Today’s Ride

June 28, 2024

At exactly 5 AM, I walked to the junction and managed to catch the first jeepney bound for the centro. At Plaza Rizal, where I got off, I quickly hired a trimobile to take me to the Bicol Cardiovascular Diagnostic Cooperative (BCDC). I was determined to get there before 7 AM for several routine laboratory tests. I urged the trimobile driver to drive swiftly so that I could be among the first patients. Despite our early arrival, a crowd had already gathered at the entrance of the BCDC. I hurried to the guard to get my number—25th in line. Not bad, I thought, considering I usually ended up being one of the last during previous visits.

The efficiency of the BCDC personnel from payment processing to conducting the tests was impressive. By a little past 7 AM, I was already out of the BCDC and on a trimobile heading back to the centro for breakfast at Jollibee Elias Angeles. The lab tests required fasting, which began after dinner the night before, so breakfast was especially welcome.

Instead of going home and then returning to the BCDC in the afternoon to collect my test results, I decided to visit Carolina to pass the time. The trip was only about 30 minutes each way. This was my second time taking a ride on the new minibus, known as a modern mode of transport in Naga City. These mini-buses also serve the Centro-Del Rosario route, running along the long stretch of Panganiban and competing with traditional jeepneys. Surprisingly, there seemed to be no animosity between the two factions.

With plenty of time on my hands, I scrutinized the new minibus. It featured a TV on the ceiling upfront, air conditioning, security cameras, an automatic door, and a display showing the date, time, and temperature. There was also a fan positioned above the driver’s seat. There were reminders to keep tickets for inspection. However, the ride wasn’t entirely comfortable—the body of the bus creaked incessantly, which was irritating. And the uneven concrete roads made the ride quite bumpy.

Along the way, I noticed that the landscape had changed tremendously since the 80s and 90s when I frequented the area for work. Many open spaces, grassy fields, shrubberies, and farmlands had been replaced by office buildings, hotels, bars, restaurants, eateries, churches, chapels of various denominations, and other structures. The Carolina village market could now pass as a small-town market. By 8 AM, many people were already up and about, immersed in their own activities.

The return trip was largely similar except for the wrong time displayed because it was 19 minutes late. And the conductor did not issue tickets unlike his counterpart on the way to Carolina who used a gadget that automatically produced the exact fare. Overall, the mini-bus was faster, secure, and more comfortable than a jeepney, though the fare was P36 one way (P31 for jeepney). As a senior, I only paid P29.

Skate, Anyone?

June 10, 2024

In the early 1970s, I was a frequent skate rider. During this time, I was part of a social survey team from the Ateneo de Naga deployed to the railroad towns of Camarines Sur, including Libmanan, Sipocot, Lupi, Ragay, and Del Gallego. Our daily routine depended heavily on the skate as our primary mode of transport. With no train stations in most barangays, trains were impractical for our needs. We had to conduct many interviews each day in sample barangays. Occasionally, we got lucky, and some of our fellow passengers were survey respondents, allowing us to start interviews while in transit.

The skate was an improvised public utility vehicle (PUV) made of wood and iron bars, which is a testament to Filipino ingenuity. The typical platform measured about 16 square feet and could carry up to 12 passengers on wooden benches. Bearings served as wheels for this rolling contraption. The driver would propel it forward until it reached the necessary speed and momentum. Eventually, the skate became motorized, dominating the rail tracks after the Philippine National Railways (PNR) ceased operations in Bicol.

Despite the risks, I enjoyed the novelty of the experience. My top priority was ensuring passengers quickly disembarked upon hearing an approaching train to ensure our safety. Crossing bridges several meters high, with a view of tumultuous waters below, made me contemplative. When two skates met, the one with fewer passengers would yield, and male passengers helped the driver lift the skate from the track. This tacit agreement among drivers, observed religiously, was unique to the Philippines.

An amusing incident happened when I accompanied a new hire, who was as large as a Sumo wrestler. He was slow and overly cautious boarding the skate since it was his first time. He occupied enough space for almost three passengers. The astute driver noticed and demanded “double ride” prompting knowing smiles among fellow passengers. My colleague agreed without issue. Trying to be funny, I told the driver that as a slim individual taking up just half the space of a single passenger, I should be entitled to half fare. The driver retorted that there was no such thing in the world of skate, much to the delight of the other passengers, who erupted in laughter.

The skate, born out of resourcefulness, symbolizes the Filipino spirit. The unspoken agreement and camaraderie among drivers and passengers demonstrate our ability to unite amidst unconventional circumstances.

Remembering the Past in Bagumbayan

March 20, 2024

When I look back at my childhood, I remember how my father didn’t believe in superstitions, especially when it came to cockfighting. Every Sunday, I eagerly went with him to the cockpit arena where I would pit a fighting cock. Whether I won or lost, I earned one peso, which was enough to treat myself to a Jess Lapid movie, a steamed siopao from Cosmos, and a bottle of Pepsi.

My father was known for having a short fuse, a trait my mother said I inherited from him. Despite warnings from friends about bad luck after a disagreement and entering a cockpit, my father remained unfazed. Every time he was in a bad mood, and we went to the cockpit arena, his fighting cocks would win proving his friends wrong.

One Sunday, a memory still vivid in my mind, as we settled into our seats in the “ulutan” (matching area), I noticed my father was both worried and amused. He leaned closer to me and whispered that we needed to leave asap. Thinking it was because of an upset stomach from eating too much spicy Bicol Express and sweet Santan with Pili nuts, I was surprised to learn the real reason. He had left his wallet with about 50 pesos in the back pocket of his pants for washing by my mother. Instead of going back for it, he decided to head home immediately. I chose to join him on the jeepney ride back. At that time, the initial bet for a cockfight was 22 pesos for a “sultada” (match) to start. His money was enough for the two fighting cocks we brought. The usual bet was 55 pesos. A bet of 110 pesos or more on a fighting cock was considered a significant wager indicating the favored one (“llamado“) to win the match.

When we got home, my mother greeted us with a knowing smile. She mentioned the superstition of leaving something important behind and then returning home to get it before going back to the cockpit arena. This incident revealed my father’s practical nature, strengthening my trust in him even more.