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Transcript of Northland Advocate Article
Some people head to Asia for the beaches or the temples, some for cut-price plastic surgery, others to fulfill more earthly needs. But when Whangerei's Murray Hemsley headed to the Philippines he had just one thing in mind- a new set of teeth. In part one;
he discovers the chaotic streets of manila...
MOLARS IN MANILA
The man was back again. He was there yesterday and the day before, sitting in the same glass topped table on the pavement outside the Bellagio hotel, doing the same thing - watching the street. He was a silver fox, a man in his mid-50s, white hair, well groomed with a sense of discipline about him. He could have been a military man but to me he looked more like an ex rugby player-a kind of Griz Wiley but more refined. What was he doing in manila? Not the same thing as me, I bet.
I continued to observe the street. Today appeared to be European day. The men came out woodwork with their Filipino ladies on their arms. She was usually young and he ... well, he came in all ages and shapes and colours. The fat ones with the loud voices were American, then there was the tall athletic type, usually Australian or kiwi,, and then of course there were the Poms, soft, white, and wobbly, some with a tattoo. A great percentage of these men were over 40, balding,, pot bellied and being led into apartment stores by a cute, petite, determined Filipino woman controlling the situation with a power that only a woman can have. These men were putty in their hands and they appeared to enjoy every second.
So what brought me to this place? Manila is a necessity, not really a choice, if I had to choose I would have liked to walk 100m up the road from my home to a clinic that was everything one would expect - sterile, clean, professional, and affordable. Unfortunately life's script isn't like a romance novel and we have to take opportunities and make our choices, my choice was to trust a stranger with my teeth in a city I knew nothing about for a price that was 85 per cent cheaper than what a Whangerei dentist would quote. What had I to lose? My teeth, well, they were pretty stuffed already. So with some trepidation I made the decision to board a plane and head for the magical city of Manila in the Philippines, rather than take out a third mortgage and "make the investment", as the kiwi dentist said.
After all, two other couples I know had been to the same manila dentist I was going to, and they have pearly whites to rival any Hollywood star's. Auckland airport was quiet as we waited for the Air Brunei flight to whisk as away to Asia. My eldest daughter, Sarah, had graciously offered to give up 10 days of her life to accompany me to manila to make noodles and fuss over me as I languished about the hotel room after hours in the dentist chair. My wife, Annie, always has a way of surprising me at unexpected times and the airport was no exception - she rang when I was locked in a cubicle with my trousers around my ankles. Frank Sinatra blared out my pocke, Come Fly With Me, Come Fly Away. Raucous laughter echoed off the walls of the men's only department as I clumsily retrieved the phone from my pocket.
Air Brunei offered a free stop over in Bandar Seri Begawan, the capital of Brunei. After a brief coffee break in Brisbane - where Sarah was swabbed for explosives by an over-zealous Ocker in uniform - we were airborne for six hours before banking right over the jungle and dropping heavily on to the tarmac. Brunei looked magical from the air. The golden roof of a mosque was the first thing I saw as we skirted the jungle and followed coast to the airport. The white sands, the coconut trees - the tropics. The airport was immaculate and highly organized as we breezed through and out into 30C of tropical jungle heat. The hotel was luxury in bricks; everything was picture perfect, including the room. Hell, or so it seemed, was only a two-hour flight north of heaven.
We threaded our way through the streets of manila in peak hour traffic. Sixteen million people had emptied out into the streets at once and were heading in the same direction as us. There are no real rules on the road, or on the footpaths, or at the traffic lights. Here little men dressed in yellow uniforms stand in the middle of the road waving frantically at the masses of vehicles as they toot their way along Makati road at a snail's pace,, heading wherever 16 million people go at the end of the day. And yet in all this confusion there was an adrenaline rush, the kind you get when you are in a dodgem car and someone else is at the wheel. You sit back terrified on the edge of you seat with every sense in your body alert- as if you'd just swallowed ten cans of V. our driver, the dentist's husband Alan, wove through the traffic like a formula one driver, accelerating past everything that moved and tooting incessantly at motorists, pedestrians, old women on bicycles - you name it, he tooted at it.
This was the law of the road, Manila style. Toot to survive, the drive from the airport alone was worth the trip to manila drenched in sweat from the humidity and then the maniacal drive, we stopped outside our hotel. From the outside it looked okay. The receptionist made it clear that anything I needed she could arrange. We took the elevator to the fourth floor. Once the door was opened we realized we were staying in a budget hotel. It was dark. The blinds were broken. A cockroach the size of my small finger crawled across the floor. We resolved to look for a classier joint the following day. The next morning the traffic woke us early. Annie had not made contact with us for several days so my first mission was to find an internet café to email home. What a culture shock. I had walked about 30m from the hotel door when I was jumped by Viagra sellers, Rolex sellers, sunglasses merchants, beggars and cigarette sellers. On every store door stood an armed guard with a handgun strapped to his hip or a bloody big sawn-off pump action shotgun cradled to his arms. The air was thick with acrid smoke from diesel cars and petrol fumes. The footpath was invaded by motorcycles tooting at pedestrians to get out of the way. Sewage seeped from broken pipes under the footpath of from open grates. A mobile food stall with seats and a table with a pretty red and white table cloth were parked right beside one of the grates. Alan was to pick me up at 10:30am for my first appointment with Dr Dentist, so, email sent, I headed for the hotel lobby to wait. Had I done the right thing? Should I have paid the money to the dentists back home? Will I ever see Annie again? Will I die of an infectious disease?
....... To be continued.......
IN THE CHAIR
Murray hemsley continues his tale from a dental chair in manila - and when he returns home to Whangerei, part of him is forever Filipino
The walk along Makati Ave. to the clinic took only five minutes. Those five minutes were filled with sounds, smells, and images I had never experienced before in my 54 years. Three vendors squatted over a small stove cooking, while hundreds of exhaust-spewing cars tooted and polluted the air. The smell of sewage was ever present as we trudged around car, motorbikes and people. The temperature was already soaring into the high 20s. We passed construction sites with scaffolding that would have made Osh foam at the mouth. And then there were the karaoke bars. The noises escaping from the nearby dental surgery sounded like a chorus of angels compared to the off key walls of the 10 am patron with his lips locked tight around the microphone.
Alan, the teeth technician and English husband of Linda, the Filipino dentist and master craftswoman, led the way through the traffic. He gave me a crash course on how to survive in the streets of manila, so by the time we turned the corner part of me felt more relaxed. The other part went into overdrive when Alan pointed out the clinic sign above the door of a building four lanes Jeepnees. The empty waiting room was as large as our wardrobe at home with eight chairs, a water cooler, six magazines and 23 certificates lining the walls. This was a good sign. After a 15-minute wait, a young female assistant squeezed into the room and handed me a clipboard with the usual questions about aids, allergies and medical history, another wait I was led into the inner sanctum and seated.
Linda the dentist entered. Her smile filled the room, and so did her teeth - perfect pearly whites, capped, straight and dazzling. I opened wide and let her into my amalgam farm, courtesy of the 1980s New Zealand public dental system. And then she made a promise: "I will turn you into a prince."
Between my visits to the clinic over the next week my daughter Sarah and I ventured into the streets of Makati Ave the more we were impressed. This was the heart of financial centre. The street was lined with colorful gardens, water features, modern buildings and the best of all the malls. Inside was a shopper's heaven. To escape the heat and pollution, people in the thousands congregate in the malls. Floors upon floors of children clothes, women's clothes, men's clothes, sports clothes, traditional Filipino clothes, shoes, handbags, sunglasses, watches, jewellery, leather accessories, suits, T-shirts - an absolute dream place to shop, providing you were under a size eight.
The teeth restoration began in earnest after the full head X-ray at a clinic cross town and through some very disturbing shantytowns. Then it was time for the implants. Pain....there was none. Linda had the gentleness of a harp player and the peaceful aura of the entire green party Morris dancing on the steps of the parliament.
Night-time on the streets was another experience. People gathered around dimly lit doorways; from the shadows young girls greeted in a polite but disturbing manner as I scurried towards the sanctuary of the palace hotel.
A close encounter with a very attractive woman occurred within 100m of the palace. Quicker than a John Kirwan sidestep I changed direction and pace,, with the tour guide's words of wisdom echoing in my head - "you don't always get what you are paying for.
" Hospitality is a strength of the Filipino people. The service in the hotels, restaurants and even the malls was first class.
Politeness pays dividends with tourists and it costs nothing. The highlight occurred one Sunday morning when Sarah and I were venturing out the front steps of the palace for a stroll. The usual gathering of street merchants pounced; another Viagra seller, a sunglasses hawker and a leather belt and accessory street peddler. We were surrounded. Then, through the gathering, emerged the smiling face of a mark. "Sir, sir, sir. Would you like to explore the lake, the volcano and have a traditional Filipino meal? I am a registered tourist guide and my uncle is the senior policeman. I will take you to Tagaytay to see the Taal volcano. I am very trustworthy. "My cousin is in the door there," he pointed, "ask about me. My auntie owns a restaurant down by the lake only an hour's drive to the mountains where you can get amazing views of the lake, volcano and the city." Now that sounded appealing. The price? $50.
I checked with the security at the doors of the palace and got the all-clear, so our next manila adventure began. Our journey was punctuated with long monologues from our enthusiastic driver. He had a degree in business management and was driving his uncle's tourist van because he couldn't get a job and had a family to feed. As we climbed to the cooler mountain air, the haze around manila could still be seen 60 kilometers in the distance. The plunge down to the lake was impressive. The tropical vegetation, the views, the smells, the houses, the rubbish, the people, and the traffic - it was all so exciting,, so different, and so vibrant. We settled for a whole traditional meal at auntie's place at a pagoda-type shelter right on the edge of the lake. The food was delicious - fish from the lake, chickens and vegetables. Even as we ate, small children were snorkeling and catching fish right in front of us. By 5:00 p.m. we were back at the heart of manila. The last few days allotted time in manila we revolved around some serious teeth work. I lay back at work via a small TV screen. The restoration work was completed five hours before our flight out of manila.
Linda handed me a mirror. She promised a prince and what I saw was bee gees teeth - Barry Gibb in fact. They were straight, no gaps, white but not too white and hopefully they worked.
For a while the words came out differently through the porcelain crowns and I couldn't whistle. Perhaps I would need the services of a speech therapist to teach me to say's' words properly. The credit card was swiped and last minute instructions were given about not eating nuts because of the implants and go easy on the steak and they will take a few months to get used to, so good luck and god bless and don't forget to email. We were whisked away by Alan on another frantic drive to the airport. I sat practicing my smile in the reflection of the car window and running my tongue over my new teeth. The last visions of manila became firmly imprinted in my mind - Jeepnees, beggars, shanties and people everywhere. We were upgraded to first class and flew out of manila tired but happy. I nibbled on chicken - my first real meal for 10 days apart from the five successive dinners of tofu. The teeth worked, not quite as sharp as they used to be, but they worked.
My wife Annie's eyes were only for my teeth as I smiled my way out through the doors into the arrival lounge at Auckland. Questions and comments poured from her: "how do they feel? How much do they cost? Are you pleased with them? Did you bring me a present? Did it hurt? They look so different and you don't look like a horse at all." I smiled all the way home flashing my teeth at every opportunity. "So what did you think of manila?" she asked. "Manila is part of me and I am part of it," I said. "After all I am part Filipino now."
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http://www.dydent.com
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