An Inconvenient Truth Part 2

Early one morning, after two days in the tourist city of Vigan, I got in a small motor bike rickshaw and travelled to a small guest house on the coast.

It wasn´t far, 15 kilometres or so.

Before long, we left Vigan behind us and motored down narrow pot holed roads with open fields and small houses on either side. There were was almost no traffic. The sky was a blanket of grey. 

We came to a small town called Santa Catalina. ‘Santa Catalina’: a vestige of The Philippines origins as a Spanish colony.

There was a single main street, houses and shops either side and a large church. There were few people about.

Finally we neared the coast.

There was a strong wind blowing off the sea. It was good to breathe fresh air again. Then the sea came into view. I’d had ideas of going for a swim but I at first sight, I knew that was completely out of the question. Big ocean swells broke far out to sea, reformed and broke again and again, forming a series of wild, breaking waves which pounded the beach violently.

With the sound of the waves filling the air, the rickshaw turned left and drove down a long drive and pulled up a large open dining area with wooden tables and chairs under a large sloping thatch roof. There was a middle-aged man seated at one of the tables talking to a couple of young Filipino tourists. Besides some of the place names, another surviving remnant of the Spanish era are people’s names and as far as that went, you couldn’t get more Spanish than ‘Carlos Fernando’. 

Carlos got up and came over to the rickshaw and introduced himself.

Read more

An Inconvenient Truth Part 1

The bus journey from Aleminos to Vigan took a lot longer than I anticipated: the distance was 270 kilometres and it took 11 hours.

These two cities are on the west coast of Luzon, the largest and most populated of the islands comprising The Philippines (and home to the capital city Manila). There is one main road running along this west coast because much of the interior of Luzon is mountainous. Unbeknownst to me and I should have realised this, most of the people in Luzon live along the coasts and especially, the west coast.

Some of the buses in The Philippines are ultra-modern but mine wasn´t one of them. It had bench seats and ventilation was provided by sliding windows. For much of the way, the bus crawled along a traffic choked road, a chaos of cars, small trucks, SUV’s – and hundreds of the three wheel motor bike rickshaws. There were long periods when the bus was stationary. Moving so slowly along that over congested coast road, accompanied by a constant haze of pollution, I got a sobering look at life for the Filipinos, especially those living at the lower end of the social economic ladder.  Read more

Rain in the Night


 

One night, Anya and I got talking to the owner of the guest house where we were staying.

We were sitting in the restaurant, had finished eating, and were drinking a glass of red wine (imported from California, and quite a luxury in a tropical country where grapes can’t be grown).
We were the only people in the restaurant.

It was raining.

Heavy tropical rain, You could heard it thudding the ground.

The restaurant was built in local style: wooden support posts, high thatch ceiling, and open on all sides to optimise the movement of air.

Nearby was a view of rainforest, tall trees, creepers, and ferns.

The sounds of the rain, the geckos in the ceiling and the frogs in a nearby creek, mingled together to create a natural symphony.

It was then that Claudia appeared out of the kitchen, went to the nearby bar, poured herself a whisky and came over and sat down at our table.

We’d spoken to her on several occasions and liked her.

Five years ago, she and her husband Kristof had given up their jobs in Austria and come to the Philippines and arranged to have the guest house built.

Kristof had gone to bed.

 

 

Claudia and Kristof’s guest house was beautiful.

It was situated on a corridor of land in a rainforest and, at the end of a peninsula. Behind the restaurant were two rows bungalows constructed from natural materials and in the local style. Between them was a garden filled with creepers, palms, ferns and flowers.

The peninsula ended abruptly before a steep cliff. There was a series of steep concrete steps leading down to a rocky headland. The waters washing the headland were perfectly clear; a diver’s paradise and for us, as ocean swimmers, a fine place to swim.

As beautiful as the guest house was, it didn’t escape me that it must have required an awful lot of work to establish.

I asked Claudia about this and she gave us a short and vivid glimpse into the frustrations involved during their first year in The Philippines: for example, arranging for tradesmen and workers to turn up and work a full day for a full week for months on end, something they weren’t used to.

‘It didn’t matter that you paid them far more than the going rate. They were used to working in intensive bouts for a few days and then, taking it easy. Another problem was that they never thought ahead. They did one thing at a time. They were not used to working from a plan or working to a schedule.’

Then there were the local bureaucrats and police – as well as the immigration authorities – which had to be bribed.

‘We had never been outside Europe before coming here’ Claudia observed, ‘so it was a real learning experience for us. Sometimes we thought about giving up and going home.’

They didn’t go home though.

They hung in there.

 

Five years on, their business was doing well. It was constantly booked out. Kristof organised diving tours; checking the equipment, filling tanks, organising a boat and crew. He was an experienced diver and a qualified teacher. Almost half the foreign tourists that came to Philippines were either keen amateur divers or people who wanted to learn. The diving season was almost all year round.

Claudia was responsible for hiring staff and running the kitchen, restaurant and bar as well as arranging for the cleaning and maintenance of the bungalows. She took the bookings, handled complaints, did the accounts; she was the business manager.

‘Running a business was something I knew a lot about before coming here. I had plenty of experience running my parent’s guest house in Austria.’

 

 

I’m not sure how it came about, but Claudia began talking about her experiences with the Filipinos as workers. It was something which was very much a part of her everyday life.

She had a strict employment policy: she employed only unmarried, young women and never men.

‘Filipino women are good workers. The men are lazy and unreliable. I’ve offered jobs many times to men and either they don’t show up or, they work for a while and then quit. I only employ single women. When a Filipino woman employee gets married, that’s the end of her working life, even though she and her new husband might well be able to use the extra income. Once she’s married, her life is motherhood. Her husband dictates her life. He will keep her pregnant whilst he hangs around with his friends, drinks, and goes to cock-fights. Often, he’ll have a girlfriend on the side too. ‘

The latent sexism in Filipino society which Claudia alluded to, did not come as a great surprise to me. The position of women in most non-western nations is very different than in western societies. On the global gender gap index, the Philippines was a long way from occupying a top ranking. India for example, beat it hands down. Sexism in the other Asian nations – with the significant exception of China – was certainly as bad and in some cases, worse than The Philippines.

I think it was me who pointed out that in The Philippines, the Catholic church, it seemed to me, was very conservative in its attitudes towards women. Without knowing it, I touched upon a sensitive subject for Claudia.

She was implacably hostile towards Catholicism.

In her view, it supported the entrenched sexism in Filipino society with its archaic stereotyping of a woman as a Mother Mary, complete with lots of babies.

‘The present Pope may be making all the right noises but that’s all he’s doing. Outside of Rome, the institution remains unchanged. The Catholic church is an empire run by men. It’s a sexist empire. Only when women can be ordained as priests and cardinals will there be any hope for that religion.‘

Strong language, which reflected not only Claudia’s take on Filipino society, but also her own personal experience.

‘As a girl growing up in a small town in Austria, I was raised as a Catholic. It was very traditional. The man was the boss, and the wife had to obey him. He worked, and the wife looked after the children as well as his elderly parents. In the cities it was different. As people became more aware and more prosperous, religion lost its hold. Fewer and fewer people went to church. The Catholic priests lost their jobs. When I left my village and went to study in Vienna, it was a big change for me. I still resent the Catholic church for the bullshit they rammed down my throat. All that guilt stuff, especially if you were a woman. ‘

‘The same thing happened in The Netherlands’ Anya pointed out. Before the 1960’s, The Netherlands was one of the most religious nations in Europe. Most people were either Catholic or Protestant. Everyone lived in their community. Education and consumerism changed all that. It happened within a decade. ‘

Claudia said: ‘Yes, things can change, and I hope it happens here, but I wouldn’t hold my breath!’

 

 

Later in the evening, it became evident that there was a good reason why Claudia was alive to the issue of sexism, besides her experience with the Catholic church.

‘After I came back from Vienna, with a degree in accountancy, I took over running my parents’ guest house. They were getting on and they really had no idea how to run a guest house as a business. In their day, a few tourists came every summer, they rented out a room or two, provided breakfast and that was it. ‘Zimmer Frei’ was a useful source of income, but the main business of their farm were cows and milk. Tourism though was big business. My parents couldn’t speak English. Every year, more tourists came. To ski, to walk or just to be there and appreciate the view of the mountains. I organised a loan, had an extension built on to the house, put us on the internet and booking.com, installed an easy to use booking programme on a new computer. The business started moving. Within a year, the income from the tourists was much more than the cows.

My mother died. Not long after, my father died. My parents promised me that in their joint will that they would divide the farm and the guest house equally between my brother and I. In his last days, my father changed the will. Everything went to my brother –‘

Anya and I interjected: ‘That couldn’t have been legal! Parents cannot disinherit their daughters!’

In Austria, it transpired, they can when it involves a farm. A farm can be passed on to the eldest son to the exclusion of all the other siblings. Its an old rule which means that a farm doesn’t have to be divided. It can stay in the family. 

We were shocked. It seemed hard to credit that this kind of archaic sexism could survive in a country which to all extents and purposes was a prosperous, modern western society.

I said: ‘You could never do that in the The Netherlands. Surely this must be against E.U. regulations?’

Claudia answered: ‘The EU leaves this area of policy in the hands of the national government…..in our case, the guest house was not seen as a business. It was classified as the ‘family home’ and a part of the farm, even though the ‘family home’ was a hotel and the income from ‘the family home’ was from tourism not cows.

My brother became my employer. He had always envied me. He didn’t know anything about running a business. He knew about cows. His wife thought she could run a business. She was put in charge and she got very bossy. So I left and went back to Vienna and got a 9 to 5 job. Then I met Kristof. He was a social worker, but diving was his passion. We saved up and then left. I’ve not had any contact with my brother and his wife, but I heard from a friend in the village that the business is in trouble, getting bad reviews on booking.com. It used to get 8 and above. ‘

 

 

Our conversation that night ended on a different note.

I said: ‘A question I keep asking myself is: why is it that there is so little aggression in this country – unlike the other Catholic nations in Middle and South America? I’ve heard stories both from travellers and people living in that part of the world about the high crime rates. How one needs to be constantly aware of the security issue. For example, one does not walk around at night, alone. Catholicism there seems go hand in hand with an aggressive machismo. This kind of thing is conspicuously absent here whilst it is also a poor country. There may be a gender imbalance, it may be a big one, but Filipino men are not macho. It’s a funny old world: The Philippines, so deeply flawed, so much poverty, so much injustice – and sexism – is so easy to travel in. No hassles, no bad vibes. These are the friendliest people in Asia.’

Claudia smiled and said: ‘Yes! …You’re right!

‘That’s why we are here and we are going to stay here….

Austria is no longer our home.’

 

see also: https://serioustravelblog.com/2012/10/22/the-incorruptible-saint/

Yolanda

 

Shortly after we got into the taxi, we knew it was going to be a long trip to the airport.

Even though it was early in the afternoon and on a week day, the traffic was bumper to bumper; it hardly moved.

To get the airport, we had to move from one end of town to the other.

Our taxi driver seemed upbeat about the traffic.

Like many Filipinos, he spoke English. More than that though; he spoke quite well.

When we asked him why the traffic was so heavy, he exclaimed incredulously:
‘You don’t know?’ 

He duly informed us why the traffic was so heavy early in the afternoon:

‘There’s a big religious festival in Cebu this weekend. People are arriving from all over the country, even overseas.’

He laboured that theme for a while, before rhetorically asking again: Surely you’ve heard about it?’

We had to disappoint him.

We’d been travelling on other islands we explained and had only arrived in Cebu city an hour before.

 

I guessed that the taxi driver was a proud native of Cebu.

I couldn’t have been more wrong.

He was a man making the best of a bad lot.

No shortage of them in The Philippines.

 

‘Do you believe in God?’

‘No.’

‘Lost your belief?’

‘Never had it’.

‘Listen, I understand you. My wife, she’s lost her belief. She doesn’t believe anymore. When I married her, she was a Catholic, like me. No more. I’m still a Catholic though. Every Sunday I go to church and everyday I pray to the Lord.’

 

It took over an hour to get to the airport. Distance wise it was nothing. Most of the time we were stationary or crawling. A conga line of metal and glass canisters and belching exhaust pipes. Fortunately, the air con worked. We got to see a lot of local life, first hand. People sitting all day behind the counters of micro stores. People sitting on the sidewalks staring into space. Shacks. People sleeping on pieces of cardboard. A woman who is intellectually handicapped, sitting on the ground with her head tucked into her bunched-up knees, rocking back and forth. Barefoot kids playing games with bits of can and a stick.

Yeah, local life.

It was heart breaking.

 

He asked us where we’d been to during our stay in The Philippines.

Cebu, Negros, Bohor, Leyte….…

‘Leyte? You were in Leyte?’

‘Yes.’

‘Not many tourists go to Leyte.’

‘We didn’t see many, no.’

‘You go to Tacloban?

Tacloban, the capital of Leyte, was in the south.

‘No, we didn’t get there. We went north.’

‘North? Typhoon up there.’

‘Yeah, we got there two days after the typhon hit.’

 

It hadn’t been our intention to travel to a disaster area. 

The fact was, we hadn’t known anything about it.  At the guest house where we were staying, before we left for Leyte, there was no TV and no internet (although they claimed to have WIFI). We were staying on the south- east coast of the island of Bohor. It was the day after New Year’s Eve when the typhoon ravaged north-east Leyte. I could remember the day clearly. In the afternoon, heavy cloud moved in over the ocean horizon, followed by continuous torrential rain. Late in the afternoon, a heavy mist set in and visibility was down to 100 metres. That night, lightning and strong winds and torrential rain battered our hut. But unknown to us, the eye of the storm had been a couple of hundred meters to the north, where our next intended destination lay.

Arriving in Leyte on the ferry, we took a mini bus to the town of Ormoc, stayed a night, and then on the following day, took another mini bus north to a town called Naval. The trip to Ormoc was over a flat road following the coast but the one to Naval was through jungle covered mountains. It was on the last leg of the journey to Naval, that we realised that something bad had happened in this area. Whole areas of the jungle had been ripped out leaving behind a wasteland of mud and water and broken trees. Down in the valleys, villages and rice paddies had been swept away. We saw the wreckage of houses and deep cavernous trenches.

The mini bus had to stop a few kilometres outside Naval.

A section of the bridge, recently built, had been destroyed and we had to join hundreds of people who walked across the ruins of the bridge and then, through deep mud. The river, back to normal, was a meandering, shallow tract of water. Some people walked across the river rather than take their chances crossing the ruins of the bridge. Only two days before, there had been so much water coursing down from the mountain sides that the river, ten times bigger than normal, had engulfed the entire bridge.

 

We talked about the destruction caused by the typhoon in the north- east of Leyte.

He seemed to know a lot about it. He quoted a run of statistics: how many people died, how many were left homeless, how many hectares of rice paddies had been destroyed.

I assumed that the typhoon had been in the news and that he had seen it on TV.

‘Leyte is bad for typhoons. It’s a …. how do you say in English…a bad zone.’

‘Bad climatic zone’ I offered.

‘Yes, that’s it. Climatic zone.’

‘You think Leyte is in a worse climatic zone than other islands in The Philippines?

‘Oh sure. When bad weather hits the Philippines, it’s always worst in Leyte.’

He was emphatic about this.

It was quite possible.

We had noticed that the weather could vary greatly from one island to the next. During our time on Leyte it rained for much of the time. Arriving at Cebu, after a 3-hour ferry trip, the weather was sunny and warm.

 

It’s always worst in Leyte.

He went on about this for a while. He seemed to have a special interest in Leyte.

‘This typhoon though, it wasn’t as bad as typhoon Yolanda.’

‘Yeah’ I answered, ‘Typhoon Yolanda was one of the worst typhoons ever.’

Yolanda: I could remember seeing the images and reading the reports of that terrible typhoon in the media. Winds of over 200 kilometres an hour were recorded. Hundreds of people had died, millions left homeless. I was living in The Netherlands then. It was 2013.

‘The worst!’ he said, ‘you’re right!’…

There a short silence before he continued:

“My wife and I were living in Leyte. We lost everything….’

We asked him about it.  He recounted the following details in a dry, matter of fact way, in between stops and starts in the traffic.

Bizarre, to say the least, hearing this tragic story told in dribs and drabs.

‘My wife and l were born and raised in Tacloban. We had land outside Tacloban. On the land we had bananas and coconuts. I managed the property, my wife worked in Tacloban. She had a university degree. Her job was to read English texts and correct them. She had good pay, 50,000 Pesos a month (200 Euros a week, a good wage in The Philippines). We were doing well. We made good money from the bananas and coconuts. We built a new house made of concrete with 3 bedrooms and a big lounge. Our two children were very happy. Then came typhoon Yolanda. We were scared, everyone was scared. We prayed to God. The wind got stronger and stronger. Whoo! whoo! like this. I will never forget that noise. Then came the rain. Like stones hitting our roof.

We survived. Our house was very strong, Many people living in wood houses were left homeless. Everywhere you looked there was destruction. We lost everything. All our trees were torn down. Only the stems were left. Everywhere you looked there was pieces of tree and mud. My wife became depressed. She couldn’t recover. She lost her job. She wanted to go to Cebu city where her family lived. She didn’t want to stay in Leyte. So we came here. Then she got diabetes. She needs special medicines. I’m the only one who can work. ‘

 

It was hard to know what to say on hearing a story like this.

Speechless.

I found myself in a dark place.

Looking out the window and seeing people struggling to exist – sitting behind the counter of a small stall all day and much of the night; carrying heavy sacks off the back of a truck; sitting inside a shack and fixing motor bikes or filling bags or performing one or another dull, repetitive mindless task, day in, day out – you realised how much suffering there was in the world.

The taxi driver, sitting behind the wheel of a modern Korean vehicle with air conditioning, was, it seemed to me, another member of that large, poor, suffering mass of people I could see out the window.

It was heart-breaking.

 

Since time immemorial, prophets had arisen on the back of a golden promise of ending this suffering. Jesus, Krishna, Mohammed, Buddha, Marx– the list was a long one. Had any of them limited human suffering or only increased it? At the best, it seemed to me, they had offered no more than an illusion, an empty promise. ‘When you die, the suffering will come to an end’ or, ‘follow me and the promised land will materialise at some point in the future’.

In this 21st century, we had the technological means to limit suffering, to create the greatest amount of contentment for the greatest number of people.

But for a whole bunch of reasons we were unable to do it.

 

The taxi driver said: ‘Not all is darkness. There is also light.’

Light?

Where was his light?

He was paying off the taxi he was driving. In another 2 years, it would be his.

He had ambitions. He wanted his kids to get a good education and speak good English.  Maybe one day they could immigrate.

Shortly before we pulled up at the airport, he gave another reason for feeling positive about himself.

‘I’m a Filipino. Not matter how bad things get, we can always raise a smile.’

There was not the slightest doubt about that.

 

 

Postscript: A day later, in our hotel in Kuala Lumpur, I googled ‘Yolanda’. One of the first ten hits that came up was ‘Tacloban’. I clicked on it and found a report in an English language Filipino site. Yolanda had devastated much of the Philippines, but Tacloban had been in the eye of that of devastating event.

I thought of our taxi driver and his wife.

http://newsinfo.inquirer.net/523931/over-100-dead-in-typhoon-yolanda-onslaught-in-philippines

 

See also: https://serioustravelblog.com/2018/01/14/fishing-in-the-philippines/

Fishing in The Philippines

 

The guest house where we were staying was beautifully situated, on a headland.

From the veranda of our thatch hut, we had a view of jungle clad mountains sweeping down into a deep elliptical bay.

Set back in the palms crowding the bay and only partly visible, were the small houses of fishermen.

Their boats however, small, simple wooden outriggers, painted in bright colours and bearing inscriptions from the bible, rested on the narrow beach and could be seen from far distant.

One afternoon, sitting on our veranda, we watched the fishermen go out on their outriggers.

The sea was calm, and schools of fish were intermittently breaking the surface of the water. It was quite a sight: an area of the otherwise placid ocean suddenly became turbulent and looked as if the water was boiling; some of the fish sprang into the air. In any one school, there might be hundreds of fish.

By this time, we were used to seeing this, but in the beginning, during our first days in The Philippines, it took us by surprise, especially when we were swimming and a large school of fish serviced near us.

We had swum in oceans in many countries including Australia, Cambodia, Croatia, Greece, India, Malaysia, Portugal, Spain, Sri Lanka and Tunisia – and never seen anything like it. 

Fact is, most of the world’s oceans have been depleted of their fish due to commercial and amateur fishing.

 

On this afternoon, there were several schools of fish which regularly swam en masse to the surface and then dived again; the churned-up areas appeared and re-appeared in different places. There was a storm on the way and it’s possible that the fish had come into the still waters closer to shore to feed, before the encroaching bad weather, when they would retreat to deeper water.

A group of the local fishermen, who had small motors on their outriggers and nets attached to the back of their boats, went out to try and take advantage of the situation. They puttered around, keening their eyes to see where the next school of fish might surface – and then head over there as fast as their little craft would allow them.

It was like a game of chasey.

None of the fishermen knew where the schools would surface.

They watched the water keenly and as soon as the water somewhere began to become ruffled, off they’d go, racing each other to get there.

Sometimes several areas began to swarm with fish at the same time and they’d head off in different directions.

 

Watching these fishermen in action, I thought of the times Anya and I had ridden our bikes in the coastal areas of The Netherlands and Denmark and seen fishing trawlers tied up in harbours: huge, high-tech machines worth millions of Euros, bristling with radar dishes, aerials, winches and cranes; above deck an observation tower, below deck, huge refrigerated holds. The men operating these machines were no doubt skilled in the use of the latest electronic gadgetry.

I let my thoughts run here for a bit.

Imagine taking two fishermen from here, I mused, and sending them to Europe to accompany a trawler on one of its runs out into the North Sea. Then, sending them back home accompanied by two European fishermen who could take a close look at fishing in the Philippines.

Then record the impressions of both lots of fishermen.

What a story that would be!

But I would never get to write it.

I could only use my imagination.