true confessions

I was GOING to write a post about brick lane, but the Guardian cryptic crossword is killing me.  Killing me dead.  Like no crossword has ever killed me before.  I might well follow in the steps of one of my heroes, the great Frank Lewis, who grew so obsessed with these dang things he started writing them for Americans (and retired to the Caribbean, must be a pretty good deal!)   But I could sometimes solve Mr. Lewis' puzzle, and the Guardian's are leaving me completely bewildered.

So if you'l excuse me, I'm goig to try to figure out how on earth to decode "Title: 'Took offence ... just" (5-6)

gah!

they CALL it English pt 2

and I quote:

"I want to get blootered and dance like a wazzock."

Printed in the Evening Standard.  I mean, you think I could make that up?

they CALL it English...

... but the bag of ham we bought came embellished with the bold statement, "still bigs up a bap!"  to which I say: these people invented this language, don't they know that big is an adjective and bap is... what the heck is a bap?

(incidentally, since "bap" - as discovered after some research - refers not only to soft bread rolls but also, affectionately, to breasts, there might be a hidden meaning in that ham packaging.  women of the world, take note)

two thoughts on language

Thought number one:  I think I've mentioned this before, but I'll say it again - I feel completely inadequate here.  I only speak one-and-a-half languages!  That's pathetic!  All the locals speak at least three, it seems like - their local dialect, Filipino (which is mostly Tagalog, but is the national language for people who speak different dialects), and English.  Many speak four or more - they'll speak the neighboring dialects as well.  And the other travelers I've met are mostly European, so they speak at least two - English and their national language - and, again, often more.


Thought number two: I'm growing more used to not having any idea what the people around me are saying.  I just enjoy listening to the sounds - my mother described the languages here as "musical," and they often are.  They're also a fascinating blend of different influences - Spanish, English, Malay, even, according to my guidebook, Mayan - via the Spanish, who were influenced through their conquest of Mexico.  Of course, I can't actually pick up on all these influences, but I can hear the incredible variety of sounds and inflections in an ordinary conversation.  I actually get too used to just listening to the sounds, and then when my companions switch to English I don't notice, and I'm left looking like an idiot while they all wait for me to answer really simple questions.  Oh well.

the kindness of strangers

OK i have about 50 bajillion things to blog about, now that I finally have some time to breathe.  but where to start?

let's start with how NICE everybody is.

answer: SO NICE.

I mean, the people I've interviewed have absolutely overwhelmed me with their kindness.  First they give me their time - up to two and half hours, sometimes, that they take out of their busy days to patiently answer my questions - and they let me ask them questions of an often personal, controversial or sensitive nature.  That is generosity in itself!

And then on top of that - I have been fed home-cooked meals.  I have had platters of fresh fruit placed in front of me as the tape recorder was running, and been given plates of local desserts with orders to try them, tell us what you think, we can talk again after we eat.  I have been given an umbrella, because it was raining, and I didn't have one with me.  I have been given money for the jeepney fare, because I didn't have any small change and the taxis were all full.  I have been given travel advice, and directions, and rides.  I have had taxis hailed for me, with directions in Tagalog for the driver - and strict lectures not to rip me off.  I have been walked to the train station to make sure I don't get lost. I have been invited to rallies, of course, and everyone has tried to teach me Tagalog.  And I have been overwhelmed - I just don't know what to do, how to be properly thankful!  Salamat po, I say, Maraming salamat po, and I switch to English but even there I don't have the words - don't know how to say you shouldn't have, that I should be feeding you, that you are too too kind, and that you have no idea what this means to me that you are so kind.

And not just in my interviews - everybody I meet is just too darn nice to me.  They say "are you traveling alone?" and when I say yes, their eyes grow wide and they say - I will walk with you.  Don't stand there, come in here.  I will call you a taxi.  Do you know where you are going?  Who are you meeting?  What time do you need to catch your bus?  No worries, we will help you.  You said you are hiking alone?  I will find you a woman guide.  Yes, I know where that is - but go down this street, not that one.

I think I might actually be safer traveling alone than I would be if I were with friends, because while I haven't met a single person who has tried to take advantage of me, I have met dozens who were very concerned that I would be taken advantage of.  I walk around shielded by the kindness of strangers, who pass me off one to the other saying "take care of her, brave girl, she's alone!"  Saying "Text me when you get there so I know you're safe, here's my number."  Saying "she's a quarter Filipino, eh?  But speaks no Tagalog!  She is here for the first time.  Feed her something good, opo?"  Telling me, "don't pay him more than 500p, ok?"  Telling me, "the inn isn't open on weekends," but it's raining and dark out, and there's nowhere else nearby, and they look at me for a long moment and hand me the keys to room number 12.

(the moral of the story might be that for everybody back home worrying about me, I promise you there are five people here worrying about me, and between all y'all - and, you know, ME, I think I'll be okay.)

SO NICE!  I have only had one taxi that didn't use its meter - the big warning in all the guidebooks is to only ride metered taxis, at risk of being ripped off.  I told the driver I was worried I would miss my bus (which was why I didn't notice the meter was off, in fact), and he asked where I was going, and he tut-tutted at the fact that the last taxi I took had brought me to the wrong station, and he told me he would get me in time.  As we wove terrifyingly in and out of traffic he told me he had only made it through 6th grade, that he went long enough to learn some English and then his family had pulled him out of school so he could work.  His English was nearly perfect, but he said it was only so-so.  He asked if I had visited any of the squatter communities, said I should, said I couldn't do it alone, I needed a Filipino with me, but that I should go to see the other side of his country.  He said the Philippines was deeply broken in ways that were so hard to fix.

He said, "there's your bus.  No, no, I'll pull up right beside it, it's so dark out.  You have a reservation?  Good.  Go to the ticket booth, no, no, i'll get closer, there you go."  And I said, "your meter!  It's not on!" and laughing at myself - because whatever, sometimes you get ripped off, it happens - I said, "How much am I paying for this trip, huh?"

And he shrugged, and said, "How much can you afford?"

I am 85% sure I paid him less than the meter would have been - I didn't mean to, but I couldn't think about how much it should be.  and I am 100% sure I paid him less than I could afford, 100% sure i paid him less than I should have.  And he just told me to have a good trip to Banaue.

And on the commuter trains, stuffed full to bursting, when there's no room for anybody to move at all, people shift so that I can reach the door.  I don't know why - because I'm white?  because I look so young?  Because I am so clearly out of place?  They let me go first down elevators and escalators, they open doors for me, they translate.

And I want to ask, why are you being so nice?  And Walden tells me that Filipinos love Americans, "which is funny," he says, "you would think after all those years of colonialism there would be more bitterness, but there you go."  And I think that I am so lucky, and I feel so wealthy, so privileged, so guilty.  So grateful.  And I want to say, I am sorry that you are being so nice to me.  I should be so nice to you.  I want to say, I am sorry that I need your help.  I want to say, I am sorry that I am not helping you.  I am sorry that I do not speak Tagalog, that I know so little, I am sorry I cannot give you back what you have given me.

And instead I say, Salamat po.  Maraming salamat po. Thank you, so much - a thousand thanks.

lunchtime and language barriers

OK, so the first tagalog words I'm going to learn will most definitely be FOOD WORDS.  I was originally planning on starting with the courtesy phrases (my current repertoire is kumasta ka/po (how are you), mabuti (fine), and salamat po (thank you)  as you can see, it could do with some expansion).  But plans have changed.  Buying lunch yesterday, from the bevy of food stands in the mall, was a downright harrowing experience.

Pancit - I know what that is, though I had no idea it came in fifty thousand variations that look completely different.  And I can visually distinguish the grilled squid from the pork kebobs, the fried chicken from the whole fish.  And the white rice, that I can spot.  But those recognizable items are drowned out by a mass of balls and clumps and soups and stir-fries and wraps and slices and cubes and bowls and plates of... of what?  white and brown and green and red... what?

and I stand there - the only white woman in the entire mall, as far as I can tell, calling plenty of attention to myself as it is - staring cluelessly at the signs.  Kare-kare... I know what that is, I KNOW i know it, I just can't remember!  lumpia... that sounds familiar... whatever it is.  but pochero?  longganisa?  ginisang monggo? I for sure have never heard these words before in my life.  Pro tip: make flashcards for the airplane of the major dishes of your destination country... even if everybody there speaks English, too.

concluding that a fast food market full of people in a hurry was not the optimal time to ask strangers to explain an entire country's cuisine to me, I rolled all my strength into one ball (of unknown ingredients and dubious sweetness), and ordered... kare-kare, grilled squid, something green and squishy, white rice, and something on a skewer.

there goes six years of vegetarianism... departing with lots of tentacles and peanut sauce.

Seriously, though, I need to learn these names.  Call me unadventurous, but yes, I'd like to avoid tripe and chicken intestines (did i mention six years of vegetarianism?  any kind of meat is about as appetizing as... well... chicken intestines!)  and I would very much like to know what I am eating, at the least.  So, tagalog, here I come... from afritada to wansoy, one way or another, i'm going to learn what I'm eating.

P.S.  Sweet tea in the Philippines is EVEN SWEETER than it is in the South.  I didn't even know that was possible.
P.P.S.  Okay, I could have gotten pizza or spaghetti.  But that would have been SUCH a cop-out.
P.P.P.S.  Fruit.  Delicious, delicious fruit.  Maybe i'll write about the fruit later but if I can't learn my monggo from my morcon, at least I can eat mangos!!