I’m standing near the edge of Quezon Memorial Circle, with the busy lanes of Elliptical Road stretching out around me like a traffic-filled loop of ambitions. Cars zoom by, and if you’re not used to the exits radiating from this large roundabout, missing a turn can have you endlessly going in circles. Even with all the craziness going on, there’s this surprising calm: groups of trees along the roads, their green canopy being one of the last bits of nature hanging on in this part of Metro Manila. Across the highway, the sleek, art-deco style of Quezon City Hall stands out like a throwback to the past, an architectural nod to the modernist dream Quezon once had.
Even before I watched Jerrold Tarog’s Quezon, I’ve always felt a sense of familiarity about Quezon City, somehow like Rizal Park in the sense that the city is giving a nod to the guy it’s named after. The monument, the open space, and the symmetry of the Circle all show how much Quezon cared about his legacy and how he wanted people to remember him. It’s ironic, though, that the city he thought would be all about order and modernity is now dealing with the chaos of traffic and architectural anachronisms, showing the rough spots in his grand vision.
Elliptical Road: A Roundabout of Control?
As I walk from where I parked my car towards the entrance of Quezon Memorial Circle, I gaze at the long stretch of Elliptical Road, a smooth ribbon of asphalt that’s supposed to wrap around the city’s core. Crossing here isn’t for the faint-hearted: one wrong step and you might find yourself God knows where, just a consequence for daring to navigate Quezon’s imagined order.
Even with all the chaos going on, I notice the design. The ellipse’s neat and intentional layout shows a guy who was really into symmetry and keeping things in check. Quezon was all about creating a city—and a nation—that could be understood, laid out, and controlled. The road is like the backbone of the government, showing how he wanted to be at the heart of a country he was set on influencing. As I walk watching the traffic, I chuckle at the irony: something that’s supposed to be all about order has turned into a mess of human unpredictability.
The buildings lining the road are throwbacks to a past modernist vibe, while groups of trees add a nice touch, creating a mix of seriousness and liveliness in the area. It’s like a snapshot of Metro Manila that’s both impressive and a bit ridiculous, capturing the city’s ongoing struggle between what’s ideal and what’s real. In the heart of Quezon City, you’ve got the dreams of a president mixing it up with the hustle and bustle of the city, all surrounded by pavement, some greenery, and government buildings that are starting to show their age.
Elliptical Road sort of gives you a preview of what the city is turning into: a spot designed for show, crafted with a vision, but really comes to life only when people—in all their chaotic, unpredictable, and determined nature—make it their own.
Quezon Memorial Circle: The Monument and the Myth
As I walk deeper into Quezon Memorial Circle, I think back to my childhood: biking around the park with my family, having lunch at the Aristocrat branch (which surprisingly survives up to this day), and generally just having fun around the wide spaces. The park is buzzing with life, serving as a good backdrop for those everyday hangouts, family fun, and weekend getaways. Right in the middle of everything stands the Quezon Memorial, a marble tribute to a guy who wanted to make a lasting impression.
Quezon was after more than just a city named after him; he wanted a lasting monument, something that really stood out and showed off his legacy. The memorial, with its tall mausoleum and angel statues, is a nod to ambition, showing how the man wanted to be remembered even after he’s gone. It’s ironic, though, that while the monument gets some recognition, it’s not really celebrated. Families are having picnics nearby, joggers are running by, cyclists are zipping through the shadows, and everything just keeps going on like usual. What was meant to be a main spot for honoring a nation-builder has turned into something people barely notice, just part of everyday life instead of a place that inspires wonder.
When Quezon dreamed it up in the late 1930s, he aspired for a new capital that would show off a modern, independent Philippines. Wide boulevards, organized zones, government offices away from the cramped chaos of Manila—basically, he wanted a clean slate for a new nation.
But World War II stopped everything. The Japanese occupation left most of the plans shelved, and by the time Quezon died in 1944, his “New Manila” was still mostly empty land. When the war was over, the country had to rebuild from the ground up. Moving the capital to a new city became more of a dream than a priority.
For a while, the dream flickered back to life, with Quezon City even being declared the capital in 1948. But the momentum never really caught on, as Manila’s pull was too strong. Its ports, offices, and business districts were already in place, and the post-war economy made it incredibly hard for the country to start from scratch. By the 1970s, the plan was quietly dropped, and Manila was officially made the capital again.
UP Diliman: The Republic of Ideas—and Dissent
An hour later, I find myself in UP Diliman, where the lush greenery of the campus just drowns out all the city noise. Sunken Garden spreads out like an oasis even in an area with lots of foliage, with old trees that have seen countless students biking, walking, and daydreaming. The Oblation stands at the other edge of the campus, arms wide open, while Palma Hall nearby towers with a classy, slightly worn architecture that feels both intentional and a bit like it’s been forgotten by time. When the pandemic hit, UP became one of our rare getaways; we rode our bikes here to stretch out and do photoshoots that needed a nature backdrop as calm beauty amid all the craziness.
UP in a way captures Quezon’s vision: a city within a city focused on intellect and education to shape its citizens. Ironic, then, that the campus, which Quezon probably saw as a hub for smart and organized growth, has become a spot for critique and dissent. Students share their thoughts openly, push back against authority, and ask questions about policies in ways that Quezon, even with his smarts and charm, often tried to keep in check—perhaps not by outright censorship but by ignoring critics, shutting down publications, and subtly tightening his grip on power. The campus ideals endure, but maybe not exactly how the city planner imagined them.
By noon, my stomach is begging for fuel. So I head over to Snack Shack, where we often hit up for snacks on our pandemic bike rides. It’s always a comfortable hangout surrounded by green lawns and marble buildings. As I take a bite of my burger, I go back to the irony of UP: Quezon’s city was supposed to create enlightened citizens, but here they are, keeping the powerful in check.
Batasang Pambansa: The Government Seat That Time Forgot
After lunch, I drive further north along Commonwealth, and here the city feels like it’s been stretched out. I’m from Valenzuela City, which most Metro Manila locals already consider far-flung; here, though, you can really tell that this part of Quezon City wasn’t really made for casual foot traffic. In this far corner of the capital, it’s all about ambition, not so much about easy access. Wide highways stretch across the land, like big roads filled with a constant flow of cars. The notorious traffic and frequent accidents turn even a quick drive into a real adventure.
Around these parts stands Batasang Pambansa, a building that looks like the incomplete dream of Quezon’s political ideas. Quezon’s idea of moving the capital to a self-sufficient government hub, a city that reflected his vision, feels more like a side note than a lasting legacy now. Though still home to the House of Representatives, many other government offices have remained elsewhere. What was supposed to be the center of power is now just part of daily life: traffic, local markets, and the usual hustle and bustle of commuters and locals. The long-awaited but still incomplete LRT-7 along Commonwealth is somehow a reflection of such unfulfilled plans.
It’s kind of funny when you think about it: Quezon wanted to build a strong legacy with centralized power, but now it all seems a bit random. Sure, the building is there, but it’s not really celebrated or a key part of national consciousness. The Batasang Pambansa feels like a stage at times, its presence a mere symbol especially now with all these political controversies. It’s a nod to the fact that no matter how carefully leaders plan, their goals are always at the whim of time and politics.
In this part of Commonwealth, you can sense the tension between what people want out of life and what life actually throws at them. Quezon’s mark is definitely there, hanging around in the concrete and those unfinished LRT tracks. But it’s now just a shadow of what could have been, a city that keeps going, oddly enough, without really bringing to life the dreams of its namesake.
Project 4: A Social Blueprint
I leave Commonwealth and drive through Katipunan to the streets of Project 4. Gradually, the city shifts from the wide highways to the quiet grid-like streets that, at first glance, seems like just another Metro Manila neighborhood. But the layout hints at the thought that went into it: straight streets, houses lined up nicely, and little parks hidden between the blocks. These streets are like Quezon’s social playbook, trying to create not just a city but a middle class, with a community shaped by urban design just as much as by laws or policies.
Driving around the neighborhood, I see the leftovers of that planning: streets named after heroes and historical figures, houses that reflect what was once considered modern, and public spaces built more for daily life than for grand civic events. Order is still a thing, even when it mixes with the chaos of routine, such as kids playing outside, vendors putting up their stalls, and laundry draped across tight alleys.
A city built for a polished, ambitious crowd is now buzzing with the everyday hustle and bustle of real life. Quezon had this idea of a city that reflected his hopes for progress and stability, but it turns out the whole thing has continued on in ways he probably never saw coming. If you squint hard, you can still see the social blueprint, but it’s shaped by the human spirit that refuses to be engineered.
As I drive towards Aurora Boulevard and leave Project 4 behind, I picture the streets all lined up with purpose, yet buzzing with that wild, colorful energy of life. Cities—and countries in a broader sense—are really for the people living in them, with all their messy, beautiful complexity.
Cubao: The Commercial Heartbeat
I finally get to Cubao, and just a few moments after I get out of the car, the place slaps me awake with its buzz and contradictions.
The buzz comes from neon signs, busy stores, and homeless people occupying the sidewalks. Here, movement feels like it’s less defined by schedule than by instinct, much like the buses in various stations that dot the area.
I move away from EDSA, and the temporal contradictions become more obvious: the nostalgia of places like Cubao Expo, Fiesta Carnival, and Ali Mall is mixed with the sleek, modern look of Gateway Mall and surrounding developments. You get the sense that Quezon City is trying to modernize and keep up with the times, but the old-school charm of the city remains stubbornly present like a beer belly to a midlife tito.
Cubao’s lively vibe shows off Quezon’s knack for putting on a show. Quezon pictured a city that represented progress, but here, progress shows up in all sorts of loud, messy, and unexpected ways—street vendors hanging out with boutique shops, and karaoke bars right next to big-name franchises. It’s a wild and lively place, a startling contrast to the control and order Quezon probably envisioned.
In the middle of all this chaos, I take a break at a coffee shop in Cubao Expo. More than the shot of caffeine, I just want to hang out here and watch people go by and do their own thing.
Cubao is the heart of Quezon City, merging dreams and history like a package with a crumpled old newspaper for its wrapper. It’s stuck in a limbo between old and new, not totally planned out but also not completely random. In that tension, you can feel what Quezon’s experiment was all about: a city that’s trying to be everything at once, in all its imperfect and resilient glory.
Quezon City: An Unfinished Blueprint
It’s late afternoon, and now I’m seated at the rooftop bar of the Seda Hotel in North EDSA, sipping overpriced sugar-free soda with a sandwich sitting next to me. I’m not checked in, though. I just want to see how the city sprawls infinitely from here: a lively mix of condos, office buildings, and bustling streets. From afar, Quezon Memorial Circle stands above the surrounding trees, towering over them, reminding me once more of the man whose vision initially shaped this area.
Quezon imagined a capital that was all about symmetry and modernity. Basically, he wanted to showcase his political dreams. Even after all these years, the city is alive with a wild energy, filled with unexpected growth and a mix of history in its streets, malls, and parks. It’s definitely an unfinished city, a tribute not just to one person’s dream but to all the choices and compromises that have influenced it over time.
It’s ironic how the careful plan got outdone by real life. Still, there’s also something wonderful about that: like a living organism, it grows, adapts, and survives. Quezon’s original plan might not have worked out the way he intended, but the city ended up growing out of his vision. In the process of reinventing itself, it became more relatable and more lasting than any blueprint could have captured.
I take another sip, watching the warm glow of the late afternoon sun wash over the skyline. For all its flaws, Quezon City still feels alive. And for all the things it failed to be, there are still hints of what it can become. And that’s what cities are, ultimately. Just like leaders—heck, just like people—they’re always a work in progress. They will always be in a continuous, imperfect process of dreaming and compromising, maybe never reaching the state they aspire to be but still striving nonetheless.
Manuel L. Quezon’s Quezon City Travel Basics
Access
- Quezon Memorial Circle (QMC) is the symbolic and geographic center of Quezon City, so it makes sense to start there.
- The easiest route is via EDSA (by car, EDSA Carousel, or MRT to Quezon Avenue Station), then a short jeep (look for those parked behind Eton Centris) to the Circle. If you’re coming from the north (e.g. Valenzuela City or Caloocan City), an alternative is to take a jeep from SM North EDSA to Quezon City Hall.
- Once you’re in the area, everything else fans out from the Circle:
- UP Diliman is about 5–10 minutes away by car or jeep. Take the Commonwealth exit if driving, and then turn right at University Avenue.
- Batasang Pambansa sits further north along Commonwealth. Drive for about 6 kilometers, and then turn right at Batasan Road.
- Project 4 and Cubao are eastward, along Kalayaan or Katipunan.
- Public transport is abundant but fragmented: jeeps, UV Express vans, and buses connect these areas, though a private car or Grab will save time if you plan to see them all in one day.
Food
- Quezon City is one of the country’s food capitals, but you don’t have to stick to Tomas Morato or Maginhawa to eat well.
- Aristocrat at QMC – A nostalgic stop for barbecue and chicken adobo, open since the 1950s and still drawing weekend families.
- Snack Shack (UP Diliman) – Legendary burgers across the UP Bahay ng Alumni. It’s a great stop for mid-ride fuel or a nostalgic college flashback. Beside it is Rodic’s, a UP-Diliman institution famous for their tapsilog.
- Commonwealth Avenue and Project 4 are lined with fast food outlets, as well as homegrown cafes and cheap dining spots. Among them, Morning Sun Eatery, recently awarded a Michelin Gourmand Bib, serves comforting Filipino dishes that showcase Project 4’s thriving local food scene.
- In Cubao Expo, you can have snacks or coffee and dive into the city’s time capsule of counterculture. Try Habanero, Bellini’s or Best of Luck depending on your mood. You can even have coffee while reflecting on social issues at Silingan Coffee.
- If you’re ending your day north of EDSA, Straight Up—Seda Hotel’s rooftop bar—gives you a skyline view that wraps up the city’s story (though it’s not open until 4 p.m.). For a more affordable fare, choose among the wide variety of restaurants in Vertis North, Trinoma, or SM North EDSA.
Accommodation
- If you fancy a staycation or wish to spread out your sightseeing over two days, there are a number of hotels in the vicinity. You won’t find old hotels from Quezon’s era here, only modern ones rising from the blueprint he left behind.
- Seda Vertis North is elegant and close to the Circle; its rooftop bar offers one of the best skyline views in the city. PHP 5,800–9,500 for a standard room.
- B Hotel Quezon City – A stylish midrange option near Tomas Morato. A bit out of the way but works if you want quiet comfort without leaving the urban core. Rates vary but typically around PHP 3,500–4,500 per night for a “superior” room.
- Novotel Manila Araneta – Located in Cubao, the commercial heartbeat of the city. Staying here places you in the mix of old vs new, as well as within walking distance of Gateway Mall and Araneta Coliseum. From PHP 4,400 per night for a twin room.
The Tourist Gaze 