Thursday 12 January 2012
Monday 9 January 2012
Homeward Bound
Homeward Bound
We left Siquijor on the 5th January and returned to Manila. It is good to be a little less hectic; being in a gated community shields you from the reality of city life. Here in our bubble, the pool is sublime, complete with club house, small kids play park and restaurant. The lawn and boarder beds beds around the car park are tended to by fleet of gardeners, the grass swept within an inch of its life, the small fallen leaves gathered by hand.
Despite this luxury, I find myself missing green spaces (Dyl's lawn is for looking only), which are very scarce in this city, the WW2 American cemetery being the only one in this vicinity. Perhaps the pollution puts people off relaxing outdoors. I suppose when bringing the indoor temperature down to 30 degrees becomes a struggle, one can see why a fresh, air conditioned mall becomes an attractive prospect.
I'm looking forward to home now. Seeing Tom and going on some wet, wintery walks, all wrapped up and cosy with gloves and scarves. Followed by a pub lunch; Jacket spud, cheese and beans. Oh I've missed baked beans. I did find a tin which promised to be baked beans in the mall, but they were sweet and brown. Filipinos have a sweet tooth and bread, milk, yogurt are all very sugary. The main overseas culinary influence, apart from other Asian countries, is American, so portions are big, things are sweet and healthy eating is not a great concern.
We fly the day after tomorrow. Had a thai foot massage today while Theo slept in his pushchair. I always feel a little uncomfortable having someone massage me in this kind of situation (the privileged westerner relaxing while a poorly paid local masseurs spoils them just a little more - one of my revelations about ex-pats here is this: they become thoroughly spoilt. This accounts for their behaviour). I did eventually have a massage - thinking Theo really had put me through the mill so I did, in fact, deserve it. And Wow, my feet felt as if they had liquified, it was wonderful. I treated Mum to a full aromatherapy body massage. She came out feeling revitalised and refreshed. 'Why are you black, Ma'am?' the masseuse had asked her. Mum admired her directness.
This was followed by shopping, pizza, ice cream and a walk around the 'high street' ; a consumerist playground for manila's wealthy; fountains, sculptures, continental shops and cafes line a landscaped boulevard built to resemble a street in a smart European city- it is, undoubtedly, the poshest part of Manila. I must say, as we strolled along licking italian ice cream, it did feel like a real holiday.
The Flooding
The Flooding
The effects of the recent flood tragedy continues to reverberate throughout the islands. Everywhere there are donation boxes and clothes banks. People endlessly discuss friends or relatives affected by the devastating typhoon.
You can see the outline of the island of Mindanao, the site of the tragedy that claimed so many thousands of lives, from Siquijor. Considered to be the most dangerous island to visit in the Philippines, Mindanao suffers from a bad reputation due to its politically volatility. There have been a series of politically motivated kidnappings over the years, with some tourist victims, which have at times ended in the captives murder. A predominately Islamic island, Mindanao is home to number of political groups fighting for a separate and independent system of governance.
The American embassy advises against travel to Mindanao, but the locals in Siquijor rebuff any warnings, describing it as a incredibly beautiful and very friendly island, with only a few dangerous areas worth avoiding.
According to locals I spoke to in Siquijor, one of the main causes of the floods was illegal logging. Large sections of the forests that carpet the mountainous areas of Mindanao had been destroyed by this activity. Without the trees to absorb water and hold the soil in place, when the flash floods swept down from the mountains during the night, as families slept in their houses, there was nothing to impede the force of the raging torrent.
Added to the fact that the island is outside of the typhoon belt, and December is not in typhoon season, when the weather warnings came people did not expect or prepare for a serious storm.
We travelled to Siquijor from the island of Negros, which had also seen some flood damage. Half a mile from the port a huge passenger ferry lay half submerged in the ocean, like a child's toy boat capsized in the bath, sunk by the typhoon that lashed the coast. A surreal and chilling sight.
There were few vegetables available in Siquijor as Mindanao is th main source of agricultural produce for the surrounding islands, and much of the land now lies in ruin. As you look across to the shadowy outline of Mindanao, the sense of distancing one experiences through media reportage falls away, and the suffering and sadness becomes palpable.
Friday 6 January 2012
The healer of Siquijor
The healer of Siquijor
Siquijor is famous for its shamans and healers. Known and feared across the Philippines as an island full of dangerous supernatural forces, it has become central in the practice and preservation of folk healing and traditional beliefs.
We went to visit the most powerful healers of Siquijor,
An elderly wizened lady who lived at the top of a steep ridge that the tricycle had difficulty ascending. Renown for her ability to cure people of both natural and supernatural illnesses, she did not charge for her healing but relied on donations.
Our tricycle driver explained that she was called, or chosen, when she was a young girl. At the back of her village hut ran a stream, in which she would bathe every evening. One evening, in the gloaming as the shadows lengthen, she took off uher clothes for her swim. Once refreshed, she returned to the bank to find three small black pebbles on top of her clothes.
Puzzled, she pocketed the pebbles and returned to the village to ask the elders the significance of this occurrence. It was the elders that explained that she had been chosen, that people had been called in this way for generations, and that she harnessed great powers.
It is these very pebbles that she now uses to deduce the ailments of her customers. She places them in a glass of water, blows bubbles in the water through a straw and a certain amount of dirt is released from the three black pebbles into the water.
If the water becomes very dirty, the person may be suffering from a serious illness, supernatural possession or a curse. She must keep refilling the glass, blowing into it and throwing the water away, repeating the process until it runs clear and the customer is cleansed, their body and soul purified.
Sceptics would say that she blows the dirt through the straw, that it doesn't come off the magic pebbles. Even so, she would then decide how much dirt to blow into the water depending on her judgment on her customers state of health, so there is still an element of diagnosis.
While I don't have real faith in this practice, and remain sceptical, I think the boundaries between reality and the realm of the imagination are thin; if you believe in something you can make it happen - belief in curse can ruin your life and health, a healing can cure.
For this reason I didn't have a healing session. Our tricycle driver, Noel, informed me that if she believed you were possessed by a supernatural force too great and dangerous for her to deal with, you would be referred to an even more powerful, specialist shaman. We had one last day on the island; the last thing I wanted was to be diagnosed with something terrible and then have to leave, carrying the worry with
me into the new year. Lala also said that the last time she went the healer took about an hour with a customer, who endlessly turned the water dark black- I didn't like the sound of this scenario either - I'd rather be the judge of my own spiritual state. I have such an over- active imagination as it is, I don't need anything to fuel my darker fantasies.
Mum, Lala, Dyl and even Lotty had a healing. Lala was worried because in Palawan the locals told her that Lotty had been frightened by a spirit she met on the first beach we had visited, which was a place where spirits roam. Lotty had suffered an uncontrollable crying fit on the first night in Palawan. Majika, the owner of the cottages, though she herself may have unwittingly given the child the 'evil eye'. Many people who live in the isolated island provinces believe they have this power, to which children are particularly susceptible, and are careful not to look children in the eye. Majika went to great lengths to avoid looking directly at Theo or Lotty.
As Lotty cried, several local women filed into Dyl and Lala's cabin with herbs and stones to release her from the influence of Majikas dangerous stare or the beach spirit. All this happened in about half an hour- this response to her crying fit was incredibly prompt. When she was calmed, Lala pinned an amulet, a tiny cross in a pouch, given ito her by their family shaman, to protect her for the rest of our visit.
The healer in Siquijor blew her bubbles and moved the glass all over Dyl, Lala, mum and lottys bodies, one by one. She declared all of our party cleansed. Nobody produced much dirt in the water, mum was the healthiest, Dyl, Lala and Lottie suffered a little from the pollution of Manila, which showed up cloudy in the glass. They returned to the tricycle feeling relieved, having had the all clear, and with healthy resolutions for 2012.
Thursday 5 January 2012
Siquijor Island part 2
Siquijor Island part 2
Theo is throughly exhausting me. The main difficulty is trying to make him sit still at mealtimes, which are eaten in the restaurant and are quite formal. He runs laps of the restaurant, shouts, rings the waitresses bell, blows bubbles in his juice, throw chips at mum, goes into the kitchen ( where they all make a fuss of him and give him biscuits, despite his monstrous behaviour), and is generally totally hyper and deaf to instructions. I think he is so excited and over-stimulated he doesn't know how to wind down. We have been on the move so much, he's taken in so many new experiences, his routine is out of kilter and he just can't find his 'off' button. I wish I could take his batteries out for half an hour; I'm spent.
Theo is great when we are on a mission. He loved touring the island by tricycle, zooming past men ploughing their fields with calm, lumbering oxen, beautifully kept woven bamboo homes, some on stilts, and the mansions of the 'Balikbayan', Filipinos who have worked abroad and sent money back to their families. These homes are occupied by their proud extended families, often 3 generations living together, while the owners return for holidays, and then finally, to retire.
Most family homes are lived in by several generations, as is Lala's. Lala's brother, wife, 3 children and new born baby are moving in to the family home, joining her grandparents, sister and two boys.
The 6 newcomers will all live in a room around 6 meters squared, just a bit bigger than our kitchen, sleeping together on a mattress on the floor. They have a fridge, toilet that flushes with a pail of water and a shower. When I think about the fuss I make about having 'some space' or needing the whole 'house to myself' I feel very selfish.
We visited a enormous banyan tree, draped in vines, believed to have magical powers in the Philippines, the Caribbean and Africa. This tree is over 300 years old, and under its huge roots bubbles a spring of cool, clear fresh water. A pool has been built around the spring for the locals, which is alive with little fish.
On approaching the tree, one feels a deep sense of privilege to be allowed in such a sacred and mystical space. Directly under its roots is a deep chasm, the water a dark emerald colour; perhaps the central source of the trees' power. One could easily imagine a mythical creature rising from these dark waters at dusk, or seeing the body of an unfortunate soul caught and twisted in the huge sinews that make up the trees trunk.
To bring us back down from our mystical reverie, Theo announced that he was going to do a poo in his pants. I rushed him into the forest behind the tree to help him relieve himself.
Suddenly, out of nowhere, I was attacked by a swarm of Mosquitos. It was as if they had planned an ariel assault, like fighter pilots. I was stung everywhere, and came storming out the bushes with Theo half dressed under my arm. Perhaps they were protecting the Banyan tree, guarding it from the little boy about to defecate on holy ground.
In the afternoon we visited a stunning waterfall that cascaded over smooth rock into a translucent pool below. The surrounding forest was lush and full of birdsong. We stripped off and dived in immediately to keep our mid afternoon lethargy at bay.
Legend has it that before the waterfall appeared there were three gorgeous but haughty sisters that lived on the rock. One night, a poor decrepit old women came knocking at their door asking for food and shelter. They turned her away, disgusted at the idea of letting such a filthy creature into their house.
That night, as they slept, they heard the sound of running water. Suddenly, their house was swept away by a raging torrent, and all three perished in the turbulent waters. In place of their home now falls the waterfall, in three sections, and breathtakingly beautiful, like the sisters themselves.
The Veggie burger
The Veggie burger
One of the things I was looking forward to most in Siquijor was tasting one of the famous burgers made at the Danish lagoon restaurant. Dyl told me there was a veggie burger on the menu, which was huge. I ordered it with chips, and was nearly shaking with anticipation as it arrived, after days of plain rice and veg.
To my incredible disappointment, as I tucked in, I realised that the burger was missing. This particular veggie burger was a bun filled with little pieces of salad, i.e vegetables. I really tried not to let it show, but I felt like shedding a tear into my shredded lettuce and ketchup.
New Year part 2
New year II
Only 949 fireworks casualties this new year, the papers report proudly. Apparently this is a good thing, down 13 percent from last year. 58 amputations, only a few fatalities. The main culprit are the popular firecrackers called 'bawng' and ''piccolo' - while the ''bin laden' is harder to get hold of but twice as dangerous.
On new years eve we had a huge box of bawangs, Lalas nephews dropping them underfoot like sniper fire. To get into the spirit, I threw a couple. The second one exploded in my hand, taking the skin off the top of my finger. I sheepishly refrained from further spiritedness and stood safely behind the metal grill as the firework frenzy reached fever pitch, the whole street letting off masses of rockets, blindly hurling handfuls firecrackers into the night, banging tins and blowing horns. As the cacophony rose at the approach of midnight, Fireworks shot into houses and underfoot. Unphased, Dyl was gripped by a kind of firework mania; a look of completed focus on his face, he set off as many as one man with two hands can.
More ominous, however, is the number of people recorded in the paper who were wounded or killed by stray bullets: shooting loaded guns into the air on new years eve remains a dubious tradition in some neighbourhoods of metro Manila.
Siquijor island part 1
Siquijor island part 1
Our trip to Siquijor started at 5am. We waited in the darkness as Dyl had overslept. We were last on the plane, tearing down the runway with babies in tow. After a tricycle ride through durmagetee city on the island of negros (named after the indigenous inhabitants of the Philippines, who are much darker skinned than most Filipinos), we were last on the boat, making another mad dash across the port; a dishevelled caravan of kids, toys, blankets, pushchairs and, as always, loads and loads of badly packed little bags.
The ferry to Siquijor was a packed floating airless box and we all fought the onset of nausea as it pitched and rolled over the waves.
After a tricycle ride from the port in Siquijor we finally arrived at our cabins in the danish lagoon resort. The accommodation is based on scenes and characters from the folk tales of Hans Christian Anderson. Perched on the edge of a small cliff overlooking the ocean, each cabin has a huge relief of Anderson on the wall, charming round windows and beds that hang from the ceiling. A golden mermaid sits atop the rocks on the small beach below. It is an inspired concept in a perfect setting.
The fairytale spell was only slightly broken by the realisation that the resort had seen better days, and was a little tired and weather worn, which undoubtedly reflected the condition of the hosts.
The owners, 2 danish couples, were rather miserable and very haggard.
Watching them hit the booze hard each evening as an ineffectual release from the monotony of island life, Dyl and I speculated about how well suited westerners were to living on a remote Filipino island. They came to live out their dreams in a tropical paradise, but seemed despondent and lonely.
Siquijor is one of the most beautiful places I have ever visited, untouched and lush, with a gentle pace of life and gorgeous villages nestled amongst palms and banana trees or on the edge of delicately tiered and tended rice paddies. Even the simplest shack is surrounded by a neat and well-kept garden, with tropical roses and brightly leaved bushes in abundance. Yet while this earthly paradise is a feast for the eyes, I imagine life here could be challenging for foreigners. The few Europeans we met who living here seemed worn and rude. Brash and commanding to the people around them, their presence jarred strangely with their surroundings. Perhaps unable to ajust to the rhythm of the place, or too insensitive to understand its complex cultural nuances, they seemed ill at ease with their decisions.
Wednesday 4 January 2012
Manila II
Manila II
Manila is made up of a network of cities; a huge congested mass of humanity many of whom appear to exist in extreme poverty, in makeshift shacks which fill vast swathes of the metropolis, whilst the privileged navigate across the choked city space from one air conditioned artificial environment to another; high rise flat, big American car, super mall. There is a place called 'high street'; even this is a mall built to resemble an american high street. In the worst light, this place could be described as the ultimate postmodern dystopia, a shrine to simulacra and testimony to the potential failure of mass capitalism and the corruption of consumerist greed. In a better light, it a bustling, exciting metropolis pumping money into the Philippines, the great pulsating heart and life blood of the islands.
Education, even at primary level, and basic healthcare come at a cost. There are only 2 main state hospitals serving the entire city. When Theo developed an eye infection on new years day, we went to the private hospital and we were seen almost immediately. The hospital was immaculate, a shining white medical haven. They correctly diagnosed him with an allergy, gave him a shot of anti- histamine and prescribed various medicines. An effortless experience, highly organised and efficient. Dylan enjoys this amazing standard of care, but it comes at a price. Even Theo's name tag, the cotton wool and sticky tape were billed. We paid up, and it was goodbye to the smiling doctors and back into the sticky confusion outside.
Every destination in this city seems an incredible mission to reach. To procure basic things, like bread or milk, requires a car trip outside the 'fort' ( Dylan's gated community is called fort bonifacio), a security check, a drive through traffic jams, another security check to park and a trip through the enormous mall, and often a long queue. Not a place for pedestrians, there is no 'popping' out on foot. Some roads are seemingly impossible to cross - even the forms entertainment available are manufactured, with family holidays based in theme parks and resorts.
One does not have to be super-rich to have a luxury lifestyle, especially if your money has been made abroad. A school teacher in a private school could enjoy a fleet of staff, with a chauffeur, nanny, maid and gardener. It is also not so unusual to travel with bodygards - the children of important foreign diplomats are taken to school by their body guards, who also partake in any school outings, bringing the pistol and pack lunch.
Sunday 1 January 2012
Manila
Theo's popularity is not decreasing. He keeps getting scooped up in people's arms for photos. When he ran under a barrier manned by a policeman at the airport, the policeman grabbed him, and I thought here goes, we're in big trouble - and then insisted that I take a photo of them both.
The beauty of travelling with a toddler is that you live in the moment. There is an immediacy and intensity in the experience of your surroundings. I am such a restless soul, always focusing on the future, what is happening next, that being with Theo grounds me, makes me enjoy the present.
Perhaps one of the reasons that people are so tolerant and kind to kids is that there are so many children. They are ever-present. One of the biggest problems facing the philippines is the ever increasing birth rate. As a Catholic country , the use of contraception is not promoted or widespread, resulting in large families living below the poverty line.
The beauty of travelling with a toddler is that you live in the moment. There is an immediacy and intensity in the experience of your surroundings. I am such a restless soul, always focusing on the future, what is happening next, that being with Theo grounds me, makes me enjoy the present.
Perhaps one of the reasons that people are so tolerant and kind to kids is that there are so many children. They are ever-present. One of the biggest problems facing the philippines is the ever increasing birth rate. As a Catholic country , the use of contraception is not promoted or widespread, resulting in large families living below the poverty line.
Manila is one of the most densely populated cities in the world - you sense this in the continuous queues; for groceries, on the roads, in the petrol station, at the jeepeny stop ( a highly decorated converted jeep used for public transport). Even trying on clothes in the mall takes a a good 20 minutes of patient queuing.
Manila is, to use the tired cliche, a city of contrasts. Shining new skyscrapers stand next to shanty towns. The slum areas of the city are not on its outskirts, but peppered throughout. It seems that any available patch of land is made use of, with families of squatters transforming the space into their homes, building lean to shacks with pieces of rusty corrugated iron, bits of wood and woven bamboo.
Apparently, not all the makeshift houses are occupied by squatters, with some being rented out by landlords to people working in the city. Next to buildings in progress lie the shacks of the workmen, who also use old shipping containers as their homes. The multi-million dollar apartments of the super- rich are built by men living next door in tiny metal boxes.
In some areas of the city the air feels thick with pollution. On our way back from laguna hot springs we experienced a hefty traffic jam. A 2 hour journey lasted 5 hours. 6 lanes of traffic, total gridlock, with people packed into the back of jeepneys and pickups in the sweltering heat. Circumstances which would test the coolest character, yet through all this people wait patiently. No shouting, no losing tempers, only a serene look of resignation on their faces. It is in many ways inspiring. My new years resolution is to be more patient.
Despite the scenes of desperate poverty found across the city there appear to be very few beggars, or even people in a state of total degradation, unable to look after themselves or keep clean. This is perhaps a result of the strength of community ties and family bonds.
There is definitely communal, rather than individualistic mentality. You behave in a way that benefits the group. This interdependence is a vital survival strategy in the face of great economic challenges.
Filipinos speak Tagalog, which has numerous words of Spanish origin as a result of Spanish colonisation, and American English (it was an American colony in the early C20th ). The polite way to address to a lady is the very american 'Ma'am' - Lala addresses me and mum in this way. The influence of American culture is huge, clear from the obsession with big cars and super-malls (endless air-conditioned shopping centres) to the popularity of what Filipinos term 'junk food', which loses its negative connotations in this context.
I shopped in a huge pristine super- mall today, a very surreal experience, particularly after arriving by motor bike side car, with mum, Theo and I cramped in a tiny metal box, and leaving in a heavily packed jeepeny.
I dropped theo of with mum at the mall at a kids play area, so I could have a quick solo shop. I had to be fingerprinted and buy socks for them both before they could enter. The assistants hurry along after the kids, frantically wiping the surfaces down once touched by their little hands. Bacterial gel is compulsory on entering. A lady in surgical gloves stands permanently by the slide catching children as they descend - a kind of bizarre futuristic take on Salinger's catcher in the rye.
Tonight is new years eve. A big celebration, perhaps even more so than Christmas, feted by setting the skies ablaze with fireworks. I am surrounded by continuous bangs, a war-like assault on the senses. We have a huge pile to light on the stroke of midnight. Dylan I climbed up the water tower to see the city bright with explosions and the air thick with gunpowder and smoke. Theo, who is terrified by big rockets, has finally dropped off.
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