One of the things I find myself still trying to learn about in Palau is differentiating the coins and their respective values.
When we arrived here a couple of months ago, I had only one US dollar in my wallet, a gift from a Balikbayan friend from Canada years back and the edges are already worn and stained. I had been tempted to encash it many times when I had no money but the dollar bill never left its sanctuary in my wallet because of sentimental value. I dragged along plenty of Philippine coins with me I had to pay extra to the local airline we boarded from Davao City to Manila because I forgot to have the contents of my coin bank changed to bills but these are useless in Palau.
Aside from the solitary dollar, I was practically “penniless” until we were given loans from the office to tide us over until we get our first paycheck. Used to the heavy coins we have in the Philippines, I just tossed the coins around in my room during the first few weeks, leaving them on the bed, on the drawer, in my locker and practically anywhere. I did not feel its real value because they felt like useless coins. I was able to immediately recognize the quarter dollar because I had one in my coin collection years ago but I get confused with the nickel (five cents), the dime (ten cents) and the penny (one cent).
At a glance, the nickel and the quarter (twenty five cents) look almost the same save for a little difference in size but they could easily be mistaken for the other. The washing machine at the laundromat taught me the difference. A load of laundry here costs $.75 and you have to feed the machine three quarter coins. The dryer demands the same price. Without meaning to, I dropped three nickel coins and the machine refused to budge. People here very seldom handwash clothes. It’s faster and easier to wash and dry it at the Laundromat and you’ll be spared the waste of time and energy worrying if your clothes are still at the clotheslines when you come back.
During my first week here, I often wondered and asked why the nickel is bigger in size than the dime when the value of the dime is twice than that of the nickel but now I don’t. I have many things to worry and think about than coin sizes, my expanding waistline for instance (I’ve graduated from small to medium size now) but I can’t talk about it yet.
Many a time I have experienced embarrassing moments when I had to stand in the counter and fumble in my coin purse for the loose change needed, with an anxious-looking cashier trying to figure out if I have enough money to pay for my purchases and the long line of customers shuffling their feet behind me. It’s funny but customers all seemed to be in a hurry at the times like these.
I was at a gasoline station in downtown Koror, (Palau’s capital) counting (or trying to figure out which is which to be able to pay $1.75 to the cashier when I went out to buy bento one time for a late lunch. (Bento is a meal that comes with rice and usually two or three viands, packed in a transparent disposable container and tied with rubber bands. It is the instant solution for people who are too lazy to cook their meals like me.)
Hungry and pressed for time, I got exasperated in pretending to act like I know my coins and poured out the whole contents of my purse on the counter. Coins of various denominations rolled out in different destinations so that the cashier and I had a busy time catching and stopping the coins from rolling on the floor. I made her pick out the appropriate change she needed so I won’t have to wrack my brains trying to figure things out.
After two months, I still have to look up at the ceiling for a few seconds to calculate things before I will be able to extract the exact loose change I need for my purchases. Maybe I should paste coin samples in my headboard so I can study them before going to bed and upon waking up. What do you think?
Tuesday, July 22, 2008
Turn-about
The only permanent thing in the world is change, or so the saying goes. And so with this article comes many changes, first in the column name. For the past couple of years, I had named this column as LoCaL CoLoR but less than five hour’s plane ride from Davao City last week brought me and SunStar officemates Aurea and Celina to one of the islands in the pacific to work for another newspaper and to another set of changes in our lives.
This article is written not in Davao anymore but in the island of the Republic of Palau, dubbed as the Rainbow’s End, hence the need to change the name. I couldn’t think of any other name much more fitting than Island Color. Rainbow’s End sounds more like a fairy tale and one may even expect me to send you a pot of gold so I chose the latter, and so Island Color is it.
In this island where there seems to be more cars than people and you can rarely see anybody walking on the streets, the feeling of being “parang nasa Pinas pa rin” prevails. Majority of the people are Filipinos and you see them in the stores, offices, clubs and bars, hotels and practically everywhere.
Comes now adjustment time-stage one.
Although the three of us worked in the same office and seen each other’s shadow for almost three years but we did not live in the same house so normally we all have to make a lot of adjustments. Ever tried keeping your cool when the bathroom we shared already resembled a bat cave? you know what I mean, with all those wet “bats” that were supposed to be hang at the clothesline outside to dry up hanging from the shower hooks, falling hairs clogging the drainage, soap melting in the sink or stepping on empty shampoo sachets? I have.
I also learned a fast lesson in patience when Au practically takes forever in the bathroom while Celina and I wait for our turn to take a bath every morning. I was beginning to wonder if there’s a mass going on inside the bathroom that she only knew of and attends exclusively..(I hope Au will not get to read this because she might spit in my food and I won’t blame her. (She cooks our supper sometimes).
One thing that needs a 360-degree turn is my sleeping pattern. This is not easy and may take months or even years of trying because me, labeled as a “vampire” by buddy Michael from Cotabato because I stay up till dawn and is sleepy through the day have to make a complete turn-around. For the past nights I’ve stayed awake staring at the ceiling trying to count sheep and fall asleep or try to follow the rotation of the stand fan I bought for $23.25 a day after we arrived but to no avail. Bedtime for my body is still 2 a.m.
The hardest part is in getting up at 6:30 a.m. and wait for my turn to take a cold shower to wake up, (I usually go to the bathroom with eyes still closed and wake up only when the first squirt of water falls on my head), grab a quick breakfast which I very rarely do and rush with my housemates because I have no other means of getting to the office but hitch a ride in our housemate’s car. For the first time I saw what offices look like in the mornings but only digest half of what’s going on until late in the afternoon.
Another shock awaited us when we shopped for groceries for the first time. Everything is priced in dollars. I nearly collapsed when I picked up a bunch of string beans priced $1.25. Why, with the exchange rate of P56 to a dollar, that would cost P70! And to think that I would even snob that bunch in Bankerohan and grumble (and sometimes curse the vendor) for overpricing it at P6 a bunch!
I bought a plate, spoon and a glass for $3, whew! I had hordes of plates and mugs and spoons which had accumulated through my brief journalistic stint in Davao, but here everything is exported from the Philippines. Our Pinoy officemates advised us never to convert all the prices to peso “dahil talagang maloloko at makakalbo kayo” (you’ll go bald and crazy) but they understood us because they too, went through the same phase.
I do miss my body pillow, the one I bought with my first salary at Sun.Star but have to leave it behind. Buying a new one here would cost me $12. Converted, that would be P672! I could buy that in the PI (short for Philippine Islands) for less than P300 (There I go again…) but I’m going to buy one just the same when I get my first paycheck. It sure helps a lot to lure me to dreamland.
Uhm adjustment stage two…we still have to get used to seeing the natives chewing betel nuts.
This article is written not in Davao anymore but in the island of the Republic of Palau, dubbed as the Rainbow’s End, hence the need to change the name. I couldn’t think of any other name much more fitting than Island Color. Rainbow’s End sounds more like a fairy tale and one may even expect me to send you a pot of gold so I chose the latter, and so Island Color is it.
In this island where there seems to be more cars than people and you can rarely see anybody walking on the streets, the feeling of being “parang nasa Pinas pa rin” prevails. Majority of the people are Filipinos and you see them in the stores, offices, clubs and bars, hotels and practically everywhere.
Comes now adjustment time-stage one.
Although the three of us worked in the same office and seen each other’s shadow for almost three years but we did not live in the same house so normally we all have to make a lot of adjustments. Ever tried keeping your cool when the bathroom we shared already resembled a bat cave? you know what I mean, with all those wet “bats” that were supposed to be hang at the clothesline outside to dry up hanging from the shower hooks, falling hairs clogging the drainage, soap melting in the sink or stepping on empty shampoo sachets? I have.
I also learned a fast lesson in patience when Au practically takes forever in the bathroom while Celina and I wait for our turn to take a bath every morning. I was beginning to wonder if there’s a mass going on inside the bathroom that she only knew of and attends exclusively..(I hope Au will not get to read this because she might spit in my food and I won’t blame her. (She cooks our supper sometimes).
One thing that needs a 360-degree turn is my sleeping pattern. This is not easy and may take months or even years of trying because me, labeled as a “vampire” by buddy Michael from Cotabato because I stay up till dawn and is sleepy through the day have to make a complete turn-around. For the past nights I’ve stayed awake staring at the ceiling trying to count sheep and fall asleep or try to follow the rotation of the stand fan I bought for $23.25 a day after we arrived but to no avail. Bedtime for my body is still 2 a.m.
The hardest part is in getting up at 6:30 a.m. and wait for my turn to take a cold shower to wake up, (I usually go to the bathroom with eyes still closed and wake up only when the first squirt of water falls on my head), grab a quick breakfast which I very rarely do and rush with my housemates because I have no other means of getting to the office but hitch a ride in our housemate’s car. For the first time I saw what offices look like in the mornings but only digest half of what’s going on until late in the afternoon.
Another shock awaited us when we shopped for groceries for the first time. Everything is priced in dollars. I nearly collapsed when I picked up a bunch of string beans priced $1.25. Why, with the exchange rate of P56 to a dollar, that would cost P70! And to think that I would even snob that bunch in Bankerohan and grumble (and sometimes curse the vendor) for overpricing it at P6 a bunch!
I bought a plate, spoon and a glass for $3, whew! I had hordes of plates and mugs and spoons which had accumulated through my brief journalistic stint in Davao, but here everything is exported from the Philippines. Our Pinoy officemates advised us never to convert all the prices to peso “dahil talagang maloloko at makakalbo kayo” (you’ll go bald and crazy) but they understood us because they too, went through the same phase.
I do miss my body pillow, the one I bought with my first salary at Sun.Star but have to leave it behind. Buying a new one here would cost me $12. Converted, that would be P672! I could buy that in the PI (short for Philippine Islands) for less than P300 (There I go again…) but I’m going to buy one just the same when I get my first paycheck. It sure helps a lot to lure me to dreamland.
Uhm adjustment stage two…we still have to get used to seeing the natives chewing betel nuts.
Trekking shoe-less
(Published in Sunstar Davao, January 15, 2006 issue)
The invitation to go on a jungle and river trek came from friend Micmic Villaflor of the Tia Belau newspaper in Palau one Thursday afternoon. I said yes even before she gave me the details (I’m still the same “fly-now ask-later” type of person I was in the Philippines).
I became excited because I thought I already bid goodbye to my outdoor activities in Davao just before I left for this island called the Rainbow’s End. Co-employees Jacky, Celina and Denice delivered me in the company truck (no other car was available at the moment) to the headquarters of the US Air Force in Airai a few miles from Koror State and left me there.
I looked around and was dismayed to see everyone in their proper trekking attire, shoes and backpacks and a supply of drinking water strapped to their bodies. Uh-uh, I was in a light pink shirt, maong pants torn at the knees and rubber sandals. I said to myself they must have been overacting because I’m not new to mountain climbing and there aren’t no high mountains in Palau.
I approached one group of soldiers and introduced myself as a representative of our newspaper. One of the US Air Force captains who was in the midst of tying his shoelaces glanced at my feet and stopped in mid-air.
“Are you going with us in that?” he asked in disbelief, pointing to my sandals.
“I’m afraid so,” I shrugged. He stared at me incredulously as though I said I was going to walk barefoot on live coals. I bought my sandals just before the stores closed the night before at a staggering price of $9.95, the kind I could buy here in Davao for P150 or less.
“You need protection, we can’t take risks,” he replied. I told him I was comfortable in my sandals and I would never feel alright wearing closed shoes as it cuts off the circulation of my blood but he got an extra pair of large socks and insisted that I put them on. Uh-uh. Albeit mumbling I obeyed the captain and the trek began.
I was with soldiers and a handful of females who climbed up the steep slope as though they were walking on level ground. As the only form of exercise I get is in going up and down the eight rungs of stairs to our office everyday, I was panting in no time and was at the rear of the group.
The pathway narrowed when we entered the jungle (don’t get me wrong, there are no real jungles in Palau) and the real challenge began. It was so muddy and I kept falling down as we had to navigate the river for at least three-fourths of the trek. It was getting dark and the sandals gave me trouble as it got entangled in roots and shrubs very easily but I did not say anything. I ended up being at the rear of the group because of the sandals and gave the very same Air Force captain and another Air Force member headache because they had to slower their gait so as not to leave me behind. They were the group “sweepers” after all and were tasked to see that no one gets lost in the forest.
When we reached a deep portion of the river where a waterfalls dropped off, the trekkers were given the chance to either go around it or swim across and fight the strong current, with the aid of a tout rope tied to a tree at the riverbank. I opted for the later (as if I know how to swim!!!) but I was that confident. It turned out that I was the only one who used the lifejacket stationed there.
Anyway my sandals did not let me down, and we (me and my sandals) are going for another trek next month with the same group. This time it’s going to be a moonlight trek, and yes, I’m going to buy my own socks and a replacement as well for the pair I’ve damaged beyond redemption. My apologies to the Captain whose name I forgot to ask…
The invitation to go on a jungle and river trek came from friend Micmic Villaflor of the Tia Belau newspaper in Palau one Thursday afternoon. I said yes even before she gave me the details (I’m still the same “fly-now ask-later” type of person I was in the Philippines).
I became excited because I thought I already bid goodbye to my outdoor activities in Davao just before I left for this island called the Rainbow’s End. Co-employees Jacky, Celina and Denice delivered me in the company truck (no other car was available at the moment) to the headquarters of the US Air Force in Airai a few miles from Koror State and left me there.
I looked around and was dismayed to see everyone in their proper trekking attire, shoes and backpacks and a supply of drinking water strapped to their bodies. Uh-uh, I was in a light pink shirt, maong pants torn at the knees and rubber sandals. I said to myself they must have been overacting because I’m not new to mountain climbing and there aren’t no high mountains in Palau.
I approached one group of soldiers and introduced myself as a representative of our newspaper. One of the US Air Force captains who was in the midst of tying his shoelaces glanced at my feet and stopped in mid-air.
“Are you going with us in that?” he asked in disbelief, pointing to my sandals.
“I’m afraid so,” I shrugged. He stared at me incredulously as though I said I was going to walk barefoot on live coals. I bought my sandals just before the stores closed the night before at a staggering price of $9.95, the kind I could buy here in Davao for P150 or less.
“You need protection, we can’t take risks,” he replied. I told him I was comfortable in my sandals and I would never feel alright wearing closed shoes as it cuts off the circulation of my blood but he got an extra pair of large socks and insisted that I put them on. Uh-uh. Albeit mumbling I obeyed the captain and the trek began.
I was with soldiers and a handful of females who climbed up the steep slope as though they were walking on level ground. As the only form of exercise I get is in going up and down the eight rungs of stairs to our office everyday, I was panting in no time and was at the rear of the group.
The pathway narrowed when we entered the jungle (don’t get me wrong, there are no real jungles in Palau) and the real challenge began. It was so muddy and I kept falling down as we had to navigate the river for at least three-fourths of the trek. It was getting dark and the sandals gave me trouble as it got entangled in roots and shrubs very easily but I did not say anything. I ended up being at the rear of the group because of the sandals and gave the very same Air Force captain and another Air Force member headache because they had to slower their gait so as not to leave me behind. They were the group “sweepers” after all and were tasked to see that no one gets lost in the forest.
When we reached a deep portion of the river where a waterfalls dropped off, the trekkers were given the chance to either go around it or swim across and fight the strong current, with the aid of a tout rope tied to a tree at the riverbank. I opted for the later (as if I know how to swim!!!) but I was that confident. It turned out that I was the only one who used the lifejacket stationed there.
Anyway my sandals did not let me down, and we (me and my sandals) are going for another trek next month with the same group. This time it’s going to be a moonlight trek, and yes, I’m going to buy my own socks and a replacement as well for the pair I’ve damaged beyond redemption. My apologies to the Captain whose name I forgot to ask…
Transitions
The only permanent thing in the world is change, or so the saying goes. And so with this article comes many changes, first in the column name. For the past couple of years, I had been writing a column titled LoCaL CoLoR in the Philippines but less than five hour’s plane ride from Davao City three weeks ago brought me and officemates Aurea and Celina to this island in the pacific to work for another newspaper and to another set of changes in our lives.
This article is written in this place dubbed as the Rainbow’s End, and I couldn’t think of any other name much more fitting than Island Color. In this island where there seems to be more cars than people and you can rarely see anybody walking on the streets, the feeling of being “parang nasa Pinas pa rin” prevails. Filipinos are everywhere and you see them in the stores, offices, clubs and bars, hotels and practically everywhere.
Comes now adjustment time-stage one.
Although the three of us worked in the same office and seen each other’s shadow for almost three years, we did not live in the same house so normally we all have to make a lot of adjustments. Ever tried keeping your cool when the bathroom we shared already resembled a bat cave? you know what I mean, with all those wet “bats” that were supposed to be dried at the clothesline outside hanging from the shower hooks, falling hairs clogging the drainage, soap melting in the sink or stepping on empty shampoo sachets? We have.
I also learned a fast lesson in patience when Au practically takes forever in the bathroom while Celina and I wait for our turn to take a bath every morning. I was beginning to wonder if there’s a mass going on inside the bathroom that she only knew of and attends exclusively…(I hope Au will not get to read this because she might spit in my food and I won’t blame her…just kidding)
One thing that needs a 360-degree turn is my sleeping pattern. This is not easy and may take months or even years of trying because I, labeled as a “vampire” by buddy Peter Michael from Cotabato because I stay up till dawn and is sleepy through the day have to make a complete turn-around. For the past nights I’ve stayed awake staring at the ceiling trying to count sheep and fall asleep or try to follow the rotation of the stand fan I bought for $23.25 a day after we arrived but to no avail. Bedtime for my body is still 2 a.m.
The hardest part is in getting up at 6:30 a.m. and wait for my turn to take a cold shower to wake up, (I usually go to the bathroom with eyes still closed and wake up only when the first squirt of water falls on my head), grab a quick breakfast which I very rarely do and rush with my housemates because I have no other means of getting to the office but hitch a ride in our housemate’s car. For the first time I saw what offices look like in the mornings but only digest half of what’s going on until late in the afternoon.
Another shock awaited us when we shopped for groceries for the first time. Everything is priced in dollars. I nearly collapsed when I picked up a bunch of string beans priced $1.25. Why, with the exchange rate of P56 to a dollar, that would cost P70! And to think that I would even snob that bunch in Bankerohan in Davao and grumble (and sometimes curse the vendor) for overpricing it at P6 a bunch!
I bought a plate, spoon and a glass for $3, whew! I had hordes of plates and mugs and spoons which had accumulated through my brief journalistic stint in Davao, but here everything is exported from the Philippines. Our Pinoy officemates advised us never to convert all the prices to peso “dahil talagang maloloko at makakalbo kayo” (you’ll go bald and crazy) but they understood us because they too, went through the same phase.
I do miss my body pillow, the one I bought with my first salary at Davao but have to leave it behind. Buying a new one here would cost me $12. Converted, that would be P672! I could buy that in the PI (short for Philippine Islands) for less than P300 (There I go again…) but I’m going to buy one just the same when I get my first paycheck. It sure helps a lot to lure me to dreamland.
This article is written in this place dubbed as the Rainbow’s End, and I couldn’t think of any other name much more fitting than Island Color. In this island where there seems to be more cars than people and you can rarely see anybody walking on the streets, the feeling of being “parang nasa Pinas pa rin” prevails. Filipinos are everywhere and you see them in the stores, offices, clubs and bars, hotels and practically everywhere.
Comes now adjustment time-stage one.
Although the three of us worked in the same office and seen each other’s shadow for almost three years, we did not live in the same house so normally we all have to make a lot of adjustments. Ever tried keeping your cool when the bathroom we shared already resembled a bat cave? you know what I mean, with all those wet “bats” that were supposed to be dried at the clothesline outside hanging from the shower hooks, falling hairs clogging the drainage, soap melting in the sink or stepping on empty shampoo sachets? We have.
I also learned a fast lesson in patience when Au practically takes forever in the bathroom while Celina and I wait for our turn to take a bath every morning. I was beginning to wonder if there’s a mass going on inside the bathroom that she only knew of and attends exclusively…(I hope Au will not get to read this because she might spit in my food and I won’t blame her…just kidding)
One thing that needs a 360-degree turn is my sleeping pattern. This is not easy and may take months or even years of trying because I, labeled as a “vampire” by buddy Peter Michael from Cotabato because I stay up till dawn and is sleepy through the day have to make a complete turn-around. For the past nights I’ve stayed awake staring at the ceiling trying to count sheep and fall asleep or try to follow the rotation of the stand fan I bought for $23.25 a day after we arrived but to no avail. Bedtime for my body is still 2 a.m.
The hardest part is in getting up at 6:30 a.m. and wait for my turn to take a cold shower to wake up, (I usually go to the bathroom with eyes still closed and wake up only when the first squirt of water falls on my head), grab a quick breakfast which I very rarely do and rush with my housemates because I have no other means of getting to the office but hitch a ride in our housemate’s car. For the first time I saw what offices look like in the mornings but only digest half of what’s going on until late in the afternoon.
Another shock awaited us when we shopped for groceries for the first time. Everything is priced in dollars. I nearly collapsed when I picked up a bunch of string beans priced $1.25. Why, with the exchange rate of P56 to a dollar, that would cost P70! And to think that I would even snob that bunch in Bankerohan in Davao and grumble (and sometimes curse the vendor) for overpricing it at P6 a bunch!
I bought a plate, spoon and a glass for $3, whew! I had hordes of plates and mugs and spoons which had accumulated through my brief journalistic stint in Davao, but here everything is exported from the Philippines. Our Pinoy officemates advised us never to convert all the prices to peso “dahil talagang maloloko at makakalbo kayo” (you’ll go bald and crazy) but they understood us because they too, went through the same phase.
I do miss my body pillow, the one I bought with my first salary at Davao but have to leave it behind. Buying a new one here would cost me $12. Converted, that would be P672! I could buy that in the PI (short for Philippine Islands) for less than P300 (There I go again…) but I’m going to buy one just the same when I get my first paycheck. It sure helps a lot to lure me to dreamland.
Time off
THE gentle rocking of the yacht and the cool breeze were making me drowsy, not minding the noise and laughter my companions were making as they downed bottle after bottle of wine in rapid succession.
We were in a cove in the Rock Islands and I was sprawled at the helm of the "Great White", a yacht owned by Sam's Tours, one of the leading dive operators in Koror, Palau. I had just photographed one of the best sunsets I ever saw, with the big red sun slowly setting down the horizon and splashing hues of reds, orange and vermilion over the darkening sky.
We were a few miles off the shores of the Palau Pacific Resort where a welcome party was in progress. Big waves started to roll in, prompting our yacht operator to head for some place where we can simply relax without feeling nauseous.
After finding a comfortable cove between two smaller islands, we dropped anchor and the party began.
Minutes later, a semi-full moon bathed the surrounding with a soothing glow, making the trees in the islands around us look like eerie figures that I almost imagined one of them will jump at us any moment.
This was the first activity of the yachting club and I grabbed the chance to join although I am not a member.
For the past year and four months, Wednesday nights had always been the busiest time for me and ex-Sun.Star layout artist, Celina, because that's our newspaper deadline and we have to stay by until the last page is ready to go to the printing press.
Although we are a weekly newspapers, the mañana habit rules, making us delay writing until Wednesday morning and by then that is too late.
The appointment of a new editor from Saipan lifted much of the burden of closing the pages from my shoulders. I was finished at 2 p.m. and was free to go with editor Fermin's permission.
"Just keep your cellphone on all the time," he warned before I and co-reporter Junhan dashed off.
I was in a trance-like state, half-awake and half asleep when three cubes of ice landed on my head and my feet. I jerked alert and discovered that my companions (Americans and a few Palauans) were engaged in an ice cube battle. They were getting noisier as the night went deeper. We were supposed to be home by 11 p.m. but from the looks of things, nobody was thinking of going yet. I was already shivering in my thin shirt when I heard the engine of another boat coming towards us. More people were joining the party and as we didn't drink or smoke, we were starting to feel out of place. Luckily the boat operator had to go back to shore after dumping his passengers into the Great White so we grabbed the chance to go ahead of the others.
So much for the time off, but it was worth it.
We were in a cove in the Rock Islands and I was sprawled at the helm of the "Great White", a yacht owned by Sam's Tours, one of the leading dive operators in Koror, Palau. I had just photographed one of the best sunsets I ever saw, with the big red sun slowly setting down the horizon and splashing hues of reds, orange and vermilion over the darkening sky.
We were a few miles off the shores of the Palau Pacific Resort where a welcome party was in progress. Big waves started to roll in, prompting our yacht operator to head for some place where we can simply relax without feeling nauseous.
After finding a comfortable cove between two smaller islands, we dropped anchor and the party began.
Minutes later, a semi-full moon bathed the surrounding with a soothing glow, making the trees in the islands around us look like eerie figures that I almost imagined one of them will jump at us any moment.
This was the first activity of the yachting club and I grabbed the chance to join although I am not a member.
For the past year and four months, Wednesday nights had always been the busiest time for me and ex-Sun.Star layout artist, Celina, because that's our newspaper deadline and we have to stay by until the last page is ready to go to the printing press.
Although we are a weekly newspapers, the mañana habit rules, making us delay writing until Wednesday morning and by then that is too late.
The appointment of a new editor from Saipan lifted much of the burden of closing the pages from my shoulders. I was finished at 2 p.m. and was free to go with editor Fermin's permission.
"Just keep your cellphone on all the time," he warned before I and co-reporter Junhan dashed off.
I was in a trance-like state, half-awake and half asleep when three cubes of ice landed on my head and my feet. I jerked alert and discovered that my companions (Americans and a few Palauans) were engaged in an ice cube battle. They were getting noisier as the night went deeper. We were supposed to be home by 11 p.m. but from the looks of things, nobody was thinking of going yet. I was already shivering in my thin shirt when I heard the engine of another boat coming towards us. More people were joining the party and as we didn't drink or smoke, we were starting to feel out of place. Luckily the boat operator had to go back to shore after dumping his passengers into the Great White so we grabbed the chance to go ahead of the others.
So much for the time off, but it was worth it.
They sure serve ‘em big in Palau
I was attending a luncheon meeting of the Rotary Club I covered for our newspaper at Penthouse hotel in downtown a couple of weeks ago started late and my stomach was already growling, protesting why it was denied food since the night before. There just wasn’t time to grab something to eat. Deadline was beating down our necks.
When Editor Maam Lei told me to order food from the restaurant, I did not hesitate but sat immediately at one of the tables. Being very hungry, I ordered the first familiar dish I saw on the laminated menu- - fried chicken combo meal. One serving costs $7.50++. (It’s always the ++ that scares me when ordering food from classy restaurants back at the PI).
I usually only buy bento, (a meal packed in plastic complete with rice and two viands priced from $1.50 to $2.50 and it is always enough to fill me). Anyway I was not paying so why the fuss.
When the Filipina waitress served the food, I gulped for there, set before me was a huge (and I mean HUGE) platter with rice enough to feed me for a couple of days, a mountain of raw cucumber, cabbage, lettuce and tomatoes, and five gigantic slices of crisply fried chicken. Half of one slice was enough for me I swear. The orange juice costing $2.50 came in a huge glass which looked like only a few inches shorter than a regular pitcher.
I looked around apprehensively, expecting to see sneers from other customers because with my 5-ft-98-lb frame, it would seem like I had been denied food for months but nobody was looking in my direction. I picked up my spoon and fork and began eating daintily. If the truth was to be told, I wished to eat with my hands. Food always tastes much better and satisfying that way. I just scraped the chicken skins and popped them to my mouth, (forget the calories, crispy fried chicken skin is just too tempting), one-fourth of the rice and half of the juice, ignoring the salad. I’ll never be a vegetarian. (Ever hear that eating too much veges may lure snakes to live in your stomach?)…
Housemate Celina and I ordered fried rice for dinner from Kumangai restaurant just last week.
“Isang order lang?” the PI waitress asked us. We both said we were very hungry and ordered one serving each. Mine is java rice and hers is seafood. You guessed right, one serving was good for three persons. We were still eating fried rice until noon of the next day.
One time I passed by a couple of locals grilling barbeque under the Japan-Palau friendship bridge where I went to take photos of the sunset. I cast an absent-minded glance at the spit but retraced my steps when I was five meters away to check if my eyes were playing tricks. The two men were grilling fish so big and chicken thighs resembling turkey’s thighs I wondered how it could be consumed. One half of a chicken thigh would make me burst. They saw me eyeing the barbeque and urged me to eat.
“You eat, why, you’re soooo small!” One of them said, but I politely refused their offer, swallowing the urge to insist that I was not that small but it’s them who were just so big.
It’s normal to see fish weighing 100 lbs or more, bread solid enough that one slice is equivalent to a full meal, garlic and onion as big as a giant’s fist, kindergarten pupils bigger than the normal elementary students in the PI, t-shirts (small size) that reached down to my knees when I tried it on, oh, name it, it’s big! Anyway, one month here in Palau has taught me a lesson. They sure serve them big. I mean food. And drinks, too.
When Editor Maam Lei told me to order food from the restaurant, I did not hesitate but sat immediately at one of the tables. Being very hungry, I ordered the first familiar dish I saw on the laminated menu- - fried chicken combo meal. One serving costs $7.50++. (It’s always the ++ that scares me when ordering food from classy restaurants back at the PI).
I usually only buy bento, (a meal packed in plastic complete with rice and two viands priced from $1.50 to $2.50 and it is always enough to fill me). Anyway I was not paying so why the fuss.
When the Filipina waitress served the food, I gulped for there, set before me was a huge (and I mean HUGE) platter with rice enough to feed me for a couple of days, a mountain of raw cucumber, cabbage, lettuce and tomatoes, and five gigantic slices of crisply fried chicken. Half of one slice was enough for me I swear. The orange juice costing $2.50 came in a huge glass which looked like only a few inches shorter than a regular pitcher.
I looked around apprehensively, expecting to see sneers from other customers because with my 5-ft-98-lb frame, it would seem like I had been denied food for months but nobody was looking in my direction. I picked up my spoon and fork and began eating daintily. If the truth was to be told, I wished to eat with my hands. Food always tastes much better and satisfying that way. I just scraped the chicken skins and popped them to my mouth, (forget the calories, crispy fried chicken skin is just too tempting), one-fourth of the rice and half of the juice, ignoring the salad. I’ll never be a vegetarian. (Ever hear that eating too much veges may lure snakes to live in your stomach?)…
Housemate Celina and I ordered fried rice for dinner from Kumangai restaurant just last week.
“Isang order lang?” the PI waitress asked us. We both said we were very hungry and ordered one serving each. Mine is java rice and hers is seafood. You guessed right, one serving was good for three persons. We were still eating fried rice until noon of the next day.
One time I passed by a couple of locals grilling barbeque under the Japan-Palau friendship bridge where I went to take photos of the sunset. I cast an absent-minded glance at the spit but retraced my steps when I was five meters away to check if my eyes were playing tricks. The two men were grilling fish so big and chicken thighs resembling turkey’s thighs I wondered how it could be consumed. One half of a chicken thigh would make me burst. They saw me eyeing the barbeque and urged me to eat.
“You eat, why, you’re soooo small!” One of them said, but I politely refused their offer, swallowing the urge to insist that I was not that small but it’s them who were just so big.
It’s normal to see fish weighing 100 lbs or more, bread solid enough that one slice is equivalent to a full meal, garlic and onion as big as a giant’s fist, kindergarten pupils bigger than the normal elementary students in the PI, t-shirts (small size) that reached down to my knees when I tried it on, oh, name it, it’s big! Anyway, one month here in Palau has taught me a lesson. They sure serve them big. I mean food. And drinks, too.
Tuesday, July 8, 2008
Missing Davao
Staying in an isolated island like
Having spent a huge number of years of my life in the urban areas which pulsed with life especially at night, a nocturnal being like me still finds it hard to momentarily settle for the rural life in this island-even after my five and-a-half months stay here, plus 19 months stay in Palau.
I wake up six mornings a week disoriented and grumpy, wondering why on earth I still keep the alarm clock whose screeching sound regularly wakes me up at 6:30 every morning. Maybe a lifetime habit of being nocturnal could not just change that easily despite constant clashing with my ex-boss, who was an early riser and could not understand the logic of working late in the night and waking up late, too.
Here in Saipan, one does not necessarily feel being a stranger because Filipinos are everywhere- in offices, stores, schools, construction companies, night clubs and anywhere. Some have stayed in this island for as long as 30 years and have totally adopted the island lifestyle, thinking only of going home to the
Tsokolate and pandesal from Bankerohan. Here the pandesal tastes just like any ordinary, oven-baked bread. It’s extra hard that if you hit your head with it, a lump will grow so fast before you can blink. I miss the fluffy yet crispy and salty pandesal cooked in a pugon. At our barracks, (which I baptized the named Ranch House), a pandesal vendor toots his horn on early mornings. Once in a blue moon, I would be up and catch him but oftentimes i would lay in bed in wishful thinking hoping that he can read my mind and drop a bag of pandesal for me. Of course, he can't read my mind, otherwise he won't be selling pan de sal so early in the morning but out there making a fortune for himself. I would still be half in dreamland by then. By the time I decide I want that pan de sal, the vendor is long gone.
Tinolang native manok at the food stalls in Magallanes. Thinking of the huge slices of chicken here makes my hair stand.
Barbeque batikulon (gizzard) at Bankerohan side walk where I always buy three pieces on a stick for P5.
Manggang hilaw (green mangoes) with bagoong. You can buy a smallplastic of sliced green mangoes from street vendors for five pesos.
Durian. This is something I haven't seen on Saipan. Surely because it's prohibited. I miss our durian sprees at Magsaysay park.
The sight of news boys folding the Super Balita and Sunstar late at night in the office, and the newspaper-littered streets early in the morning as newsboys collate them ready for loading on their bicycles. (yes I'm up on some mornings).
Noise of internet cafes. Having no internet connection at Gwen's house, I had to walk exactly 300 steps to nearest internet cafe to do my research and bear the noise and smell of the kids as they swear and curse loudly while playing online games.
Wet markets where you can buy fish and vegetables and where the vendors tried to outdo each other in making the loudest noise to attract more customers. I always cover my ears and rejoice in the loud humming they made.
Bulalo and hinalang na baka. Where one serving is oftentooo huge for me to consume.
Halo-halo at Chowking. I don't care even if it's 12 midnight or 3 a.m. when the urge to eat gets at me, I go out. The halo-halo I've tried here so far is from Shirley's. So far so good. Only the serving is not big. It's huge!
Instant McDonald meals or chicken feet from Mandarin tea garden. I'm a constant customer at McDonalds here, but somehow, although the food is the same, i miss the ambiance of the McDo branches in Davao. There's no place like home, nai?
A bottle of beer (s) shared with office mates at our favorite restaurant at
The eternal blowing of horns from jeepneys and public vehicles. You only blow your horns here on exceptional situations like if the driver of the car you’re following failed to turn on his lights, or if his tires are flat, gone square or missing.
The noise of the kids next door in my boarding house at S.I.R. although everyone knew I wished to strangle them every minute when i was there.
Well, nothing would come out of just staring intospace and missing home. I’ve got some serious thinking to do. If you can't beat them join them. I've got five months to decide...
street ice cream
ginanggang or banana cue
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