The funniest sign in all of Bacolod

~~ The following post was written about a sign that existed up until yesterday and said “jeep stop” and had a little picture of a jeep and person getting on/off. I can show you exactly where it was.... and now where it isn’t. The sheer fact that this sign was moved the day I went to take a photo of it is further proof of the argument in this post (although now I am starting to think it was targeted at me). ~~

First off, this heading is only correct on good days – on bad days this is was the most annoying infuriating and superfluous sign ever erected.

You see, jeeps aren’t like buses, you can’t estimate their journey time on some fancy website, you can’t even tell if they will survive the trip and they certainly don’t have predetermined stopping points where you exit and enter. Oh no, they are the hippies of public transport, brazenly singing and cavorting  one minute, screeching to an unexpected holt the next like the dope has worn off.

Person A boards jeep, jeep hurtles 3 metres and drops off person B, gathers speed over 10 metres and gathers person C. Person D is innocently standing on the footpath waiting for boyfriend/lover/dog/police and the jeep considerately stops for them, just in case they wanted it, even though they are holding a large sign which reads "I do not want to get on your jeep".

So when I saw a sign boldly proclaiming “jeep stop” I nearly snorted water out of my nose and onto a stranger, I laughed that hard! And then I started wondering – who put the sign there and why? (Due to the lack of picture I will now state this was a proper road sign looking sign, not a post-it note someone had taped to the wall.)

Jeeps stop for people who have NO intention of getting on, but I can statistically prove that they NEVER stop at the stop sign (well, sitting on the jeep adding-on-my-fingers type of stats) and that therefore this is indeed a funny sign (on a good day) erected for the purposes of amusement by some deviate with a healthy sense of irony and a love of evil candid camera tourist moments (see above).

On average (accounting for weekends) I catch 22.5 jeeps a week^#, of these 12.5 pass this sign. So over 4 months I have caught 200 jeeps past this sign. And how many have stopped at this sign? NONE, that is how many! ZERO, NADA, NAUGHT, ZIP! “oh but maybe you have skewed the stats” I hear you smarty pants yell, “you only catch jeeps that aren’t supposed to stop there”. But my stats and I refute you!! You see, this isn’t some crack pot theory that I came up with today. No, I have been working on this proof for some time now^$. I have controlled for all route related discrepancies by sharing my jeep lovin’ between both Mandalagan and Bata jeeps, I have had new jeeps, old jeeps, scary jeeps, loud jeeps even clean jeeps (yes, it is true – I am a jeep floozy). And not one of them has come to any kind of stop, nay even slowed down to a roll, near this sign.

Last week I found myself trying to get the jeep to stop near this sign, even though it is 4 blocks from my work, just to see if it is physically possible. But no, I am doomed to never board or de-jeep^{^} at this monstrosity. (In the interests of statistical transparency however, this lack of success also correlates strongly with the disturbing loss of my ability to stop any jeep, anywhere, ever.)

Why am I so worked up about a non functional jeep-stop sign? I would like to say it is my inherent love for rules and order, but we all know that would be a lie. It is because, if jeeps stopped at regular, slowly approached intervals of 300-500m, I would be on time to things^& and would not have to endure the constant stare of Bacolod’s most annoying sign:

DO YOU SEE THE ISSUE NOW PEOPLE???? It is messing with my head.

That’s right, a passing observation has turned from humour to sheer frustrated obsessive (and slightly paranoid) behaviour.

So taking into account the statistics, the strange disappearance when the camera came out and the multiple long walks to work resulting from trying to get off at the damn sign, what else can I conclude other than that it is was clearly a piece of ironic urban art, erected to point out the intricacies and poetry of a jeep in motion?? Either that or someone in my office is playing with my mind...

^# Which may explain why i have a permanent tender spot on the top of my head – seriously people, would another 3 inches be that hard?

^$ Maybe it is time i called that counsellor?

^ yes mum, I know this isn’t a word – but if Cebu pacific and Philippines air can use de-plane then I can start adding de to everything too!!

^& before any of you chime in, yes I know that my unorganised nature means I leave the house late and yes the aforementioned loss of language skill means I wouldn’t be able to get off, even if the planets did align so I left the house on time and got on an ordered jeep, but this makes me feel better, ok?

Jeepney Wondering #3

Jeepneys have had me pondering the Filipino culture of late. This logically led me to a period of introspection on Australian culture. And hence, jeepney wondering number 3 was born.......

Culture is a word that is bandied about a lot, but do we ever know what it means when we say it? When we hear it used on the news, or read it in the papers we nod sagely and make thoughtful noises. But what does it mean? In fact why do we try to define culture? Is it to make comparisons, to segregate, to order, to understand? Is it the global response to personality profiling? Is it the human need to describe and ascribe characteristics?

I have come to the possibly over simplified) conclusion that we use “Culture” to collate and bundle up the characteristics of one country, in order to compare them to the collated and bundled characteristics of another. Not content with this, the cogs of my brain set to whirring about the characteristics of Australia. This oh-so-innocent distraction led me into a maze of headaches and confusion as I tried to define the personality of my country.

In the end I gave up, updated my status, and watched a DVD (the current version of having a bex and a good lie down). But my watching pleasure was rudely interrupted by yet more pondering....

Can we ever truly define our own culture? Can we consciously cultivate and design a culture? We spend millions attempting to do this in marketing campaigns and tourism promotions, but are these imagines, slogans and catchphrases an accurate portrayal of our culture – or is this simply who we wish to be?

Culture is neither a positive nor negative but a descriptor, yet as we try to define our own culture we inherently instil within it only positive attributes. We are not afraid to characterise other countries by their characteristics – good and bad. But are we brave enough to see ourselves as others see us?

What about this example from a Filipino resort website:

"Australians and Germans should indicate their actual drinking pattern upon booking, because we need to consider approximates when stocking up."

Or the common response of Filipinos to my distaste of the golden elixir of life:

“you don’t drink beer? That is very strange for an Australian.”

At first when faced with such “unfair” generalisations I would huff and puff about Australia being more than just beer loving, bikini wearers. But I have given up defending my country’s love of a cold one (just as at home I had given up defending my right as an educated female to enjoy a good rum and coke). I make judgements on the Filipino culture based on what I see and often they differ from the official version. Surely it is only fair that I in turn accept what they see, and the judgements they make.

So if my earlier conclusion is indeed correct, and we use “culture” to understand the actions and responses of a community, then in order to make judgements on these we must have a reference point – our own actions and responses – our own culture. If we cannot look upon ourselves and our practices, our morals and our foibles and remain objective and truthful, then surely our reference point is false?

We do ourselves, and others, a disservice when we blindly accept the tourism version of our culture, when we define ourselves so simply by beaches, BBQ’s and our love of sport. Australian culture is made of more than this, it is made up of our response to others in times of need, of our sense of place, of our humour, our history, our policies, our faith(s), our mixed and matched peoples.

But knowing this, and momentarily looking from the outside, I still cannot clearly and succinctly define our culture. I can tell you how it feels and I can tell you how much I miss it. But I can’t tell you what it is. Maybe I should ask the Filipinos.....

the seagull and the turtle

The seagull soars and sweeps against bright blue skies. White wings glow in the sun as it whirls and twirls around the crowd. They flock together and form their own crowd. Each cries to the other, shares the laughter, the adventure. Everything is loud, bright, an opportunity for the taking. The salt spray is crystal armour on its back and nothing can bring it to ground. But she must come down, she just doesn’t know when.

The turtle sits quietly, watching, thinking. It’s pretty patterned shell hides it amongst the seaweed. No prying eyes here, no conversations, no intrusions.  A thought appears on the tide, but retreats on the next wave. Danger once sensed, cannot be ignored. The head retreats under the shell - a safe, dark armour. But he must come out, he just doesn’t know when.

When is always the question – is this week, today, this hour, the seagull or the turtle? Or will it be a battle - that terrible state of indecision that tires me to the bone?

The seagull cannot stifle its cries, nor can the turtle soar through the skies. Both are extremists and neither likes to share. I am learning to be the child on the shore observing them both, afraid of neither, enamoured of neither. The child on the shore does not enter into battle, she accepts both for what they offer.

Jeepney Wonderings #2 - Community

I cried on a jeepney. I was hot, I had a headache, sweat was running down my leg and dripping into my shoe, there was an elbow in my ribs. But my tears were of respect, of love, of awe.

Life is difficult. Things are hard. Jeeps are cramped. Sweat is universal. Hawkers scream and shout for a commission, the ceres bus races by, honking a warning. The traffic cop whistles and lets the next wave through. Smoke from the turo turo stall swirls in the windows and settles in your throat. A woman balances a baby and toddler on her lap. An old lady struggles on with baskets of goods to sell. A brother supports his sisters sleeping head. A small school boy squeezes into the gap opposite me. The conductor bangs and yells. We are full. But we are more than that. We are a community. We are strangers going in the same direction. The journey unites us and we act as a family would.

First the guiding hands of the conductor to the small boy, the shuffling hips to find a space, the encouraging smile. Then the concern over the sick child, a fan offered in silent friendship and accepted with gratitude. A divergence to drop her at home. The waiting dad, concern written in his eyes. The gentle hands support her down the aisle;  the conductor lifts her out to her father. Not her mother that cradled her head and wiped her brow, a stranger.

The old lady hails the conductor. Basket after basket slid down the aisle from hand to hand; careful, don’t break the eggs, bruise the fruit. The driver waits patiently as she shuffles down the aisle, is helped down the steps. Pulls the brake on and tells the conductor to walk her across the road. We all nod. She waves him off and gathers the strength she will need. We tut-tut in unison, but smile at her tenacity.

The mother places her son next to her and hands him a drink. The conductor makes sure he is settled before banging and shouting, no need, a stranger has already seen to it.

We shuffle to give each other room, and our change is distributed.

My change is more than 6 pesos worth. My change stays with me.

Jeepney Wondering # 1 - Why aren't you laughing?

My first Jeepney Wondering started, as they usually do, with little warning. I walked towards the jeepney feeling incredibly pleased with myself that I had downloaded some Australian radio and could pretend I was in my small yellow Barrina driving to work. Alas, I had stumbled onto what I call a disco jeepney – think bad 80’s pop played full-ball. Being the cheapskate that I am I refused to lose my 7 peso fair and so settled in for the ride. Most of the trip progressed mindlessly - and then bamn!!  Total Eclipse of the heart comes on and up snaps the head of the full grown adult male next to me– turns out he has quite a good falsetto and doesn’t mind showing it off.

I learnt multiple things this day:

1.       It’s totally OK to sing along very loudly – especially to a power ballad

2.       It’s not funny

3.       You can muffle your laughter by pushing your shoulder into your own face – and still hang on

4.       It’s not funny. Even when he does the key change!

5.       Snorting into your shoulder means people move away.

As I sat there making almost equally ridiculous, but much less musical noises, the power of the jeepney came upon me and I started to think – why aren’t you laughing?  

Being uncoordinated, I know that the Filipinos appreciate humorous situations (slipping in the gutter, tripping up the gutter, stubbing your toe on the gutter), so it was not their sense of humour that was off, but mine. In Australia you might get an occasional person humming on the bus, and maybe on a full moon someone might bust out the chorus – but the WHOLE song – in a FALSETTO???? I don’t think so.  And if it did happen in Australia, you could pretty much guarantee that the bus driver would assume drugs, the lawyer type would spill his decafe frappachino and mothers would divert their children’s eyes. Because it is WEIRD.

Yes, it’s a daggy song, but really it is the potential social humiliation that stops us in Australia. I mean come on – who hasn’t had that moment where you nearly bust out the chorus of blame it on the boogie or I will survive?

As I looked around me (between fits of laughter) and realised no one else was concerned, or had even really noticed, I wondered:  why, in a country that prides it’s self on being laid back and easy going, do we not allow ourselves to be laidback? Are we really that uptight that a guy enjoying a song, and displaying a good voice constitutes culture shock?

Or is it just that I am so acutely aware of my tone deafness that I assume all public singing must lead to humiliation.

I kinda hope it is the latter. But I have a feeling that there is more to it than that.

Jeepney Wonderings - Introduction

Jeepneys contain a lot of Filipino people, a lot of the time. Therefore with questionable logic one could assume that the jeepney is Filipino culture held captive within an aluminium frame  (cushioned of course by plastic covered industrial embroidery) .

Continuing with the doubtful logic - I spend a lot of time in jeepneys, and have started to think that these oversized and rather confused vehicles (are they a bus, a ute or an army personnel carrier?) have the power to provoke interesting thoughts, concerning questions, and just general insights into human behaviour (although this may also be attributable to large amounts of exhaust fumes). And so we have jeepney wonderings, where I will attempt to record and build upon these thoughts and experiences.

Before I start this series of Jeepney Wonderings, I should of course introduce you to the amazing invention that is the jeepney:

Well, when a mummy van loves a daddy truck.....sometimes they make a baby jeep.

Once the baby jeep has been painted, embroidered, fitted with a loud horn and covered in religious paraphernalia it then undergoes  jeepney circumcision and has its muffler removed to ensure maximum noise pollution. Now it is officially a grown up jeepney and is allowed to parade around town touting its beauty and looking for passengers.

Generally speaking (surprise surprise) Manilla jeepneys are done up to the nines like they are off to the ball:

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Mrq_jeepney.jpg

While the jeepneys here in Bacolod are a more sedate affair – adorned with pictures of the important people in Filippino history, like spiderman, beyonce, maddonna and winnie the pooh (photos to come).

A talisay jeep hanging at the parking lot

On the move - Broom Broom!!

I admit that at first I was nervous about the jeepneys  a feeling which manifested into intense fear after a bad experience in Antipolo City. But I have come to appreciate the special insights that you can only have when in physical contact with numerous complete strangers.

 Hopefully my experiences of muffling my laughter with my own shoulder, staring in amazement and muttering in frustration can give you an equally bizarre insight into my new home.