A quick run through Bangkok craziness and on to Lao chillness

Well, the Ma'am has moved on to slightly greener pastures, but not without a sweet farewell. Will post ridiculous pictures of my last day at work (stunted by a power outrage...hence, leading us to goof around) and a scramble to my two flights up to Manila and on to Thailand.

After a tiring trip to Bangkok, it took almost an hour and a half to get through customs and to the guest house, right in the thick of Khao San Ro, the "backpackers" district. Arriving at the inn around 3 am, I was surprised when I, armed with my bulky "backpackers" backpack (total trademark), had to push my way through crowds of drunk and stumbling people still out in the streets. I had a good sleep at the inn, despite the total tourist chaos right outside the hotel.

Khao San Ro: Foreigners abound!

CHEAP and popular noodles and fried spring rolls on the street

The next day, I met my friend Matt around 1 pm. We had lunch at a delicious Thai restaurant and sat chatting and catching up. It's been about two years since I've seen him. An Irishman and Harry Potter look-alike, he was one of my best "mates" from when I taught English in South Korea. We talked a lot about his work and my work and different topics of cultural interests, especially given our comparisons of the Philippines to Thailand. Matt has been living in Thailand almost two years and has been working for an NGO in Mae Sot, running Education Training programs for the Quran (sp?), a traditional tribe group of Burmese refugees. He spends a lot of his time in the camps, and his program focuses on training refugees to be teachers in addition to other program management positions. To my surprise, the U.S. government gives Quran refugees automatic citizenship and even stipends for living for their first 6 months. After that, many of them get jobs as factory workers, or dependent on their skills and abilities to adapt to Western culture, other more highly skilled jobs. I was curious about their success rate and if his NGO does any measurement or evaluation of the outcomes of their programs. Matt said they have not done that yet, although he is touch with a few of the refugees for follow up. Possible need for someone with those kinds of skills (ahem! me!) came up in conversation as well; however, as his two year contract is coming to an end, Matt might be looking into other job options or going back for a Masters.

Since Julian's flight was not supposed to arrive until 2:45 pm, and given the exorbitant time it takes to go through customs and move through Bangkok traffic, Matt and I relocated to a street side bar for a few Tigers to chat and pass the time. Around 5 pm, I headed back to the hotel, but still no sign of Julian. He arrived around 6 pm, since his flight was delayed almost an hour. In the evening, we met back up with Matt and headed to an area downtown to nowhere else but an Irish pub. We met up with a few of his friends, a French girl who's been living in Bangkok for 5 years! and met Matt through Burma Issues (the NGO he worked for previously, which does more media advocacy work), and another guy who is half Italian and half Thai. We relocated to Soi 4 to a small, underground club with good music.

Party central: Soi 4 at night

Old friends reunited: Matt and I

New friends made...(Julian: what is this drunken Irishman spitting about?!)

Still lost in translation..."Harry Potter" (a.k.a. Macca) looking a bit pinkish

Since Julian and I had skipped dinner, we headed out to the street for some of the best pad thai I had ever had while Julian resorted to the meats on sticks. The street food in Thailand looks and smells incredible, so we couldn't resist.

mmmmm...streetside pad thai

grrrr...chix on stix...grrrr

5 sticks of meat later...(ughhhh)

The next morning, we caught out flight to Luang Prabang (or should I say BARELY caught our flight). If you thought I was slow and always late, using my half-Indian standard time as a constant excuse, Julian is quite the match for me, if not worse. Flying into Luang Prabang, the scenery was gorgeous. Lush green hills, with the wide, brown, muddy-looking Mekong twisting and winding through. I was amazed at how rural and undeveloped Laos looked from the air. I could spot occasional hut houses in the middle of the hillside with only a tiny trail leading to it. I wondered where those trails lead, as there were no towns or cities in sight.

We got into Luang Prabang around 1 pm. It's a quiet, little town with only a couple major streets of guest houses, massage spas, restaurants, and shops. We immediately could feel the chill, laid back atmosphere that Laos claims to fame. Especially given that our guest house keeper immediately showed us to our room and did not expect any formal payment or check-in. Just a "whenever" sufficed. $10 for a large room with air con, hot water, and satellite TV! Tough to beat. We relaxed in the afternoon as I have been exhausted from all the heavy traveling I have been doing in the last week. In the evening, we had a nice dinner and walked around the town.
Found a hangout/bar and sat, drinking Beer Lao and Lao Lao. Lao lao is the local alcohol here, 50% alcoholic by volume, and is made from sticky rice.

"2 for 1" means too many drinks: Lao Lao cocktails, BeerLao BIG bottle, and bright green complimentary shot of lao lao (too repulsive to drink)

The monsoon is here, so after sleeping in this morning and having a light breakfast, I decided to indulge in a massage and pedicure. The massage was traditional Lao, and reminded me slightly of a Korean massage, but less painful. The little Lao girl climbed all over me, digging her knees into my back, and using her hands to hit all of acupressure points, cracking my toes and wrists, and even applying deep pressure to my cheeks and eyebrows. It was very revitalizing and I could feel the toxins and kinks of stress immediately released.

We are planning to stay here a couple of days as we are tired of packing and moving...and we have only just picked up a guide book to plan our next moves. There are seemingly day trips to caves and waterfalls, including a supposedly amazing, beautiful boat ride up the Mekong. A must-do. Most likely our next destination will be north and/or east.
So far so good and more to come!
As Laos moves at a snail's pace, it seems like the perfect place for me.

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Things I will miss in the Philippines...

1. Daily bus ride to Carcar early in the morning.
2. Motorbike rides to the center meetings through rice terraces, village trails and paths.
3. Evening talks on the porch with Don Don.
4. Family dinners.
5. Intellectual conversations with Toefilo over a cup of buko juice.
6. Gagay's laugh.
7. Ruel's laugh.
8. Stephan's laugh.
6. Dancing in the discos with Gen and the boys.
10. Hearing overplayed pop songs "Nobody want to see us together..." and "Suicidal" everywhere...if not when Ruel is singing them, then on the bus, in the disco, in the bank, etc.
11. Don Don's pouty face.
12. Halo halo.
13. The flies.

Last weekend in Bohol

Getting to Bohol proved more difficult than I thought given my last-minute tendencies. I guess flying last minute is far easier than trying to take a ferry without buying your ticket in advance. I left the house around 7: 30 am, just missing the monsoon downpours that had woken me up at 6 am. When I left, Gen and Keith had returned from their infrequent early morning jogs soaked. Apparently, they had found a little kitten about the size of palm, and looked like it hadn’t eaten in a month. They were feeding it small pieces of sardines when I left. Looks like the family might be expanding.

I took a taxi to Pier 3, as instructed by Don-don. When I arrived, to my surprised there was one ferry leaving at 8:30 am and only about P100! But, I soon found out it was going to Tubigon, rather than Tagbilaran. Since Tubigon is about an hour’s trip from Tagbilaran, I decided to look for the ferry lines that I knew would go straight to where I needed to go. When I realized those were all at Pier 4, I started walking. Within one minute of walking down what seemed to be a service road connecting the piers, I man pulled up on his motorbike asking me where I was going. I told him to the Pier 4, trying to minimize conversation and walk a little faster. He said he was a worker there and he could give me a ride. “For free?” I said, used to by now everyone charging me at least 10 pesos for any kind of transport. But, after I told him the ferry line I was looking for, he said he didn’t know that one, and proceeded to ask people. I started getting frustrated and just wanted him to get me there, especially because I knew the Weesam Express ferry left at 9 am. Finally, he dropped me there, and I said my salamat and proceeded to the ticketing office. To my dismay, the 9 am ferry was sold out, and there was a “50-50” wait list of 42 people! Although I signed up my name, I knew that I would have to find an alternative. I walked over to SuperCat and their next ferry left at 12:30 pm. I contemplated what to do next, opting to go home, but the boys and Gen were already at the bank for the monthly meeting, so I knew I wouldn’t be able to get home easily. I decided to buy my ticket, and just have to wait it out somehow. Gen suggested through text to go to SM Mall, so I hopped in a taxi and was there in 5 minutes. Getting there before the actual mall opened, I spotted a Starbucks, and being a “true IPAer” got my laptop out and ordered a latte and worked for a couple hours. After the mall opened, I decided to wander around and found an airline office where I bought the last ticket I ever have to buy in the Philippines: my one-way ticket from Cebu to Manila for the 31st. I headed back to the terminal around noon to board the boat.

(left) Filipino favorite: The ubiquitous meat on sticks (and the only place to get food at the pier)

The ride was quick and I listened to music and slept to pass the 2 hours. When we arrived in Tagbilaran, to avoid the tourist traps waiting at the port, I headed straight for the tourist information building. Of course, they weren’t too much help, but laid out my three options of transport to Panglao island. I opted for a tricycle, figuring it was the cheapest and most convenient option. Bargaining down to a mere 200 pesos, the ride was bumpy and felt longer than the driver’s promise of 20 minutes. When we arrived in Alona Beach, it looked a bit shabby and the hotel we pulled up in front of was not in the book. Feeling a little lost and didn’t want to be stranded, asked the driver to take me to Bohol Diver’s Resort. When we arrived, it was a big establishment with tight security (if the complete rock and gravel road was not enough deterrence for anybody to venture), and luxurious villas outlining the grounds, complete with a big, airy restaurant, overlooking the beach, a pool, and a beachfront bar. When the front desk woman told me for a room with air-con would be P3000, I thought I might be hopping back in the tricycle for another destination. But, given that I am now part of the NGO world and by myself, I opted for budget roughing it accommodations and settled for the P800 room with fan. However, the one room left seemed to have a faulty door knob. So, I saw at the restaurant and drank a San Miguel Light while waiting for them to “fix” the door knob. Luckily, they had a safe deposit box for laptop. While sitting in the restaurant, I watched sun-burned foreigners sit at the bar on the beach smoking cigarettes, while the chatter of Korean tourists in the restaurant drinking beer for beer and the singing waiters and lady boy staff droned on and on over the videoke machine. It’s not the Philippines without a videoke machine. For those of you unfamiliar with this contraption, it is the ubiquitous karaoke machine with attached TV monitor that displays nature scenery or random white girls in bikinis for every song selected. People living in villages can even rent them for special affairs and parties. After I finished my beer, I went back to the desk to check if the room was ready, since I was anxious to shower and take a dip in the pool. My room is quite bare, with a red, wash-stained concrete floor that I won’t dare step on barefoot, some minor furniture, a big bed, one fan that points and rotates at the ceiling, and a small, Korean-style bathroom – meaning, the shower and toilet are one in the same, so that every time you shower, not only do you get clean, but your bathroom does as well.

I quickly showered and changed into my bikini and beach attire. I went for a swim and as the sun set, sat out on the beach chair with my headphones, letting the warm wind dry me off. After which, I walked down the beach to check out the various beach resorts, restaurants, dive shops along the beachfront. When I first arrived, I was pretty disappointed with the condition of the beach, since I had heard by some Filipinos that the beaches in Bohol were even nicer than the ones in Boracay. I would have to strongly disagree. Although the beach is white-sand, there seems to be a lot of rift-raft washed ashore and the water did not look as crystal clear as it did in Boracay. However, as I walked along the beach, I soon found out that near the Western side of the short strip of beach, the beach front was a lot wider and accommodating to sun-bathers, and of course, those stretched out getting massages. I also noticed that many of the accommodations looked a lot nicer than mine as well. I reached the end pretty quickly just as it was getting dark. At the far end, there was a quaint little restaurant, part of a hotel known as Alona Tropical, that was lit by candles and two men serenading with guitar. It looked like a fine spot to have dinner since I hadn’t eaten all day. I asked about rooms, since the nipa huts looked really nice; however, there lowest price offering for a room was still at least double what I was paying for my concrete block. As I said before, I am alone, so I don’t so much feel the need to splurge, especially given I need to save whatever pesos I can for my big trip to Laos in a week. If I had a partner, though, I would opt for a more romantic and luxurious spot.

I sat at a table on the outside patio and ordered a fresh mango juice, cauliflower with shrimps, and garlic rice. The waitress, after my order, said with a big smile, “You are very beautiful.” The dinner was delicious, filled with many different flavors. After, I sat and relaxed, and one of the waitresses, named Shallymar, came to talk to me. She asked the usual run of personal questions, and then informed me that Monday was their fiesta time. I am witnessed fiesta several times now, including the one time we all went to Sibonga to Toefilo’s house to celebrate. She immediately but humbly invited me to her home for Fiesta Monday morning, if I wasn’t busy of course. She must have felt bad for me since I was alone. Everyone so far has been shocked that I am alone. And while actually, I do feel a little lonely, this is also the first time I have traveled in the Philippines by myself, and given that I am constantly around people, I thought it might be nice to have a little one-on-one time. But, I do miss the fam back in Talisay and wondering what they are getting up to. I am sure if my phone was working, Gen would be giving me updates in texts. I thought Monday, I might try to sight-see as much as possible, making going snorkeling or to one of the nearby islands, but was intrigued by the opportunity to go into a Boholan home and most likely be fed a meal in preparation for fiesta. Shallymar gave me her number so I could call her to arrange when to meet on Monday. I later got to talking with another one of the waitresses about their offers for tours to Balicasag Island. It is about 6 km southwest of Panglao, or a 45 minutes boat ride from Alona Beach, but is considered (by the authority of the “LP,” a.k.a. Lonely Planet) as one of the premier diving spots of the Philippines. It is surrounded by a reef that has been declared a marine sanctuary, so I was informed that it was a great place to go snorkeling. The staff was extremely warm and friendly and offered to look into the cost of the tour given, because again, it is JUST me. She suggested I could go early Monday morning, coming back hopefully around noon or 1 pm, in time to still go with Shallymar to her home for fiesta in the early afternoon. I left feeling that I had made friends, and only wish where I was staying the people were that warm and friendly. I walked back along the beach past strolling couples hand-in-hand, and beachfront restaurants filled with customers eating seafood dinners by candlelight.
When I got back to the room, it was unusually windy, but decided to shower, and then go to the safety deposit box to get my computer and work or write. On my way, I felt a slight sprinkling. After getting my laptop, it was pouring rain. I tried to sit in the restaurant and opened my laptop, but the rain was coming in sideways and starting to sprinkle not just me, but my baby too! So, I waited it out a little and then headed to my room where I could write in shelter, although sweaty, the breeze from the storm and my crappy fan keeps me cool enough to write. The rains continued to pour, and was starting to wonder what tomorrow would bring.

Family Time

Gen and I are almost always spoiled on a daily basis by dinners cooked Keith and Don-don. As the “mayora”s of the house, we’ve assumed our role and leave the cooking to the men. I do not think Gen is much of a cook anyways, but I love to cook and with the right ingredients, would love to expose the boys to my favorite cuisines, and completely foreign and exotic foods to them. However, Gen has cooked for them prior to my arrival, making them pasta, but lacking some key ingredients like fresh basil, substituting it for a Filipino herb that doesn’t even resemble basil in anyway. However, considering that Keith has announced on several occasions, starting my second week here, that it is the “girl’s turn” to cook, we knew our time had to come.

Family on Pearl Street (left to right): Kith ("Master Chef"), me ("Atay"), Lyndon or Don Don ("Baby Brother"), and Gen ("Mayora")

On Wednesday night, Gen was excited about discovering some spices she had overlooked in the “import” section of the supermarket, Gaisano. So, she prepared spaghetti and an eggplant and tomato sauce with Danish mozzarella. I provided the wine, picking from the surprisingly large selection at the “Wine Store” inside the Gaisano mall – the only supermarket as far as I can tell and main shopping area in Talisay. I passed on Chianti and chose the most expensive California Cabernet Sauvignon I could find (and by expensive I mean P425, or $9), figuring it was the boys’ first time having red wine and wanted to expose them to the wines of my home state.

Mayora's Feast

Gen could tell by the way the boys ate and their expressions, chewing it slowly and cautiously, that they didn’t like it. Only Keith commented on the one aspect of the meal he seemed to appreciate: “I like the eggplant.” While Don-don with his napkin tucked into his t-shirt collar, ate two helpings, despite Gen assuming her motherly role and exclaiming that he barely put any of the sauce on his pasta.

Don: "See? I'm eating it! mmmmm"

Before Gen moved into the house at Fairview with the boys, she did not approve of their dietary habits, especially Don-don. As the youngest one of the house, I have appropriately given him title as “Baby Brother,” and he affectionately calls me “Atay” for older sister or Auntie. Making fun of his little belly slowly forming, characteristic of almost every Filipino male I’ve seen, Gen decided to impose some rules of the house.

Rule #1: No Meat. According to Gen, Don-don’s eating habits consisted mainly of consuming the despicable street food which are an assortment of various brightly-colored pink and red meats on sticks. Sausages and sometimes chicken, but also including pig intestines, I can’t even look at them, and yet he proceeds to eat them with delight.

Rule #2: No soda. And includes no sugar, although it is present in the house and seems acceptable when drinking coffee.

Rule #3: Nothing fried. Now I think this rule has come from Gen’s raising by a nutritionist mother, which has led her to also adopt some rather healthy habits, which I can easily agree with. For instance, I was pleasantly surprised to open the fridge and find soy milk!
And I think a new addition to the rules is one that has nothing to do with food, but is necessary for this family to function on any normal level, considering the dinner conversations and cultural exchanges over late-night talks:

Rule #4: No PA-CUTE! (More on that later…)

Since my days are numbered here, now having less than a week, and Gen will be traveling to Bacolod and Leyte next week, and with me in Bohol this weekend, we realized we only had two nights left when both of us would be there! So, I wanted to do something nice for the boys and Gen since they have been so accommodating with letting me stay at the house and welcoming me into the family. So, even after a long and tiring Friday, I held up my promise and cooked dinner for them. I warned that it would strictly be vegetables, and wondered if they would still feel hungry after. So, first, I managed to find enough goodies to make a delicious salad. Although lettuce was sparse, I found a small head of lettuce, and mixed it with small Filipino tomatoes that taste more sour than sweet, red onions, avocado, and garbanzo beans. Even found Balsamic Vinaigrette with Extra Virgin Olive Oil and Lemon Herb dressing…the boys were flabbergasted by this one. I knew it would be a shock to their taste buds, given that when searching for salad dressing, Don-don reached for the mayonnaise.

For the main course, I prepared for my first-time ever grilled veggie and tofu skewers. The boys had also never seen or tasted tofu before, or the green bell peppers that I found at the store. The skewers were made of eggplant, green bell peppers, onions, and tofu, all marinated in soy sauce, chopped ginger, and minced garlic, with some hot sauce for spice. I have to be careful with my tendency to over-spice things due to my dull taste buds which probably have been burned off from a year of kimchi and red pepper paste. Filipinos don’t do well with spice and any slight hint of chili will sent them off running for water. They prefer salty and sweet, adding vinegar, salt, and sugar to most of their cooking, rather than spicy and hot. To complete the meal, I went for a wine that was half the price as the last one I chose, which was too sharp and bitter for my tastes. I chose a Spanish Dry red wine that was a mere P200, or $4. Consensus was all of us preferred the Spanish one since it had a softer and subtle taste and more to my liking, while Keith proudly exclaimed he liked the “stronger” one.

My assistant for the evening was of course my Baby Bro, while Mayora and Keith watched an old Ray Liota movie that looked like it was from the 80’s. Don-don manned the grill, which consisted of a small pile of coals in a styrofoam box lid on the ground with a wire grill placed on top.

We sat outside turning and marinating the skewers and chatting to pass the time.

Also, to join us, was our new “friend,” the white dog from the streets that seemed to have an endearing loyalty and affection for Don-don, probably due to the fact that he constantly kept feeding her. I have a feeling the dog will never leave and will be waiting by the kitchen door all day and all night from now on. But, she is a sweet dog, and Don-don seemed to have a desire to make her his own. He named her appropriately “Angie.”

We sat down to eat when the skewers looked done and the fumes from the grill filled the house with sweet and salty smells of garlic and spice. Opposite to Gen’s meal, Keith seemed to enjoy my meal a great deal as he “is used to eating vegetables.” But, poor Don-don only ate half a skewer and could barely finish his salad, begging to be able to put ketchup on it so that it would be appetizing to him. Gen quickly rejected his request. I, slightly saddened, tried to ask him why he didn’t like it. But, he gave a big smile, showing his pearly whites and saying, “No, I WILL like it!” and taking a piece of tofu off the skewer and proudly sticking it in his mouth (SO pa-cute!). But, chewing it very cautiously, his eyes looking worried and showing slight discomfort, he quickly washed it down with a gulp of water. He kept explaining it was his “first time” eating tofu; his “first time” eating vegetables that are not cooked; his “first time” eating that kind of salad dressing; his “first time” eating green peppers which he clearly didn’t like. Gen and I tried to explain to him that EVERY DAY we have to eat things here for the “first time.” And we do it! And even if we don’t like it, we accept it and try it. I told them that every day at the carinderia, there is nothing that looks appetizing to me to eat, but I have to eat something, especially when in the company of others, and just suck it up and brave the “first time” tries of the usual foods, even with the accompanying swarm of flies.

Anyways, Keith enjoyed the tofu, though, and had several helpings of the salad, even seeming to appreciate the mayonnaise-ketchup alternative to salad dressing. I was proud, too, because it was my “first time” grilling veggie skewers and thought the outcome was delicious; not to mention one of the few meals without rice! (When we first sat down to eat, Keith answered bluntly and with a slight tone of humor, “No rice?!”)

For dessert, Don-don and I had picked up “Halo-halo” ice cream from the store. I’ve explained halo halo before and while Gen suggested we make it, it seemed it would be too difficult to pick up all of the 12 ingredients that go into it (although we should sometime, especially since Don-don has an ice crusher). Anyways, the ice cream was strange in color, a mix of orange and bright purple, tasting like a mix of ube ice cream with perhaps a light mango ice cream. The halo halo part consisted of white kidney beans, jelly preserves, and jackfruit. Quite rich and creamy, it gave us all a bit of a sugar high.

All in all, it felt good to give something back to my family here, and makes me sad to think about leaving them. Honestly, I feel very comfortable here -- despite my moments of frustrations stemming from fighting flies, contesting with the staring of strangers, and braving motorbike adventures -- and I owe it all to them.
Now there’s a “moment,” just a slightly cheesier and more appreciate moment than the one I had the other day at the carinderia (refer to previous post).

A "better" place

I will describe my lunch yesterday as best I can so you can picture what it is like for me here, and the difference between the kind of life YOU live and the kind I live here...maybe it'll even give you a new-found appreciation for the small things we often take for granted.

So Alan and Toefilo wanted to take me somewhere "different" or "better," so we went around on the bikes looking for a place. Toefilo suggested Jollibees (the Filipino McDonalds-like fast food chain), but I had to put my foot down, cuz I know they don't really have anything vegetarian and I am opposed to eating fast food. But, I should have chosen Jollibees cuz the place we ended up at was probably the worst carinderia I have ever been in. There were ratty stray cats up on the kitchen counter eating from a bowl, right next to where the food was cooking...and half the food was sitting out in open dishes with literally 50 billion flies landing and swarming on the pieces of meat on sticks, and cooked vegetables that looked like they had been sitting there for days so that the gravy had practically hardened. Toefilo joked with me and said, "Oh this place is worse! Have you lost your appetite?" But, I am always playing a game with him cuz I want him to think I'm tough (which I AM!), so I have learned to answer rather automatically with a smile and "No, I am fine." If he asks if I am tired, or sleepy, or hungry, or bored, or bothered by the flies when we eat, I never give in!

So we ate there...but honestly, I HAD lost my appetite and could feel my stomach already turning. We all got huge plates of rice and I just decided to have the same thing as Toefilo, knowing it at least came from one of the covered cooking pots sitting out. I had one tiny piece of extra salty tuna that I picked at and managed to eat most of it, and 1/3 of the rice and then a banana that was either too ripe or just plain wrong, cuz it tasted like powder and nothing like the usually sweet and delicious bananas they have here. Now I know why filipinos eat so much rice, cuz their food is ridiculously salty! And then they proceed to douse it with vinegar! Meanwhile, while eating, the flies were swarming in my face, in my hair, in my food...but I fought them off diligently with my fork and spoon.

Surprisingly, I did not get deathly ill from THIS meal, which still seems ironic given my bout in Boracay. It was definitely a "moment" in my book and a difficult-to-swallow experience, and I hope I never have to eat a meal like that in my life. But when in Rome, do as the Romans do.

Boracay: Land of white sands and tourists abound!

It seems the Filipinos cannot get enough holidays, so 3-day weekends are abundant and happily enjoyed by most Filipinos -- except those poor Green Bank employees such as Development Officers who have scheduled collections on Mondays, and those with reported "overtime." Regardless, it seems most Filipinos spend these types of short holidays with their families, or relaxing in their home, watching TV, or "strolling" around (still not quite sure what that means, but most often is the reply when I ask Filipinos what they did over the weekend).

Regardless, the best thing about travel in the Philippines is that it is perfect for a girl like me. And by girl like me, I mean: indecisive, procrastinator, last-minute by weighing my options. Thus, Gen and I decided, only the night before, to book a flight to Boracay for the long weekend.

We spent Friday night "packing" and eating an overly salty dinner prepared by Lyndon (who from now on, for familial purposes, will refer to as Don-don) with a special “visitor,” although not so special due to the frequency of his visits: Ruel. Keith went home early to Leyte to spend Fiesta with his friends and family.

In the morning, we left at an early 8 am, and both Ruel and Don-don demonstrated the hospitality that is truly Filipino by waking early to cook us a full spread breakfast or fried rice, fried eggs, tuna, toast, and coffee. It was a nice send off and we made sure they'd miss us too much over the weekend. After breakfast, we headed to the airport, where we purchased our tickets, realizing that we had made the reservation the night before for the wrong date! Regardless, there were still seats available; however, for the return flight they were all booked for that particular island. We walked over to the SEAir office and put our names for a reservation for return Monday morning, hoping we would get off the "priority waitlist" for Asian Spirit's return since it was much later in the afternoon, giving us an extra day to soak up that is known as Boracay, one of the most beautiful beaches in the world.

I interrupt with a funny note: When searching websites on Boracay island, I came across a boasting add from Yahoo Travel that Boracay was rated #7 in the Top 10 Most Beautiful Beaches in the world...guess what was number 6??? SAN DIEGO...had to laugh, although after now visiting Boracay, I cannot agree with full confidence...

After a short 1 hour flight on an undersized rickety plane, we landed in Caticlan. From there, we got accosted by a guide from the Tourist Bureau named Fred. We rode two tricycles and a short 20 minute pump boat ride before we reached White Sands Beach. From there, Fred took us around to a few hotels, before we settled on Nigi Nigi Nu Nu's 'e' Nu Nu's...and no, we did not make this decision based on the ridiculousness of its name. Rather, the beautiful Balinese style cottages set in the jungle garden, where it was peaceful and overly quiet, knowing full well that the beachfront only lay 5 steps from the entrance of the hotel. After checking in, although Fred attempted to persuade us with the usual “take you to my friend” coercion, we decided to settle at Nigi Nigi’s restaurant for a long and relaxing lunch. I was happy to have a meal without rice for once! Fresh salad with egg, fresh fruit platter of bananas, mango, and watermelon, a meal complete not without fresh mango juice. I seriously cannot get enough of Filipino mangoes J

After which, although changing into our beach attire, decided to wander down the beach walk, where we meandered past the various luxurious resorts, beachside restaurants and bars, small shops selling identically the same sundresses, t-shirts, and other tacky tourist paraphernalia (and yes, we did buy some)…until we hit D’Mall. D’Mall was situated like a small plaza off the beach and had the feel of a typical San Diegan outdoor mall lined with overpriced clothing stores and more food options, including the Hobbit House – a sister of the one I’ve been to years ago in Manila. The Hobbit House really does house “hobbits” and proudly claims to be the only establishment in the Philippines that employs little people as its staff. They are all boding shirts with exclamations like: “Small is Beautiful.” I found a crepe store preparing an arrangement of heart attack crepe concoctions, but couldn’t resist the appeal of the plastic displays in the window. And for only 100 pesos each? I indulged in a nutella and banana crepe with fresh cream, chocolate sauce, and vanilla ice cream. I passed on the cornflakes (refer to my blog about halo halo and you may or may not understand how and why cornflakes are considered part of dessert). It seemed that our meandering was perpetually slowing down as we became more and more enticed by the shopping -- Gen spitting off her Tagalog skills to bargain prices lower and lower. I’ve learned from India, that bargaining is a pretty ridiculous endeavor in a developing country, since it becomes a matter of bickering and standing around, threatening to leave, all over a measly 25 cents. But we think in pesos now.

We found the beach and met two young men selling an “island hopping” tour. Complete with snorkeling and picnic lunch for which they would buy fruits and seafood of our choice, we were sold, especially when they offered a 2-for-1 deal. We forked over 500 pesos and made sure to get their number in case they perhaps disappeared the next day. The sun was setting and we had made it to the end of the beach walk. A jungle of coconut trees told us we could go no further. Heading back, we again, such tourists, succumbed to the “Yes, Ma’am…Over here Ma’am!” and debated with two women over the price of an hour massage on the beach. We debated ourselves over today or tomorrow. The woman argued convincingly that if we did it today, we would be energized and strong and ready for our day tomorrow. So we lay on the bamboo beds and I removed my top, lying in just a skirt and bikini top as she rubbed me down with an overpowering fragrant coconut oil. Gen and I had been quite excited to have found a magazine store earlier and had eagerly purchased an Economist and Newsweek. She offered the Economist and when I thought how utterly nerdy it would be for me to be lying, getting a massage on the beach, while reading the Economist, I decided there was no better time to catch up on world affairs. But, soon thought better of it when the magic of her fingertips took a hold of me. I chose my iPod instead. Listening to “Chillout Lounge,” occasionally peeking through my closed eyes to catch glimpses of the sunset, but relaxed and absorbed in the soft, soothing tones of the music and my masseuse’s hands moving practically in sync. The hour was over before I knew it. Too relaxed to move, I realized I could have gone another hour EASILY.

We headed back to the hotel, as it was getting dark now, to change for dinner. Dressed for a warm summer night, both of us in dresses, we walked back along the beach walk looking for anything NON-Asian. We found the “True Food” Indian restaurant and when we saw the large, lush bright shiny yellow cushions with people sitting on the floor eating appetizing dishes, our decision was made. We lounged in comfort while waiting for our food. I ordered a chilled glass of the house red wine, which for also “only 100 pesos?” was surprisingly good (or, I just haven’t had wine in too long). We ordered momo, a Tibetan dish and are soft dumplings filled with vegetables and spices. Gen ordered the “non-veg” Thali, so she could satisfy her odd craving for lamb (FYI, Gen also calls her a vegetarian, although has yet to prove it to me, since she is clearly a pescetarian, and has no problem eating meat as well). I ordered a masala dosa, and while not as crispy and light as the authentic version, was rather like a huge pancake filled with spiced potatoes and peas, filled to both ends like a burrito. I barely managed to eat half of it, but thought it to be quite tasty, complete with their own “true food” version of sambar. We closed the place out, stuffing ourselves, and sinking heavier into the pillows. By midnight, we decided despite our early call for island hopping the next day, should check out the night scene.

We had met a French Canadian girl earlier who had invited us to meet her and “some friends” at the Bom Bom Lounge, which when we wandered by was a very relaxed and “cool” atmosphere, complete with Bob Marley posters, hookahs, and a small one-man guitar wailing out some sweet Jack Johnson. I guess not lively enough for Gen, we found the cheesiest bar, full of dancing bartenders, a way-too happy dj, lady boys or “tranies” that were definitely prettier than me, and a very sparse selection of rugged-looking travelers. Within one minute of sitting down at the bar, we were approached by a couple of Fil-Canadians from Alberta who were either too dumb or too drunk to understand what microfinance was and that we were researchers trying to “help the poor.” We of course, got a good laugh from pulling their leg as to what we were really doing in the Philippines. Also, within two minutes, a shot appeared out of nowhere and we were finagled into toasting it for so-and-so’s birthday. A second later, another shot was placed in front of us. Gen, being quite the light-weight, could only finish half of every one of the drinks in front of her. So, I laughed the three half-full varying sizes of glasses sitting in front of her. After the guys got the hint, we were to ourselves, dancing in our chairs, and laughing hysterically at the dj that appeared to be having his own dance party…or maybe he was just the only one who could hear how good the music was. We tiredly walked home around 1:30 am, dreading our arranged meeting at 9 am the next morning.

But, the next morning never came for me, and as much as I would like to not say a word about what occurred to me between the hours of 7 am and 12:30 pm on Saturday, August 18, 2007, I somehow do not think that leaving it out of this blog will make it disappear from my memory. However, to spare you devoted blog-readers, I won’t go into too much of the gory details. Let’s just say my body was not happy with something I consumed the night before, and was doing everything in its power to divulge every bit and any bit of its contents through any means possible. Get the picture? After “waiting it out,” I regrettably knew I couldn’t get on a boat that day, so Gen went on the tour without me. I meanwhile spent the remaining hours of the morning either lying in bed in the fetal position waiting for the pain to stop or crawling to the bathroom where the toilet was my only friend. I did have to take care of our tickets, however, and around 11 am, managed to drag myself out of bed and barely make it to the front desk in my pjamas, where I explained to them that I was “very sick” and couldn’t walk to D’Mall to the airline office. They allowed me to call first Asian Spirit – still on the waitlist – and then SEAir – extending our reservation deadline to 2 pm. I bought a cold bottle of water from the restaurant and proceeded to drag myself back to the room where I collapsed into sleep for another couple hours.

By noon or 12:30 pm, I still felt the grumbling in my stomach and weak from all the divulging of my body, but could not waste another more of the beautiful day inside. I put on my bikini and was thankful for the short walk to the beach where I rested in a bamboo beach chair. I managed to feel well enough to even attempt swimming, but the waters were still quite choppy from the typhoon a couple days before and somehow getting knocked around by the waves was not helping. When two o’clock came, I went back to the office to call the airlines again. This time, we were off the waitlist for the later flight and had until 5 pm later that day to go to the office to purchase the tickets. Around 3 or 4 pm, I went back to the room where I met Gen and we went to D’Mall to buy the tickets. After, Gen wanted to eat, but I was too terrified to even try, so I went with her to a small, airy Greek restaurant where she ate a tuna melt sandwich and fries (a New Yorker clearly missing her “diner food”) and I sat, knowing full well I would not be able to eat anything until tomorrow. I couldn’t remember the last time I had felt so sick, except for India. But, it did flash me back to my first trip out of the U.S. with my family to Cairo, Egypt. I was 9 years old and was excited at the opportunity to eat a hamburger from room service, only to spend the night vomiting. I remember my father telling me to drink water, but every time I did, it came right back out where it had gone in. What fun would traveling be if there weren’t bumps in the road? I know after 6 weeks now that bumps in the road are understatements for the frustrations and “moments” I’ve had here in the PI. Hills, perhaps? Steep, precipitous cliffs? But thank god the moments are only moments.

The night ended smoothly, as I was anxious to head to the Bamboo Lounge I had seen the night before, a chill restaurant with outdoor seating on the beach lit by bright red lanterns. People sat at low tables drinking beer and eating dinner while lounging on cushions and futons pads. I ordered a “Sweet Chamomile Mint” tea and sat (while Gen shopped), finishing my book by candlelight. Exhausted, we both headed back to the room early and I was asleep by 10 pm.

Sleeping 11 hours (this was truly the vacation I needed), I woke up at 9 am to leave Gen still sleeping. I contemplated renting snorkeling gear and trekking over to Crocodile Island, but thought better of it, when I walked out to see how calm and still the water was this morning. I headed back to the Greek restaurant for a light breakfast of scrambled eggs, potatoes, and toast with coffee, feeling like my stomach was ready for some sustenance. After, I walked along the beach, headphones on as usual, but when realizing I was heading towards some clouds, found a chair to set up and bake in the sun. Swimming was much more do-able today given the calmness, and the particularly crystal clearness and turquoise colors of the waters were ever so inviting. Between swimming and lying in the sun, I soaked up my last few hours of relaxation before heading back to the hotel to meet Gen. After showering and a light lunch of garlic shrimp and fresh salad, we headed to the airport to catch our flight at 4 pm.

Arriving at “home” away from home, we were disappointed by an empty house. The boys arrived shortly thereafter with food to cook and we all sat down to a meal, catching each other up on our whereabouts and doings of the weekend. Back to work Monday morning was slightly disheartening, but I will never forget the white sands of Boracay. Easily one of the most beautiful beaches I’ve been to (if I haven’t already said that).

Bon Jovi in the morning

In my commute to work, it seems anything goes in terms of transportation. I would be surprised if Filipinos walk at all, when they can hop on the back of jeeps, trucks, or hang off the side of motor tricycles. I’ve experienced riding the bus now from Carcar to Talisay which is perhaps “too comfy” since I fell asleep and luckily woke up one municipal before arriving in Talisay. This morning, I got tired of waiting for the bus and hopped on a multi-cab. In Manila, jeepneys are old converted military trucks that have painted loud and bright colors, some displaying Jesus Christ logos along the side. They are all somewhat labeled so you know the route and particularly landmarks where they are headed. But, you can flag them down just like a taxi, as you can do the same for buses. In Cebu, multi-cabs seems to be more prevalent. They are smaller versions of jeepneys with low roofs and bench type seating so you can wiggle and snuggle up close to your fellow passenger. It’s rubbing shoulders with the locals. The one I hopped on this morning, I regretted the moment I ducked my head in to grab a seat. Blasting Bon Jovi and Metallica for most of the way, at 7 in the morning, it was an unusual wake up call. I asked the woman sitting next to me what the fare was, and she answered 6 pesos. 6 pesos! For a 40 minute drive to Carcar? I was soon mistaken when dropped off in Carcar and asked for 25 pesos. When handing the driver 20 pesos, explaining that I had already given him 6 pesos, he handed me 6 pesos back. It was a befuddled exchange.

For most of the ride there, I second guessed my choice of multi-cab, since the music was unbearable loud, and I soon realized that no amount of peso was worth going deaf. I started to wonder, was the driver a complete moron? Could he not hear the static the fibers of the speakers breaking ever so slightly with every booming bass beat of drums? I resorted to saving my hearing by putting my head in my head, using my fingers to plug my ears. I contemplated putting on my iPod, but thought better of it, since Amy Winehouse and Chillout Lounge would not outplay the powerful vocals of Jovi. At that moment, I am confident the driver peering through the rear-view mirror saw my display of discontent and discomfort and proceeded to lower the volume just a hair. I gave up resisting the tunes of the morning ride and even had a moment when I quite enjoyed the music-themed joy ride, ducking my head, to look out the ever-so low windows to see where we were and where we were going. For the price, my hearing is far more valuable, and I think next time I’ll choose the comfier option, or another multi-cab with a better soundtrack.

One observation: I have not yet seen a single woman driving a motorbike here in Cebu. If she needs to get somewhere, the man will drive her. Hence, why the men often joke, "he is just a girl" when they are giving a ride to a male friend. I am not sure what about a put-put motorbike scooter makes you more of a man. Although, I am not one to comment too much, as I have not yet driven one myself. Given the dangers and anarchy of the roads here, I prefer to ride and quite enjoy the scenery as opposed to the passing and oncoming traffic.

Death by halo halo!

I cannot believe I had been deprived of this wonderful frozen delight for so long during my stay in the Philippines. But, when Toefilo and Alan took me to lunch one day, they went ahead and ordered me a “special” halo-halo. Twice the size of the ones they ordered, and after watching the table next to us scarf down the purple, sloppy mixture, I had already decided I would hate this dessert. To my surprise and delight, with my first spoonful, I fell in love and immediately felt like a kid again with a wonderful concoction of mixing flavors, colors, and textures, in an oversized bowl. To help explain this Filipino concoction, halo halo literally means “to mix.” It comes in a clear or translucent bowl so that you can not only taste but see the wonderful layers. It consists of, here goes: cubed jelly fruit preserves; fresh fruits, bananas, pineapple, jackfruit; mini-sized bright green jelly balls known as gulaman (similar to those tapioca balls they put in Japanese shakes); strips of fresh young coconut (which I mistook for noodles the first time I ate it!); mixture of nuts; frozen crushed ice mixed with fresh milk and sweet cream, all topped with a scoop of bright purple ube ice cream, and a few sweet cornflakes for decoration (as if it needs it). Ube (pronounced UBEE in Cebuano) is a type of yam that is famous in Cebu and particularly in the island of Bohol. It is naturally a Starlight-Bright lavender color.



Needless to say, I made the mistake of telling Toefilo how much I enjoyed the halo halo, expressing it mainly due to surprise of how well it suited my taste buds. The hot weather lets it melt slowly, making it easier to probe with your spoon to mix all the layers, getting to the “good stuff” at the bottom. By the time you are finished -- if you manage to finish it -- it is a purple soupy mixture with chunks of jelly and fruits and noodle-like pieces of coconut which people slurp up with enjoyment. Needless to say, I have now had it 3 times in the past week! Toefilo offers it to me everyday with a curious, “Have you had halo halo yet today?” The key word being "yet." And the one time I turned down his offer, he say “Why?” with astonishment and confusion. I don’t think I should make it a daily meal, although to be honest, I think that I probably could. I’ve heard in Manila that it often contains corn and/or red beans which make me shutter and have nightmarish flashbacks of the terrors of red bean paste, red-bean ice cream, and red-bean filled buns from my days in Korea. But, since halo halo is even a mystery to me, if next time I have it, I will be surprised once again, I am sure to slurp it up with ecstasy and love, feeling like a little kid who gets to eat birthday cake everyday!

Few thoughts on Filipino food and a few moments spent in the carinderia

While working at the Carcar kiosk, my lunches are usually taken with the staff at carinderias. Side-shops equipped with plastic tables and chairs, all of the food is already cooked and prepared, sitting and waiting in covered pots, or on plates in a glass display case. The women behind the counter most often has a wooden stick with several strands of loose plastic straw tied to the end, which she waves around to swap the flies away. Customers come in and proceed to either lift every lid of every pot to peer inside, or peer through the glass case, to see what’s on the menu for the day. Orders are taken by pointing. If you or someone else grabs the last plate of fried egg, I am afraid you are fresh out of luck. Since the food is already cooked, the food is obviously lukewarm, but enjoyed with a plate of rice in this heat, sustanance, no matter what temperature, is what really counts. Since it has proven quite difficult for me to eat anything present at most Filipino meals, I have abandoned my pure vegetarianism -- although, according to Bengalis, I was never "strict" vegetarian due to the fact that I still chose to eat eggs. Here, I am resorted to eating all of the fresh and delicious fish and seafoods to be had.

Bangus (or, milkfish) is the national specialty – locally, found in abundance in Pangasinan – and usually comes whole, split open, so the fish is lying flat, fried and/or sizzling on a hot plate. It is particularly tasty, and besides shrimps and prawns, it has been my favorite fish dish I’ve had here.

Besides fish, I have often enjoyed pinkabet, a mixture of pumpkin, squash, okra, green beans, onions, and a small helping of tiny, fluorescent pink shrimps, almost too small to discern. The spices seem a mixture of oil and the juices from the vegetables cooking, with garlic and perhaps other spices. Lyndon and I will perhaps attempt to cook it at home this week.

Usually, ordering chopsuey and/or “mixed vegetables” although healthy has remained pretty bland for my tastes after living in the land of kimchi and the house of curries and channa masala. And too often, mixed vegetables implies mixed with meat and seafoods, of course! But, I am not picky and when treated to a meal or invited to a home, I will make do and fill my plate so as not to be rude.

Other healthier varieties are two different kinds of seaweeds – lato and guso. Guso is bright green and rubbery, as they use to make the rubber soles for sandals and shoes. Mixed with lots of vinegar, chopped green and red onions, ginger, and chilies, it is tough to chew. Lato is a darker green and looks much like a tree with mini mistletoe berries. It is sweet, probably also due to a dousing of vinegar, but is less chewy than guso and thinner and more stringy, although still looking like something you would find in your backyard.

Another personal favorite is sinagong, a clear-broth soup usually with either fish or prawns, some green beans and tomatoes, but tastes much like a Filipino-version of Thai tom yum with a strong flavor of lemongrass and ginger.

Despite my perhaps horrid descriptions of Filipino food, I have really enjoyed everything that I have tried. Since moving down to Cebu, I’ve had a chance more often than not to eat home-cooked Filipino meals and more authentic foods, than my choices in Manila – when, now that I think about it, I rarely ate Filipino food, and instead indulging in the variety of kinds foods available (Mexican, Middle Eastern, Indian, Japanese, Korean, Italian). I'll soon grow tired of rice, but the endless new dishes that I try will cease to amaze and surprise me.

And still, the carinderia, although not my favorite place is my regular spot for lunch. Invested with flys, a meal can't be quite fully enjoyed for moments of dropping my fork and spoon to swat away the meancing flys from landing on my food. It's a constant effort and you must not let your guard down. But, the carinderia I frequent does so far have the best halo halo (more on that later), which I watch with wide eyes as they crank the ice from an antique steel contraption.
Ahhh, this is how and where I eat.

Cebu: A different island, a different story

I have to say that making the transition from the hectic, but quite comfortable life I led in big, chaotic Manila, to small, quaint, and almost-rural Talisay of Cebu has proven less difficult than expected. Although I am not sure what I expected from the move of north to south, but have been told that the people in Cebu are “different” from Manila. As big-city livin’ differs from country side bumpkin’. Cebuanos speak a different dialect (Visaya/Cebuano) and they look different – classifying themselves into three different types (particularly when referring to attractiveness levels of young women): chinita, mestiza/o, and morena/o. They seem happier down here, as if that was possible for Filipinos – since Lonely Planet declares them some of the happiest people in the world. To prove this, of all their some 70 languages and dialects, there are no words for depression, anxiety, anguish, or even boredom (at least as a little translation). And it is easy to tell that although the Filipinos themselves do not think particularly highly of themselves, or that they are in any way superior, they do recognize their innate hospitality, and often can laugh in the face of anything! Constantly “just having fun” or “just joking,” they often find ways to not only see the silver lining, but also be able to laugh in the face of hardship or problems that come their way.

Genevieve (Gen), a 28-year old Fil-Am (yup, you guess it full Filipina, born and raised in America), my co-worker and Project Coordinator for IPA, has gone beyond her job to not only assist in the move, from arranging a driver to pick me up at the airport and to offering me the spare room without charging rent! From the moment I arrived, she introduced me to the Green Bank crew, and I quickly began to feel like one of the family. My housemates include Gen and two other Filipino young men and Green Bank employees, Lyndon (“Don-don”) and Keith. Lyndon is 21 years old, and while young, is quite mature in his mind and thinking patterns, which allows me to bond with him quickly as he is comfortable to talk to, and warms me with his smile every time I see him. Keith is our master chef of the house, talks to his aquarium of fish, and is 27 years old and the wiser and more experienced of the Green Bank staff, having worked there for 5 years or so. And Gen is mayora. Not sure what that makes me, but I have been referred to as “cousin.” Gen despises the title while others have claimed it to mean the “lady of the house,” she believes in particular, it refers to the woman who doesn’t do anything. The title fits accurately when Lyndon and Keith are slaving in the kitchen every night to cook us dinner, while we, the women of the house, lounge around. Although, I do offer to wash dishes. But, like I said, our patterns and easy-going lifestyle have already begun to fit to feel much like a family.

One thing I do miss is the rain. Talisay is exorbitantly HOT, so much so that it’s almost unbearable to go out during the day, if need not to. Unfortunately, since I ended up with the spare room, it is unequipped with air con. However, a fan does fine in the evenings and keeps the mosquitoes off of me, which also seem to be a much bigger problem for me down here than in Manila; however, in the mornings, my room feels much like a sauna and makes it difficult for me to enjoy my weekend sleep-ins – preventing from me to sleep past a mere 10:30 am.

Given all this within settling, work already seems busier and more exciting than my droning coffee-shop days in Manila researching organic mango farming. Not that I have given up on mangoes and in fact, have been assigned to write a business plan. It’s difficult to be given an assignment you feel, as is, you cannot complete. But, given the wonders of Google, I am already done my research and downloaded business plan literature and “how-tos.”

The project here is typical of most of the research projects IPA conducts in the Philippines, regarding microfinance.

Innovations for Poverty Action (IPA) is a non-profit research institution which scientifically evaluates microfinance products and other development initiatives in Asia, Africa, and Latin America (http://www.poverty-action.org/, http://www.povertyactionlab.org/). In its research, IPA partners with local microfinance institutions and banks all across the Philippines to evaluate their product innovation and outreach. In essence, IPA evaluated programs and determines broadly whether a particular intervention has had the desired effect on individuals and households and whether it is directly responsible for those effects. I would say that my background in econometrics (thanks to 3 quarters of QM Data Analysis courses at IR/PS), including having the privilege of studying under Prof. McIntosh, a celebrity in the field of microfinance, particularly in Africa, has prepared me for the understanding of IPA’s research habits. Essentially, as Gen boiled it down for me, IPA employees in the field conduct research and basic analysis to assist the overseeing professors (Dean and JZ) in writing econometric-style papers. In fact, to my surprise and enjoyment, both Luke and Dean are familiar with McIntosh’s work and think highly of him. Given this, IPA relies heavily and exclusively on using an experimental design that they think to be the most robust methodology (randomized controlled trials) that generates control and treatment groups through randomization, free of selection bias that they claim has clouded microfinance research in the past.

This being said, my position here in Cebu is to collect data and determine what microfinance institutions (MFIs) have entered target areas for the study. We are in partnership with Green Bank of Caraga to test the relative merits of group versus individual liability loan programs. This project will measure the impact of the different lending models for both the institution and the communities in which the bank lends. The evaluation will measure the economic and social impacts of Green Bank loans on the lending program members and their communities; and evaluate the institutional impact of different lending programs by comparing repayment rates, loan size, client retention, drop out and savings mobilization. There are three areas of study being covered: Bohol, Biliran, and Cebu. As aforementioned, I am in charge of covering the study area here in Cebu, and will be working in the field every day, which I highly enjoy. I came here to Philippines, choosing IPA over my other internship opportunity with NP Strategies in San Diego, specifically to get “field experience.” It beats sitting behind a desk, and if work can mean that I can wear flip flops and tank tops, hitching rides on motorbikes, trekking into barangay villages, I am all for it. To put things in perspective, Gen has informed me that this is not a job that suits everyone and some can’t handle the “roughness” of the field (what? no air con?!)…but that’s just me.

So far, I am still in the stages of developing my “list” of MFIs in each barangay of the three municipals targeted in Cebu: Carcar, San Fernando, and Naga. There are about 6-8 barangays in each. To clarify, a barangay is considered a community or village; therefore, many barangays can make up one municipal. It’s actually proven to be a more difficult than I thought, as I first started going around to each barangay during the center meetings to meet the clients face to face and ask them directly for a list of the competitors present in the area. After that proved too time-consuming, I decided to go straight to the municipal halls to get a list from officials there. However, when I realized that the lists given by the municipal halls were significant different from those I had received from the barangays and the clients themselves, Toefilo informed me that many of the institutions do not file permits with the municipal, or “bad banks.” Green Bank was not found on any of the municipal lists. So, now I am back to visiting every barangay, since the barangay halls seem much more knowledge about the institutions present in their areas.

Luckily, Toefilo is my guide, and probably the smartest guy at Green Bank. He is sharp, and charismatic. He can walk into any building and light up the place, bouncing around, poking his head in with a sheepish grin on his face: “AY-YO!” He knows the back streets of every barangay like the back of his hand, and with ease whips me in and out in no time at all. Not to mention, I feel safe riding on the back of his bike. Also, he was the one that started my addiction to halo-halo. And now he is happy, as am I, to share a halo-halo together…even if “on the clock.” He is a hard worker and is sharp and witty. I’ve barely had to explain my project to him and he waltzed in to every establishment probably explaining it better than I could (not that I can be sure, since it’s all in Bisaya dialect).

I sometimes find myself taking for granted my surroundings. When riding on the bike -- trying to put my face down to avoid stray strands of hair whipping me in the face, or an oncoming thick black cloud that we burst through with full force, or a passing truck that I grit my teeth at in hopes of it not side-swiping my long legs that stick out like chicken legs off either sides of the bike – there is a moment, even if for a split second, where there is a break in the row of houses and the coast is exposed. We whiz by crystal-clear blue and green waters, with a few spare coconut palm trees, and some dwindling fisherman in their small but rickety boats out to sea. Or, today, I realized, riding on the back of Toefilo’s bike to some of the remaining barangays I had to cover for Carcar, suddenly that we were on a simple, narrow paved road, big enough to fit two motorcycles on either side, and perhaps a passing car (wouldn’t put it past them to try!), and surrounding us were bright, so bright almost fluorescent, green rice paddy fields, spotted with stark palm trees, and small black and red and blue and yellow mounds moving deep in the thickets to mark the t-shirts and hats and hair of the field workers. I have to smile to myself because it reminds me of where I am. This is where I live. This is where I work. Isn’t it beautiful? I almost cannot believe it. And at that moment, on the bike, whizzing by a field in the middle of the Philippines, I am grateful…and I can’t pinpoint for what.