Landed in Manila, and did the Carlos Celdran Tour. I have been following his blog for sometime now. Most of the things he said were things I already knew, but there were things that I didn't know, and I am all the more grateful for that info. Just knowing how Manila became what it is, in comparison to what it could have been (see: Barcelona), means we can all do something to change it.
Snake Island, our first stop in Palawan, and part of the archipelao out of Honda Bay. Government owned, so we didn't have to pay to stay on the island, although a small donation would be appreciated. You have to pay the boatman 600 to get there, but if you are able to find another tourist willing to split the cost, then it would be a lot cheaper. A boat is able to carry up to 6 people. No amenities, no fresh water, so better bring a bottle of tap water, a tent, and a spade in case you want to do number 2 in the wild. If that's too much for you, hop over to Pandan island nearby, where they have toilets and showers with fresh running water. The photo on the hammock (see January) was taken on Pandan Island.
Looks like a hotel room, doesn't it? We wanted to catch the first bus to Sabang, home of the Underground River. After a futile search for a camping site. (I mean mygulay Thomas, we're in the Ph not in Europe, walang camping site dito!), a kindly furniture maker/vendor who had a stall at the marketplace beside the bus station offered us a wooden bed in his stall. In exchange, I guess, for us manning his shop for the night. Robbers are wary when they see people sleeping in the shop. We were woken promptly the next day at 6 am by the squealing of pigs from a slaughterhouse 100 meters away. Fun.
The bus turned out to be this giant monster all-terrain jeepney, which was packed to the brim, complete with people on top. So full, that this guy was standing on the hood of the jeepney. I have had the fortune of riding on top of a jeepney twice! It's like being on a roller coaster! The terrain going to Sabang, where the Underground River is, was very rocky, to say the least. It made me think of an old brake fluid commercial of the Sex Bomb dancers: "Laban Laban! o Bawi Bawi!"
Entrance to the Underground river. Beauty Pageant ang dating, Odiva?
Me facing The Bayawak. I think this is the Philippine Komodo Dragon? Anyway, I can't imagine anybody eating such a creature, although people assure me its meat is delicious.
Mama Macaque with Baby Macaque. Be careful, she might steal your glasses! She has a special fondness for handbags, I've heard.
I remember seeing several of these when I was a kid in Cavite. Now that Cavite has become a suburb of Manila, and I hope that this sight won't become extinct on our islands.
Falls near Sabang. A very rocky two kilometer hike to get there from the main beach. I wouldn't say that the falls were woth the hike, but the rocks are good way to train and test for balance. There is a Chinese temple nearby, where people give donation for "maintenance." I imagine that a lot of wannabe kung-fu artists train here.
The thick jungles of Sabang. I came up with the brilliant idea to climb Mount Apo, an idea that burned so bright in Thomas' head, so we decided to hire a guide to trek the jungle in preparation. Hungry mosquitoes fed on my legs despite mosquito lotion, and I was a bit scared that I was going to come down with Malaria. Although northern Palawan is malaria-free, you never know.
If you want to try trekking that jungle, bring a good hat, a machete and extra clothes. You think of rattan, all nice and beautiful, the stuff your wicker chair is made of. In the jungle, rattan is nasty, its bark covered with big, dangerous needles that pierce your forehead if you're not careful. Filipinos think of Pandan as that nice leaf you put into your rice for flavoring. In reality, Pandan is a spiky monster. Better bring your hat.
This was our destination, the source of the Underground River, called the Daylight Hole. See that rise? I climbed that with only flip-flops on!
Where we were.
After a dusty seven-hour jeepney ride, we reached Paradise. In between San Vicente and Port Barton. Too bad that speculators got there first, and somebody is going to build a resort out of paradise.
Our tent, facing Port Barton beach.
The biggest pothole in history. Our jeepney barely made it through. Note the man walking on the road.
Our next stop after Palawan was Cebu, where we caught this Cessna bound for Camiguin. Thomas took a picture of the plane because he didn't believe me when I told him that was our plane after I saw it land on the runway. Not until the last minute. This is akin to Thomas saying "Takot ako!"
The hardest climb I've undertaken: Mt. Hibok-Hibok on Camiguin. the terrain was rocky, and the rain made everything so slick. We also didn't get a good view of the island because of the rain.
Note the names of the island's governor, congressman, and mayor on this billboard in Camiguin. And the mango-carrying Santa!
This is the life: Ardent Hot Springs, Camiguin.
Sunken Cemetry off Camiguin. This used to be a part of the island when Mt. Hibok-Hibok erupted in the 1870s, and the seismic forces drowned this part of the island. A white cross marks where the cemetery used to be. Snorkeling is great fun, and a bit eerie, seeing how the coral has overrun the graves, exposing their interiors. It's like visiting a normal cemetery. I was reflecting on the lives of these people as the colorful clownfish passed by. I think it is a good idea to be buried underwater and have the coral grow over you. Kind of like the people who want to be buried under trees, their bodies to be used as fertilizer after they pass on. Very ecological, doncha think?
After Camiguin, we took the ferry to Butuan and took the bus to Davao, and went to the Agusan Marsh, where Thomas hoped that we could get a glimpse of crocs in the wild. We couldn't find a campsite. This being Mindanao, there was a general fear among the people for our safety. It isn't unusual to see people carrying high-powered weapons here. We were first holed up in a place that had the temerity to call itself an inn, when we contacted some military people we met, who let us graciously stay in their compound. They were puzzled by the idea that people would want to stay in a tent.
A basketball court in the middle of the Marsh.
This is the habal habal, or Skylab, in honor of the satellite look-alike. I have a very nasty burn scar now just above my right ankle when a habal-habal I took tipped over and the exhaust pipe touched my skin. Transportation being tight and roads being decrepit, this is the method of transportation in many islands. This baby can sit 10 people.
We then moved on to Davao and climbed Mt. Apo
If I would move back to the PH, I would probably choose to live in Davao or Cebu. Can you imagine having a beach within city limits with crystal clear waters? Samal Island, Davao.
Had a small farewell party afterwards. A nice way to end a vacation.
I asked my students to open a blog for their school assignments, so I don't have to schlepp paper everytime I go to class. I am very disorganized, you see.
I just read the blog of one of my students, and it scares me to realize that they are looking for somebody who actually gives a fuck, just as I wanted somebody to please, give a fuck.
I am a firm believer that language is a reflection of the people's culture. Just as the people of Nigeria have 34 different words for Green, Filipinos have a lot of words for Rice.
For the Pinoys out there, think about how many words we have for rice? From Palay to Bahaw, we've got it all covered. Just to show you foreigners that rice is life. In a lot of SEA countries, the word rice is the same as the word eat. In Tagalog, Kanin and Kain don't sound so dissimilar.
As you know, I am currently studying Spanish in preparation for my trip to Spanish. It's actually harder to learn a language that is very similar to my own. What made retaining German hard was its similarity to English. I still have difficulty switching from English to German, but it's a cinch from German to Tagalog, because the languages are so different. I suspect that I will have the same difficulties with Spanish and Tagalog.
I have to get over the fact that in Spanish, Almozar means lunch, not breakfast, that my casa has four paredes, not pader, , that the accent of panaderia is at the "ia ," and not at the "pa."
But what really blows me away is that most of the verbs that Tagalog adopted from Spain are in the third person singular, which is the way Spanish issues its imperatives! I participated in one of Carlos Celdran's tours, and I was struck by something he said: That Filipino street food is a cuisine of tira, or leftovers, a slave's meal. I was struck by the fact that while Alipin seems to be a Malay word, Amo, or Master, is Spanish.
I can imagine how Tagalog picked up certain words because these were the only Spanish words that the poor muchachos picked up, from the orders of their masters. Puede became Pwede. In Visayan, Saka means to climb, which is of course the third person singular of, guess what? Sacar. Cierra? Sara. Sigue? Sige!
I am not begrudging the Spanish for not teaching us the language. I thank them for it because they preserved Tagalog, a very interesting mix of Malay, Chinese, Spanish, and English. What has been done has been done, and I am grateful for the variety they introduced to my language. I actually damn the Filipinos that followed. For all our words for rice, they have failed us by failing to implement Land Reform and actually have our country self sufficient enough to minimize imports. For a country that eats rice morning, noon, and night, we need to import 90 % of our rice, and we are currently at the mercy of ballooning rice prices.
I would like to apologize in advance if I am not able to update my blog. I am having a very busy stretch right now, studying Spanish in preparation for my trip to Barcelona, and trying to get more private work to finance my trip.
I still have to upload photos of my Philippine trip, so I hope you could bear with me!
As Eurotrippen put it, some serious, end of times shit has been afoot. Today and yesterday saw some crazy weather go down. It was sunny, snowy, and cloudy all at the same time!
In other news, Paris Hilton will be headlining the "Wetten, dass..." show this weekend, which will be filmed in Erfurt. Coincidence?
Can anybody help me out with my basil? My basil is acting up. I bought my plant from Lidl, and at first it seemed fine but it has developed clusters of black spots, which seem to be eating the leaves.
The basil is in long planter with rosemary and chives. The rosemary and chives seem fine, but the basil has always acted up. My first basil plant and my chilis died from aphids, but it did not kill my rosemary and chives.
Secondly, I just wanted to share my current favorite song, Superstar from Lupe Fiasco featuring Matt Santos (yes, he's part Pinoy!) Santos has an amazing voice, reminds me of Chris Martin and John Mayer, but just check out his other songs, his range is amazing!
I was a pretty precocious kid growing up. I learned to read when I was three, and my linguistic capabilities were miles away from my peers. It ran in the family. We were bookworms, English teachers, journalists, polyglots.
In the fifth grade I joined a drama group, and I spent my high school years with the drama club. I was such a drama queen growing up, it was the perfect outlet. As I entered my senior year, I asked myself, should I take up drama or journalism next year?
The answer came in the form of Mrs. Guevarra, my fourth year English high school teacher. She had just come back from a scholarship in Japan, and was the second person in the world that I wanted to be like when I grew up (My grandpa was the first). I thought she was so refined and elegant, with the way she walked, and how she sipped her diet Coke in can everyday on her way to class before the first bell rang.
She recognized something in me, me who was so insecure and was bullied to pieces by my schoolmates. She actually validated my existence and recognized that I actually had something to offer the world. For the first time in my life, I thought I knew what I needed to do: I needed to be a writer. It was a plan that I hatched when I was twelve, but I felt that this was the push that told me, to just do it.
So I spent four years in college pretty much immersing myself in the writing craft. It was one of the best times in my life. I may have failed algebra four times, but hey, who cared? I was there to become a writer.
Then I graduated and the real world ate me up alive. It was so cruel and brutal and mean, that I just drifted along in life, trying to become an adult. Classic quarter-life crisis.I never wanted the government journ job I was doing. I thought, maybe I'll leave after two years, which became, I'll leave when I pass my civil service exams. Two years turned into four and a half. The pay was too cushy, the hours too comfortable that I basically vegged out on life. I was just getting my journ career back on track when I met Thomas. I wanted to stay because I was going to miss my family and friends, but a part of me wanted to grow out of my skin so badly that I thought, it's now or never.
I started to learn German two years ago, and discovered that I had a knack for languages. I started to teach English on the side. It was a rough beginning, but I could honestly say that this is the most fun I have ever had working. I swear, the cockles of my heart tingle than to hear a student exclaim "Ach, so!" I get it!
The weird thing is that I am currently teaching Essay Writing, International Affairs, and Public Relations to a group of kids aged 18 to 20. These kids finished Realschule in Germany, meaning they left school at 16. They are on their final year of school, after which they would earn the German equivalent of an Associate degree. I was stupefied to learn that their teachers in school had never required a book report in their classes, nor had these kids written an essay! In my high school, we were required to turn in four essays a year!
Now that I have become Mrs. Guevarra, I take my job pretty seriously. I got pretty good feedbck from my classes. The principal said that the students have asked for more of me, could I teach all of their classes? I teach half of the four hours of English they get in a week. I am completely blown away and humbled by this. This is definitely a long way from life in Manila, but I love what I am doing right now.
My aunt in the US calls me, keeps asking me, when are you going to go back to journalism? I have a few projects tilling in my head, and I feel completely guilty for not pushing through with them. It's the Catholic in me, I guess. She has this feeling that, like her, I have abandoned my dreams to take a menial job. But to be quite honest, I don't think that that life is for me. The stress of the profession is not conducive for raising a family, which is what I want to have someday. I don't miss having to drop everything that I was doing because something is happening in some other part of the city. I don't miss the parola journalism practiced in Manila.
Is it possible to think that you have one calling, and find yourself fulfilled in another?
