Ateneo de Manila

The trip got of to a bad start on Monday morning as I couldn’t for the life of me find the gadget for accessing my Internet bank. After all, I had gotten the incredibly clever idea of moving most of my money from the bank account connected to my bank card, and thereby limiting the amounts that skimmers and other miscreants can access. However, without the gadget I would be just as cut off from that money as they are. I turned the apartment upside-down before giving up, and by now I had to call a cab to make sure that I got to the train in time not to worry about the recently horribly dysfunctional traffic in the Öresund region. So sorry Sara for not handing over the papers like planned, I’ll send them in an envelope instead.

For this trip I flew to Amsterdam from Copenhagen with KLM, and then I had a very Dutch time all the way to Manila. All in all it took about 14 hours of flight time and 4 hours of waiting, making it my longest trip ever. Shiphol was as boring as always, with their passport checks for transiting travellers as well as an extra security check before going on board that took almost an hour. On the flight to Manila I sat next to a middle aged Filipino woman who is working as a maid in the UK, and her talkative nature made my sleepless flight a bit faster. Her actual name was Julia but she went under the nickname Theresa because of her habit of harbouring jobless family and friends in her house.

We arrived in Manila at 8 in the morning. Theresa hitched me up with a taxi to Ateneo de Manila, the university that is hosting me during my stay in the Philippines. Knowing how to find reliable taxis is an important skill in the Philippines, a country were fake taxi drivers will drive you away to rob you, kidnap you, or worse. So I got one of the more expensive ones, which meant that my one hour drive from the airport cost 740 pesos, about 120 SEK or so. This would be my first experience with Filipino traffic, a topic that I’m sure to return to later. Let’s just for now say that car lanes are more of a recommendation than an absolute rule, motorcycles are everywhere and they’re completely insane, and that the air is incredibly polluted. I also drove pass the big Army Marines training centre and a ton of guards, the air force and a multitude of tin roof shanties.

Ateneo de Manila is a well guarded university. As a naïve Swede I was pretty surprised and unused to the fact that there were actual guards at the entrances at Waseda University in Tokyo, but this is completely different. The entire campus is closed off with spiky fences and there are guards at every small entrance, requiring you to show a university ID or some kind of paperwork before granting you entry. Except for me of course. Not knowing the rules and/or flagrantly ignoring them are surprisingly effective ways in getting you past obstacles. A pale face and a confident “oh, I’m just going to the Department of Development Studies” has this far shamelessly managed to get me through the checkpoint not just once, but three times. By now (Monday) they just let me in without asking, given that I’m the only bearded Swede on campus and pretty easy to distinguish.

Once I arrived at the department it turned out that my contact, Leland de la Cruz, was busy lecturing but I got my own little cubicle to set up my things in. I was trying to do some reading as I waited for him to finish, but it was very hard by now to keep awake. At 3 PM he arrived, a thin and tall man with an infectious smile. We had a small chat about the RH bill, and then I went away to find my dorm. It turned out to be one of the newer buildings on the campus, a very small dorm but one of few that have both air condition and a separate shower. So I’m basically living in luxury as far as university students go.

Me and Leland had made an appointment at 7, so until then I had a few hours to kill. I spent those walking around campus, trying to find such basic things as the library and the ATM machine, and I also took a brief stroll outside the campus gates. Needless to say, that’s where the real, and for me scary, part of Manila begins. The campus area is a safe haven, a privileged secure part of town bristling with leopard guards (really, that’s what is says on their nametags!). Outside, it’s more dirty and chaotic. The Katipunan avenue next to the campus has ten lanes, but they are so narrow that the road is about as wide as five Swedish lanes. Just walking in the heat and pollution is exhausting for my pampered lungs. Along the busy road is a variety of food shops: your standard Starbucks, Pizza Hut and McDonalds interrupted by the random local fast food chains such as Jollibees and Pancake House. There’s also National Bookstore which is pretty good and a Kodak shop that has been eluding me for two days now. I need to get an ID photo for my guest card, but I just can’t find it.

After this excursion and some more time in the office, Leland was finally free from classes and he drove me to the local mall, SM (Shoemart) Marikina. It’s just about 10-15 minutes from Ateneo, a drive down the hills through narrow roads where houses built of naked concrete block masonry and corrugated tin crawl up the hillsides. Flocks of children, dogs and motorcycles line up along the curved streets and I’m struck by how dark it is, since these areas completely lack streetlights.

Once at SM Marikina, I’m once more reminded that I’m in a different country. Before entering the parking lot two guards check our ID, the back seat and our trunk. I also have my backpack checked by another security guard before entering the actual mall. By now I’m almost crippled by sleep depravation, but we have some fried fish and rice at another Filipino chain store specialized in pancakes, and we try to find a power converter for my laptop. Most everybody speak at least some English, but that doesn’t mean that they don’t prefer to speak in Tagalog. So the typical conversation is made up of me standing like a fool while Leland rapidly talking to the staff, and after a while asking me a question in English, and then continue in Tagalog. I just stand back and everything is eventually solved. In this way I end up with just a tiny plug (costing about 3 SEK) instead of a real power converter, which I hope won’t completely screw up this computer in the long run since I borrowed it from my sister. Thanks for that, Sis! I also end up with socks, underwear and a new shirt. I’m sweating through two shirts a day if I’m out and about, so I’ll definitely need more clothes. The staff is completely overbearing and in my sleep deprived state I have immense problem in fighting them off.
“Hello Sir! Would you like boxers or briefs? Are these fine? So you want black ones? This model or this model? This model or this model? Are these fine? Do you want some pants too? No pants? But are these fine?” I just want to go to the rack, take the stuff I want and go, but that turns out to be a difficult prospect here. After that we move on into what turns into another quagmire; mobile phones. Again I just want the cheapest one they have and a phone card, but this also turns into a long rambling session about how to switch backgrounds and how to use the charger. I realize how much the plain disinterest of Swedish storeowners have made me almost allergic to customer service.

Finally I’m driven home to my dorm after two sleepless days and a truckload of new impressions. Little do I know that I’m about to wake up in a pool of sweat and a broken back, but that is still in the future. For now I’m left to enjoy the relatively cool night air, alone bar the random 15yo dorm guys and giant cockroach staring at me in the hall. Good night.

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