One Night in Manila
The last evening that I was in Manila, I found myself casting about for something to do much earlier than anticipated. The final table of the Asian Poker Tour Philippines Main Event was finished in a speedy 2:45, so quick that the tour organizers were concerned that they didn't have enough footage for television. Not my concern of course. My concern was finding a place for a beer as soon as possible. It was the last night of a long four weeks away from home. A beer at an outdoor bar on a balmy Filipino night seemed like the perfect salve for a tired soul.
By 4:30pm all of my gear was safely stowed in my hotel room. Down in the lobby I ran into three members of the APT staff that I had befriended the night before at the APT players party. The APT is based in the Philippines, undoubtedly because of two factors: (1) the tour principals live in Manila, and (2) labor, like everything else in the Philippines, is dirt cheap. As a Westerner there are times when you almost feel like you have a target on your back once you set foot on the streets because the people there are so poor and you are (relatively speaking) so rich. And this time around we were in Makati -- the "good" section of Manila.
The three APT staff comprised a woman named Katrina and two gay men, Patrick and Quevyn. Each spoke excellent English, as most Filipinos do. They were young and fun and also at the tail end of a long week. After stopping off for a quick meal, I persuaded them to join me for beer by offering to pay for everything. This would have been my friend-making tactic if I had rocked up to a bar alone and seemed a perfectly reasonable use of money for people that I knew and liked. It also would cost me far less than it would have cost them if I hadn't offered.
As the night wore on and the $6 buckets of San Mig Light increased, talk turned to Filipino / Tagalog. Patrick and Quevyn were determined to learn the Westerner a few phrases to take back home. They were also determined to hook me up with Katrina despite me being perfectly clear that I have a girlfriend that I live with. To that end, the very first phrase they taught me was one that translated as "You are very beautiful. Can I date you?" They encouraged me to try out the new phrase on a very shy and slightly tipsy Katrina.
Instead I turned in my chair and motioned the waitress to come over to the table. She was probably expecting the whitey to order another round of beer in his heavily-accented English. Instead she turned bright red when I busted out with some of the only words in Filipino / Tagalog that I knew. She smiled nervously, quickly shook her head "no" and then made a beeline for the front door of the bar.
The four of us roared in laughter. We toasted new friends and new languages, beer sloshing all over the table. After a long pull on my San Mig Light, I turned towards the door to see what had become of the waitress who had so grievously wounded my heart. Through a window I could see her talking to a female co-worker and glancing in my direction. And even though I spoke only one phrase of Filipino / Tagalog, I read her lips as clear as day.
"Ang ganda mo. Ligawan kita?"