SIDE TRIP 26: Hanoi, Vietnam

I still can't get over the fact that I am a millionaire in Vietnam. In fact, my side pockets bulge with 30 million Dong in hard currency! That's a lot of moolah.

Well, not a lot really. Considering that one dollar is equivalent to 15,000 Vietnam Dong. My 30 million is really only about 110,000 pesos --- budget for the one-day workshop I will be conducting tomorrow, heheh.

I am not an economist so I don't really understand the intricacies of how a particular currency's worth is pegged against the mighty US dollar. I thought it had a direct bearing on that country's economy but considering that the Japanese Yen is pegged at 112 to a US dollar while the peso is better off at 56, I am not so sure if that is a correct assumption.

One thing I am sure of, though, is that I am going to have a jolly good time counting my 30 million Dong. Aaaaaargh!!!

THE CITADEL IN HUE

SIDE TRIP 25: Seeing Red at the Airport

Will anyone doubt he likes RED?

Dumb question. From his reddish-blond hair, red polo shirt worn over white tees with large red prints, flaming red cargo shorts, red-lined white socks, red rubber shoes, and red Celine paper bags - -every inch of him screamed "eh sa gusto ko red eh, ano paki mo?!"

Syempre hindi lang yun. Naglabas ng cellphone, red din. Hindi lang isa kundi dalawa (yung isa official, yung pangalawa pang-uwag uwag, heheh). Bising-busy ang lola. Tawag dito, tawag doon. Ina-announce sa madlang pipol sa kabisayaan na sya ay parating na.

If there is one mental image that the snotty Tagalogs have of a bisayang baduy, this apparition in red fits the stereotype perfectly. He looks like a country rat who went to the big bad city and is now coming back to rural South and should therefore look the part of a sosyal Manilenyo.

Except that his idea of a hip fashionista meant... wag na lang. I have been unkind enough. Blame it on OA security checks at NAIA that make me see red.

SIDE TRIP 24: Barangay Naguey, Atok, Benguet

I am in the river at the foot of the mountain. A little boy – he can’t be more than five – struggles up the path carrying a sack of sand on his back. A few feet up the slope he begins to totter with his burden. He doggedly pushes on, resigned perhaps to the fact that he had to carry his load all the way up to the village. He’ll get fifty centavos for his sack of sand.

When I was five, I
had to drink milk
had to eat food I didn’t want
had to take vitamins
had to endure immunization
had to be sent to bed at eight
had to wake up early to go to school

I did not have to earn a living hauling sacks of sand.

SEX TRIP 2: UTEN-shun!

“Manang, nganong moutog ang uten?” I ask with a straight face.

They respond with choked laughter, covering their faces in acute embarrassment and poking each other in the ribs. “Hala, si ser oi!” one nanay admonishes me. “Ngano lagi?” I persist. Still no answer. More hysterical giggles.

Typical reaction, I guess. Bad enough that the word is even mentioned, it is worse when it’s a man doing the asking. And it does sound even more vulgar in the vernacular. Penis or vagina is OK, I think. Dili kaayo hilas paminawon. Bird, flower, pototoy, or pekpek would also be less jarring alternatives. But when uten or bilat is used, people squirm.

So I ask them to repeat after me: uten! uten! uten! uten! bilat! bilat! bilat! bilat!
Get used to it, ladies.

Teaching mothers in far-flung villages the Mucus-Ovulation method of natural family planning is fun. It is even more fun when I start monitoring their charts where they record their entire menstrual cycle -- when they menstruate, when are their “dry” days, when are the “wet” days, is the “white mens” sticky? slippery? stretchy? I monitor 120 mothers in six villages every freaking month. That’s a hundred twenty different bilats and mucus secretions!

They record their observations daily using appropriate symbols. When they have sexual intercourse, they record the event by drawing a heart on the chart. I can’t help but grin stupidly when I see three or four consecutive hearts. Puwa kaayog hasang! Utog bitaw, saunz. I tell them: “Samana manang, oi. I-every other day lang beh!” and they would just cover their faces and giggle wickedly. Be that as it may, we determine from the chart the “safe” days to do “it” if they don’t want to get pregnant.

Sadly, pushing family planning programs in this country remain a challenge, with artificial methods being opposed by the Church every inch of the way. So we continue making babies. And perpetuating that vicious cycle of poverty.

We know of course that rapid population growth alone cannot explain poverty. Poverty is a complex phenomenon and many factors are responsible for it. Bad governance, high wealth and income inequality, weak economic growth are among the more obvious causes.

And we go on and on and on, like that Energizer ad.
85 million Filipinos.
40% below the poverty line.

Aaaaargh!!!


Mucus (sticky or stretchy?) --> Girls get it!

SEX TRIP 1: Sex(t)y Million

I never thought making babies would be so difficult. You stick it in, you stick it out and ta-daaa! out comes the bebe nine months later. Simple, no? Well, not quite.

Five years ago, my wife and I had been married for three years already but without success in the baby department. We were getting impatient. Something must be wrong somewhere so we decided to consult a doctor.

(PLUG: Any of you here knows Dr. Sinco at Cebu Doc? See her if you want a baby.)

Anyway, she prescribed tests for both of us. My wife had hormonal imbalance, she proclaimed, and made her take little red pills. For my part, I had to have a sperm count! Aaaargh!!! Makaulaw!

So I set an appointment at Gillamac’s Clinic across Cebu Doc. I asked the nurse on the phone if I can just, er… you know, release the sperm at home and bring it to the clinic. After all, Happy Valley was just five minutes away. I was told no, the “collection” had to be done right at the clinic. Uh, OK.

The minute I entered the door, I had this crazy belief that all the people seated in the lobby were looking at me. ME! Because they knew what I was there for. Just a crazy thought.

I whispered my intentions to the nurse at the reception. Was that a smirk I saw for a fleeting second on her smug face? Hmmm. She gave me this small receptacle, similar to the black plastic tube for Kodak films, and instructed me to proceed to the toilet on the second floor.

When I climbed up the stairs, it seemed to me all the people in the lobby again followed me with their knowing eyes. They knew maglolo ko taud-taud! Aaaargh!

The toilet was none too clean, devoid of any visual stimulant, and hot as hell! But what the heck, I was there for one reason only and so I concentrated hard and worked my… er, you know what. That was one of my least pleasurable hand jobs ever but well, I was a man on a mission and determined to release those microscopic little devils into the plastic tube.

It was hard, pun not intended. Imagine, you are in the throes of an exquisite orgasm and yet you had to think about shooting that load into the little tube! With all the jerking and twisting, it was no mean feat. But I did it!

Sweaty and feeling weak in the knees, I went back to the nurse to hand over my loot. Again it seemed to me all the people in the lobby were staring and saying “We know what you did!” Ha! Inggit lang sila.


Postscript:

They counted 60 million daw! Whoa. To this day I still wonder how they are able to do that. It’s not as if you have grains to separate from the other. One sperm, two sperms, three… six… aaargh! But no matter. Upon Dr. Singco’s advice, we timed the sticking in and sticking out and came up with the little princess nine months later.

Proudly made in Cebu.

SIDE TRIP 23: Bokod, Benguet

Manang, saan ho pwede maligo? (Ma'am, where can I take a bath?)

Quite a simple question actually but somehow I got a complicated answer. I was doing field work in the Cordillera mountains and was traveling for a week from village to village. I should have known life in the mountains is never simple. Something as mundane as taking a bath may just turn out to be a lesson in ingenuity.

From the house, I was told to take the main road. After about a hundred meters, I was supposed to see a pipe connected to a natural spring. That's where I was supposed to take a bath. So off I went with a small towel, a bar of soap and a sachet of shampoo.

But when I reached the designated hundred meters, there was no pipe in sight. No spring either. The road was empty. No people out. No houses in sight. Then again, it wasn't really surprising to be told the nearest neighbor lived on the next hill. It's just the way things are in the uplands.

Then on the canal on the roadside, I noticed a small bamboo pole stuck on a small hole from where small drops of water flowed. Hmmm…this couldn't very well be the spring, could it? I looked around again, hoping to see free-flowing water. Nothing.

Uh, OK. This must be it. Beggars can't be choosers, I thought, so I might as well make the best of what's available. Fortunately, there was a small empty milk can nearby which I could use as tabo. So I took my clothes off, kept my briefs on, and did what needed to be done. It was difficult because there wasn't enough water and the can was so small but I managed somehow. The more challenging part was how to rinse the shampoo off.

The bamboo pole was set close to the ground, about one foot high, so I couldn't use it like a shower. There was no alternative then but to drop on my knees and position my head close to the tip of the bamboo out of which the water flowed.

So there I was -- in my wet white underwear, my ass sticking out, and bubbles clinging to my hair – when I heard the unmistakable sound of a bus (a BUS???) approaching around the corner! Yaiks!!! When I turned around to have a look, it was to find a whole busload of Igorots gaping at me with round eyes and open mouths as the bus passed by!

Later I was told the entire village was asking about the funny guy who was seen na nakatuwad while taking a bath on the roadside canal. Eww!

And yes, I found out later there was in fact a big pipe with plenty of water in that area but hidden from the road. I just did not see the small trail leading to it.

Waaaaah!!!

BOKOD, BENGUET

SIDE TRIP 22: Bora

I was born and raised near the sea. In fact, I think I learned to swim before I walked. So it was without hesitation that I swam back to a friend who was drowning ten yards from where I was. Those guys in Baywatch make lifesaving seem so cool. And so easy.

Naah… nothing can be farther from the truth.

My friend was Baguio born and bred. He had been to a beach only once before in his life and all he did that time was do doggie strokes on the shallowest spot. He never learned to swim. And so when he came with me to Boracay, he was content to stay in the shallows while I snorkeled on the corals. The water reached only up to my chest because I was standing on rocks to catch my breath in-between dives. But without the rocks, the seabed plunged deep.

And so it was with horror that I saw him thrashing in the water, valiantly trying to stay afloat, panic written all over his face. He must have tried to follow me and found himself on the deep part with no rocks to step on.

Aquaman to the rescue! Ta-daaa! I had a pretty good idea what to do, having seen lifeguards do it on TV many times. But when I reached him, he immediately grabbed me and held on fast, trapping my hands to my sides. He was sooo heavy and soon both of us began to sink! When he realized we were going under, he clamped his hands on my shoulders, pushing me further down.

So then he had his head above the water surface but I was down below drowning! Unable to escape his iron grip, I opened my eyes underwater and saw a rock about five feet away. Forget about David Hasselhoff-style rescue. I WALKED!!! And when I reached the rock, I hauled my ass up on it, with my dear friend still stuck to me like glue!

He wouldn’t let go of me no matter how hard I pled. And so we inched our way back to shore the same way, me walking under water and him riding on my shoulders! Aaaargh!

I swore next time I see a drowning man, I’m gonna knock him out first before doing a Hasselhoff!

BORACAY ISLAND: One of the Best Beaches in the World

SIDE TRIP 21: Lake Caliraya

“Take nothing but pictures
Kill nothing but time
Leave nothing but footprints
To show you came by”

When John Kay sang these words in “Nothing But”, he must have been thinking of some place like Caliraya. For truly, the lake is one of those freak man-made things that turned out almost a natural paradise. Experience has taught us that man is nature’s worst enemy. We have been exploiting, defacing, depleting, degrading the Earth without much regard for future generations. Lake Caliraya is one model I think by which development can co-exist harmoniously with the natural environment.

Built in the 1940s to supply water to the Caliraya Hydroelectric Plant, the lake sits 1,200 feet above sea level on the fringes of the Sierra Madre mountain range and is surrounded by lush forests. Today it remains one of the cleanest lakes in the country.

While swimming on the lake is discouraged, the Lagos del Sol resort where we went yesterday had a good-sized pool and several water sports to occupy your time. I wasn’t interested in them, though. The placid lake and the cool breeze made me want to curl up and sleep under the trees instead. And that’s just what I did. Aaaah, bliss!

LAGOS DEL SOL RESORT

GUILT TRIP 2: Sanggi

I couldn’t believe the actual cash income Manang Lagring earned for one year was only 240 pesos.

I asked her again in my broken Cebuano to make sure: “Manang, pila ang kwarta nga nadawat nimo sa miaging tuig?" The answer was the same. 240 pesos. It came from the sale of her chickens. How could anyone survive on 240 pesos a year?

The arid mountains of Moalboal, Cebu can be quite unforgiving for poor people like her - an old widow with an abandoned grandchild to feed. The dry rocky slopes barely hold enough topsoil to sustain the cornfields where she gets a share of the harvest as a manananggi. That meager portion of corn feeds her and her grandchild throughout the year, she says. She goes from cornfield to cornfield, hoping to sell her labor for a few kernels of corn.

It breaks my heart every time I encounter people like Manang Lagring. I couldn’t even imagine how she still gets to smile at me amiably while I conduct the interview for my research. In the end, I couldn’t even use her data because it skews the results. The few cases like hers get dropped from the total number of respondents as outliers and not representative of the general situation.

Oftentimes I stare at the cup of Starbucks coffee in my hand and think about the 240 pesos Manang Lagring earned for one year.

Makes me want to weep.


MOALBOAL MOUNTAINS

FOOD TRIP 3: Simple Pleasures

it was hot inside the packed bus
i could feel sweat forming under my armpits. aaaargh!
served me right for forgetting to pay the bill on time
now I had to go to meralco balintawak to do it.

one of the two men behind me was telling the other
about how he had to get an advance
at the factory where he worked
to tide him over the rest of the week

with the money he got, he said he bought a hamburger
“ang sarap-sarap ng hamburger, pare!
bumili nga ako ng isa pa eh!”
even if I couldn’t see his face
i knew he’s the most satisfied man at that moment.

i envied him.

often I eat at nice restaurants
and I don’t even notice what I eat

often, we take for granted
what others had to scrimp hard for.

GUILT TRIP 1: Magdalena

It's been a while since I last stepped inside a girlie bar. Perhaps the idea of ogling scantily-clad ladies lost their appeal after some time. Guess when you’ve seen one pekpek on parade, it doesn’t make much difference when a couple dozen more strut onstage. Your eyes become glazed with the same shapes and movements.

But last weekend in Baguio, my best friend didn’t have to ask me twice when he suggested we go to our old haunt, the Double O along Magsaysay Avenue. I hadn’t been inside the place in over three years but it seemed nothing much has changed since my last appearance. Even the DJ still spoke the same sing-song carabao English that only he seemed to fathom.

The ladies were doing their requisite gliding-on-the-catwalk routine when we came in. Wearing jologs dresses that barely covered their privates (I can’t imagine where on earth they buy those slutty dresses!), they made out like “models” with their twists and turns, while their eyes scoured the sea of bottles and drunken faces for potential customers.

Then the “show” began. First it was a fast disco number where the “model” absent-mindedly went through the motions of what passed for dancing. On the second song (a slow one this time), she started taking everything off, one piece at a time, until nothing is left.

Nothing. Except for a broken soul that stared at you relentlessly through vacant eyes.

FIRST TRIP 3: Daddy's Little Girl

My little princess goes to kindergarten
And every morning before I leave for the office
I walk with her to school a block away from home

The feel of her tiny fingers clasped in mine
As we dodge cars in the early morning rush
Gives me such a thrill and the adrenalin
to get me through the rest of the day.

I love these short "alone" times with her
She'd tell me stories of her days in class
Or she'd sing me a song she learned the day before
By the time we reach the school ten minutes later
I am always sad at having to let her go and be on my way.

(I dread the day she's going to ask me
If she can start having a boyfriend. Aaaaaaargh!!!!)

THE LITTLE PRINCESS

HAPPY TRIP 3: Tendjewberrymud

I liked this one so much I just had to post it. Reminded me quite clearly of my days in India and Sri Lanka.

You must read this aloud (for the full effect). Just say any unfamiliar words phonetically. It's amazing, you will understand what 'tendjewberrymud' means by the end of the conversation. This has been nominated for best email of 1999.

The following is a telephone conversation between a hotel guest and room-service, at a hotel in Asia. The call was recorded and later published in the Far East Economic Review. Here goes....

Room Service (RS): "Morny. Ruin sorbees"
Guest (G): "Sorry, I thought I dialed room-service"
RS: "Rye..Ruin sorbees..morny! Djewish to odor sunteen??"
G: "Uh..yes..I'd like some bacon and eggs"
RS: "Ow July den?"
G: "What??"
RS: "Ow July den?...pry, boy, pooch?"
G : "Oh, the eggs! How do I like them? Sorry, scrambled please."
RS: "Ow July dee bayhcem...crease?"
G: "Crisp will be fine."
RS : "Hokay. An San tos?"
G: "What?"
RS: "San tos. July San tos?"
G: "I don't think so"
RS: "No? Judo one toes??"
G: "I feel really bad about this, but I don't know what 'judo one toes' means.
RS: "Toes! Toes!...why djew Don Juan toes? Ow bow english mopping we bother?"
G: "English muffin!! I've got it! You were saying 'Toast.' Fine. Yes, an English muffin will be fine.
RS: "We bother?"
G: "No...just put the bother on the side."
RS: "Wad?"
G: "I mean butter...just put it on the side."
RS: "Copy?"
G: "Sorry?"
RS: "Copy...tea...mill?"
G: "Yes. Coffee please, and that's all."
RS: "One Minnie. Ass ruin torino fee, strangle ache, crease baychem, tossy singlish mopping we bot her honey sigh, and copy....rye??"
G: "Whatever you say"
RS: "Tendjewberrymud"
G: "You're welcome."

HAPPY TRIP 2: Bisaya Ispisyal

Old Cebuano balak:

"Ang panaghigalaay nga nalubong sa tunaan sa kalimot
Kuykuyon gihapon sa hinagiban sa paghinumdom
Aron mubidlisiw ang mga nagkayamukat nga pagbati."

As translated to English:

"Friendship buried in the mire of forgetfulness
Reborn in the wellspring of remembrance
And all confused emotions vanish, like the setting sun."

Beautiful.

HAPPY TRIP 1: Bisayang Daku

my peborit bisdak juks:

DRIVER: Noy, i-atras nako ang jeep. Ingna ko palihug kung mabangga.
MANOY: Oki! Sige, atras! Atras pa...sige pa! Atras gyud! Kana!
CrRaAaSsHh!
MANOY: Oki, bangga na.

Prayer before meals in Bisaya:
"Ginoo namong Dyos, blis dis food, ako fod, siya fod, sila fod, aron ang pagkaon ma-afod-afod ug ang sud-an mapa-igo fod hangtud among ngipon mafodfod.

Mga Bisaya'y di ko maintindihan. Inglis ng isda -- pis; ng mukha -- pis; ng pandikit -- pis; ng kapayapaan -- pis; tinanong pa ako kung saan ako nakatera -- Pis I or Pis II.

SIDE TRIP 20: Bagyong Baguio

Baguio was designed for a population of 30,000 – playground for American GIs on R&R. Streets were meant to be narrow and residential lots wide enough for lots of pine trees.

Now it has a population of 300,000 - half of them students from the lowlands. Streets are choked with traffic and entire mountains are crammed with houses made out of corrugated iron sheets. Pine trees are being felled down at an alarming rate to give way to outlandish buildings and structures all in the name of development.

It pains me to watch Baguio, the city of my dreams, slowly but surely sliding into urban decay. I loved it enough to want to live there permanently. It wasn’t meant to be, but for six wonderful years in the 90s, I lived in this mountain hideaway and count those as among the happiest in my life.

Last weekend I came home to Baguio and there atop Session Road, the abominable concrete pine tree still stood, mocking the few remaining trees that lent Baguio that unique pine scent I so loved. I hate that concrete tree. That’s what we get when we elect morons into office. Their gamunggong utak are able to come up only with the most idiotic ideas with which to spend their pork barrel on.

And who can ignore that monstrous structure called SM? King of the mountain, it towers above all else. Just how many pine trees were cut to give way to development, I don’t ask anymore. The same is true with Camp John Hay that is fast being developed into some exclusive playground for the rich and famous. Several hundred pine trees were cut so there can be more buildings.

People flock to Baguio for the trees and the cool climate. With an economy hinged primarily on tourism, I doubt if there is going to be any trees left to see a few years from now.

I wonder when politicians would learn to leave well enough alone. That less is more.
Then again, that would like wishing for the moon.

SMELL OF THE PINE


SERENITY


WHERE HAVE ALL THE PINE TREES GONE?