Chapter 13

The start of the fiesta on the 8^th began the previous Thursday, with the elementary school teachers. They put on a show of dancing and singing. And quite a show it was. There were 10 schools involved, each of which had their own costumes. The dancing was a little bit of artistic dance, but mostly modern dance moves.

Florida’s sister Adele is a teacher, and she told us we needed to be at the show by 7pm sharp, as it was a rather long show and they wanted to begin promptly.

Promptly at 8:15pm the show began. Filipino time, you see.

As I am a foreigner, I stand out like a Martian to these folks. Most children will smile as they pass by, and the occasional one will say ‘give me money’. But most are shy, except for these 4 above, who decided they were my best friends for the evening.

The first group, about 10 couples, put on a show that had the kids screaming at the moves. Some moves were not quite the moves you would expect elementary school teachers to know, but, apparently ‘shake your booty’ is not unknown here. As each group got up and did their piece, a mental image began to form, one I could not shake. Try as I might, I could not picture Mildred McCracken doing these sorts of dance moves.

The last group brought on the screams again. This time there was the Terminator, which everyone knows, so everyone was joining in on the singing, and even some 3 year olds were dancing along with the teachers.

What a nice way to bond with the students. Seeing your teacher having some ‘kid’ fun made the kids next to me quite proud of them.

On Friday, I looked at the unused room in Florida’s house. She lives in a Tri-level, the bottom floor (room) of which is only used for storage. Having seen the devastation the 2 children create in the living room and dining room, I suggested we make a Klubhouse in this spare room. So, off to the hardware store where I bought a gallon of Dutch Boy masonry paint, $11.34.

Unfortunately that did not even cover one wall, so the project was abandoned for the day.

Saturday, and 2 gallons further, the basic room was painted with the exception of one wall. We decided not to paint that wall as we are not sure what needs to be done to the structure, should an addition be added on. At one point during the painting, Florida was called upstairs, so I continued on. After a few minutes, I happened to glance at her paint brush thinking I should make sure it wouldn’t dry out, and I found Joshua concentrating on painting the cement block wall next to me. I was quite surprised, so I put my brush down and went to tell Florida to take a look. When we returned, Stefanny had picked up my brush and started in as well!

We let them continue. After a couple hours, they started to lose a bit of interest, so I went to my apartment and got some pens, pencils and highlighters. On one wall I drew (or actually traced) a picture of Jupiter. The kids immediately got the idea, and spent the rest of the day designing the ‘wallpaper’ for the Klubhouse. Soon there were adults adding to the design, although adults (except me) are not allowed in the Klubhouse. Actually, there are no girls allowed either, except for Stefanny.

Much to my dismay however, the toys in the Klubhouse remain neatly on their shelves. The disarray in the living room and kitchen remains the same. The kids do return some of the toys, in order to bring others out, but at least that one discipline has been installed.

Discipline. Not a big thing here in the Philippines. Children here are quite the Lords and Ladies of the manor. They rule the roost, and sometimes with an iron fist. Almost nothing is denied them, which makes some of them just a hair short of being gangsters. Others are quite cavalier, and accept the spoiling while remaining quite human. Joshua is one of those, while Stefanny tends to be leaning towards gangsterism. Having said that, she is a bit afraid of me, and when I call her by name, she stops whatever she is doing. Her mother, Atchi, is visiting (from Manila) for a couple weeks, and is amazed that she actually tries to behave. At times. Atchi is her nickname, her real name being Arcelin. She has finished her contract in Manila, and is waiting for a notice to go to Norway to work. Filipinos tend to send at least one member of a family abroad for work, in order to supplement their income.

Sunday lunch at Lydia’s. Lydia is a Filipino who was married to a foreigner, who unfortunately is not with us anymore. Maybe I mentioned that Pedro was pursuing Lydia, but if I did not, well, you have heard it first here. She is going to Italy in the next week or so, unless Pedro accomplishes a most difficult task. I am not sure if his attraction to her is matched, but perhaps he can put on a significant show by the 10^th to convince her not to leave.

To my amazement, I already knew Lydia; although I had met her at the last party, I did not recognize her, nor did she. She lives in a small neighborhood outside Guindelman, where I had a flat tire last March. An old gentleman tried to help me, and ushered me to Lydia’s house, who had an air compressor. Unfortunately it didn’t work, so we enlisted the help of another neighbor who removed the tire and wheel and then took me to a vulcanizer (a tire repairer). Cost me $1.

Anyway, having established our acquaintance, the party began. Many of the same people as the last party, only 2 people missing that I can account for, but many other people that I had never seen before. Lydia’s home is on a bluff overlooking the sea, a beautiful view. Rick lives next door to her and has the same view. The only thing wrong with that view is it takes a mountain goat to get down to the beach. I suppose if you don’t like the water, this would be perfect.

Lydia’s husband was Italian, and their home has a dining room that is L shaped. There are 2 long tables sitting 10 people each, and a circular table sitting 8. Some people ate outside overlooking the sea, where there is sitting for 8. Others just stood.

This is Lydia on the left, and Lanie on the right.

Always a video-oke!

Lechon (purchased from the lechon maker), lasagna (Lydia’s), potato salad (Ken U), rice cakes (Florida), some sort of beef, lots of different vegetable dishes, tempura, meatballs and spaghetti just to name some of the eats. One table was outfitted with desserts, which I didn’t get to, so I can’t describe what was there other than the rice cakes. Beer, red wine and daiquiris were the order of the day.

These parties all seem to start at 12, but I don’t know how long they last, as we tend to leave after 3 hours or so. Ken U drives an hour or so to get here, and he wants to get back to feed the pig, and as I feel, to keep from driving here in the dark. Ken D also leaves about that same time, as he feels 3 hours is an adequate time to see old friends but still keep away from serious political and religious discussions. Fits right in with my feelings.

Driving in the dark here is a traumatic experience. For the most part you will not encounter street lights, even in the most populated areas. However, you will run across unlighted motorbikes, tricycles, buses and cars. Quite often you will see people sitting in the road. This is the National Highway. People have a habit of looking only one way before crossing the road, which as you can imagine creates serious problems in the dark, let alone during the daylight hours. Speed being the order of the day, you are a definite traffic hazard if you travel 60 mph.

The next day was a normal day, up at 4am, walking at 4:30, stopping at the bakery for fresh pandisol, which is nothing other than a small roll, a basic staple for Filipino breakfasts.

At 7:45 Joshua and Stefanny are taken to school, which begins at 8am. This is Joshua, below.

Between then and 11:30, every sort of imaginable household activity is performed, sometimes by a group of 5 or 6 women. Laundry is hand-washed, as machines can never replace the deft hands of a Filipino woman. If the machine is used, the items are then hand-washed to ensure cleanliness.

And speaking of cleanliness, it is amazing how clean some Filipino homes are, even if all they have is a dirt floor. Each morning the entire outside of the home is brushed. Not swept, but brushed with a stiff broom. I think I mentioned before these brooms are very short, causing one to stoop over in order to perform the task. The kitchen (clean and dirty kitchen) is scoured each day, as is the comfort room. The floors are swept at least 3 times a day. Most homes do not have windows, so there are insects that feel welcome to join in the lunch. Lunch is an affair where one must keep one hand available to wave at the insects, primarily flies. Lunch is a constant waving of hands at times, especially if we eat in the salacote. Should a fly land on the rice, for example, that bit of rice is scooped away from the table. The thought of eating where a fly has landed causes shivers to run down the back, so it just isn’t done.

At lunchtime, Joshua has to change clothes, as he wants to play, and returning to school with sweat-stained clothes just isn’t done. As a matter of fact, Noel was here yesterday, as was his mother. He was busy doing odd jobs around the house, and his mother was helping in the dirty kitchen. Within the space of 90 minutes, Noel was sent home 3 times to change his t-shirt, which unfortunately had soaked up some beads of perspiration. It just simply won’t do to have even the slightest indication one has perspired.

Lunchtime over, and Joshua suited up again, he is taken back to school, but only after his backpack has a complete change of books. It is normal to have 6 books for the morning sessions and 6 different books for the afternoon. He is in 2^nd grade. On the surface this might be construed as a significant accomplishment. However, by all reports, one must not be lead by the volume of books, but by the actual use of those books.

Another thing that never ceases to amaze me is the methods the Filipinos use to keep cool. Mind you, temperatures here range from 82° to 86°, winter to summer. As t-shirts are the normal wear, you quite often will see the men with the bottom of the t-shirt rolled up to the chest. I originally thought that was a macho thing, but it actually isn’t. It is amazing how much cooler you can be. A simple Turkish hand towel is placed on the back, with the top of the towel reaching out from the t-shirt a couple inches. Seemed to me that would add extra heat, but it doesn’t. It soaks up the perspiration and keeps you dry (and if your mom is around it means you don’t have to change shirts so often).

Other things that are different include the exact opposite of American desires for a nice tan. Even on the hottest days it is common to see people wearing jackets, especially the women. Their desire is to have white skin, so no matter how hot, it is better to wear a jacket to keep from becoming ‘black’. Actually, they do not become black, but an intense brown, but as far as they are concerned, that is extremely unwanted. Just check out the local pharmacy to see how many products are there labeled ‘whitening’. An amazing industry, even more products than the American sun tanning industry. Unfortunately, if the whitening product is not put on smoothly and evenly, a patchwork quilt design appears quickly.

Tuesday brought on the Duero Fiesta Day. And what a day it was. I went to Tagbilaran early that morning to fetch my passport (with the new visa) and when I returned I was told that Marcy had come by 3 times during my absence to invite me to their fiesta. It is customary for some families to put on a fiesta each Fiesta Day, so friends and other family members can attend. As soon as I changed, off to Marcy’s bonsai garden to join the fun. John was there, as was Neville and Pedro. John’s wife Shirley, Neville’s wife Naomi, and Lydia was there as well, and a new face, Jim from Ireland. A beer was immediately shoved into my hand, and a plate of food. What a spread! Lots of stories told, some new, some old. One story told on the side, was that although Lydia was leaving the next day for Italy, Pedro would be vacating his apartment at the end of 6 months and taking up residence at Lydia’s place, when Lydia returns. Seems love conquered!

The next day Ken and Lanie appeared, and we all went to Tagbilaran with Ken and Marcy. Nothing special to do, just to be with friends. Ken and Lanie spent the night at my apartment, and then the next day they left at 6am to go back to Tagbilaran to do business that they had scheduled for the day. That evening they returned, and we had a nice easy supper by the seaside. The next morning they left again at 6am, and returned at lunch to pick up their things and return to Ubay. They intend on coming back next week, so I suspect that one day they will be searching for a place of their own.

The other day John wanted to see my apartment, as I will be giving it up sometime in the future, and he is interested in moving. Especially moving after 6 months as once Pedro moves out, he will be the lone foreigner there, and he has grown accustomed to having other ‘long-noses’ around him. We are known as the ‘long nose’ people by the Filipinos. And said in the nicest possible way, mind you.

Unfortunately, the apartment is too small for John, but, he has a French friend who has been looking for a nice quiet place to continue writing a book, and he told John he is very interested in my apartment but will not return from France until mid-January. His name, believe it or not, is Doudou.

I have been using Atchi’s camera, so I am able to send a couple pictures with this issue. The picture of the apartment was taken from the low tide position, which is actually extended now as the last typhoon brought in a shelf-like peninsula extending out into the sea.

For the past 2 weeks, Stefanny and her friends have been practicing their school spectacular dance special every evening. This is while Feliz Navidad is played at full blast on the stereo. In order to keep time, the kids sing along while dancing, with Navidad ranging from Natiodad to Naughtydad. The average plays of this song each night is 43. Every night.

I’m Dreaming Of A White Christmas will not be on my mind this year.

That’s about it for this time, more coming!

Chapter 12

Chapter 12
Chapter 12 It appears like the next few days, if not weeks, will be full of activities. As those things will be slightly unusual, and the fact that I am getting older, I will try to provide a diary so I can put the information in each day before I forget what happened. Friday 27-Nov-09 See what I mean? I have forgotten what happened already and it is only Sunday. Seems to me that it rained, the remainder of the last typhoon. Two islands appeared in front of my home, stone washed in by the seas. A little further down the beach, where a river from the mountain flows into the sea, a gully has appeared, obviously because of the heavy run-off. So, faced with periodic rain, I stayed around the house, enjoying the fresh air brought in by the rain. Fresh sea air and fresh rain air are different, each has their own particularities, but both exceedingly fresh. By mid-morning the rain disappeared, and Ken and Marcy called to say we were invited to a foreigner’s house for a birthday party. So, we joined them in their car and drove about 20 minutes to a small subdivision, where John (I think I mentioned him in the last chapter, but if I didn’t, he is an Englishman and his Filipino wife; I met them last week) and Shirley were hosting a party for Pedro, a Swiss. Ok, Pedro is not a Swiss name, his real name is Peter. He spent quite a lot of time working in Mexico, and became known as Pedro there, and it sort of stuck. Pedro is looking for a Filipino bride. He hasn’t had a lot of luck so far, but, he is still trying. He had a girlfriend, a very similar situation to mine. He found he could not afford the whole family (hither-to unknown to him to be as extensive as it was), and that the girl was only interested in the money, so… Nice guy, a little difficult to understand, the German accent being quite broad. Pedro is originally from St. Gallen, but has not lived there for some time, his job taking him on travels around the world. Pedro has a home in the same subdivision as John, but his home is still somewhat under construction, so John offered to host the party, with Pedro supplying the food and funds needed to complete the drinks and eats. Ken and Lanie from Ubay were invited by Ken and Marcy. That is a very Filipino custom, whether it is a birthday party, wedding, funeral or family doings. Extra people are invited by the invitees. Get used to it. And expect they will want to take doggy bags back to the folks unable to crash the party. Jeffrey appeared, an Englishman who spent his years from 22 years old until now, about 50 or so, in South Africa. A rather large man, extremely red-faced, he also has his stories about his first relationship here. Believe it or not, just as in America, there are good Filipinos and there are bad Filipinos. His girlfriend is a very little young woman; I swear she looks to be a skinny 13 year old, but in fact she is over 20 and already has a small child. Her waist appears to be about 18 inches. I am told she is a superb cook, and with the elimination of Jeffrey’s income by the first relationship, very often they do not have money for meals. She scours the surrounding jungle for food, and as I was told, she will then offer one of the best meals you could ever have. Derrick and Neville (also Englishmen) appeared later, with their wives. Both appear to be in their 60’s, perhaps even 70. And both wives are in their early 20’s. The Filipinos seem to look upon age differences with an extremely cavalier attitude, as compared to the American viewpoint. Love (or need of money) counteracts any age difference. Seeing a 70 year old with a 20 year old does not cause people to stop and stare, it is ignored (of course unless you know the 70 year old or the 20 year old, then you ignore and as soon as possible start talking about them). No difference basically between America and The Philippines. John, being the excellent host he is, immediately started pressuring us to have a beer, which was graciously denied by Ken D and me, Ken being an alcoholic and I being stubbornly accustomed to the dusk happy hour and this was only 11:30 in the morning. But, by 12 noon, he won, and I joined the party. There was an Indonesian there, a fellow called Rick. Nice fellow, very pleasant to talk to, but very silent about his own life, so I really don’t know too much about him. I do know he also lived in St. Gallen, and is retired now with his wife. I understand he frequents these get-togethers, so I will try to learn more about him at the next doings. Then Daniel appeared. Daniel is a German Swiss, a little unusual in that he sports earrings on both ears. His wife did not accompany him, for whatever reason. Daniel’s hobby is producing his own spirits. Apparently he has a rather large distillery in his home, and concocts many different drinks. He has one caveat to giving or selling his product. He does the taste tests on each and every product, which entails consumption of at least half of the lot. As a consequence, it seems to be difficult for any of his acquaintances to remember him being sober. A few other people arrived, wives (but no husbands) and widows. In fact, there was one widow that Pedro is interested in, so he spent much of the time following her trying to convince her not to go to Italy next week to work for 6 months. A typical husband and wife party, the women inside helping prepare the meal and the men outside telling stories, some true, some not, some clean, some not. An extraordinary meal, Filipino lechon (roasted pig), English braised potatoes, French side dishes, Chinese vegetables, along with several desserts, both Filipino and English. One dessert in particular was Mango Float. If you ever….. Graham crackers, condensed milk or cream, and of course, mangos are the main ingredients. What they do to it, I have no idea, but if you ever….. Florida tells me she knows how to make it, so it is on the agenda to be made soon. For me. And only me. I will not invite anyone. All in all, a wonderful time. About 3:30 we left, having spent 4 hours there. The beer was still flowing, and as we left, James (another Englishman) showed up with his wife. I suppose this party was still going well after supper, as I am told this is modus operandi. Saturday 28-Nov-09 Stefanny turned 9 today. She had to go to school for a few hours, a review was being held, so we had decided to have a class party. Early this morning, Florida, her mother, Pia, Leonora and a gay called Palatine (Pal-a-teen), a neighbor, began making the meal. Spaghetti. Filipino Spaghetti. Filipino Spaghetti is your basic Italian Spaghetti with one exception. Sugar. Yup, sweet spaghetti. Many times this dish is offered as a type of dessert instead of an entrée. To make this in the amounts needed, they used the dirty kitchen instead of the clean kitchen. I don’t remember if I have mentioned this before, but, the typical Filipino house has 2 kitchens. One inside, like the Americans, using gas or electric, and one outside, using firewood or charcoal. Dirty kitchen denotes the state of the area around the stove, the obvious blackening due to the flames and smoke of the wood or charcoal. Different utensils are used for each kitchen, and in this case a huge wok-like frying pan was used to prepare the sauce. This pan is approximately 30 inches across, and roughly 10 inches deep. Boiling the noodles was done in a couple 5 gallon pots. Hours later, the spaghetti was made, but not before lunch was served. Lunch was a type of pork, but put basically in a hush puppy style, breaded (sort of) and fried; steak fritters (don’t know how to describe them other than fritters), also fried; steamed fish (using a recipe Florida learned in Hong Kong); and a vegetable dish I cannot possibly describe other than it had lots of vegetables in it along with camote tops. Camote tops are nothing other than the leaves of a potato-like vegetable. By the way, sweet potatoes are boiled and then eaten as a sweet. Because of the steak fritters, we had banana catsup. Yup, banana catsup. Doesn’t have a spicy taste like tomato catsup, but, is red (red bananas????) and has the basic flavor. Very unusual to taste however. So, Noel (Florida’s nephew) went to town to collect the cake in the multi-cab, and then returned to pick up people to go to the school party. The class was intended to last 3 hours as a review, but the first hour and a half was pure party. After class finished, Stefanny and most of her close friends raced home to continue the party, and we were visited by Florida’s cousin, his wife, and his 2 children from a previous relationship. Bicycles were racing around the house (outside), with an occasional foray through the inside. People were in the salacote (the outside meeting room, made of nepa and bamboo), in the house, on the lawn and outside the surrounding fence. Someone came by selling rice cakes, so we added that to the feast. I had been having a little problem with my back, a vertebrae which seemed to have slipped out of place, so Florida had texted the mountain man who apparently is far better than a bone-cruncher. Once he arrived, with his wife, he first worked on Erica, the one year old, who had a cough. After the massage she was given some sort of concoction, a leave from a tree boiled in water and who knows what. Within hours, the cough was gone. So, I was next. He and his wife worked on me for an hour. Very unusual massage, being four hands working me from the top of my head to the bottoms of my feet at the same time. Instead of the typical bone-crushing, he used a method I will call the push-push method. Standing at my head, he pushed his palms down my backbone to approximately half-way, where the offending vertebrae were laying. Doing this for about 7 minutes, each time pressing harder and harder, it did not hurt, but the pressure I felt was intense and all the while his wife was working on my leg muscles. Then he moved to my feet and did the opposite, pushing up from just above my tailbone to the offending vertebrae, all the while his wife working on my neck. Another 7 minutes or so of this, then he had me turn on my side. A torturing 10 minutes of pressure on my hips and then a sort of relief by focusing on my thighs. Jeez. Then he had me turn to the other side and repeated the same actions, all the time his wife was working just below my shoulder, and under the shoulder blade. To wrap things up, he then had me return to my stomach, and I again received an entire body massage by both of them. I asked about the charges, and was told 200 pesos ($4). Being the rich and giving person I am, I dug deep into my pockets and gave them a $2 tip. Amazing how an extra $2 widens the smiles by 3 inches. Absolutely amazing. By 9pm I was totally exhausted, but the kids, like normal kids worldwide, they could not be stopped. It was very obvious that the moment one fell down, they all would break into tears, being so worn out that one trigger for one will trigger them all. We had a difficult time running them down, and then settling them, but a huge pot of hot chocolate helped, as well as the decorating of the Christmas tree growing in front of the house. 10pm and all is well. Sunday 29-Nov-09 Dawn arrived, and I was already on my daily walk. I say daily, because it is my intention to continue this walk each morning, somewhere between 4am and 5:30. It is only my sixth morning walk, so maybe a little early to determine it is now habit, but, I fully intend to continue. Only time will tell if my commitment is what I intend it to be. Florida and I, and sometimes Joshua, walk to town, a distance of 1.3 kilometers, and sometimes we go beyond, perhaps another 1km, and then stop on our way back at the bakery for fresh rolls. Invariably there is some missing by the time we are back home. I don’t know anyone that can truly ignore warm bakery day after day. On occasion we meet one or the other of the ‘crazy’ people, folks whose minds seem to have left them, and some bakery is handed over. Generally we receive no thanks, that being beyond these folks communications ability, but that is ok, we know they are thankful. Breakfast is sort of a give and take situation. During the week, with school happening, mass confusion exists. Of course, there are only 2 children in this house, but, Pia is getting ready for her work, and Leonora checks in with some food as well as her son Noel, who lends to the general confusion by talking to everyone at once. Jona may or may not appear with Erica which then causes Joshua to forget all about school and gets busy playing with her. Today was a little more confusing, as Adele and RR (the sister from the mountain) spent the night because of Stefanny’s birthday, as well as their son. The son does not speak English at all, but he and I spend a lot of time smiling at each other. I would guess him to be 9, almost 10, and he is a most industrious fellow. His name is Lester, and at 4am when the day had begun, there he was, wrapping up the mosquito net and the sheets and blankets. Once finished he began to sweep the lawn, from front to rear, and then moved on to Florida’s bedroom, which has a floor made of the tougas wood. Inserting his foot into a half a coconut which had the meat removed, he began to ice-skate across the floor, applying pressure by leaning into the coconut. With the meat removed, only the fibers are left, which act as a polish to the wood. One day I will take pictures of this floor, it is most beautiful. At 9am Ken D appeared at the gate, the technicians for his phone had arrived so he wanted my help. Yesterday I tried to get his computer to connect to the internet (dial-up), but couldn’t. I called the hotline but the phone lines were so terrible I could not understand a word the technician was saying. It was like he had a mouth full of potatoes in the middle of a typhoon. I vaguely heard he would send a technician on Monday, but he appeared today, Sunday. Once the phone was taken changed I helped Ken get online, as he was anxiously waiting news about his brother in Florida. You may have heard about the 19 year old woman who crashed through a home, knocking a man out of bed. That was Ken’s 80 year old brother. Without the internet, Ken could not find out how he was, and was understandably upset over the inadequacies of dialup internet. There is digging going on right now in front of our home, the eventual internet cable system. The cable will be going entirely around the island, and is being dug by hand. Somewhere close to 40 men and boys work 6 days a week on this, and started months ago in Tagbilaran. There are no guesses as to when it will be live, but everyone is anxious. Having corrected the problem, I returned back to Florida’s to have a cup of coffee and engage in the general nonsense going on. Ken D had invited us to the garden at 1:30 to meet another American, so I got busy trying to sort things out for the rest of the day before going on the visit. Amazing how easy to let things ride when you are busy with family fun. At 1:30 Florida and I went to the garden, and met Seth, from Portland Oregon. Seth came here 12 years ago, and lived in Mabini, a remote village. Last year he returned to the states to resume teaching, a temporary assignment in Yuma Arizona. Three weeks into the job and he had a stroke, and had to quit. The purpose of him teaching again was to earn a bit more money to help finish building their home. Now, not being able to do so, he is living in Tagbilaran instead of completing the home, which he has now sold. It was a pleasant couple hours, if quiet. Seth is not a conversationalist, but Ken and I made more than enough noise to cover his silence. Then supper, in mass confusion. Monday 30-Nov-09 Today was Joshua’s 7th birthday. From dawn, preparations were made, which needed Florida, Rita (Florida’s mother), Adele (sister from the mountains), Leonora (sister down the street), Nora (next door cousin), Pia (sister) and Palatine (gay). The roster of gophers goes like this: Noel (nephew), Jona (niece-in-law), Elmer (brother-in-law), me, various children, and some unknown friends dropping in as early as 6am. By 10 am the first visitors arrived, Ken and Lanie from Ubay, with Lanie’s daughter, Erika, and the celebration began. Erika walked to the back yard, then out the fence to see the ocean. She immediately turned around and told her mother she wanted to move here. Erika is 13 and is one of the most popular students in Ubay, but she is prepared to transfer to school here. This is a gorgeous place. After coffee and pastries, we walked down to Mercy’s bonsai garden, and talked for about an hour before all of us, including Ken and Marcy, returned to Florida’s home. Lunch was served, New York Sandwich (more about that later), La Roca Beef (Bif), fish, a vegetable concoction (thank me for some of that, I did the carrots) resembling a cold salad, spaghetti, fish tempura, rice, squid, pansit (and more about that later as well), plus others too many to mention. La Roca Beef is Palatine’s specialty, the beef being pounded to pieces, and cut into small strips the evening before, then placed into a secret marinade. In the morning he breaded and then fried the beef, and I must say it was most tasty. I am not a beef fan, so I am extremely picky about my beef. Desserts. Ok, now about Mango Float. 1. In a pan, place a thin layer of graham cracker crumbs. 2. Next pour a coating of cream. 3. Float a layer of sliced mango. 4. Float a layer of graham cracker crumbs. 5. Float a layer of cream. 6. Float a layer of sliced mango. 7. Float a layer of graham cracker crumbs. 8. Continue the process until the pan is filled, the last layer being graham cracker crumbs. 9. Place in the freezer. 10. Eat. Now you know, there is no excuse. Do it. Immediately after lunch, the video-oke was brought out. Florida’s brother, Martin, made this video-oke, and it is an extremely professional piece of equipment. Some 10,000 songs are on this, from English to Visaya. Palatine immediately started to serenade us, with Ken U stepping in within minutes. Soon, almost all were busy singing, laughing and joking about the participants. Three o’clock rolled around, and the first children began to arrive. Joshua had invited 3 of his friends, which was all he wanted, so Florida had invited a few more, about 5 more or so. As the children began to arrive, the adults took their leave. I had purchased 15 miniature yo-yo’s as gifts for the kids, expecting no more than about 8 or so, but I knew I had to be a little more generous, hence the 15. 34 children appeared; each of the original 8 invited a few more of their own guests. I was really concerned about only 15 yo-yo’s, but Florida said no mind, the children understand. And they did. The yo-yo’s were given out randomly, and each of the children were told there were only so many available so everyone must share. Amazingly there was no arguments, no tears. This culture is so giving and sharing. I don’t know if that is a Philippine trait, or just a Visaya trait. Remembering what I was told before I arrived, the Visaya peoples are the friendliest and most generous people compared to any other peoples. Ok, back to the food. Most of you will know a sandwich called Croque Monsieur, or at least that is how I remember it being spelled. This house has a substitute for that, however, as they have never heard of a Croquet Monsieur, perhaps it is more proper to say that they have their own brand of sandwiches here. Called a New York Sandwich, it is a very simple sandwich. 1. On a slice of bread, place a slice of ham. 2. On the ham, place a slice of cheese. 3. Roll the bread, ham and cheese into a tight roll. 4. Dip the bread roll into a beaten egg. 5. Roll the bread roll in soda cracker crumbs, or bread crumbs. 6. Fry for a few minutes. 7. Eat. Mustard is uncommon here, but I highly suggest it be used. This is a simple sandwich, easily made, and as good as the ingredients might be. Never mind the use of Wonder bread, or any such common bread. Pansit. What can I say about pansit? Pansit, on the surface, appears to be a number of different size noodles, with beef and/or chicken and/or pork pieces, carrot pieces, as well as other vegetable pieces, cooked, some soy, and who knows what else. Pansit is found all over this island, and a generous helping for two will cost slightly more than a dollar. The recipes for pansit are as varied as the villages. Each one seems to have a different recipe, and all are tasty. Ok, or, as they say in Visaya, sige (pronounced si-gie, means ok), after food, cake and ice cream, lots of coca-cola, the kids alternately rode the bicycles around the house and sang to the video-oke. And sing they did, as loud as they could, mostly off-key. It was wonderful. Many of the kids took advantage of me by taking my picture, as they don’t come in contact very often with foreigners and wanted to prove to their parents that they knew one. At one point we gained another visitor, one of the crazy ones, who let himself through the gate, and sat down unobtrusively near the back gate to listen to the singing. At 8pm, Palatine started rounding up everyone to send home. By that time we wouldn’t have minded all of them staying overnight, just as long as we could sleep. Tuesday 01-Dec-09 I had to go to Tagbilaran to renew my visa. Once again, I was able to get the yearly visa, although I am not eligible as I am not married. I found out a little about this process. The government issues this visa stamp, with a number assigned to that individual. Should that individual leave the country, or die, that number is never assigned to another. However, as the number remains in perpetuity, it is available to the immigration officers. Last year my visa belonged to a dead man, but the number unfortunately was smudged in the process of being stamped. So, this year, a different immigration office and officer, I will once again have a visa. I paid my fee ($206) and will have my passport and visa returned to me next week. The officer will take it to Cebu, on another island, and have it stamped properly (sige, sige, maybe a little smudged). A little shopping, then returning to Duero on a perfect day, helmet-less. I know, very dangerous. But… Wednesday 02-Dec-09 Ok, a normal day, finally. Up at 3:30 (don’t ask me why, I’ll tell you no lies), then a nice walk from 4 to 5. Back to the house for breakfast, rice, squid and steamed fish leftover from yesterday. Can’t go wrong. Just a nice, easy day. Spent a large amount of time watching the ocean, which seemed to be extra calm, almost like a mirror. Funny how that works, so rough for days, then so calm for a couple days. December 8 is the town fiesta day, so lots of parades, music, eats, disco, gambling and fun times on that day. I am hoping the next 5 or 6 days quiet down a little, I could use the rest

Chapter 11

Chapter 11

What a full 2 and a half weeks it has been.

Before I go further, I must make a correction to a previous chapter regarding the use of hands to eat in Malaysia. I have been informed by a friend that custom has changed, and normal utensils are now used, maybe not with everyone, but certainly people she knows. Somehow I think I would miss the eating by hands, a practice still surviving here in the Philippines.

The first few days after I last wrote I spent sorting out what things I was able to take from Ubay, and trying to determine where to put them in my new home. The home itself (upstairs) offers little opportunity for storing clothes, as there is no closet, no shelves. However, attached to the 9 foot bed on either side of the headboard are 2 shelves. The bottom one I was able to place a few days’ clothes, and the rest I put in the workshop downstairs. The workshop is outfitted with cupboards along one wall, floor to ceiling, so there is plenty of space there.

The house had no water pump or water heater. As I have spent the last 11 months taking cold showers, the heater was no problem but fetching water several times a day to carry up the steep stairs was a problem. The agreement I had with the owner was that I would replace the pump and heater at my expense, and deduct that from the next few month’s rent. However, the contractor (an American) had an outrageous number for an estimate, so the owner proceeded to do the repairs himself. I managed to keep him from purchasing a water heater and buying a tankless water heater instead. I do not need hot showers, but a warm one on occasion will be nice.

You have no idea what living here is like. The surf alternately pounding and gently moving against the foundation of the house, the constant breeze, the sweet smelling air and the gentleness of the people. The fishermen coming in at dawn from their work as well as the fishermen later in the morning wading from the shore with their nets, collecting less than the deeper sea fishermen. The vendors walking the road early in the morning, catch them and buy your daily fish or bread or even a yogurt-like drink. I cannot describe this life adequately. I wish all of you can eventually experience this life to the fullest.

About 6 weeks ago I met Ken and Marcy. Ken is 75, Marcy is 51 and they live in Duero, where I now live. You may remember my friend Ken from Ubay, which from now on I will call Ken U, and this new one I will call Ken D. Ken D is retired army, and has been living here for 17 years. Both Kens are from America. Ken D had married a woman from Jagna (Hag’-nah) but found out within 6 months that she only wanted to go to America, along with her 7 children, and had no other real interest in him. Shortly after that Ken met Marcy, who had just returned from an unfortunate marriage to a rich Norwegian, who also happened to be a drunk. Ken’s wife was demanding money, but unfortunately (or fortunately, as the case may be) he did not have any. Marcy stepped in and gave the wife money with the understanding that she would never contact Ken again. The wife agreed, and kept her word. Marcy then refused to marry Ken for 4 years in order to make sure neither one was making the same mistake again. They have been together now for 16 years and it is one of the most beautiful marriages I have ever seen. Marcy is a superb individual, so very sweet and cute as a button (where did that saying ever come from? I have never seen a cute button, a nice one maybe, but not a cute one.) Marcy is the type of woman that when one meets her she is so impressive you never forget her name, and you want to see her everyday to see her smile and enjoy her company.

Ken D was the one that encouraged me to move to Duero, and has been a tremendous support to me ever since. Ken U was the one encouraging me to leave Ubay, to get away from that life and start a new one (he had been urging me for 6 months). The day after I arrived here, Ken and Marcy said that they knew some women that I should meet, to which I politely said ‘You’ve got to be out of your mind.’

Jumping out of a relationship is not a good reason to jump into another.

After 4 days, I became convinced that I needed someone to help me with my laundry and light housekeeping. Marcy said she knew of a single mother that needed a part time job and coincidentally lived next to me. Her name is Florida (Flor-ee‘-da) and her 7 year old son is Ryan Joshua (pronounced Joss-wa). Florida has the biggest smile I have ever seen and will be celebrating her 40th in January. I explained what I required, and she started immediately. She insisted that I meet her family, and to have lunch with them to get acquainted. The house includes one of Florida’s sisters, Pia, a niece and Florida’s mother. Across the street is another sister and her husband, son and his wife and baby. One of the other sisters lives up the mountain behind Duero and 2 in Mindanao as well as her brother.

I walked into a circus. Children running, laughing, crying, shouting, and adults running, laughing and consoling children. So many interventions I couldn’t remember whose children belonged to which one. I am still confused a couple weeks later. Just a nice simple home filled with love. People in and out of the home, the doors open wide to anyone walking past.

These folks are real Filipinos. My first experience with real Filipinos. They have precious little, and share everything they have. Very poor, but you must understand the quality of life, the pride they take in their home. The curtains are changed each month. The yard is swept each morning. The laundry is done 6 days a week. The floors are mopped twice a day. The bathroom completely cleaned each morning. Stuffed animals everywhere, encased in clear plastic to keep them dust-free. Doorless cabinets in the kitchen, but covered in clear plastic to keep clean. I am told the cabinets are emptied of their contents each month, the cabinets cleaned and the dishes washed again before replacing.

They are proud to have a foreigner in their midst and not only are constantly inquiring about American culture, but constantly educating me in their own culture.

There is love in this home. Pure love. The sweetest I have ever known beyond my own family.

Florida’s father was sick for some years, and while they had never been financially set, his sickness firmly put them in the poor side of the wealth chain. Florida went to Hong Kong as a domestic helper, and sent her earnings back to the family. Domestic helpers in Asia typically live with the family they are helping, and are given free food as part of their salary. A DH possibly works 7 days a week, and might get one day a week off after a couple years. Florida had the daylight hours of Sunday as her personal time, and during that time she would go to a dormitory that housed young people, where she would rent a bed (with others in one bedroom) for the day and rest. She had an unfortunate encounter with a presumed friend, which gave her the love of her life, her son. She returned to Duero after 10 years in Hong Kong to begin building a life for Joshua. About 3 or 4 years ago her father passed away and as a result her brother and sisters asked her to stay on and look after her mother, and they would assist in the expenses.

So, to go on with the story. That was the first day. The morning of the second day of Florida’s existence in my life, breakfast was brought to my door. Jeez.

I need to backtrack. I had asked her what she would charge for my work, but she had no idea, and wanted me to decide. I couldn’t. I asked Marcy, who told me she paid her housekeeper 2,500 pesos plus room and board per month, with 1 day off per week, which is about $54 a month. I still had no idea what to pay, so I begged Florida to name a price. She decided to just charge for the laundry until I have settled in properly to the home. She and I then discussed prices back and forth, all of my suggestions labeled as too much pay for too little work. She finally said 100 pesos, period, and no discussion.

So I now pay 200 pesos each laundry day, period, no discussion. She does not like to take that much, but reluctantly does as I asked her to put half of it in Joshua’s piggy bank or add to the household budget. My laundry now costs me $4 a week.

Every day since, the kindness has increased steadily. I feel I am part of that family now, as I am asked to join in on everyday occurrences, and I do.

I was invited to Ken D’s for the Pacman fight, where I was one of 3 Americans (Ken D and Ken U) and 14 Filipinos. We had a super time, lots of laughing and chatter. English of course is not their native tongue, and most of their expertise comes from the television, so sometimes there are lots of misinterpretations, all of which lent to the laughter. Ken D’s father-in-law was there, and as he is a strong supporter of Pacman, Ken D offered to bet against him, as he wanted the father-in-law to win. Consequently, Ken D offered the same to all of the Filipinos although he was secretly supporting the Pacman. Cost him 10,000 pesos, about $206. He knew he would lose, but he wanted to give.

Then we ate. Oh my, did we eat.

The next morning Florida came to the house and declared we were going on an adventure that afternoon. Her brother-in-law, Elmer, has a hollow block business and needed to make some deliveries in the mountains and we were invited to join the fun. Hollow block is your basic concrete block, however, only half the width of the typical American concrete block. The manufacturing of these blocks is quite labor intensive, the mixing of sand and concrete done by shovel, and then the filling of the form, packing down by hand and then removal by shaking the form upside down. Elmer has modernized his operation by adding a mechanical packing of the material, a machine that shakes the form. He has also added customer service by actually producing the block consistency to the customer preference, a rarity.

He has a flat-bed truck to do his deliveries. When I arrived at the site, the truck was outfitted with 3 bamboo chairs and 3 umbrellas. The rear of the flat-bed was packed with hollow block. After the introductions to his crew, we climbed aboard and settled in the chairs, keeping the umbrellas close at hand.

And off we went.

About a half mile away we turned off the National Highway onto a small road. Within 200 yards we began to climb the mountains. And what a beautiful drive that was. After a couple miles, we stopped at a hut, where we picked up some bags of concrete. The hut is owned by Elmer, as he had his first hollow block factory there. Factory meaning there was a nepa roof there, no walls, no floor.

About a mile further and we picked up another passenger who wanted to go to the next village. Another few miles and we had to stop to fill the truck with water. There is plenty of water along the roadside, some of it by pipe; other locations have running water coming out of the mountainside. All of it, of course, free.

After dropping off our passenger, we continued on, only to stop about 3 miles further, with much honking of the horn to alert a home we were arriving, to pick up some jackfruit that a local wanted to send to his sister on a further mountain.

We continued on; in the process we were able to view (from a distance) the half a mountain that remains after the other half fell down a year or so ago. This was no mean landslide, folks, this was a half a mountain, including the homes of many people.

We encountered a drizzle from time to time, and once a real rain but that only lasted a few minutes. As we went further and further it got cooler and cooler, until ultimately we were faced with a freezing 74 degree temperature. At that point we had arrived at the 6th village, a rather large village actually, maybe 30 homes. We stopped there to meet another of Florida’s sisters, a school teacher. After tea and coffee, we continued on, taking with a couple boxes someone wanted to send to the last village on the road, a village called TayTay (Tie-Tie).

When we arrived, the streets (dirt, mostly) were lined with people, walking to the school, to the market, back home, wherever, a few motorbikes and 2 or 3 trucks. Everyone had a smile, although many looked at me as if I was from Mars (get used to that if you come here, it is not an insult, they are just so amazed to see you that there is the blankest look on their face for many minutes until they become accustomed to your strange looks).

We met the local school teacher, a young woman about 24 years old. Part of her expectations in teaching in a far-away village was to find a husband and settle there. This is one of the ways the Filipino families spread out from their humble homes. If she is lucky, once she finds that man, he will have a motorbike so she will be able to visit her family once a month or so.

We met this teacher because the school house sits on the land that is home to a deep cave, which apparently dives straight down from the surface of the earth to somewhere below, where it then expands in many directions. It is fenced in, but the fence is only waist high, so presumably one can investigate further. Fortunately, due to the lateness of the day, we did not investigate further.

The last few villages had some superb gardens, the coast being to warm for some things like beefsteak tomatoes and such. But up here, virtually everything seemed to be growing exceedingly well. I have hopes to rent some land up there in the future to start a garden. Even though market prices are ridiculously low, and the garden probably will cost more than purchasing at the market, I am bound to have my own vegetables. Maybe a flower or two as well.

Having delivered the jackfruit and hollow block, we then turned back towards home, as it was starting to get dark. The truck didn’t need water going down, so we made it back home in record time, stopping first at the sister’s house again for tea and coffee, then continuing just in time to have a superb supper at Florida’s home.

By the way, I forgot to mention that all meals in this family are cooked on a wood fire, gas and electric being far too expensive.

I have dubbed Elmer’s business as Elmer’s Hollow Block, Small Package Delivery Service, Mountain View Bus Service and Foreigner’s Tour Service.

And a good time was had by all.

This was one of my most memorable times in my life.

Life goes on. Each day this family is out-guessing my needs, giving of themselves. I am very humbled by everyone I have met here. And I am meeting more and more people in these past 10 days than I met in 11 months in Ubay.

This past Saturday Ken and Marcy asked us to go with them to Cogtong, a small village that houses a university. They are sending a niece and nephew there, and intend on sending more of the relatives. Dormitories are privately owned there, and are dismal. So Marcy has purchased a plot of land from a wonderful lady there in order to build a dormitory first to house their relatives and second to rent to others. We went there to see the land and to meet the lady. She is 78, single, and has a store on the roadside, selling small household items and food. She also has turkeys, geese, chickens and 17 dogs, along with mango trees and other fruits. If you want fruit, it is picked to order. We ordered mangoes and something called Apple Mango. Nice. Crunchy. About the size of a large grapefruit, a sweet/sour kind of taste. Nice.

This lady is wonderful. Her chickens perch on her shoulder and join her in walks. She charges 40 pesos per kilo for the fruit, which is less than a dollar for 2.2 pounds. Her helper picks the fruit and collects the money. The helper typically gives you 2 kilos for the price of 1, saying the lady doesn’t need the money. Somehow, I know the lady knows this, and the price has been averaged to compensate for the extra kilo. Even at 40 pesos ($0.85) per kilo that is a superb price, but we get it for 20 pesos per kilo, which equals to less than 20 cents per pound.

This lady (don’t know her name) has a wonderful sense of humor, and if you try to match wits, well, you had better be prepared to exercise your mind.

And lose.

On the way back we stopped at a small subdivision and met John and his girlfriend. John is English, and one heck of a good guy. We had a nice time sitting on the porch and getting to know each other. He comes here to Duero frequently to go snorkeling at Ken D’s place. By the way, I forgot to mention that some 25 yards out from the beach is the beginning of the local coral reef. Marcy’s bonsai business is ocean-side, less than a block from my place. Their home is directly across the street from me; they are at the “garden” from about 8 or 9am until 5pm. “Garden” is a misnomer, as their home has a garden just as big if not bigger than the ocean-side garden.

I think I also forgot to mention Florida and Marcy are cousins. And Marcy is a matchmaker. What a family.

On Tuesday we went to Tagbilaran, seven of us. There was Elmer and his wife, Leonora (Florida’s elder sister), their son Noel, his wife Jona and 1 year old daughter, Erica, Florida’s mother (her name is Rita, but I call her Nanay (Na-Nie), which is mother, or Nay (Nie), the short version), Stefanny (Filipino spelling of the niece, whose mother is in Mindanao), Florida, Joshua and myself. Stefanny is 9 years old and tremendously spoiled. Elmer’s aunt has a small Suzuki multi-cab, which is to say it is a miniature pickup truck with a canvas top over the bed, and 2 seats along the sides of the bed. I was given the honor of sitting in front in the passenger seat.

Filipino driving is the worst I have seen in all my travels. Sorry, you folks who have many stories of lousy driving in other countries, in my experience of more than 50 countries the driving here is the worst. Forget Portugal and the National Highway from Oporto (north) to Lisbon (south). Forget Poland where the darkness of towns at night causes many accidents. Forget Taiwan where blind crossings have no warning, stop signs, lights or any apparent right of way so therefore all parties approach the crossing at full speed. Forget Italy where cars the size of roller-skates are used as battering rams.

There are no stop signs here, no stop signals, except in Tagbilaran City proper, where only 3 or 4 stop signals exist. There are some white lines on the National Highway, but those are mainly used to center the vehicle so the wheels straddle it. Curves are places to hug the opposite side of the road. Passing occurs randomly, the oncoming traffic expected to move off to the side of the road. If you want to turn within the next 25 yards, go ahead and pass the vehicle in front of you, just slam on the brakes as soon as you pass them. Don’t use the directionals (if they even exist). Above all, at night do not use your lights as it is believed it will wear out your battery. No speed limits exist (except in the towns, where they are completely ignored), which is ok because I have yet to see any speedometers that work. Horns are necessary, and are used approximately every 10 yards. Some amateur musicians have perfected different rhythms to ensure they are respected. If there is a hole, whether in moving or standing traffic, the Filipino plugs the whole. If they see 4 feet available in moving traffic, they will pass and squeeze in. If there is 10 inches in standing traffic, they will fill the plug. And it doesn’t matter if it is a motorbike or a truck, they fill the hole. All Filipino drivers are practicing for the Indy 500. There is no half speed, only full.

So, on the way, I was the honored passenger. From here it takes an hour. As there was a signal 1 typhoon (the strongest) going on, it was raining all the way. Fortunately this Suzuki has one of the wipers working (on the passenger side) so we were able to continue without much problems, except for having to be on the wrong side of the road occasionally when Elmer couldn’t see well out of his side of the windshield (actually, the driver’s wiper works but seems to be at a slightly higher level than the windshield).

The Suzuki has seen better days; it goes through an entire tank of gas in one hour, with normal tanks giving 4 to 5 hours of driving. The lights don’t work, which is not seen as a problem as the battery won’t wear down. The engine has been replaced 2 times already, and of course is beyond its expiration date (known here as goodfer). At one time in the far past there was actually air conditioning in this vehicle, but no one remembers when it was last operable. Steering is a bit cumbersome, as there seems to be about an inch and a half play before the wheels actually start turning. A doorbell sits proudly on the dashboard just to the right of the steering wheel, and gives an amazingly close mimic of a normal car horn. I have no idea how that is hooked up, and what is used for that sound, but it is just a shade different, and as a result it is a very noticeable alert to dogs, cows and people walking down the middle of the National Highway.

On our return, I forced my way to the rear of the Suzuki, hoping Nay would sit up front (her being an ancient 65 to my 63) but she refused and sent Jona and Erica to the front. So there we were, 6 folks crowded in the bed of the Suzuki, along with lots of packages purchased from the mall as well as to-go bags and food left from the trip to Tagbilaran. I think I forgot to mention that irrespective of where this family goes, toys, food, water, juice and sweets are taken along, whether eaten in the truck, or at the mall or in a restaurant (not unusual here to bring your own rice to a restaurant, most of which will allow you to do so). So off we went, traveling first to the dead center of Tagbilaran to visit Elmer’s sister and her family, and then finally to return home. Canvas flapping in the wind, copious exhaust fumes from the damaged tailpipe, bright headlights bearing down on us from behind (we were virtually unnoticed due to the lack of operable taillights), almost constant honking of horns, all the while everyone chatting (imagine 6 people with 5 conversations going), eating and singing for the next hour or so.

Soaking wet due to the flapping canvas, all of us immediately sat down to dinner. How these people can be 5’2” and weigh less than 100 pounds is beyond me.

A nickname given here in the Philippines to a woman that is considered to be sweet, sisterly and pure of heart is Iya (Eye’-ya). Florida is called Iya by many people, including her son. I am now being called Iyo (Eye’-yo) by Florida’s family, and even by some others.

The laundry is no longer being done by Florida, but by her cousin that lives next door.

I am certain you now have an idea of what is occurring here.

Chapter 10 - A New Beginning

It has been awhile since I wrote, and lots have happened. Far too much to go into right now.

To make a long story short, I decided to change homes. While I was extremely happy in the country, there was still some things missing, and some things present that were not quite right.

So, this past Sunday, after 11 months, I moved.

But first, thank you to all that sent me messages during the recent rash of typhoons. Bohol is a protected island, there are several islands that block the passage from Guam (where most of these storms seem to birth) on the way to Vietnam and points west. The last typhoon to hit Bohol was 26 years ago.

I now reside about 75 minutes south of my first location, and on the coast, a small village called Duero. Duero is pronounced Dew-aero, but one syllable, Dewaero. Say it fast.

Kim Knight, you will be happy hear I am finally in my grass hut.

I live in a native nepa house, nepa being a tough marsh-like grass, sort of like long spears, in English it is called mangrove palm. The house is actually a combination, as only the roof is nepa. Grass roof. Has to be re-roofed about every 3 to 5 years depending on the locale clime, typhoons, rats and lizards.

The walls and floor are bamboo. The walls are made of bamboo leaves, which are woven and tacked up to joists and then wood slats are nailed over the tacked locations. In this case, these wood slats are from the Gmelina tree. Gmelina is a relatively soft tree, not much harder than a pine tree; in English it is called a snapdragon tree. The floor is made of bamboo slats, which are stripped from the round bamboo stalk, then nailed on joists. There are spaces between each bamboo stalk, which make it convenient for sweeping.

The windows and doors are made from Tugas, locally sometimes called the Century Tree, as it is said each tree will last at least 100 years. Another word for Tugas is Molave. At the first home, I purchased a mahogany door, because it is actually against the law to cut Tugas, therefore anything made of Tugas may be subjected to huge fines. As an aside, the mahogany door is a hair over 35 inches wide, 2 inches deep and 7 foot tall. I asked for a normal door, as we needed to rebuild the front of the house. That's what I got. It is a 6-panel door, the panels being hand carved on both sides. The doors here are normally 5 to 5.5 feet, filipinos being rather short; don't know why it was 7 foot, but there you have it. The cost? 8,000 pesos, or, $170.00, and took 3 weeks to build.

So, back to Tugas doors and windows. Amazing, this little house is full of these. 3 doors and 11 windows on the second floor (bedroom and bathroom) and 2 doors and 8 windows on the ground floor. All illegal. And the doors are 7 foot as well! Seems we Americans all look tall to filipinos.

My grass hut is one room (on the second floor), 11 feet by 16 feet, plus a bathroom (CR it is called here, Comfort Room) 5 feet by 8 feet. It is on the second floor. The ground floor is concrete block and masonry, and is only half the size of the second floor. Under the bedroom is the workshop, full of cabinets. Under the CR is the 'laundry room', which in this case means the room with the water pump in it. It is also filled with cabinets. Both of those rooms have sinks in them.

So, I now live in a home of 324 square feet, or, 216 square feet. Depends on how you look at it. I am using the ground floor for storage, which takes up all of 4 square feet.

I reach the second floor by means of a very steep open stairway, and arrive on one end of the building. A long walkway (16 feet) to the front of the building, which then becomes a porch across the front of the house (front being away from the road). The walkway and porch are bamboo slats, and the roof extends over both. This home is actually touching another home, the home closest to the road. An American owns my home, the first home being his in-laws.

Now, for what I call the front of the building, the following picture is looking northeast from the porch, and was taken somewhere after 5am the first morning of my occupancy. Yes, those are my feet on the railing.

Those are clouds, not islands, not mountains, just clouds. There are more islands out there, but you cannot see them unless it is an exceptionally clear day.

Directly under my feet is another nepa roof, which shelters my BBQ, a concrete and ceramic tile structure, the grill approximately 2 feet by 3 feet, and forms one side of the structure. The perpendicular side is about 5 feet long, and the parallel side (facing the ocean) is about 2 by 3 feet and houses a sink. The roof shelters 7 by 7 feet, so, add another 49 square feet on to my living space.

At the end of that roof is a concrete wall, which at that point reaches up about 2 feet from ground level. The first night the spray from the high tides came over the wall onto the BBQ. No kitchen at high tides. Low tides offer about 40 feet of beach. However, there is mostly small stones here, so it is not the perfect beach.

As I am not the perfect swimmer, all things seem to be equal.

It is not unusual for a family of 5, 6 or 7 live in the same amount of space. Filipinos live outside, they spend pre-dawn to post-dusk outside. No need for huge bedrooms, family rooms, dining rooms. Dining happens standing up, watching tv, watching traffic on the road, to mention a few ways it is done.

After all, temperature ranges from 82 to 86 degrees year round. Last night was one of the coolest nights, got down to 74 degrees.

Another long story explained in short order, then I must stop. I had hundreds of pictures of the last 11 months on my computer, and during the last bomb the backup I made failed to copy the photos. That is the short version. On Monday of this week, I took some pictures at dawn, one of which you see. Tonight I uploaded those pictures to my computer (which I have not moved yet, so this is being written in the country, not at the new home). After uploading I noticed a strange web-like structure across the viewing lens. My camera is broken.

So, for the moment, there are no pictures of my new home, except for the one above, and some of the rising sun, which will eventually put on a site should you want to view them.

Oh, and one other thing - as I am a foreigner, everything is priced higher than if I was a native. Even though the owner is American, his wife is filipino, and as the property is in her name (foreigners are not allowed to own land here), she is the true boss.

So, my monthly rental is $100. Utilities appear to be approximately $20. If I eat extremely well, I might spend another $100, which includes a few restaurant meals. Gas for the motorbike is about $4.00 a gallon, but, imagine this: takes about 6 or 7 straight hours to travel around the island, if you wanted to. Probably 8 bucks. How many times you want to do that in a month? No movies, no bowling alleys, nearest mall is closer now though, about 90 minutes. Next nearest mall is about the same amount of time, just a different location and after that the nearest mall is either a boat or a plane trip away.

If I spend anything at all on improvements (which includes varnishing the wood), I am to deduct that amount from the rent. The American owner is presently building a castle on the coast about 2 miles away. Really. On a small basis.

Ok, I am far past my norm, bed at dark o'clock. (And breakfast at light o'clock).

Good night all, hope this finds you well.

Chapter 9 (31-May-09)

Back in January I wrote about the cobra that lives behind the outhouse next door. I did receive several comments about that, especially about the outhouse itself.

Over the months since then, other missives regarding outhouses (or similar subjects) have come to my attention, in one way or another. Now, while this blog is about the Philippines, most of you who are familiar with me know that I cannot resist stepping sideways now and then. If you are reading this because of the Philippine issues, be aware that other than the first paragraph, there are no other Philippine mentionings in this chapter (so, if you want to ignore this, be my guest).

For example, my friend Nora responded with this:
'I don’t think I’d like a snake living under my outhouse (or my neighbor’s), even if it only eats once a month! (We actually had a working outhouse, too, growing up on the farm—my dad was the only one who used it regularly—but ours was special as it had a tiny hole in the door behind the toilet paper roll and when the sun came up in the morning and shown through the hole, the house appeared upside down in living color on the toilet paper! A simple “camera obscura”, but pretty cool.) '

My sister, who lives in Sheboygan, forwarded me this url, obviously proud of Sheboygan's accomplishment:
http://www.digitalcity.com/2009/05/07/best-public-restrooms-in-america/

I frequently receive a report from a site called The Straight Dope and today, May 31, I received the June 2, 2009 entry, which, amazingly enough, follows the subject. I am copying it in its entirety, probably an illegal move on my part, but I am hoping Cecil has a good heart (I am placing a line _______ above and below the quote):
__________________________________________________________
A Staff Report from the Straight Dope Science Advisory Board

Why is it called a restroom, anyway?

June 2, 2009

Dear Cecil,
Why would anyone want to rest in a room with a toilet? Or why would anyone move a toilet into a room of rest? And toilets used to be smellier than they are now, I'm sure. Who was the idiot who thought of this?
—Willie MacDougal, Whittier, California

Dex replies:
Of course no one wants to rest in the room containing the toilet; restroom is an obvious euphemism. Interestingly, English (like some other languages) can express the "toilet-room" concept only via indirect terms like this. The French are more straightforward – pissoir means “place to piss” – but English has no similarly unadorned word aside from shithouse, which is not exactly usable in most conversation. Cecil addressed this phenomenon back in 1985, but now seems like a fine opportunity to work our way through the long list of toilet euphemisms and their origins, so far as is known. We’ll take them alphabetically:

John. One of the the most common American euphemisms; Cecil's also discussed this one in some depth. In 1735 a Harvard regulation referred to a toilet enclosure using the term cuzjohn, an abbreviation of “cousin John.” Even earlier terms included jakes (from the late 1530s, meaning a chamber pot) and Jack’s house or Jack's place. By the 1800s there were several different proper names in use: the Joe, the Jane, the Fred, Miss White’s, or the Widow Jones. Of interest: john also, of course, means a prostitute’s client (since at least 1906) but in the 1800s meant policeman – an abbreviation for "John Darm," a pun on the French gendarme.

Ladies' room and gentlemen’s room. Probably the most polite of the several designations for public toilets; also seen as just ladies and gents, boys’ room and girls’ room, and other sex-differentiated variations. (Crime-caper author Donald Westlake in one novel describes a NYC bar that uses “Pointers” and “Setters.") The terms nowadays tend to be the less formal (and less class-conscious) women’s room and men’s room.

Latrine. Usually used to mean a military toilet. Via French, ultimately from the Latin lavare meaning "to wash." The OED cites 1642 as the earliest use found in English.

Lavatory. Also from the Latin lavare, also via French. Middle Latin has lavatorium meaning washbasin, or a washing room in a monastery or convent. Thus since the 1300s a lavatory was a place to wash one’s hands. It therefore became a natural euphemism for the place where one does things that require hand washing afterwards; this development seemingly dates from the mid- to late 1800s. The Brits sometimes abbreviate it, calling it the lav or the lavvy. Like toilet, lavatory can mean the room or the device.

Loo. This is a British euphemism that’s been taken up by other English speakers. Cecil addressed this earlier, in his column on the john, but we include it here for completeness's sake. Its origin isn't known for sure, although it's probably just from the French l’eau, meaning “water.” Another possible origin is bordalou, a portable ladies’ privy looking something like a gravy boat and carried in a muff. There was also a medieval expression gardyloo, probably derived from the French guardez l’eau, meaning “watch out for the water!” – which is what one might yell to alert passers-by when one was tossing slops out the window. Another possible origin for loo, although less likely, is from the French lieu meaning “place,” as in lieu d’aisance, a French term for toilet. There are also highly improbable stories of loo's arising from the name of a hated countess Louise or from the battle of Waterloo. However, the OED does cite some wordplay from Ulysses (1922) in which Joyce juxtaposes “Waterloo" and "watercloset.”

Restroom. Originally meaning a public toilet, this seems to be of American origin, with the earliest usages found around 1900. It’s an extremely common usage, and also one of the vaguest. Rest of course has a number of meanings, but this is probably in the sense of "repose" or "refreshing oneself." A slight variation is retiring room, a lovely upper-class Briticism from the 1930s.

Toilet. This too is ultimately a euphemism, from the French toilette meaning “dressing room,” from toile meaning “cloth.” In the 17th century, the toilet was the process of getting dressed – powdering one's wig and so forth. In the 18th century, a toilet call was a social interaction in which a lady received visitors while she was in the last stages of performing her toilet. By the 19th century, we have toilet articles, toilet pail (a bucket to hold slops), and toilet paper (used for shaving, hair curling, etc). The term toilet room seems to have been American in origin, from the late 1800s, and thence abbreviated to simply toilet. Again, the word can mean both the room and the device.

Wash room. An Americanism from around 1850. “I was washing my hands” was a polite way to avoid describing what one was doing in there for so long. The term arose around the same time that lavatory was being used for the same place.

Water closet or WC. British. The water closet was the room with the toilet, whereas the bathroom was the room with the bathtub. (Don’t get me started on how disgusting it is that we now typically combine these.) Water closets date from the mid-1700s but didn’t become common until somewhat later. In 1814 John Phair wrote a book called Observations on the Principle and Construction of Water-Closets, Chimneys, and Bell-Hanging (not such a weird combination if you consider that bell wires were usually hung along water-closet pipes). By the late 1850s it was very modern and fashionable and convenient in England to have an indoor water closet, and indoor plumbing became the rage. The WC was often located off the landing halfway up the stairs from the first to the second story (hence the alternate term “halfway house").

Some others, not all of them commonly used today:
• Can or cabinet. Possibly originally referring to the toilet with a replaceable container or can beneath the seat. Dates to roughly 1914.
• Comfort station or comfort room. These arose around 1900. In 1978 New York City implemented “canine comfort stations” in response to the dog poop problem.
• The Facilities. A nice, formal, polite way around the problem.
• Necessary Room or necessaries. Used in the early 1700s, obviously long before indoor plumbing. There were also “necessary houses," "necessary stools," etc.
• Outhouse. A smaller building near the dwelling house and “used for some subsidiary purpose,” according to the OED of 1904, “e.g., a stable, barn, washhouse, toolhouse, or the like.” I guess “or the like” is itself a euphemism.
• Privy. Usually refers to a separate structure, an outdoor toilet; in use as of the 1300s. The term generally meant "something private, intimate, or concealed."
• Throne. Originally used to refer to a chamber pot, and thence to a toilet. As of 1922 people were referring to the room containing the throne as the “throne room." However, the antecedents are ancient: I came across a reference in the Talmud, certainly written before 600 AD, describing someone going to the "house of the chair."

Finally, the powder room was originally the place on a ship where the ammunition and gunpowder were stored. However, in the era of makeup, it was the place a woman went to “powder her nose.” This became a way to describe what Hugh Rawson calls “a private errand involving neither powder nor nose” The OED locates the earliest published usage of this phrase in 1941. Rawson also quotes from Edward Albee's Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf? (1962):
HONEY: I want to… put some powder on my nose.
GEORGE: Martha, won’t you show her where we keep the euphemism?

My own personal anecdote: At age seven or so, our daughter told us, very seriously, that the dog had “powdered his nose on the living room carpet.” It took us a moment or two to figure out what the hell she meant.
—DexStraight Dope Science Advisory Board
Staff Reports are written by the Straight Dope Science Advisory Board, Cecil's online auxiliary. Though the SDSAB does its best, these columns are edited by Ed Zotti, not Cecil, so accuracywise you'd better keep your fingers crossed.
______________________________________________________________
And, my personal anecdote regarding the term 'loo':
While living and working in Europe, I was told (not by the Brits, and certainly not by the French) that the word 'loo' meaning restroom was coined at the time that the Brits attacked the French at Waterloo. The story goes that the French were so afraid that they pissed in their pants, therefore 'loo'. Many of the Brits I told this story to were a) thrilled; b) stunned; c) uncertain.

Now, to get to the bottom of this report, it has now come to my attention, given the various stories above, plus more, that the common knowledge of the outhouse is becoming rather unknown. There are many stories out there, only some of which I am aware of, and they are being threatened with extinction. I am proposing that we, as responsible citizens of the world, endeavor to capture these stories for the benefit of our future descendents.

I have a couple first-hand stories.

My parents purchased a place in Wisconsin Dells in the late 1960's. On the premises was a single seat outhouse, but a very unusual one. This particular outhouse did not require a pit to be dug, as it had a drawer underneath the single seat. Presumably one removed the drawer and emptied it out over the neighbor's fence.

At the age of 18, my parents and I traveled to northern Minnesota for the single purpose of me purchasing a wood-strip runabout. We arrived at the location, a small but isolated lake, and found that there were only 4 homes around the entire lake, although it was large enough to place a minimum of 200 homes, had the land been subdivided. A beautiful lake, unspoiled, a natural lake with the surrounding land on a fairly large upgrade from the surface of the lake. At the cabin where we stayed (belonging to family friends) we found the outhouse to be situated some 40 yards up the hill. Amazingly, the outhouse was a 4 seater. I had never before or since heard of a 4 seater. One's mind conjures the various reasons why this was built to accomodate 4 people at once.

However, when it came time to put this facility to use, alone, I found out why this structure was built the way it was. While pondering the future, I noticed a rope and started to pull on it.

The entire front of the outhouse lifted up to provide the most beautiful sight of the lake. While I sat there, I could see the footsteps of a deer running across the opposite shore. I couldn't see the deer, but, each splash of the feet and the speed made it obvious it was a deer. Of all the times one wished to have a camera, that was one, although I am sure comments would have been made had one carried a camera to the outhouse.

I also remember during high school, surpisingly, around Halloween, that one of our teachers, David Cox, had his yard papered, and someone tipped his outhouse over (ok, not very original, nor was the moving of the Volkswagon in front of the school, but, nothing vicious was done back then). Now, that was only a story that I heard, and I categorically deny any involvement whatsoever. Perhaps one of my classmates was responsible?

Now, the following story is not an outhouse story, but, I came to favor this particular loo during my stays in Dublin, hense my reporting of this occurance. Almost every time I came to Dublin, which probably counts in the 300's believe it or not, I stayed at a hotel called Bloom's. Now, Bloom's is not your ordinary hotel, not like hotels you may be used to in America, for example. Bloom's was probably in its heyday in the 30's, 40's. While there are many hotels in Dublin, Bloom's was my choice because of location, and more importantly, the people that worked there. I spent many an hour in the pub, and have quite a few stories about my experiences. I will share two of them here, only one of which directly involves a restroom.

The first story goes as follows, and I swear it is true, and if there are any employees who are still around from that time can attest to it. Very late one night, having been held prisoner in the pub, I finally escaped and went to my room. I entered the elevator and got out on the 4th floor. Fortunately my room was quite close to the elevator, so negotiating the expanse was not in question. I plunged my key into the lock, twisted it and entered the room. I got into the room the required 4 feet, and looked to my bed. To my amazement, a naked young lady was reclining nicely, fully awake with a curious look on her face.

While I was saying my prayers, the rest room behind me suddenly resounded with rushing water. As I turned to investigate, a naked young man walked out. We looked at each other, and finally I asked him 'What are you doing in my room?' He asked me 'What are you doing in my room?" I showed him my room key, which said 410. He said 'This room is 310.'

I had not embarked on the fourth floor as intended.

I turned to the naked young lady, who had a huge grin on her face, and apologized. I then apologized to the naked young man, and left.

The next morning, when descending to the front desk, 3 different employees inquired as to my evening's activities, the lady and man in question having told the story.

Apparently years ago it was customary to key the rooms alike from one floor to another (obviously not mentioning this fact to the occupants).

Now, the pub at Bloom's had a restroom for the gents. In this restroom one did not find the typical urinal, but a trough. Above this trough, right at eye level, the day's papers were posted, and in order to read the paper from start to finish, one started at the far left at the early hours of the evening, gradually progressing to the right in order not to miss any important news of the day.

Ok folks, if you have any outhouse stories (nice ones now, ones we can share with the family), or other rest room stories (adhering to the above rule) here is your opportunity to etch these stories in perpetuity for future generations. Just place a comment on this blog!