Manila Journal

I'm blogging again...

2007-03-24T15:42:00.000+08:00

But at a different site. I'll be writing mainly about China, but also a little about the Philippines at my new blog, Letters from Asia.

The countdown

2006-08-13T10:51:00.000+08:00

I have a handful of days left in Manila, less than a week to go in my apartment. I've been packing up my stuff, sifting through all the stuff that can accumulate in a year. Going through old notebooks, I find "to do" lists and notes from work -- notes that make me laugh, smile or cringe. Lots of it is being thrown away. Some being packed into boxes and shipped back to my parents' house in Nevada, where it will wait indefinitely for my return. The essentials are being stuffed into my one suitcase, one duffel bag and one backpack.

In less than a month I'll be in Nanjing studying Chinese at Nanjing Normal University. I'll be there for a semester, perhaps longer. Returning to China is something I've been thinking about doing all year, but finally contacted the university in July.

Smelling US dollars, the university immediately said they have room in their program (it's always good to know you're getting into a school for your intelligence). The representative at the international students office and I started a bizarre email conversation, where I would request something three times and he would pretend to not have received any of the emails. OK, so maybe he didn't, but I doubt that. This doesn't really surprise me, I am, after all, returning to China. I spent a year there as a teacher in Hangzhou, a city relatively close to Nanjing. I know the antics, I know the craziness I'll be dealing with in a few weeks.

But despite all its frustrations, I've missed China. I felt like I left Hangzhou right when my Chinese was starting to get good, right when I was comfortable and settled into my life there, right when men in pajamas shopping for vegetables in mid day and tiny tricycles overflowing with Styrofoam cruising down a busy downtown street became normal sights.

I may only stay for a semester. I may stay longer. I'm playing it by ear. But whatever happens, I'm sure the next few months will be filled with crazy stories and great adventures.

Manila has been good to me and I will miss it. Despite all of the frustrations of the year, I've made some great friends, seen some amazing places and accomplished things I wouldn't have been able to accomplish anywhere else. I didn't get to swim with the whale sharks or see the rice terraces in Banaue this year, so I'm sure I'll return for a visit very soon.

*****

Photos: Top: Nanjing Normal University. This photo was taken on my trip to Nanjing in 2004. Middle: A man transports a ridiculous amount of styrofoam on the back of his tricycle in front of my old apartment in Hangzhou. Bottom: Hangzhou's famous West Lake. No, that is not mist. It's pollution.

Round and round and round...

2006-07-30T21:44:00.000+08:00

Tanya, Brendan and I spent one rainy afternoon checking out a fun park. In true Manila style, much of the park, including most of the rides, were inside, sheltered from the typhoon. The indoor "park" smelled a lot like those red hot dogs mixed with wet cardboard. I could feel the ground shake when a huge pirate ship swung back and forth in a two- or three-story opening created just big enough for the ride. I would have loved that place if I were 12 years old.

Something to complain about

2006-07-30T21:31:00.000+08:00

Saturday afternoon I huddled under my half-broken red umbrella, frantically waving at any vehicle that looked like a taxi. It wasn't raining hard yet, but it was raining. Any sort of precipitation and Manila taxi drivers disappear. It took half an hour to find an unoccupied taxi, but once I did the driver asked me for 50 pesos over the meter because there was "traffic."

Taxi drivers always moan about traffic. I've never understood why. Is there a magical moment of each day when there isn't traffic in Manila? Because if there is, I would like to know. You would think taxi drivers would just consider Manila traffic an occupational hazard and get on with their day, but they don't. They complain and ask you for more money and then when you're stuck in traffic, they shake their heads and say, "Traffic. So much traffic." Depending on my mood, I'll sometimes pay a bit extra, just so I don't have to look for another taxi.

But this time I promptly got out of the car. I didn't care if it would take me another half hour to find a taxi, I was in no mood to be extorted by another shady driver.

I soon found a taxi driver who didn't complain. They do exist; it's just difficult to find them. Later the same night, my friend Juliana and I were leaving a concert in Malate when we started the taxi hailing dance once again.

The dance is familiar to most people who've spent more than a day in Manila. You hail a cab and tell them where you're going. In most cities, that would be that. A price would be fixed or a meter started and you would be on your way to your next destination. But in Manila, the driver first decides to either accept or reject you. This can be a frustrating process depending on where you're hailing the cab and where you're going. If you're not going in the same direction as the driver, you have to start the dance over again. But that's only half of the process. Once you've been accepted, the driver does one of three things. 1) Turns on the meter (this is the preferred behavior), 2) Asks for a certain amount of money over the meter, or 3) tries to set a flat rate. You will almost always get ripped off with options 2 and 3, and just about 50 percent of the time with option 1.

Outside the club in Malate it was raining again. I was expecting a difficult time finding a taxi because I was going home to Quezon City. But I quickly found one who seemed willing to make the voyage to the suburbs.

We drove about one block when he suddenly said, "I can't."

"Why?" I asked, thinking he was just another complainer.

"Flooood," he said, pronouncing the word with a long-U.

"What? No flood, look!" I said, pointing at the un-flooded asphault on Adriatico Street. Sheesh, I thought. My neighboorhood doesn't flood very often. If there was a flood in Quezon City, Malate would be flooded too. I figured he was just trying to get out of taking me to Quezon City. Nothing new there.

"Flooooood," he said again.

He wasn't backing down, so I got out and hailed another taxi. The second taxi driver didn't mention a flood, turned on the meter and we were on our way.

About 15 minutes later, the taxi skidded to a stop as the driver reluctantly drove his low, Toyota sedan through about a foot of water. I could hear him cursing under his breath.

Ooops, I thought. A flood. I guess the first driver did have something to complain about.

A few good resources

2006-07-21T21:50:00.000+08:00

I'm always on the lookout for good background information when big news stories break. It's something about working in a newsroom. Here are a few resources that helped me understand the Israel-Hezbollah conflict a little better:

* Q&A: Behind the Israel-Hizbullah crisis, The Christian Science Monitor

* From the Council on Foreign Relations: Mideast Conflict Rages On (July 18, 2006) and a profile of Hassan Nasrallah, leader of Hezbollah

* Another fascinating, very well-written profile of Nasrallah that originally appeared in Sunday's Washington Post (here's a link to the Sacramento Bee's reprint) -- the article shows the contradictions of a radical group that has also legitimately entered politics as members of parliament.

* And a great blog post by PBS Frontline's Kate Seelye in Beirut -- Lebanon: "This Country is Drowning"

Hitchhikers

2006-07-21T21:02:00.000+08:00

A coworker and I were walking through our company's compound to get a cup of coffee when she asked me, "Christina, what are other countries doing to get their citizens out of Lebanon?" I am not an expert on the Middle East, nor the situation in Lebanon and Israel, but I have been watching a lot more CNN and BBC, and checking the New York Times and Washington Post Web sites more obsessively than usual.

"It looks like a lot of people are being evacuated by boat," I said. "Why?"

"Well, I was just covering a press conference at Malacanang (the Philippines' version of the White House), and the official stance on evacuation is that Filipinos should try to hitch rides with whoever will take them. So far only the United States has agreed, but only if all their citizens are safe."

It shouldn't surprise me that the Philippine government's seemingly limitless services for Filipinos working overseas would fail at a time like this. The government draws up plans for everything, and then draws up plans for drawing up more plans. But planning and action are two different things. You would think that after almost a year here I would know better. You would think I wouldn't be surprised. But I was.

"You mean, they want Filipinos to hitchhike out of Lebanon?"

"Yeah," she said. She was laughing a little, but she was clearly half ashamed and half annoyed with the government.

With 30 to 40 thousand Filipinos in Lebanon, you would think the government would have an evacuation plan that consisted of more than just writing letters to embassies, begging them to repatriate nationals stuck in the middle of missle attacks.

To be fair, there are a few other plans now, and some of the plans have been implemented. So far a couple hundred Filipinos were taken by bus to Damascus. When another group arrives, a chartered flight will bring them back to Manila. But that's only about 400 people. Others have been told that they should seek shelter at a Catholic Church in Beirut. One church. Thirty to 40 thousand people. That's a lot of hitchhikers.

Rizal Shrine

2006-07-13T23:11:00.000+08:00

Fort Santiago, Intramuros, Manila. July 9, 2006.

Headline of the Year?

2006-06-28T09:52:00.000+08:00

When puns go bad, we -- poor readers -- get something like this.

Thank you, crazy Manila Standard Today copy editor, for making my day.

Rainy days in Manila

2006-06-24T17:25:00.000+08:00

One of the things I'll remember about Manila after I've moved away is the rain. It was rainy when I got here in August last year, and now we're back to the rainy season, a few months before I leave. I love the rain -- the sounds, the smell of the air. But what I really love most about rainy days is the excuse to do nothing. (OK, so I wouldn't have accomplished anything productive today anyway, but the rain helps me justify it).

When it started pouring today, I pulled out my current reading material, Thanks for the Memories, Mr. President by Helen Thomas, the longtime UPI White House correspondent. The book is really just a series of vignettes cobbled together by Thomas and her colleages in the White House press corps -- funny, insightful moments from nine (yes, nine!) presidential administrations. And so far, the thing that's struck me most, is how much Bush Jr. is like his father -- with strange interpretations of the English language and incomprehensible answers to questions. (Forgive me for not noticing this sooner, I was 8 years old when Bush Sr. was sworn into office).

Here's a great example, Thomas writes:

"During the 1992 New Hampshire primary, Bush noted in a speech, 'Remember Lincoln, going to his knees in times of trial in the Civil War and all that stuff. You can't be. And we are blessed. So don't feel sorry for -- don't cry for me, Argentina.'"

Huh? (But I believe Bush Sr. has been upstaged by his son in the "what did he just say?" department. )

Anyway, I had just made it through the Clinton administration and was about to move onto Bush Jr. when I decided that I just wasn't doing enough of, well, nothing. So I got dressed and wandered across the street for a massage at my neighborhood spa.

Now, a bit sluggish and tired, I'm meeting some friends for dinner and drinks. Tomorrow I hope to make it to a cockfight -- a Philippine tradition that I have yet to experience. If that doesn't happen, my friend and I are planning another trip to the spa.

Yes, life in Manila sure is tough.

Photo Essay: Good Friday crucifixion

2006-06-22T18:41:00.000+08:00

In the spirit of blog posting, I've decided to finally post my photos of the Good Friday reenactment of the crucifixion of Jesus Christ. When I decided to move here, one of my friends in the states told me she knew two things about the Philippines: 1) Imelda Marcos has lots of shoes, and 2) that's the country where people volunteer to be crucified ever year with real nails. I knew I had to see both the crucifixion and the shoes. (One down, one to go.)

One of my friends from work is from a town near San Fernando in Pampanga -- right near crucifixion ground zero. He had always been too afraid to watch the actual crucifixion. As a kid, he ran and hid behind his mother when the shirtless penitants with bloody backs walked by his house whipping themselves. So he had no desire to see it now, 20 years later, with the crazy American. I eventually convinced him with my enthusiasm for all things historical -- including reenactments that draw blood. (They volunteer, so what's the harm?)I think Good Friday 2006 in Pampanga was the hottest day I have ever experienced. Hot, humid, no shade. We sluggishly made our way through crowds of penitants, tourists and locals who were hanging out by the side of the street, watching the yearly procession. The event can be divided into two parts -- the procession of the penitents whipping themselves and the actual crucifixion in a big field in front of thousands of people and TV cameras.
Although it would seem like the crucifixion would be the most dramatic part of the day's events, the first, more bloody part sort of knocks the wind out of the sails of the crucifixion. The shirtless men sacrificing their backs line up on a narrow street. They whip themselves with bamboo pieces attached to a rope. For a long time they just whip and whip and nothing happens. Once in a while I had to dodge a whip or two -- the street is very narrow and with all the people it's difficult to avoid the flying weapons/torture devices. Then the Jesuses start to arrive to make their procession to the field where they will be affixed to a cross.
They're escorted by men in gladiador costumes.

In the hot sun and the crowd, the procession feels very, very long. And then suddenly you have to start ducking for cover. Backs start getting bloody and the blood starts flying.

(That's also apparently when I forgot how to use the meter on my camera.)
The tricycle driver wipes the blood off his tricycle.
When we got to the field, what seemed like thousands of people were already there, crammed into a sort of pit area for spectators. Photographers and cameramen sat on a raised platform, a bit above eye-level from where the Jesuses would be crucified. The crosses were on a raised mound above where we were standing. With so many people wrangling for a photo of the Jesuses as they were crucified, it was difficult for me to get my own photos, but I managed a few.
The Jesuses don't actually stay crucified for very long -- maybe just a few minutes. And there's a platform built into the cross for them to stand on, so the weight of their bodies doesn't cause more damage to their already injured hands and feet.
Throughout all the crucifixions, my friend kept talking about "the white guy" that was supposed to be crucified. He was really just there to see the white guy. When we were about to collapse from heat stroke and dehydration, we finally left. We didn't get to see the white guy, but I read about him later, and it turns out that he was there but didn't go through with it. He was a news anchor from the UK who was making a documentary called "Crucify Me." I guess the documentary didn't exactly end the way he intended.

*****

I have more photos from the crucifixion posted on my Flickr account.

A badge of honor

2006-06-21T12:07:00.000+08:00

In a nation obsessed with credentials, the resume is a very important document. Use the wrong title, you might not get the job you want. But, if you went to a school that has "Harvard" anywhere in the name (and, somehow, plenty of schools in the Philippines have found a way to insert the word "Harvard" into their names) -- and you've got the job!

So when I found some fascinating resumes on the Philippine Senate Web site this morning I was not at all surprised by one resume that boasted "educational training" at Georgetown University, Harvard and the University of the Philippines (among others).

But when I started to browse through more of the resumes and biographies of the country's senators, I found a few more telling items.

I first checked Miriam Defenosor Santiago's biography. She's always entertaining -- my coworkers' favorite mantra about Miriam is that "she's always good for a sound bite!" -- and her biography did not disappoint. One section titled "Youth Idol" describes Senator Santiago in language usually reserved for television commercials for American Idol.

Dr. Miriam Defensor Santiago is a charismatic Philippine icon, idolized by all young people throughout the country for her intellectual brilliance, fiery eloquence, and moral courage. Millions of Filipinos believe that she won as president but was cheated in 1992, when she ran as a wildly popular independent candidate. She has triumphed against attempts on her life, political persecution, electoral fraud, and black propaganda, to become a role model for her millions of fans.

Of course, the section "Miriam Magic" is the icing on the cake: "She has been called the incorruptible lady, the platinum lady, the tiger lady, the dragon lady, the iron lady of Asia, the queen of popularity polls, and the undisputed campus heroine. But to her millions of fans, she is best known for the unique brand of charismatic leadership that media likes to call 'Miriam magic.'"

Someone should tell her that when she's called "the dragon lady," it's not necessarily a good thing.

More interesting -- or perhaps revealing -- are the headings on Sen. Aquilino Pimintel's resume. After listing his work experience and political experience, Pimintel lists his other "accomplishments" with the resume headings "Ousters from Public Office" and "Martial Law Arrests and Detentions." (These are actually headings from his resume -- where people like me would use "Awards" or "Skills.")

While I can stretch my imagination enough to understand why a senator might choose to list his arrests during martial law -- to show his courage against a ruthless dictator! -- I'm still not convinced that drawing attention to the times he was ousted from public office is a good idea. Of course, in a place where coups are attempted approximately every three and a half months, it's no surprise that being ousted from office is a badge of honor.

Edge of the World

2006-05-25T09:10:00.000+08:00

I have become a deadbeat bogger, I know. But I wanted to start again by posting a photo from my trip to Palawan last weekend. I love this photo. It was taken as my ferry approached Coron in the Calamian group of islands north of Palawan. If the world were flat, and if there were an edge that ships could fall over, the edge would be behind those islands.

I'll post more photos soon!

Islands for Sale

2006-04-08T08:54:00.000+08:00

Most of my friends and coworkers in Manila have a side business, which usually involves selling things. One girl brings shoes and accessories to work, dumps them on a desk, and all the women in the office huddle around, sifting through the pile. Then there's the guy we call the "pirate." He delivers pirated DVDs to anyone who doesn't have the time to make a trip to one of the city's pirated-goods meccas.

So a few weeks ago, when I was at dinner with some friends, and the restaurant's lounge singer started passing out his business card, I wasn't surprised that it listed multiple "jobs." While I probably won't be needing his services anytime soon, I kept the card because it amused me. He lists his profession as "consultant" and his services as (this is a word for word list):

* Water Purification Machine (dirtiest water to potable, safe drinking water)
* Talent booking (local and abroad)
* Cars (all kinds)
* Real Estate (lots, house and lot, building, islands in Palawan)
* Travel (tickets, passports, visa, etc.)
* Private Loans, Mortgages
* Concerts, Shows, Mini Concerts, Celebrities

Hmmm, maybe I will need his services when I finally buy that island in Palawan...

My other life

2006-04-03T23:13:00.000+08:00

This isn’t my real life. It can’t be. In my real life, I don’t read Cosmopolitan magazine, I don’t obsessively check my horoscope, and I certainly don’t go to fortune tellers.

Maybe it was a bad day, or week, or the accumulation of six long, frustrating months – but when a friend approached me one evening at work and asked if I wanted to go to a fortune teller, I was more enthusiastic than I ever expected. What did I have to lose, other than a few dollars?

One friend (I’ll call her “F”) is devoutly religious and felt a little guilty about having her fortune told – considered a pagan activity by her church. She didn’t seem to mind the guilt though. F had already been to two fortune tellers in the last month, but wasn’t satisfied with her readings. That night she wanted to know about her love life in the coming year. The other friend (“S”) was going through a bad breakup and breakups can make a girl do crazy things, like visit fortune tellers.

Me on the other hand, I had no excuse. I just wanted to try it out and maybe get a little insight into this making-life-decisions thing that I haven’t gotten the hang of yet.

We arrived at a bar where we could have our fortune told while getting liquored up. (How convenient for the fortune teller, I thought.) We had the choice between a tarot card reader and what the waiter called an “intuitive reader.” We ordered drinks and the tarot card reader; she didn’t cost as much as the intuitive reader.

When our reader arrived, F enthusiastically volunteered to go first. S wanted some time to decide whether she wanted to hear what this woman’s cards said about her. There is the chance that something bad will be said, and that was the last thing S needed.

The reader told F that her hard work would finally pay off at work this year and that she would be well rewarded. Despite the good reading, F wasn’t happy. She kept asking questions.

“Yes, but will I meet a man this year,” F asked.

“Um, well, yes…” the reader said.

“OK, then, will I meet anyone interesting this year?”

“Yes.”

“Will I fall in love?!”

“That’s difficult to tell. It is probable that you will.”

Clearly frustrated with her less-than-stellar love report, F eventually gave up. S decided to have her tarot cards read. As S listened, stiff lipped, clearly holding back her emotions, the reader told her there was good news: She would meet three men this year. S’s face lit up. F frowned.

“But what about me?” F asked. I held back a laugh.

One satisfied customer, one unsatisfied. I would be the tie breaker.

As the card reader arranged my cards in a pattern that probably means something to people who know about things like tarot cards, I thought about what I would ask. The only thing on my mind was my job, and if I had made the right decision when I moved to the Philippines. In past weeks thoughts of decisions I could have made had looped through my head.

“Your cards are all very positive and strong,” the tarot card reader said.

I asked her about my job, my decision to move to Manila, my future career.

“It’s all good. You’re right where you should be.”

This woman doesn’t know anything, I thought. But as she spoke about the people who have reentered my life recently and the people who’ve always been there – I started to get sucked into the process. Choosing cards, flipping them over, asking a question. The reader didn’t give answers – she gave hints and clues. I liked trying to interpret the vague answers, like some sort of game.

My reading was finished in 15 minutes. S and F were chatting, comparing notes about their readings.

We invited our reader to drink with us. We chatted and ate chicken wings. At the end of the night I felt lighter, like I had been through the fortune telling equivalent of a therapy session. It could have been that I just needed to put into words what had been bothering me for months, or it could have been the vodka tonics, but for a moment I believed the tarot card reader – her assertions, her confident statements about my life.

But, I told myself, it’s OK to believe in tarot card readings when I’m not living my real life. Just like it’s OK to believe that my astrological sign is best suited for friendships with Libra and Gemini. But only now, not in the other version of my life.

A happy ending

2006-03-29T12:06:00.000+08:00

A couple of months ago I wrote a story about adoption in the Philippines. I interviewed a few couples about their experiences with adoption, including Patricio "Jojo" Abinales and his wife Donna Amoroso, who had been trying to adopt a child for about two years when I interviewed them. Donna is American, Jojo is Filipino, and they live together in Japan. At the time they were nearing the end of a long international adoption process. They now have a new daughter to keep them busy, and last month Jojo wrote about parenthood at middle age for Newsbreak.

Back from a break

2006-03-29T12:00:00.000+08:00

I took a quick break from Manila this weekend and feel better -- ready to tackle a few work projects and even more personal projects. I also seem to have taken a month-long break from blogging, so I hope to kick off another spurt of posts today with a few photos from my weekend at a resort near Puerto Galera.

Anniversary time

2006-02-24T21:22:00.000+08:00

The Western press loves a good anniversary. Nothing proves this more than the 20th anniversary of "people power," the mass uprising than ended the Marcos dictatorship. Here are a few of that stories that examine the Philippines 20 years later.

Glory Days, Time Asia, Feb. 27, 2006
Filipinos wonder what's changed 20 years after Marcos, AFP, Feb. 22, 2006
In 20 years since Marcos, little stability for Philippines, Washington Post, Feb. 24, 2006

Living the good life in the afterlife

2006-02-23T11:10:00.000+08:00

The Chinese cemetery in Manila is, at the same time, fascinating and absurd. It's its own city with paved roads, small alleys, and mosoleums larger than the homes that the living of Manila inhabit. There are tombs and alters like the one above. I would consider that to be one of the more modest tributes to a former Manila resident of Chinese descent. And then there's what my fellow urban explorers and I dubbed "Main Street" -- a street lined with small mansions with air conditioning, glass windows, and well groomed yards.

We found one mosoleum bigger than a large church, apparently the resting place for an entire family. Some of the graves had clearly been visited recently.

Some looked forgotten -- like their families moved away long ago -- left to decay in the tropical humidity.

After the landslide

2006-02-23T10:53:00.000+08:00

My biggest complaint about the breaking news coverage on the landslide in Leyte was that no one mentioned that the entire area had basically been declared a disaster area for weeks before the landslide. In other words, people (and in this case I mean "the government") knew this was going to happen, but didn't evacuate the area. It's unthinkable.

Then a story in the New York Times comes out saying the government has known since last May that the village was in "grave danger."

Policies were even in place to avert a pending disaster: Area villages were evacuated late last year, and a logging ban, to address the deforestation at the root of the problem, had been adopted more than a decade ago.
But reality was another matter. According to government officials and environmental groups, problems ranging from government corruption and ineffective laws to a lack of money and the political will to enforce the laws contributed to the collapse of the mountainside here in the first instance, and allowed it to become a large-scale human tragedy in the second.

I feel one of those lists coming on -- you know, the ones that say "You know you've been in the Philippines too long when..." Well, this list would start with, "You know you've been in the Philippines too long when the above statements do not shock you at all." It seems the key is to maintain a sense of outrage and injustice, and to not let the constant stream of tragedy, disaster and human suffering caused by corruption make you cynical.

Love in a time of call centers

2006-02-14T12:24:00.000+08:00

The Inquirer today has a story about office romance at Manila's many call centers. First, congrats to the PDI for keeping my attention through the entire story. I think it may be the first time I've read an Inquirer story from start to finish. Second, whether this is true or not, it is an interesting concept: call centers contributing to an increase in extra-marital affairs.

Angel, who currently has a boyfriend not working in a call center, said she herself was being courted by an older married coworker.
His wooing, she said, comes leeringly with some kind of assurance that “it’s supposedly a natural thing in call centers to have a lover while you’re inside and another one outside, both at the same time.”
“Para lang daw masaya (Just for a little happiness),” she told the Inquirer. Asked what she thought made her call center prone to such indecent overtures and liaisons, Angel said: “When you’re in one, you tend to spend more time with your coworkers than with your family or partner. You practically have a life nowhere else but there.”

The parts about keeping a relationship going on the nocturnal hours of call center employees also makes for some interesting reading.

Happy Valentine's Day!

Long-delayed post

2006-02-13T21:34:00.000+08:00

It is ridiculous that I haven't posted anything about the stampede in Manila that killed more than 70 people. It's even more ridiculous because I work in the news industry, and I've heard about every single development since the stampede a little over a week ago.

Thousands of people were waiting in line on Saturday, Feb. 4 to get into the first anniversary show of Wowowee, a game show produced by my host institution. So far some have noted the inherent tragedy of the stampede -- that the people who died were the poorest of the poor, that the gameshow may have represented hope in what may have been an unhopeful world.

Still others have talked about how the stampede reminds us of the problems of the Philippines. It reminds us that there are many who live on practically nothing.

I can't help but feel like all the talk is, well, talk. In the end, there will be many investigations with many "answers" about what went wrong. We will hear, from many viewpoints, who did what and who is to blame. But the real question is, will things change? What has to happen before we do something about the poverty here in the Philippines, and the poverty that touches every corner of the globe? Or are we too comfortable in our airconditioned homes to really know what it's like to live day-to-day searching piles of garbage for food or for a glass bottle to recycle in exchange for a few coins? I am as guilty as the next person of inaction. I hope that by acknowledging the problem, we (myself included) can at least imagine a world where stampedes like last week's don't kill dozens of people, and where people don't have to count on a gameshow to live out their dreams.

新年快乐

2006-01-29T15:56:00.000+08:00

I'm really not trying to look smart/cool by using the Chinese characters for "happy new year." I just wanted to see if my Mandarin Chinese skills have completely disappeared yet. Surprisingly, I was able to remember those four characters, but I still had to double check in my Chinese textbook. (OK, so maybe I am trying to look a tiny bit smart/cool. So what?)

Happy year of the dog!

(Photo taken Saturday, Jan. 28, near the LRT Recto stop in Quiapo, Manila.)

Travel Journal: Wedding Video

2006-01-28T23:36:00.000+08:00

Here's a brief video of the groom's procession to meet the bride. Thanks, Anu, for the video clip.

Travel Journal: One wedding, four days, five chocolate fountains

2006-01-28T14:30:00.001+08:00

Can a girl really stand to live a lifestyle that allows her to have access to a room full of desserts every single day? The answer is yes. Especially when the dessert room also includes a chocolate fountain. Every. Single. Day.

This isn't something I dreamed up during a lull at work; it's not something out of a fairy tale; and it certainly isn't something I read about in a women's magazine. This was Simi and Amit's wedding.

The location: The Leela Palace, Bangalore. (The only five-star hotel I've ever, or probably will ever, stay in.)

Simi, as I mentioned before, was one of my roommates at NYU. Amit is now her husband. I hadn't met him until the wedding. They're both Americans, of Indian heritage. They both grew up in New Jersey, and, as if this whole story were some sort of movie, their families have known each other for years. And no, it wasn't an arranged marriage. These are two throughly "modern" people. My best memories of Simi are of the crazy boyfriends she would introduce us (the unsuspecting roommates) to, her addiction to television dramas aimed squarely at the teenage set (i.e. Buffy the Vampire Slayer and the Gilmore Girls), and the seemingly neverending stream of designer jeans that would rotate through her tiny, Manhattan-apartment closet.

Even a year and a half of living together in close quarters, I'm certain Simi's wedding now tops the list of best Simi memories. Four days of eating, dancing, eating, drinking, and dancing some more.

The first night, the welcome dinner, was really just an excuse to party. It's hard not to dance at an event like this. Everyone, including the grandparents, is dancing. I hobbled to the hotel room I was sharing with Anu, Judy and Mike (one of Amit's friends) at about 2 a.m., hoping to rest up for the next night's event -- the Sangeet. I had been warned before the events started that the wedding would be a non-stop party and that I should rest up while it was still possible. Little did I know how true that statement was. When I left early the first night, I couldn't help but feel that I was missing out on something because very few people were calling it quits. A handful of men and women in their 70s stayed up much later than I did.

The Sangeet, though, was really when the party started. Simi and Amit's friend performed a skit and a dance.

Besides the usual room of desserts, chocolate fountain, endless array of food, and dancing, the night included a performance by Pubjabi singer Sukhbir. Being the clueless American, I had no idea who this guy was -- his music was great, but who was he? It turns out he's huge not only in India, but apparently also in London.

I was totally rested and ready to stay up all night. But then the cops shut down the party at around 2 a.m. A government official was staying at the Leela that night and the music was annoying him.

The next day was the Mehendi for the women -- the henna ceremony. It was a nice low key event after another night of over-drinking and over-eating. We sat and got our hands decorated with henna. The woman who did mine finished in about 45-seconds, making me feel like she did a somewhat sloppy job. And then when I compared it to Simi's henna (below), I realized she definitely did a sloppy job. After about an hour, I started getting impatient. I couldn't do anything with the sticky concoction of drying henna and lemon juice dribbled on to make the design "stick." I didn't care anymore if the design wasn't dark enough. There was another buffet waiting outside and I wanted to eat. So I went to the bathroom and scrapped the henna off -- and jumped in line for food.

The day of the wedding ceremony, we were still all feeling a bit tired. But the upbeat theme of the day definitely snapped me out of my slightly hungover, only-had-four-hours-of-sleep fog. Amit, his family and friends, all met outside the Leela. Amit got on a white, bejeweled horse, and his family and friends danced around as the horse slowly made its way to the hotel gate where his side of the family would meet up with the bride's side of the family. Live music, clapping, dancing, and twirling, colorful clothes is enough to wake anyone up from a weeks worth of wedding events.

The bride, with her attendents, and groom met in the middle, under a canopy of jasmine and roses.

Although the actual ceremony seems like it should be the height of the wedding -- for the guests it definitely wasn't. The entire ceremony was performed in Sanskrit. Even the bride and groom couldn't understand what was being said, though I'm sure they had been briefed on what exactly they were promising each other. We later got a translation, which included some memorable lines, including the promise that "even in dreams, (the bride) will never think of any other image except (the groom)" and that "(the groom) shall keep (himself) away from bad company and gamblers."

About two minutes into the ceremony, a waiter starting tip-toeing up and down the aisles of guests. He approached Judy, Anu and I and whispered that "high tea" was served. Um, the wedding just started, I thought. Why would we leave? This is what all those events have been leading up to? But after about 15 minutes of squirming in our seats while listening to Sanskrit vows, I told Judy and Anu that I was getting hungry. They were too, so we eased out of our seats and bolted toward the buffet. We thought we were being rude, just up and leaving in the middle of the ceremony. What we didn't realize was that at least half of the wedding guests had already left and were hanging out at the buffet. Someone later told us that it's pretty common for guests to leave during the ceremony at an Indian wedding.

Lucky for us, there was another chocolate fountain waiting for us -- ready for us to dip pineapple, strawberries, cookies and marshmellows into its lucious stream of sweetness.

Days, even weeks, after the wedding, as I was traveling through India and then Laos, the image of the chocolate fountain would pop into my head. But alas, life with a chocolate fountain could not go on forever.

*****

More photos from the wedding.

Travel Journal: The Auto Rickshaw

2006-01-23T12:55:00.000+08:00

Judy and I discovered the auto rickshaw, otherwise known simply as the "auto," on a day of exploration in Bangalore. We utilized the auto during our entire trip -- and had varying experiences with them. Most of the time you negotiate a price before getting in the auto -- a practice that usually leaves the unsuspecting traveler spending way more than he or she should. Bangalore was the only place we visited that had metered autos, which sort of surprised me (imagine having metered tricycles in Manila). Even then, there were a couple of auto trips where the driver simply went round and round in circles to run up the meter.

Two and a half weeks of auto rides and I had definitely developed a love-hate relationship with the vehicles and their drivers. Although the auto was convenient in cities where you have to call cabs, they're also not the most pleasant way to get around. When you step out of an auto, you usually feel like a layer of dirt has permanently embedded itself on your body.

Coup fatigue

2006-01-21T14:41:00.001+08:00

I walked into work Friday afternoon, still not quite back in my work groove after a month of travel. I plopped down at a desk next to a desk editor. After a bit of small talk about my trip, I asked her what the big news has been lately.

"This whole coup thing," she said.

Uh. What coup thing? Since I got back Tuesday night, I had been doing my best to catch up on the tangle of political news I had missed while riding trains and buses in India. I had already been brought up to speed on a story about four soldiers involved in the 2003 Oakwood mutiny who had escaped from Fort Bonifacio. But I hadn't heard anything about a coup.

"Oh, you know, there's another rumor about another coup. It'll either happen tonight or tomorrow," she said, seeming a bit bored by the whole situation.

"The escaped soldiers? They're planning a coup?"

"Yeah, something like that. But I don't think they can do it. They're only lieutenants. You really have to have a colonel on your side to accomplish a coup," she said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

I must have look dumbfounded at that point because she continued explaining her reasoning.

"Well, four lieutenants only have, what, two hundred soldiers under them? If you're a colonel, you command a larger number of people. You can't pull off a coup with only 200 people."

I was more surprised that the desk editor -- who I had previously suspected was more interested in hair styles and fashion than the inner workings of the armed forces -- pronounced her analysis with such a startling lack of emotion. She didn't have to say a word, I knew she was so used to coup rumors that this bit of news might as well have been someone announcing that Manila's traffic is bad.

In a place where one group or another attempts to overthrow the president about once a month, it's no wonder people have coup fatigue. Even I find myself with the beginning symptoms of coup fatigue. This is at least the second coup rumor since I arrived in August -- and even I was not rushing to check the news this morning to see if, in fact, the four lieutenants had staged a coup.

Gnomes and dwarves

2006-01-20T10:45:00.000+08:00

I've never heard of the Filipino superstition of looking for mounds of dirt near a potential home. The mounds, according to an article in the International Herald Tribune, are the calling cards of gnomes and dwarves. I'm sure this is something I would learn if I ever bought property in the Philippines. The article -- which is really about foreigners buying property here -- also includes an interesting side note about feng shui. Apparently you can get a good deal on property if it has bad feng shui -- but watch out, you may not be able to resell it.

Travel Journal: Mysore, India

2006-01-19T22:11:00.000+08:00

On Christmas Eve I arrived in Bangalore with my friend Judy. We had been planning the trip together for about two months, but I had been planning it in my head for about a year -- ever since I found out one of my college roommates was getting married in India. We arrived at night and quickly (and relatively easily) made our way to the hotel that would be our home base for the next week. The five-star Leela Palace -- a hotel I would never have been able to stay at without the help of a group discount and four people crammed into a double room -- would also be the location for four days of wedding events. (Let's just say the hotel lived up to the "palace" part of its name. I'll post photos in a future post.)

We had seen nothing of Bangalore yet -- except our hotel room that had plates of brownies and bowls of fresh fruit laid out for our snacking pleasure -- but I wanted to get out of town before the wedding celebrations began. So Judy, Anu and I hired a car to drive us three hours to Mysore, a place I had been told I had to see if I was going to Bangalore.

I was lucky to have two friends with me in India. I knew I would be busy with wedding events, but I also wanted to travel, and India just seemed a little too daunting to explore alone. Judy is a former PIA fellow. Eventhough we both grew up in Nevada, living only about an hour away from each other, we didn't meet until both of us were living in China. Anu is a friend from NYU. She wrote to me about a month before I was planning to leave to tell me she was also going to be in India visiting her family. She wanted to see the wedding.

The car ride seemed particularly long, crammed into the back of a Tata, the ubiquitous car brand seen all over the country, rivaled only, it seemed, by the Ambassador. Our driver seemed to be trying to get in a head-on collision with almost every vehicle we passed. This didn't really surprise me -- enough travel in Asia and you start to wary of the crazy driving. It becomes normal. Our first stop on the highway: Cafe Coffee Day. The coffee shop seemed to appear out of nowhere on the road between Mysore and Bangalore. We were at first skeptical, hoping to go to places that we thought would be a little more "local." (By the time the trip was over, realizing it was India's version of Starbucks, we happily sipped their lattes and ate their chocolate covered espresso beans.) Instead, we found a place to sip fresh pineapple juice.

It was mid-afternoon when we reached Mysore and we went directly to the Mysore Palace, a stunning work of architecture surrounded by gardens. We were not the only ones there to appreciate it. After taking off our shoes, the three of us filed in slowly, corraled through hallways and rooms decorated in a distinctly European style with hundreds of other people. Halfway through we noticed a group of young men that went where ever we went. We would stop, they would stop. We would walk faster, they would walk faster. We finally lost them when we walked toward a separate part of the palace, and then quickly found a way out.

Our driver met us at the gate, and asked us where we wanted to go next: The market. He said it was closed, but dropped us off in a commercial district of the town. We wandered a bit and found an open air vegetable market. I, for one, was mesmerized by the colors. I didn't realize I would see many more markets like this one in two and a half weeks in India.

Back on the street I was unable to focus for very long on one thing: Motorscooters whized by, children sold armfulls of flowers, old women sat on the street selling fruit, people hurried down the sidewalk with bags of goods from the market.

Still somewhat mesmerized by the activity around me, we made our way back to the car. We started to drive back to Bangalore, but we stopped our driver in time to make a quick trip up Chamundi Hill. Monkeys wandered on the side of the road with the vendors. Cows lounged in the middle of the road.

Back at the Leela, we decided to relax. We had been warned that the wedding was going to be a non-stop four-day party. I wasn't so sure that was possible, but I took their advice and we all tried to go to sleep early. Good thing we listened. The next four days of dancing, eating, drinking -- did I already say eating? -- would test my abilitiy to get by on no sleep more than any time I've experienced since I wrote my honor's thesis my senior year in college.

Back in Manila

2006-01-18T20:24:00.000+08:00

The plane had barely touched down on the runway at Ninoy Aquino International Airport late Tuesday afternoon when the buzzing and beeping of cell phone text messaging began. The sky was surprisingly clear and the weather not the skin-melting humidity I was bracing myself for. I walked toward immigration, passport in hand, passing both a live band and a sign welcoming visitors to the "bird flu free Philippines."

I made my way through immigration, got in a cab, and was immediately confronted with a staple of Manila life -- sitting in an idling car in the parking lot that is EDSA. When you buy a plane ticket to Manila, travel agents should just be honest when you ask how long it takes to get from your departure location to Manila. My flight from Bangkok to Manila was three hours, but there should be a disclosure stating that just because your flight is over, that doesn't mean you don't have another hour and a half travel time before you get to your destination, which could be only a mile from the airport.

Luckily I had a chatty cab driver who spoke excellent English. He informed me that the Philippines is the third most corrupt country in the world and that the country would never advance economically without an end to corruption. I tried to tell him that other countries also have plenty of corrupt politicians, but he wasn't convinced. He was exceptionally friendly. I believe he should be appointed as a designated tourist taxi driver by the Department of Tourism. I'm sure many visitors to Manila have been put off by some of the city's more questionable cab drivers.

The guards at my building welcomed me back. My apartment was still neat, just the way I left it a month ago, but I quickly pulled everything out of my suitcases to give it that rock-star-just-trashed-a-hotel-room look, minus the empty bottles of booze.

I have to admit it doesn't quite feel like home yet, but it is nice to be somewhere familiar, back in my old routines, back to the craziness at work, back to my apartment with the sounds of karaoke drifting through my window.

***

Photos and stories of my travels in Laos, India and Bangkok are on their way!

A "break"

2005-12-21T09:24:00.000+08:00

My blog posting was put on hold for a couple of weeks because my laptop keyboard suddenly gave out. The R, W and P keys refused to work -- and no amount of pounding would help. In fact, I believe it made things worse. Miraculously though, the stars must have aligned or something, because two events coincided to get my computer working again: 1) My uncle had the exact laptop keyboard I needed and sent it to me FedEx, and 2) the IT department at work not only installed it for me, but did so in less than an hour. And I'm always saying I don't believe in miracles.

Now that all keys seem to be functioning, I'm leaving for the holidays. I'll be going to Bangalore for a friend's wedding. And then I'll be traveling around India for two weeks with two great friends -- destinations have not been planned out yet, except for New Year's in Goa. (I'm sure Goa will be crazy around that time, but we're lucky enough to have a place to stay with some locals. After that, it's either north or south, depending on what we feel like -- and where a train will take us.) Before flying back to Manila, I'll stop in Bangkok and make a side trip to Vientiane. It should be an adventure -- and hopefully I'll come back with lots of great photos.

Night falls

2005-12-20T12:16:00.000+08:00

A night shot from my apartment window. I'm still getting used to my digital camera. There seems to be a different skill to taking night shots with a digital SLR than with a film SLR. I like this one, despite the blur, because of the light on the street below. There was quite a party going on down there, and the red-orange glow of the light seems to capture that.

Great photos!

2005-12-08T13:48:00.000+08:00

Here's a great photo blog. Excellent photos from Manila and around the Philippines.

Product of the month

2005-12-07T13:23:00.000+08:00

I found this amusing toilet paper brand at Hytop -- my neighborhood grocery store. Needless to say, it is now my preferred brand of toilet paper.

New/Old Communism

2005-12-07T12:45:00.000+08:00

A day after I flew out of Tagbilaran on the island of Bohol, I read about an attack on a cell phone tower in the same city. The New People's Army raided the cell tower and shot a guard because Globe Telecommunications -- my own cell phone service provider -- refused to pay the NPA's "revolutionary taxes." Since then I've paid closer attention to the actions of various communist groups in the Philippines.

The Christian Science Monitor has a story with a lot of background on the NPA and communist insurgency. The Philippines is not only a highly commercial and capitalist society, but it is also one that still has old-money, landed families that wield an enormous amount of influence over the economy and politics.

What I find fascinating about this article -- and about the situation in the Philippines in general -- is how the symbols of capitalism have changed so dramatically. (After all, it's only been in the last few years that the NPA began attacking cell phone towers.) In the end, the goals of communism have not changed much: these farmers are still hoping for a reorganized society. But at this point -- after years of struggle and insurgency and thousands of former communists integrating themselves into mainstream life -- the communists that remain seem to be hoping the hierarchical structure will bend just enough for farmers to own their own plot of land.

Ten in 2005

2005-12-04T11:28:00.000+08:00

In the not-so-distant past, I was a community journalist. (Don't ask me what I am now, I have no idea.) The job has its positive side -- having an impact on a community in a way you wouldn't if you worked for a big city newspaper -- but it can also be the most tiring work in the world. As one of my former colleagues put it, "Nobody seems to understand the hell that is community journalism."

One part of the job that was "hell," or just annoying, was reporting on cyclical events -- the things that happen over and over like clockwork. In Tahoe, I always knew I would be writing weather stories on the first snowfall, a major storm and when the snow finally melted enough for people to start going to the beach instead of the ski resorts. My colleagues that had been working in the same city for a decade or more had covered the same events so many times they could practically write the story before the event.

Working in a newsroom in the Philippines has given new meaning to the cyclical story. Here, every few months or so, we report the murder of a journalist. Since 1986, when Marcos fled the country, 73 journalists have been killed here. And last week, another journalist was killed.

A 27-year-old radio and newspaper commentator was shot in a public market in Cebu, the same city where, just a few weeks ago, a policeman was convicted of killing a journalist in 2002. That's a major victory for journalism in the Philippines -- where, according to Reuters, it's the first conviction in 73 murders since 1986. The Philippine Center for Investigative Journalism says it's the third conviction in 55 cases. (The PCIJ story details the saga of the case -- including the murder of two key witnesses.)

I would love to offer an analysis of this situation, but it's difficult to point to one thing or another as the reason so many journalists are killed here. The Committee to Protect Journalists, which has given the Philippines the unenviable title of "most murderous country for journalists," offers a great analysis, reporting that it may be a combination of a lack of journalism standards, the inability to enforce the rule of law, widespread proliferation of illegal firearms, and a misunderstanding of the function of the press in a society.

There are a few patterns that have emerged over the last 20 years: Usually the journalists killed are radio commentators in the provinces who were speaking out against corruption. Because of this, my coworkers -- TV reporters/writers/producers in Metro Manila -- feel somewhat disconnected from the problem. But even well-respected journalists in Manila have received death threats because of their work.

The murder last week was the tenth case of a journalist being killed this year alone. I don't think anyone here can afford to ignore the problem. It's representative of so many problems in Philippine society, politics and media -- and for the cycle to continue is a tragedy that affects more than just journalism and the media, but the entire country.

***

On the Radio, Under the Gun, CPJ, August 2005

In Search of Solutions to Media Killings, PCIJ, Sept. 8, 2005

And now, a moment of silence

2005-11-28T12:35:00.000+08:00

Please forgive me while I take a trip down memory lane. Last night I was talking to my friend Joan, who still lives in Hangzhou and works at Zhejiang University of Technology. She's a former Princeton-in-Asia fellow who decided to stay and make her life in China.

Last night, Joan had some devastating news. Our favorite neighborhood restaurant -- nicknamed "the Standby" -- closed. I can't tell you how many delightful meals I ate at the Standby in one year in Hangzhou. I have so many memories of dinner at the standby with the other foreign teachers -- laughing about our students, whining about our crappy love lives, daring each other to drink the "snake jiu" (an alcoholic beverage with a preserved snake inside), desperately trying to get the attention of one of the waitresses, who was usually looking in the exact opposite direction of our table any time we needed anything.

Here's Joan's standby "obituary":

Hello friends,
I am writing with some bad news - - "The Standby" restaurant has closed it's doors. As most of you know, this restaurant has served as my favorite source of delicious meals for over 5 years - through thick and thin - SARS -great reunions - visiting friends - lots of laughing - many wonderful PiA-ers, free dishes from the owner (Man Man Chi)- the hard-working waitresses who always treated me like a special friend - the memories are sweet and savory. Even the tables full of smokers seem appealing today.Lazi Ji, Suanmiao Liji, Danhua Nangua, Tieban Niuliu, Suanni Bocai, ShuizhuRoupian - ah - I will miss all of these. Those of you who have spent time with me here will understand the depth of my sadness. It is a great loss for me and all fine dining fans in Zhaohui Liuqu! I've attached a couple photos - one taken today and one from a special lunchon a snowy day last year. A final toast to great food in an environment that only enhanced the
dining experience.
Joan

Quintessential Manila

2005-11-24T23:01:00.000+08:00

It's feels like ages since I last posted on this blog -- so I thought I would start posting again with a quintessential image of Manila. This isn't just an image of Manila, it represents a way of life here: traffic.

The traffic here can be a blessing or a curse, depending on your perspective. It's a blessing when you want time alone to think. What better time to ponder the nature of the universe than when a usually 20 minute cab ride turns into an hour and a half trip? But it's a curse when you actually need to get somewhere at a certain time.

Residents of Manila use the traffic excuse every chance they get. Why was the CEO of a large company two hours late to his own board meeting? Traffic. Why did you spend an evening home alone when you could have gone out with friends? Traffic. Why were you late paying your phone bill? Traffic. Why did the chicken cross the road? Traffic, of course.

(By the way, this photo was taken on EDSA, the main highway that is notorious for being more of a parking lot than a highway.)

It’s Christmas…already

2005-11-11T17:09:00.000+08:00

In the U.S., I complain that stores start pulling out Christmas decorations and start advertising Christmas sales earlier and earlier every year. To me, ever the cynical one, it’s just more proof that Christmas is little more than a time to buy more stuff that no one really needs.

Little did I know that there’s a group of 7,000 islands in Asia where 90 percent of the population celebrates Christmas for four months. Christmas in the Philippines, I’ve learned, starts in September and ends around Valentine’s Day.

(I’m not sure why Christmas finally comes to an end around Valentine’s Day. Other than the possible Christmas fatigue that could set in after four months of egg nog, my only guess is that the one thing Filipinos love more than two of Christmas’ main activities - eating and shopping - is love and romance.)

Well before I had a chance to cross the last day of October off my calendar, big displays of Christmas decorations, wrapping paper and cards started popping up in stores. And I believe it was the first day of November when I walked into work to find a huge fake Christmas tree, already decorated, in the lobby. Signs in the hallways were decorated with fake sprigs of evergreen, pointsettas and ribbon. I can’t go to my grocery store anymore without hearing some version of "White Christmas," which is funny enough to hear in late October and early November, but downright bizarre in a place where Christmas Day will be 90 degrees and humid.

Now, two weeks into November, Christmas is in full swing here in Manila. A week ago I told a coworker that I had consumed an average of one piece of chocolate cake a day for the last week.

"Well, it’s Christmas," she said in a tone that made it sounds like she was explaining the most obvious thing in the world.

Right, it’s Christmas. How could I forget?

To top it all off, I’m experiencing a bit of holiday anxiety. Usually this doesn’t kick in for me until after Thanksgiving - when I realize I have to actually think about Christmas presents and possibly attend numerous awkward parties.

Christmas in China was sort of a relief. No pressure to buy presents, no parties; just a big dinner sponsored by the English Department. The only reminders of the holiday were a few Santa head cutouts affixed to restaurant windows around town.

Here it’s expected that everyone gives Christmas presents to practically everyone. I get panicky when I think about how many people my list could possibly include. I can’t seem to escape the notion that Christmas is rapidly approaching -- and if I don’t get all my shopping done now I risk suffocatingly crowded markets and malls!

I’ve been doing my best to ignore it. And when I feel like it’s too much to take, I can escape to Starbucks, where I can get a peppermint mocha in a red paper cup decorated with snowflakes.

Reality

2005-11-03T10:04:00.000+08:00

American cultural imperialism at its best. Except that I read somewhere that the Big Brother show started in Europe. It's good to know we're not the only ones spreading mind-rotting reality TV around the world.

Pinoy Big Brother, broadcast by my host organization, is really popular here. It even has its own catchy theme song that I hear everywhere. (And other PIA fellows work for NGOs that try to do things like protect the environment, increase literacy and stop the spread of HIV/AIDS. I, on the other hand, get to do much more important work -- like wander the halls of a media conglomerate that broadcasts the Philippines very own Big Brother.)

Other American reality programs -- especially The Apprentice -- are extremely popular here. At a baby shower last weekend I was completely left out of a conversation, not because of a language barrier, but because my hosts were having a very detailed discussion about The Apprentice.

What's in a name?

2005-11-02T11:57:00.000+08:00

During a break in a meeting last week, one of my bosses started joking about the name of a man who had just been arrested for involvement in a bombing in Manila. His name, which is now Dawud Santos, used to be Tyrone del Rosario Santos. (And let's not forget about his brother, Ahmed Santos.)

Her point was that Filipinos who have converted to Islam often have hybrid names. Muslim first name, Christian last name. And we just happen to read about these men when they're suspected of bombing a bus or ferry.

Case in point: Three men were recently sentenced to death in Manila for bombing a bus in February in Manila’s business district. One of the three men is Angelo Trinidad. The name is so common here that there are probably thousands of Angelo Trinidads in the Philippines. But his alias is Abu Khalil and he is linked to the Abu Sayyaf group, which is known for kidnapping 20 or so guests from the upscale Dos Palmas resort on Palawan – including the Burnhams, an American missionary couple that was held hostage for more than a year.

The names are so strikingly different that Reuters felt it necessary to insert a paragraph “explaining” the Trinidad vs. Abu Khalil discrepancy.

"Trinidad had converted to Islam from Roman Catholicism, the main religion in the Philippines."

The mixed-religion names end up being more than just something to joke about, but are an insight into the culture of this country. Had Spain not gone on a land-acquisition rampage more than 400 years ago, Islam might possibly have been the dominant religion in the Philippines. After all, the country is a stone’s throw away from Indonesia and Malaysia. (But that’s just speculation on my part, and not really worthy of further examination.)

More interesting is how the mixing of cultures here shows up more than just in Filipino food (heavy, oily Spanish food with an Asian staple...rice) and language (Tagalog mixed with English, also called Taglish, is more commonly spoken than straight Tagalog), but also in the names Filipinos are given or give themselves.

Ahh, Taal

2005-10-28T12:05:00.000+08:00

Lake Taal and Tagaytay is to Manila what Lake Tahoe is to San Francisco and the Bay Area -- the weekend getaway spot for city folk. Last weekend I went to Tagaytay with some coworkers for the second time. And I'm going again in November -- so I'm averaging one trip to Tagaytay per month. Not bad. I do need to extend my exploration of the Philippines a bit, but Tagaytay is a nice, quick getaway. It's cooler than Manila, and the surroundings are just generally more pleasant and laid back.

Who forgot to turn the stove off?

2005-10-24T12:39:00.000+08:00

I took this photo in my neighborhood Saturday morning, on an otherwise beautiful day.

Over toasted

2005-10-22T11:55:00.000+08:00

It took me about a month and a half to finally decide that I could no longer go without a functioning stove. I had a stove, but it was on the floor of my kitchen, propped against a cabinet. I called maintenance. Surely they know how to hook a gas stove up to the gas tank without anything exploding. They hooked it up, we tested it, and nothing exploded. Good news. Except when I finally decided to use the stove, about three weeks later, I realized the stove only has two flame settings – high and extremely high.

Okay, I can work with this, I thought. I was cooking my vegetable stir fry concoction, trying to hold the pot a bit above the flames so I wouldn’t burn my food, when at one point I had to put it down to get something from the fridge. After no more than 20 seconds I could already smell something burning. That was quick. Since nothing was terribly burnt, I opened the window to clear out any burn smell, and started eating.

A few minutes into my meal, I hear shuffling and talking outside my door. Someone was on a walkie-talkie. I thought, I wonder what happened? Why are the guards here? Then I got a call on my intercom.

“Good evening ma’am.”

“Uh, yeah, good evening.”

“Yes, is there a fire in your apartment. The alarm went off.”

I didn’t know what alarm they were talking about. I had noticed the smoke detectors in my apartment, but I figured they weren’t working when they didn’t go off. I looked up and noticed that the light that usually flashes intermittently had turned bright red. Apparently it sets off an alarm at the guard station instead of inside the apartment.

“No, no. I was just cooking and I burned something.”

“Ooooh. Over-toasted. OK.”

Over-toasted? That was the best euphemism I had ever heard – code for, “Great, we have a bad cook in Unit 6D.”

I opened the door, realizing that the guards shuffling around outside were there to make sure I didn’t burn the entire highrise to the ground. I said hi and told them I burned something while I was cooking.

“Over-toasted?” they asked.

“Yes, over-toasted.”

They looked satisfied and went back to the guard station.

2005-10-19T09:59:00.000+08:00

I wonder if I can reserve tickets for this....

Fatboy Slim makes Marcos musical

Wired

2005-10-17T13:09:00.000+08:00

Check out the electricity lines. This would be considered a fire hazard almost anywhere but this continent. Ah, Asia -- where different standards of safety, infrastructure and communications are apparent, literally, on every street corner.

So that's the Spanish convent...

2005-10-15T20:44:00.000+08:00

One of the most popular sayings about the Philippines is that the country spent 400 years in a Spanish convent and 50 years in Hollywood. In my daily life, I see plenty of Hollywood's influence on the culture. But that's because I work in TV land, where everyone is either a celebrity or a politician or a newscaster, or a celebrity/politician, or a newscaster/politician or a celebrity/newscaster. Well, you get the idea.

With all the work I've been doing (or pretending to do), I've been having the nagging feeling that I've been missing out on all that Manila has to offer. So today I got up early (8 am is early on a Saturday) to go to Intramuros for a walking tour of a few of the district's highlights.

Intramuros is the walled portion of Manila proper that was the seat of the Spanish colonial government during its 400 years of rule. As our tour guide, the witty and informative Carlos Celdran, said, it wasn't in fact really Spain that ruled the Philippines. Rather it was the Catholic Church that ruled the country when it was a colony of Spain. The influence of the church is still very present today -- that's why, in Carlos' words, "to be Filipino is to be Catholic." Well, at least for 80 or so percent of the population.

Let me say this first: I am usually tour adverse. After my experience with a tour to Jiuzhaigou in Sichuan Province with Judy, I swore off tours. We spent more time at a yak meat store and on a bus than in the Jiuzhaigou nature preserve. But Carlos' walking tour was great. Just two hours or so, and packed with information, history and commentary.

The first stop was the San Agustin Church and Convent, the only structure left standing in Intramuros after World War II.

It's lucky for us San Agustin is still standing, because it's a fascinating place, complete with a courtyard (above), Asia's first botanical garden and a museum that houses some incredible artifacts.

We also went to Casa Manila, a reproduction of a 19th century upper class home in Intramuros. The house was built because of an initiative by Imelda Marcos to renew Intramuros. Apparently she did more than buy shoes.

Intramuros is essentially a tourist trap, but it's quite nice to be in a part of the city with sidewalks, neat, clean streets and pleasant surroundings. I couldn't help but think, Am I really still in the same city that I live in? But it's exciting to think that there are dozens of corners of the city that I have yet to explore.

More photos of Intramuros are here.

Learn with me!

2005-10-15T19:51:00.000+08:00

Unlike when I went to China, I landed in the Philippines with very little knowledge of the country's history, or political or economic situation. What I knew about politics was what was published in US newspapers, which was very little, and what I knew about the history of the Philippines was from a course I took on imperialism in Asia as an undergrad. (And the only thing I remember from that was reading Carlos Bulosan's America is in the Heart.)

Working in news, I have a strong desire to "catch up" with what's going on here. But it's not only about catching up -- it's about getting multiple views on various subjects. So while I'm here in Manila, I will periodically post stories I find interesting about the Philippines, or book recommendations. You can ignore them completely, or read along if you find it interesting.

Right now I'm reading The Anti-Development State: The Political Economy of Permanent Crisis in the Philippines by Walden Bello (and many co-authors). The book dissects politically motivated economic decisions that have left a vast number of Filipinos living below the poverty line. It is highly critical of government initiatives that have been touted as the "way out" of economic troubles -- particularly the deregulation of practically everything and Cory Aquino's agrarian reform program.

This is something I've been meaning to read. A five part series by the Asia Times, "The Philippines: Disgraceful State." The series calls the Philippines "a social catastrophe."

My last choice, from A World Connected, an organization looking at the effects of globalization on the world's poor, are two stories about micro-finance initiatives in urban and rural parts of the country. The first story is set in Tonda, a slum that is practically a stone's throw away from the U.S. embassy on Manila Bay. I haven't been to Tonda, but I read about it almost every day when I get to work and read the day's news advisory. Tonda regularly shows up as a location for one of the day's police stories -- usually about a shooting/stabbing/other violent crime. The second story focuses on the country's rural poor, which in my humble opinion, lead better lives than the urban poor, even if they live on equal or lesser amounts of money.

Although the topices of the stories from A World Connected are just as depressing, I thought they had a optimistic bent -- and that's probably why I enjoyed them so much. It's also good reading to get an idea of what it's like to live in a city/country where the divide between rich and poor is a very visible, tangible part of everyday life.

Breaking News: Frigid wives in Baguio

2005-10-12T11:17:00.000+08:00

I'm starting to gain a real appreciation for news in Manila -- if only for its humor value. There's usually something on the front page of one of the major dailies that just makes my day.

A headline about Baguio City's "frigid wives" appeared on the front page of the Philippine Star Monday. Of course I had to read it -- who could possibly ignore such a funny headline? But about three graphs into it, I realized that in fact, the story wasn't really about frigid wives, but about an assembly where couples aired their grievances about their marriages.

Here's what married couples said:

"...deteriorating respect between couples, domineering wives, loneliness because the wife is working abroad, low income, religious differences, different interests, low education, unemployment due to lack of job opportunities, large family size, early marriages, poverty and vices such as drunkenness and gambling are among the irritants in the relationship of couples."

The story continues...

Most of the participants said these family problems lead to serious conflicts, resulting in broken families and juvenile delinquencies which add to the social problem of the community, said Dan Codamon of PIA-Ifugao.

I was particulary impressed that "domineering wives" was among the traits singled out as contributing to the community's social problems. Of course it's the frigid wives complaint that sticks out, because that's what I was expecting to read about. It turns out it was just one of the many complaints of the men of Baguio, a city north of Manila.

But that didn't stop anyone from running this headline and lead.

‘Frigid’ Ifugao wives breaking up marriages — hubbies

BAGUIO CITY — It’s not just the weather. Men in this normally cool mountain
province are blaming their wives for turning "frigid," eventually resulting in
marital breakups.

Some people call the press here "rambunctious." I'd say that's an optimistic evaluation. But at least, without The Daily Show, I can still laugh about the news.

A few photos

2005-10-10T13:07:00.000+08:00

Manila is a city of gates, and my neighborhood is no different. Gates surround offices, apartment buildings, the "villages" and anything people have deemed worth "protecting."

It seems to me, the rich have put up their gates everywhere to keep out the poor, or anyone who might want their wealth. It's also a safety measure, intended to protect against Manila's notorious crime.

It's also a bit weird. When you walk around my neighborhood it seems like almost everything is behind a gate. I'm usually curious and like to look at people's houses and into buildings, but it's not really possible here.

This is a really terrible photo of one of the streets I walk down often. It was also a pretty dismal looking day.

Although it's unrecognizable, that's an ABS-CBN car on its way back to the mothership.

It honked at me while I was standing there gawking with my camera. I wonder if it was someone I know.

Oops. The sidewalk fell apart. Wouldn't want to be too close to that post during a typhoon.

And here we have the symbol of the developing world: An unfinished building. And this one does not appear as if anyone is going to finish it anytime soon.

More photos of Manila are on their way, as soon as I have time to explore more (and my friends stop taking me to malls!!)

Wandering in the Triangle

2005-10-09T16:37:00.000+08:00

Today I went for a walk around my neighborhood -- barangay South Triangle -- in Quezon City. Each city in Manila is divided up into multiple "barangays" -- which act as small, local government units. The other barangays have cool, Filipino sounding names, but of course I have to live in the one called "South Triangle." What a boring name.

Not only does my neighborhood hold the headquarters of the two major broadcasters in the Philippines -- ABS-CBN and GMA7 -- but it also boasts plenty of high-end condominium buildings and over-priced restaurants. My goal today was to take a few streets I hadn't yet explored.

And I was quite happy I did. I ended up wandering down a street lined with shanties and possibly a hundred children running around, and roosters in cages sitting near the roadside. It was the most colorful place I've been in Manila so far. I had my camera with me and wanted so bad to take some photos, but I couldn't bring myself to do it. I didn't feel comfortable pulling out a camera that costs more than many of the people in that neighborhood make in a year. It's hard not to feel like the rich foreigner in those situations. I know this is a common feeling traveling and living in developing countries -- and probably by the end of the year I'll be snapping pictures of any and everything -- but for now I'm happy to just observe.

Although I didn't get photos of what I wanted to, I did get some of other parts of my 'hood -- places I walk on a regular basis. I'll post those photos as soon as I have a little more time.

The Apartment

2005-10-09T14:54:00.000+08:00

Or I should really say, the studio. It's small, but I like it. Sparsly furnished, but really, where would I put anything if I had more stuff?

I would have posted photos of it earlier, but it's been a mess for about a month. I finally went on a late night cleaning spree after getting off work at 10 pm one night last week. That's when I took these photos.

And here's the kitchen...

A little too familiar

2005-10-08T21:22:00.000+08:00

Lately I've been reading Torn and Frayed in Manila, a blog by an expat in Manila. It has lots of useful information and well-informed commentary about the Philippines. The most recent post is about politics and religion here -- which are often one and the same.

God's place of permanent residence is, of course, the Philippines. When not encouraging US presidents to bomb Baghdad, he pops up about once a week in Manila to resolve some ticklish problem. There he was in 2001 leading the march on Malacañang (“To believers like me, the presence of God in People Power 2 at EDSA cannot be disputed” according to former Senate President Aquilino Pimentel) and a few years later he advised President Gloria Macapagal-Arroyo "not to run for president during the elections of 2004" (hmm, wonder what changed God’s mind?).

"It is God who puts ideas in my heart," explained Arroyo. "In fact, in my attendance at Mass, it felt to me like He was telling me that He chose me to become president because He also knows that when He tells me not to run, then I would not run," she said.

The full post is great -- refering to the illustrious President Bush and the belief that God put him in office.

It's getting ugly

2005-10-05T09:18:00.000+08:00

I have read some hillarious news stories since my arrival here in August. (Ask me about the story about impromptu penis enlargement operations at a prison here.) But this one is funny not only because the story itself is ridiculous, but because it also shows that politics here can easily degenerate to, well, a tantrum -- as in a 3-year-old-in-a-playground-screaming-about-a-lost-toy tantrum.

I believe it all started Monday: One senator, Miriam Defensor Santiago, announced that former President Aquino and another senator, Franklin Drilon, were involved in a plot to assasinate President Arroyo. This did not sit well with a lot of people, for obvious reasons. But one of the reasons is that most people believe that it's impossible that, of all people, Aquino, would plot Arroyo's assasination.

This started quite the argument in Congress, degenerating into a fight about who got the highest score on the bar exam!!!

Now, the Philippines, and Manila in particular, is a small place, especially when we're talking about the elite. One of the senators denouncing Santiago's claims, Rolex Suplico, happens to be a former student of Santiago's. Santiago called him a "dimwit." And of course he had to respond.

Here's the story from the Philippine Star. I particularly like the cartoon that goes with it -- it seems strangely appropriate to use a cartoon to illustrate this story instead of a photo.

Suplico: I got a higher grade in Bar than Miriam, Philippine Star, Oct. 5, 2005

The National Pastime

2005-09-30T11:58:00.000+08:00

The first time I participated in Princeton in Asia, then executive director Carrie Gordon gave us a piece of advice I will always remember: Don't bring music with you to Asia. It will force you to get to know the local music.

I disregarded her advice completely, and I was happy I did so. Music in China was really about boy bands and Celine Dion. So I can't say I really missed out on a cultural experience by bringing music. In fact, I think it may have kept me sane that I had a small collection of CDs with me. (And of course I was exposed, nonetheless, to the music of choice of the Chinese youth simply because I was a teacher.)

Two years later, and I'm back in Asia, but this time in the Philippines, which I am fast learning is the captial of the bad '70s and '80s love song. I have had cab drivers spontaniously burst into song when the radio starts playing "Almost Paradise." I hear "Especially for You" at least two times a day--it's played on the radio and it's a karaoke favorite. I didn't even know that song until I moved to Manila, but now I have the lyrics constantly stuck in my head....

I wanna show you
My heart is oh so true
And all the love I have
Is especially for you

And when I finally rid them from my brain, someone outside my apartment will start singing it at the karaoke bar below me.

In response to the barrage of bad music, I find myself walking around my apartment with my iPod glued to my ears. I'm constantly trying to drown out the latest drunk guy belting out "November Rain" into a microphone. Don't get me wrong, I'm far from being a music snob. I have no right to be. But I'm not about to purchase a copy of the acousitic version of "Hit Me Baby One More Time" I heard the other day. Oh, by the way, that one was performed by a man -- not Britany Spears. (I'm not sure which one is worse, really.)

Now karaoke is popular all over Asia, but I have yet to hear about a place where karaoke is as out of control as it is in the Philippines. Luckily, probably 99 percent of Filipinos have good voices -- or can at least carry a tune. It's something that's pretty much ingrained since birth, at least according to my observations. When you can talk, you can sing. And I'm sure the training starts before the child has even left the womb.

This has, in turned, spawned a nation obsessed with karaoke -- and has made the inventor of this amazing item, no doubt, extremely wealthy. One of my friends here actually suggested I purchase said item so I can practice my singing! I really have better things to spend $200 on than a Magic Mic -- complete with extra memory chips with all your favorite songs! And I'm not joking when I say this thing is a complete hit here. Filipinos abroad ask their families to buy them a Magic Mic because they can't find them in their overseas locations.

Singing really is the national pastime -- perhaps more so than baseball could ever be to the United States.

If I sound slightly mocking, I don't mean to. I'm really floored by this phenomenon. It's hard to take the whole singing thing seriously, because it's really quite funny. And it's everywhere. It's on the streets, in cabs, on the news. It's in malls, restaurants, and, in my case, it infiltrates my living space. But I have to admit that I have already fallen victim to a night of karaoke with some ABS employees. I will blame it completely on beer and peer pressure. Of course, the one person who was able to hold her ground and refuse to sing, is not only a local, but also drank way more than I did. This same person, an ABS employee, admitted to me that she hates karaoke.

"Sometimes I don't think I'm Pinoy, I hate karaoke so much. If I ever become president of this country, I'm going to take all the karaoke machines and build a bonfire with them."

I knew we would get along just fine. So I made a pact with her: I wouldn't sing if she wouldn't sing. But as the night wore on, and as I was continually pressured to sing ("Christina, these five beers are for you. I'm going to get you drunk and make you sing!"), I gave in. There are even pictures to prove it. My fellow karaoke-hater called me a traitor -- and rightly so.

Thank god we were at a slightly more upscale karaoke venue -- with our own private rooms so we only have to embarass ourselves in front of friends. And thank god we did not have one of the karaoke machine that gives scores when you're done with a song. I believe it scores out of 100 points. This intimidated me at first -- but then someone told me the machine really just delivers a score based on how loud you sing, not how good you are. That sort of made me feel better. And luckily I have not had to sing since. That does not mean, of course, that I am exempt from further karaoke nights.

I could really write about this forever, that's how much karaoke and hits from the '70s and '80s have been a part of my experience in the Philippines so far. But I need to go hide in a corner with my iPod to drown out the girl who is singing "Eternal Flame" as I write this.

2005-09-29T10:37:00.000+08:00

I live in a place where things like this happen...

MANILA, Philippines Sep 27, 2005 — Passengers were buckled up when a crew member spotted a mouse darting across an aisle, triggering a chase that grounded a Qatar Airways plane at Manila airport for more than 12 hours.

The airline asked the 243 passengers to disembark, unloaded hundreds of pieces of luggage and brought the Airbus 330-200 to a hangar for a two-hour fumigation, the Philippine Daily Inquirer and the Philippine Star reported. The rodent was never found, so it either escaped or there's a dead mouse aboard the plane.

The only question I have is, why doesn't this stuff happen in the U.S.? It would make life there so much more...colorful.

One weekend, two beaches

2005-09-27T16:07:00.000+08:00

A couple of weeks ago, I was invited to join my friends Karen and Mailah for a weekend in Cebu, the Philippines' second largest city. Although it is sort of a big city (the population is under one million, so I don't buy the whole "big city" title), it is also very close to beaches, and does not have the permanent haze that makes Manila look like it recently had a nuclear bomb dropped on it. Karen was working as an emcee at a conference for doctors, so we got to stay at the Shangri La on Mactan Island for free! I wouldn't even stay at a place like the Shangri La if I were making a U.S. salary, let alone on my Philippines stipend.

The resort was beautiful, but it had an interesting feature. Because the sand on Mactan Island is black, and the resort's executives decided they wanted their visitors to experience the famed white sand beaches of the Philippines, they imported sand from another island and plopped it down in front of the massive resort. Forget the fact that it's not indigenous to that island. The plan to import sand angered a few environmentalists, as it rightly should have, but it doesn't seem like anyone truly cared, since the Shangri La got its way.

But the best part was that this whole story was related to me as if it were completely normal. Only in Asia...

Here's the infamous white sand beach.

When Karen and Mailah left for Manila Sunday, I stayed in Cebu and bought a ticket to Bohol Island. It's one of the major islands in the Visayas, famed for its "chocolate hills." Instead of heading to the island's main tourist attraction, I went straight to Panglao Island. Another ABS-CBN employee had told me about Alona Beach on Panglao. She said that although it's mainly a dive resort, it's also incredibly beautiful and a great place to hang out for a few days. She gave me the number of a German guy, Holger Horn, who runs a dive shop, and told me to contact him when I got there -- he would hook me up with acommodations or anything else I needed, she said. (Connections are a HUGE thing here.)

Holger ended up being quite helpful, and told me a bit of the history of the area. Up until about two years ago, fishermen on Panglao would throw dynamite into coral reefs close to shore to "catch" fish. Obviously this did a great amount of damage to the coral and everything that lives in and around it. Holger helped turn the area into a marine sanctuary, and now there are dive shops that dot the beach. Although I've been told that there are beaches in the Philippines that are much more touristy, Alona had its share of foreign visitors. And rightly so. It is a magnificent place, and it boasts a real white sand beach.

I didn't get to go snorkeling -- the really good snorkeling is another boat ride away to yet another island -- and I only had a day. I ended up laying around sipping mango shakes. But even on Alona you can walk out about 10 feet from the shore and see some small fish, red and black starfish and some spiky looking sea creatures.

This morning (Tuesday) I flew back to Manila from Tagbilaran on Bohol, from what is probably the least secure airport I've ever seen in my life. I usually am annoyed by the almost too thorough bag searches at U.S. airports -- and how you practically have to take off half your clothes before going through the metal detector. But now I think it's actually comforting to have to go through the airport security ritual, especially after seeing the Tagbilaran airport, where two security guards open your bag, poke through it a bit, and then let you board the plane. That's it. No x-ray machines, one metal detector, and I'm sure they didn't rip open those taped up boxes that were being loaded onto the plane with us. No wonder most airports here have shrines to the Virgin Mary where you can make your (final?) offerings.

But when I got back to Manila, I was so relaxed from my three days on the beach that even an hour and a half taxi ride to my place in terrible traffic didn't stress me out.

Day trip

2005-09-14T13:03:00.000+08:00

Three weeks and I was already beginning to feel sufocated by Manila. So Mailah, who has been helping me get my apartment and life set up here (she's also a producer at the network), knowing I wanted to get out of the city and see something different, suggested we join her friends for a day at Taal Lake in Batangas. The lake is surprisingly close to Manila -- maybe an hour drive away. This is surprising because the area is very green and isn't covered in a dense fog of diesel fumes.

The lake is known for a volcano that sits on an island in the lake. It's an active volcano, but on a nice day you can hike to the top and peek into the crater. Inside the crater is another lake. I invited Juliana, my Princeton in Asia partner in crime here in the Philippines, to join us. Juliana and I wanted to hike to the top, but when we decided to walk around for a while to explore, we realized that probably wasn't the best idea. After about 10 minutes of walking, we were both drenched in sweat.

But before that, our hosts took us out into the middle of the lake to watch them catch our lunch. There are a bunch of fish farms in the middle of the lake -- which are really just floating bamboo structures with nets under them to keep the fish from escaping. The fishermen pull up the nets to bring in the day's catch.

We really didn't do much that day, except eat. Later we took the boat back to the shore to get ready to leave. Walking around a bit (again, in the heat and humidity), we were surrounded by fields and palm trees. It made me remember that I am, in fact, on a tropical island -- something that's easy to forget in the middle of a city like Manila.

More of my photos from Saturday's trip are posted here.

My Way is much better than your way

2005-09-07T13:12:00.000+08:00

Tuesday was a frustrating day on so many levels that I am not even going to begin to explain. But even on those seemingly endless, fruitless and rip-your-hair-out days, I can often find one thing about the day that makes me smile -- or has me rolling on the ground laughing.

After work Tuesday I met up with a coworker, who was hanging out with some friends at a nearby cafe. They're planning a trip this weekend and I'm invited! Yes! I need to get out of this city, even if it's just for a couple of hours. Anyway, the discussion somehow turned to karaoke, and my hosts told me that I should learn just one song so I don't offend people if they ask me to sing. (The fact that I can't sing, or that I'm terrified of audiences, doesn't seem to matter to anyone here. But that's another story.)

Then my hosts started to suggest different songs I could learn. "But whatever you do, don't sing 'My Way,'" said Mike, the owner of the cafe. Huh?

"You will get shot if you sing 'My Way.'"

After more confused looks, my hosts all started to explain: 'My Way' has been banned from most karaoke bars in Manila because multiple people have been shot (and killed) while singing 'My Way.' It isn't that people don't like the song -- it's that they like it too much.

Imagine this: A bar filled with drunks. One drunk man gets up and starts singing 'My Way.' When he's done, another drunk man, hanging out with a different group of friends, gets up and says he can sing the song better. He then sings 'My Way,' and first drunk man disagrees that second drunk man is better. An argument, escalating into a full on fight, begins. Guns are drawn, and, well, need I say more?

I really thought they were joking and was laughing hysterically. But my coworker, who produces the channel's flagship newscast, said it happens all the time. Even this Reuters story mentions the phenomenon in a story about gun proliferation in the Philippines.

After several shootings sparked by My Way, the Frank Sinatra favorite has become
a song to avoid at karaoke bars.

I guess that's just too bad for all those people who learned 'My Way' as their courtesy karaoke song. And if I hear someone singing 'My Way,' I think I'll just run for the door.

An introduction to politics in the Philippines

2005-09-04T11:42:00.000+08:00

Tuesday afternoon I walked into the newsroom and started reading through the advisory and scripts for our two and three o'clock shows. Since I was assigned to the business news group about a week ago, I have a few regular tasks every day. It's nice to feel like there's some sense of regularity to my work day. It's also nice to feel like I may actually be contributing something.

The day started out quite normally. I had to write and edit business news scripts for the afternoon shows, even though ANC, the 24-hour cable channel, was broadcasting President Arroyo's impeachment hearings live. So far, watching the impeachment hearings has been a lot like watching C-SPAN -- a lot of politicians speaking at podiums for long periods of time -- something only your high school government teacher watches. I guess it goes without saying that Arroyo's impeachment is big news, and people have actually been watching the C-SPAN-like coverage. And now I know why.

Maybe an hour into my day, the impeachment hearings started to gain a bit of momentum. A pro-impeachment, anti-Arroyo lawmaker accused a pro-Arroyo lawmaker of trying to "railroad" the hearings. The opposition (as the anti-Arroyo politicians are referred to) grabbed a bunch of papers, threw them in the air, and walked out. Outside the Assembly, there was quite a crowd gathered as the opposition lawmakers hopped into vans and took off. As they were making their way through the crowds, I swear I saw pushing and shoving (and who knows, but I wouldn't be surprised if a few fists were thrown) as they were leaving.

Meanwhile, my coworkers are all clustered around the TVs, watching the political chaos unfold. What am I doing? I'm sitting at my desk, staring in disbelief, and then I'm laughing. The girl sitting next to me had the unenviable task of transcribing the live coverage. She stopped typing, rolled her eyes, and looked over at me. "Can you believe this?" I asked. "It's always like this," she said.

Later, during my dinner break, I started talking to a producer I work with on an evening show. "These hearings are crazy, I've never seen anything like this."

She didn't have much analysis or commentary to offer. But her comment was insightful enough: "Welcome to Philippine politics."

Read more about the impeachment:

Lawmakers exit Arroyo impeachment hearing

Philippine lawmakers quash impeachment

79 or bust on Monday

Hurricane Devastation

2005-09-02T12:51:00.000+08:00

There are plenty of Philippine-centric things I've been meaning to write about on this blog -- like President Arroyo's impeachment hearings, which, as AP so aptly put it, "degenerated to chaos." But I'd like to take a moment to comment on what's going on in New Orleans, and the U.S. government's absolutely disgraceful response to the situation.

With reports of food shortages, unsanitary conditionsn at refugee sites and sniper fire at relief crews, I have one question: What the hell is President Bush doing right now?

The comments of the New Orleans director for homeland security in a New York Times article were probably the most blunt.

Col. Terry Ebbert, director of homeland security for New Orleans, concurred and he was particularly pungent in his criticism. Asserting that the whole recovery operation had been "carried on the backs of the little guys for four goddamn days," he said "the rest of the goddamn nation can't get us any resources for security."

"We are like little birds with our mouths open and you don't have to be very smart to know where to drop the worm," Colonel Ebbert said. "It's criminal within the confines of the United States that within one hour of the hurricane they weren't force-feeding us. It's like FEMA has never been to a hurricane." FEMA is the Federal Emergency Management Agency.

With all the resources in the United States, why are people dying at refugee camps? Why are people going four days without food and water? Why can't the National Guard fly into the hospital where private rescue crews have been trying to deliver medical supplies, but haven't been able to because every time they approach, they're shot at?

After President Bush's response to 9/11, I guess it doesn't surprise me that he would show his face a day too late and give an unsatisfactory report, saying that this devastation will only make America stronger. I can't help but agree with this editorial, and ask, where is a leader when the U.S. really needs one?

Sunday at the Supermarket

2005-08-30T11:16:00.000+08:00

So far I've only gone to my neighborhood supermarket on weekends. This would, in most places, be a busy time to go food shopping. But here it's not just busy; It's as if everyone in the city (except me) knows about some coming food rationing order -- and they're going to stock up on Spam and canned beans even if it means throwing themselves into the Sunday shopping frenzy.

(I haven't written about Spam yet, but it is extremely popular here. Check out this story.)

The frenzy is intensified by the fact that every shopper has at least three other people with him or her. After an hour of squeezing myself and my small basket between traffic jams of brimming grocery carts, I understand why people go shopping with their whole families. If traffic jams reach epic proportions in the meat aisle, the shopping cart driver can stay put while he or she dispatches an assistant to pick up the needed items. Personally, if I had this kind of grocery store backup, I would stand in line with an empty shopping cart and send my assistants out with lists of things to fill my cart.

But since I shop alone, I must navigate the store on my own and then wait in line to pay. So far, I have yet to get through a line faster than half an hour. But again, maybe I shouldn't shop on weekends.

****

Usually I hate grocery shopping, but in Asia, there's always a little adventure waiting for you in the next aisle. Here in Manila, my first trip to the grocery store was shocking. Shocking not because of what I couldn't find, but shocking because I can literally find everything. I actually had a difficult time finding food, other than mangoes, produced in the country.

To me, a country's level of "Americanization" can be measured by the cereal selection. In China, I could really only choose between Cheerios and a Chinese brand of overly sweet granola. Here, not only can I choose from an alarming number of American favorites like Frosted Flakes, Fruit Loops and Coco Puffs, but also a good sized selection of more healthy cereals. I think I must have stared at the cereal aisle in amazement for a good 15 minutes before finally choosing a Nestle concoction of banana nut clusters. (This is in a country where a traditional breakfast consists of rice and some sort of meat or fish.)

And I live in a section of Manila that is not exactly foreigner central. I can only imagine the cereal selection grocery stores in Makati, the city's business district, carry.

I believe Manila's cereal selection is something the Philippine government should advertise in brochures and reports used to lure foreign investment to the country. Then when companies relocate employees to Manila, the employees won't feel as deprived as the Larson family, an expat family in Chongqing, China recently profiled by the Wall Street Journal.

The Aug. 2 article (you have to pay to read the story, so the link is sort of useless), details the lives of American families that relocate to China for jobs. I loved the food in China, and I think the Larsons are a bit on the extreme side, but a lot of expats try to live as if they never left home.

Like many foreigners in town, Ms. Larsen says she won't touch Chongqing's signature cuisine: "huoguo," or hot pot -- a fondue-like dish so loaded with fiery chilies that its aroma seems permanently suspended in Chongqing's air, along with diesel fumes. Supermarkets feature chicken feet jutting out of crushed ice and slabs of pork dangling from sharp hooks.

Neatly dressed in slacks, a black argyle V-neck and bright white blouse, Ms. Larsen shows off her solution to the food challenge: A closet full of cans, stacked to the ceiling, with labels like Green Giant, Crisco and Hormel -- items lugged to Chongqing in suitcases or mailed from overseas. Her birthday present in February was a silver, side-by-side U.S.-sized refrigerator-freezer.

Now if the Larsons lived here, they wouldn't have to waste a whole closet on Green Giant, Crisco and Hormel products. The Philippines has fully embraced American food and products like no country I've ever experienced outside North America.

Democrazy

2005-08-29T08:16:00.000+08:00

To say there's a lot going on in politics in the Philippines is most definitely an understatement. When I left the United States I was excited to go to a country where people actually tried to do something when they were unhappy with their government. And it has added an element of excitement to living here, just thinking about the possibility of a change in government.

I've only been here for two weeks, but increasingly I've gotten the feeling that no one actually has control of anything around here. The bureaucracy is unimaginably huge. At least two leaders (that I know of) have been toppled by popular protest here in the last two decades.

I know the system is modeled on America's political system, but I couldn't help but feel there's something distinctly different about how government works here. I just couldn't put it into words...until I read this article in the Boston Globe, that calls the political system "democrazy." The article says that politics have been so crazy in recent years that Ferdinand Marcos was ranked number one in a recent poll that asked citizens to rank the best of the last five Philippine presidents.

Filipinos are no longer sure how to remember the man whom they drove from power in a massive but peaceful revolution in 1986, turning him into an international byword for dictatorship and corruption.

These days, watching their cast of politicians fiddle while poverty deepens and Asia's economy takes off without them, many Filipinos look at the Marcos era as happier times, the good old days before their democracy turned into what they now call ''democrazy."

They ask: Was Marcos really a tyrant, or just another Asian strongman imposing order on a country desperate for stability? Was he a crook who stole from his people and stuffed billions into Swiss bank accounts, or just a politician no different from the rest, in a country where corruption is considered the oxygen of politics?

Marcos's resting place divides Filipinos: Still undecided on burial, nation revisits his legacy

Dress code for a passport photo

2005-08-25T09:58:00.000+08:00

This morning I left my apartment early with a mission -- to get passport photos taken for my visa application. Luckily there's a photo shop in the ABS-CBN building. (A person could actually live quite well without leaving the ABS-CBN compound, which includes multiple restaurants, a cafeteria, Starbucks, a bank with an ATM, a gym, a flower shop and a place to get a foot massage).

I walked in and asked the clerk if it was too early to get a passport photo taken.

Clerk: Come back in an hour.
Me: OK
Clerk: And with a collar.
Me: What? The photo is in color?
Clerk: A collar.
Me: A collar? I have to wear a collar?
Clerk: Yes.
Me: A shirt with a collar? Really? Why?
(I was wearing a tasteful, sleeveless shirt with no collar.)
Clerk: You need a collar.
Me: Can you show me an example?
(The clerk pulls out a passport photo of someone wearing a shirt with a collar.)
Me: OK. Thanks.

I was more upset about walking back home in the heat to change my clothes than the fact that I had to change my clothes for this man to take what is essentially a mugshot.

Headline headaches

2005-08-24T22:30:00.000+08:00

My first day in Manila I sat in an office at ABS-CBN and read one of the city's more reputible newspapers, the Philippine Daily Inquirer. The headline for the lead story was ...

GMA advised: No EVAT

I had no idea what it meant, and the first thing I thought was that copy editors in the United States have been fired for lesser offences. So I started reading the story to decode the acronyms -- and because I didn't have anything else to do. The first thing I figured out was that EVAT stands for "expanded value added tax." Jargon, jargon, jargon. It took me a while, but I also figured out that the tax is added to almost everything in the Philippines, that that the government, primarily President Arroyo, wants to raise the tax to pay off some debt (something this country seems to have a lot of).

Next, I couldn't for the life of me figure out what GMA was. And it was in almost every headline! It finally hit me when I read the seventh story about the president -- GMA stands for Gloria Macapagal Arroyo.

I can just picture the headlines if this type of headline writing was used in the States.

GWB relaxes at CTR (Crawford, Texas ranch)

SC rules on SSM (Supreme Court rules on same-sex marriage)

My head hurts just thinking about it.

And let me tell you, the journalism just keeps getting better and better. On the front page of the Philippine Daily Inquirer a few days later was a photo of a woman reading ... the Philippine Daily Inquirer. The cutline was about her reacting to Arroyo impeachment news. Now that's some creative photo editing. This Monday in the Philippine Star was a photo of a protest at the People Power monument. Protests usually have plenty of visually stimulating material. But this photographer decided to take a picture of the paper's own lifestyle columnist at the protest. And it ran. Ug.

But I think the headache of the week award goes to the Daily Inquirer for a story about why expats choose to live and stay in the Philippines. It's not the topic that I dislike, but the blatant editorializing on this page 1 story. This is perhaps my favorite part about why it's great to live in the Philippines.

Many foreigners have perceived in the Philippines a special mystical quality connected to the Divine which has escaped most Filipinos. In Europe there is none of that since they have willfully destroyed the connection by prohibiting the teaching of religion or any spirituality.

I believe an editor should have willfully destroyed that story. Or at least done some editing.

The country has a free press, which is more than many countries on this side of the world can say. I can't even count the number of daily newspapers in Metro Manila; and there are three independently owned TV stations (that I know of). It's most frustrating to read terrible stories knowing that the press here has so much potential.

Sunset

2005-08-22T22:33:00.000+08:00

A sunset over Manila after some terrible rain. This was taken from my 6th floor apartment.

Sleepless in Quezon City

2005-08-22T20:31:00.000+08:00

Quezon City, one of many cities that make up Metro Manila, is the broadcasting enclave of the Philippines. It’s also where I live, two short blocks from the ABS-CBN compound.

I saw my apartment a few hours after landing in Manila. A studio with a small kitchen and air conditioning, the space struck me as clean, quiet and well lit. I was excited to move in, if only to get out of my hotel room. Hotels are generally fine, and they offer things like furniture and towels, items I had yet to purchase. But staying in a hotel in a strange city alone was a bit unnerving this time around. I was anxious. I wanted to see where I would be living for a year.

When I moved in the apartment only had a bed. It still only has a bed – except now the bed has pillows and sheets, and the shower now has a shower curtain.

My first night in my studio I was getting ready to go to sleep early, still working out my jet lag, when loud music started blaring. It must be my neighbors, I thought. They must be night owls. Good thing, because usually I am too. But then I realized the music was coming from outside.

And then the singing started.

Yup, I’m back in Asia. Karaoke. Except this time the karaoke is in a different format. No more drunken business men singing “I Will Always Love You” at the local bar. In my Quezon City neighborhood, the singing takes place out on the street block-party style with men taking turns belting out their favorite sappy love songs. (After being here a week, I realize the singing can start as early as 7 p.m. and last up until midnight. Apparently some karaoke nights are slower than others and the singers will head home at 10.)

I finally started to drift off to sleep when the volume was suddenly turned up on the karaoke/devil device.

I can’t liiiiiive, if livin’ is without yoooou; I can’t liiiiiiive…

Ahhhh! Why me?

I took another pillow and buried my head in it enough to muffle the noise. Sometime in the middle of the night I must have moved the pillow, because I jolted awake to the sound of a pack of barking dogs at 4 a.m.

This was not your average Fido howling at a siren, but what sounded like 20 canines barking in unison at an armed intruder. They barked for what felt like half an hour.

When they stopped I could feel sweet, sweet sleep creeping over my eyelids. Finally.

Cock-a-doodle-doooo! (Or, coco rico, as they say in France. Thank you, David Sedaris, for reporting on foreign barn animal noises. I'll have to find out what Filipinos say when imitating their beloved birds.)

My groggy brain could barely process the sound. It was 5:30 a.m. Roosters? What the? I’m in the middle of a massive city!

One rooster crow was followed by another, which was followed by 400 more. The Filipino obsession with raising roosters for cockfighting no longer seemed like a cultural quirk, but like something destined to keep me from sleeping for a year.

Lucky for me, when I’m not jet lagged, I’m a heavy sleeper. Last night I went to bed after the karaoke party, and slept through the dogs and the roosters. For the first time in my life, I welcomed the sound of my alarm clock at 6:30 a.m.

Where I work

2005-08-22T10:55:00.000+08:00

So far I've spent about a week at ABS-CBN, the largest TV station in the Philippines. I'm really still trying to figure out what's going on here, and what I'll be doing for the station. Last week I spent Thursday and Friday shadowing reporters on assignment. This week I'll be at a training session, and supposedly writing news scripts for the station's 24-hour news channel that broadcasts in English.

I haven't had much time to sit down and update this blog, so I thought I would at least post this story from the International Hearld Tribune (again) about ABS-CBN. It will give you a good idea of what broadcasting and journalism is like in the Philippines, as well as lots of interesting tidbits about where I work.

In the Philippines, fine line between TV and politics
IHT, Aug. 15, 2005

What am I getting into this time?

2005-08-09T12:50:00.000+08:00

In less than a week I'm off to Manila. Since I've never been to the Philippines and have no idea what to expect, I've been trying to read up on the place I will soon call home. After spending a year in China, I have an idea of the initial chaos that awaits me. I say "initial," because the craziness I experienced in China seemed to disappear after acclimation. (Although, I will say, you never really get used to the sight of a shoeless man hanging from a thin rope cleaning windows 30 stories up or women dressed in pajamas shopping in fancy department stores.)

Of course, each country has its own culture and ways of doing things, so I'm sure landing in Manila will be like diving into Lake Tahoe in December -- you're never really prepared for the shock.

So far my Lonely Planet guide book has been useless. It basically says you wouldn't want to spend more than a few days in Manila. Fantastic. The only information about the Philippines I've been able to find in the U.S. press is about President Arroyo's recent problems. So instead I've turned to the international press. Lucky for me the International Herald Tribune recently ran a story about Manila's mayor, Bayani Fernando -- a sort of Rudy Giuliani of Southeast Asia. His goal, it seems, is not only to clean up Manila, but also to add a dash of color to the city of more than 13 million.

Here's an excerpt from the article that hints at what I have to look forward to:

The metropolitan area, which covers 630 square kilometers, or 240 square miles, is notorious for its traffic. The sheer number of vehicles staggers the imagination.
Undisciplined drivers weave around street vendors, competing with the ubiquitous jeepney, the gaudy vans devised from World War II military Jeeps that are the main mode of transportation here.
Street crime is rampant. A good portion of the population resides in shantytowns and on the streets, tens of thousands of them living off the 6,700 tons of garbage the metropolis generates daily.
Of this garbage, 1,500 tons a day are dumped into creeks, rivers and Manila Bay, which reeks, discouraging people from watching its famed sunset. Floods caused by trash that clogs the waterways are a common occurrence.

Lesson: Don't swim in Manila Bay and watch out for those nasty floods caused by garbage.

The story goes on to say that Fernando has improved Metro Manila quite a bit, particularly with increased garbage pickup and, get this, roadside urinals for men, "whose habit of urinating anywhere they please contributes to the stink and results as well in what is possibly uniquely Metro Manilan: iron doors and gates corroded by urine."

But possibly the best part of Fernando's reforms, in my opinion, is that he has painted all pedestrian structures pink. It's his favorite color, naturally, and, as the article states, he thinks it has a calming effect on commuters stuck in traffic. We'll see about that.

You can view the IHT's story here.