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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.
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.
