Four thoughts on place and identity

So now I have been to Iloilo, on Panay, the island where my grandfather was born.

Does that mean anything?  Should it mean anything?

Part of me says it shouldn't mean much.  I only went to the city.  I didn't actually visit the town he was born in - I don't even know where that is.  I didn't meet anybody he knew, didn't do anything special, didn't make any grand discoveries or gain profound insights.

And yet, it feels important, somehow - I've been to the island where my Lolo was born.  Does - does that feel important to you?  Does it sound important?  Because it doesn't sound like much when I say it out loud, and yet I feel like I've accomplished something.

I am not sure if I've been to the town where my great-grandparents were born, but I've been to the state - big-sky Montana.  I've heard my Papa talk about the Great Depression, about raising my grandfather in a shack with holes in the walls.  I saw my grandmama's family home in Georgia, once - I remember a tire swing, and iced tea, and relatives who all said "idear" the same way my grandmama does, and miles of farmland.  I've driven on the highways of greater L.A. with my grandma while she described how everything was different when she was a little girl, when these were roads surrounded by orange groves and a trolley system bore passengers to the city.  The Domonoskes, the Regans, the Larkins - I have known the places that have known those names.

And now I've been to the island where my grandfather, Gerardo Flamiano, was born.  And I don't know if that completes some kind of circle, or fulfills some human curiosity, or is a symbolic step, or satisfies some kind of filial duty, or if it's nothing.

But it doesn't feel like nothing.

***

My mother: "I gave some of your photos to Lolo.  He wrote on back: "Camila's historic visit to Philippines to see my people."

4 a.m. I get this text, and I wake up, and cry a little.  And I smile.  And I am tired and I fall back to sleep.  I don't remember what I dream, but in the morning I set off through the rainforests of these islands to see new mountains, meet new faces, hear new stories.

I may not know my dreams, but I am learning my history.

***

I step off yet another plane, fall asleep on yet another bus, carry my backpack to a new front desk.  I give my mother's last name, instead of my father's, because it's easier to spell for strangers.  They have trouble with "Domonoske" - who wouldn't - but here, at least, no problems with "Flamiano."

I feel like a stranger, another woman's name spilling from my lips.  I feel like an imposter, pulling a Filipina mask over my own pale features.  Playing dress-up as Camila Flamiano, posing as a pinay.  But when they ask, "do you have Filipino blood?" and I say, "yes, one quarter; my grandfather is Ilonggo," they say, "Ah!" like they've made a discovery, and they smile, and announce to the other staff: "she's Filipino!"

***

The taxi drivers, all of them, ask where I'm from.  I say, "America."  Then I add, "But my grandfather's from Iloilo."

"So you're Fil-Am," they say with a smile.  Filipino-American.

The first few weeks, I laughed, awkwardly.  "I guess," I would say.  "A little bit."

Now I nod.

"Yup."

whoops

hello friends, and sorry... i was going to write a post about palawan last night or this morning, but then I decided to start reading Cormac McCarthy's The Road.  And then I was finishing it and crying like a baby, and to my surprise a post had not, meanwhile, written itself.  Shocking.

Anyway, I have two interviews this afternoon but maybe I'll get something up tonight?  i've run out of books for now, so that might help...

OH and I've got some free 5-minute calls to the states, apparently my phone company's reward for the massive amount of money i've thrown at them over the last month and a half.  If you want one, shoot me an email or facebook message and say when you're free.  if i call you it shouldn't cost you anything but your minutes.

palawan

is gorgeous.  i wish i was here for more than four days... but the group I'm interviewing is making sure that I'm getting to see most of puerto princesa, so that's something.

despite the loads of natural beauty, i'm in an awful mood.  i haven't calculated how long it's been since I've seen eight straight hours of sleep, but even without exact numbers i'm gonna go ahead and lay the blame for my grumpiness there.  and instead of writing a post, i'm going to do some laundry and then read david sedaris in bed.  my life is a party, friends.

p.s. crocodile meat is definitely not exciting.

in which i am no longer the whitest person in the room

I've experienced a new kind of culture now - backpacker culture!  I spent the last two nights at a guesthouse catering to the backpacker population, and it's been quite the experience. I've stayed at hostels and pension houses before, but not ones with really popular common areas, so I hadn't really hung out with other travelers, but at Friendly's a whole slew of nomads were hanging out in the rooftop lounge.

And I really would define it as a cultural experience, because the backpacker community does seem to have its own distinct culture.  Though hardly any backpackers here are American or British, English is the language of currency, so that Dutch and Spanish and German and French travelers can all communicate with each other.  Cheap hostels, cheap food and cheap beer are the staples of life.  Everybody is reading, and talking about what they're reading, and swapping books, and everybody drinks, and everybody smokes.  Hot damn, do they ever smoke.

Talking to strangers is completely acceptable - no, more than that, it's absolutely essential.  There's an almost desperate friendliness to some of the travelers, in fact, which makes sense if you consider just how lonely travel can be.  Especially if you're traveling by yourself.  Especially if you've been on the road for as long as many backpackers have - when I asked, "and how long have you been traveling?" the answer was almost always counted in months, and sometimes in years.  One guy hadn't been to his home country in a decade.

Nobody has firm plans - at least not that I've met.  Everybody is making it up as they go along, asking each other for tips and advice, stretching out their money and their time, changing countries so they don't have to get visas.  "Travel buddies" seem to be shifting alliances, as people who started together go separate ways, strangers who just met in the dorm rooms plan to visit the next city together, and everybody, after a while, just tries not to be alone

and gawd, can these people complain!  Manila isn't "Filipino" enough, it's all Americanized, the Germans complain while they sit in their hostel.  They even have Wendy's!  Where's all the Filipino food?  I (rather gently) suggest that they visit one of the turo-turo canteens, the carinderias locals run out of their home, where adventurous eaters can point at whatever looks tasty - and they say, "Oh, I haven't seen any of those yet," although they are on every single street.  And they say they can't wait to get to the provinces, where it will be beautiful and they can see the "real Philippines," whatever that means, and I suggest (humbly speaking from painful experience) that they bring their own mosquito nets, and they say, "oh, we'll be staying at beach resorts, I'm sure they'll have some."

and I remind myself that the only reason I've eaten at carinderias and met, you know, actual Filipinos is because I have family here and I'm doing research that forces me to, and who am I to judge how these people choose to travel?  but when we're talking about malls I mention the squatter communities in the same city as the massive Mall of Asia, and a German backpacker laughs and says "Just like an American city, huh?" and I say, "um, no, actually.  I have pictures.  Would you like to see them?" and show the scrap-metal shacks hanging precariously over trash-filled rivers, and the children swimming in the same water where the sewage goes, and talk about electricity-tapping and floods and typhoon damage.  And they say, "Great pictures."  And they probably think I'm a sanctimonious asshole but it was driving me crazy to hear them say that Manila is "just like America," especially when the derisively ask what happened to the culture here.  And I said, oh you know, five hundred years of colonization and a world war that completely destroyed the city, and they said, "yeah, BUT..."  Anyway, maybe I am a sanctimonious asshole.  I mean, who pulls out slum photos during a casual conversation about the sights in Manila?

And the backpackers certainly are a friendly community, and it would be a gross and offensive generalization to say that they all think Manila is like America, or that the "real Philippines" can be found at beach resorts - there are a lot of travelers pretty aggressively seeking the unfamiliar.  Looking for limit-experiences, I guess, or maybe just bored, or who knows!  Something keeps them traveling month after month, arriving at new ports full of strangers and another unfamiliar language.

Anyway, I had some really interesting conversations that unfortunately distracted me from the passage of time, so that I didn't make some phone calls that I really needed to make.  And in the evening, instead of updated my list of expenditures - kind of essential because right now I don't even know how much money I have left - I wound up watching Funny People with an awkward Israeli.  Poor life decision.  But hey, cultural experience, right?  :P

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.

and now, a brief interlude about food

okay, so my last post might not have quite followed Tom's request, but i'll start on Dolores'.  because if there's one thing I'm learning in the Philippines, it's the importance of obeying your parents.

Maybe not a lesson that will stick, but while it lasts!

So:  FOOD.  A few random notes on food:

- I still have to repress some repulsion and moral qualms every time I eat meat... because it's weird, you know?  It's gross!  I don't like it!  It came from an animal!  that died so I could eat it!  But I feel way worse if I order it and don't eat it, and as long as I'm eating it I might as well enjoy it, so I do my best to quash those objections.

There's really only one exception to this ew-gross-animal-flesh reaction, and that's with the fresh fish.  Oh my goodness, the fresh fish.  The first few times, when I faced an entire animal sitting on my plate, head on, eyes clouded, mouth open in what I personified as a death groan... I'll confess, I freaked out a bit.

But then I started to eat, and oh my gosh.  Fresh bangus or tilapia flaking off the bone, dressed with garlic, calamansi and soy sauce, grilled and served hot with plain rice - OH MY GOSH.  So good.  So good that it has overcome not only my repulsion (I now eat everything except the eyeballs.  And soon maybe I will eat that too.  Because as I grow braver and eat more and more of the fish - and get better at picking out bones - it is all AMAZING.) but pretty near overcome my moral objections. So I understand, factory-farmed-steak lovers.  I understand.  Because I am almost willing to declare it a-ok for a sentient being to be tortured as long as I get to eat delicious, delicious fish.

- jackfruit!

This is jackfruit.  It seems to be part of a strange class of fruits here where a really hard, spiky exterior surrounds fruit that consists of clumps, each being one big seed surrounded by a bunch of fruit.  That was a terrible description.  Anyway, they're kind of a challenge to eat at first.

And jackfruit is extra strange because it tastes like BUBBLEGUM.  seriously, like bubblegum!  google it, other people have made the same observation (i checked to make sure I wasn't crazy!)   it is a really bizarre experience.

- I previously mentioned buko halo-halo... were you wondering what it looks like?  wonder no more.

And in case you were doubting my hypothesis that halo halo was the invention of stoners, here is more evidence: the other day I ate halo-halo with queso ice cream.  CHEESE FLAVORED ICE CREAM.

QED

- and I still haven't tried balut... less than 2 weeks left!  I don't know if I can work up the nerve.

What's balut?  Oh, you know.  Just a duck egg.  A fertilized duck egg.  A fertilized duck egg allowed to mature.  So that there's a fetus inside.   Yup, just a duck fetus, that's all.

Yeah, I'm not quite ready for that yet.

On governance and weather patterns

(most fascinating post title EVER huh?  two really, really sexy topics, i know).

So the pace of my research has slowed down a bit now that I'm traveling all around - I mean, I still have days where I'll interview 6 activists in a day, but they're far rarer than they were in Manila, and every now and again i wind up not interviewing any - I go to offices, chat with staff or directors, send emails and make calls, but end up at the end of the day with no new interviews recorded.  I have to remind myself, after the breakneck pace of Manila, that it's okay to have days like that, as long as they aren't ALL like that.  And they aren't, of course - I got another dozen interviews in the last week or so.

One thing that really came through in my interviews in the South was the importance of local governments.  Of course, activists talked about this in Manila, too, but visiting Davao kind of drives it home.  Davao is a big, progressive city in the south-east corner of Mindanao, which prides itself (seriously, every taxi driver was boasting) on being the cleanest, safest city in the Philippines... or so they claim.  Fascinatingly, smoking is pretty much banned there - not allowed in ANY public spaces, with fierce fines if a cop catches you, and huge billboards everywhere reminding you that it's "BECAUSE WE CARE" (their caps).  If this doesn't sound that fascinating to you, then pay a visit to Manila... because EVERYBODY smokes EVERYWHERE.  Except on the light rail, I think.  But everywhere else!

Anyway, Davao's father-and-daughter mayoral team (they just switch place between mayor and vice mayor.  It's weird.  Clan politics are weird.  Wow, that was a nuanced and culturally sensitive comment, huh?) are very strong supporters of women's issues, and a few years back Davao passed a Women Development Code.  It mandated the creation of a Integrated Gender and Development Office (still just a department now, but they're working on it) and also:
- Banned beauty pageants that involved any skimpy outfits, nudity or degrading acts
- Banned billboards degrading to women
- Mandated that all city employees be trained in gender sensitivity
- Required that all business provide reproductive health services to employees or risk losing their business license
- Mandated maternity leave of 6 months for women working for any employer
- Set up tax benefits for companies that provide child care
- Defines the feminist principles officials and police should follow when helping battered women.  (First line: "Feminists maintain that violence and abuse are never appropriate in an intimate relationship.")
- and it keeps going!  special sections for indigenous women and women with disabilities, recognition of the rights of lesbians, ways to improve access to education for older women, etc, etc.  I was reading this thing and my jaw literally dropped and I said, "and this PASSED!?"  It reads like a (second-wave?) feminist's pipedream.   But it passed - and it appears, in many ways, to be fulfilling its stated goals.

I seriously could not believe that they managed to ban bikini contests, though.  Can you imagine trying that back home?  The libertarians would all have heart attacks.

Anyway, everybody I interviewed mentioned the fact that the local government provided a lot of support, including financially, to woman's organizations and woman's issues - and that if the smaller units of government (barangays) were resistant to, say, dedicating money for a Women and Children's Protection Desk (where battered wives and abused children can seek help at any time), the mayor's office will put pressure on them to comply with the law.  In fact, the mayors here appear to be kind of despotic - rule with an iron fist and all - but they're despotic in favor of women, which frankly is a phrase I never expected to write.

Despotism aside, is it encouraging or discouraging that local governments can make so much of a difference?   Little of both... it means that even if the national government doesn't pass, say, a reproductive health bill, communities can elect leaders who care about the issue and will make the absence of the national bill downright irrelevant.  But on the other hand, it means that even if the nation has passed, say, a bill banning VAW (which they did - Republic Act 9262, 2004) the enforcement rests squarely on the local level, and a mayor or barangay captain who doesnt' care can make the presence of a national bill... downright irrelevant.

On the travel note, I kind of like the rainy season!  Okay, there's one thing I don't like: My clothes NEVER DRY.  NEVER.  OMG.  So that's annoying.

But the thunderstorms are so dramatic!  And as long as I can find shelter, so much fun to watch!  And they cool down the temperature, and add variety, and chase away the crowds.  Friends, the rainy season is sweet!

And even cloudy days can be absolutely beautiful... for instance, when we visited Lake Cebu, it was a cloudy, rainy day - and I got mud all over myself to prove it, at one point - but it was also gorgeous.  Amazingly gorgeous.