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).