I’m long overdue! Quirks and quips that don’t quite make a story:
Stamps are “cheap as” here! 120 pesos to send 8 international postcards? That’s about $3. Take THAT, New Zealand! Now I just need to find the time to compose some more.
I don’t have 6.6 pounds (3 kilos) worth of clothing. That’s the magic number: the minimum accepted at laundry joints.
So pretty, yet so... explosive.
If you had to estimate how many people were injured by fireworks or stray bullets on New Year’s Eve in the Philippines, what would you guess? I’ll give you a few background facts to help you narrow your answer.
I grew up tracking animals through the snowy woods with my mom and dad and across the prairies with my grandparents. I’ve seen deer, turkeys, antelope, coyotes, rabbits and myriad other creatures fall from an accurately-aimed bullet or arrow. My worldview, from a young age, accepted this as simply a part of life. So, I arrived at our Christmas pig sacrifice with a well-stocked psychological arsenal.
Is it wise to travel by sea in the wake of a tropical typhoon? No, it is not. Circumstances beat intuition, however, and I found myself an unintentional victim of our unscrupulous Mother Nature.
If the treasure map leading you tell El Nido came with instructions, it would say: Go to Roxas. Take the dirt road north. Keep going. Your first stunning vista will confirm your arrival in the archipelago. Continue until the road ends at the sea.
So what’s it like to travel through the countryside of the Philippines? The road quality varies from place to place, but otherwise the experience is much the same. Here are observations on the three hour journey from Puerto Princesa to Sabang via jeepney.
SENSE #1 – HEAR (SOUND)
piggy, piggy, piggy...
I’m not going to lie. Diesel engines are loud! And when the jeepney’s windshield is permanently wedged open, the wind is loud, too. I could never trace the source of the forceful “cheep, cheeping” the vehicle made every time we slowed down or accelerated. And of course the horn goes off anytime the driver sights anything that can move on its own two/four legs (regardless of whether or not said creature is moving or just sitting). The sound seared into my memory, however, was a pig.
One of many amazing views in the highlands...
I didn’t know that, before I could travel to see Pat, I’d have to partake in a chicken sacrifice. Pinikpikan is written about in the Lonely Planet guide and I’d given my local friends the Jema-style inquisition about it. From those sources, I gather that: 1) on the purely factual side — a chicken is beaten while alive so that it’s blood coagulates. Cook and serve. 2) On the “why” side — it is an offer made to God in hopes of protection in an endeavor (a long drive home for us). Beating the chicken somehow appeases the heavenly father and the bad spirits.
How it worked for me: We all went back to Cyril’s place.
Well, I’ve moved into elastic waistbands about four decades earlier than expected. I was skeptical about bringing jeans from New Zealand to the tropics. Arriving at my hosts’ house in 80 degrees and 90% humidity, I immediately removed them. For good. That left me with my light-weight, zip-off cargo pants and a pair of leggings. Good enough! Until laundry day when I am left with nothing to cover my bum (providing I want all my clothes cleaned).
More things I have noticed or thought about lately. These installments will decrease, I’m sure, as the Filipino way of doing things slowly just becomes “the way of doing things” in my little world.
My favorite part of the day lately: evenings - enormous clouds and stunning sunsets.
My little sisters are hilarious. The middle one doesn’t Facebook. She thinks its creepy. She almost doesn’t internet. She doesn’t want her pictures or anything about herself online. (Sorry, Bean). We finally caught up on the phone the other day. After vehemently reacting to my food stories (Well, there ain’t no way in hell Mom is eating that shit when she comes to visit you!), she told me a story of her own. Thanks to her experience working with the mentally ill, she was asked to deal with a suicidal, drunk woman one morning. In response to the woman’s complaints, my sis reports telling her “Well, NORMAL people don’t drink at 8 o’clock in the morning!” To the woman’s dumbfounded look, she said, “Well, what? I’m not going to sugarcoat it for you. It’s true!” Only my sis! (The woman reacted positively to this straight talk, and the story has a happy ending.)
Key phrases. People here speak English fairly well. Like any other place, however, they are practiced in the phrases they use the most. Since I ask a lot of questions, I confuse a lot of people. For instance, my inquiries about “what is going on?” don’t mean anything to anyone. (i.e. The electric shower isn’t working. What is going on? The bus is late. What is going on?) No one will ever answer that question. I discovered the magic workaround the other day. Why. What is going on? “Ten minutes.” No, but what is going on? “Okay, ma’am. Okay, ten minutes.” Okay, but WHY? “Because the water is out. We wait for delivery. Because the bus has a flat tire.” Oooooooooooooohhhh. Okay.
Woke up to the sounds of “Feliz Navidad” being played by a live marching band at 8 a.m. on a Saturday morning. You know you’re a genuine midwesterner when this song reminds you first of Taco Johns, then of Christmas.
I went down to see the parade. Bizarrely, there wasn’t anyone watching it. Just a bunch of marching bands and pre-schoolers ambling down the street as people bustled to and fro. Two parades later (reportedly, Baguio is parade crazy), I found out why. Candy. The candy throwing parade had heaps of gawkers. Oh. And it wasn’t at 8 a.m.
More bathroom/personal responsibility ranting. Come ON people! In the shared hotel bathroom some jerk of the female persuasion couldn’t be bothered to move her used toothpaste and shampoo sachets from the back of the toilet to the trash. Just eleven inches to the right and let gravity do the work. Seriously! Grrr! Be responsible for your mess! A country doesn’t clean itself!
To illustrate the observation below...
Curious practices surrounding beer drinking. One — for some bizarre reason people think the lip of the bottle is dirty. Your beer bottle will invariably be served with a napkin poked down inside and wrapped tight around the lip. Drinkers will remove this and thoroughly wipe the rim before taking the first drink. I tried to explain that the beer-making process is fairly finicky and therefore highly sanitary. Any “dirt or germs” under the cap on the bottle lip would ruin the beer. So it’s not there. Because otherwise beer would be spoiled all the time. I didn’t overcome any superstitions. Two — the guys I have been drinking with lately require two glasses and a spoon to consume a bottle of beer. One glass to pour the beer into, a spoon to scoop up the foam that forms, and the other glass to deposit the foam. No, the second glass never makes it into the bloodstream. I showed them how to tilt the glass on its side and achieve a foam-free pour. My lesson fell on deaf ears.
♣
Parade!
A parade was flowing down the city’s main street at precisely the hour Beth, Manny, and my not-so-secret admirer (Hi, Jun) were to fetch me. A few marching bands later, and we were on our way to a swimming hole in the country side. Kind of.
Hungry for more? More time? More money? More health? More wholeness?
Hungry for less? Less rushing? Less pressure? Less stress? Less fractured attention?
Please come on in! I’ve been collecting wins and losses for a few decades (and counting). I hope sharing them helps you on your adventure through your one wild and precious life.
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