First Report After 2 Weeks

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Nov 18/07 - ~4:00 AM

Photos: First Week The Dumpsite Second Week The Falls

It's been nearly 30 hours since my first plane took off. I am currently at the wrong airport. Centennial, they call it. Everything was going dandy until I took a shuttle too "the old domestic terminal." Or at least that's where I thought I was for 2.5 hours of sitting outside on a bench. After trying to claim my Cebu Pacific e-ticket at a Philippine Airlines officer and talking to 5 employees, they finally got the point across to me that I was at another international airport. I had arrived in Manila at Ninoy Aquino International, and thought there was only one other terminal for domestic flights. Good grief! So, now I have to wait for about 2 more hours to take the free shuttle to the domestic terminal. At least I had 9 un-sleepable hours between my actual flights. I am bushed and ready to crash! Must stay awake...

It is so hot, in the middle of this night. It's raining too, so I'm all together feeling pretty sticky in these damp clothes.

The Tokyo airport, which I was at before Ninoy Aquino, had some pretty sweet potty bowls. The first one I saw was like a rut in the ground. I supposed it was for Indians, as they're accustomed to the squat-and-release method used with latrines. The second stall had another one. Well, I guess this was how they did things in Japan. I humbly used the second one, secretly excited about the whole experience. With attempted agility, I did the deed in the crouching position. I even dug up my camera from my carry-on and took some pictures after I was done. Walking out of the stall, I noticed that all the other potties were American-style (or at least that's what I'm going to call it now). Obviously, those latrine-like toilets were there for cultural accommodation, and not Japan's official toilet of choice. There was a toilet for handicapped people with all sorts of buttons and controls on it, perhaps a form of Japanese robot, which looked like it could fly someone to the moon.

I've not said a single Tagalog word to anybody yet, because I'm to shy. But I don't want to be shy, because if am here, it probably won't get easier later, especially when I'm in another country and know even less of their language. Maybe it will get easier, but I just don't want that much attention in public right now.

Hurry up, shuttle!

I met a girl from Iowa on my flight to Tokyo who was going to Korea to teach English. I couldn't help but be a little bit jealous, because I am still in love with linguistics and love to travel. In other words, I want to teach English (or another language) across the globe.

The feeling of being very small in an extremely large world has definitely started to sink in, and the adventure has hardly even started. I am nearly disappointed that nobody has picked my pockets or slashed my backpack yet. As dastardly devious as such an act is, a very small part of me respects the training one would have to go through to acquire the stealth necessary. Obviously, I'd be pretty bummed if it happened to me, but I already learned earlier this year that life is most exciting when you take the good with the bad.

This airport has so much security on the exterior alone. There's got to be at least 10 or so groups of 3 or 4 guards smoking cigarettes on their wheelie chairs, chatting with soon-to-be fliers and each other, and doing their best to help me out. Their attempt to help me at first was a nuisance, but after a while I realized they just like to accommodate 'Americans' so much. "Where are you going" was their phrase of the night, doing whatever they could to get me on the right path. I went to 4 CRs (washrooms) that were either closed or in maintenance, and in the 4th one there was a guard, out like a light on the job.

The shuttle is here.


Nov 25/07
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Winnipeg to Minneapolis was a quick flight, and hardly worth the ascension. The Minneapolis airport is probably the nicest airport I have seen so far. It was not as large as the Tokyo airport, which was currently under construction and very spacious. I was expecting an oceanic mass of people to be cramped into the Tokyo airport, but I guess it looked so quiet because of my location in the terminal and it was early evening already. The Manila airport is also substantially sized, and it was the most crowded of all airports I went through, when I arrived at 10:50PM. There, I passed through the long lines of the immigration into official Philippine territory. After a quick luggage pickup and currency exchange, I stepped out of the airport and walked to the shuttle station. I asked a driver to bring me to the domestic terminal, so he did. However, I got off at the Philippine Airlines terminal. My flight was with Cebu Pacific. Still unaware of this, I waited till 2AM to claim my e-ticket, and then found out I was at the wrong terminal. The next shuttle came another 2 hours later and brought me to the Cebu Pacific terminal. While my mis-travel was a waste of time, I had the time to waste, and I was able to see all 3 of the active airports in the Philippines. Apparently there's another massive airport that is completely finished but lying dormant due to government corruption. Intriguing!

So, aside from the minimal space and general chaos I experience for nearly 3 hours, something interesting happened. After slamming back a delicious bowl of mami (a kind of soup), I needed to let it all out. I went into a stall and the CR attendant handed me a few tissues. I assumed they had just run out. After I was finished, he turned on the faucet for me and squeezed some soap onto my hands. Then, he proceeded to ask for a tip. I said no, because I don't like people begging for tips. They were awkward actions in attempt for money. It happened 2 more times before flight time.

As we neared Puerto Princesa at a low altitude above the ocean, it looked disappointing. Here was the land that I was dying to see, and it didn't even look that amazing. When we touched down, I felt a surge of hope with the pal trees around me and a scorching sun surrounding us. I exited the plan by ladder; the airport was a shack with no walls and a tin roof on top; the luggage belts were loaded manually; immigration was a small desk where a man wrote my name, gender and nationality in a notebook. After 'immigrating' and picking up my backpack, I went to go meet Mar, who drove me under the canopy of a multi-cab to the tricycle terminal. From there, I took a tricycle to the YWAM base, 25 minutes out of Puerto Princesa.

The ride from Puerto Princesa to Santa Lourdes (a barangay) was the most exhilarating sight I have seen yet. In all my travels, this was the climax. Adjectives alone can not do this place justice, but here's something for you to imagine:

I am in the city. It's big, but it doesn't look big. Not because there's nothing here, but because there's everything here in a single block. Buildings are narrow and tall, and electrical wires run wherever they have to in order to supply the businesses. The roads rise and fall like sine waves. On these busy streets, ride a combination of personal motorcycles, and "tricycles." Tricycles are a motorbike with a sidecar and canopy welded on. Here, it is the taxi: budget travel, the urban transit, transportation of choice. Every intersection is laid back mayhem. I've decided to describe the driving technique as aggressive-defensive. If you're in a hurry, it ain't no thang to pass on the shoulder, or even straddle the 2-way line. The right of way goes to whoever reaches the intersection first, and if you're in a hurry you can just rev your engine and go through anyway. It's crazy, chaotic, absolutely mind-boggling, but it works. And it works very well. Jaywalking is the only wait to deal with this as a pedestrian. Road rules here are merely guidelines. Moving down the road towards the barangay (village), we pass by bamboo huts shingled by grass and leaves. All are smaller than the small house in Canada. Laundry is hanging to dry within the boundaries of a bamboo fence which defines minimal property. Kids are jumping off the road into rock pools, and a smoky fire broils beneath a pot of food. Kalabaws (water buffalos) appear occasionally, only held back by a rope tied to its horns. Banana trees, coconut trees and bamboo are on either side. At one spot, a farmer cuts down his crop with a bolo (small machete). This is far from a resort. Many houses along the way are disheveled and damaged. Walls are torn down and lying on the ground; garbage and debris litters the yards. It's very evident that a lot of life is lived in the outdoors here. In Santa Lourdes, chickens run free across the road from yard to yard. For what reason I don't know, but I've been told they always come back to their eaters. Even a store here is made of bamboo and windowed with chicken wire.

In that too-short ride, I saw the extravagance, the poverty, the industry, the nature, the home life, and the desperation of a place where life is lived on the edge. People here rely on guidance, their salary and family. Life here is raw. And I love it. Before I even paid the driver for my ride (150 pesos, $3.33), I had already decided that I would like to live here: in a hut, or dingy apartment only accessible via a dirty back alley, or even the alley itself. Everything is beautiful here to me. For those of you who know how much I hyped the Philippines up before even coming here, take note: You have to see it for yourself. It blew even me out of the water.


Dec 01/07
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This week has been a long one: not painfully, but enjoyably. Unlike a week of summer camp, 6 months will not fly by in what feels like a weekend. This week was designated as orientation week. I've already gotten to know the others here so good. By the time the DTS ends, they will definitely feel like family.

We had 3 days of solid rain earlier this week. The river nearby flooded, and our road was out of commission. On the second of those nights, we experienced a typhoon and it was so noisy in our hut. Not only was the sound of wind blasting against our bedrooms walls uncomforting, but our shutters would blow open and hit the wall, waking any sleepers.

On Wednesday, we went as a class to Puerto Princesa to familiarize ourselves with it. Even with a local by my side (Fatima), it was nerve-wracking. Things are so different here. Even though people stare at me a lot for being white, it's (usually) because they're emphatically curious about the 'American.'

The next day, we had a brownout (what we call a blackout, so we had no electricity. No electricity meant we had no working water pump, which meant no water...well, no running water. We laid our many buckets and containers to collect the water that ran off the roofs for laundry and showers, and the water from the showers we took in buckets, was used to flush toilets (our toilets flush manually, some don't even have a seat).

After 2 days, the rain stopped. We still had no electricity. What made this situation worse than before was the complete lack of water (and for me, lack of clean clothes). I'm fine with dirty clothes on this excursion of mine, but for the sake of those I'm living with, I needed to clean them. Me and a few others went down to the river -- still murky from the flooding -- to wash out clothing. If you know me, you would believe me when I say that I immensely enjoyed this week: river laundry, hang-drying clothing, sleeping under mosquito nets on an inch of sponge, candle-lit meals, showering in a bucket, being woken up every day by bickering roosters as early as 4:30AM, and traveling with 5 other people on a tricycle (a motorbike with a sidecar welded on).

The dumpsite! We went to go feed some fruit-porridge to kids at the local dumpsite. Steph, one of the students was brave enough to teach them a song, and they loved it so much, that even I got into it, actions and all. Aiza, one of the DTS staff, let me scoop the food into the containers the kids brought. Some of them were so dirty, held by even dirtier hands. Still, they were the cutest kids I've ever seen. You've probably heard this from me before, but Philippines kids are by far the cutest kind of kid, ever. I want to adopt a poor Filipino kid some day. Being at the dumpsite was one of the best moments of my entire life. Better than my birthday, better than an amusement park, better than payday. I want to go back, soon! I want to change a life, not with just a meal, but with friendship, community, and hope.

This week's topic was Worship, and a guy from YWAM Antipolo (a sub-city of Manila) came to deliver it. Aside from really great teaching, I and he had some great conversations, and he invited me to stay there anytime. He also offered to help me get a good deal on a cell phone and things to see in the city. His name is Caleb Badajos, and I call him kuya Caleb. Kuya is Tagalog for "big brother."

We have daily duties here. So far, I have done some cleaning up, hospitality care, and supper preparation. This has completed the idea of community living that we practice here, and it's already starting to feel like home. Even now, I wonder if I'll be able to leave this place after my 6 months are up. I've asked questions like "is it possible for me to get a citizenship here?" and "how much does a house cost?" It's dreamy curiosity for right now.

When I went to Puerto Princesa last weekend, I felt much more at ease than earlier. Sure, people still stare and make comments in Tagalog that I don't understand, but I feel more capable of handling it now. Ate Barbie explained that white people draw so much attention here because people assume our fair complexion equates to a lot of money and find it physically attractive. My white skin is physically attractive? To a nation full of brown people, yes. There is no artificial tanner here, obviously. Here, they have a lot of skin whitening cream. Even soap, body washes and hand lotion have whiteners in them. Obviously, the assumption that we have a lot of money also makes us susceptible to pick-pockets and bag-slashes. But from my experience so far, the people curious to talk to the "Americans" and treat them special far outweigh the devious. Kids and adults sometimes wave to me just because I'm white. In the case where they're not too shocked, they love it when I speak Tagalog to them.

Every second store sells new or used cell phone accessories. If there is any priority higher having a cell phone here, I'd like to know what it is. People here would sell their houses for a cell phone, it would seem.

Balut is not as bad as people think. Sure, it's a partially developed duck still in the eggs, and it looks horrific, but it's not too bad at all. I almost gagged a few times, but not from the flavor. It tastes like eggs with some meat inside. We had 16-day balut. Apparently the 19 day balut has feathers and a beak already. Fatima could see the duck in fetal position. It was her first time too, but she eventually ate it.

It's December, and I got sunburn today. It's a weird feeling to be wearing shorts and a sleeveless t-shirts so close to Christmas. Even stranger is the sight of a giant Christmas made from a satellite station in such warm climate.

I and about 8 others went to "the falls" today. It has a name, but nobody knows it. It's a 45 minute walk from our place, but its scenery is entertaining. Hilltop huts, broken bridges and rivers cross our path to the falls. With my trunks and New Kids on the Block cut-off shirt on, we headed out. The falls themselves were amazing. We climbed up and down, sometimes directly in the path of water, and sat behind the waterfall at one point. Steph fell down the waterfall at one point, and despite the aches and pains she acquired we all had a good laugh. I, of course, felt the need to be dangerous. Not foolishly dangerous, but skillfully dangerous. Wow, it was so much fun.

These are some of my favorite moments/aspects of life here so far:
- The latrine-like toilet in the Japanese airport.
- Riding in a tricycle and experiencing the complete chaos of traffic on a Sunday afternoon in Puerto Princesa.
- Being at the wrong airport in the middle of the night, still completely sleep-deprived.
- Having CR attendants doing everything for me but the deed itself
- Washing clothes by hand in a basin
- Washing clothes in the river
- Hang-drying my clothing
- Living in a hut at the top of a hill
- Being woken up by roosters as early as 4:30 AM
- Climbing the waterfall
- Steph falling down the waterfall
- Washing dishes in basins
- Every meal is cooked over a fire.
- Serving hot fruit soup to mangy kids at the dumpsite
- Walking through the dumpsite to see Sammy's house
- My several nicknames: Tangkad (tallness), Dato Puti (White King), Pato Puti (white duck)
- Eating balut
- No electricity for 3 days
- The dance-off game
- Rubbing soot onto my face unknowingly (because that's what happens at Base Fellowship)
- Mangy dogs showing up at the base to steal Impi and Nipsi's food
- Roosters running wild on the yard
- Jijam, the adorable monkey that likes to pick at my birthmarks and bite Impi in the leg when he's not looking.
- Typhoons (we've already had two)
- Extremely cute kids

There's more, but my time is limited.

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