I felt like getting some pizza for lunch today, so I looked on Google Earth to see what's around. Sure, I could call for delivery, but where's the fun in that? Turns out there's a place called Shakey's Pizza that's barely a kilometer from here, so that looked like a good place to go.
As it turns out, Shakey's Pizza is smack in the middle of Makati's red light district, which is only a few blocks from my hotel (in a direction that I simply hadn't had reason to go as of yet). I could tell as I set out that this was going to be not as nice of a neighborhood as where I currently make my home, but within a block the decline was far more rapid than I'd imagined.
And of course, being the white guy, everybody wanted my attention. There was an unending sea of "Sir?" all around me as I walked to my destination. Also, since it's Sunday and the streets are pretty empty of pedestrians, taxis are desperate. They were essentially following me. (Maybe that was their subtle way of telling me that I really shouldn't be walking by myself in that direction? Eh, I could see the pizza place a block or two away. I was fine.
There were beggar children everywhere. Some looked genuinely sick or retarded and just sort of moaned. I'm guessing it was an act. As with any city environment, you simply need to keep your eyes forward and ignore your surroundings. (Not completely ignore them, mind you, lest you get run over or stabbed. But appear to ignore them.) I did end up giving my change from the pizza to some beggar children right outside the door. You know, karma and all.
Also, every woman (or girl... although statistically it's likely that several of them were men/boys instead) I passed quietly asked "massage?" as I walked by. They couldn't shout it, of course. There are what I assume are police everywhere. So they would ask it such that only I could hear it. Sorry, not interested. If I were to go for that sort of thing, it would be with a lot more class than that. My "masseuse" would be clean and professional, and would probably have paperwork with her certifying an acceptable level of, um, cleanliness. The kind of high-class shit you see in the movies, you know? Ok, that's probably enough of that.
Then there was this one dude who had stuff he wanted to sell me. Watches, pens, a taser. You know, the usual. Yes... a taser. One of those little hand-held jabby ones with the two prongs on it. As he walked toward me he was demonstrating its use. Was I about to be tased if I didn't buy it from him? He claimed it was a good price, but I don't really know my taser prices. (Plus I doubt I could get it back through customs.) Was the "good price" listed as "give me money for this taser or I tase you and take it anyway?" You know, donating to the Anti-Mugging-You Fund? But he eventually took "no" for an answer and went back to whatever else he was doing.
See, this is why I love this place. It's not only a tropical paradise, it's an adventure at every turn!
No comments:
Post a Comment