On the Way

If I don't move quickly enough, I'm going to fall too far behind in my updates, so unfortunately I'll need to be a little brief about some things from Boracay by talking about only a few things in detail and otherwise listing out others. I met Armand in the terminal, we shared some ideas about music, flew 45 minutes to Kalibo, hired a tricycle for 5 minutes to a bus station, took a bus for 2 hours to Caticlan, rode a ferry for 15 minutes to a pier in Boracay, then got a van to take us the last 15 minutes to the resort.

I had been told different things about Boracay: it's littered with tourists, the beaches are pristine, the people there are snobby, I'll fall in love with it right away, it doesn't have good diving, the diving is great, I'll hate it, the beach is groomed twice a day, it is very international, etc. etc. Ultimately I wasn't completely sure what to expect. After dropping our stuff in the room, it didn't take Armand much encouragement to convince me to go swimming. After all, it was piping hot and I just spent the day cooped up in transit. My first steps onto White Beach were steps that will not easily escape my memory. The soft sand was so white and so much like powder that it was as if they mix it with flour. The shallow slope of the ocean floor allowed us to walk out a good hundred feet into the clear warm water before we had to swim. An hour must have passed when one of Armand's friends named Marin came along. Marin is a gorgeous Filipina raised in Orange county and she not only has an awesome heart and great personality to go along with her, but a perfectly-matched American boyfriend named Brett sharing all the same qualities, surprisingly from Dayton. I got to know them pretty well over the course of my week there and wish I'd known them since childhood.

Bom Bom Bar was great (though somehow pronounced “boom boom,” which was a bit awkward at first since “boom boom” in Sabang means sex). It turned out to be a very hip outdoor bar/restaurant spread over the sand centered around great live music. Armand did a guest appearance on the relatively open microphone with his very engaging and refreshingly quirky friend deemed the Reggaeman.

I managed to get in touch with Dustin, a friend of both Armand and Ethei (my favorite instructor back in Sabang) working at Blue Mango and ended up having quite a memorable experience. Right after meeting him, I was lingering around the shop and before leaving, he takes me aside and shows me an engagement ring. Seeing my surprise and bewilderment, he explains that someone is going to propose to his girlfriend on the dive. I jealously comment one how cool it would be and how I've never seen it before. After a moment's hesitation, he asks me to join him on the dive to help keep track of the rest of the divers. I threw on a set of rental gear and jumped on the boat where among several others were an anxious man and his unsuspecting girlfriend. We all dropped down and the instructor handed us bread with which to feed the fish. We all held out our offerings and watched in wonder as the swarm of greedy fish came to take as much as they could find from our fingers, sometimes nibbling our fingers by accident with their small and harmless mouths. Finally, the man pulls out a laminated paper:
Meeting you was by chance, becoming your friend was by choice, and falling in love with you was destiny. Will you marry me?”
The water that immediately began filling her mask was an indication of her smile behind her regulator which broke the seal of the mask allowing water to enter. The rest of the dive was uneventful in comparison, but later dives were nice. There is a site called Yapak (meaning “barefoot” in Tagalog) that is a gorgeous wall starting around 25 meters which was so nice I dived it twice. Most notably was the second time when we took a second tank on the boat so we did “Yapak 2” for the first dive then “Yapak 1” for the second with a one hour surface interval in between. We saw great fish in the huge crevasses and trenches on the first dive followed by a great hour sitting on the boat above crystal clear shallow water by the nearby Puka Beach. Unfortunately our trusty instructor/divemaster Dustin decided to go with a standard hour surface interval without considering the dive profiles. All of us should have known better. My computer started to worry after 5 minutes when we swam through a breathtaking arch at 42 meters teeming with life. The rest of the dive, I tried to make my computer happier by staying about 3-5 meters shallower than the other 3, signaling that I was okay but my dive computer was not happy. By the time we made our ascent, my computer said that we had 21 minutes of required decompression before exiting the water. Luckily I conserve my air and was able to provide air to my buddy Ginger during the last 3 minutes of the dive. After surfacing, Dustin's “I was going to have us stop for 10 minutes, but more decompression never hurts,” was not much of a comfort.

This picture is of me, Marin, and Brett. Other highlights of the trip include watching the beautiful sunset on a traditional sailboat as we cruised along sitting on plastic mesh holding the outrigger together as the warm waves slowly soaked our clothes. To find my favorite snack, I went to a little shop called Fruitas where one could not only find fresh fruit smoothies peeled, cut, and blended upon ordering, but also coconuts filled with fresh fruit. I would regularly get a mango banana coconut for hardly more than a dollar. They took a fresh coconut, cut the top off, shaved the meat (leaving the shavings inside), filled it with crushed ice, cut fresh mangos and bananas, mixed them all together, and filled the remaining space with coconut milk. These things were to die for and if I wasn't careful I would eat them for breakfast lunch and dinner every day. Another of my favorite things about Boracay was the scenery. I hope you enjoy the pictures that I think speak for themselves.

Round and Round

From 1pm until dinner time I wandered Manila with Armand both on foot and by car in search of a viola. The very quick version of the story is that we met on facebook through a mutual friend because the three of us have an interest in music. Armand contacted me to say hi and share a link, I found some of his other songs, and before I knew it we were setting up times for me to record for my favorite song of his. Fast forward back to the present, and we eventually found a viola to borrow. We borrowed it (for free) but it is priced around $150 – very cheap. Not just inexpensive. Cheap.

Sometimes things happen and no one really has any sort of an explanation. Sometimes we just have to shrug and accept these things. How did my alarm get turned off during the night? Why do I have an odd number of socks? What causes storms when the weatherman promises sunshine? Or the question for this occasion, how the heck do we get lost when we have a map? Leneth (the mother of the family I was with) was kind and considerate enough to draw me a map so I would know how to get back. I handed it to Armand's driver (typical to have a driver in Manila...at least from the few people I've hung out with) and the next thing I knew we had stopped 3 times to ask for directions, never quite getting the same response. I tried calling the three numbers I was given but to no avail. Eventually when I finally did get an answer from Leneth and had her talk to the driver, we still had to make several U-turns before we found where we were supposed to be.

I spent a little time that night listening to the song and trying to come up with a good viola line, but the problem is that I don't have perfect pitch and I couldn't figure out the chords. I decided the best use of my time was to go to bed and try to pull together some ad lib in the studio after getting the chords. Unfortunately, the combination of no shoulder rest, a different viola (of slightly different size), not playing for 3 months, and only just getting the chords really made things much more difficult than I anticipated. The recording session ended up being more of an embarrassment than anything and I packed up while assuring Armand that if we could have another session and if I could get a hold of a viola in Boracay then I would actually be able to help. He scheduled another session during my last couple days in Manila and managed to have a viola delivered to Boracay for me.

The next morning I took a cab to the airport ($6.50 for about an hour's drive) to kick off my vacation in Boracay...

City Slickers

As I was saying, I had mentioned something about recording in Manila for an album. I have been in touch with Armand online for the past month about coming to visit and spending some time in Boracay so this was finally my first chance to meet him. I left the house in mid morning with the daughter Maita in order to catch a train in the direction of the mall. She accompanied me there because the mall is on her way to school. It was a very good thing that she did.

We caught a tricycle (more about those later perhaps) and walked through three different malls (more about that in just a minute) that were like a labyrinth. We eventually found ourselves at the end of a line of people stretching about 60 feet all sweating from the stuffy heat and waiting patiently for a turn to purchase a train ticket. On the crowded platform, I was bewildered with what was taking place. When the train stopped and the doors opened, I witnessed an upstream battle possibly more difficult than the one undertaken by the Pacific salmon every year. The passengers on the platform were so anxious that they proceeded to flood the train as if it was bound for the promised land. After the determined exiting passengers defeated the onslaught of eager travelers and all the dust cleared, it turned out there was not enough room on the train for us to get in. However, allow me to explain the meaning of “not enough room.” Everyone getting on the train knows darn well that he is going to battle his way out when his stop comes. In fear of being trapped on the train, everyone packs in like sardines near the doors leaving plenty of breathing room at the ends of every car. The only problem is that it takes nearly 3 stops before there is enough shuffling to reach the less crowded area (which was still quite clustered). I was worried at first about someone stealing my wallet or cell phone but then I reconsidered it: we were packed so tightly that the pockets on my shorts were pressed snug against other passengers and there was no way to reach my belongings.

Three stops from my destination when I thought I had almost made it, an announcement comes over the speakers in Tagalog. My concern grew when I saw all the Filipinos exiting the train without the incessant battle that is witnessed at every other stop. Something was wrong. It turned out that our train needed repairs and thus was forced to be evacuated.  We were informed to exit the train and wait for the next one.  With the crazed mentality of the train riders, they would stop as soon as they stepped foot off the train in order to be first in line to get back on, clearly causing problems. Although none of the people were in a rush fearing they would be stuck on the train and miss their stop as with typical exits, quite a bit of nonviolent shoving still took place. We watched in a sort of betrayed confusion as our empty train pulled out of the station and everyone looked around wondering how an entire trainload of people was going to fit onto another already packed train. We eventually made our way back on and when my stop came up I thanked Maita, fought my way through the oncoming crowd, and watched her ride away leaving me alone on a crowded platform. The plan was to find the mall where I was planning to meet Armand in several hours and wander around until meeting him.

The Philippines is a country where one can find friendly people, jungles, mountains, great scuba diving, terrifying food (yes, dog), beautiful beaches, and malls. Manila is a busy city with a lot to be proud of but to me it will forever be the city of shopping as it boasts 3 of the world's 10 largest malls. I'm serious. 3 of the world's largest malls in one single city. Believe it. http://www.forbes.com/2007/01/09/malls-worlds-largest-biz-cx_tvr_0109malls.html. The shopping doesn't stop there. As if that weren't enough, Manila is literally littered with other malls: opportunities for consumers to buy whatever they can imagine in other gargantuan malls that didn't quite make the cut for the top 10. I slowly made my way wandering through a series of these massive shopping centers, had some Japanese fast food, a fresh fruit smoothie, and a pretzel, and eventually met up with Armand.

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.

Recovery

I haven't said so, but I've been quite ill for about 6 days. It's had ups and downs, but it hasn't been pleasant. Since then, I organized a successful day trip to Chicken Feather Island, Tomi and Renaud both left, Chris and Jay booked tickets out of the Philippines, and I decided to visit Boracay before going to Indonesia. While there, I will jam with a musician named Armand I met through a customer that came through here a while ago (I believe I talked about Bernardine before). I'm thrilled to see another part of the Philippines and to play music but I don't know which one is more exciting.

A couple days ago, feeling a bit better than the day before, I embarked on my routine journey to the dive shop. The relatively high tide resulted in a lack of beach and thus encouraged me to walk the second half of the commute through the small town. Before reaching the main road, I came upon two white tourists, perhaps in their 50s who were each trying to help the other find his way home. Each needed his companion's help because they were both staggering back and forth down the sidewalk, unmistakeably drunk from the night before. Reaching the main intersection, I found the space to safely make my way around the dynamic duo as they gave the motorbike vendors quite a laugh and then I walked the last minute or two to Capt'n Gregg's, right on time as always.

As I was feeling a bit better, I decided to put my name on the board for the morning dive, but 30 minutes before departure had to pay an unplanned visit to the bathroom. I like being descriptive about my experiences here in the Philippines, but I think everyone can imagine diarrhea perfectly well without further explanation. At any rate, my confidence and optimism was also flushed down the toilet and I wiped my name from the dive schedule. A quick talk with a few of the guys urged me to make a trip to the pharmacy for some imodium. On my way up the main road, I got stuck behind a couple of guys with wheelbarrows and squeezing past them I couldn't help but notice an arm sticking out; this guy was carrying a man in a wheelbarrow. My first thought was that the man was ill and this was the only way to take him to the clinic. I started thinking about my Emergency First Response training until I looked at the man's semi-cognizant smiling face and kicked myself for not having my camera. I'm not sure whether they asked or if the Filipinos just took charge, but the drunk men from this morning were being carried off to their resort in wheelbarrows through a crowd of very amused onlookers. Nothing I have seen in Sabang has made me smile more than seeing two plump jolly old drunk men being transported home in one-wheeled chariots made for hauling dirt, gravel, and cement.

The rest of the day is insignificant as my health steadily declined. One of our 3 customers, a 55 year old American living in Guam, suggested I take Ciprofloxacin and gave me a couple sealed tablets. I took one at dinner and yesterday felt much better. After a dive, a trip to the launderette, and a haircut I was still feeling fine so I think it did the trick. Thanks Jim! At 7 I decided that after a week of being ill, a massage was in order and I postponed dinner. My experience of professional massages is almost nonexistent so I really don't have anything to compare it to. However, for $10 I think the hour long intense full-body treatment was pretty much a steal. Feeling fully revived, I glided back home to fix up a delicious spaghetti and meat sauce dinner using my one trusty gas burner. My reliable dinner guest named HBO was there for me as always, this time with some sort of a war film set in the Middle East. It made me think of Conor and how I hope he will be home swiftly and safely. Thanks Conor and the rest of your Marine squadron.

Keeping It Fresh

While life carried on as usual back home, here's what was going on with me yesterday:

As always, I woke up to my phone jingling just behind my head and turned on The Simpsons. A brief inventory assessment determined that the breakfast menu was either toast or french toast and I quickly opted for the latter. The layout of my room is such that when I'm in the kitchen, the tv is around the corner at such an angle that I end up cooking while imitating one of those tippy bird toys and miss most of what's going on.

Every weekday is Simpsons at 7 followed by Friends at 7:30. I've never really watched either show but since they're on, I've gotten into them a bit. I'm no raving fan of either one, but it's a nice way to start my mornings. I'd been following the episodes of Friends for a couple weeks to the point that one of the characters was about to move to France. About a week ago when 7:30 rolled around, all the characters were younger and I realized that I was watching an episode from one of the first seasons. Apparently the station decided I needed to get caught up on everything leading up to that point before I get to find out what happens.

After washing my dishes and delegating the air to dry them, I threw on my bag and headed off to work. We have two customers right now who are more interested in the local girls than they are in diving. In other words, work is awful. Right when I thought that it was going to be a long painfully boring day, Mark decides to treat us by taking us out to a 48m deep cave on double tanks. (Recreational dive limit is 40m). My eyes lit up like it was Christmas and I quickly began assembling my gear. An unusually bumpy 10 minute boat ride took us right to the entry point at which point we rolled backwards off the boat and started finning down as soon as we broke the surface. 20m. 25m. 30m. Darker and darker. 35m. I could feel the pressure compressing my wetsuit. 40m. Still descending.

By the time I reached 45 meters I could feel the nitrogen narcosis scrambling my brain. For those of you who don't know, nitrogen narcosis is a side effect of going deep and has to do with the increased amount of nitrogen in your body. People often relate it to being drunk. The only other time I really felt it was when I went to a deep wreck near Seal Island in South Africa and had trouble figuring out which way was up (great story if you're ever interested). The way it happened this time was slightly different. You know how you can have a couple thoughts simultaneously? Imagine trying to think 5 unrelated thoughts all at the same time. I'm not talking about multitasking or juggling 5 thoughts at once. I'm talking about having those thoughts competing for attention. It was like 5 people trying to talk to me at the same exact time, all of them equally determined to have my attention. I was unable to focus on any one thing at a time while finning around at 45 meters beneath the surface, fighting current, and trying to stay as close to the group as I could.

I look at my computer: nearly 49 meters. My head was swimming. We finally found the cave, zipped through the very short passage one at a time, and started our ascent. When I checked my computer, it showed 51.4m as the maximum depth: nearly 170ft.

Later, I got news that all of the instructor candidates (including Chris who works here) passed their course and exams. I was going to hang out with them for a bit but Tomi had made the suggestion earlier that we make a special dinner. We went to the market in a total downpour and bought supplies including shrimp, fish, and rice. Back at his place, we cut the simple ingredients, cleaned the shrimp, and thinly sliced the fish with my Letherman. We pressed the rice out on square pieces of seaweed and proceeded to roll our own sushi. I've never actually done it before so it was especially exciting. The fresh fish melted in my mouth, and the improvised soy sauce with chilies instead of wasabi ended up working quite well.

Following the sushi feast, we braved the rain all the way to the bar where we usually meet so we could congratulate the new instructors. We congratulated the three who were there but couldn't find Chris. However, since there was a pool tournament starting there at 9:30, Tomi and I decided to split and ended up going to play pool on our own for an hour before my bed was calling me so much that I couldn't ignore it and was forced to retire.

Checkup

Just wanted to say not much is different right now. I've been going about business as usual. Each day blends into the next and remembering the date or day of the week proves to be incredibly challenging.
Financially, I'm barely in the red. After two months here, I've had to take a couple hundred dollars out to cover housing, food, and visa renewal. I mention this because I got paid three days ago but the money is already pretty much spent and I have to go to the bank tomorrow.
I'm looking into flight options and may end up getting a Round the World ticket after all:
+Bali - Auckland (Spend about 3 weeks traveling around New Zealand seeing the country and interviewing at graduate schools)
+Auckland - Mauritius/Seychelles (Still can't decide where to go. I think Mauritius is cheaper so I might do that)
+Mauritius/Seychelles - Cape Town (Visit friends, bungee jump, eat naartchies, and go diving)
+Cape Town - Miami (I'll buy my own tickets around the Caribbean. I'll spend 6 months there, most likely split between two different locations)
+Miami - Cleveland (Home for about a month for Christmas)
+Cleveland - Chicago (Free stopover in Chicago just for kicks - maybe Brian Crush will be there?)
+Chicago - Queenstown (back to New Zealand for grad school if it is still on my agenda)

I've nearly made up my mind to go to the Gili Islands in Indonesia. Lombok is the island to the east of Bali, and the Gilis are 3 tiny islands next to Lombok, the largest spanning about 3km by 2km. It seems that transportation to and from the islands is frequent and if I ever get bored I can take a day to go visit Bali or Lombok. I would really love to visit Komodo at some point to see the dragons.

I'm off to get my laundry and maybe a bite to eat. It is going to be a very early night for me tonight because at only 5:30 I'm already tired. Believe it or not, diving (especially repetitive diving) really takes a lot out of you.

Blog Time!

A couple nights ago I managed to hop onto a night dive with Chris to the nearby deep wreck called Alma Jane. I've been there at least 7 times during the day but this was my first time at night. The boat searched around for a minute before finding the tiny marker buoy of a few plastic jugs tied to a rope. Upon dropping in, Chris and I battled the ripping current to make it to the buoy but after pulling ourselves down the line about 24 meters, the water was still, which set the scene for the eeriness of the dive. Unlike typical night dives, there was actually very little activity happening while we were there. It seemed as if all the nocturnal creatures either took a night off or went somewhere else. We were surrounded by complete darkness broken only by our two single beams from our dive lights. Floating through the inside of the large boat, the familiar beams and passages came into view in bits and pieces as the lights panned around. I can't explain how eery it was to see the wreck one beam of light at a time with almost no life at all. It's something I suggest all of my readers try to experience one time in your life.

The 19th of September was the Project AWARE International Cleanup Day where divers around the globe join in to help clean our marine environment. Due to a scheduling hitch, Mindoro participated in the cleanup yesterday instead. About 79 divers from at least a dozen dive resorts in the area came together to pick up trash in the water outside a boat yard across the channel from an elementary school. While all of us stuffed sacks with rubbish and fought our way to bring the heavy loads to the surface, the elementary students combed the beach for any sort of trash they could find. To give a bit of an idea: I was underwater for only 20 minutes before my large rice sack was so full that I struggled to surface and hand it to the nearest boat. What's worse is the amount of garbage I passed that was either covered in coral or too large to put in my bag. Tires, bottles, paint cans, clothes, bags, scrap metal, glass, plastic, toilets, hangers, and so much more junk covered the bottom that I was like a kid in a candy store grabbing everything in sight and stuffing it into my bag as if someone was going to take it from me. I reckon we could repeat the cleanup every day for a week and still not pick up everything that was in the water.

On a happier note, last night was a totally legitimate cooking on my own experience. There is a market a couple hundred yards from the center of Sabang. Rickety tables are stacked with very shallow plastic bins filled with an array of fish (virtually none of which have seen a knife), all sizes of prawns, mussels, clams, pork, pigs feet, and every part of a chicken you can imagine. This tiny market is contained almost entirely in one narrow and short alley sheltered by very low hanging plastic to protect from rain and sun while forcing me to stoop as I walk through. It's the kind of market that is very difficult to find if you don't know what you're looking for. For this reason, it seems to be tourist-proof and thus the prices are more fit for the Filipino population. That being said, I have a blog update brewing about how much racism goes on here, but in a completely different way than back home.

Anyway, yesterday I prowled through the selection of fish hoping to find tuna. I had to change my plan when I discovered that the tuna that day were too smart to fall for the free food dangling on a hook trick. I ended up settling for an enormous portion of blue marlin for about $2.50 though if I knew better how to scale, gut, and clean fish then I would have made a different decision. With the leftover change, I ventured further down to the end of the alley where the tables ended and I found a couple guys selling produce (and other small food products) nestled in the corner. I bought a bottle of soy sauce, two eggs, fresh ginger, a clove of garlic, and a small pouch of calamansi (local citrus more flavorful than lemon but the size of a cherry) all for less than a dollar. After picking up salt and pepper I made my way back to my room to begin preparing a wonderful meal of fish, mashed potatoes, and cucumber. I'm still working on my improvised cooking skills so I had to take the easy way out for the vegetable.

Forty five minutes, a big mess, and one broken spatula later, I sat down in my plastic chair at my collapsible dinner table and looked down at my soft steamy mashed potatoes with fresh garlic, pan-cooked marlin with fresh ginger and calamansi sprinkled with salt and pepper, a nice piece of cucumber, and a cold glass of grape juice to top it all off. I ate silently in the company of mediocre television programming and before I knew it all that remained of the fish were the bones and lingering smell. Cleaning up my dishes, I felt very proud of myself for making something that didn't involve noodles or rice. Not only that, but none of my food came out of a package. I'm starting to think that I've come up with a dinner option that I will be using quite frequently in the month to come, and I think I'm going to be making some new friends at the local market.

There is either a tropical storm or typhoon named Ondo ravaging the northern part of the Philippines and we are feeling the effects here on Mindoro. Today marks the third day in over a month and a half that I have not gone on a dive. The water is so rough that a boat flipped over earlier today right in front of the beach.

The Eye of the Storm

The pictures don't go with the story at all, but they're good visuals. The first one is the view from my usual spot with an unusually few amount of people around. The second is what I see a few steps away from my spot by the railing that is directly above the beach. On with the update.

A couple days ago Mark had a few friends arrive from Australia. When I caught wind of his plan to take them golfing, I expressed enough interest to earn me an invitation to go with the three of them (and in doing so forfeit going to a new dive site).
I discovered later that due to the water conditions, the divers made it to the dive site and sat on the boat for a few minutes before deciding to turn back to shore. While they were doing that, I was having a much different experience.

Thirty minutes of winding along the bumpy mountain roads landed our jeepney high up the mountain. We bounced our way up the one-lane road leading to Ponderosa, the only golf course within driving distance. When we climbed out the jeepney's open back door, there was a mutual agreement that the conditions were too wet and rainy to follow through with the original plan. Instead I found myself sipping a mango shake sheltered from the rain talking to the 94 year-old owner with Mark and his two friends. This spot was gorgeous in the haze and I can only imagine its stunning beauty during favorable weather conditions. After a short stroll to the first tee, I was looking out over 50 yards of a steep hill covered with dense short growth leading to a short fairway (decorated intentionally with a small water hazard) and after a small patch of more thick ground cover, the green. The entire hole from tee-off to green was surrounded by jungle. I estimated that I would need at least 18 balls to complete the course. I insisted that Mark bring me back when the weather takes a turn for the best.

Making our way back to the jeepney, we agreed to take a detour to get some good Italian food on our way home. The road was much more treacherous on this leg of the journey. I gazed out the window at the magnificent mountains as the jeepney bounced along the ill-paved road, careening around every sharp turn. Pavement turned to mud and before long I realized roosters were jumping out of the way as we went splashing through massive puddles. At long last, the trusty jeepney came to a full stop, cuing our exit. We arrived at a deserted restaurant and my stomach demanded I order something substantial. As we were waiting for the pizza, I nearly lost my appetite when a small gentle yet frail stray dog came to our table. When she sat down under the table to rest, I noticed a massive open wound or growth on her underside. It was about the size of a racquetball and red in color where the dirt and sand hadn't yet covered it. I thought immediately of my open scabs all over my legs and made a point to keep them as far from this poor friendly dog as possible. When the food finally came, my mind worked hard to forget the stray under the table and also overlook the fact that I don't like ham or mushrooms. I inhaled my share of the delicious true Italian-style pizza and turned my seat around to look at the water beneath the gloomy sky realizing that an ugly day in the Philippines is still a gorgeous day in my book.

On the way back to the dive resort, my focus was drawn beyond the back door of the jeepney. I fell into a hypnotic state hanging onto a cool metal bar and staring out the open door. It seemed as if an hour passed as I watched miles of dirt paths, bumpy paved roads, and puddles constantly swerve and shrink away into the distance while far-off hazy mountains swung into and out of my view, slowly fading into the clouds. After seeing the world shrink away for so long, I felt like I was in some dreamland where everything in my sight was slowly inching toward me when I finally stepped off the moving vehicle. Walking back to the resort with a bit of a sway to my step and arms raised several inches higher than usual, I realized that even though the weather did not cooperate and I didn't get to go diving, I had an incredible time being out.

Rain, Rain, Rain

I apologize for the lack of visuals but I suppose it's about time for an update anyway. I am unable to convey the mood that is set by the gray cloudy gloom that I have been experiencing for the past 6-7 days and which is expected to linger for another week or so. I can't convey the feeling, but try to imagine not seeing the sun at all, waking up to rain every other morning, and seeing drizzle scattered throughout the day every day for a week. The gloom dissuades me from being active and naturally hinders optimism. With that in mind, it's difficult for even me to be blind to the little day to day downers. Please allow one post that's not filled with smiles, flowers, butterflies, and kittens.

I work from 8am until about 4pm all seven days of the week. Of course it's not as difficult as doing Physics 7 days a week, but it's not a walk in the park either. That being said, if I'm not working there really is little to do here. I have little urge to go to the shooting range, no desire to visit the discos or hang around prostitutes, and going to the bars to sip coke listening to the same songs over and over while engulfed in a cloud of cigarette smoke gets old pretty quickly.

The dive sites still hold their charm but my requests to explore and search for new sites are always to no avail. The beach holds no refuge as it is completely submerged during high tide and filled with litter and stray dogs during low tide. I continue to visit the same restaurants and cafes every day due to the fact that I've been to nearly every one of them in Sabang. I have been craving a traditional deep-dish pepperoni pizza for over a week but I am forced to cope. The decision to cook for myself leads to difficulties of its own. I lack access to both an oven and microwave so everything that I cook is done over one single gas burner with heavily used cookware. These limitations combined with the lack in grocery selection causes my meals to regularly be at a low standard.

I have yet to find an individual who shares my sense of humor or my has similar interests, interests which exclude both prostitution and binge drinking. Fellow Americans are few and far between, and the few who are under the age of 30 are guaranteed to be here for no more than 5 days. Regardless, the ones I do find often don't relieve my feeling of being an outsider; an American man yesterday insisted that I speak as if I'm from Scandinavia after learning I have residence in Ohio.

My job search is determined to make me go crazy. On one hand it gives me something to do that does not involve going to a bar. On the other hand it is unspeakably discouraging. To date, I've sent out 30 emails to dive resorts in Indonesia (for November through late January) as well as Seychelles, Mauritius, Madagascar, Maldives, Zanzibar, and Reunion Island (for late January until May). The response count is up to 11. 8 responses were negative, 2 are very unlikely, and the other is a freelance opportunity for a location I'm not thrilled about. For every email I send, I dig through the internet for resorts in the regions of interest and scour their website to determine if a) they appear reputable and b) to find something special about the resort that I like. After doing that, I write an email from scratch geared toward the particular resort and why I am interested in working with them specifically. The only redeeming thing about the job search is the realization of my lack of limitations. Assuming I am able to find a job, I can move to any tropical coastal location in the world (well, Cuba might be difficult).

Those who know me will not be surprised to hear me say that within every difficulty there is something to be gained. My appreciation for the amenities of life back home has grown. I am learning to improvise and make due with what is presented to me. Who I am and what I like is becoming more evident as time goes on – I am getting to know myself more. Although there are a lot of great things happening while I'm here and it's nice to focus on those and overlook everything else, there is an important lesson that must not be forgotten. One's level of happiness is a state of mind that is based on experiences. In other words, it's the downs in life that make the ups so much more enjoyable. Put even more simply, life with no struggle is hardly life at all. Because of this, I am content with my discontent and happy to grow from every struggle. In a strange way, even bad days can be good.

Well, I'm off to a bar to hang out for a while before making myself a simple dinner.

Real Dive Instructor

I'm including random pictures just to liven things up a bit. I don't like when I update this blog sans visuals – it gets way too boring.

When I'm not using my computer, experiencing familiarity (of life back home) is quite difficult. The spaghetti sauce is not very good, the pizzas aren't made properly or with normal pepperoni, supermarkets are unheard of, the only form of private transportation is the motorbike, I haven't seen a microwave in nearly a month, I have to flush with a bucket, there are no fields, taking a boat for an hour is the only way to see a mall or fast-food chain, if you order soup from a cafe and ask for it to go then you will get it in a plastic bag, and the the milk has waaaaay too much sugar in it. As a result, it's the little things that give me comfort. It's seeing an American movie on my tv, wearing my Denison hat, finding that quarter in the bottom of my backpack, and discovering there's a place that sells a tiny selection of American candy bars. Life back home is becoming more distant as familiar things are so uncommon.

More often than not, I find myself to be the only American in a given group of people - the only person from all of North and South America for that matter. It's therefore exciting when I can recognize something from the states. It took much longer for this to happen in South Africa since I was surrounded by Americans all the time, but I feel as if my American pride grows when I leave. So often I feel like the American representative being the only one around.

I finally got my Nitrox certification. Once I dive 16 more times on Nitrox and certify 25 students for any level of scuba diving, I'll be able to give Nitrox certifications. Unfortunately, that might take a while. However I'm already on my way.

I finished my very first open water certification on the 31st! My student Sonja is an 18-year-old from Alaska and lucky for me, she was very comfortable underwater and her buoyancy control was great. She loved playing around with the fish and really seemed to have had a great time learning how to dive. Thanks to Sonja I'm off to a great start! It's also nice that I'll be getting about a hundred dollars for certifying her. An entire month of rent!

Renaud is a rescue diver from France learning a bit of technical diving while he's here. He's a really great guy and his birthday was a few days ago. To celebrate, we had a great Mexican group dinner. Excellent food for an excellent guy.

On a dive earlier that day, I accidentally and unknowingly knocked Maria's regulator and mask off causing her to panic. In trying to get a hold of my regulator, she climbed over my back and tried to rip my mask off (keep in mind I had no idea she was missing reg or mask). After about 10 seconds of wrestling, Mark saw what was going on and gave her a regulator and I finally got a chance to clear my mask to see Mark and Maria together moving toward the surface. Renaud and I grabbed her mask and surfaced together. Happy birthday, Renaud.

I've been going through some serious job searches and it's killing me. My afternoons (whenever I'm not diving) are completely taken up by sitting in front of the computer going through dive shop after dive shop, and writing email after email. I start from scratch on each one because I mention how the particular operation looks particularly appealing. So far I've sent out at least 12 emails and my only response has been negative, which is better than no response at all. I've been searching not only for jobs in and around Bali (including Lombok and Komodo Island as well), but also searching for an offer after I leave Indonesia. I will consider any offer from Andaman Islands, Tanzania, Zanzibar, Pemba, Comoros, Maldives, Reunion, Mauritius, Madagascar, and Seychelles (preference in reverse order).

With so many options, I would like to have some sort of concrete communication before buying a plane ticket. I'm afraid that if I don't have any connections before going, I won't be able to find a job. My worries are popping up now because there appears to be a less dense population of dive centers in these locations than are in Philippines and Bali, so if I exhaust my options, I have to buy a ticket to another country to start over. Not only are there fewer dive centers, but they are generally wealthier areas with fancier resorts and more expensive housing so looking around for a job for the first couple weeks I'm there won't be such a bright idea anymore. Plus my French is not at a level of fluency and 5 of those countries have French as a national language.

Speaking of French, there's a really awesome guy who showed up a few days ago named Tomi. He is 22, nearly my height, has long dark scraggly hair, several vintage-style bracelets, a ring, and pan-African colored slippers (this is what the world calls flip flops – they have me doing it too). Anyway he is actually from Montreal and has come to the Philippines to do his divemaster certification before he moves on to Australia. I will probably mention him more because he is a really interesting guy with fewer plans than I have and is a great diving buddy because he has so much fun underwater.

I feel like I should mention something about school starting without me but I'm tired of writing and you're probably excited that the end of the post is in sight. It is weird that classes are starting but I'm so far removed from it right now that I can't fully comprehend it anyway. I hope you enjoyed the random pictures and until next time, don't forget to wear sunscreen.

The Bad, the Good, and the Wonderful

Two nights ago I had perhaps the worst headache of my entire life. With every beat of my heart came a punch in the face right between the eyes. In bed, I tossed and turned all night long finding no escape from the overwhelming pounding in my head. I sent Jay a text around 7am to relay the message that I would be very late.

Thanks to the headache, yesterday marked the very first day that I did not dive since my first day here about two weeks ago. I got to the shop around 11:45 (instead of 8), already missing the first two dives of the day. Mark (if I haven't said so, Mark is the one in charge of the diving here) had me give an equipment refresher to a woman named Bernardine whom hasn't been diving in a long time and felt very nervous. She was incredibly appreciative and even though Jay ended up leading the dive while I stayed on shore, she came back to report that despite her apprehension she had an absolutely wonderful time. While treating me to a spot of tea afterward, I discovered that she is a musician. A few teas later, I found myself being offered a one-time recording opportunity.

She works with a recording studio in Manila and would like me to take a weekend to travel there and spend a few days jamming and recording for her upcoming album. I've already talked to her friend at the studio and he said that he wouldn't have much problem getting a hold of a viola to borrow. I don't know how well known she is and I don't know if she'll give me a single cent but frankly it doesn't matter at all. Being able to play viola, particularly for a recording, is worth a lot to me. As if that wasn't enough good fortune, later last night I was introduced to a father and daughter from Alaska who just arrived in Sabang after a couple days in Manila and the daughter is keen to do her open water scuba certification while she's here. I was originally upset when Mark assigned me to hold down the shop while everyone else spends the morning and early afternoon doing two dives and a barbeque lunch on the beach at Verde Island. However, it may have created precisely the right circumstances to begin my first certification. Mark went over the basic course structure (organization) and is going to let me instruct her course, so the only thing that would ruin it is if she decides not to do the course.

Oh my goodness! I forgot to write about my favorite night since I've arrived in the Philippines! Several days ago I helped lead a Discover Scuba Diving experience with Mermaids dive resort right next door. As I was preparing for it, a friend of mine named Maria invited me to join her and a middle-aged couple for a picnic dinner after I finished. I accepted without thinking twice about it. As I returned to Mermaids 20 minutes after they were supposed to leave for the picnic, I was surprised to see that they (three Filipino guys, the couple, and Maria) were waiting for me in their boat and after throwing my gear in the dive shop and quickly changing into shorts, we departed. The brave little banca (traditional boat) battled the waves like a champ all the way to a small island which was home to a local village. While we sat outside a tiny house chatting and I indulged myself on coconut and some sort of sweet soft oily rice snack, the mosquitoes feasted on me. I kept hearing the voices of concerned friends and family who had asked about vaccines and malaria medication. Hiding my paranoia was impossible so I was thrilled when we got up to move toward our second destination.

Back on the banca, we motored around the island to a secluded beach. As the sun set somewhere on the other side of the mountainous island, we started a fire and the Filipinos proceeded to cook dinner while I stood on the soft sand talking to Maria. Before long, we feasted on delicious stuffed fish, rice, a vegetable dish, and pork. Every bit of it was made in the traditional Filipino style and thus I felt justified in using my fingers as much as I could. Not only was it some of the best food I've had since coming to the Philippines, but it was on a beautiful beach, lending to the natural ambient soundtrack of waves lapping the sand and palm trees rustling in the occasional gentle breeze. Above us, the stars were as plentiful as those found in planetariums. The milky way was easily visible cutting right through the summer triangle, with thousands of stars twinkling over the rest of the sky with what I am guessing was Venus toward the south. Lying on the sand watching shooting stars while talking to Maria for about an hour before taking the banca back to Sabang was the perfect end to an incredible evening. I don't know how likely it is, but I would love to make it happen again sometime soon: it's much better than going to the bars.

Robbie's Guide to Sabang

Many books and internet sites have been devoted to describing tourist destinations around the globe. If they can do it, why shouldn't I? Here is my personal subjective guide to Sabang, significantly shortened based on predicted audience interest (unless you honestly want to waste your time reading about the specific differences between the 20+ dive resorts).

Housing:
Temporary or extended housing can be found throughout Sabang. Although you will find no 5-star luxury resort here, prices run the gamut with quality to match. Small rooms suitable for two can be found in beachfront hotels as low as $10/night or as much as $80/night for an up-scale suite in a fancier resort literally next door.
Monthly-rate housing is scattered around but many are located at the far end of the beach (like mine) away from the lively areas. Standard rooms (no kitchen, no air conditioning) are available as low as $90/month and can run above $200/month for a more spacious and fully-equipped air conditioned apartment. Electricity is generally included and biweekly cleaning services are standard.
(If you do ever come here, stay in Captain Gregg's Resort and tell them that Robbie sent you.)

Food:
Although low prices are common in Sabang, it is easy to stumble into an average-quality resort restaurant to find prices not unlike those in America. As with most tourist destinations, the smaller the restaurant, the cheaper the food. Fish, chicken, and rice are staples in the Philippines, but when ordering any meal with fish, it will almost always be served with the head attached as it is a large source of the fish flavor. Even though it is customary to eat without utensils, many of the dishes are heavy with oil and the paper napkins are half the size and thickness as airline napkins. Look carefully and you will be able to find a full meal for less than $2 but if not, you may find yourself paying quadruple the price for the same quality.

Sites/Activities:
Sabang itself is very small and although it is covered with resorts, the range of activities is not very wide. Diving appears to be the main attraction (you probably think I'm saying that because I'm surrounded by it, but almost every tourist I've met outside of the diving atmosphere is a diver). Other activities include boating (boat rides – no rentals), snorkeling, motorbiking, jet skiing, going to a spa, or relaxing in a resort. At high tide the beach completely disappears while at all other times it is covered with pieces of hard coral and sprinkled with trash. Wade into the water and you will find a field of short sea grass rooted in mud. Also considering that the shallow water is used as a parking lot for boats, tourists rarely come here specifically to swim or relax on the beach.
There are no trails marked for walking, running, or hiking. To do any of these, it is highly advised to go with someone reliable who knows the area. Even if you pay a few dollars for a couple hours, you will not be disappointed; the scenery in and around Sabang is breathtaking. The mountains that make up this region are densely covered in green. There are paths through these jungles (invisible to the untrained eye) that have been walked by local villagers enough that machetes are not necessary. For the less adventuresome, taking to the paved roads eliminates the jungle terrain but adds the inherent danger of sharing the road with motor vehicles. Unless walking along the beach, it is extremely uncommon to find trails lacking steep climbs.

Diving:
Since the Philippines has managed to remain a relatively low-profile diving destination, the dive sites are in wonderful condition. Dive resorts boast that there are about 20 dive sites that can be reached in under 10 minutes. Not only does Sabang offer a large number of dive sites, but it also provides a wide variety of diving suitable for everyone from non-divers to the most experienced technical diver (John Bennett set the world record for the deepest open-circuit scuba dive here in 2001 by descending below 1,000ft). Dive options include wrecks, coral gardens, walls, and drift diving at a wide range of depths. Expect to see crowds of fish, colorful corals, lionfish, nudibranchs, and don't be frightened if you see the occasional sea snake or sting ray. Dives are relatively cheap: single dives are generally under $30, but resorts will work out package deals for multiple dives.

Night Life:
Sabang comes alive when the sun goes down. Different bars cater to different interests such as sports, dancing, pool, and karaoke. Several bars operate 24 hours a day and often have customers the entire time. The other very common type of bar, called girlie bars, are essentially strip clubs. Although prostitution is technically illegal, it is a very common activity in Sabang. Drinking and socializing are expected at night and you don't have to look far to find visitors (or residents) from many different countries.

General Recommendations:
Sabang is a cheap place to stay, has beautiful scenery, pristine diving, friendly people, and very active night life. All things considered however, this is not a family-friendly destination; very few activities are available for young children. It has been said that people in Sabang fall into one or more of the following categories: natives, employees (generally of resorts or bars), divers, or sex tourists.

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.

Under the Sea

The friendly Friday sunrise washed away the gloom that had been polluting the Filipino sky for days and with it came the promise of incredible diving. I was surprised when Mark offered me a tank for the dive that was launching that morning; nothing had been set up in advance and we hardly talked about diving the night before. My overwhelming child-like enthusiasm broke loose for a brief moment when I agreed to go on the dive and began gathering my gear. Being my first dive in the Philippines, I had no idea what to expect.

When I first hit the warm water and began looking around, my hopes were very quickly deflated; all I could see was blue. We gradually descended and through the dark blue I began to make out shapes. A large rock took form, then an enormous sea fan, another rock covered in coral, then a school of fish. Suddenly I found myself in the middle of a flourishing aquatic world full of life and color.

Small prairies of soft pink corals swayed lazily back and forth. Bright yellow and white fish surrounded me with wide eyes making them appear to wonder what sort of creature I could be. I was so focused on a little nudibranch glowing with yellow and blue nestled between masses of gorgeous feather stars that I nearly drifted directly into a sea fan wider than myself. The large rocks rising from the gradually sloping wall boasted a vibrant parade alive with colors and shapes I could never have imagined. Every inch of the wall was home to some creature or another; not a single vacant crack or crevice could be found. Gliding through the water and hovering motionless inches from the corals, I floated through the watery world as freely and gracefully as a ghost though as inconspicuously as a monster truck in a bumper car arena. Leaving the wonderland was disappointing but the ride back was nearly as beautiful.

During the few minutes’ ride back to the dive shop, the boat passes by the coastline that now defines the Philippines for me. The hills that rise out of the water transform from beautiful reefs beneath the surface to vibrant palm tree forests above it; hardly any land can be seen through the dense tree coverage. The contours of the jagged green coastline make it no surprise that the Philippines ranks 5th in countries with the longest coastline (despite its small area). Back in the dive shop I rinsed off my gear and prepared for the next dive. This is why I moved to the other side of the globe. This is what I love. This is the life.

Coming Up for Air

My stomach was ultimately the culprit that cut my relaxation short. I appeased the hunger by ordering some chicken adobo over rice. Before the food arrived I was invited by a plump friendly German fellow to share a drink with him. Throughout the course of the evening I ended up meeting several people who work at the dive resort. Among them was Mark Cox, a Welsh tech diver whom served with the British Armed Forces and worked as a bodyguard for notable celebrities such as Kevin Costner (I must reiterate how incredible Dances With Wolves is: utterly brilliant). Needless to say he has a menacing physique which is why I was overcome with relief when he deemed me an "intelligent American" after passing his simple test of naming the capital cities of the UK (aside from Wales). After the meal I struggled to keep my eyes open as I prepared for bed. Through the exhaustion, I felt a faint but very distinct sense of satisfaction having made it all the way to Sabang and meeting several great people along the way. As I desperately tried to fall asleep in the boiling room cooled only by a single fan, I knew that countless adventures laid before me. I didn't have a clue what they might be, but I knew without a doubt that the stepping stone I was currently resting on represented the beginning of my nomadic year to come.

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.