Lyn's sister, Ging-ging poses while a carabao is taken accross the rough road which was studded with rocks.

I was struck with the beauty of the area. Banana plants and ferns, and coconut, papaya, and mango trees filled the hills and squeezed in among the narrow spaces between homes. The valleys were set aside for the rice paddies which were generally tilled using a "carabao" (water buffalo) or sometimes a rotatiller. When the rice was harvested, it was laid on mats along the road to dry. Rocks were used to pin the corners down so the mats wouldn't be blown away when the Jeepneys rolled by.

We made the hour-long journey back to Gumaca one day to place a telephone call. We needed to notify our friends Martial and Lynn that we had confirmed our travel plans for Boracay. There was an office where for a fee, people could place long distance telephone calls. After our talk, we went down to the central market area and walked by stall after stall. We bought fireworks to give to Lyn's family to celebrate the New Year (we would be in Manila). The mangos there turned out to be "matamis" (sweet) and "napaka sarap" (very tasty).

Also, I bought some "balisongs" (butterfly knives). Tony, a friend of mine, had requested one of these. I never realized the trouble these would later on cause me. When we flew to Panay (on our way to Boracay), they were not detected at the first metal detector, but were discovered at the second. As I dug through my suitcase looking for them, I explained they were just souvenirs. Either this satisfied her or she was worried that we were holding up the plane. She waved us on before I could find them. On the way back I kept them in the top pocket and they waved me through after I showed them the knives. However, for the plane back to the States, the knives were confiscated and apparently carried in the main luggage compartments for the checked in baggage. I very reluctantly temporarily surrendered my passport to accompany the knives up to the next checkpoint at the airport. Just like my previous trip out of the Philippines, our luggage was searched before we boarded the plane. When we arrived back in the states, we had to go to the baggage claim area and wait for them.

Jeepneys are the most common form of public transportation in the Philippines. They are often loaded down like this one and frequently have bald tires.

One day we rode a Jeepney on an hour long adventure to a beach near the provincial capital of Unisan. This turned out to be quite an event. Several pots of seafood (huge crabs, prawns, fish), meat dishes and "kanin" (rice) were prepared for the picnic. It seemed as if the entire population of Tubas came along. I counted over 30 people, but I couldn't see if anyone was riding on the roof, nor do I know if I tabulated everyone hanging on to the Jeepney's tail end. The engine groaned as we climbed steep hills and bounced over the extremely rocky road. I felt sure we'd blow a tire or bust an axle or lose our brakes and plunge over a cliff into the ravine below. I had felt safer a few years ago on Panay when all we were spinning the wheels of the "luxury tour bus" (Mitsubishi mini-van) in the muddy roads. There the buldozers seemed to be waging a desparate war against the rain induced land slides. Now, at least, I took consolation that there need be no concern about the Jeepney flipping over on the road. We were too heavy for that.

We passed by some more of the "Iglesio Ni Cristo" churches. All of these churches were spotlessly kept. The size of these churches varied greatly from town to town, but the style was always the same. From the same spotless and shiny gold and white exterior colors to the neatly trimmed bushes and manicured lawn, these churches were tended to with more care than virtually any other structure I have seen in the Philippines. The only Catholic church I saw on the entire trip was the one in Manila, near the Galeno's house. On the other hand, this sect seems to be working its way into all the "barangays" (villages). The next best cared for buildings were the schools. In general, these were nicely and colorfully painted as well, indicating the importance that is placed on education. One exception had been the elementary school that Lyn had attended in the barangay next to Tubas. It was showing its age and lack of maintenance. I wondered how classes could be conducted with fierce rains pelting the corrugated metal roofs and echoing through the glassless windows. In contrast to these structures, homes are rarely painted. You merely see the brown walls of the nipa hut or the gray of the cinder blocks. However, metal roofs do sometimes get an initial coat of green paint.

I saw Iglesia Ni Christo churches all around. They were always well taken care of as opposed to the relatively neglected Catholic churches."

As we emptied out of the Jeepney on our arrival at the beach, I thought I noticed the vehicle resuming its normal shape. A fee was paid to the owner of this section of beach. The home made extension cord (200 feet?) for the boom box was plugged in and the party began. That day, two songs were probably played 50 times a piece: Shalalala and Barbie Girl. These same songs were destined to haunt us for the rest of the trip, following us back to Manila and even on Boracay Island. Fearing sunburn, I was relieved to see the covered picnic tables that were built on the beach. I decided to play it safe and remain under cover the whole time we were there. Lyn ventured out briefly into the water. In typical modest Filipino fashion, the girls frolicked in the waves dressed in t-shirts and shorts. "Tatay" (Lyn's father) celebrated his bithday by sharing with some friends the bottle of Jim Beam Whiskey we had bought him in Gumaca. On the return trip to Tubas, we dropped a few of the passengers off in the town of Unisan, but the ride wasn't any less worrisome for me.

One afternoon we hiked up some hills and then descended into a bat cave. We tried not to slip on the rocks slippery with a combination of bat poop and running water. The bat cave was even nosier than Lyn's parents' house, as the bats chirped away. I hoped the flash from the camera wouldn't stir up any more trouble than the poop they were pelting us with from overhead. When we got back I took my usual shower with my usual audience.

Food preparation is a group effort. The fifth person from the left (with very long hair) is actually a guy, however, he wore a skirt. People in the Philippines don't seem to care about such things. Unlike westeners, direct criticism doesn't seem to be done. Everything is said with a laugh or a smile. However, greeting someone by telling them that they are fat is not deemed wrong nor do the heavy ones take offense. Strange, isn't it?

Life is so simple there. There are no supermarkets, no K-Marts, no restaurants, no movie theaters, no bowling alleys, no shopping centers -- only people. There, spare time is spent talking with family or neighbors and eating (and playing basketball for guys). They eat five times a day with three being the normal breakfast, lunch, and dinner, along with the "meriendas" or snacks between meals. Things are changing as more people get televisions. They stay home more and watch the tube. Neighbors watch along side or, if there's no room, through a window or doorway from outside. For now, there is no shortage of conversations in homes. With families being so large and children living with their parents until they get married and sometimes beyond, homes are filled with people. If you want to take a nap, you learn how to do it while several conversations are occurring throughout the house. Lyn and I grew up "polar opposites". I grew up moving frequently, acquiring few friends. Lyn had no way of avoiding them. It would be nearly impossible to be a "loner" if you grew up in the Philippines.

With little external influences like television and movies, people grow up without forming the psychological shells of westerners. In the west, we learn from the actors in movies and television to play parts ourselves and not show our true selves. There people haven't learned to conceal themselves. For example, one day I went over to Perla's (Lyn's younger sister) house. It's a nipa hut about 20 feet from Lyn's parents house. Perla and her husband, Cesar who I hadn't met before, were on the front porch. Perla introduced me to Cesar, but when I reached out to shake his hand he balked. Only with Perla's encouragement did he shake my hand and he did so while looking away. His shyness was more apparent than any American I have ever met. If he had grown up in America, he would have learned some way to hide his shyness. However, one time Cesar was apparently not very shy about taking action. Four years ago when Lyn's parents came to Manila to meet me, Cesar and Perla took the opportunity to elope. And in the Philippines, shyness does not have a stigma attached to it like here. It seems like most people there say they are shy.

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