I've never seen these signs heeded, but they sure do "slow down" in Malapascua when you order food/drinks

Island time

The Filipino culture here fascinates me at times, and also tries my patience.

Chalk it up to my personality or job–probably both–but I’m a bit of a “chop, chop, let’s go” type of person. This sort of attitude can’t be exhibited in the Philippines, specifically Malapascua. There is a definite “Island time” here.

The island gets power from generators. Translation- from 9am to 5pm, there is no power. No fans, no lights, limited food/coffee options. That’s fine. It adds to the charm here.

So when the generators clearly kicks on one afternoon, I’m excited.  Mango shake time! I bounce over to the bar, order one for Helen and I, and tell them I’ll come back in 15 minutes (because by now I know that a shake takes them 15 minutes to make). 15 minutes later I go back. No shakes. “Oh,” she says. “Mango shakes.” She mozies over to the blender and I watch as she makes the smoothie. Grinds some ice. Cuts up some mango. No milk. She meanders to another building and finally comes back with the milk. Puts some in. Painstakingly pours 2 glasses…

They are only 2/3 full.

She starts the process all over again to fill them.

And that is pretty much how things work over here. Breakfast can take up to an hour. A coleslaw we ordered one day took so long that we figured they forgot about it. It was more than an hour later when it came just as we were ready to go- just a few pieces of cut up cabbage, grated carrots and some dressing. We’re perplexed what takes them so long.

We must time meals properly because if we wait until we are starving to eat, or we’ll be extremely irritated. It’s become a joke, but wears thin at times.

Singing & Other Stuff

Other parts of the culture stick into my head, little snapshots of time.

The lady on the boat spends the 1/2 ride picking lice out of her little daughter’s hair.

The lady who is giving me a pedicure chats amicably with me. I find out that she has 9 children. As we talk more, it turns out that she had 10 children, but last December her oldest daughter put her 9month old in a hammock. The baby fell out of the hammock and died.

It’s night and we’re walking to a restaurant for some dinner. Some children come up to us and ask us our names. We tell them, and they follow us to the restaurant singing Christmas carols- from Jingle Bells to Feliz Navidad. We chime in. It is such a random moment to be walking on the beach in shorts and a tank top, in the dark, singing Christmas carols with local children who’s voices are sweet as honey.

Turns out that isn’t my only encounter with Filipinos singing Christmas carols. I board a domstic flight. I’m tired due to a 5:45am wake up call and a late night. I’m blissfully sawing logs on the plane when the airline attendents get on the speakers and start playing some sort of game in the middle of the flight with the passengers. I’m mostly sleepy so I’m not totally sure what it’s about except I think that they are playing that game where you say, “First person to wave their passport” gets a point, etc.

I’m relieved when the game is over until the airline attendents start singing Christmas carols over the bad PA system! Then they invite the passengers to join in! It’s so random sleeping on a plane listening to a crackling PA system and a bunch of strangers sing “We Wish you a Merry Christmas.”

That’s the Filipinos for you, though. They love to sing. They really are a super cool, friendly culture and dispense smiles like a pharmacy doles out drugs. I feel safe here and not like everyone’s out to rip me off. The staring is at a minimum, and I feel it’s mostly due to curiosity.

When I land from the singing plane, I am on a shuttle into dreadful Manila, a little uncertain of what bus station I need to be at to get to my next destination. I’m sitting next to a pock marked man listening to an iPod. The shuttle stops and I ask him if it’s the MRT station.

“Where are you going?” He asks.
“San Juan.”
His eyes bulge. “That’s far! Have you been before?”

I shake my head.

A bunch of passengers start gibbering in another language, clearly discussing the best way to get me to San Juan. I’m a little nervous that there doesn’t seem to be a clear cut answer.

“You are alone?” He asks.

I nod. This always shocks the locals.

“Are you meeting someone there?”

I nod again. Yes, this is a lie. There are 2 lies I tell the locals out here: 1. I have a boyfriend, and 2. He’s waiting for me at the next destination. It’s just easier and makes me feel safer. I don’t think many cultures quite understand females travelling on their own and I prefer not to justify it to them.

This man looks relieved.

Everyone gets off the shuttle and he is intent on helping me. He converses with the locals and it turns out my bus station isn’t too far away. He wants to walk me there. I feel safe with him.

“You are for sure meeting someone?” He asks.

“Yes,” I lie guililty.

“Aren’t you scared to travel there by yourself? And to land in Manila by yourself?”

“I’ve been doing it for a bit now,” I say with a smile. “I’m kind of used to it.”

This isn’t a lie but the truth is that yes, I am a little anxious about getting to San Juan on my own, as always. And yes, I’m missing Helen and feeling pretty alone again.

He accompanies me to the station, talks to the bus drivers and leads me to the ticket booth. He shakes my hand, I thank him profusely, and he leaves. He genuinely wanted to help and I am thankful for him.

The Not-So-Good Side

There is one part of the Philappines that really bothers me and I try not to think about it, but I would remiss to not express it on my blog.

The Philippines is really popular for sex tourism. Prostitution is blatant and rampant in Boracay. That’s disturbing in itself, but what is really grating on me out here is the sheer number of fat, old, white men with young, beautiful Filipino women. I’m not sure if they have hired them for a week, because often they are seen dining together, walking down the beach, or staying at the “resort” we’re at in Malapascua. I don’t know if these women just feel lucky that some “rich” white guy is spoiling them, and that they feel lucky to be able to eat nice meals and stay in nice places. I don’t understand how it all works, but it makes me sick. It’s rampant and I suspect that many men come here for that purpose.

I Love This Country

All in all, the Philippines ranks high on my list for so many reasons: The people are friendly. They don’t worship, overtly take advantage of, or show negativity towards tourists. Christianity is their main religion and I feel comfortable in a culture where I understand the religion. (Their colorful jeepneys crack me up because they say things like, “God Bless our Trip” and “Jesus Save” (pretty sure it’s supposed to say “Jesus Saves”). All the cab drivers have rosary beads and little pictures of Mary’s and cross-hung Jesus’ on their dashboard. It’s a little garish, but hey, whatever floats their boat.) The Philippines is cheap, warm, and there’s tons of beaches. What’s not to like?