Watch for dust.The Flight
Atlanta has one of the best airport I ever seen. It’s old, not very fancy. But it has the most logical layout of any airport in existence. And, It has maps that make sense. It’s nothing but a string of long buildings each containing it’s own airline, all connected by a spine of underground trains. The planes taxi overhead- Very cool. Any section is easy and quick to get to via the train. But why go? Every terminal has a host of bathrooms, famous restaurants, and information desks at an easy walk from any gate with old, oversized, and comfortable chairs awaiting you there.
Chicago’s has lots of stores, and they all smell wonderful. Corned-beef heaven. Lots of displays and windows. Like a small busy Hong-Kong.
LAX (International section) is a dump and a half. With multiple terminals laid-out at random, no maps, and not-quite-thought-out signage, LAX is one of the worst major airports on the planet. Every subsequent building built was like an afterthought, and their use is insane. Getting from one to another is an all-day ordeal in itself, and the security/assistance staff would rather pull their own teeth then give someone anything other than a smart-ass answer. No food vendors in terminals where people wait (at least in the international one we were in), and bathrooms on par with outhouses. And, I’ve never seen such a blatant profiling of Asians. Leaving to Hong Kong from LAX, Teo, Jon and I all enter the same security checkpoint. But Teo and Jon are led into a partially-closed separate room full of Asians to be checked. I peek around the guard who was trying to block me: not a round-eye in the room. I’m led to another room full of every other race: Euro’s, Arabs, Africans, etc. Teo and Jon are Americans: English-speaking, passport-carrying Americans. What the Hell? We’re not off the ground yet, and I’ve already left America. After that is a very uncomfortable layover at the gate. 4 hours later, what pulls up? No plane. Just a piece of crap bus with broken seats and exhaust leaks to drive us all to the plane. ‘Great start to the trip’, I think.
Asian’s may be more technically savvy then Americans, but we know how to build an airplane seat cushion. What a joke. Cathay Pacific is a fleet of well-kept, very old planes, with million dollar electronic headrests. Every seat has it’s own LCD TV with tons of movies, TV shows, and flight data shows to watch. Radio, international phone and e-mail, too. But, the seats are built for small people. Very small people. I was in so much pain after I got of the 15 hour flight to Hong Kong, I was almost crying. The fact that they kept feeding us over and over didn’t make up for it. Even with the rickety planes, lack of food, and bad landings, I would happily sit in a Delta seat again, anytime.
Hong Kong is the great international cathedral of flight. Massive ceilings, windows and light everywhere. Ultra-modern displays and systems. Very people-friendly. If only people could see it. The 2 times I’m there, there’s only about 2-dozen people milling around the massive building. The lack of people, the minimalist architecture, eerie quietness; this all combines with the constant fog in every sky-high window around you to create a mildly disturbing feeling. No matter where you sat, you feel as if you shouldn’t be there, as if someone was watching. Almost scary.
CEB of Cebu is just a little larger then Cleveland’s Burke Lakefront Airport. Wouldn’t know it was international if it weren’t for the hundreds of square miles of concrete tarmac. No windows. Just walls. No way in or out without a little gratuity to the customs or security people. 100p is pretty good for any situation. Macton Air Force base is just outside. You can see a couple of brightly-painted vintage spitfires used for training, and a real DC3 still in use. 3 Huey’s in various stages of disrepair round-out the fleet. Behind the airport is a rustpile of destroyed aircraft spanning the last century’s history of flight, military and otherwise. It would be a junk-man’s dream.
Cebu
Cebu is difficult to describe. This must be what they mean when they say “2nd-world” or “emergent economy”. It almost appears to be a city that had once grown very large and opulent, and then about 60 years ago, was suddenly carpet bombed for no particular reason. The remaining inhabitants then rebuilt in and around the old buildings that remained, using the scraps found laying in the gutters. Rusty corrugated metal plate, driftwood, pipes, tarps; anything usable to build a shack is added to the thousands of concrete buildings that make-up the entire city. And, there is no way to tell what is inside the building by how it looks outside. It could contain a small, roach-infested, used clothing outlet; it could contain an ultra-modern 6-story department store the size of a football field. It’s almost impossible to believe this was all intentional, normal development for them, and not some post-apoctolyptic nightmare. Just watch the signs, and your step. There are no trash cans or public bathrooms. Trash lines the streets, along with the street vendors. People urinate anywhere. Not much choice I guess. Packed with people, butts-to-shoulders, Cebu is very difficult to walk around.
We were all packed into a rented air-conditioned Van (“V-Hire” Van) on our way back to San Fernando late one night (actually it was only 6:00pm, but when you’re that close to the equator, you only get 12 hours of sunlight- 12 hours of night. 6 is late). The bridge ahead was being worked on, so only one lane was open, and everything was going slowly. Any time a car stops in Cebu, tons of people run to it to sell things from baskets- nuts, water, cigarettes, newspapers, whatever. People milling around the traffic is normal. In front of us if a large bus, stopped, waiting, and lit-up by our headlights. Suddenly, this guy in the crowd of vendors walks over to the rear wheel on the bus, just in front of us, unzips his fly, and takes a leak on the wheel. IDIOT! We all start laughing at him. He doesn’t seem phased at all until he hears the laughter. He looks around a bit and runs-off. Welcome to Cebu.
Buying something in the Philippines is an experience. Nothing is simple. These people love to haggle. Getting a taxi ride can take hours. Not for the lack of taxis, but for trying to find the best price. It’s sort of a pinoy hobby. Every street vendor, big-ticket seller (cars, furniture, etc.), and government official has a set price, and a price their going to settle for. The fun is finding that price. Department stores don’t allow haggling, but they do fill your time with endless bureaucracy in order to purchase, well, anything. Makes them seem more important and gives the illusion of security to the investors.
Here’s the basics of the great Gaisano Department store chain located throughout the Philippines. First, find something you want with the help of ‘selection assistant’ staff (usually a pretty little girl). Then the assistant staffer fills out an intent to buy slip. Then, if the item is electrical, the assistant staffer must find a ‘test staffer’. The test staffer unpacks your electrical item, plugs it in to test for proper operation, and initials the intent to order slip. This is done for your benefit because in the Philippines, there are no returns. If it doesn’t work by the time you get home, it’s probably your fault. The item is then repacked (sort of) by the tester and given back to the assistant. She brings it, and you, to the checkout counter, and disappears into the melee. The checkout counter is staffed by 4 people, and one register. If your unfortunate enough to pay by credit card, you must inform checkout assistant #1, if your selection assistant hadn’t already ratted you out to her before she disappeared. One of the other 3 checkout girls take over at the register, temporarily. Then you, the checkout girl #1 (almost all are young girls, except in tool dept.), the intent to purchase slip, and your credit card must walk down 3 floors to another little girl at the credit identification counter. This is where they must somehow attempt to verify you have a real credit card with the help of your passport or American driver’s licence, and a signature verifying that these things are all yours. After 10 minutes of waiting, the verification girl puts another set of initials on your slip. Back up to the checkout counter where the checkout girl #1 puts you in the front for the line (or close to it) with your item (hopefully it’s still there). As you stand there, checkout girl #2 takes the item out our your hands and places it in a little line of other peoples items on the desk, matching the order of the people clamoring to get rung-up. Yes, there are now 2 lines, a line of people, and a little line of items on the desk. As you scoot forwards in the line, you scoot the item with you. At first, I thought that particular job seemed, well, stupid. But, I now realize that Philippino’s regard lines in any situation the same as they do in traffic- anything goes! To keep the peace, checkout girl #2 shuffles the items around on the desk as they are thrown at her, and maintains some equality. Checkout girl #3 actually performs the duty of ringing-up the items (in order she finds them on the desk, of course. The Order Must Be Maintained.) Once again, your credit card is run-through (never use cards or travelers checks in the Philippines), and you finally get to pay. At this time Checkout girl #4 wraps-up your purchase (although, this step sometimes requires all 4 of them to stop and help, for some reason) and she initials your intent to purchase slip, and your receipt now stapled to your bag. Now it’s time for bed.
Since there are NO RETURNS in the Philippines, this level of bureaucracy is somewhat necessary. With the amount of poor quality items produced there, the testing is welcome. But, the amount of people required to do everything else may be there simply to wear you down. I couldn’t imagine a ‘returns’ department in a place like this. It would have a staff of thousands doing everything from forensic receipt analysis to lie-detector testing. I imagine taking a midwestern ‘return-anything’ Wal-Mart and dropping it in downtown Cebu. Mile-long lines coming out of the return center filled with people trying to return underwear with holes in it, and weed-whackers they’ve realized they can’t afford, haggling every step of every purchase. Wal-mart would be bankrupt in a week . Commerce here is a rough, take-no-prisoners-kind of bargaining. No lightweights here- no relaxing.
Traffic
Driving in the Philippines is not for the faint of heart. There are no enforceable traffic laws per-se. However, killing someone with a car can still get you arrested. And jay-walking will get you fined immediately. Go figure. No speed limits, lanes optional, and a commonly agreed-upon hierarchy of right of way are the norm. Right of way starts like this: if you’re in the way, you have right of way. Then, if you’re fast, have no brakes, or really need to go somewhere (i.e.: beeping the most), you’re next. People change out horns and brakes here like buying gas. Then everyone else, pedestrians, trucks, trikes, whatever. Just go for it. Ambulances and police take precedent overall, but they’re too much of a rarity to be a concern. If you almost have an accident, just smile and wave. It’s all OK. If you can pass someone, or fit into a space between vehicles, do it. Nobody takes crazy chances, that’s what keeps accidents minimal. Crazy is relative, though. You MUST pay attention at all times. No relaxing. If you can’t fit, stop. Way will be made eventually. Just remember there is no concept of personal space in the Philippines, between people or cars. It’s like you went to the Indianapolis 500, took away all the Indy cars and gave the drivers Big-Wheel plastic tricycles to race. That’s what driving in Cebu looks like. Any I was dying to rent a car a and do it myself. It’s a racer’s dream city.
In all the time we were there, we only saw 2 accidents, even with the crazy driving. We saw a large Jeepney (open minibus) flipped on it’s side in a large deep ditch. Probably tried to pass on the right and misjudged the depth. Another time, we were driving at night through Cebu. Just ahead of us was a motorcycle carrying a man, little girl, and a woman holding a baby in her arms. It’s common to see cycles loaded like this. Most have small extensions welded on the back to accommodate extra people, baggage, squirming piglets in a blanket, whatever. Suddenly, he lost control of the bike and laid-it down. We skidded to a stop to avoid hitting them, but they didn’t do as well. All 4 slammed into the ground, including the infant. The infant’s head hit the ground with a thump. The driver, still stunned, rushed all of them to the side of the road. He checked the little girl and she was walking and crying. Probably will be OK. The mother checked the infant. He was burbling, but not completely crying. This was more than a simple concussion, I’m sure. Without any ambulances or police around, chances are he didn’t make it.
In these situations, one is forced to rely on the kindness of strangers, or the arrival of a rare express bus for transportation to a hospital. There are ambulances and they’re fast, but too few. And since everything is paid in cash, and usually up front, there is little most people can do. Most hospitals aren’t set-up for severe or unusual trauma surgery, anyway.
Cebu & Choice
Throughout the city there’s sidewalk stores, roadside fronts, shopping bazaar’s, and of course, the malls. Every foot of space along the street is taken-up by a store of some sort, could be a large corporation, or an individual selling peanuts and phone cards. Different sections of the city specialize in one sort of commerce. You can walk along a street and find 20 fronts selling the same dried fish. No difference between stores. On another block, you’ll find another 20 stores all selling the exactly the same “necessities”: beer, rum, soap, soda, cigarettes, phone cards, crackers, etc. There’s no concept of ‘market saturation’ or consumer convenience. No one realizes that spreading out around the city will increase sales. People simply set-up shop where the closest distribution center is. This creates blocks and blocks of the same store. In more residential sections, the same is true. Almost every house along the road has a store front. And the houses next to each other will sell exactly the same things.
And everyone buys, regardless.
The malls throughout the city all carry the same name brands. The same tools. The same everything. These are owned by Gaisano Company, and are comparable to a 6-floor JC Penny with food court on the top and a grocery store in the basement; Large, air conditioned, clean, and very crowded. Only one mall in Cebu carries different items- and it carries everything imaginable: ShoeMart. it’s a modern mega mall larger than anything in America- maybe even the ‘Mall of America’. With huge aisles, multiple floors with escalators, fountains, and world-famous brand stores throughout, you can almost forget you’re in a 2nd-world nation. The contrast between the apparent poverty outside with the opulence and never-ending commerce inside these stores must be what they meant by “emergent economy”.
But, is it poverty? Poverty comes from inability to purchase necessities due to lack of viable work. But, there are jobs, albeit not great ones. Even the technical jobs requiring collage do not pay terribly well. But, The income pinoys earn is enough to afford many things other than just the necessities. Designer clothing and cell phones are not just common, If one is without these, they are considered strange. This is true in even rural communities. And there is a western myth that cell phones are logical in these ‘poorer’ areas because of a lack of normal communication systems. In fact, land-lines are very common in homes, even outside the cities. Rural areas have land lines as well, where cell phones are common. Land-line coverage is now greater than cell coverage. Where we stayed, however, there is neither cell or land-line coverage. Interestingly, land-lines are planned to come within this year; no plans for any cell towers.
Once again, is it poverty? No. It is a choice. Yes, the economy could be much better. With greater access to education, Pinoys could enjoy an even better quality of life. The technical companies are already there to provide jobs. They see this- they know the heart of their difficulties: education and access. But this isn’t the root of what westerner’s see as the “problem”. Now, one can work in the cities and return to more rural areas at night, to live in what the west would consider poor. Pinoy’s consider it normal; and Not because this is all they can afford, but because that this is the only way to live. Case and point: I overheard the term “closed-house” in reference to the style of housing construction of the west. They proudly call their houses “open-houses”. These terms refer to the fact that Philippine houses are built without regard to bugs, animals, etc. They leave doors and windows open. There are no screens. They live with the city dogs which wander in and out of the homes. Birds, flying insects, etc., swoop through at will. Ants are a constant in these homes, to the point where plastic dish-drain cabinets are becoming popular to keep ants off the dinnerware. This is not considered a drawback. Even more affluent houses, the lack of barriers is the same, only the choice of materials is different. Pinoy’s see American television shows and movies. They know how we live and how we do it. The concept of a closed house is not unknown to them. Just ‘foreign’. As a test, I decided to go to the ShoMart ACE Hardware (Yes, they have one). It’s very large, and has everything you’d expect to see in any large American city’s Hardware store. Really nice Ceiling fans, though. Not Like US crap. But after twice around the store, I found something interesting: a complete lack of screen doors, screen frames, and screen of any type. Yes, chicken wire, barbed wire, etc., but no screens at all. The sales people hadn’t a clue. This isn’t’ a commercial/supply failing. This is a simple case of market decision. Pinoys have no use for “Screens”. This is how to live. Anything else would be silly. The homes may look poor, but the stores are packed with people. Packed. This in not the meager middle-class of the Philippines. This is everyone. This is the choice.
And again, everyone buys.
500 years ago, the Spanish came and took the Philippine’s religions. 40 years ago, the Japanese came and took their culture. It is now a pure consumer society. Toothpaste is called “Colgate” even though there are many brands. Detergent is “Tide”. You get the idea. Brand recognition is king. Advertising, in print, and TV is slick, highly targeted, and filled with less than reputable claims. Billboards and flyers are part of the common landscape. You can buy 3 cigarettes from a street or home vendor, even though a pack would be cheaper in the long run. Bread can be bought from next door store in the morning for breakfast, no need to store anything at home- even if you just happen to run a street-side store out of your own home. Now that’s convenient? I wouldn’t be surprised if soon, you won’t have to store anything on your person as well. Pants will be made with only one pocket- for pesos. If you want to write something down, the street vendor next to you will sell you one piece of paper, and let you rent a pencil for 30 seconds. That’s what this is leading to. It’s expensive, inefficient, and no one notices.
San Fernando
Just like in America, the closer you get to shore, the more people want to live there. But, unlike America, there are no zoning laws, so people allow themselves to build houses practically on top or each other. This is San Fernando, a suburb west of Cebu City. The houses butt up against the concrete roads and concrete ditches. Unfortunately, some sections build houses also out of concrete only, with tin roofs. With this proximity and construction, there are no trees or open land to absorb the Philippine heat, so the houses heat-up like large ovens in early morning, and bake through night. Very little is known there about construction techniques and land conservation. They think it is hot all the time because it is the Philippines. No one has any idea that it’s from how they build homes. And with the complete lack of open land, ants are pervasive. They are attracted to the concrete having been driven out of what soil was available, and into the homes. The high density of people also brings with it stray dogs and chickens, creating an almost constant din all the time. Very little silence here.
Luckily, San Fernando is a port town, and just down the street from us is San Fernando Pier: a long dock from which many outrigger fishing canoes leave each day. Fresh fish is common and sea breezes on the pier are refreshing. However, the breeze cant travel far inland from the concrete and heat, and trash has polluted the shoreline. If you walk to the end of the pier, you can still dive into clean, clear water. Jon spent almost every morning there when we stayed in San Fernando.
Boats
Outrigger canoes are plentiful. They’re the backbone of the local economy, as well. But, for real travel, everyone takes ferry boats. Depending on your destination, their sizes range from 100 passenger island hoppers, to cargo ships. But none are as fancy as any ocean liner. All Philippine passenger boats are very old. Most are old Korean haulers, welded and re-welded so many times their white-painted surfaces take on the look of marshmallows- pitted and patched. Even Philippine coast guard vassals are decommissioned US coast guard ships, just repainted. JadeStar corporation has several of these old boats, but one in particular sticks in my memory.
I never saw a boat that used old wooden park benches as the main seating. I knew this would be interesting when we go on. This was an old boat. Really old. Paint can only hide so much. Open sides on both decks, and roll-down tarps in case of bad weather. Unlike the other boats we’d used so far, the attendants went through the strapping and use of the life jackets very carefully, and with much detail. Very safety conscious, especially for the Philippines. This is when I began noticing the carbuncle-like rust patches on the floor and walls, like the kind you see in the undersea pictures of the Titanic. Even with several coats of paint over them, It made me wonder how many times they’d hauled this bucket off the ocean floor. Then it happened. The crew and passengers stopped, bowed their heads, and preyed together. We definitely didn’t do THIS on the old Goodtime boat in Cleveland. I quickly started thinking of ways I could get off this hulk before we pulled out. Shit. Too late. We’re already in reverse and backing out. I tried to make sure we never rode that one again.
Bohol
Paliwan island is has unbelievable scenic beauty, but is not industrialized and very remote. Islamic Mindinao island simply isn’t safe for anyone from outside Mindinao. Manila and Cebu are very industrialized; they have the lions-share of the jobs. They, unfortunately, are also devastated by the pollution and overcrowding that results. Here, there is also a strange fascination with concrete. Roads, industrial structures, homes, fake logs, guard rails, ornaments…whatever. In these areas, that fascination is destroying the landscape and local climate. People are living in increasingly hotter areas, and have no idea why. No one talks about the relationship between the removal of trees and green areas, the continued building of all homes and commercial structures out of concrete and steel, and the constant increase of ambient temperature (and ants, too).
Bohol island, on the other hand, is a quiet agricultural island situated in the middle of it all. It’s rural areas are very beautiful, but modernized enough to make travel possible. Many neat places to visit, touristy and otherwise. I understand that Luzon region far north of Manilla is similar. Just remember to have your own car and a place to sleep: not many motels yet. There are smaller cities which are cleaner and not as congested. If you need anything not offered in local stores, you can find it in Tagbalaran City in western Bohol or Cebu city (2 hour boat ride away).
Even with the US military activity in the Philippines, there are still pockets of rebels in remote areas of the Philippines. Bohol is a remote area. Although there’s no Al-Queida activity, the ‘communist’ rebels of Bohol have been known for acts of violence and hostage-taking. On a recent trip with my fiancee (who was born in Bohol), I found that many of the neighbors of my new extended family were the people I was supposed to be afraid of. There was some comfort in the knowledge that they believed I was almost as poor as them in my country as they are in theirs (which was somewhat accurate for city utility workers like myself). I suppose I became less of an appetizing potential hostage. After several servings of crab, fish, and rum, and more rum, the serious discussions of local politics became quite jovial. Unlike Mindinao, there is no official “terrorist presence” in Bohol, only a few angry people, and some bored rich kids.
Yes, there is crime, but nothing on the level of modern cities. The difficulty lies in the lack of police. Because police are difficult to find, and there is an unusual squeamishness about self-defense (unlike my country), a single criminal is viewed as a greater threat than anywhere else. When a criminal comes to Bohol, it is news throughout the island. But with the vast gossip network that pervades this land, no one can hide for long. Gossip is a stock-and-trade for all Phillippines, and is more valuable than any newspaper, weapon, or currency. Though, if I were stay to stay for any length of time, I’d have a cell phone, my own car (taxi’s are hard to wrangle for natives, impossible for a lone tourist), and have some means of defense- just in case. But remember, I’m an American- that’s just how we think.
Bohol’s lack of industrialization, though good for agriculture and the environment, has left a grinding poverty. This unemployment is behind the fervent political activism and frustration throughout Bohol. They talk about this openly. Not for confrontation, but for a true dialog to find answers. But even this doesn’t truly matter, because “Boholeans” have a capacity for cheer that transcends any poverty or status.
There is a widespread tradition during local parties. Groups will travel from home to home, and eat and drink until with whomever was there. This goes on in every home during the festival, with everyone within the community, until one simply can’t go on. Boholeans may not have everything, but they offer all they have freely. And this more than enough.
Tobigan
Hard working port city of northern Bohol. Beautiful parks. Clean, modern shops, but not plentiful. Easy streets to drive on. Wish I could have stayed to explore. Looked like a wonderful place to live. Almost made be want to buy a house
San Vincente Norte and Our house
In the hills above Sagabyan, there’s a village called San Vincente Norte. It’s the type of dusty little place you’d expect to see rising out of the desert in an old Clint Eastwood Spaghetti Western, except with palm trees and a basketball court. Across from the town hall and chapel is Teo’s house. It’s the only one there, which makes it special. Special in that it the one with the job of keeping the chapel bell so no one steals it until it’s used on Sunday. Also special in that any time there’s a festival at the hall, you’d better go to Sagbayan for the night cause you’ll never get any sleep if you stay home. DJ’s play their 10000-watt stereo systems until 5:00am – enough to rattle your eyes from your head, even from across the street.
So were sitting around our new living room talking, because with the party across the street, no one can sleep yet. Suddenly, I hear what sounds like a Cessna diving towards the house. Something smacks me in the head. Everyone yells as I frantically yank something out of my hair and throw it on the ground. One of Teo’s cousins yells, ”Oh Great!” and picks-up a very startled bug laying next to me on the floor.
At first, it looked like a large cockroach. Brownish, long shell and a large head. When he finally put it on the glass table, I got to really see it. This bug had a wingspan of over 7 inches, and was over 3 inches in length resting. Massive antennae and jaws protruded front the head. He held it down until it was calm, then began to stiffly massage a line down it’s back. Then again. Again. Suddenly, the bug raised it’s head and smacked it down on the table with a force seeming impossible for something so small. The sound was incredible. He told me to try it. I rubbed it’s back, and it did it again. The force was like someone punching you in the finger. Amazing. He said it’s called a ‘click bug’ obviously. We batted it around the table a while and let it go.
Most of the time in Teo’s house in Bohol was spent moving furniture, planning out new concrete work, running electrical, and painting. No fun there. The last day we’re there I spend drinking with Teo’s cousins all around town. We’d go to one distant relative’s house and eat their food, drink their liquor, and leave to the next relative’s house. We did this for 8 hours. Apparently this is what festivals are like in Bohol. Not a bad way to live. However, I was becoming weary of the concrete bunkers that passed as family homes among the palm trees and orchids. Seemed out of place, like someone trying too hard to impress. Suddenly we come upon Teo’s grandfather’s home. From the outside, it looked like a massive shack, 2- stories tall and extra story off the ground. A thatch roof surrounded the trees that seemed to grow up through the house. A narrow rickety stairway led up from the ground. But, I realized this was something special when I touched the railing. This wasn’t some bamboo debacle built to survive the summer, these railings didn’t move. The stairs didn’t creak. And the fit of the wood seemed to come from and decks of some 100 year old British war ship. The floors of the rooms were stained a dark oak color from years of use, and not a gap between. Twisty old trees grew up as part of the supports of the house, were built in to the walls, and were stained and lacquered to match the rich wood floors. The heat seemed to disappear as we made our way to the top floor. We were met by a dozen or so men sitting around a coffee table fervently going over political material for an upcoming election. The expensive modern furniture contrasted with the antiquated room that surrounded it. It was the most unusual, and awe-inspiring bit of architecture I ‘d seen since we landed. Afterwards, I learned that the home was only about 50 years-old, but it was still the oldest home in San Vincente.
It was only noon, but I still asked her what was for dinner tonight. I’m learning to ask regularly now, because it seems that, oddly, food and water aren’t always thought of in advance. Sometimes we go without, and it’s always a ’surprise’. Asking seems to be a way of reminding her that it may become a problem later on. Being forced to rely entirely on one other person for your survival, because of a stupid language barrier, definitely has it’s perils. “Oh..you’ll like it.” That means she doesn’t know yet, either, and she disappears into mom’s kitchen.
Outside, the sound of an unusual motor sputters in the distance. I walk outside and find a kid riding an old Yamaha moped up the driveway. Dad comes out from behind the house and waves to him. As the kid putts past, I notice a large cloth tube bungeed to the side of his seat. The boy hops off the bike and unstraps the wriggling bundle of blue cloth. At one end stares a confused pair of brown eyes, and on the other, a tiny curly tail. It was a piglet- yes, a proverbial pig in a blanket! It seemed perfectly content to speed down the dangerous roads strapped to some teenager’s butt, but was not at all interested in being handled. It ‘s the cutest thing I’d ever seen. And, like the idiot I am, I proceed to say it.
“That…is the cutest thing… I’ve ever….”
Before I can finish my sentence, the machete is in dad’s hands, and blood sprays over the bamboo shards that litter the ground. I don’t even notice the boy tear out of the driveway behind me in a cloud of dust . Yes, the preparations for dinner have officially begun. I walk back into the house and pour myself a rum and… rum. She walks into the living room and asks, “When did the pig get here?” I plop down into the sofa like a dead piglet and stare vacantly at the broken TV set. “I have no idea.” I say, and take a long drink. This was the beginning of day 11.
I’ve seen stuff killed before. What kind of walking vaginal orifice have I turned into? Should I start hugging trees and snorting soybeans? This is food. This is how it’s made. No shrink-wrap. No florescent lights. Just…nature.
Sort of…nature.
If it were nature, we wouldn’t have moped tracks in front of the house. I think I understand this feeling now. We have all the problems of modern conveinces, but none of the benefits. It’s thge worst of both worlds. There’s a refridgerator, but nothinn’gs in it except condiments. It doesn’t get plugged-in all the time. Nothing lasts here. It’s a weird, in-between world, where only the worst stuff was learned. Even when you don’t raise pigs for a living, you are still your own butcher.
Or maybe it’s just the fact that I’ve never gone from such a wonderful sight to such a horrible one that quickly. I usually have some preparation time to ease into a job, whatever it is. This time, the blanket came off, the pig was in the air, and then the pig was on the ground, in bloody spasms. Yes, efficient. But, I didn’t complain about the food (or lack thereof), again.
San Vincinte Norte, San Vincinte Sou, Sagbayan, and politics
Before we left the states, I remembered hearing a part of an odd news report, but I didn’t get the whole story, and I forgot about it. And so, we’re now in the middle of San Vincinte, just about to eat dinner, and I finally decide to ask her why the airport closed a couple of weeks a few months before we left on the trip.
And she says…
“The Muslim militia in the north wants to attack it cause the military are fighting a Muslim uprising in the south.”
“My god! Are we surrounded?!”
“Of course not. Have some fish.”
My mind is racing. “…But…These islands run north to south”
“Uh-huh. You like the rice?”
“Shut-up. You just said there’s armed Muslims to the north of us”
“uh-huh”
“There’s armed Muslims to the south of us ”
“Uh-huh”
Understand, just to the south of our little island, is a large and formidable island of Mindinao, which, for 500 years or something, has housed a very large population of perpetually angry Muslims. These Muslims have been the bane of the Spanish colonial government, American government, and now the Philippine government. I don’t remember the Japanese having a problem, though. I guess if you’re just killing everybody, angry Muslims don’t count for much. In fact, they say it’s the angry Muslims that drove the Spanish away, all those years ago. The Philippine government has tried to negotiate with them, but apparently no one knows why they’re angry, not even the Muslims. Tough to negotiate when you don’t know what you want. Too much hummus, I guess. Luckily, now they mostly stay in Mindinao, just venturing out to blow-up things or take rich American hostages.
“Soooo..” (I’m trying to explain the obvious to her again. This time though, I’m a little panicked, and it’s not coming out well). “..We’re surrounded by armed Muslims. And… I don’t see any military, police, or anything else here!.”
“I guess. How come you don’t like the rice?”
“Screw the rice. Didn’t you think of this before? Don’t you think this is dangerous?”
“No. Its fine They won’t attack these hills.”
“Why?”
And she says, “The communist rebels will keep them out.”
At this point, I should try to explain the political situation in poor little Bohol. Specifically, the difference between the pacificist viillage San Vicente Norte, and little red village of San Vicente Sou, even though the inhabitants are all related to each other because they’re, in fact, two halves of the same tiny village, and Teofe is related to all of them anyway, and…
Who cares! This was my Ass! All I needed is a tee-shirt saying “INSTANT HOSTAGE, JUST ADD LEAD” on it!
EASY MONEY! COME-AN’-GET-IT! Ring that dinner bell, baby! Your ‘Commie’ Cousins are comin’ home! DING-DING-DING-DING
What the hell. Sometimes I think she really doesn’t like me.
But, I digress. Sagbayan is this little town south of Tobigan Port. For years and Years, Teo loved watching old reruns of Bonanza on TV. After seeing Sagbayan, I know why. It’s looks just like one of those bustling old-west gold-mine towns, except with palm trees. Even though they traded the horses for motorcycles, you can still have a gun-shootin’ beer-drinkin’ good time. San Vincinte Norte, where her family lives, is the tiny village just outside Sagbayan.
It’s late at night, and Teo and I are trying to find a place to stay for the night. Her house isn’t too far away, but the furniture hasn’t arrived, and they ran out of water. So, we’re trying to get a room in the city. However, unlike Bonanza, Sagbayan has no inns. Her mom has an old friend downtown with a boarding house and a an open room we can stay in. But, like everything else in th Philippines, there’s a problem. Tonight is the great Sagbayan political rally for upcoming elections. The streets are packed with drunken revilers, loudspeakers are blaring with the promises of better times, and cheers from all around blanket the air. I hear gunshots in the distance. Our landlord is nowhere to be found. So, we wait, on the sidewalk in front of the boarding house, in downtown Sagbayan, 8:00 at night. Normally, this isn’t a big deal. Sagbayan is just a sleepy little town in the middle of nowhere. However, nowhere in Bohol also happens to be the middle of Communist rebel country. And, in a land where everyone is about 4 ½ ft tall and dark as the chocolate hills, I stand out like a giant pink instant hostage. Sagbayan wasn’t sleeping tonight.
Teo was, as usual, angry with me about something and her mom was busy searching for her lost friend. So that left me basically on my own. Trying to blend in with the crowd was out of the question, and I was beginning to get strange looks from onlookers. Suddenly, the crowd stopped hollering, and the man on the podium announced something very loudly. Up a side-street, the crowd was going wild as a large diesel engine roared it’s way to the center of town. Around the corner, I saw the front of a black dump truck. On it’s top, was mounted a 50mm antiaircraft gun and turret. In it’s back were packed 30 or so men, dressed in black, wearing ammunition belts, an black masks, chanting with the crowd and raising their guns overhead. The crowd began chanting and throwing beer bottles with them in excitement. And then the truck started turning down my street. Time to think fast. These guys could be regular army. They could be rebels. From what I’ve heard, sometimes it’s the same thing. I had a large scarf I carry with me I use for the massive amount of sweat I had been losing for the past week, and to protect myself from the dust of extended motorcycle rides. This practice is common among motorcyclers here. I thought, it’s taliban time. I wrapped this thing around my head so all that was showing was my glasses. I ducked into the shadows and waited. The overloaded truck and it’s ecstatic revilers passed by without incident. I began breathing again. I wrapped my self just as Teo came around with the landlord and asked what was going on. I looked over a the guy who was sitting on the stoop in front of the storefront next to me. He was looking at me with the biggest shit-eating grin ever. I wrapped the scarf back around my waist, shook my head, and smiled at him. He giggled and looked back to the spectacle on the podium.
We went upstairs and went to bed.
Sagbayan Peak & Maolbol Beach
The Philippines isn’t all rural life of city squalor. There are beautiful places here, you just have to hunt for them. The private beaches are incredible, just like the pictures in the books. The people try to keep them clean and animal free to maintain the beauty. An the fees are nothing. Sagbayan peak is a hill on he edge of the chocolate hills range in Bohol. It’s beauty belies a story of the Philippines as a whole. The entrance is an almost impassable dirt path leading to a modern meeting center and fancy restaurant. Soon to be completed is a modern hotel just behind. Should be done within a few months. Beautiful winding stairways, covered with flowers lead you from the restaurant to the peak. You can see these green little hills roll away to the horizon, and see across the ocean to the lights of Cebu city. And below, you can see wafts of smoke rise from someone at the base of a nearby hill burning trash along the road.
The Philippines wants to be a modern, vibrant attraction, like what they see on TV. But they are still a people of the last century. Their desire is 21st century, but their economy keeps them in the past. I remember the beauty of Teo’s grandfather’s house among the trees of San Vincente, and think of the concrete hell of ‘modern’ San Fernando, and find myself hoping the Filipino’s desire for the future will not destroy the real beauty of the Philippines.
