More Moving

Full car load during move-out

Don't worry, I'm not moving.  This time it's Christina.  She's finally getting out of her apartment and away from the landlord who only invokes horrible stories from her about how he tries to rip her off all the time.  Anyway she never has to deal with him again and I'm happy about that.  Getting back to my point, a friend who now lives about a mile away is leaving her room in a shared house for the summer and Christina is subletting her room for the next 3 months.  Since her internship is for 12 months, this first quarter of the year will be beneficial in deciding what she wants in terms of housing (particularly location) for the following 3 quarters, i.e. whether or not the commute is worth relocating away from civilization.

During the process, she is also working full time 8:30-4:30, 5 days a week as well as studying for her comprehensive exam for the masters program.  I came over to help her move and managed to fill her car with nearly her entire apartment (there is a hybrid bicycle under there).  One of her possessions that gave us the most trouble was my Valentine's Day gift to her: a wisteria plant that has grown a surprising amount.  In fact it has shown so much growth that it required us to build a support structure for it out of bamboo and sewing thread.  The only place in the car that it would safely fit was at my feet.

Driving with plants

Moving help came in an unexpected way

From there, we loaded up the car and brought everything back to my house since her friend has not yet left for the summer so the room is unavailable at the moment (she's staying on the couch until the friend has left in about 10 days).  When we made it back to my house and started moving her things inside, Christina spotted a cute little kitten and we've now both fallen in love with it.  We refuse to feed or house it but it is the most precious and playful little thing I've seen in a long time and it's nearly impossible to just walk away.  We haven't named it (at least not yet) and I'm kind of actually hoping that it just disappears.  I am not in any position to have a pet, not with my crazy work schedule where I'm hardly in Miami for half the summer.  I know I can't handle a pet right now but I haven't chased it away from the house with a broom and I don't think I will.  It hasn't been doing any harm by sleeping on my front porch and until it does start causing harm, I don't mind this friendly little visitor.

I've Got the Month of May

Despite the constant distractions that kept popping up, I managed to eventually get everything packed away either into my car or the closet. My room in Miami now looks completely bare aside from the vacant furniture.

I am the kind of person to have a lot of different friends and whenever I hang out, it's often with a group. I've honestly forgotten how nice it is to sit and talk with one person for several hours but a good friend of mine helped me realize just how enjoyable that can be. Sure it meant I didn't go to bed until around 4am with tons of packing to be done by my morning departure, but it was well worth it. I finished all that needed to be done in the morning, left Miami on schedule at 11:45, and powered through boredom all the way to Raleigh arriving around midnight.

Me and Liza immediately following her graduation.  Photo: Dad

 For anyone who knows me, you know that my sister is one of my favorite people in the world. Her graduation was the reason of my early drive up to North Carolina instead of staying in Miami to dive, work, play, socialize, and see some Miami friends graduate. It is with great pride that I announce she successfully completed a masters degree in speech pathology at UNC Chapel Hill and within a week secured a permanent job in Charlotte. Yeah, she's pretty awesome. If you talk to her do not only congratulate her on those things but also on her upcoming wedding in less than a month and her birthday tomorrow!

My plan is to remain in North Carolina until Broadreach training starts toward the end of the month. If anyone is around or knows of anything fun to do (preferably outdoors), please let me know.

Big City Life

Since moving out of the house back in high school, I've been to and lived in a wide variety of places. Each location is unique in specific ways. My very first impression of Miami was back in June when I came for a quick visit. I was blown away by how vast the city spread and by how gorgeous the UM campus was. It wasn't until I drove down from Ohio that I realized how utterly crazy the driving is here: it is absolute madness. The average speed limit is at least 10mph over what the posted sign says, with some cars swerving into small openings at about 90. That would be fair enough, but then you get the old people who insist on driving under the speed limit in any lane they choose and it breaks up the flow entirely.  It's not simply the speed variations that makes driving overwhelmingly stressful, but it's also the sheer number of cars on the road. It appears as if every hour is rush hour and I have a mild panic attack every time I try to change lanes because I'm certain that someone will be swooping into my new lane from the other side or maybe a car will shoot in out of nowhere.  What's more is that Miamians rarely use turn signals here so you never know where anyone is going to go.  It's been too long since I drove through the Bronx to be able to compare NYC to Miami, but all I can say is that trying to drive, attempting to find parking, and navigating the streets (even with gps) is one of the most stressful things I've ever done in my life. If I don't get used to the aggressive and non-courteous drivers, I'm going to go nuts.

Over the course of the week that I've been here, I have been extremely productive and everything really has gone my way. Here is my entire to-do list copied right from my notebook (with necessary elaborations since “Joe” wouldn't make much sense to anyone for instance). Everything here is what has already been completed:

-Find the library to use internet
-Talk to the viola professor about schedule
-Find where to get a parking permit
-Call Rafael about housing
-Call Taylor (high school connection now living in Miami) to touch base
-Choose a bank to open an account with
-Email Dr. DiResta about changing lab time
-Find marine student frosh orientation and sit in on the introduction
-Figure out health insurance
-Find an ASE certified mechanic
-Talk to UM about housing options both temporary and long-term
-Call King Automotive and schedule a time to leave car
-Open Bank of America bank account
-Email Dr. McNeill about adding geology
-Call dive shop for potential employment
-Call Taylor to meet up
-Email Joe who I met in St. Maarten and lives in southern Florida
-Figure out a meal plan
-Put money on student ID card
-Schedule a meeting with marine science secretary
-Turn in tutoring application
-Email Dr. Olson about working in his lab
-Pick up parking permit
-Figure out something for temporary housing until I can move in with Rafael
-Formally add the geology class
-Find classrooms for each class
-Call UPS about package delivery
-Call Andrew about package delivery

Many of these tasks involved a lot of driving or walking thus it took me a few days to get all of this done. That being said, sometimes I could take care of several things in one place. Anyway, for anyone interested, that's what I've been doing here.

In terms of the university, I'm in love. Granted I've only gone to 2 classes, but by and large this place is spectacular. The campus is stunning with very clean, new, and modern facilities, the orchestra sounds professional not to mention it has 12 violas, a gorgeous pond surrounded by palm trees, incredibly friendly and helpful faculty and staff, gardens scattered across campus (I have a thing for tropical flora), and school spirit is at a whole new level. If I leave after one semester (which is still a possibility), it is going to be for something truly incredible. The only thing I have to watch out for is not to be razzle-dazzled by the things listed above; I'm here to check out the school for marine science, not gardens and ponds.

I feel as if I'm right where I'm supposed to be. Sure I have obstacles like housing. Sure I can only laugh about being in classes where everyone's age is 5 less than mine. Sure I get super stressed out every time I get behind the wheel. However, I really believe I'm right where God wants me to be. This was the only school I applied to and the only doors that have closed in my face have been nothing more than sliding doors with motion sensors. I have the strong feeling that I am exactly where I need to be and the amount of comfort that it gives me is astounding.

Settling In

Believe it or not, things have actually been going my way since I've been on the island. I ran into an unexpectedly rough start when the airlines lost my guitar. Otherwise I made it safely to the crew house and got settled in. The island seems to be very Americanized. I've been living for 4 months where left is right and right is wrong so now I'm dancing with everyone on the sidewalk trying to get out of their way since I want to stay left and they want to walk on their right. Looking left before crossing streets is also proving to be difficult too but I'm a quick re-learner and I haven't caused any accidents yet. English is the most widely used language, American chains abound (ACE, McDonalds, Subway, Baskin Robbins, KFC, etc etc etc), and the thing that tops it all off is that the US dollar is the most widely used currency here.

3 Caribbean reef sharks looking for a snack

Thanks to a distant connection, I got in touch with Dive Safaris and was able to go with them on a dive in search of sharks. Boy was that ever a success! We found 5 (out of many) sharks that apparently hang out at a particular reef on a regular basis. I thought to myself that if this dive was any indication on what was to come, I have found the right place to dive. As it turns out, St Maarten does not have the best diving. After several days of diving (for work and for fun), I can equate it to the diving on the Gili Islands. There are some redeeming traits such as wrecks, sharks, stingrays, and barracudas, but by and large it's nothing compared to the pristine diving I found in the Philippines.

The crew house I'm in is expensive but the money from the part-time work at the dive center is juuust enough to cover it plus food. They keep me very busy there. In other words, I keep myself very busy there by helping fill tanks, set up gear, wash equipment, carry tanks, etc. The more I help out, the more chance I have to be the first one in line for work there. The people I'm living with are a different breed. I can't really explain them, but maybe I'll be around them enough for a story or two to come up.

The only other thing on my mind is that I'm reeeeeeaaaaaly thinking of going for the STCW95. This is the most basic qualification that is usually required by all boats, sailing or motor. My dream has always been to work as a dive instructor on a sailboat and this seems to be the next step to see that dream come true. I have to look into it a bit more, but I really would like to pursue it.

Exit Strategy

I didn't get the chance to post this right away when it happened, then I simply forgot about it since then. I'm post-dating this update so it falls properly into the chronology. So although it's about 3 weeks late, here's the story of my eventful voyage from Sydney to Sint Maarten.

Knowing I could find the cheapest ride to the airport via shuttle, I searched the internet for the cheapest ones. Twelve Australian dollars was the total for a shuttle called JetBus that would pick me up at the door and take me directly to the airport – much better than the 40+ dollars for the cost of a taxi. Accounting for an hour to make the 45-minute drive to the airport, two hours before the flight left, and another 30 minutes in case traffic was very bad, I told the shuttle to arrive 3 hours and 15 minutes before my flight was planning to take off. Twenty minutes after they were supposed to pick me up I rang the company to politely ask what the story was and to see when I would be picked up. After being on hold for no more than a minute, the man on the other end said the driver was 15 minutes away and coming to pick me up now. 30 minutes later, I call them back and sternly asked where my ride was. He paged the driver and told me the street he was on and said he would be there in about 5 but no more than 10 minutes later. At this point Steve saw me getting a bit uneasy and demanded we play cards. 15 minutes later I hear a car honking at me across the street. I threw my bags in the car and after saying thank you and goodbye to Steve, stepped in the back seat for a very awkward car ride.

As he was an hour late, I really didn't feel like speaking to him at all and kept every conversation to a minimum. I told him where I needed to go, what airline I was going on, answered a couple of his questions in about 3 words or less, and left it at that. I didn't really care about anything else he was saying and frankly as a customer I didn't want to hear it. Throughout the trip, he openly admitted that he wasn't going to take this job but had a friend coming in on a flight and thus decided to take it so he could meet his friend at the airport and make some money along the way. In light of the heavy traffic, the driver said that he would take the back roads. This was fine by me until he admitted that he was doing a bit of guess work. He felt comfortable guessing from his 11 years of taxi driving experience in Sydney... which ended 16 years ago. It would have also been fine had he been using GPS or a map. It might have even been alright if he wasn't cursing the other drivers on the road and making U-turns. I might have even gotten out of the car somewhat satisfied if he'd looked for the airline entrance for more than a few seconds before telling me that “that's good enough, it shouldn't be too far from here.” Because I accounted for so much extra time, I checked in and made it to my gate with a few minutes left over to watch some olympic curling before boarding.

I managed to have an open seat beside me on the way to Honolulu and was therefore able to sleep on the way there. I already wrote about getting in touch with people in St Maarten and eating sushi with Meg and Conor but I didn't mention that the airlines had lost my guitar. When I got onto the plane that evening bound for Charlotte, it was the same story – another empty seat beside me which is always conducive to sleep. By the time I made it to Charlotte the next morning, the temperature was 31F and about 90% of the people in the airport were wearing heavy winter coats and gloves as opposed to my shorts and (thank goodness!) thin sweatshirt. Anytime a door would open to the outside I would bundle up tight and rub the exposed skin on my legs to keep warm. It wasn't until the plane took off that I was finally at ease again about the weather, knowing that I was on my way to sunny blue skies.

At baggage claim, I filled out a form for my missing guitar giving them all the information I had in order to get in touch with me. The crew house I ended up in had an ample amount of beds so I grabbed a bite to eat and settled in for what I thought was only going to be a short time before finding an apartment.

Goodbye Indonesia

My time in Indonesia has expired. Unlike milk, it didn't begin to gradually smell putrid. Nope, not like that at all. Instead, it turned from happy to rotten in a matter of minutes. Before going into that, I'd like to write a little preface about how nice my final days were on Gili Trawangan.

First of all, the dive resort I was working for, named Lutwala Dive, is amazing. It is beautiful, has a great pool, it's clean, has an incredible view, is situated away from all the noise and tourists, and has very friendly staff. I truly enjoyed showing up to work every morning because I felt incredibly welcome and there was always someone to talk to.

Before finishing, I certified my two divemaster candidates named Francois and Audrey. Audrey finished up first and went out to Bali to begin the instructor course right away. Francois, who started later, was on a much more serious time crunch. I worked with him every day for just over 2 weeks and on my last full day on the island, we finished. That night was spent at the Irish bar celebrating the completion of the course. Needless to say, Francois probably forgot what he was celebrating by the time he went to sleep (I exaggerate).

By 10:30 the next morning, I had been to Lutwala Dive twice, signed all the divemaster paperwork, sent a couple emails, printed off tickets, paid my ferry ticket, finished packing, said goodbye to friends, sold my bike, and bought a few pieces of bread before getting onto the boat. The last boat leaving Gili Trawangan departed at 11:00 and I was on it. 3 hours later when I arrived at the airport, security informed me that I was too early to check in for my 9:45pm flight. I knew I would have to wait that long, but I was hoping that waiting would not involve schlepping luggage everywhere. This is when I realized how great an idea it was not to sell the guitar. My guitar skills are quite far from being able to play in a public space for money and my vocal ability is even worse (I'm my hardest critic, but anyone hearing me would agree I can't do it for money). However, when it comes to playing for myself just for passing the time, I'm a musical wizard. No, it's not that it sounds any better when I'm playing for myself. It is just a matter of how I connect with the sounds that come out.

6 hours pass with the sun already setting. By now, it's time to check in. The first problem to throw off my systematic and fluid journey through the airport was a woman corralling passengers through to the check-in counter. “Sorry sir, the guitar has to be checked.” Arguing quickly proved hopeless and I easily caved, being forced to pay $6 to have my $16 guitar wrapped in bubble wrap. Having this issue sorted out, I proceeded once again to check-in.

The friendly face behind the counter greeted me with a convincing smile as if to say “hello sir, I really like my job and I want to make your journey pleasant.” She was clothed in a standard green uniform with a matching hat and shiny lapel pin that glinted in the dim fluorescent lights above. My actions and answers preceded her predictable commands and questions. Everything was textbook form. Then we got to the luggage. (Marcus, perhaps this is the island's way of trying to get back at me for leaving.)

As it turns out, Jet Star, a proud partner of Qantas, has this policy. You are able to take sports luggage on the plane without a problem. Scuba gear listed under sports luggage includes bcd, fins, mask, snorkel, regulator, knife, weights, and even tanks. However, if you take these things in a bag to check in on a Jet Star flight, you will quickly find out that you cannot take anything else with you at all. The max limit is 20kg no matter what kind of luggage you have. You see, I have 20kg of sports luggage. I also have about 20kg of everything else (books, clothes, shoes, toiletries, chargers, etc). Jet Star's policy is that for every additional kilo, you pay 20 Australian dollars. After some arguing and talking to a supervisor, it turned out that it's actually 23 US dollars on an international flight. Isn't that convenient.

The poor girl in the uniform was clearly feeling helpless as her smile turned to genuine concern while she watched this bubbly lone American traveler turn into a rather upset, insistent, and panicked customer. Several times I made sure to tell her that my anger and shock was not being taken out on her at all and was certain to make it clear that she was doing nothing wrong while at the same time trying to get her to solve the problem. She was a puppet, almost completely helpless in my dilemma that was taking control of my temper. $570 was the total: more than I paid for the ticket. When I asked about canceling the flight and booking another one (listen, desperation was setting in and I needed to take serious action), she fetched me a phone number of the Jet Star office.

I kindly took my bags to abandon my stake at the counter in front of the dazed employee and retreat to an empty post. With shaky hands I dropped my bags and pulled out my phone. The first number I dialed was not the one she gave me: it was my father's cell phone. At 7:30am EST on a Thursday, my parents are probably already at work but Dad usually has his cell with him. I tried every combination of +001, +01, +1, 001, 01, and 1 preceding the phone number, but nothing worked. I frantically tried the same for my mother's cell and my dad's office (3 of the only 5 numbers I have memorized). I tried calling the number she gave me and no one picked up. One more round of every possible number to reach home and one last effort to call the office proved in vain. I was on my own. My life lines have been used up. I had to pull myself together and face the bureaucratic corporation alone.

Ripping my bags open, I pulled out another backpack and began stuffing it with anything heavy I could find. I was taking one of the employee's good ideas: take 10kg out of my bags and take it as carry-on. Most of the passengers on the flight had already checked in so I didn't have to wait to speak to her again. Heaving my bags onto the scale one last time showed that I was about 12kg over the limit and the face between the recently pressed jacket and matching green hat showed no signs of reassurance. Her disapproving and worried face brought panic back into mine. At this point, the only thing I could do short of making a scene was make it look like I planned to make a scene. The area that I was pacing widened, the tension in my hands went up, the amount of times I rubbed my face and pulled my hair increased, and the feeling of worry and panic was radiating from my body. The next thing I know is that there was a different supervisor than before standing next to my friend in green asking me questions about my luggage and before I knew it, my bags were on the conveyor toward the plane with no fee. I got a stern threat not to tell anyone [until after leaving the Auckland airport] that I had more than 20kg or else she would be in huge trouble. I thanked her a few dozen times and went on my way. If there's anything I learned from that experience, it would be that pretending to get ready to cause a scene is very effective.

During the Bali-Sydney leg of the trip, an infection broke out on my foot and while I was practically skipping onto the plane, I was forced to limp off of it. A quick purchase of band-aids and ointment were made but it would be 2 more days until seeing a proper doctor. By now, my foot is feeling much better.

Auckland is great, the people I'm staying with are wonderful, and I'm looking forward to my adventures ahead. I haven't decided whether or not to take my laptop with me (remember I can't use the battery). If I don't, I'll make sure to update every once in a while. I'll certainly take lots of photos! As always, thanks for reading and I hope you are excited about what's to come not only in this blog but also in your own lives. Take care!

So Long Sabang

Pronounced properly, the title of this post rhymes. Anyway, greetings to all my readers. A couple days ago I left Sabang indefinitely. If I ever make it back to the Philippines, I will almost certainly pay a visit there. Only time will tell. In the interest of not making a post based on speculation and trying to guess the future, here's what I do know.

Less difficulty makes for fewer stories and adventures, but I was happy to forfeit excitement in exchange for a simple hassle-free departure from Sabang; I had no trouble getting to Manila. The hour ride on the banca from the boat station in Sabang (a hundred yards from Capt'n Gregg's) to Batangas was quite enjoyable and I walked directly onto an air-conditioned bus that took me straight into Manila. Meeting back up with the Fajardo family was a wonderful feeling: they took me back to a familiar house that felt like a home even to me. Their hospitality ranks among the best I've ever known.

That night, I tried something new. The daughter is in a capoeira group that meets several times a week. There are several regular participants who are very skilled and experienced, but there are also many beginners as well. When I walked through the door and realized I was the only white person, the only one wearing shorts, the tallest, and without question the least experienced, I started having doubts. As everyone started warming up, no one was offended by my utter cluelessness which made me feel much better and strengthened my confidence. If there's one thing I've learned about the Filipino population, it's that they are very helpful. I know any generalization needs to be taken with a grain of salt, but from my experiences, they have been very welcoming and eager to offer help. Anyway, the session continued with a sort of “monkey see, monkey do” format. The instructor demonstrated a move, and then the 20+ students would emulate it as best as possible: kicks, twists, turns, swings, sweeps, strikes, steps, handstands, cartwheels, handsprings, and more. The thing that stands out in my memory is how easy the instructor made everything look. I was constantly thinking to myself “oh, that's all we have to do? That's not hard.” These thoughts would inevitably be followed by a flailing flop onto the hardwood dance floor or at least a poor enough execution that my laughter would send me to the floor. One way or another, I usually ended up on the ground. However I feel that I must mention the feedback from other students and the instructor. Many people there were convinced that I had quite a bit of previous experience. Apparently no one (they reiterated, “no one”) gets the moves that I was getting on the first day...or second, or even usually third. For years I've wanted to pursue some sort of dance, gymnastics, or martial arts (this should be a surprise to the world because I never told this to anyone) since I think it's something in which I could excel. This capoeira session makes me want to do it even more.

The next morning I woke up with soreness in my hips and right foot but made my way to the train station. My schedule included meeting up with Armand in a mall downtown. About two months ago I mentioned that I might record at some point in Manila. Those plans are finally coming to fruition but here's the thing: it's midnight and I leave the house in no more than 6 and a half hours for Boracay. I consider this my vacation – after 2 and a half months of work 7 days a week, I get 6 days off. Sounds fair to me. However it means that I will have to continue this post later. Stay tuned for a crowded train ride, a walk through a series of malls that could be a self-sufficient city, a crazy drive around Manila, and a recording session that could have gone smoother. This video is taken from the banca on my way out of Sabang. It starts at Capt'n Gregg's and pans all the way to my apartment nestled in the middle of all of those green buildings at the end of the beach.

Catching Up

Here's the deal. If I don't pound out an update now, I will get behind to the extent that it will be a chore to update and motivation will decrease. Therefore I am going to simply tell it how it is. I'll include more pictures than before in order to make up for the dry wording.

I moved into my very first apartment! Well, outside of Denison that is. I live here alone and pay 100% of the rent...all $105 a month anyway. There is no air conditioning, I can't drink the water, only one of the burners on the gas stove works, there are gaps in the screens, the mattress and pillows are excessively firm, laundry fees are through the roof (even compared to the US), not all the lights work, there is no temperature control on the low pressure shower (cold and dribbly), and the toilet flushes with a bucket. However, I have four windows and a fan, there is a sufficient refrigerator, I don't have to pay for electricity, there is a shower and toilet, I have a gas burner along with two pots, a pan, a kettle, a spatula, a knife, a cutting board, a few plates, and one set of utensils, the room gets cleaned every 4 days, the walk to the ocean is about 30 seconds long, the walk to the dive shop is about 6 minutes, the room comes with a few complimentary resident lizards to keep the bug population in check, the bed is a double (big enough for me), and I have about 60 cable channels.

The line between visiting a place and living there is usually drawn at the grocery store. After a couple days in the new place I stocked up on as much food as the local food shop would allow. The selection is awful – not only brands but in a 15ft by 15ft store there is only so much food one is able to buy. Things to note: eggs are sold individually, sans carton. When you purchase one, they put it in a little plastic bag. Some (hopefully only the non-food products) such as ziploc bags are taped up as if they've already been opened. The milk here has about 5 times too much sugar. Filipinos apparently don't like green peppers. Shopping at only one store is nearly impossible – you need to go to three different stores to get produce, meat, and anything sold in cans/boxes/jars. Gas burners cook food in about a tenth of the time it takes to cook on an electric stove. No matter how long I live here and how many groceries I buy, I will never be able to walk from my apartment to the dive shop without being offered a boat ride, motorbike, or massage.

There is a thing called Hash House Harriers. Look it up if you're particularly curious (tell me what it says because I've not looked it up). I don't really know the story behind it, but to me it is effectively a running/hiking club. Every Saturday a group of locals (surprisingly only white non-native residents) gathers at the same place. By about 3:30 the group either starts there or it takes a jeepney to the starting point. For no less than 30 minutes, participants choose to either take the walking or running course through dense jungles, rural farming houses, and short stretches of sandy beach. After quite a workout, the course finishes at a bar where more socializing goes down. I don't feel like trying to describe the beauty that I saw while on the run, so I'll just let a few photos do the talking. It's very unfair to ask them to do that however because they capture only a tiny peek at what I see.

Sabang at Last

I was very tense as I watched one of Bong's friends carry my backpack with my dive computer, my laptop, and my camera against my better judgment. I was watching him like a hawk as we pushed our way through the crowds unsure of what I would do in my overheated exhausted state if he were to bolt. We finally made our way to the friend's car and after stuffing my bags in the back were forced to jam 4 people in three seats in the back. Along the way I told stories of life back home while we feasted upon fruit that Bong bought at a roadside market. I was concerned for only a moment when I saw the fruit stand crawling with ants but then remembered the phrase “when in Rome…” and proceeded without second thoughts. Though packed like sardines in the back seat of a vehicle pitching back and forth, we managed to share plenty of laughs. All the while I couldn’t keep myself from glancing out the windows and commenting on the beautiful landscapes. As far as my eyes could see there was green until it met the overcast sky. I saw fields, forests, jungles, and everything in between. If the Philippines has an excess of any one thing, it’s palm trees.

As much as I enjoyed the scenery and company, eventually the car rolled to a stop at which point I was to take a jeepney (I’ll talk about them at some point later) to Sabang while they continued. We said our goodbyes and I hopped into the back of the jeepney that would quickly fill beyond capacity before dropping me off near my resort. Stepping onto the streets of Sabang for the first time and my first impression was one of utter confusion. Without knowing where I was going I allowed a local to take one of my bags and show me the way and boy was I glad I did. I followed him a hundred yards down a narrow street (which I later learn is the main road) lined with wall to wall stores set just behind a sidewalk that blended right into the road on either side. He made a left turn and we walked carefully avoiding the puddles down an alley with smaller stores and food stands. Several twists and a few turns later I followed him up the stairs to the smiling faces of Captain Gregg’s Dive Resort that led me to my room shown here.

The moment I was alone, I closed my door and let the bed catch me as I fell in a swirl of exhaustion and relief. Finally in a bed, I was able to completely drop my guard and catch a refreshing and much needed breath of air. The relaxation did not last very long, but it was precisely what I needed.

Sink or Swim

The first two nights in Manila (capital of Philippines) were made spectacular by the Fajardo family. I owe them big time when I come back through there on my way out to Bali (or if I take a weekend visit to Manila). Their hospitality was more than I could have asked for.

Manila to Sabang: the epic journey.
I pulled into the bus station and squeeeeezed onto the bus like a Sherpa with a huge bag on my back, an enormous duffel in one hand and my full backpack in the other. Picture an elephant trying to mingle with gazelles. No one seemed to be too concerned about me, but the looks I got were unmistakable: genuine surprise and disbelief. I made my way to the back and assumed the position of the lonely traveler pensively gazing out the window as a real-time slideshow of a land unknown unfolded before his eyes. Before long my thoughts were interrupted by a 60-year old retired Filipino military sniper who called himself Adorico. Through a very thick accent spoken from a mouth lacking several key front teeth, I learned about malls, factories, military, and his current trade: real estate. Nearly an hour went by before my new companion kindly motioned to the exit, shook my hand, wished me the best, and left me alone to wonder weather the rest of the country was equally friendly.

Sinking back into my position by the window imagining what experiences lie ahead, images of trees, villages, stores, fields, shacks, cars, and people flashed past. Every turn of the wheels marked the farthest from home I had ever been. Like a child making his first jump from a diving board, peering over his unstable toes at the water far below, I wondered if this was really what I wanted to do. Will I be able to find a job? Will I make any friends? What if I get robbed? Will there be any places to live? What do I do if no one will hire me? These ringing questions turned into faint echos as the bus rolled to a stop in Bantangas Pier at which point I needed my mind to be as sharp and focused as possible.

Off the bus I was met with suspiciously friendly people whom had evidently been waiting in Batangas all day long for me to arrive so they could bend over backwards to carry my bags, lead me straight to the ticket booth, and practically hold my hand all the way to the ferry. I may be trusting but I'm no fool. After fighting a few of them off I followed everyone else conveniently to the ticket office. I was in for an unfortunate surprise; the waters were too rough for the ferry straight to Puerto Galera so I had to book a seat on the ferry to Calapan a couple hours later. By the time I picked a seat on the ferry I had walked at least half of a mile while climbing 4 flights of stairs schlepping a full suitcase on my back, a loaded duffel in one hand (each one 50-60lbs), and a bulging backpack in the other. My arms were on fire from straining to keep everything together and sweat was pouring from my face. I was able to make it all the way not by physical endurance but by adrenaline and the realization that if I didn't make it to that ferry then I would be stuck in Batangas with no one to turn to for help.

The man next to me talked to me for a while along the way. He turned out to teach English and was very interested in American education and economics. However I got a weird vibe from him and declined his offer to swap phone numbers. I made eye contact with another passenger about my age and when he hung up his phone he sat down to chat. I reminded myself to be cautious around strangers but couldn't help feeling comforted by his friendliness and seemingly genuine character. I got his number and then Bong introduced me to his three friends he was traveling with. As the ferry pulled into port, he told me that my destination (Sabang) was along the way to the place they were staying and that a buddy of theirs was going to pick them up. I cautiously agreed to travel with them and a new adventure began.

WOW.

And I'm not talking about World of Warcraft.

Let's establish a few basic things:

Am I here? Yes. I'm on my bed in Puerto Galera, more or less my final destination.
Are there difficulties? Yes.
Was Manila crazy? No, thanks to the Fajardo family. They seriously saved me in Manila. The hospitality and friendliness they showed surpassed any 5-star hotel.
Is it wet? Every day the sky is covered with clouds. I have yet to see a single patch of blue sky.
Is it beautiful? It is remarkably gorgeous here, particularly in Mindoro.
Am I going through culture shock? Yes.
Am I tired? I'm exhausted.
Are there any other white people there? Hardly. I see maybe 2-5 per day.
Is the food good? It is, but you don't want to know what it is.
Am I in over my head? You bet I am. I would classify this as "way over my head."
Is it fun? Well, in my twisted sense of the word, yes. I suppose I am having fun.

I have a zillion things to say but I don't know how. It pains me that not matter how hard I try, my linguistic skills will not be able to convey my experience. Sure I will try, but I'm a little bit on overload right now. Leaving the comfort of the Fajardo house and stepping out completely on my own going to Puerto Galera was like stepping into another world. Details will come, maybe after dinner and a cold shower before I go to bed. I'll see what I can do. As for now, just know that at this very moment I am very much out of my comfort zone and the internet is the only thing that's familiar.

I Have a Plan ... kind of.

My plan has yet to include securing housing and having a visa, but it does involve having plane tickets. As you can see from the map, I'll be in the Philippines from the 6th of August until I leave for Bali at the beginning of November.

I don't know a single word of the language, I don't have a place to stay, I have not figured out what to do for transportation once I arrive, there is not a single person there whom I've ever met, I don't know what the food is like, I am clueless about the culture, and I have no idea if I need any vaccinations or medication. I'm not just taking a little road trip vacation to Florida. I'm moving across the world to the Philippines completely on my own. If there has ever been a time in my life that I've been out of my comfort zone, this trip is going to blow it out of the water.

Am I excited? Absolutely. I'm ready to tackle whatever challenge comes my way and adapt to any situation.
Am I nervous? You bet I am. I'm closing my eyes, climbing to the edge of a cliff, and taking the biggest leap of faith of my life. This year is going to be amazing and exciting. I'm going to learn more than I ever expected about other parts of the world and come back with more stories than I'll be able to remember (thank you Blogger.com). However, it will not be without tremendous challenge.
In Him, all things are possible.

Visa Complications

Well the visa is more or less in control right now. I am unable to apply for one until I have proof of exit itinerary. Fear not, the consulate made it clear that processing time is about 3 days so I'm not in a critical time crunch yet.

I am left with two options. Option one is to purchase a very expensive yet very effective "Round the World" ticket that is good for 16 flight segments over the course of a year. I intend to make my way around the world based on the guidelines of the ticket anyway, so it appears that I would be saving money. One downside is that I would be restricted to only the destinations that the airline alliance uses. The other downside is that I have to settle on the full itinerary when I purchase the ticket. I do not get charged for changing the dates but there is a fee for canceling or changing locations. I'm waiting for an email back from Cathay Pacific with answers to some very important questions.
The second option is to buy a single one-way ticket out of the Philippines. The reason i would choose this option is because with flights to Singapore for $94 and Indonesia for $118, it's not a huge financial loss to get the single ticket without the Round the World fare. Plus, if I decided later to buy the Round the World ticket, I wouldn't have to start until about Jan/Feb, thus pushing back my year of travel.

There is a lot to think, talk, and pray about here. Although the time crunch is not critical yet, I am still a little pressed and need to figure out where to go from the Philippines very soon. None of my potential contacts have pulled through for me and I'm seriously scraping for advice. If anyone knows or knows anyone who knows anything about Malaysia, Indonesia, Singapore, or Thailand (particularly the first two and particularly with respect to diving), please please please talk to me immediately.

Part Two Approaches

This is a photo of the Makapu'u Lighthouse on one of my sunrise hikes. Very very cool. To get this picture, I hiked WAY off the trail over a ton of sharp pumice. I would do it the same way all over again.

Anyway, I've had even more fun than I anticipated, but part one of my adventures must come to a close. On the 5th of August I'm moving to the Philippines: I bought the plane ticket today. The flight dparts in the early afternoon on the 5th and arrives in Manila the evening of the 6th, even though the flight is about 10 or 11 hours. I am filling out the paperwork for the visa and sending it FedEx first thing tomorrow morning. Over the next two weeks, I'm going to be figuring out my housing situation for the first few days, packing, contacting dive shops, and exchanging money. I will be on Mindoro Island in and around the Puerto Galera area. The reason I'm only going to work out the first few days is that the cheap backpackers lodges don't have websites. What I'm going to do is stay in the cheapest (though safe) place the first 2-3 days then find a place for a few bucks a night. I don't need any luxury whatsoever - all I want is safety. The first two weeks I plan to be unemployed. I'll be walking (or biking, motoring, scootering, whatever) around to all the dive shops scoping them out and seeing which ones I like before I start talking about work.

Speaking of work, I passed the Instructor Exam and I am now a PADI Open Water Scuba Instructor. As soon as the paperwork is processed I will be in teaching status. That news is huge, but honestly it's sort of outweighed by the upcoming move to the Philippines.

Other exciting news is that Meg comes back from the mainland tonight. I would get her a lei like she did for me, but I have no idea where to get them. Sorry Meg. I'll at least pick you up with a big smile.

Weather or Not

I've gotten into this whole sunrise thing. Monday morning I went out toward the north shore, stopped at this park, and spent about 30-45 minutes taking pictures of the sunrise. The next day (yesterday) I drove out to Lanikai before 5, hiked up the pillbox trail (there's a picture of the hike on one of my first few posts). I hiked up in the dark, saw the sun rise over the Mokes, and made it back home by about 6:30. With my jaw injury I took this morning off and I'll probably do the same tomorrow morning then go somewhere else on Friday.

The weather here has been weird. I don't know if I'm just now noticing or if it has been unusual the past few days. It rains for no more than 5 minutes at a time, no less than 5 times a day. Plus it's constantly changing depending on where I drive. Like today going out to Haleiwa to dive with Jeremy, I swear it rained 4 times and was sunny and hot in between each one. A couple other noteworthy things about that drive: I passed the Dole plantation and then while we were out on the boat I looked back toward shore and there was a brilliant rainbow. It was there when we surfaced, and it was there as I drove back home. Very cool. (I started writing this paragraph because it started suddenly raining, and now it stopped. Point made.)

The last piece of news is the biggest of all. Ready? I'm thinking of moving to the Philippines. Palau was proving to be very difficult to find housing and transportation. When I looked into the Philippines, there were tons of links to backpackers that I could stay in (as little as $10 per night), they have an abundance of dive shops, and at least two airlines fly there direct for about $700. I'm going to continue researching it, then talk about it, think about it, and pray about it over the next week. I hope to have some sort of decision by this time next week. Don't worry, making a decision means there's still another couple weeks to wait for the visa and to make sure I secure housing and transportation arrangements, so it's looking like I'll be leaving no sooner than the 5th of August. But then again, I can never be too sure. Stay tuned because there's going to be an Instructor Exam update soon, then a follow-up about the Philippines very soon after that.

Aloha!

My adventure has begun! It's been a long time in the works, but it's finally happening and I couldn't be more excited. Meg picked me up from the airport yesterday with lei in hand and drove me back to her place with only a slight detour to show a good view. I knew Oahu was a mountain but I didn't ever realize how jagged it was - the land rises up like an accordion with deep crevices and sharp ridges running up from the ground. Everywhere I look I find green; the island is teeming with life of all kinds. Pictures will come eventually. As for now, it's time for breakfast.