "Who wants a Rolls Royce?" he demanded. "We don’t want cars that last a hundred years. buy them for their looks. We get a new one every other year." Gilded Jeeps Off the marine drive the streets were narrow. There are no trams in Manila and I don’t recall seeing a bus. The

most popular form of transportation seemed to be converted jeeps with ornate canopies supported on gilded columns, and about twelve seats. They looked like runaways from a merry-go-round. We passed the ruins of the ancient walled city and the remains of old Spanish churches. Across the new MacArthur Bridge we found ourselves in the shopping district. There were some fine buildings and shops, and once again it was difficult to believe that. only a few years before there had been scarcely am undamaged’ building in, Manila. The city hall, the main post office, every one of the big, lightcoloured buildings was new. The shops were inviting but we had no time to explore them. It was probably just as well. The driver spoke of diamonds at 500 dollars a carat, shirts. at £3/10/- each, and shoes at £12 a pair. I asked him how much the average worker earned. He said a clerk got about £10 per week, but added that everyone made extra money by buying and selling and various profitable sidelines. He owned six new taxis and made about £200 per month, We pulled up at a traffic light, and a civilian on a bicycle drew just ahead of us. From his trouser pocket the butt of a revolver protruded. I had noticed signs everywhere, even in the Manila Hotel, saying "Check Your Firearms" and "No Firearms Allowed." The taximan explained that in the Philippines the gun is the tongue of argument. Nearly every day they find at least one corpse stuffed in a public garbage can. The better class homés, we observed, had high wails siirrounding the . courtyard in front of them. If a houséholder looks out of the window and sees a stranger within the walls he is entitled to shoot first and investigate later. ‘We got back to the hotel to find the taxis loading up for the airport. Once more "we swept along the smooth road by the sea. The breeze through the open windows cooled us, but as soon as we got out the perspiring began again. As the big plane gathered speed along the runway the air began ‘to hiss through the ventilators and we shot up over the rusty, corrugatéd iron, roofs of the shacks around the airfield. We climbed and turned slowly. The iron roofs gave way to the coloured tiles of pleasant. villas and the concrete masses of commercial buildings. The harbour was littered with halfsunken shipping. Fishing traps in the form of arrows gave the muddy sea the appearance of a convict’s shirt. In the haze across the bay lurked the grim, grey shape of Corregidor, which the Filippinos are considering re-naming MacArthur Island. We headed southwards across Luzon. I opened the front of my shirt further and focused the cool air jet from the ventilator on to my bare chest. I felt I could breathe again. ?