Diego Lingad

18 January 2016
Travel Piece 1

Is dimsum worth a two-hour bus ride through a city thats been described the gates of

hell? I was about to find out. I sat through the ride from Angeles City to Binondo, sleeping at

random intervals and eavesdropping on a group of five amigas gossiping. I breathed in the sweet,

artificial smell of the bus air conditioning for a trip that ended up becoming three hours with the

notorious Manila traffic. After napping on and off, and learning about the lives of the five

amigas, I arrived at the bustling Avenida Bus Terminal in the heart of the Metro.

Amidst the crowd of passengers, street vendors, and bus conductors, I did my best to just

focus on my dad who was leading the way. Born and raised in Manila, my dad knows the ins and

outs of the city. From the dodgiest shantytowns to the poshest subdivisions, he navigates the

streets with ease. His tales of all his misadventures in the Metro filled my childhood. He never

seemed to run out of stories. His adeptness at storytelling, and the fantastical vastness of the

Metro itself, made all the stories possible.

My sister and I followed him out the cover of the bus terminal. The multicolored collage

of buildings and billboards were framed by the web of telephone lines. The sound of students

talking, vendors hawking their wares, and cars honking seemed to fill the little bit of empty space

left. We kept walking forward - well, my dad kept walking forward and I was following him

forward.

That way is the University Belt.

That way is where you can get fake IDs.

That way is where were heading.

Ah, okay, I responded.

My dad explained all these things in an attempt to teach me and my sister where in the world we

were. I had a notion of our general location, and I think I managed to convince myself that I

knew where I was. If I had been placed in the middle of that scene at another angle, though, I

probably would have gotten hopelessly lost.

We passed through a street lined with shops with LED signs, electronics, and home

appliances. Apparently this was the Philippines own Akihabara, or electric city. Past it was a

small street that, according to my dad, had the original Jollibee. Jollibee is a national fast food

chain that now has branches all over the world. Its become a satellite of home for the millions of

Filipinos living abroad. We even celebrated my dads fiftieth birthday at Jollibee. Seeing the

original Jollibee felt like reaching the destination of a pilgrimage.

After that near-holy experience, the street opened up to a big roundabout with a grand

colonial fountain situated in the middle. To the side of the eighteenth-century Carriedo Fountain

stood the sixteenth-century Binondo Church. Across these remnants of Spanish colonial rule

stood a Chinese gate. Binondo, the worlds oldest Chinatown, blends Spanish, Filipino, and

Chinese cultures. In this melting pot of cultures, my dad led us to the gold shops. There was a

small shopping center filled with small stores selling obscene amounts of Saudi gold. The garish

displays of gold chains, buddhas, and jewelry, though random at first glance, made perfect sense

in this nonsensical city.

Looking around at the variety of sights and sounds made us hungry, and we remembered

the reason why we came to Binondo in the first place - dimsum. We walked into the streets of the

Chinatown looking for a restaurant I had heard about online. Finally, my dad found a group of

people to ask. They bickered with each other about where the restaurant was located, but they
eventually pointed us to the right place. We went on our way and my dad explained that we need

to be careful when asking for directions.

You cant just ask anyone, he warned. Some people might try to lead you to a place where

they can mug you. Even though this was quite a worrisome warning, I did not feel afraid

because I did not plan on going around there by myself anyway. I could simply trust my dad to

keep me alive.

The sun started to set and we made a quick detour to a bakery. The bakery specialized in

hopia, small round cakes with mung bean filling. The freshly-baked hopia were the best I have

ever had. The outer dough was perfectly flaky and the filling had just the right amount of

sweetness. We ended up buying a few boxes, and I held the bag of them lovingly throughout the

rest of the trip.

Finally, we arrived in Wai Ying, the dimsum place we came all the way to Manila for. The

restaurant was narrow. The walls were painted a bright blue. The kitchen, takeout window, and

cashier were all in a steel island that ran along the right side of the restaurant. It looked nothing

like the Michelin-starred Din Tai Fung - which was told me there was going to be some great

food. We ordered mami, which is a Filipino-Chinese noodle soup, siomai, hargao, and a few

other dimsum standards. All the food was great, especially the mami, whose broth was as deep

and complex as the city we were eating it in.

When we finished, my dad led us back to the bus terminal. The nighttime covered the

city, but my dad was able to guide us through the maze of streets he grew up with. We got home

safe, full, and with a bag full of that lovely hopia.