The Eruption

The year was 1980 or thereabouts. I had recently been through a messy divorce and I needed to get away. So I flew to Hong Kong to see an old friend who suggested I try the Philippines. Why not I thought. Nothing to lose. My first impressions of Manila? Bloody horrible place. A run down American city surrounded by Asian slums. But perhaps my judgment was coloured by circumstances. I had emerged from the airport into an oven and got attacked by taxi drivers, the streets were flooded, the taxi broke down. I got on and off a lot of crowded jeepneys all going the wrong way, somebody nicked one of my bags, I eventually arrived soaked at a hotel with no electricity, the toilet was blocked and the phone didn’t work. One of my shoes was missing. Manila looked like a disaster area to me. But in some strange way I liked it.

Next day I had a walk round Ermita. It was just a couple of streets really, hotels, bars, jeepneys, garbage and exhaust fumes. I found a place that sold cakes and tea. They also did a fried egg and rice. I noticed a lot of what looked like bars with exotic names…Thriller, Blue Hawaii, Pit Stop, Butterfly but it was daytime and not much was happening. A girl outside one said they were closed but she let me have a peek into a dark space of indeterminate dimensions. I could just make out a bar, chrome poles, crates of bottles. The floor was covered with tissues, cigarette butts and broken glass. Figures were sleeping on vinyl banquettes. A sleepy girl with a towel on her head suggested I come back later.

So I did. It all looked quite different when the sun went down. With the neon buzzing and the music blaring Ermita was transformed into something wonderful to behold. There was magic and the smell of frangipani in the air...an exciting mixture of sleaze and anticipation. And of course the ladies came out to dance. I didn’t know it at the time but I was witnessing Ermita at its peak. I spent many happy evenings there. It was a punters paradise. There was no AIDs to worry about and no NGOs running around taking pictures. Ferdinand Marcos was firmly in charge.

The police were honest in those days too believe it or not. None of this ‘planting shaboo in your bathroom’ nonsense or picking your girlfriend up and telling you she’s been kidnapped. That came later. All the bar owners needed to do was slip the police chief a few thousand pesos every month and they’d leave you alone. A lot of the Ermita bar owners provided their best customers with cars and chauffeurs and dwarves to open the door and stuff. Very classy.

Accommodation? No problem. There were lots of good deals in the Ermita area. Once I decided to stay I got a nice apartment but at first I stayed at Mabini Mansions. Very nice. 300 pesos a night for TV, fridge, stove the lot. There was a charge for extra pillows though. Limit of five.

I soon got the hang of riding jeepneys. The best seat is in front with the driver. You get to experience the real Manila plus you get the full benefit of the diesel fumes from other jeepneys when you’re stuck in traffic. You may even start to pick up a bit of Tagalog. Para! Bayad!! The money gets passed up to the front and the driver sits there sorting out his change. Then suddenly he’s working up through the gears and you’re off! Nothing like the thrill of charging full tilt across an open intersection with other jeepneys left and right, belching black smoke, all aiming for the same breaks in the traffic. Lots of fun. Goes great with a few beers. I still get sentimental when I see a bottle of San Miguel.

It’s funny though. Sometimes I think there’s something wrong with my mind. I can visualize very clearly all the bars along Del Pilar before Mayor Lim had them bulldozed. I know the names by heart and I can still rattle them off.

Starting at UN Avenue let’s stroll down to Pedro Gil…St. Moritz, Black Out, Yellow Brick Road, Firehouse II, Lovebirds, Pitstop II, Black Stallion, Roller Bar, Pussycat, Pips, Bee Club, Pitstop I, Shampoo, Raymond’s Bar and Disco, Aussie Bar/Riviera, Bloomers, Australian Club, Cherries, New Bangkok, Thriller I, Roadhouse, Den Rose, Superstar, Thriller II, Brown Sugar, Bubbles, Butterfly, Rols, Polynesian Paradise, Blue Hawaii, Rosie’s Diner, Duke’s International, Hollywood, Little Caesars, 88 Olympic, Las Vegas, Chaplins. I’ve probably missed a few but my memory isn’t what it was. Some cheap hotels around too if you needed a room for a few hours. Tower was only 200 pesos, hot running rats in every room. Congress was even cheaper and great for short time if you didn't mind sharing the bathroom with a bunch of strangers.

The PAL office was good for a laugh unless you had any serious business to do. You were issued a number when you went in. After that it was just a question of waiting a day or two while attractive ticket agents did their best to match you up with an available airplane. Comfortable seats were provided for recovering alcoholics. It was easy to doze off and miss your number. Some people looked like they’d been there years. They were often in an advanced state of decomposition.

Politics? I do recall going to see Cory Aquino speak in Rizal Park. Come to think of it I’ve still got a couple of ‘People Power’ T shirts somewhere. Collectors items they’d be. Medium size. Any offers? Cory did a good job. Everybody was very excited and Ferdinand must have known his days were numbered. There were the usual coups and counter-coups but Ramos was the real power…everybody knew it…and he gave Ferdinand and Imelda the nudge.

So many memories. Everything gets mixed up. I remember commandeering a jeepney with some girls one time and driving out to Malacanang Palace. The girls said if we got there quick we could get some of Imelda’s shoes. Bloody zoo that was. People running everywhere grabbing whatever they could carry. I had my arms full of expensive junk when I spot some blokes rushing past with a load of solid gold fittings! They must have made a beeline for the bathroom. I didn’t have a lot of time. Should have worn a Maytag outfit. There’s Filipinos climbing all over each other, “Stand back,” I shouted, “we’re from the UN!” But nobody took any notice and the fixtures were all gone.

Another time I got stuck in the Camelot Hotel for a week because the corridors were full of blokes firing machine guns and throwing hand grenades. The TV still worked OK though. Very strange watching yourself get shot at from different angles. Most of the heavy fighting was out at Camp Aguinaldo on EDSA but I’ll never forget looking out the window and seeing a helicopter firing rockets at someone on the roof.

During a lull I went to the room next door to see if anything was left in the mini-bar and found a couple of journos under the bed. “Welcome to the Philippines.” I said. “Is it always like this?” one bloke asked. “Only if they’ve been eating baalut.” I quipped. “Who’s he!?!.” said one of the journos nodding at a bloke on TV draped with a python. “That’s young Gringo,” I said, “bit of a lady’s man.” Next thing a flight of Chance-Vought Corsairs flies over on its way to bomb the barrios round Aguinaldo. “Let’s go!” say the journos, grabbing their gear, and out they rush. Four of them. Only 3 came back.

Mustn’t forget some of the folk that hung around Ermita. Shifty bunch. They used to meet in a place called the Exotic Garden. Next door to Thriller. It was a restaurant popular with the bar owners so lots of colourful characters used to rendezvous there of an evening. You never knew who you might run into. I actually met some very cultured people in Ermita. There was always a few Australian bank robbers and perhaps an axe-murderer or two passing through. Some of them decided to stay.

I was also lucky enough to meet the great actor, Chuck Norris. He was screwing Filipinas and making thought-provoking movies about Vietnam at the time. Missing in Action was one. I went out on location once and helped him blow up a helicopter. His brother Aaron wasn’t really star material. He just didn’t have the same charisma and delivery as Chuck so he looked after the business side. Who would have thought, in those heady times, Chuck would one day be campaigning for a Baptist minister called Huckabee? Not me.

Oh yes, those were the days all right. Never a dull moment. Another fellow who used to dine in the Exotic Garden was Tony Moynihan. What a card he was. He told everybody he had a seat in the House of Lords but I don’t think he spent much time passing bills. Passing bad checks was more like it. He never seemed to have any money. Even tried to sell me a Victoria Cross once. Said it belonged to his granddad. I think he had a box full of the bloody things. He also tried to flog Howard Marks an island for growing pot.

Later I stumbled across an obituary in The Telegraph. Whoever wrote it obviously enjoys a chuckle …"The 3rd Lord Moynihan, who has died in Manila, aged 55, provided, through his character and career, ample ammunition for critics of the hereditary principle."

If Manila got too much you could pop down to Puerto Galera, cockfights and dirty beaches, or up to Olongapo where the PX sold Ovaltine and McVitie’s Digestives! The local economy was booming in those days. Shiploads of lusty semen were constantly coming and going. There were thousands of smiling girls. It was totally unlike anything you could expect to find in rural Nebraska. East met West in the short time rooms 24/7 and, if you were lucky and the typhoons weren’t too bad, there was sometimes a strip of sand at Subic or Barrio Barreto where you and your buddies could soak up some rays.

Angeles City was another place I liked. I get muddled with dates so I forget who the Yanks were bombing at the time. Maybe they were having a break. Anyway, Clarke Field was very handy for dropping explosive devices on neighbouring countries. Lots of young American males were stationed there to keep the planes flying. When they weren’t loading bombs they liked to relax and discuss geopolitics with Filipinas over a beer or two in the local bars.

One of my favourite bars in Angeles was the Maverick. A bit of a dump to be honest. The toilets in there had all been stolen by the security guards so it was back to holes in the floor. I was in there one morning having a much needed tom tit when the ground started shaking and I heard a loud rumble in the distance. Did I do that I wondered? Then I noticed what looked like molten lava coming up through the drain-hole.

I was about to complain to the management when I realized we had a major seismic disturbance on our hands. Imagine my surprise when I got outside with my trousers round my ankles and found the sky black, clouds of dust and chaos on the street. Grey shapes were running around trying to keep covered with umbrellas and pieces of cardboard (useless). Chunks of pumice were dropping everywhere, mothers were dragging kids along with bowls and saucepans on their heads. Talk about Hieronymus Bosch.

It didn’t look good. I decided to join the bar owner and his friends who were making a cowardly retreat in a hurriedly requisitioned vehicle as fast as they could to a beachfront villa in Subic Bay. Curiously the house had been the residence of a group of young Japanese army officers during WW2. It wasn’t hard to imagine them deflowering Filipina village girls in the bedrooms or decapitating POWs in the garden before they in turn were skinned alive by Filipino guerillas. Such are the fortunes of war. We made ourselves as comfortable as possible, set up a picnic table and waited philosophically for Mount Pinatubo to finish doing its thing.

© Chuck Woww. All rights reserved by the author.