On Friday evening, a bunch of senior missionaries (that means couples) got together for a social. We do that two or three times a month, mostly to have something to do with others who speak our language well and who have the same desires and longings and who all want to talk about their cute grandkids. This time we went to the Manila Hotel. But on the way we stopped at a university (there's a number of them) to see a dance program. It was interesting, but short . . . that was the good part.
The Manila Hotel is where General MacArthur spent much of his time after WWII when he returned to the Philippines. It's ostentatious – almost gaudy, 1940s genre. The menu is in French, served as formal courses -- first the soup, then the salad, then a pallet cleaner (sorbet). Then comes the main dish, followed by desert, with a plate of chocolates, milk and dark. We didn’t all order each course, so those who didn’t order a particular course had to wait while those who did got theirs and finished it, one course at a time. We ordered a sort of mushroom salad and Sister Roundy took the salmon and Elder Roundy dined on a veal fillet with small round potatos with shredded carrots (as fine as thread). The waiters unfold your napkin and put it on your lap. They take up all the silverware between each course and bring a new setting for the next. Each sip of water is momentarily replaced.
Six musicians were playing in the background (violins, guitar, piano, bass violin). Golden Oldies. Dad had to laugh at one violinist. He didn’t put the violin under his chin the right way and held the bow like it was a whip. But the music was tolerable; not always in tune. After a short break, the musicians came down by the tables and took requests. (Well, the piano player stayed on the stage.) They seemed to be able to play whatever was requested. They did a half dozen or so tunes. They didn’t come up by our end of the table, so we didn’t request a tune. We were going to see if they knew “When the Saints Come Marching In” or “If You Knew Susie.”
We use the valet parking, for 100 pesos. So all in all, it was an eloquent evening. But . . .
Elder Roundy had to drive there, taking with him the AMA (Area Medical Advisor – the new doctor) and his wife (both who had been in the Philippines for only four days). Elder Roundy had never been there before, and the place is clear across town – probably 20 miles. And the route went down EDSA. EDSA is the name of the major cross-town freeway. And it is always a mess. The traffic and driving are simply indescribable. Nothing you can say will actually give the full story. There is nothing like it in the USA. Can you imagine downtown Manhattan with no stop lights, no left turns, lanes that end without warning, six lanes of cars crowed in the three marked lanes, intersections that go hither and thither? Horns, buses, taxis, motorbikes, Jeepnies, pedestrians. And the driving rules you learned in America to pass your driver’s license tend to interfere. Most people use their own rules, made up on the spot.
All of this traffic plus it was raining, so the windows fogged up, and the mirrors were wet and hard to see with. Going down was bad for the first hour or so, but then it got dark. Coming home was a catastrophe. Never been there, don’t know which way’s which. Rain. Passengers in the back seat recent arrivals from San Diego squealing and gasping at the slightest traffic hitch. Too dark to read the map. Thinking left when you know it's supposed to be turn right.
And you realize you’re still an orphan; Mom can’t help. “Miles to go before I sleep.” Eventually we made it home, around 11:00 pm.
Will one ever get some sleep?
The Manila Hotel is where General MacArthur spent much of his time after WWII when he returned to the Philippines. It's ostentatious – almost gaudy, 1940s genre. The menu is in French, served as formal courses -- first the soup, then the salad, then a pallet cleaner (sorbet). Then comes the main dish, followed by desert, with a plate of chocolates, milk and dark. We didn’t all order each course, so those who didn’t order a particular course had to wait while those who did got theirs and finished it, one course at a time. We ordered a sort of mushroom salad and Sister Roundy took the salmon and Elder Roundy dined on a veal fillet with small round potatos with shredded carrots (as fine as thread). The waiters unfold your napkin and put it on your lap. They take up all the silverware between each course and bring a new setting for the next. Each sip of water is momentarily replaced.
Six musicians were playing in the background (violins, guitar, piano, bass violin). Golden Oldies. Dad had to laugh at one violinist. He didn’t put the violin under his chin the right way and held the bow like it was a whip. But the music was tolerable; not always in tune. After a short break, the musicians came down by the tables and took requests. (Well, the piano player stayed on the stage.) They seemed to be able to play whatever was requested. They did a half dozen or so tunes. They didn’t come up by our end of the table, so we didn’t request a tune. We were going to see if they knew “When the Saints Come Marching In” or “If You Knew Susie.”
We use the valet parking, for 100 pesos. So all in all, it was an eloquent evening. But . . .
Elder Roundy had to drive there, taking with him the AMA (Area Medical Advisor – the new doctor) and his wife (both who had been in the Philippines for only four days). Elder Roundy had never been there before, and the place is clear across town – probably 20 miles. And the route went down EDSA. EDSA is the name of the major cross-town freeway. And it is always a mess. The traffic and driving are simply indescribable. Nothing you can say will actually give the full story. There is nothing like it in the USA. Can you imagine downtown Manhattan with no stop lights, no left turns, lanes that end without warning, six lanes of cars crowed in the three marked lanes, intersections that go hither and thither? Horns, buses, taxis, motorbikes, Jeepnies, pedestrians. And the driving rules you learned in America to pass your driver’s license tend to interfere. Most people use their own rules, made up on the spot.
All of this traffic plus it was raining, so the windows fogged up, and the mirrors were wet and hard to see with. Going down was bad for the first hour or so, but then it got dark. Coming home was a catastrophe. Never been there, don’t know which way’s which. Rain. Passengers in the back seat recent arrivals from San Diego squealing and gasping at the slightest traffic hitch. Too dark to read the map. Thinking left when you know it's supposed to be turn right.
And you realize you’re still an orphan; Mom can’t help. “Miles to go before I sleep.” Eventually we made it home, around 11:00 pm.
Will one ever get some sleep?
4 comments:
Sounds like you all get to do things like royalty, except they might have someone drive them around instead of daring that on their own. Therefor you are much cooler than royalty.
Who would have thought you'd live the high life in the Philippines?!
Yowza! That sounds like a very memorable evening. What is the legal driving age in the Phillipines, if there is one? Yes, you must be very cool to survive the EDSA at night, in the rain, with gasping back seat newbies.
Does Manila have seasons? I guess no Halloween or Thanksgiving, huh? Whenever you talk to your friends about the cute grandkids, you always win out, right?
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