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Published: January 18th 2024
The volunteers
Jan, Vivienne, and me go nativeThe shanties of Cebu City are nothing more than crates stacked on top of each other, waiting for the next typhoon to sweep them away. There are no sidewalks. Exhaust-blackened storefronts offer junk for sale. Tattered laundry flaps from second-floor windows. Stray dogs lie in the middle of the road. Children play among piles of unused construction material—broken cinder blocks, rusted pipes, fragments of corrugated sheets-- covered in weeds. Dark narrow alleys reach back into the slum as far as I can see; as far as I dare to see. We are in an air-conditioned van, stuck in rush-hour traffic, inching our way to Shangri La, a generic resort surrounded by barbed wire and armed guards.
I wondered about the wisdom of bringing my granddaughters—Vivienne (12) and Bella (5)-- to the Philippines for their first big international trip, but their mother-- my daughter Laura—reminded me of the time I took her and her brother to Zimbabwe for a whole year. Besides, she reassured me, everything has been arranged by Richelle, her fiancée’s Filipina stepmother, and Richelle’s family. We would be staying with them in their homes and at various hotels.
As we crossed the bridge to nearby Mactan Island
the road broadened, traffic lightened, and we picked up speed. From my position in the back of the van I couldn’t tell what caused the jolting bang. Had we run over something or someone? But our van was now in hot pursuit of another van, horn blaring. We had been sideswiped; our passenger-side rearview mirror was dangling from a cable and the sideswiper was trying to get away! We finally caught up with him and forced him off the road. There was a confrontation between the drivers with lots of yelling in Tagalog. I tried to look big. Vann, fiancée Lennon’s father and a retired attorney, added to the melee by shouting out finer points of California’s Vehicle Code. The owners of the two van companies were contacted and managed to work things out. It was only then that I thought to ask if the girls were alright. Vivienne turned around in her seat, smiling broadly, and said, “That was exhilarating!”
Flying Monkeys
The Philippines weren’t high on my list of places to go, but when Laura told me about the trip I knew she would need help. For one thing, she and Lennon would be in business class
Adam and Eve
A detail from the ceiling of the Santo Nino Basilica in Cebu while the girls would be sitting with strangers in economy class. I booked seats on either side of them and asked my sister, Jan, if she would take the seat on the other side. Jan always complains that I don’t take her on my trips, so I’d be killing two birds with one stone.
During the 15-hour flight I sat next to Bella, who exploded into a mushroom cloud of crayons, stuffies, and blinking gizmos the moment she sat down. “Are we on the plane yet?” she asked. A reasonable question given the lengths airlines go to hide the fact that you’re sitting in a metal tube seven miles up in the air. I tell her yes. She looked around and said, “It’s like a bus”. A great description, I tell her; it’s like a flying bus.
Not long after the plane took off Bella started mewing for her mother. Luckily the plane had a seat-to-seat messaging system, so I was able to get a message to Laura, who was able to smuggle Bella into business class for a few hours so that I could sleep. When she returned it was like having a ferret tossed into the
Sideswiped!
Our mirror hangs by a thread. seat next to me. I spent the next 10 hours chasing her around the plane. It’s a good thing Filipinos like kids.
Resort Life
I don’t like the paradoxical dilemma resort life raises for me. On the one hand, I am uncomfortable in the role of the lord and master who must be kowtowed to by a staff of obsequious servants. I was a socialist in college for God’s sake. On the other hand, I grow impatient when my shrimp salad arrives late at the table. The situation isn’t helped by the solicitous nature of the people. The Philippines is a nation of caregivers. Indeed, a significant chunk of the economy comes from Filipinos who work in US nursing homes and send money home.
Laura added to my dilemma by booking a massage for me at the resort spa, something I would never do for myself. Like most men, my body image is better than my body reality. I maintain the fiction that I’m not a fleshy white blob by avoiding mirrors and massages. Also, I’m squeamish about being fondled by strangers. The spa was a Polynesian-style pleasure dome set off from the rest of the resort, hidden
hidden grotto
To get to this grotto we had to swim through a hole in the rocks. Notice the fractal nature of the rocks. behind a beautiful garden and surrounded by a koi pond. Inside new-age music and the scent of essential oils wafted through the air. My masseuse guided me to a dressing room, handed me a robe and a package, and told me to get undressed. Alarms rang in my head. Inside the package I found a pair of black fishnet briefs. More alarms rang. The briefs made me look like I was auditioning for a German porno movie. On the table my muscles responded to her touch by stiffening, recoiling. Suddenly, I was ticklish everywhere. I also itched everywhere. Instead of letting my mind drift into blissful silence I feverishly rehearsed the no-no-no speech I would make if she got too close to my crotch. When it was finally over, I felt great.
Asia, at last
We were all glad to escape from Sangri La-di-da to the white-sand beaches, dragon-tooth mountains, and colorful trimarans of El Nido Island. After a day of snorkeling and kayaking Vivienne and I were in a tuk-tuk heading back to our cottages. It was dusk. The main street through town was a narrow dirt road. To the outsider, it would appear as pure chaos. Tuk-tuks,
kayaking
Notice that Vivienne isn't paddling. She said only grownups should have to paddle. Hmmm. jeepneys, and pedestrians jammed together like corpuscles squeezing through an artery clogged by centuries of filth. But no one gets impatient. Miraculously everyone will eventually get where they are going. The night market was buzzing with shoppers. Great gobs of tangled wires hung from telephone poles. We were awash in fumes, colors, and noise. This is Asia, I told wide-eyed Vivienne.
Beach Life
The El Nido beaches divide dense forests of coconut palms from the pale-blue waters of the South China Sea. Nestled among the coconut palms are beach clubs where wealthy European millennials with beautiful bodies lounge on beanbag chairs. They photograph themselves sipping mojitos to the thudding beat of rave music. The water is unbelievably inviting. It is shallow, warm, and calm. I can see the bottom as if looking through glass. The granddaughters spend entire days swimming. At last, I understand why dolphins and seals decided to give up their legs and return to the sea. I resolve to do the same.
Bahala Na (Whatever will be will be)
On the day of our flight to Bohol a volcano burped in nearby Indonesia. It turned our sky smokey red and grounded our plane. We spent
Me & Inky
Lennon and I hang with the Millenials the better part of two days in the departure lounge of El Nido’s tiny airport. “Lounge” is a misnomer. There was no lounging to be had. Seating was provided by repurposed church pews. The ceiling fans were switched off. One tiny refreshment stand served coffee and cookies but demanded exact change, a rare commodity in the Philippines. Not a peep of complaining from the granddaughters. Their devices kept them occupied.
The White House
Richelle is one of 13 children. Some of her sisters have gathered at the White House, their family vacation home on Bohol Island, for a five-day reunion. The house is a modern U-shaped structure built around an infinity pool that looks out onto the beach. They had been waiting for two days for us to arrive, so when we finally rolled up to the front door there was much celebration. The table was ladened with lumpia, adobo, lechon, green papaya soup, and fried bananas. Bella found among the relatives the little sister she has longed for, also called Bella, and led her off by the hand. Vivienne hit the pool. Later that night the karaoke machine was fired up. Vann, a former rock star, had the
Mother and daughters
Taken on board a trimaran island hopping expedition best voice.
River Cruise
Jarring. That’s the word that keeps popping into my head. Today’s plan was to float up the Rio Verde to see a bit of jungle. Contrary to my expectation, our vessel was an air-conditioned glass-enclosed dining room set on top of a barge. The table was set with fine china. In one corner was a buffet of the usual Philippine delicacies of salty meats cooked in vinegar. In the other corner, a guitar player played golden oldies on an electric guitar. The music blended with the sounds of ten different conversations and a crying baby. The cacophony ricocheted off of the glass walls. It felt like bees were living in my head. I like eating. I like music. I like talking. I like boats. I like jungles. But do we have to do all of these things at once?
Jan and I stepped out of the chaotic dining room onto a narrow strip of deck. We both needed a bit of calm and wanted to absorb the passing jungle, which forms continuous walls of dense vegetation along both banks. Around the next bend we saw men in tribal garb-- grass skirts, feathered headdresses. Some
Jan and Laura
So glad jan could join us were beating on oil drums while others danced. For a few seconds I was excited. The Atti are one of several indigenous peoples who live in isolated villages deep in the Philippine jungles. Could this be them? As our barge pulled alongside the dock the men grabbed my sister, put a silly hat on her head, handed her a spear, and instructed her to dance. Soon everyone from the boat was doing the same. The “natives” arranged us into a weird Disneyesque tableau. One of them took a swig of gasoline and spit it out through a flaming bamboo tube to create a huge lick of flame just as another snapped our picture. I wondered how we were supposed to explain this picture to our friends at home. Would we say that we had joined a tribe? Gone native? Been kidnapped? Were we having fun? Why do we love simulations? Why do we love photographs of ourselves participating in simulations? As we got pushed back onto our dining room barge I noticed another dining room barge patiently waiting its turn to be photographed with the fire-breathing natives.
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Barbara X Brown
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Jon thanks for your generous brilliant discourse. Loved it! Now in my paradise second home in Ko Yao Noi Thailand, a small island an hour away from Phuket. So peaceful here, no squalor. People do not have the western disease of greed. Giving is getting, magical. XOXO