The Kalesa
The Kalesa
By Val Abelgas
As a young kid spending my annual summer vacation in my home province of Oriental Mindoro, I always looked forward to riding the kalesa, the horse-drawn carriage that trodded ever so slowly on the capital town, Calapan’s sand and gravel road.
As soon as the rickety ferry that regularly crossed Batangas City and Calapan docked on the pantalan (pier), my brothers and I would race down the plank to get the best seat on the kalesa, and that would be the one beside the kutsero (rig driver). It was one of the highlights of my trip everytime the kutsero would hand me the rope that steered the horse. It was like when you first sat on the driver’s seat of your father’s car, and you imagined yourself driving. It was sheer delight!
You can imagine my disappointment when a few years later, instead of a kalesa taking us from the pier to my aunt’s home, a motorized pedicab awaited us as we disembarked from the ferry. There was no thrill nor fun nor comfort in squeezing yourselves in that tiny marvel of technology, as it trudged the now asphalted roads with all the noise and smoke belching from its exhaust.
Riding a kalesa was one of the joys of my youth. And it is with mixed feelings that I read a news report recently that the kalesa may soon be gone from Metro Manila’s streets. The report said that from around 2,000 kalesas in the 1980s, only some 300 of the horse-drawn rigs are currently plying Metro Manila’s streets.
To be honest, I am surprised that there are even 300 kalesas still plying Metro Manila’s busy streets. With all the jeepneys, buses, taxicabs and pedicabs serving Metro Manila’s millions of commuters, why would anyone ride a kalesa? I thought the kalesa would have long been extinct in the metropolis by now.
Doesn’t the noise of engines roaring and horns blaring distract the horse? Doesn’t the horse get restless when drivers suddenly cut in front of it? I thought only a hopeless romantic like me would enjoy riding a kalesa at this time of leather seats and airconditioned cars.
But 300 kalesas still ply Metro Manila’s streets, and that means hundreds of commuters must still be riding them on the way to work, the market or someplace every single day!
Don’t get me wrong. I love the kalesas, and would love to ride beside the kutsero again, and listen to his never-ending tales (remember the term kwentong kutsero?), but not in Metro Manila. I would love to ride the kalesa in a remote barrio in the province, where I can smell the scent of newly milled rice or watch Mang Ambo as he gets tuba from atop the coconut tree. I would love to ride the kalesa in a remote village, where only a jeepney jampacked with people and farm produce would pass us by once in a while.
But not in Metro Manila’s asphalt jungle, where the lord is not the kutsero, but the reckless psychopath who doesn’t seem to relish even a little space between his vehicle and the one in his front or his side. Not in city streets where that same psychopath could smash onto the rickety rig and kill both the kutsero and the kabayo. Not when I am in a hurry to get out of that traffic jam and get to work or appointment on time.
There is a time and place for everything. The kalesa had its time. It must now give way to technology, the same way that horse-drawn carriages are now used only to carry the Queen during royal ceremonies, or to carry the casket of Da King and presidents during a funeral procession, or to bring enjoyment to tourists in New York. The same way that the rickshaw of Asia is used only for tourism purposes in Penang and Hongkong.
The kalesa must now move back to remote barrios, where the folk need not worry about being late for appointment or work, where the kutsero can still lord it over the dusty road. And to give hopeless romantics a taste of nostalgia every once in a while, kalesas should be allowed to roam the old Intramuros, where tourists will be thrilled to experience riding in that centuries-old mode of transportation while basking in the historic beauty of the Walled City.
(Send comments to valabelgas@aol.com)
By Val Abelgas
As a young kid spending my annual summer vacation in my home province of Oriental Mindoro, I always looked forward to riding the kalesa, the horse-drawn carriage that trodded ever so slowly on the capital town, Calapan’s sand and gravel road.
As soon as the rickety ferry that regularly crossed Batangas City and Calapan docked on the pantalan (pier), my brothers and I would race down the plank to get the best seat on the kalesa, and that would be the one beside the kutsero (rig driver). It was one of the highlights of my trip everytime the kutsero would hand me the rope that steered the horse. It was like when you first sat on the driver’s seat of your father’s car, and you imagined yourself driving. It was sheer delight!
You can imagine my disappointment when a few years later, instead of a kalesa taking us from the pier to my aunt’s home, a motorized pedicab awaited us as we disembarked from the ferry. There was no thrill nor fun nor comfort in squeezing yourselves in that tiny marvel of technology, as it trudged the now asphalted roads with all the noise and smoke belching from its exhaust.
Riding a kalesa was one of the joys of my youth. And it is with mixed feelings that I read a news report recently that the kalesa may soon be gone from Metro Manila’s streets. The report said that from around 2,000 kalesas in the 1980s, only some 300 of the horse-drawn rigs are currently plying Metro Manila’s streets.
To be honest, I am surprised that there are even 300 kalesas still plying Metro Manila’s busy streets. With all the jeepneys, buses, taxicabs and pedicabs serving Metro Manila’s millions of commuters, why would anyone ride a kalesa? I thought the kalesa would have long been extinct in the metropolis by now.
Doesn’t the noise of engines roaring and horns blaring distract the horse? Doesn’t the horse get restless when drivers suddenly cut in front of it? I thought only a hopeless romantic like me would enjoy riding a kalesa at this time of leather seats and airconditioned cars.
But 300 kalesas still ply Metro Manila’s streets, and that means hundreds of commuters must still be riding them on the way to work, the market or someplace every single day!
Don’t get me wrong. I love the kalesas, and would love to ride beside the kutsero again, and listen to his never-ending tales (remember the term kwentong kutsero?), but not in Metro Manila. I would love to ride the kalesa in a remote barrio in the province, where I can smell the scent of newly milled rice or watch Mang Ambo as he gets tuba from atop the coconut tree. I would love to ride the kalesa in a remote village, where only a jeepney jampacked with people and farm produce would pass us by once in a while.
But not in Metro Manila’s asphalt jungle, where the lord is not the kutsero, but the reckless psychopath who doesn’t seem to relish even a little space between his vehicle and the one in his front or his side. Not in city streets where that same psychopath could smash onto the rickety rig and kill both the kutsero and the kabayo. Not when I am in a hurry to get out of that traffic jam and get to work or appointment on time.
There is a time and place for everything. The kalesa had its time. It must now give way to technology, the same way that horse-drawn carriages are now used only to carry the Queen during royal ceremonies, or to carry the casket of Da King and presidents during a funeral procession, or to bring enjoyment to tourists in New York. The same way that the rickshaw of Asia is used only for tourism purposes in Penang and Hongkong.
The kalesa must now move back to remote barrios, where the folk need not worry about being late for appointment or work, where the kutsero can still lord it over the dusty road. And to give hopeless romantics a taste of nostalgia every once in a while, kalesas should be allowed to roam the old Intramuros, where tourists will be thrilled to experience riding in that centuries-old mode of transportation while basking in the historic beauty of the Walled City.
(Send comments to valabelgas@aol.com)
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