A Bowl of Stupid

Once again, I find myself sitting in another airport departure lounge — this one in Cebu, Philippines — facing an ironic conundrum.

As noted below, I absolutely ABHORRED The Philippines when I first arrived here. I got injured, attacked, scammed, and essentially robbed. Not a good beginning, and I found myself questioning the motives of both myself and all other foreigners for even being in country in the first place.

All that is far, far in the past … seemingly to have never happened.

Honestly, I am at the most peaceful happiest point on my trip in quite a long time.

I have met some extraordinary people in Siargao that I now consider to be some very close friends. I have had some of the best surfing in the past year. And although I am extremely excited to be heading to Sri Lanka in a couple days, I am also extremely disappointed to be leaving my new friends.

I finally ‘got’ this area of the Philippines. And I’ve found really don’t want to leave it.

We will see what Sri Lanka holds for me. And I also plan to visit my friends in Indonesia for a couple months during the summer. But I think I may have found what I’ve been looking for … at least on some level. And I plan on coming back. Possibly for a long time.

Once again, I’m not that concerned. I am happy, and only time will time.

To everyone I know — friends and family both — I wish you all a happy, healthy, safe, and peaceful new year. Essentially, I wish you all may feel like I do right now at this moment. All my best.

One of the things I still find most disconcerting about the Philippines, despite all the fun I’ve had here of late, is how many of the odd things they’ve retained from their 300 years under colonial rule by the Spaniards.

The counting in Spanish is cool. The language peppered with Spanish phrases I can somewhat understand from my years in Miami (a.k.a. ‘Northern South American’) is great But why the fuck did they have to keep Santa Ria (or at least some form of it).

There is such a strong ‘religious witchcraft’ culture in this country — and on Siargao Island, in particular — that it’s not even funny. And at times, it’s just downright creepy.

Regardless, I’m starting to think there may be something to it. No, I’ve not seen any shape-shifters here (as many claim to be and/or have seen). Nor have I seen any ghosts, ghouls, or zombies (again, as many claim exist here).

However, it’s more than just a bit coincidental that I started enjoying this place right after I shaved my head.

Yes, in case I haven’t mentioned that before, due to the heat, the bugs, the unkempt hair, and my general distrust of anyone here holding scissors close to my hear, I shaved my head.

It feels great. I did get a bit of a sunburn those first couple days. But all in all, I’m glad I did it (although I am also glad to see the hair coming back in … how long that keeps up is a question to be answered by genetics tho, right Mikey?).

And yes Manny, I do have pictures (well, some at least, since I’ve lost my camera’s USB cord). I’ll try to upload the rest of the pics from the trip during my 2 day stay back in Singapore.

And I’m starting to think there may be at least a few good things about this whole witchcraft thing, tho. Look, I also learned how to levitate a surfboard over my head!

If only I’d known then what I know now. Dammit if hindsight ain’t a bitch.

As mentioned previously, the last 7-10 days of this trip have been absolutely great. Thankfully, I can barely remember the dark and stormy times of my initial 3 weeks here on Siargao. Most, if not all, of the good times can be traced to the efforts of several members of a local long-established clan, to whom I owe a great thanks.

I also extend a thank you to them in advance of todays island hopping trip — running from local island to island for surf, sun and sand — culminating in a BBQ on their private island. I shit you not.

Also, as the onshore winds have dropped during the last week as the weather changes, I’ve been able to go out in the water surfing — Daku Island, Guiwan, Jacking Horse, and Quicksilver — pretty much every day for the past 10 days. I swear, there’s nothing like some time in the water to clear the head. Everyone gets pretty ugly when there’s no surf — myself included. In contrast, now some of the same guys who gave me the evil eye just last week are joking and laughing out in the water with me — but they could just be trying to soften me up for later, it’s too soon to tell (just kidding, but not really).

I’ve also been able to see first hand how Cloud 9 – the local ‘big spot’ – got its name. Although I haven’t seen it ‘hit’, I can tell how, in good conditions, the break is EXACTLY like backdoor Pipeline. It was only 1.5 overhead yesterday and it was spitting buckets. Just fantastic — for someone who can surf.

I’ve also stumbled upon a potential side gig — teaching (or at least ‘leading’) yoga at some of the foreign hotels. It started out as just trying to organize a few people to do yoga together, and it culminated in my leading a class to teach the basics for some of the guests and locals.

The best part — I got free espresso from the hotel where we did — the ONLY place in the Philippines I’ve found that doesn’t serve ‘Nescafe’ and call it coffee. A real cuppa’ joe! And free!

Yep, this place is starting to grow on me…

That stated, I’m still pretty fucking excited about heading to Hikkaduwa, Sri Lanka next week. I’ve heard some really nice things about the island country. I’ve also heard that it’s in the midst of a civil war and it’s virtual suicide to travel to the north side of the island.

But let’s try to keep a lid on that part of it, huh? Thanks, sis.

Quickly, I’m still in the Philippines – I leave next week back to Singapore before quickly moving on to Sri Lanka in the first week of January.

There have been some interesting goings on in these neck of the woods here in Siargao Island. The first of which was that I basically got ‘jacked‘ by the guy I hired a motorbike from. I paid him up front for an entire month, yet he still just came (carrying a machete) and took it back after only 2 weeks without refunding ANY money because … well, because he’s a prick.

So I’ve basically been immobile for the past 10 days. Pisser … life in a cowboy town. C’iest la vie.

To balance it out, I’ve had the good fortune to meet some of the other locals (and foreigners) living on the island who have taken it upon themselves to right the wrongs that initially befell me here. I have been really treated like royalty for the past 10 days since that jackass fellow stole back his bike.

I owe them a debt of gratitude for restoring my faith in the human spirit after everything else I experienced here beforehand. Thank you.

On another note, the surf has also picked up a bit (it’s not ‘epic’, but it’s still good enuf to go have some really good fun with some of the local pros and other locals on a fairly regular basis).

The sweet is not as sweet without the sour. Ying and yang, my friends … ying and yang.

Take care. Happy holidays. Peace out for another week or so until I get back to Sing.

Ahh, the Philippines. What’s there to say about a country whose two national beers are ‘San Miguel’ and ‘Colt 45′?

Even before my more recent sojerns into the world outside the lower 48, one of things I’ve always enjoyed about visiting and/or moving to new places was that undefinable feeling of ‘getting’ the new place — learning its people, its culture, its … rhythem.

This typically comes for me from walking a place for several days. I quickly learn the layout of a city, how the residents get around (nobody walks in L.A., right?), the location of surf breaks, or (most importantly) the ‘vibe’ of the local population.

And usually, the time frame in which I usually ‘get’ a place is fairly short — within a matter of 1-2 days or, in some places — like Singapore, for example — within hours.

Indeed, when I first arrived to Arizona from Philadelphia for college, I was able to grasp the underlying ‘vibe’ of the Phoenix area really quickly. A vibe to which I immediately connected in my core that filled me with gratitute that this new place would be my home for the following several few years (and potentially forever). In retrospect, I was not incorrect in my feelings towards the city.

More recently, I have similarly been able to determine if I hold a connection – wither positive or negative – with a place in all my recent travels abroad. Several places I thought I would immediately connect with I immediately did not, like Bali, Indonesia. Meanwhile others, like Krabi and Singapore itself, I felt an almost instant gutteral connection.

And then there’s the Philippines.

There have been far too many times over the years where I just KNEW how something would play out and I still refused to succumb to that inner voice telling me the way things were. And after a couple weeks here, I wish I was a bigger slave to my initial instincts (especially after reading ‘Blink’ by Malcolm Gladwell).

I had the most awkward feeling when I first arrived in the Philippines (hell, even before I got here) — a feeling I just knew will come to fruition, yet still wanted to put to the test).

Within minutes of my arrival in the Manila airport, I felt, no, I KNEW that, unlike any of the other places I’ve been to (at least in recent memory), I would never, never, NEVER be able to ‘get’ the Philippines.

It’s really kind of hard to explain. Shit, given the frenetic disorganized pace of Manila (and indeed, the whole country), it’s hard to describe what the fuck was going on even in the 30 square meters around me when I first got ‘in country’, let alone what the entire country is like. However, I’ll try to explain it by using my own personal ‘country comparison’ barameter — the only tool I really know how to use:

I find Cambodia to be a more severe, meloncholy, and less ‘centered’ version of the beautiful, tourist laden Thailand.
I find Malaysia to be the more organized, more forward thinking, ‘a-type’ twin sibling of Indonesia, which still doesn’t yet seem to be as concerned about keeping up with the rest of the world.
I find Singapore to be an asian version of Miami – cosmopolitan, international, stylish.

The Philippines are not so easily defined.

The closest I can come to describing the Philippines is that, to me, it is a mix of the permenant corrupt disfunction of Mexico, with some of that carefully cultivated ‘laid back yet still safe third world country’ feel of Costa Rica, while also having a low cost of human life (very low) prevelant in so many similar places. And add into this morrass a violent Muslim revolution going on in the Southern islands (immediately south of where I am now), and you’ve got some interesting Television.

Upon my initial arrival here (and since), I’ve encountered such a wide array of inexplicable conduct (and stories) by the Philippinos with whom I’ve met, such as would give an aspirin a fucking headache.

For every 1 Philippino that looks to you like ‘hostage bait’, there are another 4 who seem to be genuinely nice people. But honestly, I still have a hard time figuring out which is which.

Maybe it’s because the country itself is a ‘mish-mash’ of used parts from a variety of different sources. A look at a local menu will tell you just how confusing it is — a mish-mash of Malay, ‘lite’ Thai, cheap Mexican (Spanish), and bad BAD AMerican food (think balony, canned corned beef hash, and white bread as main ingredients for a ‘pepperoni and sausage’ pizza — I only WISH I was kidding).

It’s all so very confusing.

There is a ‘hate-hate’ relationship between the Filippinos and the money-toting tourists now afflicting their much maligned islands. Every interaction is a dance between wanting to believe in the good of people and having to protect oneself from the desperation that poisons every interaction.

Maybe that’s why I’m having a hard time getting a grip on things. Hell, I took a boat out to surf Doku Island with an Israeli kid who has been here for 3 months now and told me that HE still doesn’t get this place. But unlike me, he’s a sadist and plans on giving it another month to find out.

I still want to test that feeling, on the off chance this place is as beautiful as it sometimes appears. So I’ll be staying a full month, but unless something changes my opinion, no longer. I’m obviously willing to learn about a place, but there’s gotta be a limit.

Regardless, be it neither a good nor a bad thing, but I really think I’ll wind up leaving the Philippines without ever ‘getting’ this country.

Note: The next few posts were actually written in the last couple of weeks, but I only now have the opportunity to post them as the rains have calmed down for a couple days and the beach roads are back ‘open’ (using the term loosely).

And as Dee was so kind to point out commenting on my last post, I don’t have spell check here in the wild, wild west Filos. So if I spell anything wrong again (like ‘Goa’, India), feel free to kiss my big white ass. But I mean that in the nicest way possible.

The combination of my recent motor-bike injury and the seemingly omnipresent rains have left me with an over-abundance of time this past week.

I can’t surf or SCUBA dive because I can’t get my injured knee wet. I can’t drink alcohol because I’m on antibiotics. I’ve been limited in my use of electricity and phone because the power has been intermittingly shutting down due to the rains.

It’s a hassel to go anywhere cuz all of the roads are flooded out and/or beyond slippery. And I’ve been left reading books by the bushel in an attempt to quelch the boredom factor quickly slipping in.

I’ve tried to use the extensive free time on my hands to do some serious meditative introspection. Unfortunately, that has led me to again debating the entire basis of my lifestyle (i.e., living abroad searching for surf).

Back in Indonesia, this stuff made sense. You have a surfboard, they have surf, it’s cheap, and you can stay for months at a time and not get too bored.

But just what the fuck am I doing here in the Philippines? And now?

The weather is dismal. The surf has been dismal. The locals THEMSELVES are bored out of their mind this time of year (which leads to some REALLY dodgy pastimes). Options are limited.

At this point, it’s painfully obvious that I’ve lost track of the entire basis why I initially left the States in the frist place. Indeed, I now only vaguely recall such grand aspirations of living abroad on virtualy nothing, having nothing, and being responsible for nobody but myself. Oh, and doing nothing but surf and sleep, of course.

It’s the stuff of dreams, right? Not so much.

The journey is never as liberating as we anticipate.

I haven’t felt that peaceful vibe I briefly had in Indo for some time, and I now feel like I’m again swimming against the currents. Even before I stopped working last year, I felt that ‘flow’ — then, pushing me out of the practice of law and out of the State of Florida.

But I fought those currents — fought them hard for a good 15 years, pursuing a career and lifestyle I didn’t want. But finally, I gave in to the flow, allowing them to take me wherever. This led to my inevitable exit from a legal career and Florida (and the States).

That time of first releasing myself that ‘flow’ was, although disconcerting, probably the most satisfying period of my life. I don’t regret at all leaving everything I had. However, I think I lost that feeling soon thereafter, reverting back to ‘American Me’ soon thereafter — status and money concious to the core.

I briefly had what I was looking for — that feeling of peaceful nonpurpose — and then it was gone. I’ve been searching for that feeling for the past 6 months throughout Southeast Asia. I want very much to again feel like I know which way to go.

Just a quick note to let my attentive audience (all both of you) know I’m still alive and kicking. I took the stiches out from my knee earlier this week (do you really think I’d go back to the Dapa Hospital to have them remove them?), and it seems like everything is okay – no signs of infection and the wound is pretty much closed up.

I took a trip up-coast with my Ozzie host Matt, as well as another Ozzie friend, Bruce. There’s no surf up here either, really, but their friends Sean and Heidi have been really kind enough to hold us up for the night, and also provided some really great convo … unfortunately, a bit of a change for out here.

Anyway, yes, I’m alive, still in the Philippines, and I’m pretty much ready to leave. I’ll write more later about that.

And oh, I’m going to Sri Lanka and Gao, India in January … fuck the Pacific.

Well folks, given my history of injuries and the active lifestyle I pursue, one would assume I would have gotten injured much earlier during living abroad. Thankfully, I haven’t … until now.

The good news is that it was nothing too major, and I should be fine (I don’t want to jinx anything, cuz there is still potential for infection). The bad news is that I’m probabky gonna have a really nasty scar on my left knee and I won’t be surfing for the next week or so until the stiches are sufficiently healed.

It was only 2 days ago when I decided to stay here in the Philippines for a full month. I made that decision based partly on the quality of Mahi-Mahi here, and also figuring that although I’ve not yet felt the right ‘vibe’ here, I should at least give the place a chance. As part of my preperations for staying the month, I rented a room with a kitchen so I can cook my own meals rather than having to constantly dine out. I also rented a motorbike so I can go to the markets in town to buy food and other supplies, as well as to ride over to the various surf breaks not within walking distance.

Yeah, some of you can already see where this is heading.

Anyway, the surf on this side of the island has been pretty dismal for the past several days — the northen winds blowing out any significant waves left from the 2 typhoons in the area. I had heard, however, there is a decent surf spot up towards the northern tip of the island. Yesterday morning, I decided spur of the moment to check it out.

I never got there.

I took a wrong turn somewhere along the way. Don’t ask me where I made the wrong turn or where I wound up, because longtime resdents here on Shiargao that I’ve asked can’t even tell me where the fuck I was (ironically, one person who did know told me I was up near a place called ‘Salvation’). All I know is that almost immediately after I turned off from the main road, the ‘road’ — usiing the term euphamistically — changed from flat pavement to an unpaved path consisting mainly of huge puddles of mud and rocky hills.

Every so often I stopped to ask directions — each time being reassured in broken English that yes, this REALLY was the proper way to the north end of the island. Based on these directions, I continued on until I literally ran out of road (the road turned into a walking path that turned into a drainage draw, that finally ended on the beach next to a comicaly small fishing villiage). There, I was told (read: wildly gestured to) that I had indeed gone the wrong way and I needed to go bAcK almost to my starting point and take a completely DIFFERENT (and paved) road north, since where I was wasn’t actually a road.

I had just turned around to make the trip back towards the main road when the heavens opened up – WIDE open. If you’ve never been to the tropics, you really should make the effort to do so. It is a remarkable thing, You can’t imagine just how much water can fall from the sky at one time until you see it in person. It really is amazing.

Anyway, the ‘road’ almost immedaitely began to flood, resembling a small creek more than a road. I hadn’t gone more than 50-100 meters after turning around before I hit a steep rocky incline. My my back tire hit a slicked up rock and slid out from beneath me. Thankfully, I was only going a few km/hour at the time, so I avoided any serious injury.

After falling, I picked up the bike and took it to the top of the incline where I better could take a survey of any damage — both to me and the bike. Luckily, I was able to keep the bike from getting too damaged by cushioning its fall with my body. My left leg, to be precise. I was pleased to first see that my left foot had only some minor scrapes that would heal in a couple days. But then I caught sight of my left knee, although it didn’t really hurt.

I’m not sure how it happened, but when I looked, I saw a huge gaping wound right below my left kneecap. Specifically, in a rough circle about 2 inches in diameter, the skin was simply gone, exposing the tendons and other tissue below.

It really didn’t hurt, but it looked knarly as hell.

I was (and still am) more concerned with infection, considering I had to ride the bike back through the 10-12 kilometers of this flooded and rocky ‘road’ before even making it back to solid pavement. Every time I came to another muddy expanse of water in the road, I had to pick up my left leg in the air so as to avoid spraying any ‘goo’ up inside my exposed kneecap.

I remember thinking to myself that this was turning into one hell of a long bike ride, however, as soon as the rain stopped and I got back on solid pavement, I’d be able to get the wound quickly attended to.

Err, not so much.

My trip back to the main road was long, but reletively uneventful. However, once there, I fell victim to my own expediency. See, the exit point back onto the main road was about halfway between the main towns of General Luna (‘GL’) and Dapa. As I am staying out past GL (where most of the ex-pats are), I decided to hit the medical clinic there, so as to avoid a long drive home after gettting treated.

When I got to the GL clinic at around 11:30 a.m., I found that the doctor doesn’t come in until 13:30 (1:30 p.m.), and I would have to wait another 2.5 hours before I could get stiched up there. Instead, I got back on the road and headed back again where I came from — towards Dapa — specifically, the Dapa hospital. Well, I guess you could call it a ‘hospital.’

It actually bore more semblance to an auto-body shop than what we in the West would call a ‘hospital.’ My first clue in this regard were the chickens wandering around just out front of the building. My second clue was the dog that wandered into the ‘operating room’ at the smell of my blood — looking for scraps, one would assume (No, I’m NOT kidding. I couldn’t make up this shit).

I wasn’t able to get treated when I first got there, since the only doctor in the hospital was busy delivering a baby. So, after having already left my kneecap exposed to the elements for a couple hours, I would have to wait a bit longer until after the little brat was ushered into the world (just kidding … but not really).

Now, I truly believe that how one deals with adversity is a sign of their true character, especially in an unfamiliar environment. So yesterday, I was particulally self-concious about not appearing as just another self-absorbed American looking for special treatment while screaming ‘don’t you know who I am?!?!” (although I was, admittedly, feeling a little like that inside).

For that reason, I didn’t make a big deal about getting hurt in the first place. Nor did I bitch about having to drive back from GL to the Dapa hospital. I was not about to start losing my shit now, especially considering there was a local Filippino fisherman also there, stolidly waiting for treatment after getting his calf ripped apart by a moray eel.

An intake nurse looked at my injury and told me how much it would cost — 50 pesos for consultation, and another 75 pesos for the stitching. Le me repeat that, the entire treatment cost the equivilent to about US$3.00.

She also told me what I’d need to get for my treatment — sutchers, a needle, bandages, and a local anesthetic. I was given a prescription of sorts, and then told to go to the pharmacy in town to buy the equiptment. I paid 10 pesos (about $.25) to a guy on a tricycle to take me there and back. And after I got my suppies, I sat there silently waiting for delivery (quite literally). The total cost for all those supplies was only about another US$5.00 (admuittedly, the antibiotics I bought afterwards were sorta expensive, about US$50.00). So, it was a total cost of about US$8.00 to get treated (man, Micheal Moore’s movie ‘Sicko’ was good, but you can’t really grasp just HOW fucked up the US medical system is until you get treated outside the country).

Anyway, the baby refused to accomodate our schedules, and after a time, the doctor and trauma nurse from GL came to Dapa (ironically, they didn’t even open the clinic in GL, but instead came straight to Dapa to help out in their E.R.). The fisherman rightly got his mangled leg treated first (apparently, the moray eels out here can be downright vicious). The ‘OR’ was open to the public, and various members of his family and the general public who happened to be there (myself included), wandered in and out surveying the proceedure.

Once again, this guy was so quietly stoic about the whole thing that I was concerned about looking like a weak-willed American when next it came my turn to be stiched up. Fortunately, I have a uniquely high pain tolerance. Unfortunately, I also have a really bad habit of giggling like a madman in response to severe pain.

As they got started on my knee, we all realized just how fucked up it was (is). Not only did I tear out a huge chunk of flesh, but the adjacent skin that remained was ripped from the tissue underneath, leaving a ‘hole’ under the skin. I know from prior experience that is the real danger (when I was in college, I had torn my right calf muscle resulting in an abscese that got infected and almost killed me due to my lack of treatment). It was also tricky due to the placement of the injury. I’ve heard this before, but I was reminded again yesterday that the knee is one of the hardest places to treat an injury.

The doctor and nurse were, however, absolute professionals when it came to cleaning and debriding the injury and stiching me up. Indeed, but for the dog looking for scraps and the locals looking to see if the American would start screaming in pain, their treatment was better than some I’ve received back in the States. They even gave me a mask and let me sit up to watch the proceedure (except when the local started wearing off and I started giggling like a nutjob). The hospital staff was also extrememly kind to me, and I thank them all immensely for their help.

I’ll probably have a nasty scar on my left knee, but if the drugs do what they’re supposed to do, I think (hope) I’ll be fine. I’m taking some pretty powerful antibiotics for the next 7 days, just in case. During that time, however, I won’t be unable to go in the ocean. So, no surfing for the next week. No worries, I’d rather get healed up (plus, the winds have picked up, making the waves unridable for the next 5-6 days anyway).

I go back in a couple of days for a check up (I hope I can make the US$3.00 consultation fee), and hopefully any chances I’ll be healed up in a week. I just hope no more dogs wander into room.