Iced Noodles & Stream

We were visiting a temple in Yeonchon-gun, SK.  It was summer and we were having brown noodles served in a bowl, with ice.  That’s right, cold noodles with floating ice cubes!  The day before that we had lunch by the stream with our feet underwater.  The tables were set in the cold running waters and waiters served food along a maze of specially built bamboo walkways above it. Wow.

Ship

University years meant constant boat travels which I thoroughly enjoy.  I like the peace and quiet of the vast ocean and the full view of the night sky.  I like the ripple of the waves and the foam it makes as the boat parts the water.  But I also like the foam beer makes when you open a bottle.  And when the ship starts sailing, the beer starts flowing!

I travel light, but I always bump into somebody with lots of luggage and grandmother says it's a sin if i don't help.  So I end up carrying load that belongs to somebody else.  I usually travel with friends and we always arrive on time, which means just a few minutes before the boat leaves, and we haven’t been late before.  But sometimes we have to literally catch the boat by jumping on it as it moves away from the port, especially with the kind that docks on the portside.  It has to move away to starboard, and as it turns, the stern eventually gets close to the pier and that’s when we jump in.  I remember one passenger doing the same.  But he has a pig for cargo.  He jumped in first, then let his companion throw the pig hoping to catch it himself. But the throw fell short as the boat moved away, so the poor pig plummets to sea!

In those days, there was a shortage of boats plying the route, so ships are overcrowded and ticket prices double at the black market.  But tickets without sleeping beds are issued and are called COB or cot-on-board, which is ironic because there is no cot reserved for you.  But these are times when we travel with beer in our bellies.  And we will be too intoxicated to bother with soft mattresses and fresh linen.  Newspapers become more important as sleeping paraphernalia than reading material.  And we would sleep on the hard floor covered only with newspapers on narrow walkways with our bags used as pillow.  The other passengers would pass between our bodies sprawled on the floor careful not to step on anyone.  That’s when cot-on-board makes sense, any flat hard surface or board makes for a cot or a bed!  However, there are also alternative sleeping quarters located on top of the boat where the life rafts are.  But they are usually filled up with fellow COBs.

On those rare occasions when we have a ticket with a bed, another passenger pretends to be asleep on your bunk, and no matter what you do, he wouldn’t wake up.  And I have to call a boat crew to shovel him out of the bed.  Or sometimes another passenger comes out with a ticket with the same cot number.  I usually give up the bed because we would be drinking anyway.  And when you’re drunk, any flat surface is a bed.

Switching bunks is also very common.  Those who travel in a group usually end up with bunk assignments scattered all over the ship.  So they negotiate for changes with the passengers.  Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn’t, especially when you’re comfy sharing a twin bunkie with a cutie because this is also the best time for romance.  As the boat is crowded with students like us, it’s easy to find one.  Sometimes a stare and smile will do.  But usually you start with hello, or a bump and apology then a smile.  If she smiles back you’re in, and the rest is up to you.  But a twin bunk is the best because there is plenty of room for interaction even with no words at all.  A wayward hand there, a finger touching elbow or a knee brushing away her bag.  But the best of the best is sleeping time when you simultaneously turn facing each other.  That’s simply heaven on earth!  And you create your own universe.

Some passengers are tricky, or maybe just for fun, they ride without tickets.  So on check up time, they hide on corners or near the exhaust where it’s dark, or be squeezed tight in little spaces for cover.  This happens all the time when the purser and his crew check the tickets, which inconveniently happens a few hours after departure when the majority is fast asleep.  Those who are caught scratch their heads.  They buy the ticket and get a warning.  But those who aren’t, slowly emerge with a foolish grin.  And they would whisper about how lucky they are not to get caught, and brag about the number of times they have done it, and situations when they are almost caught, but didn’t.  The passengers devour these stories, thrilled with the adventure that are sometimes mistaken for courage.

At times we will be awakened in the middle of the night by screeching sound and howling wind, and flapping tarpaulin that used to cover the ships huge open windows.  There will be rolling luggage as the ship alternately leans over starboard, rights itself, then leans over at portside.  It’s a bit scary especially when we get engine stop.  It’s not the engine break you use when the car’s breaks broke.  It simply means engine trouble in the middle of the ocean.  The ship’s engine dies and we are at the mercy of the waves and ocean currents.  At first we were a bit concerned, but as it happened many times in many voyages, and we arrived safely anyway, such engine trouble doesn’t bother me at all.

We usually arrive at dawn when the morning air feels cold on your face.  And the time when the sky changes from dull gray to pastel colors of blue and orange, and you see flocks of birds on the horizon.  And we will have coffee at the makeshift coffee shops along the pier.  They are just tables and chairs scattered on the edges of the gates.  And sometimes when the guards are not strict, they are allowed to serve dawn snacks right in front of the boat.

Sometimes when the boat is late in arriving, which usually happens when we get an engine trouble in the middle of the night and in the middle of the ocean, we will have free breakfast which is either rice with egg and chorizo or rice with a slice of beef loaf or two spoons of corned beef.  But I prefer the serving of rice with sardines and a hard boiled egg.  But it’s not so bad because at daylight we will see schools of fish arching above the surface and when we’re lucky, we see dolphins swim by the boat.

The one I like is free coffee very early morning, the time when I usually wake up, and when we’re almost in our destination.  A crew brings around an oversized kettle filled with brown coffee already mixed and ready for drinking and he gives one cup to each awake passenger.  And we will know we’re nearing dry land when we see fisherman’s boats.  They are usually out fishing very early in the morning and they wave and howl to greet us.

At the pier, boat people dive for coins.  You look down below, and they look up at you and nod.  Then you throw the coin and they dive for it.  It’s fascinating to see agile swimmers fight for a coin that slowly sinks like falling paper in air.  These divers make their own flippers with rounded plywood fastened with black rubber strips.  They usually use just one flipper.  Those who have no boats tread the water the whole time, and they keep the coins in their mouths by biting on them.  You can tell who got more by the bulge on their cheeks.

At the time, sea transport also means long distance communication.  Telephone is scarce; cellular phones, a thing of the future, and ATM is unheard of.  What we have are telegrams and old fashioned letters.  The telegrams are paid per word.  So it’s always brief and most often just contain “Please send money now”.  The telegram will come out like this:

“Dear stop Mama stop Please stop Send stop Money stop Now stop”

On the other hand, the letter is hand carried by a boat crew which you either befriend or paid, or by somebody from your town, or a trader who knows your mother.  The letters on our end will always contain requests for money and pleas for any additional amount.  This important sentence ends with PLEASE.  In response, the letters from the folks back home will have money in them, and tons of advices.  And yes sometimes we do get that extra money.  But only sometimes.  And as often as leap year.

Martial Arts

In a camp in Yeonchon near Panmunjum in the DMZ, I get acquainted with a German who knows Taekwondo and a little Copeira and Kung Fu.  He asked me to show any Asian Martial Art I know.  He was disappointed I didn’t know any.  After camp we traveled to the Jiri mountains in the south and met a Danish who knows Karate.  I was ashamed being with Europeans showing Asian skills I should be equipped with.  So when I get back in the Philippines I took special training for Arnis.  Without the sticks, it looks like this:Eeyaaaah!›››››››

Borobudur

We stayed two days in Jogya mainly to visit the magnificent Borobudur, the biggest and grandest Buddhist Temple in the world.  The temple is made of black rock with stone tablet carvings of the life of the Buddha.  The tablets occupy whole walls all over the temple.  It’s like reading a comic book, but instead of two dimensional prints, you get scenes etched in stone that would last millennia.

There are several terraces.  And the topmost contain the ubiquitous huge stone bells with square openings called stupas.  Inside each stupa is a Buddha with an enchanting smile akin to Leonardo’s Mona Lisa.  Legend has it that touching the Buddha’s belly brings good luck.  And more bellies, more luck?  So there we go, hopping on the bells, and reaching through the square openings, straining hard to touch those bellies.

I Love China

Chinese Jiao was quiet and kept to himself until the last days of the seminar (on culture exchange) when he laughs at the slightest hint of a joke.  What a funny guy!  Then Estonian Ana asked him about Tibet.  His facial expression changed and started a soliloquy about the impossibility of Tibetan independence.  Quite clearly, he expressed his deep love for China and the integrity of its territory.

Haunted

We were having dinner at the mayor’s house in Madridejos.  It was already late at night and the neighborhood was quiet.  Just across the street is a very old house which is supposedly a haunted house according to the maid, and that every Friday something evil happens there.  When this story was told (in whisper) all the lights in the haunted house went out, followed by frightened shouts.  There was no brownout.  It was a Friday!

Bus Trip

The buses are overcrowded all the time.  Some enterprising gringos sell seats, and even if we do get seats by haggling with the others, there is always an old woman who doesn’t have any, and you will go to hell if you don’t give up your seat for her.  Besides I prefer seating atop the bus.  But with accidents occurring, seating on the top load was outlawed.  So I end up dangling by the door.  If it wasn’t rough road we’re talking, it’s a pleasant ride.  But with the heat and overcrowding, it’s far from pleasant, and you end up brown with dust when you reach your destination.

There’s a bridge we call shot-dili that spans a deep gorge.  This was an old, creaking, one-lane wooden bridge without railings on a downward sloping and very sharp bend of the road just after passing a blind curve.  Shot-dili literally means, pass or fall (down the gorge!).  The allusion is to the bridge’s temperament in letting vehicles pass safely through the other side.  We approach it slowly, as much with caution as with respect.  When the bridge creaks and the bus starts swaying, the women groped for rosaries in their purses, then close their eyes and mumble, while the men just hold their breaths.  A deep sigh is let after every safe passage.

Ayako

Angeles City

I took an Air Asia flight in Angeles City for the first time.  It is a modest airport nestled within the previous U.S. military base, and it caters to Southeast Asian destinations.  Passengers taking these flights are the budget conscious, and mostly Overseas Filipino Workers (OFWs).

The airport looks domestic, planes are small, and tickets have no designated seats.  So the passengers scramble for preferred seats.  There are no free food and drinks, and stewardesses double as cart rollers.  The carts which are small enough to fit in the hallway are filled with food, drinks and assorted in-flight commodities for sale.  I bought a shirt and pin on my way back.

UFO

Fish Eat Fish?

A huge table coral was abuzz with all reef fish you can imagine.  There were anthias, squirrels and rabbits, damsels, wrasses and butterflies, cardinals and snappers.  But there was a-one that got my eye popping.  It’s a fish that swallowed another, then puked it out, or so I guess.  It looked like a double-mouthed fish, with one mouth inside the other.  Was it a case of biting off more than you can chew? Or simply puking out an un-tasty meal - It’s a slingjaw wrasse!  Its protruding snout elongating and popping out of its mouth as it feeds on little fish darting about!

Flag Ceremony

In high school, we had CAT, the Citizens Army Training.  The school had a corps, with a battalion of cadets.  I was the battalion commander, head of the corps.  As battalion commander I am the only one excused from attending flag ceremonies every morning.  I felt privileged about it.  It’s not that I don’t like it, but it’s because I was given a responsibility peculiar to my position, and that is to see to it that everybody else is there paying tribute to national patrimony.  It’s one responsibility I thoroughly enjoy.

I would roam around the campus and check all the rooms.  Most of those who don’t attend, hide behind the door.  It’s that space created between the corner and the wall.  They peek through the slit between the hinges, and I suddenly peek back from the outside.  They would scream in surprise!

I always wondered why most of those lazy ones are women.  They would plead with me, Jun please don’t let us go.  But I just smile and shake my head, and they come out slowly and mumbling.  But sometimes I would say, You really want to stay?  And they nod in unison like a group of retards.  Then I say, Ok, show me your legs.  They show mock disgust, and I smile even more while they slowly pile out with those lingering stares.

I had a classmate before who claimed she lost money and a calculator after the flag ceremony.  These petty thievery I think was the reason why I was doing the rounds every morning.  So, one time I noticed somebody hiding behind the door again.  I called out to him.  He was sweating and stammered.  He said he’s skipping class today and he’s on his way home.

A few days before that, somebody spotted him using the lost calculator.  And a few days after I caught him, he was shot and died on the spot for stealing a sack of rice.  This is a true story, and it was big news for a small town like ours.

Anyways, sending people to attend flag ceremonies from their hiding places is one terrific kick I get.  But another equally gratifying moment is punishing those who missed flag ceremonies totally, because they arrive late!  They would pick up falling leaves around the quadrangle and tidy the place with broomsticks.  Some of these people are my friends and I would be standing there trying hard not to laugh.  Those who whine and complain get an extra activity – do the duck walk!

Duck walking is easy.  It’s just like sitting on the air with hands on your raised heels and then you walk, like a duck.  It’s tiring and funny to look at, but gives you good exercise nonetheless.  But not when the others are looking, and when you do it as a punishment.  From your end, it’s not amusing at all!

But they are doing the duck walk because they missed the flag ceremony which is a very important occasion.  It’s about paying homage to our national identity, our national pride.  So I have to let them do the duck walk.  And I was secretly laughing deep inside!

Folded Sheets

We were billeted at the National Olympics Memorial Youth Center in Tokyo.  It’s the actual facility where athletes of the Tokyo Olympics stayed for the duration of the games.  On arrival, we were shown our room assignments with specific instructions to carefully fold the sheets 6 times for laundry service every two days.  We did as told, but to our surprise (with a little dismay and shame for not following instructions), Japanese volunteers undid the folded sheets and did it again with folding precision!  For each fold, we are supposed to make the ends meet at the edges, and so is the second, until the sixth fold when the sheets are reduced to downsized perfect squares!  Amazing stuff!

Kuala Lumpur

I bought the Lonely Planet Indonesian travel companion book at a bookshop in Kuala Lumpur Airport.  It’s quite expensive there, but I need it.  And it is also where I had my first Malaysian dish.  The taste is fine, except for that very strong smelling herb mixed with the food.  It reminds you of the time you missed shower for days.

Run

The beach gently sloped seaward.  It was almost flat with a long, continuous stretch of shoreline made of black sand that is so fine and soft as powder.  Surf comes and spreads thinly and evenly on the flat sand bottom.  As it recedes, it leaves a glistening mirror-like wet sand reflecting the blue skies.

I was running along the edge of the shoreline just a few feet off the highest tide mark where the sand is more compact.  But at times, the waves reach my feet and as it recedes, the loosening sand beneath felt strangely soft and funny.

From where I was, I can see the vast black sandy shore edged by towering coconut trees and lush greenery on my left eye, while the breaking waves and the spreading surf filled my right eye’s vision.  I was seeing two completely different worlds at the same time.

But as I moved amidst knee deep surf, all I see is the spreading white surf.  It was an overwhelming sight, almost surreal.  Then the waves recede.  But before this cycle is completed, another wave breaks and surf spreads out again.  My legs wobbled trying to keep balance as the waves pulled and pushed in several different directions.  The spreading surf, the wind, blue skies and the breaking waves.  Ah, life is beautiful, I thought to myself.

I ran again exaggerating my strides and lifting my knees.  Every time a foot hit water, it gets swayed by the rushing current and I have to go on running to keep my balance.  After a while, I chased the surf towards the edge of shore where I felt more wind and empty beach.  I ran back to where my eyes were filled with white foam, legs bracing against the rush of spreading surf and wave action, and nature’s peaceful chaos.

Delta

I didn’t realize I was running for 40 minutes already until I reached the edge of the shoreline uninterrupted for a few kilometers.  And where the sandy shore ends, the mangrove forest begins.  Except for the surfers and skim boarders practicing near the other tip of the island, I haven’t met a single soul in my 40-minute run to other tip.  I only encountered driftwood and rolling coconuts and a patch of yellow sea.  I didn’t know for sure what caused the yellowing of seawater in those parts, but it sure was yellow alright as I stand amidst yellow surf.

In front of me was another deserted island about 400 meters across.  I wasn’t quite sure if the body of water dividing the two islands was sea or river.  I tasted it.  Brackish.  I was at the delta, the place where water coming down the mountains and passing through mangrove forest meet seawater.  I seldom reach a place like this and I felt privileged, and honored.  I also noticed a huge black tree stump several meters offshore.  Perhaps the sea in these parts have grown deeper? Maybe the island is sinking!

I started running back.  It was already late in the afternoon, the shadows lengthened, and the streaks of red and blue clouds hang low on the horizon.  When I returned, the sun already disappeared, and the reds and blues and yellows already paled.  My friends were still body boarding and splashing around.  They were silhouetted against the flat wet sand that reflected the sun’s lingering pastels.  I shouted whooooaaahhh. . . and joined the fun!

Hey Sexy Girl

It was autumn and I was sitting on a bench in a park one afternoon. An elderly woman was walking back and forth in front of me, eyeing me curiously. Eventually she approached and asked in broken English where I was from. I said “Philippines”. She nods her head and said “Oh Filipin.” She smiled and continued her fruitless walking back and forth.

Later, I saw an empty bench vacated by a couple. I was in the shade, so I decided to move there because it’s sunny and I was cold. And since the old lady kept looking at me, I wanted her to know that I was moving on that sunny bench over there.

So, I smiled at her, pointed at the bench then drew my arms to my chest (as if to embrace) to signal cold. Her face was suddenly contorted in disgust. She totally misunderstood me. She thought I was suggesting something else!

Eel’s Head

Now this one is specially unique, a defining moment in this dive.  In the midst of a sandy clearing in the coral labyrinth, we saw a head, just a head pointing upwards, its entire body was completely buried underground.  It’s a feeding eel, approximately sixteen feet in length (ok, just six feet).  Oblivious to us, it opened and closed its mouth, its gill flaps flaring, while our hearts raced, praying not to disturb it and bolt out of its sandy habitat.

Topping fusilliers and a Ray

At daybreak, we moved with the dive boat looking for fish for breakfast.  Near the sanctuary, hook and line fishing is allowed.  At that time, there were a few fishermen hooking their baits, but no catch yet.  We moved to a few other boats, but tough luck, no catch still.  As if taunting, fusiliers popped out of the water in schools, arching above the surface once, twice, three times, then a splash, and a hush…  Sigh, there goes our breakfast!

But just when we thought we’d settle for canned meat, two fishermen at a distance raised a bucket.  And what’s the catch? - a blue spotted fan tail stingray, a threatened species!  We had a lengthy discussion that lasted for about TWO SECONDS, then empty stomachs ruled!  We shouldn’t?  Yeah, yeah, but the boys were hungry!!!

Sea Adventure

Coming back from fiesta after setting up buoys in Tingo, I sat on the bow.  It was a fine day and the boat nosed its way to Maribago.  Suddenly the sky darkened and strong winds whipped the seas into a froth.  I froze on the bow, my arms wrapped around its nose for dear life.  Then the boat was tossed to a wave crest, raising my butt several inches off the air.  Strong waves crashed all over as the bow went under.  I was momentarily blinded and I held my breath as the bow stayed underwater.  Then up she went in shaking motion threatening to throw me overboard.  I clipped my hands and feet on the hull while carefully sliding back with my butt inch by inch to the mast.  The bow dove again tumbling air tanks like matchsticks scattered on the deck.  I was just in time to save one tank from getting jettisoned as it rolled over to a gap in the mesh-net perimeter.  Then Junior bellowed.  We just lost an anchor!  As we neared shore, the waves eased up and we discovered a hole near the stern.  The lost anchor hit the boat first, breaching the hull before finding its final resting place at the bottom of the ocean.  Then the sky lightened.  The storm ended as quickly as it had began.

I remember it fully well not because I almost got thrown off in stormy seas, but because it was a real sea adventure in the hands of Ma Nature, who is not always a particularly nice old woman.  At the time, she was throwing a tantrum, putting off our trip to Calanggaman and Capitancillo for two days while we fix the boat!