Filipino Time: First Encounter

I clearly remember my first encounter with a phenomena in the Philippines called “Filipino Time”. I can see all you guys out there married to your wonderful, beautiful Filipinas shaking your heads as you recall your first experience with this rift in the time/space continuum. I doubt it was a pleasant experience for any of you. I know it wasn’t for me. Keeping it as a repressed memory is probably not a good thing, so Mindanao Bob and “Live in the Philippines Web Magazine” affords me another opportunity to vent, for which I am grateful.

January 20, 2000, on a Thursday at approximately 12:05 pm is when I first experienced my initial contact with “Filipino Time”. It was a hot and muggy day in Coloocan City. It was my wedding day. My fiance and I were ready to make the trip to the City Hall in Coloocan where my future sister-in-law Marialos had already made an appointment and arrangements for our civil wedding ceremony. The ceremony was scheduled for 1:00 pm. Since I had been in the Philippines for only four days and on my first visit and having just met my wife-to-be Melinda this past Sunday night for the first time, I was a bit on edge. (Melinda and I had been writing each other for the past six months.) The jeepney ride to the City Hall was a half hour away so that meant Marialos had only 25 minutes to get ready, Melinda and I were going to be late for our own wedding.

Realizing that Marialos was a woman I thought it might take her more than 25 minutes to get ready to be a witness at her own sister’s marriage to a kano. Please do not perceive this as a sexist remark, but I thought maybe things are different in the Philippines with the ladies preparation time than in the United States (you guys married to Filipinas can stop laughing now.) I was getting extremely upset, but I was still trying to present my best side as one is apt to do when dating someone, and then once you are married you can revert back to your old caveman self and walk around in your boxer shorts, scratching your belly, while holding a san mig in the other hand. I calmly asked Melinda when her sister was going to get ready. Melinda replied it is OK, we are in the Philippines and everyone is always late. I (still) calmly replied that we were going to be late for our own wedding. It is not a problem, she replied, this is the Philippines. We are on Filipino time!

Finally at about 12:30 pm my sister-in-law starts getting dressed at the time we should have been leaving in the jeepney. I cracked. Wisely, and somehow, I did not use any profanity but asked my future Sainted Patient Wife in no uncertain terms what was the matter with her sister and why did she wait so long since she knew we had to be at City Hall at 1:00. Again, not to worry, she said.

Finally at 1:00, the appointed time for our civil wedding ceremony, Marialos  was ready. I was fuming! We go outside to catch a jeepney along with the rest of the relatives (too many to take in a air con cab I was told) and head towards Coloocan City Hall.

We arrive an half hour late, go up the stairs to the City Clerk’s office. The City Clerk that had arranged with my sister-in-law to have our wedding certificate ready, took one look at me and said something to my soon bride-to-be in Tagalog.

Suddenly the fee for the marriage license went up an additional 2500 pesos! What a day! My first encounter with “Filipino Time” and now I was experiencing for the first time the “Skin Tax”!

Well, things have worked out well since then. Oh, the marriage ceremony went as planned, and I have had almost ten years of marriage to my wonderful Sainted Patient Wife. Now we are living a great life in the Philippines. And “Filipino Time”? Better get used to it, brother. That is the way it is. That’s life in the Philippines!

Live Like a King in the Philippines!

OK, you look at the title of this article, and you think “What is this guy selling?” or “What is he smoking?” Truth is, at age 57, I never expected to live like a king. No offense to my peeps back home (and I have no idea what a peep is, except that is the sound these little chicks following their mother hen make around here) back in the States, there is no way I would be living like a king back in America unless I was Bill Gates or one of the Wal-Mart heirs. It just would not be happening. I would still be at my mind-numbing job at the phone company bored to death and watching the clock. But here I am in the Philippines just over a scant three months, and I am already living like a king.

Dave, or Bonehead (take your pick, they are interchangeable in my case), you may ask, how can you make such a bold statement? How can one live like a king in the Philippines? Well, let me first make one distinction. I don’t call myself a king although my Sainted Patient Wife told me last week that I was a KING! Now you guys out there married to a beautiful Filipina like I am, have probably already heard that from your asawa countless times. And you guys reading this living in America married to a wonderful American lady (as I once was during my brief nine and ½ month first marriage over 20 years ago) have NEVER heard it. No offense to you terrific American ladies, and please note I am 7000 miles away living in a python-infested jungle filled with thousands of huge spiders big enough to stop a Mack truck. And with huge bugs swarming around that will knock you out in a heartbeat if one smacks you in the face. And don’t forget the lizards. Don’t get me started on the lizards!

So I stopped to think what my asawa said, which in itself was rare because I usually don’t remember what she tells me unless it pertains to breakfast, lunch, or dinner, or snacks, or she needs some pesos to buy something. I do live like a king here. We support eight people in our household on around 500 USD a month, and we live pretty comfortable. We have a laundry lady we pay 1000 pesos a month, and a maid which we overpay at 2500 pesos a month (but she is my sister-in-law.) The house and property we live on is bought and paid for years ago by my wife when she worked overseas for years in Singapore and Taiwan as an OCW (old school term for Overseas Contract Worker) and now is called OFW (Overseas Filipino Worker.)  Everyone waits on me hand and foot here. I don’t ask for it, they just do it. Even my mother-in-law, The Feared Giant Lizard Killer with the big bolo, likes me. I’ve got it made, and I know it.

Could you live like a king somewhere else? Probably, but let me see, I am surrounded by beautiful tropical beaches and beautiful Filipinas (that I do not stare at when my wife is with me, but you cannot help but notice them), warm temperatures year round, no snow to shovel, no job to go to, friendly people (including my wife), and a lot less stress. Back home in the States I had to help with the laundry, clean my own bathroom, cook my own meals half the time, and go to work. Let me see, United States or the Philippines? Work, or here we go again, live like a king in the Philippines. But wait a minute, my Sainted Patient Wife just walked by, and I told her what I was writing about. She laughs and says to me: “I said you act like a king around here; I didn’t say you are a king.” Shoot! Had her living in America too long! I’ve just been dethroned!

Don’t Blame the Duwende!

The following is an account told to me by my wife Melinda, who was a witness to the events that unfold in this story. She swears that the following narrative is true, and I believe it is always beneficial to my continued well being to believe my asawa.

Tatay Emeliamo entered the hut, saw the great pain wive was in, and then it finally occurred to him why this happening to his asawa: he had not made any preparations to appease the duwende living in the balete tree when he felled the gigantic tree. Tatay ran through the jungle to Buluangan Jordan where his friend the healer, Juan resided. Tatay and Juan swiftly returned to the home place; Juan was keenly aware of the consequences when a duewende is offended.

My father-in-law, Emeliamo, here in San Miguel, Guimaras, in the Philippines, needed some charcoal. He had a massive balete tree in his python-infested backyard in the heart of a jungle. Now Tatay (father) Emeliamo had an immunity to any curses or spells from duwendes (invisible Filipino elves) or manananggals (witches). My Sainted Patient Wife informs me that she also has such an immunity. Several years had past since his daughter Ellen had gotten ill from stepping on the duwende as I related in a story last week. Charcoal was the only thing on his mind, so he whacked down the balete tree after much effort, and proceeded to make his charcoal.

The next day my mother-in-law, Rogelia, woke up with a horrific back pain. Suffering a pain so great that she could barely rise up from her floor mat, she got word to her daughter, my future wife Melinda, to tell Tatay she needed help. Melinda ran out to the rice fields, and told Tatay to come back to the nipa hut; Nanay (mother) needed help and she needed it now! Tatay raced home to see what was wrong.

Juan carefully inspected the site of the now chopped down balete tree, and informed my father-in-law that no, the curse upon Nanay is not the work of a duwende, but Juan the healer sees a hideous pig-faced demon ,that is common in this part of the Western Visayas, lurking around, a lulid. The lulid is the cause of Nanay’s severe back pain, and he must be given an offering of one peso, and a fine sumptuous meal.

The meal was prepared and the peso set out as instructed by the healer Juan. The next day Nanay wakes up refreshed and all the back pain is gone. All is well in the nipa hut in a jungle in the heart of the Philippines. And that would seem to be the end of this story if not for my wife’s eldest sister Marialuz, who as the only child of twelve sent to a private school and well-educated, a skeptic of this whole lulid demon, duwendes, and manananggals business which she perceived as just folk tales. So Marialuz snuck out by the offering site, and took the peso. Her ignorant (to her) family would just think the lulid took it, and she would be one peso richer. But as soon as the lulid’s peso was snatched hundreds of blackbirds darkened the skies above the nipa hut!

But of course you may have guessed already that Marialuz soon took ill. Yes, she was stricken with a extremely high fever. Her mother approached her and asked her if she had taken the lulid’s peso. The blackbirds where still hovering outside and Nanay was not a stupid woman. As a child is apt to do at times, Marialuz first denied the accusation. Again, Nanay asked the question, as she slowly reached for a piece of nearby bamboo kept in a corner of the nipa hut for the occasional caning. Wisely Marialuz admitted to the theft. With Nanay grabbing her by the arm, Nanay had Marialuz place the peso back at the offering site (where all the food had already disappeared, and who am I to deny that the food was devoured by the lulid and not some stray dog or possibly a passing duwende?

The blackbirds flew away with much screeching, and the fever was lifted from Marialuz. Now, all was well at the nipa hut in the jungle. That is, until the next balete tree.

Don’t Step on the Duwende!

About a 30 minute jeepney ride from our home in Guimaras, a rural province near Iloilo in the Western Visayas here in the Philippines, is the jungle where my Sainted Patient Wife Melinda grew up and lived in a big nipa hut with no running water and no electricity, however, they did have a massive balete tree right outside their home. Balete trees are known to harbor various spirits here in the Philippines; this story relates an account that involves my wife Melinda’s younger sister Ellen and a certain duwende that lived in the family balete tree.

For the uninitiated, a duwende or nuna (as my wife’s local Hiligaynon language refers to them as) is an old elf-sized man and is usually invisible. The duwende live in anthills or trees and while there is debate on the actual size of these creatures, some accounts say insect-sized or elf-sized, my wife adamantly states that they are elves. So for the record, the duwendes in Guimaras are elf-sized. If you are reading this and live in the Philippines, your particular nuna may be a different size.

The duewende that dwelled in the family’s balete tree was a black duwende. As explained by my wife, there are two types of duwende. White or Black. The white ones are good little creatures, but the black duewendes like to cause mischief and are quite evil.

Knowing the nature of their particular nuna did not dissuade Melinda’s younger sister Ellen from throwing stones at the balete tree one afternoon as kids are known to pick up the occasional rock and pitch it. So Ellen spent some time idly tossing her collection of rocks at the tree without a care in the world.

Melinda and her brothers and sisters walked to school everyday (that is if their father did not need them to help on their rice farm.) They walked the many kilometers to school since they could not afford tricycles or jeepneys. Ellen traveled with Melinda and the others as usual, but in the afternoon, Melinda discovered that Ellen had to leave school around ten o’clock. Ellen had a excruciating pain in her forehead right above her eyes, and left to go home. Ellen went to school the next day. At ten o’clock the pain hits again, and she retreats back home. The next day the same scenario.

After three days of this, Melinda’s parents take her sister Ellen to a very reputable local healer. He of course correctly diagnoses the problem as a duwende curse;  the duwende had catapulted the curse at Ellen, and it landed right on her forehead. The healer could see the curse and spread some ginger on it, and instructed the family to give the nuna a food offering. Melinda’s parents went home and prepared a meal for the duwende, and set it outside the balete tree. The next day at ten o’clock, Ellen had no pain whatsoever. She went throughout the whole day without any discomfort and felt great. The healer had done his job, and the mischievous nuna was appeased! Next week I’ll tell you what happened when my father-in-law cuts down the huge balete tree to make charcoal. There are some severe consequences one has to face when one become a balete tree killer!

The Sandal Shuffle

If you live in the Philippines, you’ve got to have sandals. You have your outside pair, and your inside pair. When you reach your door entrance, you leave the outside pair, well, you guessed it, outside, and put on your inside pair that is waiting for you right inside the door. Pretty simple, right? And let me tell you, you DO want to use sandals and no socks because it is way too warm and humid not to wear them. I only wear my shoes and no socks when Sainted Patient Wife and I make a trek to Iloilo. Most of the time our mud-laden subdivision road has some cow manure that you have to be careful not to step in, so I feel safer with the shoes. My wife loves to see the cow manure, because she goes back later a collects it for garden fertilizer. There are certain chores I feel that a husband and wife do not have to share, and cow manure collecting is one of those.

The problem with sandals inside the house is that all of our floors are concrete, and we have a total of seven kids here in the compound. Four of the kids live right inside our house, and the other three are frequent visitors as their nipa hut (see photo) is situated in our front yard only about ten feet from our entrance. So here’s the deal; the kids somehow found it necessary to shuffle their feet when they walk across the concrete floor and it made a very irritating noise (to me) as they walk. They would not pick up their feet.

I only let this shuffling happen one or two times when I first got here before I had to say something. I said it nicely the first time. Not so nice the second time. You didn’t want to be here the third time I said it (or maybe you did hear me even from the edge of the jungle in the Philippines.) Finally, after about a week the younger kids (who can’t understand English and didn’t know what “pick up your feet” meant, stopped the sandal shuffle. Thankfully, Sainted Patient Wife explained to them what I meant and that “tito”, uncle, was getting pretty grumpy over this. And tito does tend to get grumpy from time to time.)

Ahh, but here’s the catch, we have two teenage girls in the house, the sixteen year old twins Michelle and April who are usually quite respectful. Now Sainted Patient Wife and I do not have any children, so I have not personally experienced what trillions of parents have gone through since the dawn of time and are still going through as they battle endlessly and probably hopeless through the TEENAGE YEARS. I don’t think the twins were intentionally being disrespectful; I believe the sandal shuffle was just something they had been doing for years and was ingrained in them. Like talking about that new Twilight movie; that’s all the twins talk about, and there’s no way I will get them off that topic, so why bother. What made things worse was that without my glasses or contact lenses I could not tell what twin was committing the offense (Michelle has a very small mole on her lip and that is how we tell them apart.)

Two more weeks go by and then I finally reached my breaking point. I heard the sandal shuffle going on in the kitchen again from inside my bedroom, yelled at the offending twin (still don’t know if it was Michelle or April) in my ultra loud extreme anger voice which can actually pierce other dimensions (trust me on this), and advised all the kids that the next person who shuffled would not have those sandals anymore as I would toss them outside here on the edge of the jungle in the Philippines. And burn them. Then I went back inside our bedroom and slammed the door so hard the house literally shook (I know, that was quite mature, but as I said, I had reached my breaking point, and if you have teenagers I’m sure you understand.)

The day passed; no sandal shuffle. Another day. Still no shuffle. Weeks have gone by now, and yes, it is a miracle, but the sandal shuffle has ended. Now if I could just get my three year old nephew Joriel to stop whining (but wait, maybe that’s what I’m going!) Just another day in the Philippines.

Pig Gets Nervous! Feista Days Away!

My mother-in-law’s pig in the backyard is getting nervous. Really nervous. No, it doesn’t have a name. I just call it ”the pig”.  My wife Melinda feeds him all the time, and our little two year old niece Amiel likes to go in the back to visit him.  And  I know the pig is caged in a concrete bunker. If the pig is not locked up, the pig WILL be stolen. That’s how it is here. Fiesta time is fast approaching, and the pig‘s sole purpose is to be the main meal for the Fiesta. Everyone has been anticipating the Annual San Miguel Jordan Guimaras Fiesta like I waited for Christmas as a young kid, counting off the days one by one, so anxious, it just couldn’t come quickly enough. That’s the way it is at Fiesta time. It is the BIG social event of the year!
Family, friends, strangers will be stopping by; carnival rides and food vendors at the Crossing (San Miguel’s main drag), disco music blasting until 3 or 4 in the morning. Guys peeing in the public streets (well, that’s any day here in Guimaras.) Fireworks mixed in with random gunfire (that’s any day here, too.) It’s Fiesta time!

The kids are out for school the two days of the celebration (this Sept. 28th and 29th); no snow days here for the kids.  Our local priest has been shooting off fireworks the past week before the 5 am mass to get ready for the festivities (and my wife says to wake people up to go to early mass. I sleep in. )

Cousin Chris from Guimaras, and his brother-in-law from Bacolod, are going to be here to prepare and cook the pig. Sainted Patient Wife Melinda says the pig will not be roasted this year, but will be cooked; the head will be roasted, though. Hey, it’s my wife’s gig, if they want to cook and not roast the pig, that’s her option (but I do love that roasted pig.) I wisely always defer to the asawa (well, most of the time.)

Spent a bunch of pesos at Iloilo City SM City Supermarket and the cart was loaded down with goodies for the Fiesta. Bought some cases of San Miguel in San Miguel here in Guimaras at Cousin Emma’s Jade Market, have to keep the family drinkers and relatives happy; Emma’s place is near “The Compound”, our humble dwelling with thirteen current occupants, but as you know here in the Philippines that occupancy rate can rise faster than flooding streets in Iloilo City during a low pressure visit. Don’t want to haul all those cases of bottled beer on the pontoon boat from Iloilo especially if the waters are rough that day. And Emma says that at 360 pesos a case we’re getting it cheaper before the price goes up during the Feista.

Well, have to start cleaning myself  up for the big festivities. Have to shave for the big day,  and pour buckets of cold water over my head for my shower in the CR (after I check for spiders and lizards) and even put on a clean t-shirt. Yeah, I know, I’m going all out for the big event. But it’s Fiesta Time (plus the wife is making me!)  You married guys know what I’m talking about.

The Compound Tower

Wouldn’t be able to spend all day on the Internet without The Tower. Sits about 10 ft from our front porch here in San Miguel, Jordan in Guimaras province;  I call our place “The Compound”. We have thirteen folks currently residing here. Oh, I could take a short walk to the local Internet cafes. Only 20 pesos an hour, not bad. But I wanted a high speed, super-duper, fast-as-lightning Internet connection where I plug in my MagicJack and talk to my Dad in Vegas or anyone else with a landline back in the States.  A connection where I could whiz (lot of that goes around here in our little rural province) around the Internet with blinding speed.

Went to the Smart store in nearby Iloilo at the SM City Mall. Explained my desire to have broadband service. Said a business that was fairly close to us had service, Albert’s Motorcycle Shop (wife tells me the shop owners’ were sponsors in our wedding; we had two weddings, but that’s another story.) Every time I turn around we run into someone that was a sponsor or someone who is a relative, and Sainted Patient Wife asks if I remember them. I can’t even remember what I had for breakfast this morning let alone someone that attended our wedding five years ago or a relative I had met years ago.

The nice lady at Smart says they will send someone to survey our site to see if we can get their broadband service called Smart Bro. So I gave the lady 999 pesos in advance for the first month’s service, and wait for a Smart Bro rep to show up.

A few days later a guy pulls up on a motor scooter by the name of Moises. “The Compound” sits quite a bit lower from Albert’s Motorcycle Shop tower location; Albert has a 35 foot tower, but we might need a higher tower. “How high?” I ask. “Maybe 60 feet, sir.” replies Moises. “How much?” I ask. “18,000 pesos, sir.” replies Moises. That’s a pretty good chunk of change, I gulp and think to myself. Moises says he will do a site check from his tower at 35 feet and let me know how it goes.

Moises texts me later in the day. Thirty-five feet won’t work. No LOS (Line of Sight) at that height. No signal. Do I want to go with the 60 foot tower? I text him back to go ahead with the 60 footer. Now just a couple of weeks before “The Chief”, the local police officer who of course is another relative, came by with his friend Roy ( of course my wife is related to Roy’s wife.) Roy is now our architect/contractor on some work being done at “The Compound”. Anyway, “The Chief” warned us at the time that installers are putting up Internet towers for some foreigners, and charging exorbitant prices. Now did that warning pop into my head when I gave Moises the go ahead on the 60 footer? Nope. I wanted my Broadband, high-speed connection no matter what.

I trusted Moises. He guaranteed me I could get my signal with a 60 foot tower, and I took him at his word. Here in the Philippines some things are just like back in the States. You make a judgment about a person, and decide if you can trust them. I looked inside Moise’s bloodshot eyes and took him at his word.

Well, the family is not happy about all this. They are all out in the front yard by my brother-in-law’s nipa hut talking in a frenzy in their local language. I ask the wife what’s going on even though I sensed I had figured it out. Sainted Patient Wife says the family believes I am paying too much for the tower. “Are they paying for it?” I asked my wife. She says my sister-in-law thinks I should get someone else to give me a bid on it. Probably a good idea, but Moises is the authorized installer for Smart, I’ve been waiting long enough to get the Internet here, and I will not wait any longer. Wife lets it go (for now) knowing I am getting irritated (I also got irritated in America so she recognizes my irritability here as well.)

A few days before the tower installation is due to happen, my wife informs me that Roy, our architect/ contractor could have put up the tower for 10,000 pesos. She wants to know if I had given any money to Moises yet. I said that I had not given Moises any money yet, but that I HAD given him my WORD that Moises was going to be the one to install the tower. If Roy installs Internet towers why was I not told this a couple of weeks of ago when he came by “The Compound” I ask Melinda, my Sainted Wife? (Let me please tell you, however, that I really like Roy. He is very smart, organized, and personable.) She says she doesn’t know why.

The crew of 5 comes in to install the tower. Moises tells me that he is only going to try to see if it works with a 50 section even though the tower the crew brings is 60 ft., broken down in 10 ft sections. He said it was too risky to go higher. I advised him that he was going to install a 60 ft tower as he promised if that is what it takes to get my signal. I also remind him that he told me before that he had climbed a 200 ft tower. He said he will go to 60 ft if there was no signal at 50 ft.

The tower goes up in 10 ft sections at a time. It is about 3- inch thick iron with supports welded on for climbing. It is supported by guide lines positioned throughout the front yard. A young man, not Moises, climbs the tower as the other workers get each section up to him with a rope. The guys get up to 50 ft, Moises hooks up the Ethernet cable to my computer, and gets no signal. Have to add that final 10 ft. section. The last section goes in, we have a 60 ft tower, and Moises (and I) are excited because we get a signal from the main tower, a very good signal. He goes to the Smart Bro website and reboots the computed as directed and then—-no signal, NOTHING!

He tries for another hour or so to  get the signal back. Still nothing. He then advises me he is an installer and not a technician; I had already figured that out for myself. He says he will be back tomorrow morning (hopefully with some help.)

Next morning Moises comes back with a friend of his who is a computer tech. The computer tech configures some LAN settings on my computer, gets the signal back, and I am online. I am overjoyed and thrilled to no end. So here I am staring at this monitor all day and typing. But I enjoy it. If you’re going to write a blog, what better place than the Philippines!

Welcome, Dave DeWall

Hello everybody.  Today, I’d like to introduce a new writer on LiP, Dave DeWall.  Dave’s first article is already online and ready for your enjoyment.  For Dave’s first effort out the door, he has a story to tell about taking a trip on a Multicab.

Dave lives on Guimaras island in the Visayas.

Welcome aboard, Dave!  It’s our pleasure to have you on LiP, and we look forward to getting to know you better.

Riding the Multicab Electric

Thanks to Bob Martin and the LIP group for allowing me to write on this website. I consider it a privilege and hope to amuse and inform the readers of this site just a bit.

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Coming home from the pontoon boat the other night from Iloilo are my wife Melinda, her sister Marjorie, and myself.  About a 10-15 minute boat ride  to the Jordan Wharf in Guimaras depending on how choppy the waves are.  Around 6 pm and this was the latest we had taken the boat to get back home. My wife Melinda, a native of Guimaras, and I had picked up her sister Marjorie from Iloilo City. Marjorie has only been home a few days and staying with family in Manila after enduring an unpleasant experience as an OFW (Overseas Filipino Worker) in Jeddah, Saudi Arabia. But she is doing well, and the family at “The Compound” back in San Miguel will now number 13 with Marjorie’s arrival.

Since we have Marjorie’s luggage to haul around, and we don’t want to wait for a jeepney to San Miguel to fill up, we decide to hire what my wife calls a “multicab.” When she first told me about a “multicab” I kept repeating to her “multicar?” because I thought that is what she was saying. “Multicab, multicab!” she repeated to me until it sunk in (this time anyway, and I’m sure you guys married to Filipinas don’t have any communication problems, right?)

To me a multicab is just a smaller version of a jeepney. We use them from time to time for a cost of 150 pesos for a 25 minute or so ride back home.  Used one to haul a new refrigerator we had bought in SM Delgado in Iloilo City back to Guimaras. Lang Lang, a porter at the Wharf in Iloilo carried that refrigerator (and it was no mini-fridge) on his back by himself down the steps off the dock leading to the boat. He is one strong guy and just as nice as can be.  But definitely want to keep on his good side.

So it’s twilight and our regular multicab driver Bintoy is gone for the day;  we step into a multicab we have never used before. From the moment we get into the back of this vehicle I was impressed. This thing had to be new. Gleaming bright yellow paint on the inside and outside with upholstery that had nary a tear or stain on it. Two big  “Jesus” stickers adorn the back of it. And then as we travel down the road to San Miguel, I see a combination of red lights flashing inside the driver’s dashboard and you can see his outside red warning lights flashing in sequence and reflecting off the road and off buildings as he warns people of his upcoming approach.  No honking of the horn every few seconds or so as is usually the case.  It was quite a light show!

As we clear most of the foot traffic near the dock and continue our journey, the driver than turns on some nice red glowing lights in the back creating some pretty cool ambiance. Man, this guy has quite a setup here. I really enjoy the trip back home, give him a nice tip, compliment him on his vehicle, and shake his hand.

Quite a pleasant end to a long day, and just another day in the Philippines.

Another adventure.