Back to Bangkok

An early morning in Siam Square, on good ol’ Soi Kasem San 1.  I suppose the upside of jetlag is that it is one of the few times where I am happily awake and alert in the early morning.  

I peered out the window, eagerly surveying the view that had been a mysterious, obscure darkness when I’d arrived five hours before.  A city worker sweeping the street, the golden top of a spirit house glinting from behind a wall, a bright pink taxi cruising past a lush yard plot with verdant mango trees nuzzling against slightly-worn houses.  The smell of curry from the street stalls.  The mellifluous morning snippets of songbird serenades echoes along the buildings.  All of this in the ether of thick, yet somehow refreshing, tropical air that seems to portend of excitement and adventure.  I love it!

This is the start of a 6-week visit to the region.  Tomorrow, I head off to Kuching,  Malaysia, for a workshop on cetacean conservation.  Then I galavant to the Semporna Archipelago for a few days of diving/beach paradise before heading over to the Philippines to do some fieldwork and Thailand to scout out my field site.  It’s going to be a fast-paced trip, for sure.  I’m glad I have a full day in Bangkok to rest up and get ready.

I recall my first visit to Bangkok, almost 6 years ago.  I wasn’t an inexperienced traveler, but I’d never been anywhere like this before.  The overwhelming cacophony of strong smells, raucous traffic sounds, and dirty air tumbled out at me, inundating me with anxiety about the unfamiliarity of it all.  My view of the city was further dimmed upon discovering the hard way that tuk-tuk drivers in Bangkok are not the most straightforward people to deal with (i.e., finding myself inexplicably pushed into a silk shop, awkwardly wandering among fabrics that I had no intention of buying, exchanging strained and confused smiles with the shop owners who stared at me as if trying to sell their wares via telepathy, all the while my inner monologue desperately shouts, “But I just wanted to go see the Emerald Buddha!”).  The huge mega-mall/market MBK didn’t help, with its packed crowds, bright lights, and labyrinths of stalls jolting my brain as I timidly searched for a cell phone.  I was ecstatic to leave, replacing these chaotic surroundings with the clean air and blissful peace of the Phu Khieo Wildlife Sanctuary, where I lived for the next year.

Yet, with each return to Bangkok over that year, it endeared itself to me more and more.  It was no longer overbearing and garish, but rather, stimulating and colorful.  I love that you can enjoy the trappings of modernity among shrines and temples, see women clad in the latest fashions alongside Buddhist monks, and walk from the air-conditioned uber-malls to adorable boutiques to basic street markets.  I love standing on the walkway to the National Stadium Skytrain entrance in Siam Square, drinking passionfruit juice, ruminating over the scenes below…people laden with high fashion brand-name bags and sleek smartphones breezing past destitute street beggars; the shrine outside the MBK, a little spot of serenity among the frenetic traffic below; tourists wandering around (the "smelly hippies", the teva- and sunhat-clad, and every variation in between), trying to make sense of it all.

So, it’s the perfect place for me to spend the first day of what promises to be an amazing, but very, very busy, trip.  I’ve had a difficult time finding my focus in San Diego since my last big trip, and I’m pretty disappointed in how little I’ve accomplished in the past few months.  That lack of focus carried over to my planning for this trip, and I need to do a lot of work and organization today before I leave for Malaysia tomorrow.  I’m hoping to find a nice spot to settle down and be productive, to set a positive tone for this trip.  I’ve seen all of the big attractions, so I won’t feel guilty for sitting down with my computer instead of traipsing among breathtakingly beautiful temples.

On the flight here, in between bouts of deep sleep, my mind wandered from the practical (“oh yeah, I still need to book hotels for my Malaysia trip”) to the melancholy (“I miss San Diego already…”) to the more philosophical.  My musings were tinged with a hint of fear; as amazing as traveling is, these trips can be physically, mentally, and emotionally demanding.  I’d been so last-minute planning this trip, and I hadn’t really gotten around to preparing myself for that.  Jet lag, mosquito bites, various fun diseases, heat, wrestling with luggage…research ideas swirling around constantly, my mind expanding with the seemingly endless potential for projects, wanting to do everything but knowing I can’t…frustration over my (as yet) limited abilities in local languages, missing my loved ones and life in San Diego, enjoying the independence of traveling alone but dealing with spells of loneliness, stress about dodgy trip logistics. 

“Oh my goodness,” my mind would realize. “I am going to be in Thailand tonight.  I won’t be home for 6 weeks.  I am totally, totally unprepared in almost every way for this trip.  What the hell was I thinking?”  Ahhhhhhh…!

But, over the 26 hours or so of travel, I approached a considerably more “zen” state of mind:  “I’m going to have a fantastic trip.  It’ll be crazy, but it will be good.  And I’ve been to Siam Square so many times – it’s a familiar place, and that’s comforting.  Just think of the whole world as my home.  And as difficult as traveling can be, it’s what I want to do with my life.”  Getting settled at the Wendy House seemed pretty routine.  It felt like returning to a home, of sorts.  It warmed my heart, and helped me fend off anxiety and homesickness.

Before I get back to work, I’m going to revisit the streets and sights of Siam Square.  I’m probably going to take some time to people-watch from the walkway to the SkyTrain while I reflect upon how much life has changed since my first time here.  

One thing that hasn't changed, however, is my propensity for naps. Since my solution to jet-lag (and, one could say, my life philosophy) is to sleep whenever the hell I feel like it (which, I realize, runs counter to the generally accepted solution), I'm going to go enjoy a 10am nap.  

Green and Seaweed-Flavored...

I often need to visit the marketplace in Taytay in the early evenings to buy odds and ends, print and copy (provided there isn't a brown-out, which is the local variety of a power outage), load my internet stick...but really, most of this is to get small change to pay Z's husband, the trike driver.  I'm usually ravenous after a long day in the field, but I usually exercise self-control and don't buy any junk food snacks (can't spoil my appetite for a delicious Casa Rosa dinner, and I usually abhor super junky snacks).  Usually.

Taytay Marketplace, early evening

One night last week, I rushed to the market when I got back, hoping to beat the brown-outs that have been happening semi-regularly in the evenings so that I could print out draft research endorsement forms for one of the barangay captains to sign the next day.  This would be my third attempt.  Made it to the main market hall...up the stairs...oh good, my preferred printing shop (lowest prices AND the friendliest guy, Arnel) was open..."Magandang gabi, kumusta ka?  Pwede akong mag-print?"  "Mabuti, pwedeng-pwede."  I handed Arnel the jump drive and leaned back in the chair he always offered me, relaxed, and jauntily thought, "FINALLY, I'm going to get this printed!" He turned back to the computer and reached down to insert the jump drive, and....darkness.  Brown-out!  Startled cries and gasps followed a millisecond of silence, and quickly snowballed into a jumble of flashlight beams, footsteps running around, chattering, laughing, groans...including mine.  "Sorry, maam," said Arnel.  "Sayang!  OK, salamat," I said, resigned to yet another delay in my long journey to get official research endorsements.

I headed over to the New Rainbow Store (I suppose one would call it the "Costco" of Taytay, though it's tiny by supermarket standards) which has its own generator, which seemed even more bustling than usual.  Its claustrophobic, narrow aisles were filled with people who lingered and did not care about the clumsy Americana trying to gently pass by.  I wasn't sure what I wanted, but I needed change for the trike ride the next day.

Picked out some Energen packets for 5:30 am breakfasts (a discovery from this trip: instant hot cereal drinks also taste ok if you use cold water because you don't have your own stove to heat water up...).  

A 2-gallon bottle of water.  Hydrate, hydrate, hydrate!

Ooooh, chocolate with 5 different features (crispy rice bits, milk chocolate coating, caramel, and I forget what the other 2 were)?  Hmmm...I haven't had a chocolate bar since San Diego...yes please!

And then I saw it...tucked away in a small shelf...a can of seaweed-flavored Pringles.  There were sparks.  I gazed upon it, and the Pringles man smiled back at me from a bright green background.  The chips pictured on the can were green - intriguing.  The picture of seaweed on the can gleamed.  I hadn't had seaweed-flavored chips since I was a field assistant in Thailand, way back in 2006.  Come to think of it, it had been a while since I'd eaten Pringles...years, maybe.  This was coming home with me.

As I walked back to Casa Rosa in the dark, struggling with the hefty water and my bags (I refuse to take a trike the 150m from the market to Casa Rosa on principle), I realized how hungry I was.  I put everything down and dove into the Pringles...wow.  Delicious. 

OK, Tara na.  I picked up my bag and purse and water bottle, juggling them awkwardly in such a way that I had ready access to the Pringles can.  Oh man, so delicious!  I just had to stop and put everything down again so I could shove mini-towers of Pringles into my mouth.  Perhaps I was more uninhibited than usual, since it was so dark on the street.  Surely, no one could see me as I hunched over the can by my pile of things, rapidly chomping away, spewing green flakes everywhere.

That's when I heard a jolly laugh behind me.  I turned around, mid-bite - an old man had just walked out of the door that I'd stopped by.  At least, I hope he'd just walked out - who knows, he might have been there the whole time.  "Sarap!" he said (delicious) with a huge smile, and raised his glass in a toast.  Oh man...I thought my current gluttony was my secret and mine alone.  But he didn't seem to be judging me.

"Masarap na masarap!" I merrily replied as I raised the Pringles can in response. After a moment's hesitation, I continued to pig out.

Just as I was mid-chomp on the "one last chip" before resuming my journey back to Casa Rosa, Jean, the girl who I usually get copies from, walked by - pretty, neat, dainty...quite a juxtaposition from me - grimy, wrinkled clothes, wild hair, chowing my way through a can of Pringles.  "Miss Tara...where are you going?"  "Um, sa Casa Rosa.  Gusto mong Pringles? (Would you like Pringles?)".  "Ah...no, thank you. Have a good evening! I am going home."

Soon after that, I finally managed to put the can away and walk home, past the basketball court (where there seems to be a game every evening) and up the steep stone steps (wow, the water bottle was starting to get heavy); picked up my key from the ever-friendly Casa Rosa staff ("Magandang gabi, kumusta ka? Pwede akong mahiram ang susi?"); opened the door to my little cottage home, startling the crew of geckos who share it with me .  After a shower, I went to the restaurant all clean, a delicate floral scent emanating from my just-laundered clothes and my nicely-brushed, freshly-washed hair, feeling fresh and cleansed and healthy.  I primly ordered a small veggie salad and green tea after exchanging pleasantries with the Casa Rosa staff.  Good Tara.  Such a lady.  I would throw away the rest of the Pringles before I put any more of that junk in my body, which is a temple.

But that can of Pringles was still 1/3 full, and it sat in my room, biding its time, knowing that it would tempt me to further excess until it was all gone...the Pringles always win. Especially the seaweed-flavored ones.

N.B. the chocolate was, in a word, disappointing.  Perhaps they should have focused on 1 feature and done it well instead of spreading themselves thin on 5.

I love tomorrow

On Friday, the dolphins put on a great show for us - we stumbled upon a group engaged in mating behavior, exuberantly showing off their flippers, spyhopping, jumping.  It's as if they knew we had a guest: Ryan, the local Peace Corps volunteer who is working on marine conservation of coral reefs in Taytay Bay, decided to hop on over to Malampaya Sound with us for the day. E and Z were excited to have him; he's a very well-liked figure in these parts, fluent in Tagalog, very friendly, and involved with the local community beyond his defined Peace Corps duties.

Leaving Brgy Banbanan. That is Mt. Capuas, which I will climb someday.

Despite our beloved guest and playful dolphins, however, I could sense that our little group was feeling a little down, as if influenced by the sullen clouds that hung from the sky.  Z in particular seemed discouraged about the sorry state of Malampaya Sound's environment - a feeling I could empathize with. As we approached our fishing village for the day, we spotted fishers using illegal fishing gear, which E (more happy-go-lucky than Z) just shook his head at, while Z. became visibly upset.  "I hate them. They don't care for other people in the Sound."  It's rare for her to be negative like that, and I became a little concerned.

I encountered a downside of having two former government employees working for me: they were recognized in fishing communities as being affiliated with fishing regulation enforcement, and E had actually been involved in the detainment of illegal fishers in the village we were visiting that day.  We decided that he should steer clear of that part of the village, and that Z would take care of the interviews there.  After her first interview, she found E and me and said, "I don't want to interview those people. It makes me angry."  Because I'm coming back next year and can get those interviews, and because she seemed so upset, I didn't push the issue.

Every interview of Z's that I sat in on, I could see her become sad and upset whenever the fishers talked of how Malampaya Sound is a shadow of the thriving, productive ecosystem it used to be.  "Sayang talaga!" ("Such a shame!") she would mutter as she recorded their answers. As we walked from one house to the next, she said, "Tara, it makes me so sad.  But I don't want to mind their problems, I need to focus on my own problems.  But it's so sad."  (Though she's making money as my field assistant now, she's stressed about her family's financial prospects after I leave).

I could tell that E was feeling somewhat apathetic, and Z was clearly out of sorts - uncharacteristic for both of them.  So I decided to modify the plan for Saturday - to skip the fisher interviews and just have a fun morning of dolphin watching.  That way, Z's son and husband could join; Z's husband is the tricycle driver that I hire to take us to Agpay, the boat departure point, and her son, D, is an adorable 4-year old who often joins us on our tricycle trips and plaintively asks "sama ako?" ("Can I come with you?") when the time comes for Z and me to board the boat, his huge eyes wide open.  Ryan was hooked on the dolphins, and asked if he could join again.  It promised to be a full, fun boat!

So, the next morning, we set off.  The wind was stronger than I would have liked, and by the time we got to the center of the sound, we were at Beaufort Sea State 2 - which is a problem because these dolphins surface low to the water, and any peaks greatly increase the difficulty of spotting them.  The lighting was also tricky.  Time passed by, and our boat chugged along.  1 hour, 2 hours, nothing. My eyes started to play tricks on me - logs with dorsal-fin shaped bumps bobbed up and down, and the wind occasionally carried a spray of water that just might have been a dolphin spitting water (these guys do that, really cool).  I always focus deeply when I'm searching for dolphins, but it felt like I was searching more diligently than usual because of our guests.

Finally, E spotted one, and after a while, I also saw it, though no one else did – surfacing rapidly, showing only its tail, with long intervals between surfacing.  We gave up on that one.  Disheartened, we made our way toward the Protected Area Office, where we would end our search.  I felt so bad that our guests weren’t going to see dolphins.  I desperately scanned the waters.  The glare off the water strained my eyes, and I was exhausted.  Finally, saw a hint of something dark pop up and back down.  And again, but higher this time.  As I leaned over to ask E if he'd seen it, I spotted the smooth muscles of an Irrawaddy back arc out of the water: yep, dolphin!  Finally!

We had a nice interaction – a relatively small group (maybe 5), but they came close to the boat, surfacing nicely, puffing air out loudly.  One came within 1 meter of the outrigger.  D was delighted, laughing and clapping.  Everyone was delighted, with our normally taciturn boatman calling "Winnie! Winnie!" (a local fisher named Winnie is nicknamed "lampasut", the local name for Irrawaddies...his wife thought it was hilarious when we interviewed him about his interactions with lampasut).  D joined in, with his musical little-boy voice calling "Winnie...the Pooh!"  I was so tired that I had a hard time getting good photos, but everyone helped point out dolphins for me, gleefully exclaiming: “Dolphin at 1 o’clock! 2 o’clock!” and joking "Anong oras na?" ("What time is it?").  Even D joined in: “5 minutes!”

That's a happy boat

After hanging out with the dolphins for a while, we cruised over to the Protected Area Office - a sturdy building right on the edge of the water in the village of Old Guinlo - in high spirits.  D had fun looking through the binoculars (he seemed to prefer looking through them the “wrong” way).

Future marine biologist???

We gave Ryan a tour of the office, with a gang of local kids merrily following him around.   E and Z, remembering that I had told them that I love coconuts, prepared a treat for all of us - E had brought 4 coconuts and Z had brought condensed milk.   They made a sweet coconut drink in the cool, damp PAO kitchen, hacking open the young coconuts with a machete, draining them into a large jug, scraping out the meat, and mixing it all with condensed milk. I amused the kids who clustered around the kitchen door by taking pictures of them (they were fascinated by the fancy camera) and showing them photos of the dolphins.  

We sipped away at our refreshing drinks on the balcony, mellow from a long, hot, sunny morning.  I listened to E, Z, and Ryan chatter away in Tagalog; Z's husband and the boatman relaxed quietly; D rolled around his chair; and I sat on the balcony railing, leaning back against a post with my eyes closed, occasionally opening them to gaze out over Malampaya Sound - the now-calm, mirror-like water punctuated by bamboo fishing structures and colorful bangkas.  We sluggishly sauntered down to the boat, wading through the bathtub-warm water in the shade of a solitary mangrove tree.  I fell asleep during the brief ride back to Agpay, lulled by the loud chugging of the motor and the view of the almost luminous water reflecting the brilliant sky and the gently undulating green slopes of forest that surrounded us.  Everyone was tired, but happy.  A pretty good day.

I mused over how considerate it was of E and Z to conspire to make the coconut drink, and I remembered the confusion that had ensued when I tried to tell them earlier in the week that I loved coconuts: "Gustong-gusto kong bukas!", which means "I love tomorrow!".  What I meant was, "Gustong-gusto kong buko."  But after this day, I could tell that our little team was back in good spirits, filled with the kind of energy that would prompt one to optimistically exclaim, "I love tomorrow!"

Waddies and Kape

Writing this in Roxas, a little town that the Puerto-Taytay bus stops at.  Just here to meet with Mavic, of WWF-Philippines, who is on a crazy travel schedule, but has been incredibly helpful to me for this field season.  The hotel here actually has soft pillows... R, the Peace Corps volunteer in Taytay, and I just discussed last night how the Philippines seems to be the land of lumpy pillows. Doesn't seem to be anything really in Roxas, but it's a nice enough place, and I had a very masarap guyabano shake with dinner, so life is good.  Getting some work done while taking breaks to sing along with the karaoke going on next door.  "Baby, you're all that I want, when you're lying here in my arms..."

Had a fantastic two days, with 'waddy sightings and plenty of fisher interviews.  I am happily exhausted - the kind of exhaustion that comes from 11-hour days in the field, boat rides, staying up late in a karaoke bar with new friends even though you know you'll have to wake up in 4 hours.  And the first sighting of a dorsal fin gliding through the still, early morning water makes waking up at 5:15am worthwhile.

Today was only my third day ever trying to get photo-ID-worthy pics of dolphins.  My first day was with bottlenose dolphins in San Diego; their relatives here in Malampaya Sound are much less obliging when it comes to showing me some fin.  But I love it...I definitely need more practice, but I'm already improving.  And my left arm is going to be BUFF by the end of this season - it's a pretty good workout, supprting the camera and 300mm lens (the latter awesomely lent to me by legend Bob Pitman) while on a gently rocking boat.

I do need to discipline myself to keep my eyes on the water and to always have my camera ready.  Yesterday, worried about the quality of my photos, I kept checking my camera's playback...and missed not 1, not 2, but 3 spyhops...I saw them, just couldn't get the camera up in time.  Same thing today - was fidgeting around with the GPS unit, only to hear E say "oh...spyhop.  You missed it!"  E, Z, the boatman, and a ranger who came out with us today were getting really into spotting the dolphins: "Tara, one at 10 o'clock!"  "3 o'clock!"  "No, E., I think it's more a quarter to 3..."  "Dolphins all around the clock!"

Being on the water with the dolphins is so invigorating.  I forget to eat breakfast or drink anything until we leave the dolphins and take the boat to the fishing villages to interview fishers.  Fortunately, E and Z make sure I get my fill of Energen (instant hot cereal), and the fishers are often quick to offer me kape (coffee).  I don't drink coffee at home, yet I find that the fishers of Malampaya Sound have me borderline addicted to super-sweet instant coffee with powdered creamer.  I started shaking a little yesterday.  I think I may need to start eating food prior to visiting the fishing villages.

People have been so very accommodating...it's not just the kape (and the snacks that sometimes accompany the kape).  Almost as soon as they see that they have visitors, the fishers or someone in their house pulls out a bench or chair for me to sit in, or vacates their seat and offers it to me.  Often, the wives and children of the fishers will gather around, smiling at me, laughing delightedly whenever I speak Tagalog, asking questions about me and showering me with compliments ("maganda siya!"), shooing curious dogs and wandering chickens away while E and Z are bombarding the fisher with interview questions.  People will help guide us to the next cluster of homes.  Women who run the small sari-sari stores will cook a modest lunch for us - we pay, of course, but only for the ingredients, and they serve us in their home and often offer food that we didn't pay for. One woman even did so while in the middle of re-thatching her roof.

It's really been lovely to have the chance to meet these people.  It's also nice to recognize interviewees out fishing while we're looking for dolphins - they always wave and broadcast a big, friendly smile.  I wonder what they think of the American woman who comes around to pester them with questions, gets easily distracted by puppies and piglets, and wanders around in a boat taking photos of dolphins.

And I wish there were some way I could help them out of their poverty.  I wish there were some way I could repay all the kindness they've shown me, a complete stranger, over the fast few weeks.

I'm just a little black rain cloud

August 25

Just about 3 weeks left here in Taytay.  For much of today, I was in the sort of mood that sees that as a comfort. 

Maybe it’s the fatigue remaining after being sick.  Maybe it’s the oppressive, grey weather.  But I’m in one of those leaden funks.  Started early this morning – early morning seems to breed a feeling of... smallness... in me.  The lonely clarity of the cell phone alarm, ringing through the still darkness of the pre-dawn morning, jolting me out of blissful sleep.  I felt alone, cold, lost.  I pined for San Diego, for the comfort of my parents' home.  A blustery, howling storm passed through Taytay last night, and the cool air and splatterings of rain blowing through my window left me feeling tired and insignificant.

View of the Taytay sign from down by the fortress

It must be the exhaustion, because I can think of no other reason why I was anything other than enthusiastic about the prospect of my first morning on the water looking for 'waddies (Irrawaddy dolphins).  Though the fisher interviews have been going very well, my favorite fieldwork has been and probably will always be watching non-human beings, getting lost in their world and feeling a very spiritual connection with these other living creatures (ha, I'm such a dolphin-hugger...).  It's more than just the scientific questions, which I of course find fascinating (especially when it comes to social behavior and habitat use by individuals); it's more than being driven by a conservation ethic.  At the heart of it, I "just really think they're neat", to quote Jeremy Jackson.

We had no luck with the 'waddies today, unfortunately - I'm sure a good day on the water would've done wonders for my spirit.  But the weather hadn't shaped up yet, and the waters were dark and choppy.  My mood was dark and choppy.  I'm ready to curl up in the fetal position and sleep.  After data entry.  Tedious, tedious data entry.

*************************************

Raining, raining, raining…I've been sitting here in my room, just relaxing and listening to the pitter-pattering of raindrops on the roof, and my blerghness is falling away, precipitating downward to the sea, mixed in with all that makes up my life but no longer weighing me down in sullen grey. 

Can't see me, my eyes are closed

Scenes from a day of fisher interviews, Barangay Bato

August 24

Brilliant day – the kind of brilliance that melds perfectly with the drone of cicadas.  A scrawny, but soft and relatively clean, puppy snoozes blissfully at my feet.  Loud, heartfelt, plaintive karaoke singing by what sounds to be very, very drunk men in some house nearby arouses the occasional giggle or shake of the head from the women and kids sitting in the dusty shade.   We’re in Barangay Bato, interviewing fishers here in anticipation of even more drunken revelry at Old Guinlo, where we were originally going to work today before I realized it was the day of the town fiesta.

I’m tired.  Very tired.  Too tired to try to speak Tagalog, to pay close attention during the interviews, to think much of anything at all.  No fun at all.  I even turned down an invitation to Old Guinlo's festivities last night.  All I want to do is go lie down and sleep…in my big comfy bed in San Diego, with my cool, smooth sheets and oh-so-luxurious pillows.  At every break, I close my eyes, hoping that the world will just fall away for a little bit until I'm ready to deal with it again.

E and Z can tell that I'm not my normal self.  I find even their concern stressful, and close my eyes or look away when I see them watching me with thoughtful and worried expressions.  Every time a decision needs to be made, I again close my eyes, say something vague, pretend I didn't hear, hoping that things will resolve themselves.  Leadership!  

Example: "Tara, do you want to take lunch now?"  That's how they usually ask if we can have lunch...very polite, but for some reason, today I find the politeness grating.  Why don't they just come out and say they're hungry?!, grumpy Tara growls from her dark, dark den of despair.  Grumpy Tara is not known for being reasonable in any way.

"I'm not hungry - my appetite hasn't come back. But if you want to, you can go ahead.  It's up to you"  What an utterly useless answer.  Totally disregards their politeness.  I close my eyes.  I know they're uncomfortable with having to make this decision, but my eyes are closed, so no one can see me, so it's not my problem.

I can slide into moods like that when I'm super drained.  Yesterday, for example, we met a man who was extremely friendly but also a little too...deep... for me (I was also feeling exhausted yesterday).  Grumpy Tara has no patience for anything remotely overly-sentimental, so his comments such as "I'm sure, when you leave here, you will find that the Philippines has become a part of you, that you are the Philippines" roused her enough to come out of her den and be a little bratty when he asked me, "What are the three things that you want to come away from the Philippines with?"  I knew he wanted something deep, but I acted deliberately obtuse:  "I would like good data for my thesis.  Maybe some nice pearls as a souvenir for my mother.  And I would also like a lot of good photos."  He smiled and shook his head.  (I am never, ever rude to people when I travel, just less obliging than I could be at times).

Back to Bato: Grumpy Tara was subdued and made feel guilty when E and Z, shocked by the "lunch" I had brought (2 bananas...), got the woman running the little sari-sari store to heat up some water and bought me some vitamin-enriched hot cereal, mixed it with the hot water, and made me eat up. 

Their kindness really lifted my spirits.  And the day really was a stunningly gorgeous one.  We waited for the bus back to Taytay on the rusty yellow benches by the road, the afternoon sun painting everything in vividly warm colors.  The bus, cheery in red and green, pulled up after only 10 minutes, and we ran gleefully across the road and hopped in.  Still too tired to talk much, I leaned back and admired the passing scenery, and marveled at the beauty around me.  What would I like to take back from the Philippines?  Memories of the warm, caring people; mental snapshots from mellow afternoon landscapes as seen from an airy bus; yet another experience living life somewhere far from the comforts of home in San Diego, feeling like the world is my playgrround to explore and learn in.

Piglets in Bato. Piglets and puppies...how could anyone not be happy?

"I think you will find your partner in Palawan."

I've found people in the Philippines to be lovely and friendly on the whole, and that friendliness is accompanied by a level of curiosity about my life - manifested in a stock set of questions that I've been asked what seems like countless times:

"Where are you from?"  "San Diego, California."  Good, good.  

"How many siblings?"  "2."  Ok, still good.

"What do you do?"  "Ako ay estudiante."  Fine, fine.

"Are you single?"  "Yes."  Good, goo- ... wait, did she say single?!  

The next step tends to be to explore my motives for being single or to explore my eligibility for being set-up with an acquaintaince.  This question is not solely asked by pervy single men, but by genuinely inquisitive people of all ages and backgrounds.

(Sometimes, this is asked as "Are you still single?", which perhaps means that I appear to be past my prime. Fortunately, I'm not particularly sensitive to the issue of my age or relationship status, but it always makes me giggle when I'm asked that way).

"Why are you single?"  I've found that saying "I haven't found anyone good enough yet" works pretty well - it at least garners a few laughs, especially from women.  And it's basically the truth in an nutshell.  I've tried "I prefer to travel" or "I'm too busy" as being simple, if incomplete, explanations, but they just seem to engender more confusion.

"How old are you?" - a question that generally is a quick follow-up to the "Are you single?". Here are a few examples of this progression:

(1) Taxi driver, Manila:  "Oh, it is ok you are single, you have plenty of time...wait, how old? Oh, maybe not so much time..."

(2) Woman in a fishing village, Guimaras - earlier this year: "Single?  Ah. How old?  26? Good!  You are coming back next year?  Ah, ok!" (she smiles).  Maybe when I go back to Guimaras next year, she'll have a husband waiting for me.  But, in case she doesn't, I may have a suitable alternative here in Palawan:

(3)  Meeting with the municipal council in Taytay, regarding my research endorsements:

In the course of some routine questions about my research, one of the councilors asks: 

"So, Miss...Whitty...you are single?"  

"...Ah, yes..."  

"No boyfriend?"  

"No, no boyfriend."  

("She is too busy!" chimed in the woman next to me - one of the few people I've come across who understood that explanation).

"How old are you?"  

"27." 

"Ah! 27! You were born in 1983? What month?"

"July."

"My son, he is your age!  A few months older." (Eyebrows raised).

For a split second, I was unsure how I should react - I didn't want to offend anyone, after all.  Should I act interested to be polite ("Oh, really? What is his phone number?"), smile politely, what?  Fortunately, everyone else in the room began to laugh, including the father of the eligible young man. (Which brings up something else I love about working here - people are so ready to laugh and be happy).

As he left that room at the end of the meeting, he said "Don't worry, I was just kidding. Well, he really is your age...ok, ok, I will go now."

(Beyond my lack of ball-and-chain, the fact that I'm traveling alone also seems to be somewhat odd.  One confused tricycle driver said, "You are a lady, but you travel alone...I think this is very unusual."  I specify (always) that I am working with people in Taytay - I do this more for my safety than to make anyone feel less confused, but sometimes it helps unfurrow confused brows somewhat.  I'm surprised that people aren't more accustomed to seeing female solo travelers, since the Philippines isn't exactly off the beaten path for backpackers.)

One of the researchers I've worked with here assured me that, even when I get married someday, I will still seem like an oddity until I have children:  "That's the next question.  Do you have children?  Why not?!"

On a rain-spattered, fresh afternoon following a long day of fisher interviews, Z and I hitched a ride back to Taytay in the back of a pickup truck with some Protected Area researchers. I sat on a bag of corn and durian, which was surprisingly comfortable, relishing the feeling of the wind cleaning away the dust and grime from the day.  Z introduced me to our fellow passengers in the bed of the truck - all very friendly, polite men, who let me practice my stilted Tagalog.  One asked the inevitable question:  "Are you single?"

"Yes."

"Ah. I think you will find your partner in Palawan."  And, after we all laughed, the conversation moved on.