Salon Wanderlust | Helen of Troy is in my taxi

[Salon Wanderlust: Travel with a passion]

T A B L E_T A L K
Offer your tips to a Table Talker who plans to spend Easter in Paris with his son

___________________
Read more about the Philippines at barnesandnoble.com
___________________

R E C E N T L Y
'Don't shoot -- we're Americans!'
By Daniel Becker
A hike across the Macedonia-Albania border goes wrong
(03/18/99)
Original sin
By Janis Cooke Newman
A culinary pilgrim in Italy succumbs to temptations far more wicked than ripe produce
(03/17/99)
Where the wild things are
By John Fox
An archaeologist explores the Galapagos on an expedition run by school kids
(03/16/99)
Going native
By Chris Colin
For American college students living abroad, the question is: How local can you get?
(03/15/99)
Family sanity
By Phaedra Hise
A mother reveals her secret on how to travel with children -- and still feel like you're on vacation
(03/12/99)

Browse the
Wanderlust Feature archives

Wanderlust's Official
Travel Book Partner

_____^{HELEN OF TROY IS IN MY}t a x i
_{A wanderer discovers the ambiguity of}
______________{language and love in the Philippines.}

BY ROLF POTTS | The most distinctive thing about a taxi ride through central Manila is that the traffic moves with the same mind-numbing tedium usually reserved for imperceptible acts of nature. Noting one's progress through the smog-browned streets around Rizal Park carries all the hair-raising thrill of watching the Big Dipper move around the North Star, or observing the growth-rate of Zoysia grass.
Thus, I was nearly asleep in the sweetly rotten, sticky-cool narcotic haze of my taxi's rattling air-conditioning when the driver jolted me to my senses by speaking to me for the first time in our 20-minute ride.
"Perhaps, sir, you would like a beautiful girl to ride in this taxi with you."
Having spent the previous day walking around Manila's international Ermita district, I knew that Philippine English is rarely meant to be taken at face value. In Ermita, "Would you like to buy a newspaper?" actually means "I found this newspaper in the gutter, and I am going to use it to cover my hands while I fish around for your wallet." In Ermita, "I want to be your friend and show you my city" actually means "I want to spend 20 minutes taking you to a cash machine you could have found in two, then demand a $5 tip." Similarly, "Would you like to meet a beautiful girl?" generally means "You look like someone who might pay money to have sex with a drug addict."
My mind fumbled for the best way to shoot down my driver's proposition. "Um, I'm really in a hurry to get to the airport," I told him.
"I think she is going to the airport also," he said. Before I could reply, the driver threw open his door and jumped out of the taxi. Baffled, I sat in the cab for a full 20 seconds, nervously cataloging in my mind all the horrible, tiresome things that were about to happen. When the driver came back and opened up the back-seat door across from me, I barely had the courage to look at him. "Rosalia is a nice computer student from San Jose University," he said, grinning. "She is very happy you want to pay for her ride to the airport."
I was an instant from slipping out the other door and escaping into the hot Manila morning when a shy-eyed young Filipina stepped into the cab, her arms full of bags and packages. I stopped short. Rosalia was an angelic vision of gentle dark eyes, pale smooth arms, long curved eyelashes and straight-backed poise. My skepticism wavered. This girl was too demure, too refined to be on the make. Suddenly chivalrous, I helped Rosalia arrange her bags. She wordlessly offered me a stick of gum, and I accepted it with meek reverence. I could just make out that her hair smelled like flowers.
I sat speechless as the driver got back in behind the wheel and we resumed our standstill. For the first time since arriving in Manila, a "beautiful girl" was actually a beautiful girl.
Since even the most grizzled atheist would have no choice but to take this scenario as proof of God's providence, I resolved to charm Rosalia. Unfortunately, I have always been much better at being interesting than being charming. Where, for instance, a charm-savvy guy would take the opportunity to tell a girl that she has beautiful eyes, I always manage to ask a girl about her hobbies, make droll observations about disco music or point out the house where Doc Holliday slept in 1871.
Gathering my wits, I wooed Rosalia for the entirety of our 30-minute creep to the airport. Reasoning that this might be my last chance at sharing a cab with a beautiful stranger in a foreign country, I flattered her and told her jokes and demanded her opinion on everything. I made her blush on three separate occasions, which I took to be a good sign. When we got out of the cab, I gave the driver a generous tip, then helped Rosalia with her bags. She thanked me for my kindness and told me to call her if I ever visited her hometown.
At this point, all I really knew about her was that she lived on the central Visayan island of Cebu, liked Carpenters' songs and didn't know how to swim. Nonetheless, I suddenly found myself saying, "I'm headed for Cebu City right now!" -- which actually meant "I'm headed to Boracay right now, but how hard can it be to change a plane ticket!"
I went up to the Philippines Airlines office and had things squared away in 10 minutes. My flight to Cebu was later than Rosalia's, but I figured this would allow me some time alone to let things sink in. Wanting to be somewhat levelheaded about what I was doing, I resolved to put all romantic scenarios out of my mind until I landed in Cebu and got my bearings. Complimentary copies of the Philippine Star were available in the waiting lounge, so I grabbed a newspaper and took a seat.
Over the years, countless facets of American pop culture have insinuated themselves into Philippine life. Irony is not one of them. The lead story in the airport-issued newspaper was about a horrific plane crash in the Visayas. "Civilian searchers recounted seeing identifiable body parts," the article read, "including arms, legs, pieces of brain, eyeballs and severed heads, hanging from branches and scattered on the ground ..." Abandoning the Philippine Star in mid-sentence, I returned to obsessing on my impending romance with lovely Rosalia.
By the time I had landed in Cebu and took a jeepney to the Osmena Boulevard hotel district, I'd marked up my Cebu City tourist map like it was a Pittsburgh Steelers playbook, circling parks and markets, restaurants and beaches, plazas and scenic overlooks. I was completely ready for a day of classical romance in the crowded humidity of this strange new city. I checked into a pension house overlooking the circular Old World streets of Fuente Osmena, called Rosalia at her home, proposed a grand picnic date the following afternoon and went to bed early.
N E X T+P A G E | "You are very handsome and kind"


	T A B L E_T A L K Offer your tips to a Table Talker who plans to spend Easter in Paris with his son ___________________ Read more about the Philippines at barnesandnoble.com ___________________ R E C E N T L Y 'Don't shoot -- we're Americans!' By Daniel Becker A hike across the Macedonia-Albania border goes wrong (03/18/99) Original sin By Janis Cooke Newman A culinary pilgrim in Italy succumbs to temptations far more wicked than ripe produce (03/17/99) Where the wild things are By John Fox An archaeologist explores the Galapagos on an expedition run by school kids (03/16/99) Going native By Chris Colin For American college students living abroad, the question is: How local can you get? (03/15/99) Family sanity By Phaedra Hise A mother reveals her secret on how to travel with children -- and still feel like you're on vacation (03/12/99) Browse the Wanderlust Feature archives Wanderlust's Official Travel Book Partner		_____^{HELEN OF TROY IS IN MY}t a x i _{A wanderer discovers the ambiguity of} ______________{language and love in the Philippines.} BY ROLF POTTS \| The most distinctive thing about a taxi ride through central Manila is that the traffic moves with the same mind-numbing tedium usually reserved for imperceptible acts of nature. Noting one's progress through the smog-browned streets around Rizal Park carries all the hair-raising thrill of watching the Big Dipper move around the North Star, or observing the growth-rate of Zoysia grass. Thus, I was nearly asleep in the sweetly rotten, sticky-cool narcotic haze of my taxi's rattling air-conditioning when the driver jolted me to my senses by speaking to me for the first time in our 20-minute ride. "Perhaps, sir, you would like a beautiful girl to ride in this taxi with you." Having spent the previous day walking around Manila's international Ermita district, I knew that Philippine English is rarely meant to be taken at face value. In Ermita, "Would you like to buy a newspaper?" actually means "I found this newspaper in the gutter, and I am going to use it to cover my hands while I fish around for your wallet." In Ermita, "I want to be your friend and show you my city" actually means "I want to spend 20 minutes taking you to a cash machine you could have found in two, then demand a $5 tip." Similarly, "Would you like to meet a beautiful girl?" generally means "You look like someone who might pay money to have sex with a drug addict." My mind fumbled for the best way to shoot down my driver's proposition. "Um, I'm really in a hurry to get to the airport," I told him. "I think she is going to the airport also," he said. Before I could reply, the driver threw open his door and jumped out of the taxi. Baffled, I sat in the cab for a full 20 seconds, nervously cataloging in my mind all the horrible, tiresome things that were about to happen. When the driver came back and opened up the back-seat door across from me, I barely had the courage to look at him. "Rosalia is a nice computer student from San Jose University," he said, grinning. "She is very happy you want to pay for her ride to the airport." I was an instant from slipping out the other door and escaping into the hot Manila morning when a shy-eyed young Filipina stepped into the cab, her arms full of bags and packages. I stopped short. Rosalia was an angelic vision of gentle dark eyes, pale smooth arms, long curved eyelashes and straight-backed poise. My skepticism wavered. This girl was too demure, too refined to be on the make. Suddenly chivalrous, I helped Rosalia arrange her bags. She wordlessly offered me a stick of gum, and I accepted it with meek reverence. I could just make out that her hair smelled like flowers. I sat speechless as the driver got back in behind the wheel and we resumed our standstill. For the first time since arriving in Manila, a "beautiful girl" was actually a beautiful girl. Since even the most grizzled atheist would have no choice but to take this scenario as proof of God's providence, I resolved to charm Rosalia. Unfortunately, I have always been much better at being interesting than being charming. Where, for instance, a charm-savvy guy would take the opportunity to tell a girl that she has beautiful eyes, I always manage to ask a girl about her hobbies, make droll observations about disco music or point out the house where Doc Holliday slept in 1871. Gathering my wits, I wooed Rosalia for the entirety of our 30-minute creep to the airport. Reasoning that this might be my last chance at sharing a cab with a beautiful stranger in a foreign country, I flattered her and told her jokes and demanded her opinion on everything. I made her blush on three separate occasions, which I took to be a good sign. When we got out of the cab, I gave the driver a generous tip, then helped Rosalia with her bags. She thanked me for my kindness and told me to call her if I ever visited her hometown. At this point, all I really knew about her was that she lived on the central Visayan island of Cebu, liked Carpenters' songs and didn't know how to swim. Nonetheless, I suddenly found myself saying, "I'm headed for Cebu City right now!" -- which actually meant "I'm headed to Boracay right now, but how hard can it be to change a plane ticket!" I went up to the Philippines Airlines office and had things squared away in 10 minutes. My flight to Cebu was later than Rosalia's, but I figured this would allow me some time alone to let things sink in. Wanting to be somewhat levelheaded about what I was doing, I resolved to put all romantic scenarios out of my mind until I landed in Cebu and got my bearings. Complimentary copies of the Philippine Star were available in the waiting lounge, so I grabbed a newspaper and took a seat. Over the years, countless facets of American pop culture have insinuated themselves into Philippine life. Irony is not one of them. The lead story in the airport-issued newspaper was about a horrific plane crash in the Visayas. "Civilian searchers recounted seeing identifiable body parts," the article read, "including arms, legs, pieces of brain, eyeballs and severed heads, hanging from branches and scattered on the ground ..." Abandoning the Philippine Star in mid-sentence, I returned to obsessing on my impending romance with lovely Rosalia. By the time I had landed in Cebu and took a jeepney to the Osmena Boulevard hotel district, I'd marked up my Cebu City tourist map like it was a Pittsburgh Steelers playbook, circling parks and markets, restaurants and beaches, plazas and scenic overlooks. I was completely ready for a day of classical romance in the crowded humidity of this strange new city. I checked into a pension house overlooking the circular Old World streets of Fuente Osmena, called Rosalia at her home, proposed a grand picnic date the following afternoon and went to bed early. N E X T+P A G E \| "You are very handsome and kind"