A car can tell you many things. It can tell you that a door is open, a tire needs air, a passenger has forgotten to buckle up, or that you are getting dangerously close to the vehicle in front of you. What it cannot tell you is why you have been sitting in the same spot for 23 minutes. This is the peculiar economics of driving in the Philippines. We fork over a great deal of money buying cars that can go very fast, and then spend a considerable portion of our lives making sure they do not.
A modern car may have 200 horsepower, adaptive cruise control, lane-keeping assistance, a panoramic roof, and enough cameras to make you feel as though you are being monitored by a small satellite. None of these features can make a traffic jam disappear. The irony is clear to everybody and his mother. We buy cars for mobility, and then spend hours immobilized inside them. And Philippine roads have their own way of making this particularly entertaining.
A jeepney can stop most anywhere it wants to because someone wants to get off. A tricycle can appear from a side street with the confidence of a vehicle carrying diplomatic immunity. A motorcycle can occupy a gap that you were reasonably certain did not exist. A delivery rider can materialize beside you just when you were congratulating yourself for maintaining a safe distance.
And then there are the proud kings of the road. The Filipino bus driver operates according to a philosophy that seems to combine public transportation, competitive racing, and an advanced understanding of physics. A bus may spend several minutes trying to overtake another bus, only to arrive at the next stop three seconds ahead of its rival. The madman who got ahead high fives his conductor. Whoop-de-do. Nobody really knows what was won.
At intersections, meanwhile, the rules of geometry can become remarkably flexible. Four vehicles approach from different directions. Each of the drivers is convinced that he has the right of way. The traffic light changes. Nobody moves. Then everyone moves at once. This is where the humble traffic enforcer becomes less a policeman and more a conductor of an enormous and, in all likelihood, confused orchestra. One wave of the hand and traffic flows. Another wave and everybody stops. A third gesture is interpreted differently by three drivers, two pedestrians, and one motorcycle rider, all of whom proceed with varying degrees of confidence.
Don’t forget about the rain. A perfectly ordinary road can become an entirely different piece of infrastructure after a heavy downpour. Familiar streets acquire puddles of suspicious depth. Motorcycles move cautiously. Cars suddenly become boats with license plates. Drivers who spent the morning worrying about fuel economy begin to wonder whether their air intake is high enough. Floodwater has a way of reducing motoring to its most basic question: Can I get through this?
For many motorists, the cost of all this traffic is measured in fuel. Idling engines gobble up gas, and stop-and-go driving is hardly a recipe for efficiency. But fuel is only one part of the bill. There is also time. Time spent commuting along EDSA. Time spent crawling toward a toll plaza. Time spent looking for parking in a shopping mall on a Saturday afternoon. Time spent waiting behind a jeepney that has stopped to pick up one passenger, who appears to have been walking toward it at precisely the same speed as it was moving. And time, unlike fuel, cannot be topped up at the next gas station.
This is why conversations about motoring often focus too narrowly on the car itself. We talk about engine size, fuel economy, safety equipment, electric vehicles, and the latest driver-assistance systems. All of these matter. But the usefulness of a car ultimately depends on the road system in which it operates. A remarkably efficient car stuck in traffic is still stuck in traffic. An expensive electric vehicle stuck in traffic is still stuck in traffic.
Even a very handsome car stuck in traffic is still stuck in traffic. All of them become just places to sit.
There is, of course, no shortage of clever solutions being discussed. Better public transportation can reduce the number of private vehicles on the road. Better traffic management can improve the movement of vehicles that remain. Smarter infrastructure and technology can make roads safer and more efficient.
Needless to say, motorists also have a role, even if it is less glamorous. Use the turn signal. Don’t block the intersection. Let someone merge occasionally. Don’t treat every gap in traffic as a personal challenge. And perhaps don’t honk at the motorcycle rider who has made a perfectly legal turn simply because he had the audacity to get there before you. If the car ahead of you is moving slowly because someone is learning to drive, remember that you were once that person.
None of this requires a new engine or a more expensive car. It requires manners. Which is arguably the strangest thing about motoring. After decades of technological progress, some of the most useful improvements available to drivers remain remarkably low-tech. A little patience can still outperform 200 horsepower. And it doesn’t need an oil change.
