The Philippines is starting to grow on me. It could be the gorgeous clear sky tonight of uninterrupted stars, it could be the cerulean sea teaming with exotic and plentiful sea life, it could be the extraordinarily friendly people who try to help, chat you up, and wave or smile at you everywhere I go. If I could get past the difference in the food, the extreme poverty coupled with an alarming overpopulation and resulting depletion of resources, a decided lack of architectural style that appeals to me, and Manila.... If I could eat the food, I could forgive a lot of that...
We attended a group dinner, where some folks bought fish, we contributed shrimp, and other people brought vegetables and soup, all assembled and grilled in the Squirrel and Moose (????) restaurant. My plate had a small amount of everything on it and I bit into the first two items with enthusiasm and hunger only to find the dishes had me drooling with nausea. Vegetables that tasted like they were drenched in rotting fish, or the fish that although it was fresh was excessively fishy.
Some might say that culturally that fishy taste is highly prized and desirable and from my brief travels, yes, I see that. But I don't think it's anything I'll ever like, crave, or eat.
Conversations with locals have included the classroom ratio of 50-70 students to 1 teacher, the misfortune of only having two children because they don't leave the country and send back enough money to their parents, and what the sweetest mango is in the Philippines (and I daresay the world).
I've also observed the BBQ styles of this area and conclude that BBQ success depends on having enough paper/trash, charcoal, and fanning the holy-living-sh*t out of that BBQ with your woven bamboo fan the entire time you're cooking. Aaron and I have collected several of these fans in a variety of colors and sizes and added a woven bamboo low-sided basket that is used in the provinces to separating the rice from everything else.
Another very obvious aspect of Philippine life is the vital role of every family member in the success of that family. A boat will come in, manned by the 80 lb. 9-yr-old son, his father swimming behind to keep the boat light and prevent damage on rocks and reef. Kids push a heavy wooden plough through the still sunset waters of a bay filled with sea grass. The children here play hard too - a group hangs out near our room, the midday here punctuated by their shrieks and playing in the water.
The provinces are charming, very rural, very simple. Aaron and I marvel at how quickly we are adapting to life here. How we can now identify markets, how the smell of broken eggs, raw meat sitting for hours in the sun, rotten vegetables, and sour milk is becoming normal as we shop for food. We are slowed down too. We walk for a kilometer or two under the shade of our umbrellas, to finally catch a ride on single 150cc motorcycle outfitted with side and back cars and carrying up to 10 people or the bus on which we hold onto the outside and return waves from the locals surprised to see a redhead and a blonde cruising by. We sit in the shade and I drink my coca cola and Aaron drinks his beer and chat with the locals about politics, the environment, diving, surfing, teaching. The minimal language barrier makes this activity pretty easy and folks are all too willing to teach you the Tagalog or Cebuano word too.
