view from my perch - Baguio house

Every morning I would take my coffee at the patio fronting the small hotel and facing the single-row parking lot, and this is a picture of what unfolded before me. This is a house in Baguio.

I had been spending part of the humid month at a Beach resort in Subic when the heat, combined with the noxious fumes from the exhausts of jeepneys and tricycles started an annoying irritation in my throat. Thinking that the cooler climate of the mountains might offer a relief, I climbed on a Victory liner bus and headed for Baguio.

It was at the tail end of the holy week observation in the Philippines and lodging was pretty scarce and to make matters worse, I got there just before midnight. But a retail vendor at the bus station in Olongapo, knowing beforehand what predicament I would be in in Baguio, gave me a number to call if and when the circumstance presented itself. So I ended up at this small hotel where some residents shared a community bathroom located down the hall. I had my own bathroom though and it was clean, as were the room and bed. But like everyone else's, my room lacked an air-conditioning unit.

What my room had, to offset that little inconvenience, was a set of French doors that opened out to a small deck. I had these doors wide open all day and night to mitigate the problem of the heat.

It could have been written somewhere in the hotel's brochure that it offered rooms with a view, and if it did, then this ( the house) was it. The only view it could have had as it was flanked on the other three sides by taller buildings.

It is a house that has seen better days. And probably better times.

It sits on a gently sloping part of the mountain and the gradient probably affected the design of the bi-level first floor and basement. The second story probably houses most if not all of the bedrooms. Wide windows let in abundant southern light to the living and dining room on the first floor and the family room at the basement. They also provided a sweeping view of the area. Twin dormers added personality to the facade and flood the mezzanine with soft natural light. A red-brick veneered flue towers over all structures, pierces the corrugated iron roof and drops down to fireplaces on the first and basement floors. It is a big house, but balance and symmetry are not lost in the over-all design. Yes, in its day, it was a nicely built house.

And this is how it looks today. It was a well-built house and the structural integrity of the building including the fireplace and the retaining wall below the metal fence has pretty much held-up through the years. But regular maintenance especially at the exterior has been neglected. The wood sidings, unpainted to show natural colors, are blackened by layers of watermarks and long exposure to the elements. The iron roofing exhibits rust in most areas and the eave gutter has sagged.

In the early days, one looked out the wide windows and saw a sweeping view of the rolling mountains, perennially kept green by the constant tropical rains. Beyond the first few ridges, winding roads hugged the mountain sides slipping in and out of view as they find their way slowly into the valleys. Majestic pine trees mingled with sturdy hardwoods as the winds playfully agitate their leaves. And on a clear day , some of the the famous rice terraces are visible. In the summer, when the hot air from the lowlands rose up to meet descending cold front, they formed a fog that blanketed the sides of the mountains hiding its lore and mysteries.

Today, the view is blocked by the hotel where I stayed in and the other commercial high-rise, mostly hotels, in the area. But even if the hotels weren't there the view has been forever changed.

The thick forests of pines have dwindled, their growth stunted by, among other things, the changing environmental temperature which is increasing unrestrained and intractable. The hills are alive with the unchecked proliferation of construction of squalid and nondescript dwellings of squatters. But even the ones that were built through proper channels, didn't adhere to any planning restrictions, it seems like. Setbacks were ignored and architectural aesthetics were thrown out the window.

You can see the whole width of most roads now because the trees have diminished. You can see the rivers too and the bridges that span across them. The roads are littered with trash and stained with grime. The bridges have become dumping grounds for garbage and the garbage remain uncollected for who-knows- how-long; the next one seems to be a bigger dump than the last. The rivers receive the overflow of trash and garbage. And do not look down into them, they don't look like rivers you can swim in; they are brown, red, murky and dirty.

When you're in town, especially downtown, don't try to listen to the rustle of the leaves of the trees, it won't be there. It is lost behind the cacophony of noise spewed out from the buses, taxis, jeepneys, tricycles and motorcycles that were angrily contending among themselves.


And that fog that you see is probably an illusion. The lofty fog has been reduced to its foul portmanteau - the smog.


note:
apologies to the owner of the house. I have nothing against the house, it is still a beautiful house- this is merely a metaphor.
I was disappointed with the city of Baguio.

a rainy day in april

Quezon Ave. Quezon City


Even under the bright and searing April sun these sidewalks were difficult to navigate. It's mostly a patchwork of concrete with a little sense of continuity, broken up here and there by on-going construction work, uncovered rocks and pebbles, huge cracks wide enough to swallow a good-sized pedestrian, trees, power posts and tables set up by peddlers pushing their wares.

One day in April when the sun was just claiming it's perch at high noon, I decided to follow the path and take on the city planners and see how seriously they regard their responsibilities.

But nature, as the cliche goes, had other plans.

Seemingly out of nowhere, dark clouds drifted below the sun and dimmed the bright day. Lightning sliced the air like a whip and thunder cracked fiercely. The skies opened up.

Caught unprepared and suddenly wet, I raced up against the nearest building wall looking for an overhang deep enough to keep the downpour at bay. There were none. Chalk one up for the argument against the city planners. In a city frequented by heavy rains, most storefronts are not protected by deep overhangs. I decided that the city planners are not up to par. By far. Not that nobody before me ever noticed. Ha ha ha.

A few minutes later, I knew that the set up was not working for me so I decided to strike camp. I looked around and spied a 7-11 down the street.

The glass door opened before I had a chance to push it with my hand but it wasn't an automated door. And no security guard was behind it either ( which was a bit unusual in this part of town). As I stepped in across the threshold, I noticed a little boy, no more than 8 years old, holding the door open. I thought he was trying to get out so I stepped aside to make room for him. But he just proceeded to shut the door only to open it again for the next customer following behind me. He was, I realized, opening and closing the door for every customer that walked into the store, acting like a door man. Or a security guard. The salesclerk ringing purchases was just a few feet behind him manning the register. The little boy was wearing a gray t-shirt, khaki shorts and a pair of worn flipflops. And an obsequious smile.

I bought a bottle of soda and sat on a barstool at the bench next to the window. I thought I'd watch the traffic from where I sat and wait out the rain. I tried to strike a conversation with the people sitting next to me, mostly women, but got nowhere.

Moments later I saw the boy loitering nearby and curiosity got the better of me. I asked him if he worked there. Was he the brother of the girl behind the register? Or maybe her kid? He gave me a shy smile but shook his head at my questions. What are you doing here then? No answer. I noticed that some of the customers left the bench without bussing after themselves. I ask the boy if he could take care of the trash left by the other people. He promptly ditched them in the trash bin.

The rain has not let up but I was getting bored, claustrophobic and hungry so I decided to make another audacious dash a couple of blocks down the street to Chow King. I ordered beef Lo Mein and Tokwa at Baboy. And killed time. The rain poured outside as the day wore on.

It was now early in the evening and the rain has somewhat abated but hasn't stopped altogether. You can still see the interminable ripples on the puddles that were now everywhere on the sidewalks and streets. But it was Miller Time, I decided. I wanted a beer. Or beers. San Miguel. Anything.

I stepped outside and retraced my way back up the street to get to the overpass I needed to climb to get across the street where QP's bar was situated. Like a man walking across a mine field I was being careful where to put my feet down avoiding mud spots and water puddles, trying to keep my feet dry even if the rest of me was almost completely drenched.

Then in the gathering darkness, as I was about to stretch my leg across a puddle, something caught my eye.

Something slumped against an old unkempt building wall. Nestled against the wall and a 12" built up post and under a corresponding 12 "deep soffit ten feet above, sitting tangently in a fetal position was a little kid, fast asleep in a picture of exhaustion. He was wearing a gray t-shirt, khaki shorts and flip flops. His outfit was mostly wet especially his shorts and part of his shirt; the soffit was hardly enough to keep out the rain.

It took a second to register, but I recognized him. It was the boy at the door at the 7-11 store. For a minute, I stood there, unsure of what to do. Then I turned and walked, in the water and on mud, in straight line towards the overpass. I didn't look back.

I suddenly needed the beer.