ChickenJoy, Oh Joy of Chicken

Jun txts that he's here. We're near downtown so head to Jollibee for dinner. Jollibee is a Philippine fast food joint similar to McDonald's but with a Filipino flair. It's mascot is a red and yellow jolly Bee with other characters like Letty Spaghetti, a girl of spaghetti noodle hair decorated with round slices of vienna sausage.

In addition for burgers and fries they sell an Aloha Burger with pineapple and bacon, spaghetti with a sweeter taste than the western variety, pancit palabok a Filipino noodle dish, and fried chicken which they call Chicken Joy. Then, there's my favorite: peach-mango pie and banana langka pie. ChickenJoy is fried chicken with a cup of rice and gravy.

Note the lack of many vegetables here.

Jollibee is the traditional kiddie birthday hangout as well as the post-church Sunday hangout. My friend Jose txts, "traditional Filipino meal."

A meal at Jollibee's with drink and such costs about 70-100 pesos. Once when I was in Baguio with my family, my cousin asked one of the workers there, how much they get paid. He said about 100 pesos a day!

Jollibee is one of those required stops to the Philippines. One always finds themselves at Jollibee, one always finds themselves at the mall and specifically an SM Mall that Merci described as "sprouting like weeds." Before it was the Catholic Church and town plaza that defined a town, which it still does in the smaller towns, but real "cities" are defined with Jollibee and SM. If you've got those, well then, you're a big time city.

I don't mind stopping at Jollibee, but I am trying to avoid an SM. SM's like the malls in the U.S. are cookie cutter with the same stores and the same products, over half of the stores are from the U.S. Manila is the land of malls, there's even a mother mary statue at the crossroads of 3-4 malls dubbed Mother Mary of the Malls, may she guide us to all the sales and bargains. Going to the mall you realize what economic globalization means. I believe the Philippines has more to offer than cookie cutter shoe stores.

batcave, guerillas, and war

I had dinner the previous night with Jun and some of his former students who had come back to help him with the arts summer program. Surigao is a relatively small city where just about everyone know just about everyone else. It's part of the reason that June decided that if he was going to live here, 15 years ago, better to be totally out about his sexuality. We eat at a seafood restaurant on the coast. That's essentially all I've been eating. And why not? The seafood is incredible here! We order kilawin: fresh fish "cooked" in a marinade of vinegar, onions and some pepper.

They discuss where I should go the next day. His students have heard of a cave nearby that a lot of the locals have been going to. Sige! game!

At 6am, they pick me up at Tavern. I bring my stuff with me. Most of my big luggage I leave at someone's home and only take a bag of stuff for the remaining days. I've switched to the nomad life, only taking what I need. We take a tricycle out to an outlying barrio, quite a ways out of town. Even here, Jun has former students. Even this far away they travel all the way to Surigao High School. The distance is so far that they must get home soon after school or else there are no more rides up the hill.

Surigao was the first place that the flag was raised after the war. I'm not exactly sure which war they mean: Philippine-American or WWII. These caves we are heading to were where the guerillas used to hide out in. There are 28 in all.

We go to the baranggay captain's home and pick up a couple of local guides, who bring along a kerosene lamp and flashlight. It's a 15-20 minute walk into a forrested area. Not too dense, the locals have trodden a path through, though there are some areas that we must scamper over rocks/boulders. I can barely keep up with the rest of them. We reach the mouth of the cave, which is huge with the stalagtite and stalagmite teeth. Our guides tell us that this is a much harder way to get through, better to enter from the other side, so we trek some more.

We reach the second entrance to the cave and enter. It's still damp and I have to be careful not to slip, the rocks are quite jagged and razor like. We are lucky it hasn't rained it would be much slippier then. I'm wearing my Tevas, but everyone else is either going through in tsinellas/flip-flops or barefeet. It's completely dark except for the lantern and flashlight spots. The ceiling narrows and I have to bend lower.

We reach a large cavern, about 2-3 stories high. They point the lights to the ceiling. There are bats, hundreds of them! On the ground layers of guano. Sometimes the farmers come here and bring the guano back for fertilizer. I'm not usually scared of things, but I'm a bit scared now, as a bats wings whoosh past my ear. I keep telling myself that the bats can "see" better than I can and that they know what they're doing. They really don't want to run into me either.

Jun says, "They say we should get out of here. There are many ants." Now I'm really creeped out. Everyone starts to swat at their legs. He later adds, "no, not ants, what's the translation, cockroaches, there are many cockroaches there." My skin is shivering from the thought. I recall all those PBS specials I had seen on bats, that yes there were all sorts of bugs that feed off of the guano as well as pick up any sick or dying bats that fall to the ground.

We trek a bit more through the caves. I am so concentrated on the ground, I actually hit my head on a rock above. Fortunately I have a hard head. I got to remember to duck.

We enter another cavern. We take pictures next to a curtain of rock, like water frozen. It's no wonder the guerillas hid here. It's a huge maze. Soldiers would have never wanted to traverse so deeply into these places.

Another cavern produces more bats. On the ground we see a couple of pink hairless bats, then look up. It's a nest of baby bats. There must be hundreds of them squished into a packed rectangle above the floor. On adult bat sits in the center, while several other adults manage the edges. There are 4-5 of them on the floor, these must be the weak or sickly ones who could not hang on. They are left for the bugs to claim. Jun picks one up and places it in his palm. I'm very ok with not touching it. There are a mix of emotions: fear, sadness, disgust. The urban American side is coming out of me. The need to separate myself from actual nature and animals. That's why we love Discovery channel. Unlike the scuba diving experience in which I felt like I was at home, this is much more overwhelming. I do what I can to calm myself.

Along another path, we run into a relatively dormant snake. I'm not too scared of it. It's cool in the cave, so he's not moving too fast if at all. We take a picture and move on.

Another larger cavern we take pictures next to what looks like large crystallized boulders. They glisten and sparkle. Quite pretty! We reach another curtain of rock and near the exit. Near the entrance is a small hole in the rocks that the bats fly through. Really amazing! The hole is not much bigger than their bodies with wings closed yet they pass through effortlessly.

We carefully climb over the jagged rocks. Various guides lend me a hand to get me through. I am not too sure footed in these caves. Ay, salamat sa Diyos! We're out! Most of our legs and some of our shorts are covered in the ultra fine volcanic mud. We hike back to the barrio and stop at a laundry area where water from a cold spring is channeled through.

I joke with Jun that this is like "Survivor" or those other reality tv adventure shows. I will tell folks back home that I went through Jun Pilapil's Surigao Survivor/Survival Series.

Jun keeps telling them that I'm a model from the U.S. I tell the younger guide that that's not true. He asks me if I work for the military. I say no, I actually work in computers at a university. He tells me in Tagalog, here in the Philippines it's hard. You work alot but receive so little for it. There, at least, you get dollars, enough to buy something with it.

I have heard this over and over. The desire to leave and get out of the country. The more middle class people I have met usually have either a banking job or work for an NGO (non-governmental organization, ie non-profit) that receives funding from other countries. The NGOs don't pay a whole lot either but tend to pay more than a lot of other jobs. It's part of the reason almost everyone has a store out of there home. Everything is a hustle, a deal. If you ask enough, everything has a price. This becomes more complicated when we begin to talk about indigenous groups and their cultural/historical artifacts, but a post on that later.

We return to town. They drop me off at a new place called a Pension House, kind of like a hotel or inn. It's cheaper to stay here. For $5 US a night, you get a small room that fits a bed, a shower and toilet and a tv, no window, but with air conditioning. I've learned that I could care less about a window so long as there's aircon. They let me rest here. They'll fetch me for dinner this evening.

I'm too tired to even change and just lie down and sleep.

Surigao:the port of Mindanao

The car goes through various winding roads through the hillsides. This is the classic Philippine countryside. Forrested hills with coconut trees, valleys of rice fields with black skinned carabao knee deep in mud with an occasional basketball court to break up the monotony. Filipinos love basketball and just about every baranggay/neighborhood has one.

At the town of Mainit the woman next to me gets off, so I finally get to sit in a real seat and not the heater. Mainit, which means hot, sits on the 2nd largest lake in Mindanao. Several hotsprings empty into it, thus the name. The lake itself is bigger than the island of Camiguin.

At last we're here in Surigao. We get out of the minivan and pick up a jeepney. Jun rents the whole thing, just the two of us. By now I'm simply worn out by all the travel from motorbike to jeepney, to ferry, to bus, to minivan, to jeepney again. Jun says he has to stop by Surigao High first. He's teaching a summer arts program there. The jeepney turns right up the hill to Surigao high.

There is a group of high school kids (about 13-15 years old) dressed in costume and a group of drummers. They get up and dance! I am in shock! This is my welcoming, I feel like a celebrity. I walk down a lane they form and they present me with fresh buko, a basket of fruits, and rice desserts. There's a banner with my name, "welcome from the Surigao Hingas Dance Troupe." So, if I didn't know where I was before, I really don't know where I am now. I'm pretty speechless.

After taking a large group picture, we rest, take pictures. In chorus they say, "Welcome to Surigao Michelle." I am known as "the driver." It's a complex story. Jun came to America with a group called Sining Kambayoka Ensemble from Mindanao State University. They had gone to Los Angeles, but they fell into a bad situation. Somehow one of them gets in contact with a woman in the SF Bay Area who contacts a friend of mine, who contacts some of his friends, including myself. (Are you seeing this Friendster.com connection thing)

ANYWAY, this ad hoc group decides to bring Sining Kambayoka to San Francisco. Since we're low on funds, we figure the cheapest way to bring them here is by Greyhound bus. But to get their stuff and equipment, I fly down to LA and rent a UHaul truck to drive back to San Francisco. When I get there, Jun asks me if I am the truck driver and I say yes.

Now, in the Philippines, women do not drive trucks and in actuality women don't drive that much. But the bigger vehicles: trucks, buses are usually men. Grant it a UHaul truck is fairly modern with automatic gear shifting and powersteering. But to them, seeing a woman drive a truck was quite impressive.

So, when Jun got back to Surigao, they wanted to know all about his wonderous adventures. And one of the tales he spun was about this tall Filipina who drives a truck.

After chatting with his students for a bit, we head to Tavern Inn at the ferry port. This is where I will stay tonight. About $15 US a night for an aircon room with a sea view. He leaves me there to rest and return around 7p for dinner.

There is a tv in my room with cable. I take a peek at the view and quickly close the curtains to keep the sun out. The two mosquitos in the room take no time in finding me. There are always mosquitos. I take one of the chairs and sit in the line of the airconditioning airstream to deter them and flip through the channels. This is my first time to watch TV. There were a few TVs in Camiguin, but being out and about so much, there wasn't much time to watch and really no need to watch.

I do enjoy watching TV when I can, particularly when I'm outside of the United States. In the U.S. programs are geared to U.S. stuff. The news is all local or national with a smattering of international news which usually covers the latest bombing in Israel, Western Europe, and maybe Japan. If it's in Africa, South America or the Middle East, it involves war, bombing, or natural disaster.

International cable is much more interesting. You get international versions of Discovery, MTV, and CNN. In addition to the Philippine shows, you get Japanese stations and other programming. International news is just that, international. They cover Europe, Asia, South America, etc. and break up the news that way. There's actually only a little bit about the US. My mind has to adjust to it. I realized I was so inundated with war, iraq, weapons, troops, that I had no perspective on the world.

I turn to the Philippine news. Once the war in Iraq started, US news forgot all about the troops we sent to southern Philippines to "train" with Philippine troops on the war on terrorism. GMA is in the US being wined and dined as a US partner in terrorism. She had said several weeks ago she was not going to run for re-election but the news says she may still run. The number of refugees in Mindanao is increasing day by day. They pack schools and churches, sometimes cemeteries searching for neutral territory. Health conditions are poor and many are becoming ill.

The other Philippine stations are filled with talk shows and general entertainment shows that mix dancing, singing, and game show formats.

I flip over to Discovery channel and learn about African jungle animals.

Butuan

I send a few txt messages to friends on the way to Butuan. It passes the time. I can't really watch the movie, it makes me dizzy. The buses are the bullies of the road. They know they are bigger than everyone else and make use of that size. We cross the middle line many times. The driver knows tricycles and jeepneys coming the other way must pull to the side, but for other buses he returns to his lane. The first few times he did this, it was scary. After a while, you get used to it.

The conductor goes down the line selling tickets based on the distance of destination. Punching holes in the tickets to show the distance paid. They have amazing memories.

I lean my head on the window and take a nap. The nice part about aircon buses is that you don't get the dust and diesel fumes from the road.

I wake up and we've entered Butuan City. It's almost 2p. Jun managed to take the seat next to me after the other woman got off in an earlier town. I recall the Butuan rat stories, how they have their own little freeway systems in the rafters and roofs of houses. Butuan is an old city. There is a sign for the archialogical dig. The city itself is actually under sea level, much like New Orleans. It sits at the mouth of a river. The river just keeps depositing more and more silt at the mouth extending the city in to the ocean. A few years ago an ancient balanghai was discovered. It had probably sank off the coast, but was now inland.

The Balanghais are these huge ships that held about 200-300 people. It had sails and some oars. This was the way Filipinos travelled and traded before Spanish times, on these great ships that followed the trade winds. Legend has it that the 8 of these great ships came to the Philippines and deposited it's people in the different areas around the islands. One continued on supposedly to populate the various outlying South Pacific islands. These ships allowed them to trade with the rest of the world.

We pass through some of the poorer neighborhoods. Many of the shack houses are sinking. Jun tells me it is like this after a rain. The ground is too soft, the consequence of being under sea level.

We decide to just grab some sandwiches and snacks and get onto a bus as soon as we can. It's another 3 hrs to Surigao. The Butuan station is much busier than all the other ones. From here you can take buses east and west and south to Davao. I use the bathroom here. 2 pisos to use the bathroom, 1 piso more for toilet paper. It's pretty decent.

The aircon to Surigao doesn't come as we watch 2 regular buses come and go. Jun decides that we take an aircon minivan to Surigao. We jump in with 7 other people. I sit next to the driver in the front. The woman next to me buys newspapers and peanuts from the vendors. There is a crack on the windshield driver's side covered by a batman bat signal sticker, but it doesn't stop the crack from extending out. On the inside of the crack is a sticker of Mother Mary. She can't stop the crack either as it stretches it's arms like a spider across the window.

I watch as we travel out of Butuan. I think about getting some sleep, but am too rested to do so. I've slept so much I can't sleep anymore, so decide to simply watch the road go by.

Though the minivan is aircon, I must be sitting right on the engine, cuz I'm burning up. This ride is torture. I shift around as much as I can. I'm not really on a seat, just some plastic compartment. So cool aircon in my face while sitting on a fire. This is good.

If you've just popped in, I'm retelling my trip to the Philippines. 18 days in May in Mindanao. Right now, I've left Camiguin, where I stayed a week and am now off to Surigao. I haven't been able to write as often in this blog as life continues for me now that I'm home. Focusing too on some other writing projects that I will tell you about as soon as the Philippines is done.

trailing roads at the end of a jeepney

Looking left, I watch the road depreciate to a point behind the trail of diesel jeepney exhaust. I have seen this scene many times. We reverse the road that brought me here. I wonder too if the memories slip as quickly as the concrete under our wheels. It hurts to leave. I feel tears blur my eyes but choke them back unable to face the load of strangers watching me. To them this is just a road without sentimentality.

I don't see people off to the airport because of this. It's part greediness on my part, not wanting to let them go. Feeling as though there will be a gap left that in reality is soon filled.

I was told once that no matter where you live, make it home. And on my travels that is what I attempt to do, to exist where and when I am.

Before the road pulls my tears towards it, I turn to look inside the cab. The radio reassures me that everything's gonna be al' right, everything's gonna be al' right now. I try to focus on the road ahead and not what I am leaving behind.

I am to meet up with Jun Pilapil then on to Surigao where he lives. Many of the local Filipinos I met say they've never been but have always wanted to go. I had always thought that Filipinos don't like to travel around the Philippines. My dad never really wants to see other places, just his home town. But it's not really that. Preferably they would like to go with someone who is a local there. By being with someone from there, we feel less than a stranger. Seeing a person tends to override the need to see a place. This of course is a generalization. Most of the Filipinos I come across are travelers like myself who want to see every inch of the Philippines, but they do it by meeting friends of friends along the way.

We reach Benoni port, where I started my journey welcomed by Tanduay Rum and Fighter Wine. The ferry leaves at 9:30 from here. I stay on and head to Guinsiliban for the 9am ferry. A porter grabs my bags and we head to the ticketing counter, a small table sitting in a warehouse of wooden crates. 51 pesos for the ride back. It's the super ferry that takes cars. After getting on, I tip the porter 6 pesos and find a seat upstairs.

I wonder if we'll see dolphins. People tell me sometimes they like to ride the ship's wake. There are none this time around. I get off the ferry in Balingoan. Standing there in capri length khakis, tsinelas and cotton shirt is Jun Pilapil. We walk to the bus station in Balingoan while he tells me the updates on the latest plans. Sunnie is in Manila for a meeting. He will join us in Surigao in 3 days.

The last time I saw Jun was in San Francisco, fully layered for the San Francisco winter: wool hat, scarf, gloves. He is much more relaxed here. We wait at the bus stall for an air-con to Butuan. Air-con buses used to be rare, but now they travel fairly often. The platforms are packed with stands selling snacks and drinks for the ride. Cut mangos with salt, chips, orange drinks, sodas. There are men who sell newspapers. Women and young girls holding their tray of goods either on their hip or balanced on their heads scrambling to each new bus that arrives. There is a banner on the bus station building announcing an informational session about becoming a teacher in the United States.

Funny, I think. Many of my friends who became teachers in the last few years were shown pink slips. Another who teaches high school came close as well, yet her school district still posts hire notices in foreign countries after laying off 300 teachers. 3 years ago during the economic boom, no one wanted to become teachers, so the government sponsored funding to seek out teachers in foreign countries under a special working visa. It took several years to get many of these programs into affect. And the school districts must spend the money or lose it. Schools are so poor that even if they don't need something they'll buy it simply to hold it for later so they can keep the money, because they never know if or when they'll get funding again. Because these teachers come over under special provision, they often fall outside the realm of unions and certain wage requirements. This was common too with foreign workers in high tech who were being paid half as much as their counterparts for the same job.

I feel as though this is the trend in the U.S. We don't really need to educate our population to do anything. When we need educated people, we'll just put out visas and get cheap labor. When we're done with them, they go home.

In Rhacel Parrenas' book, "Servants of Globalization: Women, Migration and Domestic Work," she discuss how the receiving countries of the Overseas Filipino Workers gain the labor but don't have to deal with taking care of the labor force in old age, they simply go home. Essentially getting them during their prime working years, then sending them back. The countries avoid the costs of educating them when they are young and take care of them when they're old. They often allow for the employers to add an extra worker (the mom). The employing family is able to pay cheaper wages than what would have to be paid to a citizen.

If the teachers heading to this program are lucky, they might be able to switch their visa to permanent residency. Many will go to rural areas or the toughest urban neighborhoods where most people don't like to go. Some will be able to bring over spouses and children. But then have to deal with the pressures of raising a child without the normal support network, like Maria's daughter. I cannot say that one choice is worse or better than the other.

Jun is a high school teacher at Surigao High School for the past 15 years. His sister is one of the teachers who have gone abroad. She is in Texas. Most of her students are Spanish speaking. Her town sits on the U.S./Mexican border. It was always her dream to go to the U.S. so she took it. He had wanted to see the U.S. too, which he did, but says he would never go back using his own money. It's just too hard.

He comes from a family of teachers. He is the oldest. There are 4 sisters: 1 boy and 3 girls he says. Everyone is a teacher except one and she works as an administer at a school. His parents were teachers.

The AirCon to Butuan is here. We have to sit separately because there are no seats side by side. They pop in some bad scratchy American English movie that shows "do not copy: not for distribution" every few minutes across the bottom of the screen. It's an hour to Cagayan de Oro, then another 2-3 hrs to Butuan. I try to get some sleep.

Sunday May 18, 2003

I wake up my usual 6am despite the late night. I start to pack the bags trying to make sure I don't forget anything. Sigh. I've been here a week and have really gotten myself comfortable.

I don't know what it was: the slight hangover, the hormones, my sentimentality, but I find myself really emotional and end up crying. This is why I try not to see people off at airports. I always end up crying. In the week I've been in Camiguin, I got to know the place and the people fairly well. I can understand why people want to live here. You just want to stay and hope this woman with secrets confides a few of them with you. In my six days here, Camiguin shared a few of them with me.

Before coming here, a friend of mine from the Philippines, asked why I would want to stay so long in Camiguin, it can get boring. I told him, "I like boring. Boring is ok with me." Unlike Palawan and Boracay and Cebu that sport an active nightlife, Camiguin does not, which makes you enjoy the island even more: the people, the scenery, the water. Plus the local people aren't as oriented directly into that tourism as in most places.

So here I am lying in bed, feeling really really sad about leaving. I feel like a fool. I txt my friend J who understands my sentimental nature. He txts back reassuring me that I'm not that much of a fool and even if I am, there's nothing wrong with that. I feel like I made this place home for the short time I was here and it's always hard to leave home. I realize I've learned to be a very good nomad.

I finish packing most everything including the last of the laundry, but I can't really eat. I'm not that hungry and just finish off some tea and toast, unlike my appetite the past few days. Lolong is here. He arranged for a jeepney to take me to Benoni, to catch the 9:30 ferry to Balingoan.

Saturday May 17, 2003: sea turtles and karaoke

manong manong pawikan
tahanan ay pasan-pasan
wala ba kayong mapaglagyan
sa lupang kinagisnan
sa hampas ng alon
sa agos ng daang-taon

manong manong pawikan
home upon your shoulders
have you no place
in the land of your birth
in the slap of waves
in the flow of centuries

-"Manong Pawikan" by Joey Ayala.
Album: Magkabilaan (1991 universal records)

My last full day on the island starts early. We take two dives today. The clouds finally gave birth to rain showers last night overlooked by the pregnant moon. This morning too it rains. I write in my journal trying to catch up on the week's events. I'm a bit sad too. No more kali and half way through the trip. I wonder if we'll be able to go out in this weather.

Yesterday was to 12 meters, today is to 18 meters (60 ft!) We're going to Old Volcano, near the sunken cemetery. Diggy says it's great weather to go diving, "you're getting wet anyway." What's the difference? It's a bit rough for the pump boat though. They cast the anchor and we wait for the boat to turn with the wind. I learned this is sailing. The boat naturally turns to a point where it can no longer be pushed by the wind.

The waves break against the boulders at the base of a sheer cliff. The waves are fairly rough 3-4 ft swells feel quite large on the tiny bangka. It's difficult to stay focused putting on your gear while the boat is bouncing. Once we're underneath the water, the currents calm as if there isn't a storm at all. The clouds in the sky mean that our visibility is cut short a bit, but it means we just look at the smaller things.

This place is filled with "Nubie branches" or sea slugs. They are extremely brightly colored with these antannae looking protrusions. It must be mating season we find about 6-7 pairs of them. There are large schools of fish just as before. The coral here sits in tall towers like pillars, each with whole societies, like gigantic aquatic apartment buildings.

The air in the tank is extremely dry and I make sure to cough in the mouthpiece. this buoyancy thing is still tricky. Just when I think I've got it balanced, I'm shooting to the surface and Barbie and Diggy shrink and fade beneath me. When I was in the shallow water a few days ago the weight belt was too heavy, now it seems as though it's not enough. I have to keep watching the direction of floating bubbles to orient myself.

Diggy signals me to join him and points. There in just around a column in the murky distance a few meters, is a sea turtle swimming away, two bright yellow long sucker fish attached to his shell. In two or three strokes of his fins, he is gone, faded into the ocean. wow. wow! WOW! I had heard much about the plight of the sea turtle, how their shells and meat, make them sought after delicacies. It was like watching a great eagle fly within feet above you, or a whale breech close by. There is something ancient and wise, a knowledge that stretches beyond lifetimes. That's the feeling...of majesty.

"Manong, manong pawikan...." lyrics from Joey Ayala's song of the same name, repeats in my head for the rest of the dive.

I check my air and am getting low on air. No time to do the skills, we will do it on the next dive. We surface to the choppy waves. We remove the tank and buoyancy vest while in the water. Still, it's tricky pulling oneself salt water soaked out of the water. Takes some coordination, kicking with the fins, timing the waves, pushing your arms down. I feel like a beached whale, struggling out of her element.

The waves are still choppy, strong breeze and light rainfall. We head back to the cove. Since we have the whole day, we can rest, have lunch then do the second dive. There are calculations to how long we need to rest in between dives to allow for the excess nitrogen that accumulates to dissipate. On the way back we pass Barbie and Diggy's beach cottage and pick up two of their kids and their yaya/babysitter.

Back at Secret Cove, the kids watch the other kids play in the waves. The older sister comes back to where we are. Barbie asks her, "where is your brother?" She replies, "I don't know." Barbie replies, "what do you mean 'I don't know'? I told you, don't answer with 'I don't know.' " I can tell her daughter is tired of knowing where her brother is and watching over him, but that is the role of ate/older sister. You take care of the younger ones. They find her brother just sitting on the rail. Later Diggy takes both of them in the waves.

It's time to take off to our next dive, the sunken sailboat, just off the coast of secret cove. They had found this sailboat moored at one of the docks, its hull full of holes, its owner having left it to rot. So they transported it here and sunk it completely about 5 months ago.

There are some small coral mounds here, not as many as in Old Volcano. Inside the hull of the sailboat a few large fish take up shelter from the current. It's already starting to take up bits of algae and seaweed. In a few years, there will be a nice new community here. In one of the coral mounds near the boat a moray eel pokes its head out. It's head is HUGE! I can only guess at how long the body behind it is. An old fella. Fortunately moray eels like to keep to themselves, probably just wondering about the commotion we're stirring.

There's one more skill for me to do, the ermergency controlled ascent. When you've run out of air, your buddy is not around, and you're within a breath of the surface. Usually you want to try to ascend slowly as your body adjusts to the decompression, but if you have no air, you have no air. I take a breath and head to the surface long the anchor rope. I still have the gear in my mouth in case I need to take another breath. I have to exhale slowly as I go up. First try, I fall short of the surface. It's not until the third try that I manage to do it. Whew! I was getting nervous. Like most things, I hope that I never have to do that, but that if I have to, I can.

We get back, put all the equipment away. Time for me to take the test. Diggy tells me Americans do very well on the test, since it is written by Americans. I realize that I've been trained in a certain testing language, so when I don't really understand the question, I can guess fairly accurately at the answers. The test is more difficult for English second language speakers. Not that they don't know the information, they just have trouble understanding what's being asked. I miss 3 questions, which we review to make sure I understand them. Then Diggy signs and issues me an Open Water Diver card. Wow! This is SO COOL! It means I can go to dive shops and rent equipment and go diving in other parts of the Philippines or the world for that matter.

Lolong takes me to Santo Nino Cold Spring, all the way on the other side of the island. Santo Nino is pretty far so we stop for gas. It's too much trouble to go back to town to the gas stations there, so we stop instead at a store that has a Shellane seller sign at the door. He asks for 4 liters and the teenage boy brings out a few coca-cola bottles filled with a bright red liquid. He opens the bottles and pours them into the motor's gas tank. Inside the store are shelves full of the bright red bottles. In my protected American thinking, I think to myself, "that can't be safe." Then again, no one here is going to goof off around gasoline. While in the U.S., we have extensive regulation and laws to protect the "idiots," here they simply let the "idiots" Darwin themselves right out of the loop.

A friend of mine told me once that a guy tried to sue Manila for having fallen on uneven sidewalk. The judge threw it out saying, "why? didn't you watch your step?"

Santo Nino is the developed cold spring complete with rentable cottages, food stands, etc. Unlike Macau and Saai which are more or less simple structured pools with no added amenities. On the way it rains. I'm wearing shorts, the raindrops sting my knees. We go by the latest area that is having fiesta and slow down by the basketball court with the tournament. At this point I don't mind going anywhere, the ride around the island is enjoyable.

15 pesos to get into Santo Nino. It's a fairly large pool, again with the small fresh water fish nibbling near shore. You can rent inner tubes to float away the day in. It is cold but not freezing. Not like the Pacific Ocean near San Francisco in summer that numbs your toes. But for here, it's cold. There are lanzones trees around the area. Unlike other crops that are usually owned and monopolized by agri-business (like Dole pineapples), lanzones is not. Just about everyone has a lanzones tree and sell it on their own.

We stay for maybe 40 minutes. I feel like I've been soaked all day and thought it best to get back to the resort before I get sick. Tonight, Lolong, Loloy, and Peter want to take me out to karaoke. A neighbor down the street has a new machine. We actually haven't seen Peter in 2 days. He's been up the hill hanging out with folks enjoying the fiesta activities.

Tiger has also dropped by Tarzan's Nest just to see what folks are up to. As we're getting ready the light rains turn into a heavy downpour forcing us to wait just a bit longer. Loy goes around the building closing the windows then returns to play some chords on the guitar. He's always wanted to try writing a song. Heavy downpour doesn't last for long. We take a pair of motorbikes (Lolong's and Tiger's) down the hill. It's not far.

Lolong had asked me what music I like to sing. I told him I liked Rivermaya and in particular, "Himala." So for the past 2 hours we've been trying to remember how the song goes beyond the most memorable line, "Himala, kasalanan ba?" We hope the karaoke place has it in their collection.

We're the only ones there. They're just reassembling the chairs and drying them after being pummelled by the rain. It's basically someone's concrete driveway with the videoke machine sitting under a tin shed, the microphone looping over a rafter and crossing over the wet ground. It's a miracle no one gets electricuted. We drop in a 5 piso coin, punch in the number of the song, then wait our turn. Like most other systems, it shows the same repeating pictures then gives you a score.

I used to be shy about singing karaoke because I don't sing well, which is the case in some American karaoke bars where bad singers get heckled. I figure after a few drinks, most people won't remember how you were singing anyway. Lolong serves up drinks, tanduay rum with a touch of lime flavoring over ice.

We sing for about an hour, except for Tiger who claims that to get him to sing you have to get him extremely wasted. Then as I'm singing, brownout. Brownouts are such a regular occurence that people just sit where they are and wait. Like a said before to be in the Philippines is to have the patience to wait anything out: rainstorms, brownouts, which lends to a certain amount of resiliency in Filipinos.

After about 10 minutes, the power kicks in again. Peter can really sing, damn! But it's Loy who scores the big 97 that evening. I'm never sure how those things grade. I've watched my drunk uncle get a higher score than my musically trained brother. Go figure!

Brownout hits again and again while I'm singing. Hmmm..not a good sign. This one lasts a bit longer. We decided to go into town. Tiger says there's a karaoke place there as well as a dance club. It's not too busy at the club, but the music is good, so we stay, drink some beer and dance a bit.

Peter has this wonderous notion that I should stay an extra day to hang out some more. I have plans to make the 9am ferry to meet Jun Pilapil and head to Surigao. As much as I love Camiguin, I don't think I can delay the rest of my trip. That's the problem when I travel without real plans, all of a sudden there are so many plans to choose from. Should I stay in Camiguin or go to Surigao or maybe even head to Davao and make my way to Bukidnon. I must be getting tired and/or the alcohol is now making me ornery, because Peter's attempts at negotiation are getting on my nerves. It's around 2 am. One last final brownout sends us home.

Still no power and I take the flashlight to make my way to bed.

Friday, May 16, 2003: Full moon and finals

It's now been a week since I first arrived in the Philippines, but it feels like longer as if I'd been here for several weeks. I'm not sure why. It feels as if things are moving slowly, yet I'm doing so much. Perhaps it's still the jet lag.

Last night the air was heavy and still like the pregnant moon overhead. It was like walking through veils of air with the moisture accumulating on your skin. I took a shower before bed with only the light of the moon entering through the open air window frame. Perhaps it will rain soon.

Today is the last day of Kali. From the initial classes that seemed like forever, the classes whiz by. Today, they are to come up with instances to defend. What if a guy grabs your shirt? What if a guy comes chasing after you? All very practical situations. 5 days is not a long time. One does not become a master in 5 days.

In the past five days, I've emphasized moving and getting out of the way of strikes, stepping to the side. Each day we boy to each other in a circle, then close out by going down the line and shaking the hand of each person in the class to reinforce the bonds we've created in class. They've learned the strikes, some double sticks, arm locks, arm breaks, some kicking.

I review the different techniques and show them how to multiply techniques by doing similar things to the other hand, and to leg kicks. This is overwhelming to them. It's too many to memorize. I tell them it's not about memorizing, it's about understanding the direction of the blow. hmm..have to back track a bit an re-explain. I demonstrate different strikes with and without weapon that come from the same area of the body and use one technique to deflect it. See? Same. They understand now.

They are beginning to find techniques. Right now they are grabbing each other's shirts. They stop for a moment thinking about it, then try something. It doesn't quite work. They try another move. This one is closer. I step in and do the technique they were trying to do and show them the other half. It shows that they are on the right track. They understand the concepts to figure out what might work.

They tell me they are not very smart that they don't have much schooling. Yet they speak 4 maybe 5 different languages. They understand how the body moves. As farmers and fishermen, they are physical people.

I watch them some more. The pairs of people are no longer isolated. They congregate in groups of 4 or 6 and watch other pairs attempt techniques. More and more of them are stopping to assist other students, they are teaching themselves. I am astounded! To teach, to watch someone do a technique and see how it is different from what it should be is a difficult thing, but demonstrates that the person is seeing the technique in more detail. They know what it should look like. They are seeing not just a general movement but the way I lift my arm or turn the fingers or slide in closer. This is important. I do not want them to think that they need me to stay. That there is more to the techniques than just fighting or self defense, this is really about community and being there for each other.

During the break, I head to the Mayor's office. I've asked them to make certificates of completion for the Tanods. If they attend at least 3 days, then they get a certificate. It's one of those things. In the Philippines, there is a certificate, ribbon, or award for just about everything. But I do want to give them something to remember their experience.

I come back and finish up the rest of class.

Then we do a closing ceremony. The Mayor and Vice Mayor are out of town. The Mayor's assistant stands in their place. He is worried that there is no microphone system set up. I tell him that's ok. I'm still not comfortable with the pomp and circumstance of Philippine affairs. We stand in a circle again. He asks for three of them to make comments about the class. No one really wants to speak. They are all fairly shy. The Mayor's Assistant translates for me.

They say they are very grateful to you for teaching for free. And that this was much better than some of the training they have had before. They learned many things and wish you could stay longer. They say the classes were very good.

It is now my turn to speak. I look around the circle. Monday seems far off now. I've become familiar with their faces. I tell them that my grandmaster was not college educated, but he was wise from the life he led. I tell them that although Camiguin has boundless natural beauty and the tourists come here and see the beaches and waterfalls and hot springs, the real treasure of Camiguin are its people. In the way that you look out for each other. I tell them that they do not need me, they have each other and that perhaps when I return they will have developed their own style of martial arts. It has been my honor, I say, to come here and be able to teach and give them this gift. That I have learned as much from them as I have taught.

The Mayor's assistant reads off the certificate and takes attendance from the daily roster confirming 3 day attendance. Abe, the head Tanod, asks the Mayor's office to give me a Certificate of Appreciation that they will all sign. I am touched by the gesture. When we're done, we take a group picture by the stage. I know it will be hard to leave Camiguin in a couple of days.

Tonight my dive instructor Diggy is having a Full Moon Party Despedida with many of the other foreign nationals living on the island. I get there a bit early, there are a handful of people there: Diggy, Barbie, Barbie's uncle Tiger and a couple of Americans just leaving. They had just played beach volleyball. There are snacks, nachos, some puto and popcorn. Diggy and Barbie's youngest son, Paco, LOVES popcorn. He says it's more delicious than delicious!

It's cooler tonight with a lovely breeze right on the beach. Everything is on the beach because the mountains are pretty high. Most everyone lives along the coast. In another hour there are people from Spain, a Britain, a German, a couple of other Americans and a few other Camiguin local Filipinos, like Kim, who is married to the British guy and runs the local gym, she's got a pair of serious biceps. Orange juice mixed with gin and/or vodka is the standard served drink.

Some of them talk about whether they've been able to learn Visayan yet and how awkward it is to sit there not knowing what anyone is saying. A Spanish woman who lives in Butuan talks about the rats in her home. She tells the landlady that something has to be done about the rats. The landlady tells her, "please don't say anything bad about the rats, they might get upset." She replies, "OK I won't say anything bad about them, but I want poison here and here so they will die." She ends, "We also have cats. With the cats and the poison, there's no more rats. It's great! AND they're opening a Pizza Hut down the street from me, I live in the best place in Butuan!"

As I recall, Don had a lot of Butuan rat stories. Tiger, who is from Cagayan de Oro but comes here every weekend, says there's not much to see in Butuan and to not drink the water. I take mental note if I ever stop in Butuan.

To my left sits an American former Peace Corp volunteer, who had been stationed in Camiguin. When the conflict in Mindanao got heated, Peace Corp pulled all it's volunteers in Mindanao. Camiguin, though remote, is technically Mindanao. Peace Corp sent the volunteers to Bohol for "safety" issues. The locals just laugh. There are no rebels in Camiguin. Everyone knows everybody and every thing. But there ARE at least 2 known NPA (New People's Army) factions in Bohol! I've come to learn that Peace Corp though with good intentions, is relatively conservative and really tries to stay out of what's going on locally. Which in general is a good policy, but it also keeps them from really understanding the communities and countries that they serve. Anyway, this guy wasn't going to Bohol, so he quit and has been riding out the last few months here. He's originally from Huntington Beach, CA and is not looking forward to going back.

He laments, "$20 bucks will buy me 2-3 beers at most. $20 bucks here will take us all out for drinks over several days." He's spent the last 27 months and doesn't know how he's ever going to adjust back to life in the U.S. He's going to start out slow, start in Alaska and make his way down.

The moon is full, there's a warm breeze, the ocean beats on shore. I can't imagine being here for over 2 years and have to leave. Camiguin is enchanting this way, a woman with deep secrets, so alluring. Ang sarap! I'm leaving in a couple of days and a part of me doesn't want to leave.

I look at the people around me and wonder if I could ever do what they are doing. Come back and live here. It is tempting. Tiger is a computer guy. His friends tried to get him to go live in the U.S. and earn big money, but then he couldn't come here every weekend. With computers, he just consults from his laptop with CD burner. (He makes mention of this several times trying to encourage people to use it.) I don't blame him. The money is good in the U.S., but in some ways life is hard. I've seen it drive people crazy. I let my mind fantasize about living here. Then I am reminded of what Diggy must do to have his family survive here. It's good if you can find the money. But when you can't go back, the dream life here is over. Certainly, there are choices, either life can be fabulous, either life can be hard. The main question is what life do I want to lead?

I head home early at 11. We have two dives to do tomorrow and a final test. Don't want to get too hung over before a dive.

No jueteng in Camiguin

Each day before Kali, I go across the street from the plaza to the Mayor's office to pick up the bag of rattan sticks. From the blazing 2p sun, I step into the air conditioned office. The mayor usually isn't there, but today he is. I will meet him after class. No matter what you do or where you go in the Philippines, you eventually meet up with politicians. Unlike in the U.S., where it's rare for anyone to meet even their city council member.

The Mayor has two air conditioners blasting, the curtains are closed to repell the tropical sun from cancelling out their cool breezes. He smokes a cigarette. I sit in a chair angled in front of his desk. I'm not sure what to talk about. So I just sit and let him do all the talking.

He used to be Philippine National Police. He was elected a couple of years ago and hopes to get re-elected next election. There is no jueteng in Camiguin. Jueteng is a form of gambling that was all the talk during the Erap administration in terms of the kinds of payouts and money movement. But here in Camiguin, the only gambling vice are the pair of sabong/cockfight pits. It is truly amazing that there is not jueteng here. He tells me about how he has brought order to the town by creating and enforcing helmet and speed laws for the motorbikes, how the government built homes for some of the survivors of the mudslide and flooding. He believes that people need discipline and that many are lazy. There is a program to provide some funds to farmers to plant, but no pesticides.

He ends the conversation to move to other business. I leave the office and hit the heavy humid sun. A car passes by with a speaker on the roof. Someone is saying something, possibly campaign or announcements. I ask one of my students standing outside, what the guy is saying. He says he doesn't know, it's too mumbled and staticky to tell.

Thursday, May 15, 2003: Fun with your depression!

Loy fixes me breakfast of toast with jam, tea, and mangos. It's Loy's breakfast time to so he joins me at the table. He's been working here 3 years. He talks about positive thinking and the way you view the world. he had been depressed for a long time before and read many books. Then it clicked one day. Life was hard because he viewed it to be hard. God didn't make life hard. Loy has a duwende look about him, an impish sparkle in his eyes, and a wide wide grin. When we took a picture together later on, I stood about a foot taller than him. He commented, "wow, when I see you, I don't see you as this tall person or that I am so short." But this is how Loy sees the world, each person coming into his life as a person. Oh, he says, he's attracted to beauty like everyone else but these differences like height and weight, he does not see. He tells me of how he was talking to a friend of his who has been depressed for many years. He told her "life is fun! You should have fun even with your depression."

I think to myself, "Fun with your depression."

It's fiesta season in Camiguin. The last fiesta ends in Catarman. The dance parties on basketball courts are rotating around the island to each of the towns and baranggays. At center court is the tower of disco lights, then the DJ sits atop a mountain of speakers that could broadcast to an entire stadium. I can hear them in the distance as I go to bed each night, the Spanish dance pop song echoing, "I said a-hay a-ho, a-hem..."

Loy is eating some dinuguan leftovers. He had gone out the night before with his younger brother who came to town from Cagayan de Oro. Loy borrowed a motor(bike). His younger brother wanted to drive the motor but Loy refused saying he didn't have enough practice. Of course, his younger brother sneaks onto the motor when Loy had his back turned and crashes the bike into a truck a couple of meters away. Luckily his brother only had a few bruises and he was able to fix the motor. After that, Loy was so grateful that his brother wasn't killed he bought rounds of drinks for everyone.

I hear Lolong on his motorbike coming up the hill. I meet Diggy and Barbie at Secret Cove. I've finished all the shallow water basics with Barbie. Today we will make two dives to 12 m to do some additional skills tests as well as look at more interesting things. I'm a bit nervous. It was only 3 days ago that I was getting wiped out by snorkeling and here we are diving to 35 ft.

The day is gorgeous! There are fishermen just off the cove. Those tiny silver fish are leaping in schools out of the water. There are several boats involved. The boats are basically large canoes with the side pontoons, otherwise known as bangkas. The bangkas encircle the area. Some divers in the water scare the fish to this netted corral. Tremendous team effort. The water between the boats are rippling with the leaping fish. It's a good catch today.

There are 14 different dive spots in Camiguin.

Diggy is a large stocky German guy, oh wait Bavarian, from a small town near the Austrian border. Fortunately, my year's worth of German when I was 14 has paid off and I have no difficulty understanding his English. Barbie tells me some people have trouble with it. He grew up in a place like Camiguin, small, close to the outdoors. He's dived in Egypt and Sri Langka and has lived in the Philippines for the last 7 years. They used to be based in Bohol and opened Camiguin Action 2 years ago. But because Camiguin is technically "Mindanao," there aren't as many tourists, even though being here the rest of the world seems so far away. April is a good month, but the other months are slow.

Diggy has been going back to Germany each year to do construction work and save money. At first it was 2 months, then 3-4, lately it's been 6 months to save enough to live out the rest of the year. I ask him how long will he be away this time. He answers hopefully not long, but most likely 6 months. Barbie comments, "too long." Teaching scuba is a nice life, but doesn't pay much. He has to pay to keep rice on the table, he says. They have three kids. Diggy looks at it positively. He says, at least I can still go back. He's met foreigners that for whatever reason can no longer go back to earn more money and so they are stuck here. "The good life for them," he says, "is over."

Diggy, his real name is Christian, has a interesting sense of humor, quite lively. Loves to tell stories. Quite animated when he does it. Some times he likes to mess with the German tourists when they ask him if he's from Germany, he replies, "No, I'm Bavarian!" Bavaria known for their suspendered shorts, are often made the laughing stock in German jokes he says. But now that tourism is booming there, the economy is Bavaria is better than most of Germany. It just riles the tourists up.

In some ways the foreigners who come to live in the Philippines are in the same boat. They rely on outside currency whether from work with international organizations or being a kind of contract worker themselves. This is repeated to me over and over on the trip, about the economic hard ships in the Philippines. Hard to find work. Hard to earn a living. It's difficult for me to do the math when my dollar gets me 50 pesos equal to a ferry ride to Camiguin, a full breakfast, 2 cups of coffee, or 2 liters of gasoline. Blue fin tuna costs 20 pesos a kilo here. At the same time, when there isn't rice on the table, who cares if you're living in paradise?

The boat tosses anchor. I learn how to put on the gear while on the boat and how to get into the water. I give the signal that I'm OK. Barbie will be my dive buddy, so I should keep track of where she is and not get too distant.

The bright sunny day translates to underwater. The colors here are vivid. I had only seen these fish before on Discovery Channel or at the acquarium in smaller tanks. But I can't even begin to describe this sensation of being within the acquarium. It's almost disorienting at first, there are fish everywhere. I'm not exactly sure which way is up. I don't know there names. There's a orange and black striped fish that dances in and out of the anemone's tentacles. There are bright blue fish, yellow fish, black fish, the striped blue/yellow ones. But colors so bright they look like they've been drawn with a fresh set of Crayola markers.

I make sure I keep pressurizing my ears. I can sense the pressure change even after descending a few feet. We explore the area. I'm still a bit awkward as I figure out how to move in water and what to do with my flippered feet. There's so much to see, I can't quite take it all in. I can understand why people are addicted to scuba diving. I've been in the water 10 minutes and I know I am.

Kali Laziness

The class with the Tanods is going very well. I think we've gotten used to each other and figured out how to communicate. I don't talk as much and use one of them to demonstrate on. Most of them are more physically and visually oriented people. They observe then follow. Usually if I do a technique on them, they understand it.

Most of my students in the U.S. are more aural/listening learners. Not that they're any brighter, but that they process information in this way. They like explanation and words to understand. They hear what you are talking about. As opposed to feeling it or seeing it then copying. Most people are stronger in two and weak on one. I'm a physical and visual learner. If I see it, if I do it, I remember it. Maybe that's why I'm an oral teacher, going to my weakness. If someone tells me something I don't remember it as clearly as seeing or feeling it. If I focus really hard I can remember something heard just as well, but I need more practice at it. The key as a teacher is to find multiple ways of communicating to try to catch the students. I'm a fisherman.

Each day we have a new audience. Filipinos are quite curious and have no problems wth stopping to see what's going on when there's action some place. One day it was a group of tennis players. Another day was a group of kids. Today is I guess what Americans would call homeless. He kind of wanders around. They say he's gone crazy, but seemed to be coherent enough to watch what we were doing. He even tried to move his hands around in a circle.

I'm learning a great deal from them each day. In understand more and more why the techniques are the way they are. It's archeology really. Though this style of kali is being practiced and evolving in the U.S., there's still a certain essence and spirit to it from the Philippines. I've always held onto this idea that somewhere in this movement you can find an essence to Filipino. In the same way that so-called "pagan" rituals have seeped into saint festivals and the like.

The sliding of our feet, I've always linked to tsinelas/flip-flops. The double sticks movement is called Sinuwali. Sawali is the woven house walls. Sinuwali is weaving. The small steps I believe comes from wearing malongs, the tubular skirts which prevent large steps. It fits with the story of the Blind Princess. How else would a woman move in a long skirt?

I now understand when my teacher talks about laziness. No effort or energy used in the strikes; the slow movement like pushing through thick air. It's 3p. Today is scorching hot. We're lucky that there are a few shade trees in the plaza, but still, the air is thick and heavy. It's not so much laziness, it's really the only way to move without pushing yourself to exhaustion. It's conservation of energy. In this heat, the moves become easier because it's the only way to move efficiently.

I teach them open hand against weapon, some arm breaks, learning to duck a strike, learning to move out of the way. They are picking it up rather well. Not perfectly, but enough that I know they're going in the right direction.

One of the students during the break tells me he told his Baranggay Captain (Neighborhood leader) about me and that he wants to come by to see the class. They've never seen a woman do martial arts. He told his Captain that I'm very soft spoken, but very good.

I don't come up with the techniques any more. I show a simple technique and watch them. Even as their mistakes lead to new techniques. When I watch them step in a different direction, I see a new move which I teach them. Each person's body is different and the techniques translate differently in each person. They may end up doing the technique I showed them badly, but their "erred" movement is actually the beginning of another technique. It's a crystal really. Once you're in motion, you can bounce to any direction and all the rainbows are just as beautiful.

Under the Sea

I meet Barbie, my Dive Master. She's going to take me through the basic skills in the shallow water. Diggy, who's in Cebu right now, will be my Dive Instructor and take me on the deeper dives. I meet her at Camiguin Action offices in town, then we take a motorella to Secret Cove where they have their dive office.

Secret Cove is another small resort along the same side as Agohay and White Island. There are quite a few foreigners who stop here, mostly because they have air conditioned rooms. Their restaurant serves a lot of standard Western dishes: meat and potatos kind of fare. I had come here a couple of nights ago with Ros for their Mango Cheesecake.

We review the reading, some of the questions. My years of book learning have paid off. It's all very straightforward. She teaches me how to get the gear in order, connect the hoses, check the equipment. After putting on my wetsuit, I put on the dive gear, which weighs a ton: scuba tank, weight belt. We walk down to the shore, put our fins on and get started. Even along the shore there are a few tiny fish. I can't even imagine what we might get to see later.

I learn the hand signals to communicate. Thumbs up to signal that I want to go up and surface. Circle with the thumb and index finger to give the ok. Flat palm cutting across the neck to show "no more air." There is sound underwater, but it's difficult to locate and well, there's the issue of breathing.

I learn how to clear the water that enters my mask. Play around with adding and removing air from my buoyancy vest, so I neither float nor sink. This is the hardest concept to grasp, since up and down is usually relative to where the ground is. In the water, it is and it isn't. As you go down you can feel the pressure on your ears, but for all you care you could be at all sorts of strange angles. Barbie tells me that when you get it right it's like flying.

The skills seem simple enough. She demonstrates all of them first, then watches me do it. I try to take my time, relax, then try it. Getting out of the water is the hardest thing to go from barely feeling the tank to feeling like you're hauling an anchor out of the water. We manage to finish all the skills in about 50 minutes, which gives us time for lunch.

As we eat lunch, I watch the children play in the ocean waves. It's summer break. What a life! To grow up playing in the ocean for summer break. The sky is a sparkling blue along with the water. I've never seen an ocean so blue except in pictures. Even then I thought the pictures were photoshopped. I guess I was wrong. There's something mesmerizing about this color blue: dark, deep, cool, comforting.

Diggy is still in Cebu. I'll see him on Friday when we do the real dives. Friday evening is a despedida/going away party for Diggy on the full moon. He's going back to Germany for a few months to save money so they can continue to live in the Philippines.

Lolong picks me up for kali.

Ants

The ants find everything. My friend told me once you can tell how long you've lived in the Philippines by the ants. You go to a restaurant, order a glass of milk. There are ants floating in it. If you're new you decide not to drink the milk. After six months, you get the same glass of milk with the floating ants, but you skim the ants off then drink the milk. But when you've become a real local you get the glass, see the ants floating and drink it down ants and all. Good protein.

During the break in class, there's a trail of ants leading to my pasiking (those woven Baguio backpacks). They've found the candy at the bottom of the my bag. Even in the heat of the hottest day you can see ants scurrying in all directions sweeping the terrain for any bit of sugar: large ants, tiny ants, red ants.

I get rid of the candy at the bottom of the bag though the ants haven't really penetrated the plastic yet. I'm obviously new. If I were a real local, I would brush off the ants, and eat the candy. It's only my 6th day here. I'm still diligently putting on bug repellant. I toss the candy and shake the rest of the ants out of my bag.

Today's snack is orange juice pack and puto. I watch the ants swarm the crumbs of the puto. These are red. From a distance they look like a sparkling red jewel shimmering.

The cycle of life here happens at such a fast rate. There are no real seasons here, though they name a rainy season and a summer. The days stay relatively the same length. There is no winter or fall. No time for everything to shut down and take a break. Life grows out of every possible crack. To live here, people spend most of their time trying to keep back the growth. The night and early mornings are filled with the smell of burning leaves.

In the US there is a winter for several months. I wonder if that's why we move so fast in the summer and spring because we've waited so long that we need to get a year's worth of things done in a few months.

I continue to slam my bag on the ground. At least 5-6 ants fall from it each time it hits. Sigh.

A friend who lived here for a year told me how one time she powered on her laptop, a ton of ants came scurrying out of it. I'm not sure what they liked about the inner workings on her computer, but what she would have given for a good air can just then.

I've learned to just leave the bugs alone, since most of time our worlds don't mingle. I promise not to have sweets in my bag and the ants promise to stay out of it. I figure, the ants are doing what everyone else on this island is trying to do, look for stuff to keep them alive.

The speed in which they claim the crumbs astounds me, but makes sense. To sustain the kind of growth above ground (the trees, the grass, etc), resources must be reclaimed as quickly as possible. The ants are merely doing their job along the ecological chain.

By the end of class, there are no crumbs left on the ground.

Water, water everywhere

It's now Tuesday, May 13. Ros is going to Davao today. The Tarzan's resort is empty except for me, Loy (repair guy and cook) and Peter (Ros' brother). She has some time before the ferry leaves, so we go snorkeling at a reserve on the south side of the island near Guinsiliban. This side of the island is not as developed because there is no water here. While streams and springs pop up everywhere else, this side of the island waits for rainfall. It's still lush here, it's still the tropics. In my travels, water is key. Coming from drought ridden California, I understand the politics of water.

When I visited Oahu, Hawaii once, I met with Taro farmers. Taro is the Hawaiian diet staple the way rice is for Filipinos. They are trying to reestablish the ancient taro farms throughout the island, but it's difficult when water is funneled to agri-business like Dole or to the growing cities. One side of Oahu is like desert, the water does not flow there. There are native fish that can no longer spawn because there are no rivers that reach the ocean in Oahu.

Ros asks an old man there if he could pick us some coconuts for water. One out of two of them have no water. It's really a crap shoot. You can taste a bit of the ocean salt in the coconut water. These trees naturally filter out the salt from the ocean to place the water fresh in its fruit. Several small children come running up and stand watching about 5 feet away. There are very few visitors on this side of the island, so we must be wonderously entertaining particularly when we don our snorkel gear and flippers. The old man shoos them away.

Ros is taking scuba lessons from Camiguin Action, a group that leads hikes and gives scuba lessons on the island. I've always wanted to learn how to scuba. I ask her if I could finish the course by Sunday. She talks with Barbie at Camiguin Action, scores a discount. There are no real "set" prices in the Philippines. Everything is negotiable. Barbie will send over the scuba manual to read. I start my scuba class tomorrow. My schedule is set: scuba lessons in the morning, kali in the afternoon.

We snorkel at the reserve for about an hour or so. The reefs are lush, even more so than the coral reef reserve in Hawaii. I'm not used to dealing with water in the snorkel. This is only my 2nd time snorkeling. I get a big claustrophobic. Choking is a really big fear that I have from a panicky water experience lodged in my memory.

It's 11am. Time for Ros to head to the ferry. I stay and snorkel a bit more on my own, but the wind and waves are getting bigger and crashing into the snorkel. At one point I just lie on my back and float, letting the waves bring me in like drift wood. I dry off and eat the lunch that was packed.

Lolong returns from dropping Ros at the terminal. He will be my motorbike driver for the week: take me to scuba in the morning then kali in the afternoon or wherever else I may want to see on the island.

Ros often hires him to take around guests. She trusts him. I've only known Ros in person for 2 days. I got hooked up with Ros from Joey. I emailed Joey saying I was coming. He emailed Ros and told her I was coming. I trust Joey. Joey trusts Ros. Ros trusts Lolong. Which means I trust Lolong as well. This is how it works in the Philippines. It's all about association. If someone I know can vouch for you, well then, I'm good with that. Here paper is easily forged. You cannot forge friendship.

After eating, we go by some of the old wooden houses in Guinsiliban. The architecture of Filipino homes is really gorgeous. There are wooden slats called Ukil, that have various designs stencil designs. Ros told me that when the light shines through in the morning, it's like rainbows from a crystal. But many of the old homes around the Philippines are being replaced by concrete and tin. The old hardwoods are scarce and expensive. The coco wood that people can afford melts into dust after three months eaten away by the anilao/termites. It seems like every isle is just one big termite mound. The hardwoods, the termites leave alone. Personally, I would much rather stay in an older wooden house, even a bamboo one. They feel safer and cooler than the tin ovens now built. The wooden houses let air circulate and sway with the storms and earthquakes rather than tumble to dust like the bricks. But concrete and tin is cheaper, plus you don't have to replace it all the time like the thatch roofs.

We stop by another cold spring, Macau, so I can wash the salt off my skin. Last year near here, there was massive flooding and mudslide which killed over 200 people. You can still see where it cut down the mountain though the vegetation is already starting to fill it in. We head back to Tarzan's so I can change and rest before the kali class.

I lost a few students from the day before but it looks like most of them have stayed. I struggle through the teaching again, but today they're asking questions. It's a good sign. I want them to ask questions. It means they're thinking about the techniques and want more information. Since only a few of them speak English, I watch the groups carefully reading their faces. A question looks the same on a person's face no matter what the language they speak: that crinkle of the forehead, the focus of the eyes. They often stop to watch other people do the techniques.

After class I meet Bangladesh (that's his nickname). His real name is Hubert. He lives behind the market near the basketball court in the back. If you ask for Hubert, no one will know who you're talking about. If you ask for Bangladesh, they will show you his home. He had seen us practicing after leaving the church nearby. He had taken some other Filipino martial art, which was very hard and linear. He likes our softer circles.

Bangladesh earns some money guiding tourists on mountain hikes. There are three waterfalls on the island: Katibuwasan which is developed for tourists, Tuasan and a third one that takes a half day hike to get to. Other than that, there isn't much in Camiguin for livelihood. He attends church every day. He comes to visit the class every day to watch. He is not a baranggay Tanod so he doesn't join in on the class. We often talk after the classes about what he sees and thinks.

He says he knows Spanish, English, Visayan, and a bit of Tagalog. He says his English is not so good. I tell him his English is very good. It passes the most basic requirement of communication: I understand him. His English is WAY better than my Tagalog.

We watch a white man drive a large truck with several children in the back. Bangladesh tells me the man is a retired US army man retired here on the island who attends the Catholic Church every day. He asks if I'm in the military. I politely tell him no, I work for the university. He wants to join the US military, but he is already 45 years old. Their cutoff is 35. He says he will lie on his application and maybe one of the retired officers he knows will pull some strings for him. He tells me each year becomes harder and harder to live here. He has faith that God will bring him a better life.

There are numerous foreigners who have retired in Camiguin. I don't blame them, it certainly fits that South Pacific island getaway. I wouldn't mind living here. It is mostly foreign men who come here to settle. Often they have Filipina wives. I will end up meeting more of them later this week at a full moon party on Friday.

Tonight I cram 2 chapters of the scuba course book. Learn about buoyancy and equipment.

Frontline/World: Islands under Siege

I pause my tales for a moment for Frontline/World: Islands under siege. Check out the website http://www.pbs.org/frontlineworld/stories/philippines/thestory.html. Check your local PBS stations for rebroadcast. The website has extensive information regarding Mindanao and the battles being fought there today.

Even in the Philippines, it's difficult to get information about Mindanao. News of NBA finals and GMA's visit to the U.S. push local news aside. Most of my travels were in the predominantly Christian northern coast of Mindano and I only received a light glimpse of the Philippine military presence when I visited Marawi City.

Stone Temples and Organ Music

For Ros at Tagub Hot Spring

A near pregnant moon lights our path in subtle shades of cobalt blue. This light melts the clothes from our bodies. There is no shame in the form of silhouettes. In pools of tide sculpted stones, tiny crabs nibble near our backs. The moon is shaded from view by the jagged outlines of coconut leaves. Enter the volcano's fading breath as waves crash forth. Rustling palm leaves and gecko croaks play hymns. We balance ocean polished stones atop each other to form temples. Seven steps to heaven. The water ripples from humming resonance in our lungs like deep organ tones heard in the cathedral. The heat of our prayers boils the water permeates our very being. Who says heaven is up?

If you're just dropping in, this month is all about the trip I recently took the Philippines. I promise that this trip was no ordinary tour. The trip took me through much of Northern Mindanao: a small resort island Camiguin, to a port city Surigao to the Islamic area of Marawi City. I'm taking a closer look back at the people I encountered and the places I've been to. Right now it's the 4th of 18 days.

Blind Women and Fishermen: Kali the first day

Ros and I get to the plaza across from City Hall. There is a stage, some concrete benches and tennis courts. The Vice-Mayor is into sports and promoted tennis for a bit, so there are several tennis courts throughout the island. The sound system is getting set up. There are groups of men sitting in different areas around the park. Some of them have brought sticks. The whole thing is running late. The Mayor's assistant tells us that we are waiting on the mayor and the vice-mayor is out of town.

I ask Ros if she has a bolo. I need to find a way to impress them and there's nothing like a woman swinging around a knife that gets people intrigued. Bolos and large knives are standard tools particularly in more provincial homes. They use them to clear out vegetation, open coconuts, split wood, etc. Many Philippine swords are not exclusive military weapons: bolos, barangs. The wavy kris and the large kampilan are two of the few real military swords. We take a motorella (a tricycle shaped like a jeepney) down the road to the blacksmith and pick out a bolo there then head back.

It's now 3p, an hour after the scheduled start time. We decide to just start. There's a prayer, opening remarks, introduction of Ros, introduction of me all on a scratchy PA system for maybe 30 people. I say a few things about the lineage of my kali school in the best hackneyed English-Tagalog I can come up with. Then I do a demonstration with the bolo.

3:45pm Time for the snack break and we haven't even started class! The deal is that I get to stay at Tarzan's, teach for free, and the town gives afternoon snacks, usually a juice drink and ensymada or sandwich snack. Filipinos always go where the food is. Ros goes and talks to more mayor office people, while I sit by myself with a soda and sandwich. The Tanods form several groups sitting amongst themselves. There are so many things that set us apart. I only speak English and bad Tagalog. They speak Visayan. I'm this college educated American. They are farmers and fishermen. They are my elders. I'm a woman who is here to teach them what I know about Philippine martial arts. These things: language, region, oceans, gender, education are ways in which Filipino class structure is often separated.

In my past journeys here, I have seen how these things divide people. I have been kept behind the same bars myself. So, how am I to cross these borders, people have told me in the past are not permeable?

I've seen Filipino men freak out when I try to play basketball with them and I'm supposed to teach martial arts?!?

My mind is racing to find a bridge. Find a way to connect us past stereotypes and preconceived notions. In a kali demo I've done with my students, we start with a story that goes, "In a time before time, our people were once warriors, but they were also farmers and fishermen, healers and midwives..." This is not a time before time, but these are the farmers and the fishermen. I feel like I know nothing.

After break I get them form a circle, pick up sticks and teach them how to twirl. It gives me a chance to see all their faces. They're all between 31 and 40 (per the letter from the mayor's office) except for Abe, he looks to be late 40s, peppery hair. He's head of the Tanods. He carries a whistle. Ros tells me he's the one that can get the rest in gear. They listen to him.

I teach them a few more techniques, get them to pair up. I demonstrate striking on one of them. First hitting their stick with mine, moving slow but hitting hard, so he can feel the sting through the stick. Next I strike to the arm looking like it will be a powerful blow but touch with the softest of graces. I don't know if it's convincing.

I pair them up to practice more techniques. Some of them are starting to sit out, watch the others do the techniques. I'm losing them, I'm thinking. I check my watch. It's only 4:30! I'm already worn out mentally. I'm not sure what to teach them next. The mayor's secretary doesn't quite understand the teaching style. He asks me if I should go on the stage and demonstrate and maybe have them line up and follow my movements. Classic Philippine education. Follow, copy. I tell him, it's ok, I want them paired up. There are a few, including Abe, who look like they've picked up a stick before. 4:48. It feels like the heat has slowed down my watch, 5 o'clock doesn't come fast enough.

We finally end the class. I get them to form another circle. Instead of bowing towards me, I simply have them bow to the center of the circle to each other. As they exit out of the circle, everyone shakes everyone elses hands. "Sige, sige, brotherhood." says Abe, referring to a previous explanation I made of clan and the ties that bind them to each other, to their communities. It's my first real affirmation that some kind of communication has occurred. It's going to be a very long week.

Notes from Monday, May 12, 2003

6am leave Tia's Resort for Tarzan's Nest. It's early. The gate is still locked. I wait a few moments before Ros hears my luggage shuffling on the gravel. Maria Morales is still here. She's leaving on the 9a ferry. The three of us have breakfast together.

Maria is better known as Jinky, but prefers Maria now, or Lila, as her grand daughter calls her. She asks me what it is like grow up in America, wonders how her own granddaughter in Michigan will fair. We talk about the difficulties of raising families in the U.S. To go from extensive families, yayas in the Philippines, to day care and dual income commuting parents, is hard. Certainly, it takes a village to raise a child, because a child will take advantage of two worn out parents. Yet, you need money and you can't get it in the Philippines, so you have to move. But what are the costs that can't be measured by money.

9am. Maria heads out. I speak with Ros about the Kali class and how she came about being a manager of a resort. It's a long story, but in the end Ben, this Swiss guy and original Tarzan, worked out a deal with the Enigmata Creative Circle Collective. They want it to become a resort as well as an artist's retreat. Ben is the one who built the place and added alot of its artistic whimsy. Ros came to Camiguin after wearing herself out on NGO work.

I am reminded of something a friend told me once, "Prosperity isn't about the amount of money you have, it's about living the life you want."

11am Ros and I head to market and buy some food for lunch. I love open air markets. Such great food! Fresh grilled fish, fruits, vegetables. She buys these dark plums that look like the size of large olives. They stain your lips purple and make your mouth pucker. They're native to Camiguin and hard to find nowadays. We race through the turo-turo places and pick up some rice, monggo, and kilawin (raw fish with onions, vinegar). Next, she asks one a motor(bike) or habal-habal driver if he can take us to Saai Cold Springs. The first guy can't, but a second guy knows the way.

The path to Saai takes us down narrower and narrower paths from concrete to gravel roads down to a narrow hiking path. We pass go up and over a hill and then pass through a forrested green valley. Ros tells me this driver is very good. He's able to take us all the way down. The last time she did this, they had to talk half way.

Saai is not as developed as Ardent, well I don't know what is more developed than Ardent except for maybe Sto. Nino cold springs with it's cottages for rent. Saaii is just a rectangular stone pool that a cold spring pours into shaded by a few trees, with a handful of picnic tables for people to use. There is no entrance fee. But there is a vendor who has brought soda and chips for sale. We hold up a malong for each other as an improvised dressing room. There are several kids there in shorts, tshirts, or nothing at all, enjoying their summer vacation running and diving in. The water here is cool, but not frigid. Actually, I don't know what can be colder than the Pacific Ocean near San Francisco in the summer. Feels good to jump in after the bumpy ride over. There are numerous tiny fresh water fish living in the pool, the same I will find in all the fresh cold springs here. If you stay still, they nibble at your toes.

Again, I am awed by Camiguin's beauty. Here deep in this valley, a cold spring to refresh oneself. After a brief dip, we eat our lunch kamayan style. We jump back on the motor back into town. My first class starts at 2p today. Supposed to meet the mayor and vice mayor and listen to speeches. I'm actually a bit nervous. On the ride back I think about where to begin.