Manila at 36˚C is a fusion chamber inside an angry sun. Everything concrete, it seemed, was glowing white. The rest was melting away.
After two hours of greasy and sticky wait at the bus station, the airconditioned bus was a pool of winter. We didn't wait to be called when the blue bus arrived.
The driver read our collective wish: an escape velocity away from the incinerator. And by 2 PM, we finally escaped Manila and headed fast for the highway---light years from the urban heat sink.
When we made a turn for the North road, the on board entertainment also began, auspiciously enough, with Ian Veneracion v. Raymart Santiago DVD marathon. Four hours.
After two hours of greasy and sticky wait at the bus station, the airconditioned bus was a pool of winter. We didn't wait to be called when the blue bus arrived.
The driver read our collective wish: an escape velocity away from the incinerator. And by 2 PM, we finally escaped Manila and headed fast for the highway---light years from the urban heat sink.
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| Quiet and uncrowded. Not like Boracay's sand and fury. |
When we made a turn for the North road, the on board entertainment also began, auspiciously enough, with Ian Veneracion v. Raymart Santiago DVD marathon. Four hours.
