Manila – part 2
The sun rises before 6 AM this time of year in Manila, so when you finally go back to your hotel after a whole night of playing, drinking, talking and driving around, you realise that the city is getting ready for a new day. Scrap that: the city is always ready, one way or another. Paolo shows us some of the many call centers in Makati, where people work around the clock to answer your queries, or mine.
There doesn’t seem to be a single lull in activity, restaurants serve food at any time of the night, and at any time of the night you will see families walking by, small children in tow. Some children are trying to sell roses to the tourists, and follow them around for a while.
I suppose this is the way a district like Makati works anyway, and it seems only natural that there should be this kind of balance between foreigners choosing to visit and locals making the most of the situation. It’s not like I haven’t felt like this back home anyway, and at least here I don’t feel the resentment too many of my fellow Italians feel when they see someone begging on the street.
Another thing that I remember seeing when I was growing up: armed police and soldiers walking the streets in certain parts of Palermo. After the mafia blew up Falcone and Borsellino in the most elaborate bombing in recent Sicilian memory, the government dispatched extra troops and put blockades and check points all over downtown for most of the 1990s. Politicians and notables drive armored cars. There are areas you had better avoid. And yet, I love Sicily, I love Palermo, I feel really safe walking the streets there actually, and I will always feel this dichotomy about my own home: how can it be so beautiful and warm and welcoming, and at the same time, how can there be so much lawlessness?
So when we are greeted at Starbucks by a guard carrying a sawed-off double-barreled shotgun, I don’t find the sight totally unfamiliar. What I find unfamiliar though, is the fact that he smiles, opens the door for us, closes it and smiles again. In fact, there is a lot of smiling around us, for no reason in particular, and if you’ve lived in Singapore for a little too long, you realise that a bit more smiling here wouldn’t hurt…
There are things that remind me of Singapore of course. Walk on Ayala Avenue past the Triangle or Greenbelt Parks and you could be in the CBD. The malls carry the same brands, in a comforting, globalised kind of way. The tapas and wine bars would not be out of place in Bangkok, Bali or Shanghai in the way they display a common idea of casual Western dining. But globalisation considerations aside, there is an obvious affinity to the West in Manila (and, I suppose, the rest of the Philippines). Whether it is wholeheartedly accepted and embraced by everyone is another matter.
I am definitely not much of a believer, and I was raised in a partially Adventist household, but I can’t deny the cultural impact that Catholic rituals have had on me as an Italian: the seasonal feasts, the colourful processions, the superstitious fascination with the occult…Though I have yet to find a shopping mall in Italy that stops all activity in order to accommodate Mass in the premises on a busy Saturday afternoon…
And on a Saturday evening at Magnet High Street, A* FEST ends. It’s a pity we only managed to fly for my own shows, because the lineup was different for each of the four nights. Tonight I go first, and The Standards are closing the festival, with the usual panache that characterises their sets.
In between are 3 local bands. Musical O are my other favourite discovery of this trip, a sound that sits between Death Cab and a more instrumental, almost post-rock, aesthetic. Their songs take unexpected twists and turns, and nothing sounds formulaic.
Up Dharma Down are becoming heavyweights in the regional indie circuit, and you can easily understand why when you see them live. The rhythm section is a mix of looped beats and incredibly tight drum fills, the guitarist is relentlessly inventive, and Armi’s vocals are just mesmerising.
The Dorques are Joff’s band. Think of it as a kaleidoscope. Songs are sung in English, spoken-word Japanese, and French. If you ever need something to get you through a particularly dreary Monday morning, try The Dorques. You’ll feel better.
And the festival is over. Some bands go their separate ways, we promise to see each other again on a stage in the region, and truth be said, I would love to come back. Or I would love to go visit the Bottlesmoker boys in Bandung too. But for the rest of the night, we are still curious about this fascinating city.
Alice drives a few of us to Cubao X, in Quezon City. The area was known as a shoe manufacture center, and it is now a central point for the underground and alternative scene in Manila. We reach just past closing time, slightly after 3 AM. Not that it would deter anyone from hanging out some more! Paolo and Alice seem to know everyone, and people we’ve never met come and talk to us, show us around, explain how the place works and what you can find in its many little shops.
We meet Chino and Laurie again, and we exchange albums. The sense of community and belonging is something I haven’t felt in a very long time. I Think Errol feels this way too. And there is absolutely no pretense, no false air of coolness.
It’s the break of dawn. People are already getting on with their day-to-day business. I don’t feel like sleeping, but we have a plane to catch in a few hours. Strange how 48 hours can matter sometimes. I honestly don’t know when I’ll come back to this part of the world, and under what circumstances, but I know for sure that of all the places i’ve been to in South East Asia, these 48 hours in Manila will remain special.
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