First From The Philippines

CONQUERING THE PHILIPPINES

Mykel Boards's Philippine Blog

Entry One

Posted December 12, 2015

The Santa Cruz area of Manila is a maze of narrow streets choked with barely moving traffic, blaring horns... people walking.... hanging out... sleeping on plastic bags filled with trash.

Food stands sell Chinese pork buns or wooden sticks with your choice of pig's ear, pig's blood or pig guts. The narrow streets hold the auto exhaust of the immoveable traffic. Walking a block is like smoking a pack of cigarettes.

Every few meters, one woman or another will smile at you... showing her braces and ask, “Hey Joe, you like me?” If you shake your head, she'll offer you her younger sister... or her daughter. My upper arm still has a bruise where a street hooker pinched me in an attempt to keep me from walking away. Every few steps will bring you to another encounter.

Backpacks become frontpacks here... watch your step...means a fuck of a lot more than be careful crossing the street. The heat is oppressive... a wet-hot. Your sweat mixes with the filth from the car exhausts so that a simple neck-scratch leavea your fingernails black.

I love the place.

Right now, I sit at a table in room 162 at the Paradis Hotel. It's just after noon.

FLASH BACK 10 MINUTES: I'm waking up for the third time today. I lie in a super king-size bed with a padded headboard and a faux marble spiral on the wall above. I awaken to myself... naked-- curled fetally-- reflected in a huge circular mirror on the ceiling.

Sorry, you don't get the naked version

It's cold... over-air conditioned in this tropical country. Eyes half closed, I roll over and feel for the AIRCON button on the shelf next to the bed. I push OFF. Then, I pad through the room to the bathroom to relieve myself of several pints of last night's beer.

FLASH BACK TO CHECK-IN YESTERDAY: On the street, next to Manila's Chinatown, is a blue sign with two white iconic angels... facing each other. HOTEL PARADIS this way... an arrow points down a side street. The lobby is blue and white... pristine... strange in this section of the city not known for its pristinitude.

A guard nods to me as I walk in with my pal Alfred. On one wall is a large poster... more like wallpaper... with the double angel logo of the hotel.

On the other walls are captioned photos... bright landscapes with the words PASSION, DESIRE, and SHANGHAI. Inside the elevator is a sign... white on blue... ADULTS ONLY, NO MINORS.

Albert is the guitar player for the pick-up band I'm singing with... one show... THE OUTSOURCED. (The joke: The Philippines, along with India and Malaysia, are world centers for outsourcing. When you call customer service for anyone from Nike to “American” Express... you're likely to reach a call center here. So what better name for a pick-up band than THE OUTSOURCED.)

We take the elevator up to the sixth floor check-in desk.

At the desk is an ordinary-looking young man and a beautiful young woman. The woman is dressed in blue and white. Angelic... Actually, she wears angel wings... I shit you not. (They're hard to see in the photo... but they ARE there.)

The desk tells us that I I have a choice between paying by the hour, or 1000 pesos (about $20) for 12 hours. I can get a full 24 for only 400p more. I choose the later. Yes, I can pay with a Visa card.

I get a key card, and go to my room to leave my bags. Then, we go across the street to meet Alberto's friends and some other musicians. It's a bar restaurant... seems popular in this neighborhood. As we walk in, Alberto recognizes someone sitting there with a bucket of half a dozen San Miguel beers and some fried tofu-- a co-worker at the casino.

[NOTE: Though Filipinos look something like Thais, their food is much different. The key to Thai food is spice. They key to Filipino food is sugar. EVERYTHING is sweet... and speaking of sweet...]

The waitresses here are dressed like Santa in a miniskirt... showing more leg than a package of nylons. They wear high-heels... VERY high heels that would not be out of place at The Crazy Horse or Rick's Cabaret.

“They'll come and sit with you if you want,” Albert tells me.

“Only sit?” I ask. “That's like the girls in Japan that come to your table, laugh at your jokes, pour you beer, and charge you $300.”

He laughs. “It's a lot less than $300,” says Albert. “You only have to buy them a lady-drink or two.”

I shake my head. Little did I know then that... Well, I'll tell you later.

Albert's pal called over a santa and she opens two of the bottles in his bucket... handing one each to Albert and me. It's not long before some other guys show up... 4 buckets later, I'm beginning to feel a little tipsy.

“So Mykel,” says Albert, “where do you want to go and to see here in Manila?”

“Oh,” I say, “I want to see the architecture, get a feel for the people, and the culture...”

They wait patiently after my ellipsis.

“And go to strip clubs,” I say.

The others smile as if they'd known I was going to say that from the get go. Moi?

“Manila's an early town,” says one of Johnny's friends, a thin jovial guy, with a shaved head. “Filipino culture is an early culture.”

“Don't I know it!” I say. “I had to get up at 4AM to make it to Manila by noon. Most New Yorkers get up at 7 or so...”

“To get to work by 9,” he says.

I nod.

“Most Filipinos get up at 4AM to get to work at nine,” he tells me. “Traffic... traffic... traffic.... anyway, stores close up by 7. At 9 the streets are dark... only the prostitutes, sex shows, like that are open late.”

“Sounds like my time of night,” I tell him.

“It's also dangerous,” he continues, “so dark. The only thing glowing is the target on your back.”

He talks with his friends in tagalog. The discussion looks slightly heated, with a lot of head-shaking and glances my way. Finally Albert talks to me.

“We'll take you to a strip club, Mykel,” says Albert, “but we can't stay with you. We have to get home to our families.”

I nod.

“We'll talk to the owner and he'll take care of you,” he continues. “But first, you need to go to your hotel and leave everything. Wallet, backpack, passport, everything. Take only 1000 pesos with you... and say NO!”

My eyebrows raise with a question.

“If someone come to you and asks for something, say NO,” he explains, “If someone wants something... or offers something... say NO. Everything, say NO!”

I look at him.

“You got that Mykel?” he asks.

“NO!” I answer, nodding.

“Good,” he says. “Now go to the hotel, leave everything, and come back here. We'll take you to the bar.”

I go back across the street, up to my room, dump my backpack, camera, cellphone. Leave my passport, my metal pillbox (cough drops, vitamins, malaria medicine)... everything except 1000 pesos. Then I return to the santa bar.

“Okay, let's go,” says Albert.

We leave the Santa bar, go around the corner to a narrow back street... vendors on all sides. It's just starting to get dark. Motorcycle taxis, jeepneys, honking horns, sleezy looking locals, beautiful locals, a combo pack or two.

About two blocks away we stop at a doorway. The doorway leads directly to a staircase going up. At the top of the staircase is another door. Above that door is a multicolored sign: HOUSE OF THE RISING SUN. At the bottom of the stairs are two middle aged men in white shirts and khakhi pants. Both with typical Filipino rice bellies.

[NOTE: It's like being among Jews... or Italians. Instead of saying “Hi, nice to meet you.” The Filipino greeting is “Are you hungry?” Social life is around food... copious amounts of meat... as heavy as anything in America... and rice... lots of rice.]

My friends talk with the guards in tagalog... glancing at me occasionally,. Albert puts a hand on my shoulder. The two guards look at me... smile... nod.

Albert talks to me.

“They'll take care of you, Mykel,” he says. “But still... be careful.”

I smile... nod... Albert and friend walk away, stopping to look back... like a wife leaving her soldier husband who's heading into battle. I wave, walk up the stairs into the club. Though it's pitch black outside, it's only about 8pm.

The club is fairly large. A stage in one corner, about 20 tables spread far enough apart to give an air of privacy.

The price of admission... 300p (about $6)... includes two drinks. After I sit down, a waiter-- white shirt, string tie, red jacket-- comes over to take my order. I order a Red Horse... the strongest (and best-tasting) beer on the island.

I look around at the other tables. Checking out the clientele.

There is no clientele.

Only me... an old white guy... in a strip club where the dancers see white skin like dollar signs... three matching ones... in the slot machine. BINGO! I must look to the dancers here like a lone beach bather looks to a cloud of mosquitoes. How long until one of those girls is at my table offering a lap dance? I don't do lap dances... How do you say that in Tagalog?

The stage is empty. There is some soft background music, nothing like the usual pole dancing disco-rap. There is a pole, but it stands by itself... bare... naked... alone... on the stage.

An announcement... that special strip club voice-- always a man... like a radio DJ... It's in Tagalog, but it doesn't matter. It could be in Gilyak... The meaning would be as clear:

“And now, appearing exclusively on our Rising Sun stage... the beautiful and talented ISABELLA.”

On stage is a pretty girl... early 20s, wearing a kind of black cocktail dress... with no top. Her B-cup mammaries flop lazily as she sort of sways back and forth. She looks bored... her expression not much different from an NYC girl in a doorway checking her iphone.

In my peripheral vision, I see someone approaching my table. Uh oh... here it comes. Remember Mykel... any questions... anything the want... just say NO! Got that? NO! NO! NO!

She sits next to me. NOT a dancer, but a mama-san (female owner-manager-madam) looking woman. Deep into her 40s, she's plump smiley-faced and friendly as a puppy.

[NOTE: The Philippines joins my short list of the world's friendliest countries: Thailand, Denmark, Brazil, Trinidad. Just sit down at a table in a restaurant... and everyone around you is an instant friend. Hard to believe if you come from a fuck-you-you're-in-my-space country like New York.]

“High,” she says, “my name's Mabel.”

She extends a hand. We shake.

“Mykel,” I tell her.

Then comes the usual whereyoufromwhyareyouherewhatdoyouthinkofThePhilippines blah blah blah questions.

Then:

“You like girls?” asks Mabel.

Seems a strange question to ask someone visiting a strip club.

“I like everybody,” I answer.

“This is the Philippines,” she says, “liking everybody can get you in trouble.”

I laugh.

“How long are you staying here?” she asks.

“I'll be here for two weeks,” I tell her. “I have to go back to New York and go to work.”

“You want a girl now,” she asks.

Remember: NO! NO! NO!

“Not right now,” I tell her. “I'm just looking.”

“Okay, Mykel,” she says, “I need to take care of the club. If you want something special just ask for me. I'll take care of you.”

“Thanks, Mabel,” I say.

She gets up and leaves the table with a smile... like we're old friends. I know it's a show, but I like it.

It's five minutes before the seat next to me is again occupied. This time by a Filipina at least 20 years young than Mabel and with a whole lot of leg showing. I can feel my own third leg stiffen moving from over-cooked spaghetti to al dente.

She pushes her chair closer to mine. She crosses her legs, rubbing her knee against mine in the process. I look at her face, her high cheekbones, perfect skin... light brown smooth as a baby's ass. She turns toward me, letting a breast rub against my upper arm. Al dente changes to pre-cooked.

“Hello,” she says, “my name is …”

I don't get her name... a stage name anyway... and I just like looking at her I don't bother to ask. She says something to me. I'm too dazed to understand.

“What's your name?” she repeats.

As she's saying this, the waiter is coming over with her Lady Drink. It's a beer... a Wild Horse... He sets in in front of her and opens it.

I know the system. You buy the girl a drink. The club jacks up the price and the girl gets a cut. But usually, you have to ASK for the drink first.

“Can I get you a drink also, sir?” he asks me.

“I only have 1000 pesos with me,” I tell him. “I can't spend more than that because I don't have more. No credit cards, nothing. Only 1000.”

“I understand,” he says. “Would you like another beer?”

“Always say NO!” I think, “Anything they ask, say NO!”

“Yes, sure,” I answer.

The waiter brings another beer. On stage is a beautiful woman... one of those whose legs begin at the ankle and go all the way up to the hip. She wears what looks like... I donno... never saw one before. Somewhere between crotchless panties and a garter belt... on the bottom. On top, a kind of support bra without the bra. Her pert little nips hard in the over air conditioning.

I barely notice I'm too involved in my tablemate.

“Of course,” I say, “when be begin our life in New York together....”

I don't even know what I'm saying. The waiter brings over another drink for the young lady... pops it open.

“I have a one year old daughter,” she says. “I want to take care of her. Could you find me a job in New York?”

Remember: NO! NO! NO!

“Of course,” I say, “no problem.”

“I don't want to work in this business,” she says. “I want something more respectable.”

The waiter brings another beer for me.

“No problem,” I tell her. “You can work as a nurse. There are a ton of Filipinas working as nurses in New York.”

She hugs me and presses her face into my neck, casually letting her other hand drop between my legs. It's so sudden, I cough. The beer comes out my nose. I apologize and wipe my face.

“I'm staying at the Paradis Hotel ,” I tell her, “room 162.”

She makes some noise that doesn't sound like I'll see you there later,” but I write that off as a language barrier.

“I'll have to leave soon,” I tell her. “I only have 1000 pesos and my friends say the streets here are dangerous at night.”

“Ok,” she says.

The waiter brings over another pair of beers: one for her and one for me.

“One more,” she says. “This will be the last one.”

NO! NO! NO!

“All right,” I say, “but this really must be the last. Remember, I only have 1000 pesos.”

By now, she's practically on my lap. A few other customers are at other tables with dancers by their sides.

We cuddle. She continues to kiss my neck. I look for some tongue... no dice. Then it's over... bottles drained... beer spent out. I call for the waiter.

“I need the check,” I tell him. “Remember, I only have 1000 pesos.”

He nods and returns with the check: 996 pesos. I tell him to keep the change.

--more in the coming weeks, I hope! Lots of PUNK ROCK to tell too!