A Filipino Foray in Five Senses: the incredible & the unbelievable

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.

Sleeping With Strangers: what not to pack

My 26 pounds of luggage for indefinite travel in places where it's not snowing...

I travel with about 12 or 13 kilos (roughly 24-26 pounds) on my back. If you are setting out on a travel adventure, there is NO REASON to fill up a backpack that is meant for a week-long hiking trip. This type of bag is intended to support survival completely independent of civilization for a week straight. If you are the type of person who is even a little bit tempted to fill one of these big bags,

Murphy’s Law Won Battles, Not War: Philippines airport secrets

“If it’s common sense and efficient… it ain’t happenin’ in the Philippines…” said I in a recent email. This isn’t entirely true, but it IS the rule.

Granted, the story I’m about to tell you involves some poor choices on my part. But this entry isn’t about my shortcomings, now is it?

Jeepney Karaoke: the short bus gets a new life

A riddle: 5 Norwegians, 6 Filipinos, 1 American, and a roving karaoke screen = a) an absolute blast, b) a broken camera, or c) both a and b.

The adorable Norwegian couple shares a song and a kiss. Stephen rocks the potentially awkward moment.

Yeah. You guessed. Yes, my camera fell from it’s self-timed perch and the lens would no longer retract. Yes, my judgement was clouded by Boracay rum and San Miguel Pilsen. Yes, I tried many a foggy folly and ultimately guaranteed my camera would never take another photo again. Yes, I had a totally fun night singing at the top of my lungs for three hours with a crowd of enthusiastic Norwegians and Filipinos.

I grew up with music — my grandmother teaching me children’s songs, piano lessons with my mom by my side, choreographing song-and-dance routines to perform anytime the family had guests…. and when we didn’t, I’d just go Broadway for my reflection in the French patio doors.

Baguio with My “Boyfriend”: absence feeds addiction

My favorite person in the world…

Time alone is good for the soul, in my humble opinion. When Pat and I went our separate ways at the Manila airport, we agreed that it would be a full-separation. One of the benefits of traveling alone is all the introspection prompted by down-time and no one to talk to but yourself. Yes, it can get lonely, but no pain, no gain! If we turned to the familiar company of our relationship via facebook, emails, and live chats when things got quiet, it would defeat half the purpose of setting out alone.

Of course, every self-introduction longer than five minutes involves an explanation of “my partner,” where he is, and why on earth we’re doing this crazy traveling apart thing. Once, as I struggled for words regarding why we don’t stay in touch, my companion offered, “Because when you get back together you wouldn’t have anything to talk about?” Ha! So far from the truth!

Chicken Sacrafices & the Love of My Life

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.

How Do You Use the Scoop? (Toilets in a Foreign Land)

Admit it. At some (immature?) level, the tail end (ahem..) of the digestive process can be (uncomfortably?) funny. From the popular book  Everyone Poops (“Birds do it, bees do it, kids with bended knees do it…” to fart jokes told by 8 year old boys and 80 year old men — this is a topic that gets laughed about.

Typical squat toilet found in Asia (haven’t seen one in the Philippines yet). They are actually really comfortable!

And while, “everyone poops,” there are very different rituals surrounding this (ahem..) regular process. The porcelain throne and toilet paper that reign supreme in the good old U.S.A. is not a worldwide combination

Spectacular Sagada: livin’ in a spelunker’s paradise

My caving cohorts - Jenny and Sarab from... you'll never guess. New Zealand! I can't escape the Kiwi vortex!

Given the depth of my spelunking experience, I didn’t expect to be impressed with the cave tour in Sagada. I grew up taking the elevator down to walk through the national treasures of Jewel and Wind Caves just across the border in South Dakota. As a teen, I talked a video-store customer out of vague directions to the Tongue River Cave above Sheridan. Then I found a friend (Hi Ross) crazy enough to take it on with me, despite having zero cave navigation skills between the two of us.

Journey to Sagada: Why you can’t sleep on a Cordillera bus

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).

Observed: Feral Westerner & How to Ask ‘Why’

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.

  • I posted some pictures on facebook of interesting things I saw at the market in Baguio (called the “Bazaar” by everyone in town). Aside from the open air raw meat, live aquatic creatures, and animal parts we’re not used to seeing, probably the most shocking thing I saw was a white guy. He was late 60’s, tall, lanky, leathery skin, shoulder-length rust-colored curls, bushy beard… and he was wearing a brightly colored loincloth! I think he went AWOL during military service, joined a mountain tribe, and never looked back.
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  • I visited the market daily. One stall caught my eye each time I passed. While most merchants sit people-watching for want of customers, this vendor couldn’t catch her breath. At first I reckoned it was some kind of gambling racket and she was a bookie. But the crowd demographic didn’t add up — young, old, tall, short, women, men, girls, boys all waving money in the air and shouting while in the rest of the place you could hear a pin drop (yeah, right… but you know…). As happens frequently, I could contain my curiosity no more. I unleashed it on a young woman — probably about my age (gosh… how much longer am I going to be able to say that?!). It went like this: What is everyone doing here? Buying things. Yes, but what? Whatever they need. Okay, but why are there so many people?   Because everything is cheap here. Everything? Everything they sell is the cheapest?   Yes. What are you buying? Sugar. Oh. Okay. Thanks.
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  • Pronoun confusion. My friends in Mexico did this all the time with English, perhaps because he/she and hers/his and him/her are all so similar. That it cracks me up to hear men accidentally described as she/hers/her and women described with his/him/he shows just how deep gender runs in our culture.

    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.

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