Contentment Chronicles

Chapter 17

2010-06-25T23:47:00.000+07:00

The Duero library is a convenient place to research Philippine history, as most of the books are written in English, even those written by Filipinos. The library is not very big, just one room, roughly 20 feet by 20 feet. They are open from 8am to 5pm, but you might have to look in the other offices for the librarian. And they are only open Monday through Friday. But they have roughly half the books in English.

My conviction that the ebabou was covered by the sea seems to be correct. Back some 100 million years ago the first recognizable epoch, or stage, occurred. This has been substantiated by findings in the oil fields of Palawan.

The first geologic period, ‘Cretaccous-Palcogen’ (135 to 25 million years ago) saw great changes. There were flowering plants called antiosperms, as well as insect-eating mammals that had earlier fed on dinosaur eggs. During that time the marsupials arose and grew in number. Marine organism such as corals and clams already had appeared. It is quite possible the coral I found is from that period, although the finding of one piece of coral would not, I suspect, create a historical ruckus.

During the second period called the Neogene (25 to 2 million years ago) the rock formations record many things, among them the volcanic characteristics as well as the role of earthquakes. This period was full of volcanic upheavals and eventually, during the late Tertiary period, some 10 million years ago, the sea invaded much of the Philippines, depositing various treasures among the higher elevations. Again, further indications supporting my theory; that this part of the mountain was part of the mountains behind it.

The period from about two million years to about 250,000 B.C. was the beginning of man on the islands. The Islands were abundant, lush, and full of food ready for the picking. The small amount of native folks had no need of laws, rulers, politics or even land possessions. Food was everywhere, there was no need for money as one only need walk a few paces to gather the next meal. Small and large pebble tools were used for scrapping purposes and larger stones for cutting or felling trees.

There were no adequate pressures for new technological changes since the population was quite small, and that population did not move any further than 10 kilometers. It has been estimated that a maximum of 4 hours would provide enough food to feed a family for the day, with no need to store anything due to the abundance.

Subsequently wooden tools were also developed to complement those stone tools. With these tools man began to foray into the forests for tubers, seasonal fruits, flowers, and other plants as well as add to his diet such things as crabs, frogs, seafood and fish, not to mention the meat of animals hunted by his tools. He then began to move slowly inland, into the mountains.

Over time, as these groups grew, advances were made further into unknown territories, but the lushness of these Islands would provide food for thousands of years before man would find it necessary to find a modification of that simple life.

Indeed, it is easy to find remnants of that attitude even today. It is easy to see that women are the workers in Filipino life, arising early to begin the laundry and food preparation, as well as cleaning the house. The men may or may not engage themselves in constructive work, depending on the time of the year. Rice planting may get them moving, as well as rice harvesting. Maybe. And then only for a few days. Having some cattle will provide work for some, although that work is simply moving the cattle by rope to a new area of grasslands, staking them and then returning home.

A vast number of Filipino men spend their time in waiting sheds along with their friends, smoking and talking and maybe even drinking. Baleful glances at the traffic going by, or sleeping anywhere, whether it be on a bench, the floor, or along the roadside, is another way of spending one’s time.

Mind you, I am reporting on one small island, this is not to say that the rest of the Philippines are similar. My experiences, and my writings, are of Bohol only. Are there some motivated men? Of course, but it is not always easy to find them.

Word has it that the Boholanos have been against industrialization since the movement begun, and it is apparent that they have been successful. While one Boholano was elected to be president of the Philippines, he promised to industrialize Bohol. As he was a poet, the Boholanos pleaded with him to write a poem instead.

Listening to his public, he wrote the poem and scrapped the industrialization idea.

On the island of Panglao, off the coast of Tagbilaran in the south and accessible by two bridges, Del Monte has a large facility. Other than that facility, I have seen no other large industries in my travels on the island, save for a limestone quarry about 30 minutes south of here, which doesn’t seem to be that large.

The Boholanos are accustomed to earning small amounts of money. Many of these folks have gone into business, mom and pop organizations. I live 2 hours from the city of Tagbilaran, where the ‘large’ department stores (which includes groceries) exist. I can buy almost anything here considered a ‘staple’ that I can buy in the ‘large’ store for an additional 1 peso or less. It is not unusual for a street vendor to walk great distances in the jungle to very small communities of maybe 10 homes or less to try to sell a 3 or 4 peso item. That item may only represent a profit of 1 peso, but that is worth it to them to go to that distance. Taking home 20 or 30 pesos a day provides them with the bare necessities.

As in life some two hundred thousand years ago, these people do not necessarily require a home that they rent or own. Squatting is prevalent here, and is not seemingly illegal. At any rate, it exists, and in some areas you can go a kilometer or two and see nothing but squatters, very apparent due to the shabby homes and the existence of small children running about instead of being in school.

Another source of income is to cook a large quantity of food early during the morning and set up shop on the street, perhaps only a table and a fan to chase the flies away, and sell that food, ladling a healthy spoonful into a plastic baggy for the customer. A frequent dish is called pansit, which is thin noodles with odd bits of vegetables and some meat, whether beef, pork, chicken or fish, and flavored with onions, garlic and soy sauce. A rather large helping of that will cost you 10 pesos, and will almost feed 2 people without any other food.

That’s 22 cents.

The fellow who died the other day as a result of cutting trees would possibly have earned 150 pesos a day, $3.33. He would trek into the wilderness, carrying his tools, lunch and water and once arriving at the site would spend a good 8 hours working, very seldom taking a break other than a drink of water. Lunch consisted of some rice, which was normally eaten within 5 minutes, and maybe a cigarette after, then back to work. He would not be traveling to work on a motorbike, or in a car, and once at work and moving off into the wilderness, there would not be transportation for him. Walking is the only way for them to go to work. 6 days a week if they are lucky.

He leaves behind a housewife and two small daughters.

His boss, the owner of the chainsaw, had taken a loan early on during his developing of the business, which allowed him to buy the second-hand saw (a Stihl, by the way). Years later he would still be paying off that loan. However, with that loan, and without his request, an insurance policy would have been issued, which is what he is relying on to pay the majority of the hospital costs. Even if he had paid that loan off, it was too easy to take out another loan, whatever the reason. Having a wad full of money in one’s fist is far more comfortable to the stomach than having no money.

A small business owner like this can expect to have an outstanding loan for the rest of his life or until the business went bankrupt.

We are talking loans of one to two hundred United States dollars.

We live just off the National Road, at about 40 paces from the road itself. There are a couple native houses in front of us, and 2 small stores. These stores are open from 5:30am until 9:30pm. At no time have I ever seen more than 2 people getting served at one time. Quite often I do not see any people for 30 or even 60 minutes. We buy our laundry soap at one, a small sachet that costs slightly more than in town. At the other we buy dish soap, a small sachet that costs slightly more than in town.

The owner of one, an older man covered with tattoos, whom I call Tattoo, and his common-law wife, live behind us at the edge of the rice field. Recently they have upgraded their native home, and now proudly have one concrete block wall. This wall was built by spreading some cement on the ground, about 3 inches thick, and then placing the concrete block on the cement, with subsequent layers above. Although they have no electricity, they have begun the process of modernizing their home.

Having said that, they do not sleep there. Their shop is about 7 feet long and about 5 feet wide.

They sleep on the floor, with their granddaughter, 7. The mother seems to be away, and seems to have been away for 7 years.

The home itself is used to cook food, which is also sold in the store, and to hold supplies for the store.

Tattoo is an interesting fellow, speaks no English. He is about 75 years old, and has been in prison twice for murder. One of the nicest people you would ever want to meet, and an extremely laid-back fellow.

Must have been some terrific stress laid upon him to make him a murderer.

When he went to prison the last time, he came to Ken, my friend, and asked if he would lend him 1000 pesos so he could be able to buy cigarettes and snacks once he was in prison. Ken gave him the money, and some 8 years later, once released, Tattoo immediately returned the 1000 pesos.

They sell laundry soap in sachets, dish soap in sachets, tuba (coconut wine), beer, brandy and wine, Fighter wine (never tried, I am afraid of it), vinegar, as well as coconut vinegar, small snacks, fresh eggs (up to 18 medium eggs a day, $0.14 each), cup-a-noodles, sugar in small plastic bags, sugar cane, generic coke, small amounts of rice and salt (also in a plastic bag).

The wife, don’t know her real name but Tattoo calls her Hakot, which means a kind of black ant. I have no idea why, but the Hakot ant is a formidable creature that will put some hurt on you if it bites you. You can figure that one out!

She does sewing (there is electricity in their small shop, and the counter holds her singer machine) for the neighborhood. We recently had her make some curtains for our 7 windows. It took her 6 days and cost us $5.55.

She also has a sewing machine in her home, but that is not electric.

If you try to give them more they may be offended. Although you are a foreigner and subjected to immense price increases, these folks will not do that, you are a trusted friend and neighbor. They walk past our home every day, never look in the windows but when they hear us inside they will call out ‘Mayong buntag’ (good morning), or ‘Mamahow’ (do you eat the breakfast?), or ‘Manioto-ta’ (do you eat the lunch?).

While we would greet people by asking how they are, the Filipinos greet people by saying ‘Asamanta’ (where are you going?). This is not a nosy question, but a friendly question, and they really do not always expect a direct answer. It is the beginning of a dialogue.

These are very social people, as most Filipinos seem to be. Socializing is a major portion of their day, whether at work, at leisure or at play. If at home, they will find reasons to go to market a couple times, rather than once. Socializing is a national pastime.

Foreigners, or perhaps I should say at least those foreigners that stay here a length of time, not visitors, slowly become more sociable animals due to this Filipino approach to life. However, they generally become social amongst other foreigners. I lived for almost 16 years in Holland, the majority of it in Den Haag, or The Hague. There is a large American population there, about 10,000 at any one time, as The Hague is the political capitol of Holland, and the European war crimes are held there. During those 16 years I never met even one American. I went to Dutch restaurants and Dutch clubs and pubs. Here in the Philippines, I have not done the same, and I have no real excuse for that. I am with a Filipino, but one that is not interested in pubs, or restaurants for that matter. We have visitors, and we do visit others, but, I am not a Cebuano speaker, and their English is primarily learned by phonetics, a practice that can sometimes be hilarious, and at other times exceedingly frustrating (one of the things taught in the armed services is parakuting). I have looked for tutoring, but there seems to be no one interested in doing so. English is touted as the second language, but, it is rare to find it conversationally. There seems to be a movement back to Tagalog rather than English, as few of the young can speak English (when they can it is from the TV) while the older generation that can speak English is dwindling.

Language changes here depending on location, as in America (a water fountain in southeast Wisconsin is a bubbler). As an example, there is a tool used in the Philippines that consists of a steel blade some 3 or 4 inches wide and 6 or more inches long. That is welded to a 1¾ inch solid or hollow tube about 4 to 5 feet in length. This is used as a plummeting tool to cut through vines, stumps, roots and hard ground. Here in Duero it is called a bundo. In Ubay, an hour north of here, it is called a budlong. Use either of the words in the wrong place and you will not be understood.

One must understand the cultivation of cultures here before understanding the language differences, as well as the cultural aspects. This history goes back some years, homo sapiens arriving some 1 million years ago, before de-glaciation severed the archipelago from the rest of Asia. Jade ornaments during that period showed a striking affinity to ornaments in Vietnam, pottery resembled other Asian countries products, as well as many other items found in diggings in the Philippines. In fact, an extensive contact between the Philippines and the rest of Southeast Asia had occurred both by land (it has been established that there was a land bridge between Southeast Asia and The Philippines, primarily in the area of what is now Malaysia) and by sea. A boat excavated in 1978 in Butuan, is dated 320 A.D. and is measured 15 meters by 3 meters. That is approximately 50 feet by 10 feet. International trade was established long before the foreigners arrived and ‘developed this belated country.’

Round about that time, 320 A.D., Alexander The Great pushed his way into Southeast Asia. It is known that eventually some of his folks made their way to these islands, bringing with them cultural and religious practices.

There were no pressures for new technological changes as the nuclear group of not more than thirty people found far more food than they could use. There is one group of people, the Tasadays of Cotabato, who are believed to be the survivors of this long extinct Paleolithic culture. So, remnants of culture from 1 million years ago still exist.

This society also developed the economic value of regarding the resources of land and people as belonging to the society rather than to the individual or household unit.

As food was readily available, the commune, and a commune it was, shared responsibilities in gathering the food, sharing amongst all. That thought, although fractured, exists today. If one is hungry, just pick something off the nearest tree, irrespective of who owns it. Or help yourself to someone’s garden. Doesn’t seem to matter if you don’t own it.

Another important value that the early man developed was a sense of attachment to the land that he occupied. This would be the foundation of patriotism that was seen when challenged by external threats. After the American purchase of the Philippines for $20 million, in 1898, a war begun that finally petered out about 1915. We may not have called it a war, but for the Filipinos, it was war, and they had just been through 300 years of war with the Spanish, although not as severe. They are fiercely independent, and have been for many centuries.

In time, as the population grew, they began to extend to the interior, taking with them the values of that period, moving to rather secluded areas. While this movement was slow and gradual, it still has not reached certain areas of the wilderness, which does remain pristine to this day.

The earliest possible peoples arriving were the dark-skinned pygmies, mostly called Negritos, whose cultural remains are still found in all three sections of the Philippines, Luzon, Visayas and Mindanao.

However, their relatively inferior culture did not allow them to overcome the next wave of peoples, which were the Indonesians which arrived between 5000 and 3500 B.C. The pigmy group was forced inland.

Malay migrations occurred between 500 B.C. and 1500 A.D., introducing a far more advanced culture based on metal age technology.

These last groups are represented by the Christianized and Islamized Filipinos who further pushed the pygmy, Indonesian and Malay groups further inland.

Going back to the 3^rd or 4^th millennium B.C., the Chinese traders were prolific, and being largely men they intermarried with native women. The other significant influence came from the Indian subcontinent between the 8^th and 14^th centuries. In contrast to China’s trading influences, India’s influences were more indirect and can be found in the religious and cultural aspect of the pre-colonial society. Those folks of Alexander’s were part of that influence.

The inclination toward Tagalog as a common language stems from the Indonesian and Malay groups, although there are some hold-outs such as the Visayas which embrace Cebuano although most also speak Tagalog.

There are about 180 different languages here, most of which stem from the Austronesian Language Family, specifically the Borneo-Philippine group of the Malayo-Polonesian Language branch.

A very interesting fact is that the language here has a striking resemblance to Sanskrit, which has been determined to be extinct. That coupled with the Chinese, Indian, Japanese and even Hebrew has influenced the language.

Also interestingly, prior to the Spanish arrival in 1521, the Filipinos had already embraced the concept of one God, which researchers attribute to even before Alexander’s cronies arrived. The Filipino never erected temples as such, and never attributed godliness to plants or animals.

However, going back to early man in The Philippines, there are some attributes which still stand today, superstition as well as the thought that the land belongs to all.

‘Like the ancient Greeks and Romans, the ancient Filipinos, in their procrastinations and foretelling, predicted the future or discovered the future by observing certain natural signs…

Spanish authors described many narrations in this respect as follows: if the owl stopped or stayed on top the roof at night, it meant death. Thus, people placed something on the rooftops of new houses to frighten the birds and ward off death in the homes. If someone happened to encounter a snake, he should discontinue his mission, no matter how important it was. If a person heard someone sneeze, if a mouse squeaked, a dog howled, the journey should be discontinued. The fisherman should not catch anything on his first cast of a new net. No one should talk in the fisherman’s house about his new net. Failure to observe such beliefs would remove the virtue of the new net. A pregnant woman should not cut her hair for fear of losing her child…

Those walking on land should not talk about cases of the sea and those who were at sea should not take animals from the land…

They called the crow Maylupa, which meant owner of the soil. Due to their fear of the crocodile, they called it Nono, which meant grandfather. With this they took some precautions and gave the crocodile something to eat. However, they did not recognize any deity or divinity in those animals or evil spirits; although due to fear they would make sacrificial offerings such as food. They were afraid of trees because they believed that a ghost would appear through them. Hence, they were afraid to cut down trees, fearing some sickness or misfortune.’

And today, the quack doctor continues those superstitions.

Prior to the Spanish, they had laws, and they were firmly upheld. Since Marcos, the police were placed under the military. It is very difficult to find a policeman now, except for Monday morning at 8am when they dress in their uniforms and a ceremony is performed. Thirty minutes later the police go home and change into normal every-day wear, then sometimes return to work. It is useless looking anywhere for them after that except for their outpost, where you might find some of them sleeping, the others missing.

Another aspect that has held on for eons, since the first Muslim intervention, is the concept of barangays. Each barangay, or barrio, has a captain. If you have a complaint about a neighbor or even someone in another barangay, you went to the captain and filed a formal complaint. The captain attempts to bring the two of you together and work out an agreement.

The second time this happens and the captain cannot reach a compromise, you then can take it up with the police.

If you can find one.

Sorry for going off on a history binge, but I got hooked on the history trying to find out how and why these people think the way they do. It has been most enlightening.

Although the woman is the worker bee, they do not always wear the pants in the home. It is very obvious that I wear the pants in our home.

This morning Florida told me to wear the blue ones.

Just to make sure there are no doubts, that was a joke.

I was thinking the other day about certain people you meet during your life. There are always some jerks, some idiots, the superficial, the obnoxious, to name a few. I know lots of great people, including my parents and other close relatives and friends, but there is that special classification that can only be given to those you cherish, the gentle ones. They are the ones that never get angry and even when faced with adversity there is that certain smile lurking. Problems exist for these people but they never share. There is something special about them that sets them apart, something that no one else can reach, but they seemingly reach that without trying, and never, ever waiver.

I know of three: my Grandpa Erickson (Gustaf), my Grandma Denzin (Amelia) and now, finally, Florida.

Chapter 16

2010-06-16T08:11:00.001+07:00

We went to a party a couple weeks ago and met Ernest and his wife (I didn’t catch her name, sorry!). Ernest is from Tucson, his wife is from Bohol, a barangay not far from here. Ernest works at Bank Of America and was visiting his wife’s family.

Small world.

I had occasion to go to the city offices the other day to get what is called a TIN (Tax Identification Number). What an interesting visit that was. There were 16 people at work at that office, plus a number of empty desks (presumably those desks held people normally). One girl was punching holes in paper. The other 15 were either playing games on the computer, watching the television (oh yes, there is a television in most of the offices), chatting with their neighbors, chatting with visitors (all of which I recognize as being fellow workers in other offices) or chatting with someone that may or may not have official business there.

Having gone to a different office, the office that does the taxation, the girl there wrote out a bill on a piece of scratch paper. I handed that paper to the cashier, who was the first person I encountered, sitting at what we would call a student desk. He took out his ‘official’ receipt book, placed a carbon beneath the first copy, and then began to duplicate what the scratch paper had written on it, including the total.

He looked at the total, scratched his head, and then compared the scratch paper again to his ‘official’ receipt book. Finally, he stood up and went to another employee and asked if he could borrow the calculator.

Having done so, he then returned, recalculated and found a mistake. 50 centavos, which is slightly more than 1 penny US. Total fee was just under 5 pesos (11.06 US pennies), which he then just rounded up to 5 pesos (11.1 US pennies).

Which reminds me of the visit I had to the community bank in Ubay last year. I wanted to open an account there, as there was an ATM outside the bank. As the ATM would not accept credit cards, only that bank’s card, hence the account. I thought that would save me a 3 hour trip into Tagbilaran each month to receive my social security payment. This bank had 3 tellers, 1 customer service clerk, another clerk doing unknown activities, and a manager who sat at his desk watching the proceedings. There was no office, merely desks, except for the tellers who sat behind a counter.

Upon arriving, the security guard would ask your business, and then direct you to the appropriate spot. I was sent to the customer service clerk, who had 2 chairs placed in front of her desk. Now, you and I would place those chairs so the person sitting in it would be facing the clerk. Not so here, and not so in the rest of the island for that matter. The chairs were placed so 2 customers would be facing each other, the one having to bend their neck left to see and speak to the clerk, and the second having to bend their neck right to see and speak to the clerk. And, of course, if you wanted to be served, and there was 1 customer at the one chair and no one at the other, you had best sit down in that next chair before someone else sat there.

So, you were privy to all the business that first customer had at the bank. And, when it was your turn, someone else was privy to all your business there.

Before I go further into what happened at the customer service desk, let me explain what happened at the teller counter.

Upon the decision that you needed a teller, the security officer (complete with a pistol) gave you a card with a number printed on it. That was your ticket to conduct business, when called.

Once you were called, you approached the teller. Let us presume you wanted to deposit some money. You placed the money and your written-out form on the counter. The teller then captured the money and the form. Usually this was done without any communications between the two of you. You then turned around and found a seat somewhere.

Sometime later, the time depending on how many times the teller was disrupted by people asking questions, the teller would access your account and then proceed to hand-write a receipt, stating your beginning bank balance, your cash deposit, your new bank balance, and if required, any interest or service charges accumulated since your last visit to the bank.

This process might take as much as 20 minutes.

Another purpose for visiting the bank may be that you wanted to withdraw money. Guess how that was done! The same way, and you had better expect a 20 minute wait.

Back to the customer service desk.

I finally realized that I had to force my way into the empty seat before anyone else, this recognition occurred 3 or 4 customers after I had arrived, and had lost my position.

Once I was approached by the clerk, I stated my business, which was to be able to open a current account, with a small savings account, that I could have money transferred internationally using electronic transfers. The clerk said that was no problem, but I needed to have a small passport-type picture taken first. That required me leaving the bank, going further into town and getting the picture taken, which then required a wait while it was processed before I could return to the bank.

As it was approaching lunch, I could not get my picture taken until the photographer returned from his lunch. Once the picture was processed, I returned to the bank only to find out that this bank closed at 2pm for the day to process the transactions.

So, I returned the next day, and waited again for the customer service clerk. Once I was first in line again, she reviewed my picture, as well as the paperwork from the previous day (she did not remember me, although I was the only foreigner in the bank the day before). She then informed me that I was missing the xyz paper, which is certainly a requirement, and why didn’t I complete that paper? When I said she did not give it to me the day before, she said that was impossible.

So, I received the xyz paper, went to a table and began to fill it out. This paper required some thought, so occasionally I would sit back and ponder.

During one of these ponders, I observed the customer service clerk stand up and approach the security guard at the front door. She then went back to her desk, and the security guard went to the last teller, which was situated right next to the customer service desk.

He spoke to the teller, who pulled over this enormous bright yellow scotch tape dispenser. I swear this machine (the typical simple scotch tape machine) was at least 14 inches long and stood about 7 or 8 inches high.

The security guard then carried the dispenser 2 feet to the left and placed it on the customer service clerk’s desk.

A number of ponders later, the first teller called the security guard to her counter, and the process was repeated.

During this time, the manager sat at his desk, doing absolutely nothing, just watching the proceedings.

The other clerk doing unnamed and unrecognized tasks, seemed to be the only one gainfully employed during all this time.

Having completed the xyz paper, I then waited until the second chair became vacant, and rushed forward, but I was beat by a little old lady who smartly sidestepped in front of me.

When I finally was the next in line, I had to repeat everything from earlier as well as the day before. She then began the lengthy process of copying everything I had on my application to her computer. At some point in time, she turned to me and told me I needed a certain amount to open the account, and at no time during the active account was I to go below that amount. Ok, no problem, similar to the rest of the world. I thought I was now on the way to being able to do banking without having to travel 3 hours one way.

Some 35 minutes later, the processing was complete. I now had a small savings account, a ‘current’ account (no checkbooks here – you had to just come to the bank, wait in line, then receive the money and go to pay the store you owed money to), and the use of the ATM machine.

However, no ATM card, that would take about 2 weeks. So, before I left, I asked what the bank transfer number was. She didn’t know what I was talking about. I explained the electronic transfer theory to her, and she then said I should just transfer the money, no number needed.

Sorry I said, without a number the money cannot be transferred.

Is that so? I never heard about that.

How about a Swift number? Does this bank have one of those?

Swift? What is that?

Can you call the main branch (3 hours away) and ask how to transfer money internationally to this branch?

Ok.

Almost 20 minutes later, having gone through several people at the main branch, she hung up and said I should transfer my money to another bank, and they would transfer it to them. I asked for that bank’s transfer number, but she didn’t know what it was.

Being absolutely frustrated, I left the bank.

A few days later I went to Tagbilaran and asked that second bank about the transfers. No way would that bank transfer money to the community bank. In fact, they had never transferred money to that bank. Ever.

But, they did have a Swift number, so I opened an account there.

I went back to the community bank, and tried to close my account, as it was not needed due to it not being able to provide customer service. I was not allowed to receive my money before being charged for various activities which the bank would have to undertake in order to close my account.

Eventually I got almost half of the money I had given the bank, several weeks later as they needed to leave the account open to determine whether there had been any activity. Now, you must understand that the minimum balance was $20, so, not really an earth-shattering problem, just frustrating.

So, back to the local office. The library happens to sit in the same building as that particular governmental office. I would guess they have as much as 3 thousand books there, about half of which is in English. So, I checked out a book of Philippine photos from the early 1900’s. The book is written by a fellow called Jonathan Best, a New Yorker.

Some time ago, in earlier chapters, I gave a small history of the Philippine Islands and its relationship with United States. Jonathan Best goes a bit further, and is critical of the American approach. He explains that around 1898 Western colonialism was at its peak, primarily European powers along with the Russians and Japanese. America, ‘the world’s most loudly proclaimed democracy’… ’seemed inappropriate for the United States to participate in foreign colonial conquests.’ Except for ‘gun boat diplomacy in Central America and forced trading concessions in China,’… ‘during most of the 19^th century it had been expanding across North America, pushing Native Americans, the French, Mexicans and Russians out of the way as “Manifest Destiny’ drove the nation from the Atlantic to the Pacific Ocean. The temptation for expansion across the Pacific and the pressures of world politics finally proved too great.’

In 1889 we declared war on Spain, ostensibly to help free Cuba from Spanish tyranny. Admiral George Dewey had been ordered to wait with the American Pacific fleet in Hong Kong in anticipation of hostilities. When war broke out, Dewey sailed directly to the Philippines and handily sank the aging Spanish fleet in Manila Bay, which was the first major victory for the Americans in that war and also the first naval victory over a foreign power outside United States waters. ‘The American public was greatly impressed, cheered on by the jingoistic Hearst newspaper chain which had been pushing for war. Dewey became a national hero overnight, and the American road to Empire was set.’

Once the war progressed, the Americans changed from naval containment to the conquest of the Philippine Archipelago. On August 13, 1898, General Wesley Merrit let the United States Marines up Pasay Beach for an easy conquest of Manila, a victory pre-arranged with the humiliated Spanish who vainly tried to save face by staging a symbolic defense. With no help from mother Spain, the Spanish colonials were more afraid of the Filipino revolutionaries than they were of American capture.

The official American position in 1898 was that its only intentions were to make war on the Spanish and that their becoming the de facto colonial administrators of the Philippines was merely and accident of war. Once stated, we argued that it would be morally irresponsible for a great democratic nation to abandon the Filipinos to chaos, predatory foreign powers or an unruly band of revolutionaries, an argument generally accepted by the American public and made into international law with the Treaty of Paris, on December 10, 1898. ‘Filipinos, however, were not even invited to attend the conference which resulted in little more than a three-way real estate deal between the Americans, the Spanish and the Vatican.’

What was not made clear was that the Filipinos may have been able to function solely after the removal of the Spanish, however was never allowed to function under normal conditions due to American military and diplomatic pressures. ‘This policy ultimately led to open warfare with the Filipinos starting in February of 1899, ending three years later with the deaths of hundreds of thousands of men, women and children from military hostilities, disease and starvation caused by the war.’

‘Powerful expansionist elements in the American business, religious and military communities had their own agendas for the Philippines and the rest of East Asia, and these were the forces with ultimately determined American policy.’ ‘…in favor of colonial expansion the Philippijnes appeared to be a rich source of raw materials, cheap labor and eventually a large new market.. Beyond these commercial factors there were those who argued that the United States needed military bases in East Asia to counter the moves being made by the Japanese, Germans, Russians and British. Added to this were the Christians, both the Protestant majority and the growing Catholic community in the United States who favored American control of the Islands for their own theological and financial reasons.’ ‘The Philippines were seen by many in the religious institutions at the time as a stepping stone to China and its millions of souls in need of Christian “salvation”.’

We were a dynamic young nation of primarily European immigrants ‘filled with an aggressive belief in the superiority of … democratic form of government and their Protestant religious ethics. They were products of an industrial and scientific revolution which was rapidly making the United States one of the richest and most powerful nations on earth. They attributed much of this economic development to their emphasis on individual freedom and enterprise and their rejection as a nation of all that was old and mired in archaic tradition.

While it appears we conquered the Islands, we then arrived, in small groups, to conquer the religious and business communities. ‘The Philippines was seen as an example of both the primitive undeveloped world and the decadent “Old World’ as modern Americans viewed the Spanish culture and most of Europe. A total transformation of Filipino society was prescribed by American colonialists even to the extent of changing the national language to English. The more responsible and civilized Americans believed they should transform the Philippines by example and mentorship, while the more retrograde element believed they had a license to accomplish this by brute force.’

On July 4, 1901, William Howard Taft was named the first civil Governor General over the bitter protestations of the former military Governor General, Arthur MacArthur, father of General Douglas MacArthur. The American generals ruled the Philippines by martial law and were not eager to give up this privilege to civilian authorities.’

‘Unlike the Spanish or French in their colonies, the Americans followed a modified version of the British policy of racial separation. It was not considered “good form” to fraternize too closely with the natives either socially or in private affairs. Fortunately this racist approach was not always adhered to and Filipinos managed to break down many of the social barriers put up’…’by the 1910’s.’

Ok, enough of the history according to Jonathan Best. However, in his book there are excerpts from letters and postcards of that time describing things that eerily, more than 100 years ago, are seen even today, albeit with different costumes.

Apparently we approached the Filipinos bearing cameras, that period being the beginning of the prolific amateur picture-taking public. This called for exotic natives, enchanting and scantily clad maidens, a few old Spanish churches and a glimpse of the peoples of some of the regions. The clothing worn in these pictures are actually quite respectable compared to today’s practice. Back then everyone seemed to be dressed up, a situation occurring only during weddings today. Obviously these pictures were posed.

Many of the pictures of markets and open air eateries look exactly as they do today, with minimal changes, other than the density of the vendors and the clothing.

Maud Jenks, the wife of the future head of the Ethnographic Survey, writes on first arriving at the dock in Manila Bay, July 16, 1902: ‘Bert (Jenks) and Mr. Lord went after carriages, leaving Mrs. Lord and her two children, Judge and Mrs. Powell and their seven children, and me with the luggage. For twenty minutes or more, while we waited, I sat on our suitcases. From that experience I think I know how the freaks in a sideshow feel when the crowd is staring at them. At one time I counted forty-eight natives standing around staring at us as if we were a new species from another planet. They were constantly coming and going on the outskirts. Those in the front row finally got tired of standing and squatted down, never taking theirs eyes off us. Mrs. Powell told me afterwards that it made her so nervous she didn’t know what to do. I never thought of being nervous – I was amused.’

While you will not gather crowds of forty-eight natives today, you will draw several natives staring whether you are in a small village, in the country, or in a large city. While you might think the population in 2010 would be comfortable with foreigners after more than 100 years, many of the folks here are from the mountains and have never seen a foreigner before.

From Outlook Magazine, “The Filipinos Near At Hand” by an American Woman, November 8, 1902: ‘From many of my friends here I learn that much of the patriarchal system of living still prevails even in Manila. In some large houses there are from twenty to thirty dependents of all degrees from poor relations to cooks and scullions. These persons live about the house, sleeping in corners, and are clothed by the mistress. They marry, have children, and raise them in a harum-scarum way that would drive an American woman to an insane asylum. Again and again I have seen in one of the finest houses here small naked children asleep behind the parlor door, while large-eyed, placid women nurse babes quite unabashed as they crouch on the floor in the hallways. These servants have their home, their clothes, food and from three to five pesos a month. In a way, I suppose, they earn this money as they nonchalantly polish the hardwood floors or carelessly flap the dust from the center tables and chairs. They sit on the floor in kitchens in front of a pan of water and wash the dishes that are piled up around them, and stack them edgewise along the wall to dry. Surely their ways are not ours, and it is a shock to the nerves to see a kitchen in the heat of preparation for a banquet of which one is to partake later. It requires some skill to pass between the various dishes being prepared on the floor, where cats and dogs and babies, meats and fruits and vegetables seem hopelessly jumbled up. I always forget about it later, for a delicious dinner will almost always come forth from the chaos.’

Some things never change. The excerpt closely describes the open-air eateries of today. In my experience, especially with Florida and her family, Filipino families are exceedingly clean about their homes. In fact, even at homes with dirt floors, the floors are swept clean, sometimes several times a day. Food, while prepared in advance, is zealously kept covered, even to the point where children are assigned to wave fans over the covered food to ensure flies have no opportunity to attack. When a blender for example is used, it is immediately taken apart fully, washed, or should I say scrubbed, and then replaced with a sewn, close-fitting cloth fully covering it, whether it is in the open or in a closed cupboard. Daily, at some point in time, all silverware is sterilized, irrespective of its use or scrubbing. Clothes for the most part are not washed in washing machines in many families, the washing machine being an unneeded expense (about $125). In some families where there is a washing machine, most often you will see that the clothes may have been hand-washed before or after being in the machine. I have noticed that the hand-scrubbed clothes seem to last longer than those cleaned solely by machine.

‘The Filipinos are a cleanly people both in person and in dress, a fact which makes every river and stream a site for promiscuous laundry work and bathing. While the mothers of the household thrash and beat the family linen upon the stones, their numerous progeny, clothed only in sunlight, swim and splash about beside them.’ Daniel r. Williams, secretary to the Second Philippine Commission, writes in his diary, October 30, 1900.

I don’t know if I have mentioned it before, but funerals are an important part of life in The Philippines. One may join a type of club, with monthly or yearly dues, whereby he or she is guaranteed a crowd will show up for their funeral. This is part of the agreement you sign when you join that club, that you will attend other’s funerals, even if you do not know them.

Burials are common, cremation may occur, but the body has to be sent to Manila, as there are no crematories on Bohol. So, cremation is not frequent here. The wealthy or middle income folks will have a place in the church cemetery, while the lower income folks will be found in the municipal cemetery, a generally unmanaged and unkempt resting place.

‘On the fifth anniversary of the date when the weeping friends bore the cold clay to this beautiful spot and left it with tender partings the funds must be renewed, and if they are not prepaid for another five years, then the vault is broken open and the bones that have been blessed are dragged forth and some other more profitable tenant is installed in the room for rent, unfurnished.’ George A. Miller in “Interesting Manila” on a visit to Paco Cemetery in 1906. That practice remains until today, the five-year fee is $10.00.

‘The comments you write about our life out here among the “Hottentots,” as you insist on calling them, make me laugh sometimes. I know how it seems at home, but when you are right here in the midst of them, they don’t seem the same at all. Though the people may look like Hottentots – and I confess some of them do look very wild, still I never think of that now. I have found out that they are real men and women, with homes and industry and affection and character.’ Maud Huntley Jenks, Bontoc. January 28, 1903. Answering her family’s letters to her from Wisconsin.

Indeed, it is the same today. As in any society, there are some wonderfully superb people, as well as the dregs of society.

Religion: the Filipinos for the most part are staunch Catholics, even some Christians, as they are called, Mormons and Protestants. However, centuries-old superstitions still prevail, even to the most dedicated religious person. In times of stress, these superstitions take precedent over religion and common sense. Two months ago, although I do not believe in these spirits, I told Florida we needed to bring a quack doctor up to the top of the ebabou to ‘bless’ the site to ensure people that no evil existed there. However, we have been unable so far to find a suitable quack doctor that specialized in these things, the last one locally had died some years ago. There is talk that the ebabou as well as the area around it have these evil spirits.

We had some unusual activity on the ebabou June 4, and as a result, we have had to place the ebabou project in abeyance.

Two weeks ago we hired a man with a chainsaw and a helper to cut down some rather large trees on the ebabou. We walked up the mountain with them to show them what we wanted done. They set about immediately to work. The helper was assigned to a particular togus tree to chop down a limb about 10 feet off the ground with his bolo. In the meantime, Florida was showing the chainsaw man what we wanted to be cut down in its entirety. I retired to my hammock to supervise.

About 15 minutes later, I happened to glance at the togus tree, only to see it shift a few inches and then the top 20 feet of the tree plummeted straight to the ground, its top still where it belonged, only 15 feet lower.

I heard Florida call loudly to the chainsaw man, and he began to run towards the tree. I jumped off the hammock and ran down as well. There, 15 feet into the air, hung the helper, the vines had kept him from plummeting head first to the ground, a fact which in my mind kept him from being killed immediately.

He was bleeding profusely from the side of his head, and was obviously unconscious. The breathing was loud and harsh, blood bubbling from his mouth. The chainsaw man swiftly climbed up the tree and lifted the man up and twisted his body so the blood flowed to the ground rather than catching in his throat. There was only room for one person to help, so I stayed on the ground expecting to have to catch one or both of the men should they fall, or at least break their fall.

Florida’s mother, 66, was there on her first visit to the top since she was 17. Fortunately she had her cell phone with her, and called down to Bojing (Leonora), Florida’s sister, to call the ambulance and call some men to come up and help.

We threw up a thick rope to the chainsaw man, who proceeded to tie it around the helper. In the meantime I observed that the trunk of the tree had been chopped in a way I had never seen before. Almost a week later a friend of the helper, who also cuts trees for a living, investigated and told us that the helper should never have cut a tree the way he did, it forced the tree to drop, rather than fall.

Having tied the helper, we wrapped the rope around another tree and Florida leant her body into the rope to provide ballast. I returned to the bottom of the tree to catch the lowered man. Once down, the chainsaw man hastened to remove the rope while I called to Joshua to bring my hammock. As this was happening, a very young man of about 22 and a man of about 68 arrived, and shortly after that a neighbor of about 50 arrived, all three of them having run up the mountain. The first 2 men moved down to our position to help carry the man up the side of the ridge. The young fellow was afraid of blood, so he held a conversation with me, away from the sight of the blood, while he helped carry the man up. I have no idea what he said, being in Cebuano Visaya, a fact of which he was fully aware. He just needed to move his concentration from the blood.

We wrapped the man in the hammock, who was now conscious, and forced a thick sapling through the ends of the hammock. The young and old man picked up the hammock, and the middle aged man took position at the middle, holding the sides of the hammock together to keep the wounded man from falling out. They then quickly moved down the mountain and then to the street.

The chainsaw man had no money on him, so we gave him the thousand peso bill we had, which is about $20. He ran down to his home, got his wife and the helper’s wife and ran to the wounded man still waiting the ambulance.

The ambulance arrived and took all to the emergency ward in Jagna, a 10 minute drive by ambulance. Once there the staff gave him oxygen and glucose, and sent him on to Tagbilaran, another hour by speeding ambulance, as they did not stock medical supplies for this type of accident.

Later that evening the chainsaw man’s wife came by to say that the fellow had broken his jaw and several of his ribs were broken, but the doctors felt he would be ok, but needed a scan because of the tremendous blow he had taken to the jaw. She asked if we could help, making sure we understood that we were not to fault for the accident. I had a further 2000 pesos, so we gave that to her to help, as the ambulance required gasoline, and the medication would have to be purchased and the scan as well. The doctor’s services would be free as he was in a governmental hospital.

The next afternoon the chainsaw man’s wife appeared again, and said that the man was ok, but it would take time before anything could be done to his jaw. She asked if she could borrow more money, as there were more expenses to be borne. We gave a further 2000 pesos and said that we had no more money, which was true, and I would not get paid for another 2 weeks, and at that time we would have to reconsider any further monies to help. She thanked us profusely and left.

Later that day some of the neighbors came by to thank Florida for the kindness we had shown to the helper, and all said it was an accident, that we were not to blame at all for what had happened.

Six days after the accident, we saw the chainsaw man arrive behind our home with 3 other men. They proceeded up the ebabou, returning about an hour later. Florida went out to speak to him, while the other men then left. One of the men was the brother to the helper, and one of the others was a quack doctor.

He explained that the quack doctor determined that the ‘Big Man’ lived in that togus tree, and was the cause of the accident. Apparently this ‘Big Man’ is a force to be reckoned with, drawing fright from most people at the mere mention of his name.

The quack doctor had gathered leaves, dirt, bark and other substances from the area, and was planning on visiting the patient later in the afternoon. The chainsaw man said the patient was doing very well, up and talking although in pain. The swelling had started to subside, and once it would recede enough, a stainless rod would be place in the jaw. He said the man was thankful for all the help we had given, as well as the 3 men. We had sent the 3 men each 100 pesos for dropping their respective duties to run up the mountain. Each of them earned 150 pesos a day for labor, so this was an unexpected gift and greatly appreciated, and word had reached the patient’s ears.

Apparently the quack doctor arrived later that day at the hospital, burned some of the substances and otherwise conducted quack doctor activities around the patient.

Just after midnight, the early minutes of the seventh day, the patient died.

Autopsies are not performed normally here. The governmental doctor determined the patient had hemorrhaged, causing death.

I find it hard to believe that a patient with a broken jaw, being in a hospital and proclaimed to be well on the road to recovery that morning, would die from bleeding seven days after the accident. It is my belief that the quack doctor drummed up the stress level of the patient, as the patient had been in excellent shape earlier that day. The beliefs in these superstitions are so strong that it takes over any common sense that would normally be there.

The man was buried yesterday.

Florida is frightened sufficiently enough that she will not go to the ebabou, and, unusually, demands that I do not go either. I respect her wishes, and have agreed to not go there for the interim. Some of her sisters have already stated they will not visit, as they are very afraid. Some of the locals have also stated they will not go.

Such is the beliefs, and those beliefs are etched in granite, I don’t think I will ever be successful in changing that. Having said that, Florida does repeat my position to people that we have been going there almost every day for 3 months and never has anything happened to us, as we go there with a clean heart and are not afraid of spirits.

But she still remains frightened.

Chapter 15

2010-05-12T07:47:00.015+07:00

January found us busy moving me from the rental apartment to Florida’s salacote. I happened to find a fellow from Sweden that was looking for just the apartment I had, and he wanted to rent it year round, even though he would be there only 4 months each year, being a farmer back home. So, I needed a new home. Florida suggested her salacote.

I think I already published a picture of the salacote, but, here it is again (above).

This is the front entrance on the left, kitchen on the right

This is the kitchen, fondly known in the Philippines as the dirty kitchen, as it is normally outside the home and is fueled by wood (there is a normal kitchen in the house). Filipinos are amazing adept at cooking on these fires. At my previous home (next door), the folks in front cooked every meal on wood fires, as well as the neighbors.

If you will notice, the salacote walls are not really walls but made of bamboo strips, and many of them are missing to allow smoke to escape.

This salacote is 228 square feet. It does not have a CR (bathroom) however there is one in the next building, which is the laundry room.

We changed the salacote a bit, as there was no view of the ocean although it sat next to the ocean. Filipinos are a bit strange in that they live on the ocean front but build a fence that blocks the view. They say it is because they don’t want prowlers, and that may be true, but I believe they also build the fence to calm one of their suspicions, which is that the ocean wind will force air into your body.

Yup, that is their belief. Even though you might laugh when they tell you that, they will insist it is so. I even tried to bring the subject of their fishermen being constantly in the middle of the winds, but with much shrugging of the shoulders it was dismissed. It is not unusual to see someone wearing a cloth over their head to ward off the wind, even at sleep.

This picture shows the family fence at low tide. Towards the right you will see an open door, which is the opening to the family lot directly in the center of the property. Just to the left is a barely visible roof, which is the salacote. By the way, there are typically 2 structures outside the family homes here: the salacote, which is basically an outside living room, and the waiting shed, which is typically near the front of the property, facing the road, where people will sit to watch traffic, or visitors wait to be received.

The first thing we did is to remove half the bamboo on the ocean side to allow the breeze to enter the building (against every Filipino objections, including Florida, but she remained quiet when I said it must be done). Next on the agenda was to introduce a bamboo door leading to the ocean, and it ended up being a Dutch door, quite possibly the first one in Bohol, if not the entire Philippines. As mosquitoes can be a problem, I purchased $3 worth of mosquito netting and tacked that across each window, which results in a blue haze across the windows but defies the mosquitoes! The last step was to remove the fence, thereby opening up a superb vista.

The original cost of the salacote was 15,000 pesos, which is a huge amount to spend on a salacote, but is only $326. My remodeling brought that sum up a further 900 pesos, a staggering sum of $19.56 and left us with this:

Even though we were protected from the mosquitoes, Florida refused to sleep without a mosquito net, having slept under one for her 40 years of life. So, I adapted, but uneasily. They can be too hot, they block the breezes. But, I had an excellent time for the month we stayed there, and fully enjoyed the strong ocean winds, and the sound of the tides blocking out all of the sounds, including the trucks on the roads and Stefanny’s extremely loud and irritating singing to the video-oke. The sound of the ocean sooths like nothing else; the view is superb, all the way to the end of the world. A view of the end of my world.

That’s right, only a month.

We were searching for a home for a friend of ours, a Brit and his girlfriend, and happened across a home that became available just across the street, on the pathway to the family mountain property. As it only had one bedroom (but another room that could be adapted for a second bedroom) and a concrete floor, it would not have been acceptable to our friends (at least not James anyway, but his girlfriend Shirley was ready to accept anything at this point). So we took it and moved out of the salacote.

I miss that salacote.

We now live in a home of 523 square feet, and we are very, very comfortable. The first thing we did, aside from cleaning of course, was to purchase another $20 of mosquito netting. Believe it or not, within 2 weeks I had convinced Florida to stop using the mosquito netting over the bed. When she had traveled to Hong Kong to work, she took her mosquito net with her, and slept under it the entire 10 years. We no longer have to suffocate at night now!

No air conditioning, which strikes my fancy anyway, as it is basically the same temperature year round, 86°. We do get some foot traffic past the house, virtually 2 feet or less away, but mostly it is people that live in the neighborhood, so we know most of them. We have conversations with them while they pass by (except for me, I don’t know Cebuano yet).

Electricity shuts down frequently, sometimes 3 times a day. They call it a brownout, but refuse to understand the difference between brownouts and blackouts. Creates havoc on the computer systems.

After a couple weeks of cleaning and fixing the house, as well as the yard (miniscule), I became a bit bored. Of course, I have my music. Some of you may know that I collect music, and presently have some 30,000 tracks or more on my computer. Most of the artists are not recognizable, as they are up-and-comers, or want to be. I do have the odd Madonna and Steely Dan, but the vast majority is the unknowns. I have been spending a lot of time categorizing and researching additional information on the artists and recordings and putting into playlists. I absolutely abhor public radio, far too many commercials and verbal nonsense, and I don’t like hearing the same song 4 times each day, every day for months. I can listen for 8 hours a day and not hear the same song again until 8 months later. And no commercials.

Due to unforeseen hiccups, and my steadfast refusal to back up properly periodically, my collection had become a travesty, a burning issue with me.

So, I have spent many hours reconstructing my past accomplishments. Not having an internet connection here has caused an extremely difficult situation; I have chosen to ignore all the free (legally free) music out there until we finally get an internet connection. The past year one of the providers has spent the year laying cable alongside the road. The town before us (Jagna, pronounced Hagna), and the town after us (Gundulman, pronounced Gun-DUL-man) are connected but we are not.

But, one cannot live their life constantly behind the computer screen (unless they are getting paid for it) and as Filipino life is typically spent outside 75% of the 24 hour period (and most sleeping in bamboo huts), I began to look at the lot behind our house, which has coconuts on it, and a huge amount of weeds. I cleaned that lot in a few days, and got huge compliments from lots of neighbors (including one statement that they have to thank that foreigner for cleaning up their back yards), except for the one family that used to dump their garbage there. Now that it is clean, it looks almost like a park, and that family changed directions for their garbage trekking.

Once again, I began looking for a small escape. Florida had some seeds she wanted to put on her father’s mountain property, so we went there one Sunday in late February. Sitting at the bottom of the property (the top is approximately 200 feet above the bottom (I am guessing, it could be 800 feet, I only know it was very much inaccessible), but it is at a 50° to 70° climb to the top. Florida had never been there, in fact, only her brother seems to have made the trip, and that was as a young man.

Hmmm. That got me thinking.

That very day I started to build a path up the mountainside (or more accurately, the hillside, which is part of the mountain range behind us). I had a bolo knife (known by most of the world as a machete, but here it is a bolo) that the landlady had left in the store room, so I began in earnest.

Just so you know there are left and right handed bolos, as well as bolos specifically for digging, specifically for chopping trees, specifically for grass cutting and specifically for chopping weeds. I still don’t know what type I have, but it seems to work well at cutting trees (small trees).

So I started immediately.

An hour later I was totally exhausted, having cleared at almost 3 feet.

We went home, and without bothering to shower, I hit the sack for an hour.

Florida had a big laugh over that, which of course incensed me to no end.

We returned the following day, and another hour and a further 5 feet, I was exhausted again.

You have to understand that this is the jungle. Or the forest. Or both. Kind of a cross between the two. Hard and soft wood trees, thistles, raspberry bush-type vines, vines as thick as your forearm, vines wrapping themselves around other vines, sometimes as many as 6 or 7 vines intertwined, pythons, boas, nasty spiders, mosquitoes, bees, ferocious ants and strange folks walking through the wilderness.

Maybe it should be called fungle.

Because it is forest, jungle and fun. One of the benefits of working for most of your adult life pushing pencils across the desk, and occasionally wadding up paper to throw at the basket is that you dream about actually seeing the completion of your accomplishments. It is amazing how one can chop and sweat for an hour, and then look back and see that a pathway 3 or 4 feet long has been accomplished, and be bursting with pride.

It might have been only in the movies, but, Tarzan was actually able to commute via vines, although some seem to be quite brittle.

On the second day, Joshua asked his mother why I wasn’t afraid of the snakes. She of course, didn’t know. When she told me, I asked ‘What snakes?’ Since then I have done a lot of thrashing about, letting everyone/thing know I am coming, before I take the next step.

I spent days doing that until I reached the halfway point. I sat down to rest in a clear spot, and Florida came looking for me to make sure I had not escaped this earthly place. While we were sitting there, I was mentally contemplating whether to continue or not, as it seemed I would never reach the top. I was about to propose that we find another endeavor, when 6 teenagers crossed the opposite hillside. As the last one passed by, about 150 feet away, he spotted me, stopped, and then called to his friends that there was a white man on the mountain. They all came back to gaze at the sight.

That was a challenge.

Apparently the long noses never actually work, they just order the work to be done.

If the Filipinos can do it, I can do it.

I continued working for the top a few more days, finally reaching my goal. I called down to Florida to come quickly and as soon as she got there, I pushed her ahead so she would be the first to visit the top.

2 feet later she stopped, as she could not proceed any further.

But we were at the top! I managed to push our way a bit further, maybe 4 feet, but it was so dense with saplings and brush we could not go any further. Little did we know that we passed a fallen togus tree, with a diameter of 4 feet and a length of at least 50 feet, and we were within 3 feet of it without seeing it!

Since then, we have been to the top everyday for the last 2 months, except for 4 days. Each day, climbing to the top, and then clearing the land, spending between 4 to 6 hours each day. After the first few days, I decided to find another way to the top, on the other side, which faced our home. We found a few paths, tried them all and eventually picked one to use, unfortunately the steepest one, but the quickest ascent. Yesterday we were coming back down the mountain, and a neighbor was at the bottom cutting bamboo. He was totally aware of the land on the other side, doing odd-jobs for the family that sometimes consisted of cutting their bamboo on the other side.

His facial features were classic, as he could not imagine Florida, let alone a long nose, descending the mountain on that side.

Occasionally I have dug a few steps into the dirt and stone to make it easier, but, it still is a tough climb. I have to rest halfway now, and then again once we get to the top. Going down is not too bad at all, so I was not winded when he saw us.

After about 8 days of chopping at the top, Florida turned to me with a quizzical look and asked where the ocean was, as we still had not seen it. Folks, the top of this ebabou is not all that big, maybe 30 yards side to side.

So I began to make a narrow pathway towards the ocean, which took the rest of the morning. I saw a glimpse of the ocean and decided that was enough for one day. I didn’t tell Florida because you really had to imagine that the blue was the ocean, not the sky.

The next day I widened the end of the pathway enough to confirm that it was indeed the ocean, and called Florida to finally see it. We saw about a 6 foot square ‘screen’, but it was enough to decide we were doing the right thing.

It was on that new approach path on the first day that we found the first concrete surveyor’s mark that indicated the corner of her father’s property. There are about 6 posts we figure, but it took almost 2 months before we found the second one. And, Murphy’s Law then took over.

We had cleared quite a lot of land, but all but 10 square feet was beyond her father’s property.

So, I was quite concerned that 1) the owner would be quite upset, and 2) we would be sued for damages. But it seems I was worrying for nothing. Here in the Philippines, it is not unusual for one to chop down someone else’s trees, especially if the land is neglected. Believe me, this land was neglected.

But, we still have not found the other 4 cement markers. But we know we are trespassing, but even more importantly, we don’t care.

Round about the end of the second month we began to get visitors. Most of them said they never bothered to come up there because the growth was so dense that it was almost impossible to move. Actually, it was so dense that when we first got there, we never saw any birds. In fact, it was only after 2 months that the birds began to arrive. And now they are here, and they are beautiful. And butterflies started to appear.

Florida’s father’s friend appeared and he was astounded with the difference. He insisted that we must have hired a local to help clear the land, regardless of how much Florida told him we did it alone, me being a long nose. She finally admitted that we had a hired hand (lied). He was satisfied then.

Each day we go to the top, taking 2 backpacks with us, laden with water, bolos, ax, snacks and my hammock. After the first 2 weeks Florida started to build a waiting shed, which has now grown into a rather nice resting place. It is made of 2 live trees, a few chopped saplings, and lots of ferns for the roof. Each day we hang my hammock, and I rest from time to time depending on how my body reacts. Sometimes Joshua comes with us, sometimes the other children, like Stefanny (she is absolutely no help whatsoever) and Lester (he has a nickname – Tibor – no one knows what that means, but it fits him) when he is here. He is a huge help. I am surprised at Joshua, he has never been asked, but as soon as he arrives, he begins to work. 7 years old.

Chop, chop, chop. Pull, pull, pull. Burn, burn, burn. Done with that? Repeat. Over and over and over and over.

At the end of each day, I am black with soot, having moved the remains of yesterday’s fire to the new fire place. Remember when you were allowed to burn leaves? It is a national pastime here. Everyone does it, and takes absolutely no safety measures in doing so. Amazingly, there are no fungle fires. Florida laughs and laughs, apparently I look like the Muslems when they have their festivities and dance in the street, soot marks all over me. But, she has hot water waiting for me every evening.

During April and May the water stops running at 5:30am, starts again slowly at 1pm, but shuts off at 2pm until about 7pm at night. This is because it is the summer here, school is out, and with the normal low pressure, everyone using the water during the day causes these problems. School resumes the first week of June, and the water will return to its normal low pressure, meaning no water after 7am, back on about 1pm.

When we moved here I installed a shower head. I don’t even use it any more. A 5 gallon bucket of water and a teapot full of hot water does the trick, and is becoming more preferential.

Who needs modern conveniences? But, if I build a place, I will install a tank above ceiling height, and pump water there every evening. Gravity is cheap.

Back to the mountain. My body hurts every single day. I have scratches all over my arms and legs, it looks like I ran into an irate cat.

Remember when you would start a new labor-intensive project? You hurt for a few hours, or even a few days, then it was over.

It ain’t over when you are on the fading side of 63.

Let me give you some advice if you are almost 64 years old and have spent your life

sitting at a desk and now decide to clear a jungle:

DON’T

Not unless you are prepared to suffer for a lengthy period of time.

I hurt every day. My muscles ache. My bones hurt. I can’t find a proper place to lay and sleep. I can’t find a proper place to sit and eat my dinner. I can’t find a proper stance to even stand at rest. I can’t think properly. Don’t confuse me with facts. Don’t expect a lengthy span of attention. Don’t expect me to put the cap back on the milk bottle. Or put the lid down on the toilet. Or make any intelligent conversation.

Every night Florida rubs my body with a local herbal concoction, made with coconut oil and 3 different types of tree bark. It costs 200 pesos per pint ($4.35) and lasts about a month. If there was a way to package this and export it, I would do it, but the manufacturer (Mike, our neighbor) won’t say boo about what the tree bark is. I have even less arthritis pain and aches now. I suggested it to my neighbor, Ken, who has had bad back problems. Within a week he was singing about its virtues.

I gotta tell you about Florida. I should have told you before but I wasn’t sure it was true. You know how it is with a new relationship.

I now know it true, that she is the woman she seems to be.

You have never met a gentler soul. Every situation is met with calmness. People come to her for her advice, from local tax matters to how to feed medicine to a 2 year old.

Each day she makes sure I take extra clean t-shirts to take up the mountain. And she forces me to change them as soon as she sees the slightest perspiration. And she puts a Turkish towel on my neck, under my shirt, to soak up the sweat. She always packs snacks that I like, that lend to my diabetic situation. She watches what I eat, she makes sure I rest enough. I cannot do too much around the house, or the mountain, for that matter. I want to oil the chains on the motorbikes, she does it. I want to clean the bikes, she does it. I want to plant some vegetables, but she does it. She scolds me when she thinks I am overworking. She doesn’t allow helping in the kitchen, it is her kitchen. She boils water twice a day for my bathing. Every morning she collects Sambong and Myabana leaves for a tea that cleanses the system. I call it the tree tea. Every single utensil we have is covered each day after being used, the electrical plugs being removed from the receptacle. A fresh cover is put over the bed every day. Not one piece of clothing is to be worn twice, irrespective of it being worn once for only 2 hours.

I am an ornery, obnoxious, opinionated and out-of-ordinary individual. I will complain even if there is no need. I will act angry. I will want everything my way, after all, I deserve it, don’t I? I know everything, and my decisions will obviously be the correct one, so why argue. Hey! I am human, right?

I have no idea how she handles me, or why, but she does.

And all she has to do is flash that huge smile.

Although she has a child, I seem to be her one priority. She is a terrific mother, don’t get me wrong. But she has made me feel like I am and always have been the number one. Maybe that is why I have been working so hard.

I wish that everyone could meet her. She is an extremely simple-living woman, one that is as happy as anyone you have ever met. Have some adversities facing you? Learn from Florida.

She calms the soul.

I have taken a city girl (albeit familiar with what we consider country-ways) and forced her into the mountains. And she does a superb job, she matches me chop by chop, minute by minute, and even surpasses me (ok, I really have a difficult time admitting that, so give me credit already).

But don’t tell her.

But, as with even the most perfect relationships, there are conflicts. As an example, English is not her first language, in fact, she probably knows Mandarin better, having spent 10 years in Hong Kong. Communications go like this: “Do you want to go to town this morning or this afternoon?” “Yes.”

Or, “Mumble rumble giggle greek tree (all to the tune of the passing motorist’s horns, other people trying to talk over her, etc) jumble shumble.” “Tree what?” “Tree.” What tree?” “That tree.” “Oh, that tree. What about that tree?” “That’s the one.” “One what?” “Like the one in the mountain” “What one in the mountain?” “The one you asked about.” “Oh, which one?” “That one up there in the mountain.” “Oh. Can you show me tomorrow when we are there?” “Of course.”

Next day: “Which tree was it?” “What tree?” “The tree you told me about yesterday.” “Which one was that?” And it goes on…

Abbott and Costello.

Everyone is a she, regardless of their sex. Makes for confusing communications.

Florida is left handed. I am right handed, and the women I knew were right handed, including my mother. I am almost 64, and I believe I am part of the 80% of the men in the world that do things by rote, especially in the morning. I do not spend time at the mirror, except to shave, and then I do not see my face, only the razor. I put my pants on left leg first (ok, you smart guys in lab coats, glasses, pad and pencil and unruly hair, have a field day with that one), then the right. I don’t have to decide whether to put the sock or the shoe on first; I put the left sock on then the right before I put on the left shoe and then the right shoe. That is the way I get dressed in the morning, that is the way I always have gotten dressed since I learned how to do it myself.

Go ahead.

Tomorrow morning, change the leg you put into your pants first to the other leg.

I bet your day will be slightly off-kilter all day.

Now, I have to get used to a left handed life.

It took me several days to realize why my underwear was on backwards.

Another thing that happened on the hill/mountain: I must have brushed against a weed that acts like nettles. I say act, as it is not entirely like nettles. I was in agony for almost 2 weeks. Nettles hurt a day or two, maximum.

I tried everything, from antibacterial cream from the good ole US of A to baby powder. We finally called in a quack doctor, who happened to be Florida’s auntie. She came and made me sit down so she could reach the back of my head and blow on it then mutter some sort of words. She then blew on my arms, where the affliction was, and to be safe, my legs. She then had Florida halve a coconut, and put pieces of the one half into the other and start them afire. Once they reached the coal stage, she dropped some sort of stones into it, which immediately started to smoke. Fanning the smoke around me, especially on my arms, the incense-like smell became a little too much. But, soon it was over, and she said she would be back for the next 2 days to perform the same ritual, and I would be cured.

So she came back for 2 days and the same rituals were performed. On the last day she gave me a little packet, about 2 inches square, made of some sort of cloth, with something sewn inside. She told me that I must always keep that in my pocket when I left the house, it would protect me from bad people. So I keep it in my pocket. So far I haven’t met any bad people.

A week later the itching finally subsided.

They actually call them quack doctors here. This one is Florida’s father’s sister. She is a withered, weathered little lady of about 86, a veritable ancient one here in the Philippines. She learned the art from her father; Florida’s father was not interested. Apparently she has trained her eldest daughter to take over from her. Quack doctors are big here. The fellow that worked on my back in December was also a quack doctor, specializing in body massages, and was training his wife. When he would start on my back, he would draw a figure of some sort on my backbone, just below the neck, and mutter something.

Quack doctors don’t have a set rate, you are to determine what to pay them. I am sure I will have more stories to tell you in the future because of this, both the cost and the practice.

Superstition. Huge.

We have a small mayonnaise jar at each door, and each window full of water, with no top on it. This is to keep bad people out of the house.

When we moved in there was garlic at each window. Keeps the snakes out.

You ask, has there ever been a snake in a house? No one seems to know, although there have been reports of snakes in the waiting sheds or salacotes. Especially if there are chickens nearby. Maybe no reports because everyone has garlic in their windows. No snakes so far in our house even though we have removed the garlic.

We have talked about building a waiting shed or even a salacote on top the mountain. We spend every day here, it is our day house. Long range plans include a windmill for a well (eventually) as well as electricity (via the windmill). I am told that to protect the salacote, we should hire the quack doctor that performs spells. Should someone break into the salacote to steal something, the spell temporarily makes the person go crazy. He will walk around in circles for the next 24 hours, not able to find his way from the salacote. If you do not return within those 24 hours, he will eventually be cleansed of the spell and will no longer be there, so you want to go there each day to find the crazy man. The cost for that spell is 500 pesos ($10.86), a set price. But it is only good for one-time, gotta pay again for the next burglar.

Be best to visit every 24 hours.

Itching. A couple weeks after the itching episode, I contracted it again. This time I have narrowed it down to a type of brush/weed that seems to like to take over wherever there is a lack of trees. But, this time, on the second day of itching, I happened to look at the spot on my arm under a bright light, and saw what looked to be a hair across the itching. Turns out (under a magnifying glass) it isn’t a hair, but some sort of thorn-like thing. I took it out with a tweezers.

No itching.

Let me interject something here now. It will, from now on, be called the mountain, or better yet, the ebabou (eee-ba-bow – bow as in bow before the queen) even though it is more like a hillside due to its height, and actually, is part of a ridge. If I were a geologist, I would hesitate to call it a mountain, or even a ridge. Actually, if I was a geologist, I would definitely not propose that this ridge was once connected to the ridge behind this ridge. And, if I was a geologist, I would for sure not propose that a combination of ocean and earthquake caused the split.

I am not a geologist, so hear me out, and I will say this without recrimination.

This ridge was part of the ridge behind it, tens of thousands of years ago, and was most likely split by two forces, the ocean and an earthquake. My observations show that the shape and height of the ridge in question is almost exactly the same as the ridge behind it. Furthermore, the Philippine Islands are volcanic, and suffer as much as 20 earthquakes a day, although most of them are minor and not felt by humans. Down at the family coast, there is some bedrock seen at low tide. The bedrock for the most part is absolutely flat, but for a stretch of about 30 feet the bedrock is tilted at about 30°. Sorry folks, that isn’t done by the wind or the water.

To add to that, on the 4^th day we went to the top, I found a piece of rock I thought was petrified honeycomb. On second look, I found it looked exactly like the coral I had seen while snorkeling 20 yards off the beach at Florida’s mother’s home.

The coconut trees on Florida’s father’s side of the mountain, which faces the mountains that I believe were attached thousands of years ago, do not grow well, and have very small coconuts, if any at all. It is entirely possible that when the ocean receded, at that time or shortly after is when the earth moved, so to speak. And, as everyone knows, salt helps the coconuts grow properly.

Did you know that the papaya tree is hollow down the entire center of the tree?

Speaking of snorkeling, I went with my Brit friend, John, in January. I had never snorkeled (except as a kid in fresh water). If you have never snorkeled, be aware that in salt water, breathing in is not advised when the little ball is below the surface of the water. The salt water is disgusting. But, if you want to see some of the most beautiful live things you have ever seen, go snorkeling here, or somewhere there is a coral reef. My friend has spent almost every vacation of his life snorkeling around the world. He says the coral reef here is equal to every place he has been, and is virtually undefiled.

If you can, see if you can find the BBC Blue Planet series. The entire series would cost you $75 (I think I bought mine at a Discovery (?) store in some mall in the states), and consists of 4 DVDs, each of which has a couple excerpts on it. I was living in England when it was produced on BBC, and if you know anything about British drinking, you will know that nothing stands in the way of meeting at the pub each evening for several pints.

The first night of the first chapter of The Blue Planet, the pubs were filled as normal. For every single chapter after that, the pubs were empty. If you don’t have the $75, steal it, or copy it illegally, or even try the library! It is one of the most riveting series you will ever see, and took years to film. At least check out the Coral Seas so you know that if you come here, you will see what you see in that series. You won’t be bored.

Did I ever tell you I owned a pub in England for awhile?

But, back to the fungle and the ebabou.

While I was suffering from that nettle-like attack, I was told about the White Lady. The White Lady lives in the fungle, and is rarely seen, but is everywhere. She seems to be the authority on fungle issues, and is the one responsible to see that invaders behave themselves. I was told that if I even wanted to answer the call of nature, I must call out ‘Excuse Me’ prior to answering that call.

So I do.

Hey, I am a foreigner living here now, so I adapt.

I am very pleased to announce that I am able to put that age-old question about the noise a tree may or may not emit if falling down if no one is in the forest.

I was chopping down a hardwood tree called a Mardikakao (mar-di-ka-kow) about 1 foot in diameter. I know, not a huge tree. But a damned hard one. I had been working on it each day, spending about 20 minutes hacking away at it with my bolo. Have you ever tried to cut down a 1 foot tree with a bolo? No? Then shut up. Yeah, ok, I hear you cynics in the background, get an ax, or even a chainsaw! I am in the Philippines, and if they can do it with a bolo, why can’t I? So shut up.

Anyway, each day for about a week I would chop away at this tree. I call it the Mardiculous tree, as it is one of the most ridiculous trees I have ever seen. It starts with a normal trunk, but then about 4 feet up, it starts to branch out, and the branches are quite thick. But somehow, within a foot of branching out, they begin to intertwine with each other. Where the branch eventually straightens out, there will be many sproutings of thin upward branches, reaching directly up for many feet because the original branch has bent over with the stress, eventually twisting to intertwine with other branches again. If you try to cut it down branch by branch, especially with a bolo, you could spend the rest of your life on one tree and never finish.

One of the most ugly trees I have ever seen. We have some beautiful trees here, like for example the acacia tree – absolutely gorgeous. And we have the epilepil (ee-pill-ee-pill) tree, a tall, softwood with delicate leaves, seems to let the sunlight bounce against itself, and offer a calming respite. And it grows extremely quickly. The epilepil shades you but lets the sun shine through enough to allow things to grow beneath its shadow.

Back to the Mardiculous tree. This one actually had grown some 6 feet before branching out, which it then produced some 20 trunk-like sprouts that almost equaled the trunk size.

Using my new-found knowledge of trees, their gravitatious (I know, not a word, but should be) tendencies, and the clearing of land in front of the tree to allow a safe landing, I began to whittle away at the offending structure. While the fresh sprouts can be extremely soft, the oldest parts are extremely hard and obnoxious, like some older people I know.

I carefully balanced my chopping between the attack side and the directing side, being conscious of the weight of this tree, which was about 40 feet in height. I cleared a reasonable site of land for the downfall, making sure I had an escape in case the trunk sprung to the backside, as they sometimes do.

The day came that after many hacks at the tree over many days, there started to sound a small creak, almost indiscernible, which made me stop in anticipation, standing aside of the tree, making sure I was not in the downfall area, but at the escape area.

I waited for almost a minute, and then hearing nothing, I tentatively hacked again. An extremely small crack was the result.

I waited again, next to the escape area.

It was a dark and windy day.

Storms were threatening but never delivered. I had calculated the prevailing winds, making sure that every factor was in my favor. I had made sure every hack at the tree was calculated to bring the utmost favor to the falling of the tree, in the proper position.

While I waited, I checked again to ensure that the winds were working properly.

They were.

Nothing happened.

One more hack, and a much louder crack sounded. I stepped back and anxiously watched the crevasse in the tree, and suddenly I saw it cracking, bending exactly towards me.

I jumped sideways and ran down the safe landing area as fast as I had ever run, the safety escape being the prime target of the fall.

I don’t believe I had ever run so fast before.

I suddenly ran past the safety zone, brush and thorns ripping my skin apart, and, as it is a fungle, 5 feet later ran into the edge of the fungle, an immense clear area.

So, I was outside of the forest, so to speak, breathing heavily and sweating profusely.

A very clear, loud, thunderous thunk sounded.

So, the age-old question has been solved.

Tell all those folks wasting your time with silly questions that they are now rendered useless, as the question has been answered once and for all.

On the rare day that we have not gone to the ebabou, we really don’t feel quite right. Up there we have virtually no noise that we have become accustomed to down at the house. The air is fresh, there is always a breeze, and we have a 360° view, the ocean to the east and south, the mountains to the north and west. We can even see Camiguin, the live volcanic island off the coast. Being up there is such a pleasant time, one longs to remain. Now I can see the end of my world further out.

I love this place. I love this life.

The election was yesterday. For the last 2 months there was excitement building, ad-hoc parades, loudspeakers blaring, mini-festivals, lots of discussions, and bribery. Florida had 12 positions to vote for in this election, and from the local candidates she received various sums of money or other products. In the beginning someone came to the door and gave her a package of medicine. Someone had painstakingly cut those foil packages one by one, and in this package was single pills, all different, but none of them had the name on the back, so one did not know what they were. She received anywhere from 20 pesos to 150 pesos (50 cents to $3), sometimes with more medicine. The incumbent mayor (also the rice buyer) gave 2 kilos of rice, about $2.50. Bribery is normal here. The opponent of the Ubay mayor has promised half his monthly salary to be returned to the population. Easy to say, the siphoning of the governmental money is far more lucrative than the monthly salary. There is an airport runway outside Ubay, built 30 years ago, and never finished. It is just long enough to park 4 helicopters on, no more than that. So, useless as an airport, but works well for feeding cows. Somebody has the rest of the money for that airport.

I have complained a bit about Stefanny (Filipino spelling) in this chapter.

There is one in every family.

Stefanny is Florida’s niece. She lives with her grandmother, Florida’s mother, while her mother, Atche, works on other islands and in other countries. Atche, if forced, would actually say she can’t handle her daughter either. Stefanny is 9 years old, and blames her behavior on the lack of a father and mother. Yet, we all know that is not the answer.

There is one in every family.

Grandmothers should be grandmothers; that is what they do best.

Stefanny needs discipline, but unfortunately doesn’t get any. She throws tantrums, demands attention, eats like it is her last meal (noisy, as everything else she does), walks through the house throwing things around, breaking things, terrorizing neighboring children, and has the most abrasive singing voice I have ever heard. To be fair, she can carry a tune, but you will end up wishing she would not. She has only one volume level: maximum. We can hear her at the top of the mountain. And she has no shame whatsoever about her actions.

There is one in every family.

And if you don’t know who I am talking about,

IT IS YOU!!!!!!

And, while I am complaining, I have to tell you about Noel, the nephew.

There is one in every family.

He borrows my jigsaw and drill, as he is doing a project, and then doesn’t return it for a month. When I ask him, he says he hasn’t gotten the wood yet to do the project. I have known him for more than 5 months, and he has, as of today, borrowed the jigsaw for the fifth time. Then he said he couldn’t do his project without the drill. The drill is way up the mountain, being used to build chicken houses at the moment. So he said he will take the jigsaw and wait for the drill. I asked him what he is doing.

You guessed it.

The same project from last November.

I asked if he has the wood now.

No.

He has a thousand or more ideas about making money, all of them do not entail labor. One of his latest is to install water bottles in schools to sell 1 cup of water at a time, the student pushes the button for a cup of coffee and deposits 1 peso in the moneybox. Right.

There is one in every family.

And if you don’t know what I am talking about,

IT IS YOU!!!!!!

And Grandma, dear, dear Grandma.

There is one in every family.

She is never at fault.

The food burns, it is the gas regulator. She forgets the milk, it is because a neighbor was talking to her at the market. She doesn’t buy the laundry soap, it is because they changed the layout of the store. The vegetables don’t grow right, it didn’t rain properly.

There is one in every family.

And if you don’t know what I am talking about,

IT IS YOU!!!!!!

So, I need to conclude this episode, but there are still a few things to tell you.

We had some bad news last week. Tonette, one of Florida’s younger sisters, called to say her husband Bert had died. He had been out in the field on Wednesday, he is a governmental worker working on the land division to the native Filipinos. He returned that evening and didn’t feel very well, but insisted he was ok. The next morning Tonette said he should go to the hospital, and of course he refused.

That evening he came home, sat down in his chair, asked for some milk, and then slumped over.

He was 57.

They would have celebrated their first anniversary later this month.

I knew he was diabetic, but I did not know he had only one kidney. I also knew he liked his tuba (coconut wine), but he should have known one kidney is not a good drinking foundation.

I liked him, having met him at the Christmas family doings, which lasted about 10 days. We did not have particularly deep conversations, but, you become very much aware, very quickly, of the members of a family you have just joined.

And in his own way, I will miss him.

I have recently gone through an experience with the Filipino Law. When I came here, I was in Ubay, with Didith. That eventually did not work out, and we separated.

Unfortunately she determined that everything I had owned rightfully belonged to her.

To make a long story short, that included items I have had for 20 years.

Against all advice given to me by foreigners and natives alike, including the lawyer, I filed suit. No foreigner has been known to win a case against a Filipino.

I cost me $2000, a tremendous sum of money here. But, against all odds, including the judge offering an excuse for Didith and her lawyer not showing up, I won eventually in the next hearing.

A great pressure has been relieved.

Everything I owned, that I brought here, was only things. But, I had gotten them for my enjoyment later in life, and intended on sharing them with my wife. But, that was not to be.

A little bit of history was made here.

Last but not least. I must apologize that I haven’t gotten a camera since I broke the old one, and now would have been a good time to publish some pictures, especially of the ebabou. I haven’t even tried to price one, or to see if the old one could be fixed. But, my mind has been involved with this suit, and there doesn’t seem to be much more room for those thoughts. Hopefully, now that it is over, I can resume my normal (inane) thoughts.

I hope to send many photos next time, not only of the ebabou, but (maybe hard to acknowledge based on my writings of Florida) of a new woman in my life, Babe.

If I can’t, it is not my fault.

Chapter 14

2010-02-08T12:53:00.007+07:00

Ken Ubay had an accident the other day. He and Lanie were traveling to Tagbilaran City when another motorbike pulled out in front of him. Rather than hit the bike and force it into the path of a Jeep, Ken steered and slid away, with various acrobatic movements generally left to the teenagers. Lanie managed to perform a couple aerobatic movements herself, but not quite as damaging as Ken’s movements. Lanie called Marcy, who was in Tagbilaran with her daughter Rhoda. Marcy called her house, and told the housekeepers to run to the garden to tell Ken. As the garden is about a block away and there is no phone there, one of the housekeepers ran to tell him. Florida and I were in Jagna, just returning, when I saw Ken D walking along the road from their garden toward their home, which was totally unusual at that time of the morning. So, I walked to meet him and he told me what had happened, but he was unsure of how serious the accident was. We jumped into his truck and away we went. Fortunately Ken was not seriously injured, a couple stitches to his head and lots of bruises and cuts on his hands and arms.

However, he was injured seriously enough that he shouldn’t get back on that motorbike. We first took him for x-rays, and then brought him to my apartment. The next 3 days he stayed mostly in the apartment, with Lanie and Florida making sure he had proper food to eat. I then drove them back to Ubay for him to continue recuperating.

A few days later, the wounds began to swell, and a trip to his doctor and 5,000 pesos later he was informed that infection had set in. Fortunately it was caught in time before anything more serious happened.

A little history about water here. First, the water pressure provided by the city is typically gravity fed. As most Filipinos are early morning folks, there is little water pressure from about 6am until noon, as everyone is doing their laundry, etc. If you live on the second floor, chances are you will not have any water at all during those hours. You get used to it. As the water pressure is low, most homes have Filipino water fittings, which cannot withstand western type plumbing. My apartment is attached to the home in front of it near the city water piping system. When the owner built this apartment, he redid the plumbing in the front home as well, as both are connected, the front home being his in-laws. And, as he wanted warm showers and lots of water, he built in a hot water tank and used an American to build the system in both homes. So, we have high pressure piping. When he started building his castle about 2 miles away, he took the hot water tank with him. Instead of replacing the tank, we put in a tankless system. However, during the vacancy of the apartment, the in-laws changed the system to include the house next door, which belongs to the in-law’s sister. Now there are 3 homes on city water, gravity fed, with 2 houses with high pressure piping. In order to continue to accommodate the third home, the original 2 homes now only have low pressure, or the piping in the third home would blow up.

While there is a well, the water is not of the best quality. Having said that, the city water is not that much better. I think what happened is that Ken, after showering, did not dress his wounds properly, resulting in the infections. One of the drawbacks of being a foreigner is that you expect things to be the same as back home.

While the offending motorbiker did not flee, the police did not ticket him. Apparently they figured that as long as there was no contact, there was no offense.

Things are not the same as back home.

Even today, right now 86°, people are wearing sweaters and coats, similar to our late fall dressing. This is not for warmth necessarily during the day, but to keep from becoming browner in the sun. Later in the afternoon it is worn for warmth, it being a freezing 82°, sometimes dropping as low as 76° in the middle of the night, but only in January then.

The school had its Christmas Spectacular the Friday before Christmas. I was anxiously awaiting the Feliz Navidad special. Kindergarten performed first, a huge group of children. They performed to Feliz Navidad. First grade came next, with 2 groups each performing Feliz Navidad. Naturally, second grade was next, also with 2 groups, each performing Feliz Navidad.

You guessed it, grade 3, with 2 groups followed with Feliz Navidad.

Finally, grade 4, with 2 groups, followed. They performed to a song I have never heard before, not the Feliz Navidad I had come to hear.

Grades 5 and 6, each with 2 groups, followed with Feliz Navidad.

Seems grade 4 only performed Feliz Navidad for their classroom party only, not for public enjoyment. After all that practicing, I didn’t get to hear the final result.

So, Christmas began in earnest.

In preparation for Christmas, we decided to spend a little money. Florida’s property is on the ocean, but there is a fence between the house and the seawall.

What you see in the picture is the length of the property, from the haphazard bamboo slats on the right to the cross bamboo slats on the left. There is a roof visible on the left side, it is part of the salacote. The family house cannot be seen from the ocean because of the fence.

Almost every day I spend time watching the ocean. In my apartment, I sit on the porch that overlooks, but at Florida’s I sit on the seawall. Sometimes at night it is especially nice to watch, as the moonlight flickers across the waves. It is easy to imagine you are looking at the end of the world. I decided that a simple bench attached to the fence would be a nice addition, perhaps 4 or 5 feet in length, just enough for about 4 people.

We hired a local carpenter, who we sent to the family mountain property to cut down some bamboo for the structure. He cut 6 tall bamboo, which he then split down the middle. The Baranguay Captain, Rudy, spied us working and decided to join us, and brought along some pieces of wood he thought we might want to use. At the end of the day, we had a rather large bench, including a roof just in case the sun got too hot. Total cost for the labor and nails, 300 pesos, 6 bucks. This view is at low tide, the water generally is at the rock wall you see.

Obviously these were taken at low tide.

The following Sunday, the rest of Florida’s family appeared, having taken the ship from Mindanao. That increased the family to 21 members, including myself. Pia’s husband is a sailor, and won’t be home until March, and Cindy, Leonora and Elmer’s daughter, is working in Norway. From the time they arrived at 6pm until they left 2 weeks later, there was never a quiet moment in the house, or the neighborhood for that matter.

Absolute mass confusion existed with only the slightest guidance keeping it from mass hysteria.

It was incredibly wonderful.

It was decided that Christmas would be celebrated on Christmas Eve, and an agenda was developed having certain members performing various tasks, and also including parlor games. The back yard was decorated, and all kitchen functions were moved to the salacote, where virtually everyone collected irrespective of there being room for only 4 people to work comfortably. Having 21 people in there just added to the fun.

On Christmas Eve afternoon, almost every member sat on the bench to watch about 2 dozen turtles surface repeatedly for air (I guess that was what they were doing). Normally only the head would appear, but sometimes an arm would also surface. For less than 2 seconds the head would appear, and then quickly sink below the surface again. Some heads looked to be about 8 inches in diameter, with others being about 3 to 4 inches; I reckoned they were loggerheads. As they were near the coral reef, I assume they were there for their periodic cleaning. In case some of you are not familiar with this process, turtles collect bits and pieces of algae and other denizens of the sea, by mere attachment to its body. From time to time turtles will then move to the coral reef as there are fish there that will pick those bits and pieces off them. A nice meal for them, and dental type cleaning for the turtles.

The previous day Florida and I went to Tagbilaran, where I insisted we buy a present for Joshua. Florida did not want to do that, but finally gave in to my way of thinking.

We bought a watch for 150 pesos, 3 bucks.

That was the only present given in this family.

Small bags of candy were given for the parlor games, the only ‘present’. And, as the bag of candy was given, it was broken open and tossed in the air, so everyone had a chance at receiving even though they lost that particular game.

Laughing and joking, singing and dancing. We started about 5pm, and finally at 10pm we began to slow down.

These folks have little, sometimes only enough money to eat, but you have never seen such happiness. What they do have is shared with everyone that comes to their door. There must have been 16 or 17 groups of carolers that night, each of which was given coins until there was none left, then they were given food.

Goat stew. I highly recommend it. I had never tasted goat before, and if goat by itself tastes as good as goat stew, then don’t pass it by. In fact, I was so impressed I am thinking of investing in a small goat herd. Small goats can be purchased for as little as 5 dollars each. Keeping them is the next problem, as it becomes a bit difficult in the ‘city’ as you need to leash them and walk them somewhere for the day in order for them to eat the grass.

For many years, Florida’s family has owned a piece of land in the mountains; no one is sure how many years it has been in the family. Florida’s father’s family hid there during the Japanese invasion, in fact, her father and aunt both were born on that land before the war although the home no longer exists.

Florida’s home is on the ocean side, with the mountain, of course, being inland. Walking across the National Highway, slightly diagonal, you will find a small narrow path between two homes, one side of which is a masonry wall. Following that pathway you come to several other homes built behind the homes facing the highway. 3 or 4 homes back now revert to rice fields, and crossing them can be tricky as the mud pathways are very thin, approximately 4 inches wide in places. Another 5 or 6 minutes and you come to the change in terrain, the beginnings of the mountain. Following a series of waterways, you then see a stream beginning to run alongside the canals. Cross the stream, and using the tree branches you climb up the side until you reach the top. If you look closely you can find an almost visible path which then takes you to her land. I guess there is about 10 acres there, almost entirely useless as a garden, as only about 100 square feet of it is on level land. The land is in the shape of a bowl, with neighboring properties completing the bowl. Climbing up to the top is not easy, as it is overgrown. There are 7 mango trees; however one is the type that needs chemicals for fruit to arrive. Those types of mangoes are sent to America. The native mangoes do not need chemicals, however, they are not as sweet as the other. There are also about 15 mahogany trees.

I understand there is a further property at the edge of the baranguay, also in the mountains, but no one seems to know much about it, as it is considerably more mountainous than the other property.

Either property would be suitable for raising goats, except for the problem of needy people freeing them from their constraints. So, in order to go into the goat business one must hire someone to stay on the property, which might cost as much as 150 pesos a day, about 3 bucks, plus a shack to live in.

I’m considering it.

Back to Christmas Eve. These folks haven’t a pot, but they are exceedingly happy. Makes one a little humbler than before. Or maybe a lot humbler.

Mom, 6 sisters and the one brother. Standing from left: Atche, Pia, Tonette, Florida. Seated from left: Adel, Martin, Mom and Leonora.

During the games, at one point all the children had to get up and perform to Feliz Navidad. Then all the women had to perform to Feliz Navidad. You can guess what the men had to do. Once the men were finished dancing, we escaped to a table.

Standing from left: Billmark, Noel (with his daughter Erica), the grandsons. Seated from left: Elmer, Martin, R R, Me, and Gilbert.

The expert observer will notice a small bottle neck in the picture, which is filled with tuba. Tuba is a wine made from coconut oil, the coconut being hacked into pieces and then dried. Once dry, which takes almost a day, the coconut pieces are pressed, with the results an oil-like liquid. A food coloring is added, making it look almost like Coca Cola but tasting like vinegar. Tuba is a short-lived commodity, its shelf-life is 4 days maximum, if there is any left. An up-market variety is available, called Bahalina, which comes from another island, Leyte. Bahalina can have a shelf-life of 2 months, and tastes quite different, as it is fermented underground for a period of time. It costs almost $2 a gallon. I prefer tuba. One gallon is just $0.90. Like vinegar, it does amazing things to one. My blood sugar has amazingly under control since I started on tuba. 3 glasses of tuba at night and the blood sugar has been 101 at the highest and 92 at the average. Who needs medicines?

Christmas Day was a gorgeous day, almost cloudless, 84° with a gentle breeze. We spent several hours on the bench, watching flying fish on occasion. We even saw one that not just flew, but walked across the water on his tail. All one has to do is just sit down and watch for awhile.

I have tried my hardest to recognize the rhythm of the waves that poets spoke about so many times, but for the life of me, either I am completely un-graceful or the ocean actually is not rhythmic. There always seems to be a slight difference in time between waves crashing against the seawall.

Speaking of that, imagine this. You are in a space ship, just about at the edge of space, somewhere above the Pacific. In the east, Philippines for example, the waves are crashing against the beach. In the west, California for example, the waves are crashing against the beach. At the same time.

How does that happen? Where in the Pacific does the water separate itself, some going east and some going west? How does that happen? Is there a parting of the sea, similar to the biblical parting? I hope someone has the answer because I don’t. I reckon it works the same in the Atlantic, but no one has explained that to me either.

The rest of the holidays went smoothly, almost no tears from the children. Lots of fun, lots of laughs and lots of food. I have never seen so many people in the kitchen making a meal, somehow managing not to be in each other’s way. All the while laughing and joking and tending to the kids. And not necessarily their own child. Amazing how a child will cry, or even look like they will cry, and the nearest adult takes charge, coddling and cajoling until the crisis is past. And never is the parent involved unless they are the unfortunate one close to the child.

Joshua is slowly becoming accustomed to me and my foreign ways. He doesn’t speak too much to me yet, only good morning, good bye and things like that. But he is slowly gaining confidence and I expect that in a few short months we will be speaking freely without shyness. If I could just stop from thinking he is Yuhisen, a young fella I knew some years ago. I haven’t called him that yet, although I catch myself thinking of him with that name. I think I will soon be able to relate to him as Joshua without thinking, it is getting better every day.

Just before New Years we had a special treat. Sting ray boiled in coconut milk, with a couple green chilies thrown in for a really nice warm sauce. I had never had ray before, but I will never pass if I ever run into it again. Totally unlike fish, a rather stronger flesh, almost like chicken in texture. If you have a chance, try it.

New Year’s Eve. Preparation for the meal began early in the morning. It is tradition in the Philippines to have spaghetti for Christmas and New Years. We not only had that, but several different vegetable dishes, several different recipes of pork, several fish recipes and also another goat. While everything was basically finished before noon, we were not to eat until after the midnight celebration.

Florida and I were invited to Marcy’s sister’s for the evening meal, where we had spaghetti, of course, with lechon, beef, fish and pork. Highlight of the evening there was as typical, the video-oke. We left a little early however, as the pig in the back yard created havoc with Ken’s allergies. This was just as well, as we were getting quite tired by then.

A short nap ensued, with all kinds of alarms going off 15 minutes before midnight. Didn’t need my alarm, as the firecrackers got started early. Joining the rest of the family, and exhausting the meager supply of firecrackers, we then dug into the feast that was prepared more than 12 hours earlier.

No mind that the food is cold; it is a typical situation for Filipinos. When you are cooking by fire, nothing is ready at the same time.

It was fantastic.

The following Sunday the Mindanao group left for the boat back home. We took them to the harbor at 8pm, where they boarded the ship which was to leave at midnight. They needed the rest.

Just a side note. The other day I was traveling somewhere, and alongside the road was a sign with 3 men working on the shoulder -

NO PARKING BETWEEN SIGN

Not signs, but sign.

Sure enough, there was no other sign.

You see vehicles parked on the National Highway, not on the shoulder, but right on the highway. It is not always seen for a delivery truck to actually park in a parking spot. Much easier to stop in the middle of the highway for many minutes to unload, disregarding any safety laws that may exist, if any. Also disregarding any common sense whatsoever. Break downs obviously occur, but typically there is no attempt to move to the side of the road. Just stop anywhere, even on a blind curve. Sometimes you will see a branch in the road about 15 feet before the vehicle. That is to warn you of the vehicle ahead. Sometimes there is no branch before the vehicle, but one after the vehicle.

Go figure.

One of the more precious things seen – a formal invitation painstakingly handwritten –

Come eat my house, I die 2 chickens.

Chapter 13

2009-12-14T13:47:00.013+07:00

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

2009-12-09T15:10:00.001+07:00

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

2009-11-26T10:31:00.003+07:00

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

2009-11-11T21:56:00.001+07:00

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)

2009-05-31T16:34:00.001+07:00

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!