Sugardongs?

Kids can tell when their favorite sugardongs are tender and juicy.

Bags, Redux

The fact that food packaging here is noticeably more difficult to open still persists. I am, however, getting used to it. My wrist techniques have changed, my natural application of force has increased, etc. This leaves me understandably worried, though...

When I get back to the US, God help that first bag of chips I open. It will accidentally explode in a cloud of fury.

"Strictly"

I've mentioned before that every office building here has a small security checkpoint on the way in. Metal detector, a guard or two, x-ray belt thingy for bags, etc. Nothing more than a moment's inconvenience.

I noticed also today that there are usually signs up indicating that only people who have business to be there are allowed entry. Makes sense, of course. You don't want random people off the street walking around your office building. We do the same thing in the US. But today I finally noticed what the sign that indicates this at my office actually says:

"Strictly" No Passersby

Why is "strictly" in quotes? Is there a joke I'm not getting? Or are they just not very strict about it?

Alcohol

Today someone was walking around the office giving these out to everyone:

That's quite the free sample bottle of isopropyl alcohol. Is there something I need to know? Is there additional context that's obvious in this culture but not obvious to me? Should I be worried about something?

Doors

I guess the tables aren't the only thing that are the same around here. Even more prevalent are the doors. Almost all doors here are the same. Well, business doors anyway. The hotel room doors, doors on houses, etc. are normal. But storefront doors, office doors, etc. all follow the same pattern and seem to be of the same manufacture.

For one thing, they all swing both ways. (Giggidy) Also, they all have this "locking" mechanism thing whereby if you open the door all the way it will lock in place and stay open. It didn't even occur to me that this pattern held universally until last night when I noticed that I accidentally left the door to the hotel lobby open in that "locked" state. I was already heading up the steps when I realized it and someone was walking over to close it.

I guess I'd just assumed that the door would shut itself. It's a pretty fair assumption everywhere else I've ever been. But doors here are kind of strange. (Even more strange, they all have "push" and "pull" signs on them... Even though they swing both ways. I don't get it.)

Red Light Pizza

Holy shit that was fun.

I felt like getting some pizza for lunch today, so I looked on Google Earth to see what's around. Sure, I could call for delivery, but where's the fun in that? Turns out there's a place called Shakey's Pizza that's barely a kilometer from here, so that looked like a good place to go.

As it turns out, Shakey's Pizza is smack in the middle of Makati's red light district, which is only a few blocks from my hotel (in a direction that I simply hadn't had reason to go as of yet). I could tell as I set out that this was going to be not as nice of a neighborhood as where I currently make my home, but within a block the decline was far more rapid than I'd imagined.

And of course, being the white guy, everybody wanted my attention. There was an unending sea of "Sir?" all around me as I walked to my destination. Also, since it's Sunday and the streets are pretty empty of pedestrians, taxis are desperate. They were essentially following me. (Maybe that was their subtle way of telling me that I really shouldn't be walking by myself in that direction? Eh, I could see the pizza place a block or two away. I was fine.

There were beggar children everywhere. Some looked genuinely sick or retarded and just sort of moaned. I'm guessing it was an act. As with any city environment, you simply need to keep your eyes forward and ignore your surroundings. (Not completely ignore them, mind you, lest you get run over or stabbed. But appear to ignore them.) I did end up giving my change from the pizza to some beggar children right outside the door. You know, karma and all.

Also, every woman (or girl... although statistically it's likely that several of them were men/boys instead) I passed quietly asked "massage?" as I walked by. They couldn't shout it, of course. There are what I assume are police everywhere. So they would ask it such that only I could hear it. Sorry, not interested. If I were to go for that sort of thing, it would be with a lot more class than that. My "masseuse" would be clean and professional, and would probably have paperwork with her certifying an acceptable level of, um, cleanliness. The kind of high-class shit you see in the movies, you know? Ok, that's probably enough of that.

Then there was this one dude who had stuff he wanted to sell me. Watches, pens, a taser. You know, the usual. Yes... a taser. One of those little hand-held jabby ones with the two prongs on it. As he walked toward me he was demonstrating its use. Was I about to be tased if I didn't buy it from him? He claimed it was a good price, but I don't really know my taser prices. (Plus I doubt I could get it back through customs.) Was the "good price" listed as "give me money for this taser or I tase you and take it anyway?" You know, donating to the Anti-Mugging-You Fund? But he eventually took "no" for an answer and went back to whatever else he was doing.

See, this is why I love this place. It's not only a tropical paradise, it's an adventure at every turn!

A Proper Haircut

Today was my scheduled day to get a haircut. You see, I have a recurring event on my calendar so that every two months I get a haircut. Always the same haircut, preferably always at the same place. However, that wasn't really an option this time. And there's no way I'm waiting almost another month before I get a haircut, so I had to go find a place here in Makati.

Google Earth to the rescue, as always. Apparently there's a pretty standard-looking salon nearby called Bruno's Barbers. Looks simple enough, not unlike any normal Supercuts back home, so I figured I'd give it a shot.

Supercuts can suck it. This place was way better.

It's part of that whole service-oriented culture here. First of all, the place was not understaffed. There was no waiting. If you want a haircut, there's somebody standing there who wants to give you a haircut. It's convenience like that which already sets it apart from the normal salon chains in the US.

But the haircut itself was markedly better. Normally I just have them use the electric trimmer. A #2 on the top and a #1 on the sides. Quick, easy, simple. I don't know if the numbers translate directly here, so I just attempted to convey the idea of "electric trimmer" and "very short." The guy understood, but he also knew better than I did.

He proceeded to use the electric trimmer on the sides, as expected. Everything was going along as planned. But for the top he switched to scissors. Was he just doing some touch-up or something before using the different trimmer attachment? No, it was all comb and scissors for the top. And he was skilled. It was admittedly a little unnerving at first, but this guy clearly knew what he was doing.

Before I knew it, my hair was starting to look... not bad. I mean, I'm no expert in hair styles by any stretch. I wouldn't know a good haircut from a bad one unless it was really bad. But this one was starting to turn out good. He continued with the scissors until it looked just right. So I figured we were done.

No, we were not done.

He continued doing little touch-ups here and there before he brought out his sculpting tool. A proper old-style straight-edge razor. Was he going to give me a shave? I hope not, because I don't want that. But no, he was using this to touch up around the whole head. It was marvelous, honestly. By the end, I could tell that I've never had a better haircut.

In hindsight, maybe I should have taken him up on the offer for a shave. He also offered a scalp massage and other services, but there's only so much I'm willing to let a stranger do to me. So the haircut was plenty. And it only came to like $5 US.

I love this haircut. I feel like a million pesos, which is 23,563 bucks. This is proper grooming, including lots of application of alcohol and basic scalp care. My buddy Crouch was definitely onto something when he switched to using a straight-edge. It's clearly superior.

Taal Volcano (or... I Am Gringo!)

Yesterday two colleagues and I took an all-day trip to the Taal Volcano. And it... was... awesome. When I was getting ready to travel to the Philippines, this is exactly the kind of stuff I was picturing. I see pictures of people standing on sunny beaches, hiking on mountains, etc. I wanted some of that. So yesterday I got me some of that. I think I summed it up pretty well on Facebook...

Today I climbed a volcano and stood atop a tropical paradise. Ya, it's been a good day.

Originally several of us were going to go. There was myself, the four developers on my team, and maybe one or two people from other teams. One of my developers had a previous engagement. Another had a family issue come up days before. Another chickened out that morning. By the time Paul picked me up that morning it was just three of us: Paul, Charlie, and me.

So we headed south out of Manila (about time I'm able to leave the city while I'm here, honestly) and toward Tagaytay. Driving along the roads and highways I was privy to all sort of interesting sights. In the city I was mostly interested in the signs and billboards, to be honest. The advertisements here are weird. The one I remember the most was a billboard advertising tires. It featured a squad of armored samurai rolling along on tires and said "go with pride." Awesome.

We stopped in Santa Rosa for some breakfast. All week people had been recommending restaurants to us. We have to try this, we have to try that. We're only there for a day. That's three meals at most, probably only two since we'll be at the volcano during lunch. So choose wisely. Anyway, I let my colleagues be my guides and select the destinations.

Breakfast was at a small place called Kanin Club (canine club? should I be worried?):

Where I was told that I should try some adobo:

As far as Filipino foods go, it was pretty standard. Just some meat in some kind of vinegar-based sauce, served with an egg and some rice. Simple enough. Pretty tasty, too. The running joke is still the fact that I won't try balut. Joke all you want, I'm not going to eat it.

After breakfast it was time to head over to Tagaytay and see the volcano. But before we could do that, we had to get cash. I guess I'm kind of spoiled as an American in that I just assume everybody takes plastic. I mean, I'm acutely aware of the fact that many places don't. It was a standard concern when looking for local barbecue restaurants in South Carolina. But it's still not really a problem. But here in a third world country it's actually pretty common. I guess I just don't really know where we're going. It's a tourist spot, right? Wouldn't they take credit cards? Oh, how naive I was.

So we looked for a local ATM where I could get cash. This was my first time using an ATM while I've been here, so I was a little nervous. I mean, I trust my bank. They won't cheat me or nickel and dime me. USAA is pretty good when it comes to overseas stuff, and for good reason. But can ATMs here be trusted? I don't know. Only one way to find out, though.

First I tried my credit card. Can I just draw a cash advance from there? I'd rather draw against credit than against debit, just in case the card gets compromised. It's easier to fight fraudulent credit charges than fraudulent debit charges. However, I was ill-prepared for this transaction. It asked for a PIN. I didn't know my credit card had a PIN. I never set one up. So I guess I can't use that. Ok, let's put in the debit card, but let's try to draw against credit instead of checking. No dice, invalid transaction. Ok, third time's a charm. A normal withdrawal against checking. I guess I have to.

All in all it was fine. This is, after all, an innovative bank, apparently:

So off we went to Tagaytay. Along the way, I took a picture of a small bus in front of us (called a jeep here) where a small child was waving at us:

I'm going to have to show you more photos of these "jeeps" and their younger brothers the "jeepneys" at some point. They are quite the sight to see.

We arrived in Tagaytay and began a long drive up a long street lined with all kinds of local flavor. I'd never seen anything like it. The street must have been several miles long, up a fairly shallow angle, and it was all local people living their lives and selling their wares. This was poverty like I'd never seen. It was like something out of a movie. The buildings were mostly corrugated metal, some were concrete and looked like they were either never finished or burned out years ago and were repurposed.

Occasionally there was a gated home that looked relatively decent. There was really no separation between the poor and the, um, less poor and comparatively well-off here. There were no distinct neighborhoods. It was all just mashed together. I wish I'd taken more photos or some video, but there wasn't much opportunity to do so.

Peeking out from behind these impoverished dwellings was quite possibly the most gorgeous landscape I've ever seen. It stretched on for miles, rolling hills of fertile soil. Farms, plantations, groups of stucco buildings with colorful roofs. It reminded me of a caricature of Mexico, in a way. It's a tropical paradise. And it strikes me as terribly ironic of us as a species that wealthy people spend a lot of money to vacation in places where poor people live. Though I imagine the people who actually own this land are rather wealthy. Barons living in their tropical mansions and whatnot. Still... an odd setup.

Eventually we reached the top of the street and could overlook the valley before us, which contained a large lake in the middle of which was the volcano island. It was breathtaking. Also at this point were all of the people selling boat rides. They know a tourist when they see one, especially a white guy. So skinny men in tattered clothes wielding crude signs that say "boat ride" descended upon the car. Luckily, I had my guides with me. Paul and Charlie negotiated in Tagalog while I sat quietly.

They talked one of the men down to 2000 pesos. This included a place to park the car while we were there, and the boat would apparently wait for us on the island so we didn't have to worry about a schedule. Seems fair. That's less than $50 US, which isn't bad at all for a private boat ride to a volcano island. The guy hopped in the car and began to direct us to where his "resort" was. It was basically a long and winding journey down the one main road that connects Tagaytay with the small village town in the valley below. The road was scary. But these people know what they're doing in their cars. There were no problems along the way.

Eventually we arrived at the "resort." The word means something different in the US, I can tell you that much. They did have their own jeep and a small jeepney (behind it), though:

(Again, more to come on those. Someday.) So we went into the "office" to pay for the boat and get a receipt (and, of course, keep negotiating):

Now it's time to get on the boat:

And so go see the volcano:

Wait, that's not the volcano? I... I guess I assumed it was. It's the most prominent thing on the horizon. Then what's the volcano? Oh, that one:

Whatever, just bring us there.

The lake was another fantastic sight to see. Little boating villages, fish farms, etc.

(I know, that second shot was actually taken much later from the top of the volcano. But the subject matter matches this part of the story. Deal with it.)

The boat ride was peaceful. Serene. Zen. If only the engine could be shut off for a little while and everyone could be quiet. I just wanted to listen to the world around me. But the sound of the engine wasn't too bad, and the spray from the water on my face made up for it. I was being cleansed by the lake. My impurities were left ashore, and I was born anew. Or something.

At the other side of the water was another "resort." Again, the word has a different meaning here. From afar it looks like it might be nice:

But up close it's really just a small village of ridiculously poor people:

In fact, these people actually live here. It's a village. It's a farm. It's a livestock ranch. It's a complete little native society. We actually had to pay them (not much, of course) to pass through their village and get to the volcano. A toll, if you will. Because this is their place.

And there was much selling to be done. We're tourists, and they know how to handle tourists. They really wanted to rent us some horses, but we weren't interested. No, I'm here to make this trek myself. They were insistent, but so were we. No horses. They also suggested that we rent hats (except Paul, he had his own), and this turned out to be a very good idea. I'm glad I got the hat in that sun. I'm also glad I got the hat because it looked fabulous:

I am Gringo! Now take me to your volcano!

They also suggested surgical masks to combat the dust. No thanks, I'm good. I'm sure it's dusty, but I'm willing to give it a try. Finally they insisted that we rent a tour guide so we don't get lost. Eh, fair enough. I'll take one of those.

And off we set on the dusty trail:

The dust wasn't bad at all, actually. Just breath through your nose the whole time (which also helps fight dehydration, mind you, though we had plenty of water and Gatorade) and cover your nose and mouth when horses ride by. Pretty simple.

The trek was about 4 kilometers. The first almost-half of the journey was grueling. It was hot and dusty, there was no breeze, and every moment reminded us that we could have rented horses. That reminder was quite literal, in fact, because the people who offered the horses followed us:

So certain they were that we would give up and rent a horse, that they were always there ready to supply one. Perhaps even at a higher price. But I was determined. And I'm glad that I didn't fit their expected behavior of a tourist.

Right around the time that above photo was taken, we were nearing the half-way point. And this is when it started to become worth it. The incline lessened, the scenery opened up. We were met with a cool breeze all around us, lots of open space (so no dust), and the beautiful scenery we came to witness. Suddenly this grueling trek through the jungle became a pleasant hike along a hillside.

Our morale returned and we continued to bounce around on the rocks and play as children. As we neared the end of the trip, we noticed that the horse salesmen were gone. I guess they realized we were a lost cause and they went back. After all, we were conquering the world here. Or at least the various outcroppings of rock.

We were so near the top we could taste it. But there was one last obstacle of overcome. One last leg of the journey before the sweet embrace of... whatever's up there. I called it "heartbreak hill." The trail was swallowed up by the surrounding rock, becoming a narrow dust-filled valley. There was no more breeze. There was no more scenery. There was no more air. There was only sun and heat and misery, at approximately a 35 degree incline. It was difficult.

But it was worth it. We emerged victorious, and took our last few steps to the top. They even conveniently put a staircase for those steps:

I want you to pay close attention to those structures at the top in that photo. And I want you to understand something. Again, as an American, I guess I've been spoiled. It never even occurred to me what to expect when I reached the top. I never gave it a second thought. Deep in my social subconscious was an assumption that I didn't bother to question.

I genuinely and truly believed that at the top there would be a tourist center. A building, with air conditioning and bathrooms and water bubblers, perhaps even vending machines. This building would contain small exhibits about the local culture and history. It would have an overlook to the landscape below. It would have a sign-in book on a podium somewhere. It would be abuzz with tourists. It would basically be exactly like any other tourist center... in the US.

This was not the case.

No, those small huts made of twigs were all that was there. Well, those and the endless tropical paradise surrounding us as well as the wonderful people populating it. This wasn't what I had expected. This was better.

First thing's first, I sit:

Sure, I wanted to immediately go look at the view over the volcano. That was why I was there in the first place. But I needed to sit down and rest for a bit and slowly drink some water because I was nauseous and my vision was starting to black out along the periphery. So sitting was in my best interests. But after several minutes of resting, I could go see what all the fuss was about:

Very nice. Indeed, I hesitate to post the rest of the photos here simply because photos do not do justice to the experience. It was awe-inspiring. I was drunk on life. Here I stood overlooking a volcano crater lake in a tropic paradise on the complete other side of the planet. I had conquered all. From this moment onward, nothing can dull my triumph. I have grown as a person. I have risen to a new level. Also, I am Gringo!:

And the people up there were just wonderful. These two were our favorites:

That older lady had a great sense of humor, we joked around with her a lot. The younger one was just an amazing person to watch. She was born to sell merch to tourists. A lovely smile, a warm disposition, and she could speak every language known to man. Seriously, I'm not kidding. Some Chinese tourists walked by, and she spoke to them in Mandarin. Some Indian tourists were taking photos, and she spoke to them in Hindi. Some Korean girls were wandering around, and she spoke to them in Korean. Apparently Charlie knew a little Norwegian and challenged her with that. She passed. A lot. Needless to say, we were very impressed.

And what kind of trip to the top of a volcano would it be without hitting some golf balls into it?:

I know, my form is terrible, right? Give me some slack, I've never actually swung a golf club before. After a few swings I was doing rather well, though. Makes sense, given that I'm totally awesome at everything.

Then Charlie proceeded to mack on those Korean girls:

The dude is actually quite the pimp. He got phone numbers and Facebook accounts. Maybe we'll have some drinks with these chicks later this week. I couldn't pull off something like that, but I bet Charlie can.

I then climbed this thing which I'm way too heavy to climb:

Then Charlie and Paul noticed a narrow path along the top of the crater which led to a better vantage point:

And there was nobody over there. Seriously, did nobody else notice it? Because it was the best view on the mountain. (In fact, come to think of it, I'm not going to bother choosing which photos to show here for the view. I'll post all of the photos in a public location at some point and comment on this post to show where.)

At this part of the mountain there were no railings overlooking things, there were no small huts where people sold us stuff, there was only a rock face and the scenery:

There was only one small step for man, and one giant fall if I take another small step:

So we spent much of the day enjoying the mountain:

While our tour guide, who had seen it all thousands of times, spent much of the day texting his girlfriend:

Finally it was time to head back down the trail:

The dusty, hot, gringo-infested trail:

We made our way back to the village:

And back to the boat:

And back to the resort:

Then back into town for a proper dinner:

With proper Filipino food (no balut):

I was especially looking forward to the bulalo. As I'd mentioned in an earlier post, bulalo is fucking delicious. And up until now I'd only had cup-o-noodled bulalo. 7-Eleven bulalo. Now I had proper nice restaurant bulalo. I still like both, and I'm still going to enjoy the cup-o-noodles version. But this dinner was excellent and a great way to wrap up the day.

After that we stopped for some coffee and drove back to Makati. It had been a long day, and Paul (who was driving) was pretty tired. The stop-and-go traffic throughout Tagaytay and Santa Rosa didn't help. But eventually we got to the highway and everything was fine.

Back in Makati, back in my hotel room. Time to shower and sleep. Best. Day. Ever.

Phuket

One of my colleagues here in the Manila office has this coffee cup:

I can't tell if it's supposed to be a joke or if "Phuket" actually means something. But, in English, it's pretty funny. I'm not going to look it up; I don't want to dull the humor. Cause phuket, that's why.

Pigs, And Parts Beyond

Tonight a couple of the guys from the office took me out for some drinks. Originally we'd planned for karaoke as well, but we ended up not doing that. I can't promise that I'd participate in something like that, but it'd be fun to go.

So we ended up going to some random local bar and having some random local beers...

We ended up having quite a few random local beers, actually. It turned out to be a really fun evening of absorbing local culture. And what absorption of random local culture would be complete without strange foods?

I told them that whatever they order I'll try. Unless it's a partially formed bird in an egg or something messed up like that. As long as it's food I'll try it. So here's me eating the fried small intestine of a pig:

At least, it's supposed to be from a pig. It could be some sort of mock pig. It was pretty good, though. One of my companions that evening told me that it was a little over-cooked. I didn't complain. So, not to settle for just one strange thing, they ordered more:

The white plate at the top has fried pig ears. (Again, potentially a mock pig.) And the skillet at the bottom has a mixture of finely chopped meats from (purportedly) a pig. I'm told it's supposed to be mostly the face of the pig, but they can't guarantee that at this establishment. Awesome. Either way, it was pretty good. For me, the funniest part was the establishment itself:

Aside from the great picture of a chicken and a pig being bestest friends, it's called Chic-Boy. Seriously, what is it with this place and lady-boys?