Laos to Thailand

I think I'm going to start doing more, but much shorter posts on this blog. Today I left Laos and came to Thailand. It's a little warmer and a bit less mountainous. Fresh authentic Pad Thai here we come!

A story of language and youth

A post will come about all the amazing foods and sites in Vietnam not soon enough. This post, while it is still fresh in the mind, is about a part of my evening today. After being turned away from Ho Chi Minh's house of stilts behind the Vietnamese presidential Palace, I started to stroll in the neighborhood behind the greater government and touristy area. Quite quickly it went from the ordinary smaller well-maintained roads of the Vietnamese capital to old neighborhoods where roads were in various states of disrepair or entirely absent and too small for anything other than a scooter. The relic of part of a B-52 still remains in a pond preserved in this old neighborhood. Eventually climbing out onto a main road I find that I'm not far from the Hanoi Botanic Garden. I'm quite surprised to find its much more like any of the large popular parks in California's cities than the natural and educational botanic gardens I was anticipating. Nevertheless, there are a few signs here and there and it is undoubtedly beautiful all around. Enjoying the scenery I find a bench a bit off the main pathway of the garden facing out at the pond and knoll beyond.

One of the most touching moments of my travels (and perhaps my adult life) started when a six-year-old girl walked up to my bench and said hello. Seeing her mom a few feet away and recalling in the already fading unprioritized short-term memory a bent adult and quick hushed conversation before the girl parted and came to greet me, I realized this was OK and intentional.

She wanted to practice English. I looked like I spoke English. Slowing down my speech to the old habit of an ESL teacher, I discover this first grader was on par with almost all of my junior high schoolers and most of my high schoolers in Korea and Taiwan; incredible. The mom ambled about the nearby area of the park, passing the time on her phone, and the daughter told me as much of a life-story as a six-year-old can have. The bravery and courageousness to strike up a conversation with a foreigner that's almost five times older than you still astounds me. I don't have extensive memories of my sixth year of life, but none of them contain anything so bold.

After a little while and many of the topics a little Vietnamese girl and young American man can have had been covered, the mom came up and had a few words with her daughter, who apparently said she didn't want to go yet so the mom proceeded to enjoy the garden, sitting at a nearby bench eventually. I giggled every time she pronounced "know" like the initial "k" isn't silent, and more when I told her it's a silent "k" and she didn't care. I imagine all of the lessons in the girl's English textbook got covered, but her mind still raced and here was her opportunity to practice English, something she hadn't done in several hours (which perhaps feels like many decades in kid-time), so the normal conversation began to delve into the rich fantasy that is a child's imagination.

Language is a funny thing; vast and complex enough that I can only say little more with a sense of confidence. We react to language, and a different reaction happens when we hear "just the right word," than when we hear the lengthy common ones. I imagine most people are with me in feeling something stronger when we hear in our native tongue "arduous" instead of "hard," "loathe" instead of "hate," "contrivance" instead of "plan," or "cherish" or "adore" instead of "like." The list goes on indefinitely 😉 as we add more and more words to this growing language. What then is this different reaction we get from a greater degree of precision and infrequency? Perhaps "engagement;" how quickly, how automatically do I hear and then move past "let's go hangout" and "did he do the work very well?" While perhaps "let's celebrate our conviviality," and "did he accomplish the task precisely and accurately?" might stop me for a moment in my reaction.

Obviously a six year old ESL student isn't going to inspire this line of thought in me directly, but I do have her to thank for it in the end. She spoke with such enthusiasm and vitality, like the sounds of the words were important in and of themselves, and not as a soulless tool to convey abstract concepts. Even the most complex or sophisticated book or talk I've ever encountered hasn't generated such fervor in me like the contagious abundance in the tone of that child's voice. The words and content of our conversation weren't particularly important, and it started to venture into nonsensical and unusual to remember fields, but I recall parts where she said "I'm so hungry I want to eat the moon!" and I thought it natural to reply "would you save me a bite?" or her perfect child-logic "the moon is round and cold, so it is ice cream!" I remember talking about families and told her that her father's father's father's father's... and my father's father's father's father's... (and mothers too) were both born in and migrated from Africa. Without missing a beat and with total sincerity, she said that "now, they are in the stars." Not long after she explained so vividly of her desire to go to space and be an astronaut. All this with probably only having seen a few stars on the few nights Hanoi's light pollution and smog allows their twinkles down to the surface.

The effect that this enthusiastic tone paired with unreal but understandable language had was to make me feel like a child again. I went all the way back to six-years old or so in the middle of that. It felt like being on the playground after school with another my size, my age, thoughtless, alive.

During the 3rd or 4th visit from the mom, with the sun long gone, darkness and a slowly dropping temperature giving night to this park, the daughter got up off the bench and said goodnight. Touched, I ask the mom if she spoke English, she shook her head. Remembering her daughter say that she used to be a Chinese teacher, I asked her if she spoke Chinese, in Chinese. Surprised, she said yes in Chinese and I felt extremely grateful to be able to convey the appreciation and admiration I had for her daughter's English talent and fearless personality. Smiling, they walked away and a few silent minutes later, so did I.

The Philippines

Taking the morning flight from Taipei, I landed in Manila a little before noon. Phone companies are extremely well prepared to provide whatever cellular services you're looking for, for a price. Thankfully everywhere I went in the Philippines I saw a huge competition between it's two cellular providers: Smart and Globe. So the cost of domestic calling, texting, and 1 GB of data per day came out to be $20 for a month (no start-up charge or other hidden fees). Still within an international airport, I felt like a connected Filipino. Heeding the advice of everyone I've ever heard talk about the Philippines, my first stop was a bus station, to get anywhere out of Manila. With seemingly no public transportation from the airport I walk out to a main road and ask a security guard how to get to the bus station. He flags down a bus and I get on. On that crowded bus, going along a dirty, wet road with no apparent rules for right-of-way or lane demarcations, the bus driver told me to get off and take another bus just behind his. Another 20 pesos (40 cents) and I'm now on a bus that's actually headed to the Buendia Bus Terminal. After a stop into a 7-11 and a local mall for food and curiosity I get on a bus going south to Batangas. 

The advice was good. Everything outside of Manila was gorgeous. Rice paddies, banana farms, and even a stunning double rainbow greeted me on my first trip within the Philippines. A little after 5:00 I arrive at Batangas port. After getting heckled by some locals I find one who points the way to the ferry companies. A short walk and I make it to the ticket counter and discover that the last boat to Puerto Galera had just left at 5:00. My choices are to stay in Batangas or go to the other city on this side of the nearby island (Mindoro) called Calapan. Having not been too impressed with Batangas, I jump on the boat and hope that Calapan is better. 

An hour and a half later, almost through some American action film I'd never seen, we arrive at Calapan port. It's a dark night, but warm and very humid. The city is a few kilometers from the port so I start to hoof it along the road. The 5 or 6 cute kids that ran up to me asking me what's my name and where I'm going kept me company for a few minutes and noisy tricycles (~125cc motorcycles with a one-wheeled sidecar attached on its right) kept me company for the rest. I booked a hostel that was at Aninuan hoping to catch a bus or van there from Calapan proper. After an email, I discovered that the vans that run along the island also stop running between 5:00 and 6:00 and getting to Aninuan would be extremely expensive. My first experience with incredible Philippine kindness came in two forms that night. The owners of the Aninuan hostel called me and told me it would be most sensible to stay in Calapan that night and asked me to put any local near me on the phone. I happened to be next to a tricycle taxi at the time, and he took the phone and spoke some Filipino (probably Tagalog) with the hostel owners. A minute later he hands me the phone back and says in accented but very understandable English, that he's going to help me find a nearby budget hotel to stay in. Slightly stunned I follow after him as he walks off. The first place ran for ~500 pesos ($10) a night. He said "oh we can find better than this," and doubled back to find another hotel. He was right, ~350 pesos ($7) a night got me my own tiny room and a shared bathroom (though I think I was the only one using it that night). An early wake-up and very hot and muggy exploration of Calapan later and I'm in the van bound for Puerto Galera. 

After a gorgeous ride, a sporadically rainy hour and change later I arrive at Puerto Galera; it was beautiful. All of the scuba diving departs from Sabang port, but my hostel was a big hill and small village away in Sinandias. Getting used to the Philippines here, I took an Advanced Open-Water dive course and enjoyed getting stuck as a typhoon in the southern seas passed, cancelling all of the ferry rides. 

I made some great friends on Mindoro. After buying bananas from the closest stand to my hostel two days in a row, some young guys invited me into the stand for gin and pulutang (snacks or appetizers) on the third day. Feeling that 9:30 or 10:00 is a little early for shots of gin, I join imagining I'll leave after a few minutes. Apparently one of the guy's mother owns the stand and bananas but he was running the shop that day because he wasn't working a taxi. 

The Philippine style of drinking involves one bottle of rum or gin, one shot glass, and pulutang. You pour our own alcohol into the cup, drink it, and then pass the bottle and cup around to the next person. This goes on until the bottle is empty to which another is opened, or someone runs to the store to buy more. I think the culturally appropriate way to participate but not be drunk as a skunk before noon is, when the bottle and cup come around to you, pour yourself just a trace of gin. The idea of a small shot or partial shot doesn't inspire the ridicule and jokes it would in the US. So several hours, bottles, bananas, and pulutang later I have three new friends that I will remember for life. Being quite close to Christmas, many businesses and organizations are having Christmas parties. So soon after making new friends, I get invitations to a pair of Christmas parties the very next day. Agreeing to join, I wake up early the next morning, rent a scooter for the day, meet up with one of the guys and head out.

We pick up another one of the guys and his wife and then start a long ride along the beautiful and windy coastline back towards Calapan. Almost half way there we turn inland and the hills, trees, and wind all turn into wide quiet valleys filled with rice paddies and old farmers working their carabao with egrets or storks filtered here and there. Further in, the evidence that this is a less-developed or third-world area sets in. Virtually no technology is present within sight. Just a single power line running through open bamboo houses and warped tin shingle roofs; kids playing with a patched soccer ball in the middle of the street, laughing like the happy ones at Hope Elementary School during recess. The pavement ends and we park the bikes. We still haven't arrived so a 10 or 15 minute walk through the jungle is necessary. Thinking we'll get lost and then have to draw straws to see who to sacrifice for the rest, I get reassured with "follow the power line." We went to where the power line (and trail) ended; I don't think I'd ever seen the end of a power line--it gives a strange feeling. Despite being on the last fringe of civilization, the house was well maintained and even had a karaoke machine running for every one's enjoyment. My new friend was part of a group called the guardians, and it was their Christmas party I was attending. An entire pig was chopped and cooked up along with a handful of other dishes. I was requested to sing karaoke all the time, although I never figured out if it was because they thought I would enjoy it, or if they wanted to hear popular songs with an authentic American accent. After a great meal, many smiles, and many handshakes my second friend and I left the first friend and his wife there to attend his company's Christmas party back in town.

The second party is much smaller and is at a nice hotel. Karaoke is the still present, and I must say, generally speaking, Filipino people love to sing love-songs. Heavy rains that evening so several hours later I ride back slow enough that the rain hitting my eyes doesn't hurt, which is also slow enough to be drenched to the bone with the warmth of a Philippine storm.

The Filipino language is by far the oddest combination of others I've heard. There is a very SE Asian island language at its core, but so much borrowed language from English, Spanish, and I think even Arabic. Even the illiterate can speak numerous words in English, and most signs (government and commercial) and advertisements have various English words on them. Many nouns like table, chair, fork, and the days of the week are all accented Spanish, and even to say "how are you" is "kamusta ka." I don't know if Arabic has had any influence on its language, but thank you is "salamat" and there is a strong feeling in my ignorant mind that much more Arabic is perfused throughout the Filipino language. 

There's a trick when you're getting used to traveling in the Philippines, it's quite funny. Everyone says everything runs on "Philippine Time" which is later than scheduled. So expect to wait if you're early, and if you're late, the bus or boat will still probably be there. So when I was early for the ferry across the unpaved section of the north I had to wait for a very long time. After spending the afternoon and night in a small town with hardly any tourism (I felt like a celebrity walking down the one paved road of the town as everyone under the age of 30 waved at me saying hi) and miles of gorgeous coastline, this Philippine Time came to my advantage. I woke at 5:00 caught a van going south at 5:20, and got to San Jose at 8:20. Online the ferry to Coron was supposed to leave at 8:00, but a tricycle driver says it's leaving at 8:30 or 9:00. Thinking I'm about to get swindled I hop into the sidecar in hopes of getting out of the extremely industrial and impoverished San Jose that day. We get to the port at 8:40 and I still get a ticket for the ferry with enough time to buy a few snacks up the road.

There is one traveler I am comically bound to, Mohamed Chenine. After unintentionally staying in the same 4 hostels in Mexico we opted to travel to Guatemala together (it was already both our plans). This time, only knowing that we're both going to be landing in Manila within 2 days of each other and plan to go south from there, we both end up on the same ferry from San Jose to Coron on the same day. He's traveling with another Frenchman he'd met in Manila and so the three of us enjoy the sights and sounds of Christmas in Coron.

After a few days Mohamed's friend, Tim, got sick and was living by the toilet and suffering at both ends. I got a low-grade fever, lost my appetite, and felt very lucky in comparison. After recovering from illness, Tim's luck continued to roll in the doldrums as his scooter slide from under him when turning on some gravel. Unable to bend his left knee we continue with our plans to boat to El Nido the next day. Tim opts to go to the tiny ER in El Nido and gets an X-ray; 99% chance a small part of the tibia has chipped off from the rest, and 1% chance a small pebble has lodged itself in front of Tim's tibia.

A few beautiful days in El Nido and a few more in Puerto Princesa and I've almost run out of time on my visa in the Philippines. I can say that the Puerto Princesa Underground River maybe one of the 7 new wonders of the natural world, but the tour the public is allowed to go on doesn't warrant that acclaim. Also, a great story about NYE 2018 could be told, but that one is best in person. A solemn farewell to the small tropical towns of Palawan and a return to Manila to catch a late flight to Vietnam. Stay tuned.