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.
Showing posts with label Rain. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Rain. Show all posts
Wednesday, October 7, 2009
Friday, September 25, 2009
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 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.
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
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.
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.
Thursday, September 10, 2009
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.
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.
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