From: manuel@cs.strath.ac.uk (Manuel A. Lopez)
Newsgroups: soc.culture.filipino
Subject: To Visit the Queen
Date: 13 Apr 92 18:17:45 GMT
Organization: Comp. Sci. Dept., Strathclyde Univ., Glasgow, Scotland.


I would have wanted to avoid going to London if I can, but last week, I had to.

My passport had expired last October 1991 and,  being a good law-abiding 
citizen that I am, I had to renew it.  I tried to renew my passport by post 
(which was what, in fact, I did) except that I still haven't received my 
passport as of the end of March 1992.

So I decided to go to London and raise some semblance of fireworks at the
Philippine Embassy.  

I took the scenic route --- travelling by coach (an interesting and 
fun-filled 8 hour-trip --- one never gets surprised at what one can do 
at the back of a coach darkened for overnight travels). I didn't quite 
get to see any scene, though, since I took the 11pm trip from Glasgow.

Arriving at London's King's Cross Station just a few minutes before 7.00,
I decided that I could plan my day's schedule while having a full
English breakfast.  This I did after I have taken the tube from King's
Cross to Victoria Station.  It was during breakfast then when I decided
that as soon as I have done my thing, I'd go back up to Glasgow.

London was hot and humid, and it turned out to be much hotter later in the day.
I had to do major calesthenics on the pavement to remove my jacket and
my matching scarf --- and I had realised that it would have been much
easier if I had unshouldered my back pack first. 

The trip merely reminded me that I have forgotten the milestones in a 
Filipino calendar.  Having positioned myself in front of the gate of the 
Philippine embassy at 09.30 sharp on Thursday, 09 APR 92, I began to 
wonder whether the embassy had changed addresses.  The Embassy was closed 
and all locked up, the curtains were all drawn, and people were 
neither coming in nor going out.  In simple terms, nothing was stirring, 
not even a mouse.

To while my time, I did a piroutte, stood perfectly still and watched the
scene across the park, the Kensington gardens.  This massive estate (the
Kensington --- not the Philippine embassy) is, for the uninitiated, the
London residence of Prince Charles (and Lady Diana, if they are still living
together) and a few other royalties.  I did not see any royalty about since
I presume that no decent royalty is up-and-running at that early hour.

Having gotten tired of the scene, I turned around to face the gate once more
to see a wee notice (written in a delible Pentel pen ink) stating that the
embassy is closed that day (Araw ng Kagitingan).  It was then that I decided
that I did not have any choice but to stay in London one more day 
than necessary.  

I could not choose any better day to be in London on that day.  As the whole
world knows, the British went to the polls on that day to prove that
scientific polling methods  and random sampling techniques simply do not 
work for the British public.  While most of the people that I know seem 
to pledge by the Labour manifesto, they apparently changed their minds 
when about to mark the ballot with a cross and voted Tory instead.

As I have been to London several times already (the first when I was but a
wee lad of nine), I decided to skip all the tourist traps and explored all
the side alleys and dark closes that I could find.  I would not want to
bore (and shock you) with all I did but suffice it to say, I was, er,
occupied.

I have managed to get myself a room in a bed & breakfast in Philbeach
Gardens in Earl's Court.  The choice of staying in Earl's Court (rather
than in any other part of the City of London) was governed by two
motives, one of which is that there is a number of Filipino supermarkets
in this area.

The supermarkets, unfortunately, were a personal failure.  Oh, do not get
me wrong:  the items were all there (from walis tingting to pankaskas ng
yelo) --- they even had the latest film videos from the Philippines to boot.
But, then, I was looking for a mould for my world-famous pulvoron but I 
could not find any!

The bed & breakfast that I stayed in had a nice cosy restaurant that
specializes in Thai food.  Ordinarily, I would have loved to put in some
Thai dishes again but, since I had a thick creamy  dish of chicken
tikka masala the night before, I decided to junk it out that night
--- two quarter pounders with cheese, large fries, and a large irn bru.

The B & B also had a wee bar in its basement.  I found out that bar
prices there in London was 40% higher than those in Glasgow.  But,
I still decided to have a few pints and keep the barman company by watching
the Election Coverage of the BBC.  I went up to bed with the Labour party
leading by several constituencies and got out of bed only to find out that
the Conservatives have retained its majority.

Another full English breakfast started my day --- the young men manning
the breakfast service kept on insisting that I get extra pots of coffee,
more toasts and a heapful of marmalade.  As I am an avid lover of foods
in all guises, I never turn down an offer.

I was back at the Philippine Embassy at 10.00 that morning --- I didn't
even manage to get a glimpse of the Royal Residences on my way (I'm sure
that Andrew or Edward know where to get in touch with me).

This Edwardian mansion, it turned out, is both the Philippine Embassy
and the Ambassadorial Residence in one.  While the Ambassador takes up
residence on the main and the first floor (second floor to you people out
there), the consulate office is tucked down in the basement, accessible
by a separate, outside staircase.

There were four Filipinas in front of me in the queue.  Two of the Filipinas
were there to accompany the other two.  Oh well, habits never change, do
they?  If only they had allowed me to jump the queue, I would have been
out in a matter of seconds.

But, then, this is UK and jumping a queue is considered very politically
incorrect and socially despicable.  So I waited while the two ladies, 
each in her own turn, spelled out their problems.

Miss Martinez, the first in the queue, wants to amend her passport.  The 
date of birth in her passport was 1936 but her birth certificate showed 1942.
I took a quick glance at her and I thought that she's pushing her luck
with 1942 --- why, she looks old enough to be my, er, elder cousin!  I 
smiled, trying to stop bursting into giggles by looking at the ceiling 
and the walls (they still have a memento of a palaspas during last 
year's Palm Sunday).  The attending consul caught me snickering and 
managed a good job of trying to look serious himself.

She fished out a document folder out of her green Harrod's shopping bag
(a status symbol, by the way) and carefully extricated a yellowing piece
of document.  This she claims excitedly is her birth certificate.  I 
strained my eyes trying to see whether it was written in Spanish.
Her Filipina friend, as perhaps her duly-appointed duty, continuously
delivered a barrage of `Oo nga! Bakit naman sila nagkamali sa edad niya!
Ay naku, kitang-kita sa letrato na ...!' The attending consul, being a 
gentleman that he is, asked her to fill out a form and the two of them 
were quickly ushered to another room. 

Mrs Singh came next.  Smiling apologetically to the consul, she said
that her case is a bit complicated.  I looked to the ceiling once more,
blaming myself for not bringing along something to do (I was tempted to
buy a magazine called Tsismis at the Filipino supermarket the previous
day).  She claimed tearfully that she had lost her passport.  It turned
out that she had ran away from her Arabian employer because `hindi ko
na gusto ang patakaran nila.'  Her employers, of course, are holding on
to her passport.  Her companion, for a change, wasn't saying anything.

She was given a different form to fill out and the consular officer took
extreme pain to explain how the document was to be filled out.  And
she was ushered to the same room with Miss Martinez.  

Suddenly it was my turn.  And as I was about to state my case, Mrs Singh
hurried back, `Siya nga, pala sir, puwede ko bang palitan ang pangalan ko?
Hiwalay na kami ng demonyong Singh ...'  Without a word, she was given
another form.

All in all, it took me ten seconds to say what I need, five seconds
for the consular officer to retireve my new passport in his drawer,
three seconds to sign my name, and I was done.

Since my coach back to Glasgow was at 11.00 that night, I had the entire 
day to keep myself busy.

And I was quite busy, indeed, at Battersea (maiinggit ka, Ken!).

Sige at ingat ...

... Lito
 
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
	Manuel A Lopez				Department of Computer Science
	manuel@uk.ac.strath.cs (JANET)		University of Strathclyde
	manuel%cs.strath.ac.uk@nsf.ac.uk        Glasgow, United Kingdom
				(INTERNET)	(041) 552 4400 (x2952)
Newsgroups: soc.culture.filipino