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.