One really only calls this place the "Cogons". There is no other place in Manila that comes close to its atmosphere and vibe. The separate huts provide a feel of privacy and exclusivity. In the 70's we would hang out and eat our burgers and milkshakes during swimming here. During polo or equestrian events my gang, (not even in our teens at the time) and I would all sit on the edge of the wooden elevated floorings and watch the games, waiting for a goal, (well, actually more of waiting for someone to fall of his horse, which was the really exciting part to us anyway). The seats were classic wicker, pretty much like the ones currently used but made of real wood and rattan - this spoke of the colonial heritage of the club. A little later on I remember the chairs were replaced with heavy steel/iron chairs painted white and with diagonal mesh-like backing and a cushion on the seat. The worst phase of the Cogons was the "monoblock" phase when all tables and chairs, even the pool deck chairs, were all in the white monoblock style typical for the 80's and 90's. For whichever phase the furniture in the Cogons were in, the constant was always the cogon huts themselves. These define the place.
I recall one hot summer day in 1984 or thereabouts, when our teenager polo gang literally lit the place up. Back then, it would be a ritual to hang out in the cogons after tennis practice and chat with friends, flirt with the girls, and smoke cigarettes. Most of us must have been around 13 or 14 years old at that time, and a common practice was for one of us to sneak in a bottle of Tanduay Rum hiding this in one of our bags, (probably a "Le Sportsac") Then we would all order a round of Cokes or Pepsi's, and drink up, secretely sneaking pours from the hidden bottle. On this particular afternoon, I recall a whole bunch of us Jerks, (yes that's what we called our gang) rowdy and blurry. One of us was playing a game with a lighter, (it was either Gerard Coscolluela or Pit Casimiro). He would light the edge of a cogon stalk at the edge of the roof and then extinguish it quickly with his hand or by blowing it out as soon as it caught fire. (A creatively stupid version of the game "Chicken" I suppose). Each time he would let the fire stay lit a little longer than last before extinguishing it - while the rest of us cheered and egged him on to let it go on longer each time than the last. Now I know you know where this story is going . . . Before we knew it, the flame was out of control and all of us were blowing, dousing it with glasses of rum coke, and desperately slapping the fast spreading fire with our bags, the seat cushions, tennis rackets, whatever we could get our hands on - but the fire wouldn't stop spreading in fact the burning embers from our hut actually flew to the neighboring hut and started another fire! It was panic city, and the cogons were quickly transformed into what seemed like that little Vietnamese village in the film Platoon - two huts almost engulfed in flame. It took a fast thinking waiter, whose face I can still see but whose name I cannot recall, to bring out a fire extinguisher and well - the fire was out immediately but now it looked like two huts were covered with snow. Epilogue: Gerard, or Pit Pat, ended up with an official suspension from the club, and the rest of us got hell from our parents.
The Cogons was an exotic place. Isolated but near. The ballboys from the tennis courts would tell us how they would hide under the raised flooring and be able to see through the gaps betwen the wooden planks - where they would make boso the couples who would make out there in the evenings. In between sets of tennis, these residents of the club would regale us with raunchy stories like these.
Oktoberfest On The East Terrace
So I'm back to this blog thing - continuing to learn how and wanting to sustain the momentum, or I might have to change the blurb "kuwentos cogon" to "ningas cogon".
I enjoyed the the club's version of Oktoberfest. Give credit to Pat P for pushing these types of activities. Though, there could have been more people, the number who attended was enough to create a nice atmosphere. The East Terrace was put to good use and the set up was not bad. Nice 80's music by DJ Boyet Almazan. Good fun with the flowing beer and cool tall modern San Miguel kegs. (they should have skipped the "fiesta"/"beer garden type streamers though). My phone was "low bat" so I couldn't take the pictures I would have posted here. So what's this I hear about Chill Nights at the Cogons every Friday?
I recall one hot summer day in 1984 or thereabouts, when our teenager polo gang literally lit the place up. Back then, it would be a ritual to hang out in the cogons after tennis practice and chat with friends, flirt with the girls, and smoke cigarettes. Most of us must have been around 13 or 14 years old at that time, and a common practice was for one of us to sneak in a bottle of Tanduay Rum hiding this in one of our bags, (probably a "Le Sportsac") Then we would all order a round of Cokes or Pepsi's, and drink up, secretely sneaking pours from the hidden bottle. On this particular afternoon, I recall a whole bunch of us Jerks, (yes that's what we called our gang) rowdy and blurry. One of us was playing a game with a lighter, (it was either Gerard Coscolluela or Pit Casimiro). He would light the edge of a cogon stalk at the edge of the roof and then extinguish it quickly with his hand or by blowing it out as soon as it caught fire. (A creatively stupid version of the game "Chicken" I suppose). Each time he would let the fire stay lit a little longer than last before extinguishing it - while the rest of us cheered and egged him on to let it go on longer each time than the last. Now I know you know where this story is going . . . Before we knew it, the flame was out of control and all of us were blowing, dousing it with glasses of rum coke, and desperately slapping the fast spreading fire with our bags, the seat cushions, tennis rackets, whatever we could get our hands on - but the fire wouldn't stop spreading in fact the burning embers from our hut actually flew to the neighboring hut and started another fire! It was panic city, and the cogons were quickly transformed into what seemed like that little Vietnamese village in the film Platoon - two huts almost engulfed in flame. It took a fast thinking waiter, whose face I can still see but whose name I cannot recall, to bring out a fire extinguisher and well - the fire was out immediately but now it looked like two huts were covered with snow. Epilogue: Gerard, or Pit Pat, ended up with an official suspension from the club, and the rest of us got hell from our parents.
The Cogons was an exotic place. Isolated but near. The ballboys from the tennis courts would tell us how they would hide under the raised flooring and be able to see through the gaps betwen the wooden planks - where they would make boso the couples who would make out there in the evenings. In between sets of tennis, these residents of the club would regale us with raunchy stories like these.
Oktoberfest On The East Terrace
So I'm back to this blog thing - continuing to learn how and wanting to sustain the momentum, or I might have to change the blurb "kuwentos cogon" to "ningas cogon".
I enjoyed the the club's version of Oktoberfest. Give credit to Pat P for pushing these types of activities. Though, there could have been more people, the number who attended was enough to create a nice atmosphere. The East Terrace was put to good use and the set up was not bad. Nice 80's music by DJ Boyet Almazan. Good fun with the flowing beer and cool tall modern San Miguel kegs. (they should have skipped the "fiesta"/"beer garden type streamers though). My phone was "low bat" so I couldn't take the pictures I would have posted here. So what's this I hear about Chill Nights at the Cogons every Friday?
