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Published: August 8th 2007
Before I get to the main subject of this entry - my journey into the unknown - I want to talk a little about the country and about Manila, as that is the place that I flew into and where I am now.
My first impressions of the city were that it is huge, busy and smog-filled but I really liked it. The people have been exceptionally friendly nearly everywhere I have been (sometimes a bit too friendly!), they seemed curious of me and the women love my pale skin! I get a lot of attention walking down the streets here - maybe it is because I am on my own, or maybe it is because they don't seem to get many solo Western women here. Either way, it is the first time I have experienced this kind of attention as I was never really that different to anyone in South America.
One side of this place I really don't like is that I have seen a fair few unattractive, middle-aged, Western men walking around with their 'trophy' Filipino wives. It is pretty unpleasant to see - the women never look happy, and I really wonder what type of
Leaving Sydney
View from the planelife they have. I don't doubt that they have much more financial security than they had before, but to what cost? My impression is that they must have to sacrifice a part of themselves to be with these men and I wonder if any of them ever question if it was worth it. I wonder how many of them would do it again if they had the chance to travel back in time and change anything. One woman I saw really affected me - she looked so unhappy and bitter and had a face like she hadn't smiled in years. And she visibly recoiled every time her partner touched her. I saw them in a photography place, where I was getting some photos taken for my visas, and he had taken her to get her portrait taken. I saw the final picture and noticed that she couldn't even bring herself to smile for that. Neither of them seemed to notice or care about that though. But she looked somehow, I don't know, empty. For her to have thought that her life would be better like this, must mean that her life before must have been pretty awful. But maybe that's
just me and my Western mind oversimplifying everything. However I still can't help but wonder what she might have sacrificed to have the so-called 'quality of life' she has now - love, perhaps?
I sat next to a man on the plane here who said he comes to the Philippines for a few days, a few times a year. He told me that he stays with 'friends' in Manila for a couple of nights and then heads to Angeles, where he has more 'friends'. He either didn't realise or care that I know all about Angeles and the reason why anyone goes there - sex. To sleep with the poor women who feel that is all they can do to make a living and have a life. And what about the ones who don't have a choice? I'm not talking about your average Amsterdam here. Sex trafficking and the sex industry in the Philippines is big business. And not necessarily above-board big business either.
But enough of that.
About half an hour after I arrived at my hostel I got talking to an Australian guy who told me he has been living and travelling in the Philippines
for the last 18 months or so, and that he just heads off to explore random islands every now and again, not really knowing where he is going to end up, looking for good surf. He can speak the local language, Tagalog, and told me about some of the places he has been, and how he has met, got to know and stayed with communities of people living on islands that are so far off the tourist trail that they aren't on any tourist map you could buy. Upon hearing this my eyes lit up. After Australia I was in dire need of a real, getting-my-hands-dirty, unique travelling experience so when he mentioned that he was going off for another adventure in a few days' time I asked him if he would be willing to take me with him. He said no problem, but on one condition: I was not to ask where we were going as he wouldn't tell me, and after we got back I was not to tell anyone where we had been or how to get there. He said the people on this island were so special that he didn't want scores of Westerners descending on
them and spoiling the life they have. I agreed. I mean, how can I tell anyone something that I don't even know?!
(In case you're wondering, there was a point in all of this that I wondered if I was being a little stupid, taking off with a guy I didn't know, to a place I didn't know, where the people spoke a language I didn't know . . . but my curiosity had been piqued and I couldn't turn down this once-in-a-lifetime offer. And the irony of the thought of spending time with an Australian after spending the last few weeks looking forward to leaving his motherland was not lost on me either.)
So, later that week, Tao and I (yes, that is his real name. He has a hippy mother. And what's more he even has no surname - the name on his passport simply says 'Tao'. I think this story even tops the origin of your name, Abran!) hopped on a bus to a port a few hours away from Manila, where we would catch a fishing boat out to the island. We arrived at the port at around 2am and walked around for a
while until we found the boat we were looking for. As luck would have it, it was the same boat that Tao had caught on his previous trip, so he knew the crew. They invited us to spend the night on the boat with them, as they weren't leaving until the next morning. I was amazingly grateful to them for the offer, as shortly after we arrived at the port a group of drunk guys sidled up to us and started being incredibly irritating, so it proved to be a useful escape. We fell asleep listening to nothing but the gentle lapping of the waves against the boat, and woke up to a different story altogether . . .
What had looked like, and indeed was, a sleepy little town at 2am the previous night was a hive of activity the next morning. It was quite a shock! We awoke to people bustling around everywhere, loading up the boat with fuel, supplies and passengers in preparation for its journey back to the island. It was my first real glimpse of life in the Philippine provinces and although it was a shock at first, I loved it. I love being
thrown into new, unfamiliar situations.
After sitting around for what seemed like an eternity, we eventually set off on the 5 hour trip to the island. The journey was beautiful, the waters clear and calm, and after we had been sailing for a couple of hours the sun came out so we spent the rest of the trip sat on the top of the boat, watching what seemed like hundreds of beautiful, lush green islands pass by. At one point we cruised through a sheltered bay, and the water became so calm it was like we were sailing on a pond. I have never seen water so deliciously silky-smooth.
Tao had tried to prepare me for what would greet me when we arrived at the island, but no amount of words could possibly prepare me for what the experience was like. As we arrived we were greeted by the sight of scores of children swimming and splashing around in the water, climbing onto the boat and jumping off into the sea. And all I could hear were ecstatic cries of 'Tao! Tao! Tao!' Everywhere I looked there were people, both children and adults, staring at me like I
was an alien, and to them I guess I was. I discovered that I was the first Western woman to ever visit the island, meaning that they had never seen a white female in the flesh before. Try as I might, I simply cannot articulate what that felt like. It was INSANE. And that was just the beginning of it - it got crazier from then on.
As we set foot on dry land, we were met by what felt like hundreds more children, and wherever we walked we were joined by more. By the time we reached where we were going to be staying, there were children pretty much as far as the eye could see. And they were all staring at me. Some of the more confident ones started touching my arms, legs and hair, talking to me in Tagalog (none of which I understood at that point); some of the more shy children would hide behind each other and I would just see little faces poking out from behind other faces, all with the same look of intrigue and utter bemusement at the sight of me. When I got my camera out (Tao had told me
that they love having their picture taken, and that it wouldn't in any way be an intrusion) a lot of them instantly clicked into 'perform' mode and starting playing around, pulling faces for the camera and running around everywhere. It was totally overwhelming.
We were to stay where Tao had stayed on his previous visit, which was with the island's Capitan (what I understand to be like the 'leader' of the island - a sort of cross between a chief of police and a mayor) and his family in their home. He wasn't there when we arrived, so I met his wife instead, who Tao said was freaking out as she thought their lives and their home were too simple and I think she felt embarrassed. She need not have worried though, as although it is fair to say that I was rather freaked out by the enormity of everything when I arrived, I soon adjusted to life on the island (well, as much as I could anyway) . . .
The pictures of the house will do better to explain what it was like than I could in words, but it was basically constructed of breezeblocks, wood,
scrap metal and a reed roof that leaks when it rains. I loved it. All the houses on the island were like this, but each had its own style and personality that reflected its owner. I was sleeping on a hard, slatted wooden bed, covered by a mosquito net. There is no malaria present on the island, but it still isn't pleasant to be attacked by the mozzies while you sleep. Although there are 'rooms' of sorts inside, there are no real walls or doors so everyone pretty much sleeps together. The Capitan and his wife sleep in makeshift beds in the living room with some of their (many) children. Cooking and eating take place in the covered outdoor area, and it was the custom that the family would not eat until Tao and I had, which meant if they got up early in the morning (which they did!) then we had to as well, or we would stop them from having their breakfast. Food was three meals a day, which consisted of basically the same thing for each - fish and rice, or variations thereof. I thought that I would soon get bored of eating this every day I
was there, but actually it was so delicious (as it was always freshly caught and cooked) that I never once found myself tiring of it. I looked forward to every meal, and ate a huge amount. Drinking water came from a nearby well, and was beautifully pure. I was worried that I might get ill while I was there, but I wasn't sick once. Don't believe everything you read in the guidebooks.
The toilet and shower were in a small outhouse, and although I was initially fairly nervous about the lack of toilet paper and such luxuries and about performing my ablutions outside, I grew to actually really enjoy it. There is something simply beautiful about showering by pouring a bucket of cold water over your head, while looking up at the stars. To come back to a hot shower was strange. I hadn't missed it at all (although that's easy to say when it's scorchingly hot every day).
Laundry was done either in a bowl using water from the well (the same water that was used to shower in) or in a nearby river. I washed my clothes twice while I was there, once in each place.
The act of doing laundry is a big social thing with the island's people, and it is not uncommon for it to take all day. And it constantly amazed me how they could get their clothes so clean using laundry soap and brown river water. When the kids got bored by the mundanity of washing their clothes, they would amuse themselves and each other by blowing soap bubbles through their hands.
For Tao and I, every day had a similar format. We would wake up early (although I would try and sleep for as long as I could get away with) and pretty much from then on until we went to bed, we would hang out with the kids. It was amazing how we could keep ourselves so busy doing very little. Boredom is not really a word that exists on the island, or at least it has no tangible use there. We would go on long walks to get coconuts (and watching the young kids scale the vertical palm trees is an eye-opener), play in and around the house, mess around taking photographs, or swim in the sea and hang out on the boat (called the 'Missionary'). One
afternoon Tao and I had been swimming around the boat and were invited on board to have a few drinks with the crew. After we had been drinking a fair while, we realised that it had got dark and we would have to swim back to shore in the darkness. This turned out to be one of the most memorable experiences of my time there, as the sea was so beautifully warm and there was phosphorescence in the water which made the skin on our hands glow as we were swimming. I turned onto my back and floated in the water - as I opened my eyes I was greeted by the sight of millions of stars in a beautifully clear sky. It really is the simple life there, and it was great to be a part of. The purity of the children and their games, and their ability to make a fun use out of everything, really struck me. No Playstations there, and long may it continue to be that way. One day we did some drawing with the kids, as we had brought with us crayons, coloured pencils and drawing books, and as soon as they had overcome
some of their shyness, they ended up drawing me some really cute pictures, which I have kept as a memento of my time there.
On my second day on the island I was out walking and I cut my foot on a rock. Unfortunately, if this happens on an island in the tropics it is unbelievably difficult for the wound to heal, as it is constantly wet or dirty, or most likely both. This wound, along with an insect bite I had got on the same foot, quickly became infected and my foot swelled up so that I couldn't wear my flip flop. When Tao cleaned the cut for the first time to remove all the dirt and grime that had got trapped in it (I couldn't do it as it hurt too much) I started crying. It wasn't so much the pain (although that was pretty bad), it was more out of frustration that this had happened. It is hard to describe, and possibly difficult to understand, but at that point I felt so much responsibility being there. If I was the first white woman these people had met, I wanted their opinion of me to be a
positive one - I wanted them to see the strong, independent woman I consider myself to be, not some feeble little girl that couldn't cope with a cut on her foot. So while I was lying on the floor with Tao cleaning my foot, with my hands over my face, knowing that I was surrounded by about ten questioning children who were laughing at me because that is how they deal with misfortune and pain, all these thoughts and all the pressure I had put upon myself overwhelmed me and I broke down into huge, heaving sobs. That moment was a real low point for me. But after that it felt like the cloud had lifted. It was after that moment that I stopped trying to represent the entire Western world and just became myself. Love me or hate me, these people were going to get to know the real me, warts and all. I realised that what I wanted to experience with these people transcended the colour of our skin. It became irrelevant. To me at least - their obsession with my pale skin endured throughout my whole visit.
In some ways my inability to be able to
go out and play games with the kids like I wanted to really disappointed me and I often became frustrated that I couldn't walk around, let alone run around, but in other ways it opened the door to some different experiences. One day I sat and started drinking some local rice wine with the women, and although I couldn't communicate with them very well I could sense that this was a really positive gesture on their part. They really wanted me to spend time with them and I felt like they had accepted me into their community. These women are so strong and are much more than just mothers - although admittedly this takes up a huge amount of their time as the average number of children per household is around nine. I was told that one woman had given birth to 18 children. Eighteen! Wow. They asked how old I was and if I had any children. I told them I was 27 and that no, no children as yet. Despite the fact that they start having babies so young, they still see 27 as being young. It was a strange apparent contradiction, and because I lacked the language
skills I wasn't able to communicate with them to enable me to dig any deeper into this. But it was great - sitting and connecting with these women meant that for the first time I began to feel more like one of them and less like a total stranger.
I got the impression that, certainly on the surface, the children ruled the island. They would get up when they wanted, go to bed when they felt like it and everything they did in between was dictated by them. There was a school, but I never quite managed to comprehend if there was any order as to who went and for how long. It is most definitely a kid's life. The difficulties and frustrations begin when they become teenagers and young adults, because this is the age that a large proportion of the girls leave to go and work or study in the cities or larger provinces, which leaves a huge group of males stranded, so to speak, as most of them will stay and start work with their fathers on the fishing boats. Taking all this into account, and add to that the fact that they drink a lot,
I find it amazing that they were still so peaceful and that I saw nobody fighting the whole time I was there. But it must be so difficult for them, particularly being in a culture where so much importance is placed upon meeting a partner, getting married and having a family. There are even specific words in Tagalog for 'single girl' and 'single boy'. The first thing anyone talks about when they meet you is whether or not you are available - they are a nation obsessed! And a huge amount of importance is placed upon their appearance - Filipinas in the city will spend vast amounts of money trying to whiten their skin, as pale skin is perceived as beautiful in the Filipino culture. You can therefore understand why they thought my skin was 'beautiful' and 'flawless'.
The attention I received felt odd to me, and it was simply weird being watched and stared at all the time. Everything I did, however mundane, was fascinating to them - the way I brushed my hair, how I washed my clothes, how I ate . . . it gave me an idea about what it must feel like to be
Tuti
I fell in love with this little guy famous. I adjusted to it a little, but it still amazed me as I didn't see how I could warrant so much attention. It became uncomfortable at times and I felt guilty on one occasion. While we were there we were lucky enough to witness an inter-island wedding. Although most of the island weren't allowed in the little church, Tao and I were welcomed in and they let us sit wherever we liked to take photographs. Tao didn't mind this - he is more used to it than I am and was happy to move around wherever he wanted to in front of everyone and being the centre of attention. But on this occasion I felt really uncomfortable being there as I was very aware that I was probably attracting more attention than the bride and, let's face it, how many brides do you know that would be happy with that? However, this particular one genuinely didn't seem to mind. But I did - it would have been a better experience for me to have been a fly-on-the-wall, but I had already learned early on in the trip that this was something that was never going to happen for me
anywhere!
In addition to the wedding, we also attended a primary school graduation ceremony - a big thing on the island. Because a very small proportion of the children continue their formal education beyond the age of 12, the primary school graduation is held in high regard and is a relatively formal occasion - at least as formal as things get there. The graduates all wore white robes and mortar boards and they were all presented with ribbons, medals and certificates by the headteacher, the Capitan and a couple of other people I didn't know. The ceremony was very long and got a little tedious (that's one thing I found in common with England), particularly as most of it was in Tagalog, but it was wonderful to see the children and their families looking so proud and making the most of the opportunity to celebrate their achievements.
A large part of island life, and indeed life in the Philippines, is videoke (I never quite worked out the difference, if any, between videoke and karaoke). There is no mains electricity there, so a few of the families run generators purely to power the ridiculously loud videoke machines. This turned
out to be perfect for me as, although I couldn't communicate very well with them because of the language barrier, all I really had to offer was my singing. As soon as they found out I could sing they encouraged me to sing videoke with them, and I ended up giving the island a mini-concert nearly every night I was there. And they loved it. Being a bit of an exhibitionist, I loved it too. Their favourite music is cheesy ballads - they can't get enough of them - I have never sung so many songs by Whitney Houston, Mariah Carey, Celine Dion and others of the same ilk in my life. When my voice got tired or I needed a break, they would put on some music and I would dance. Despite my best attempts to get the others involved, I would often end up dancing on my own with a huge audience of fascinated onlookers. It is not the place to be a wallflower and I was simply not allowed to be, even if I'd wanted to.
It may seem like I am over-romanticising my stay on the island, and don't get me wrong - it's not
perfect. The adults drink too much and it often makes them act like idiots, and they constantly dump their rubbish into the street and the sea because they don't really know any better and have no other easy way to dispose of it. But what is beautiful to see is that they really care about and look after each other; they place huge value on family loyalty and, despite the alcohol, not once did I witness any form of crime. They have very little money, very few of what we would call 'luxuries', but they also appear to have no stress or worries. I learned a lot from them. I had the most incredible experience, one that I gained an enormous amount from. Although I am sure I would have had a great time visiting Boracay or other typical tourist haunts in the Philippines, the time I spent there was second to none and while there I felt the whole spectrum of emotions, not all good and indeed at times I felt so low, but at no point did I want to be anywhere else. So finally it seems I have travelled through the malaise I fell into in New
Zealand, that prevailed throughout most of my time in Australia, and I have emerged the other side feeling happy, revitalised and full of enthusiasm to travel again. This is 100% thanks to Tao and the people of the island - I owe them more than they will ever realise.
So now I am with Antony and Richard in Hong Kong, about to begin my adventures in China tomorrow. Happy again! Watch this space . . .
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Katy
non-member comment
F**k me, wow. Just wow Emily. Really.