They’re Only Seven Once

Why is the seventh birthday so important? I’ll never fully understand the why of it, and I decided to be quite and go along with.

It’s Mid September sitting at my kitchen, and those discussing the planned party are, 1 Great Grandmother, 2 Grandmothers, 1 Mother, 1 Grand Daughter (soon to be seven) Plus 1 Father, and not to be left out, me the Grandfather. (In the dining room and living room, were assorted Aunts, Uncles and cousins not involved in the planning, but voting present) I admire you folks, who are taking the time to learn the local language, yet once in awhile it’s a blessing to be ignorant of what’s being said, and believe me this was one of those times.

Chris (my son-in-law) feeling sorry for me, disappeared and returned with a frosty bottle of, San Magoo Beer. (You knew that was coming!) Then came the important part, the plans are set, all goes quiet, all brown eyes are peering into the blue eyes that my folks burdened me with, and for the first time that evening English was spoken and I was informed that my part was P24,500.00.

Now I knew why my beer was never empty, and I just agreed. The party was set for October 3rd (made sense, as it was the Childs birthday) the Sunday before the big event we must go to SM Mall in San Fernando. From my house in Bataan, it’s an hour drive. 9 am with my wife and I, birthday girl and her parents in the car, we’re on the way. In Lubou the traffic is very heavy and a truck hits my Honda on the rear left door and fender well, and sails off down the road.

Panic ensues, I’m instructed to race after the truck, and find a policeman, and to stop and inspect the damage. I just want to get out of this traffic and go to the mall. The truck is gone, the police have the day off (It was a Sunday) and I’ll check the car at the mall, as it was driving just fine. Why had I not followed all the great advice I’d received? The truck was long gone and if I had caught up with it the driver would deny, deny, and deny again. The police, if I could have found one would have keep me for an hours or more filling out paperwork, and answering questions that I could not answer. Like, what’s the name of the other driver? Who owned the truck, where was the truck purchased? I think you get the drill.

Now we’re at the mall, birthday presents in tow heading to my car, when my wife informs me my granddaughter was in a Barbie fashion show and would be done sometime after 2pm. I smile; I wait, because it’s what grandfathers do. Return trip to my house and a well deserved cold beer. Hitting 50 MPH, left front wheel hit a pothole the size of a crater on the moon, and blows the tire off the rim. Son-in-Law changes the tire, and at 6pm I’m safe at home. Cold beer at the ready!

The shopping at the mall P7, 000.00, the new tire P2, 700.00, bodywork and paint on the car P5, 500.00, then there’s the original cost of the party, the look in my granddaughters eyes the night of the party! Absolutely, positively priceless! I’d do it all again.

Sitting for our family portrait at TriNoma

Last month, we decided that it was time to have a family portrait made of Rebecca, myself, and Juanito. Certainly, since Juanito arrived, we have taken many, many pictures. However, this was the first time that we had a professional take a formal portrait of all of us together.

So, we packed up Juanito into the car, and headed over to TriNoma mall in Quezon City. TriNoma is a somewhat upscale mall here, with all of the major brand stores and things that most expats are likely to need when moving here. The mall is anchored by Landmark, an ultra-modern, upscale supermarket and department store. In fact, that is one of the primary reasons I am writing this article: The concern as to the availability of different items in the Philippines. Yes, the Philippines may be considered the developing world, yet, it is important for people to remember this: There is a hell of a lot of money in this country. Income distribution is widely unequal, and the “have-nots” certainly struggle just to survive from day to day. But what about the “haves”? Well, say that 5% of the population are well off. That equates to roughly 5 million people who are very much high-end consumers, most of whom live and work in Metro Manila. These consumers demand all of the goods that one could find in Europe or the United States, both in terms of quality and availability. In other words, everything that you could expect to find in the West is available here… For a price. That is what expats need to keep in mind when deciding whether or not to move here. Yes, the modern, top-line, feature-laden, LG refrigerator is for sale here, but do you want to spend the additional money to purchase this type of refrigerator, or would a simpler model suffice? These are the types of questions you will need to answer when moving here. What is important to you and a “necessity” or what will be sufficient for your standard of living. Once you head out of Manila to the provinces, availability of “luxury” goods drops quickly… Remember where those with the money tend to live. It is not Tuguegarao.

The point of all this is that a formal portrait by a professional photographer is very much considered a luxury out in the sticks… Not many people in the province can or will spend a whole month’s wages on a family picture. Yes, there are a few photographers out there, but you will need to search for them. Rebecca had never sat for a portrait in her entire life, save for passport photos.  There is a wing at TriNoma where there are 3 or 4 photo studios right next to each other. So, we choose one. Even the pricing was unfamiliar to her… She thought that you pay to have your picture taken, rather than paying for each print that is made. After the sticker shock wore off a bit, we ended up with one museum-quality framed portrait, along with about a dozen prints. The thought that we have at least one really nice photo together made it all worthwhile in her mind. So, below, here’s a couple of the pictures we had made.

Mama Sally: A Good Old-Fashioned Horse Trader

Despite the mother-in-law jokes that have been around since time began, I like my Mother-in-Law. Really. I’m not kidding. Meet Sancha Carrao, or Mama Sally as she is better known.

Mama is nearly 70, though no-one will say how old she is, and very traditional and set in her ways. She speaks very little English, but we can communicate easily enough if Rebecca is around. She has very simple wants and needs: Roof over her head, some food in her belly, the occasional pack of cigarettes, and her children provided for. That’s all. She is nearly impossible to shop for: What do you get the person who has nothing and wants nothing? (We’ve given up on this front… It took our wedding to get her to allow us to buy her a new blouse and shoes. She said that she had no need for such frivolous things!) Mama grew up in the province, and has lived there her whole life, except when she went to school in Manila, where she worked as a clerk in National Bookstore, over 50 years ago.

In the Philippines, age means everything… Respect for age lies at the very heart of the family and social structures here, particularly in the provinces. Mama is the matriarch of the Carrao family, and her influence in town is somewhat substantial. When I first met Mama, Rebecca told me to offer “Mano Po” to her and sort of watch what I said. The reason was that if, when we met, Mama did not approve of me, for whatever reason, Rebecca would have broken everything off with me, regardless of her feelings. Age equals wisdom in the Philippines, and wisdom demands respect. Thus, in Becky’s mind, she would have had no other choice but to bend to Mama’s wishes. Indeed, just last month, even though she is over 40, Rebecca was reprimanded for wearing a skirt that was above her knee. Mama thought it was improper for a married woman to be wearing such things. So, Becky went inside and changed into jeans (But she looks good in anything… She certainly has the bum for tight jeans.)

Mama is superstitious, like most people in Abulug, with a very deep Catholic faith. She is a big believer in the miracles at Piat, insisting that she was cured of dengue (Fever, as she called it) after praying to Our Lady. Rebecca’s father died over 40 years ago, killed while dynamite fishing (Two of her uncles were seriously hurt and almost also died), and Mama has an air of sadness about her. I don’t think she ever fully recovered from Becky’s father’s death. Indeed, for many years after he died, Rebecca was largely raised by her grandparents and uncles, since her mother sort of withdrew from life in general.

Since we moved to the Philippines, we have tried to get Mama to come down to Manila, so her and Becky could spend some time together. No dice… She is too firmly set in her ways. Abulug is home, it is where she was born, and where she will die. However, last visit, we were able to convince her to go to Tuguegarao with us for a day of shopping, which is where this story really begins.

We got to Tuguegarao, and Rebecca and Mama humored me by letting me have a “Kano” lunch of Greenwich pizza. We bought all kinds of vegetables at the market, shoes for the kids in Abulug, and were headed home. As I’m passing through Iguig, Mama says, “John… stop the truck!” She was really excited. She saw the roadside stand set up where they were selling brand new bolos. Her eyes lit up and a big smile crossed her face. I said, “Mama, do you need some?” She gets out of the car, almost as fast as I can stick 1,000 pesos into her hands. Rebecca jumps out, too, after sticking Juanito in my lap.

Now, by “bolos”, I am referring to the locally made variety… Cut from an old truck chassis, handles made from an old tire, and ground to a razor sharp edge by a grinding wheel. The stand had around 15 different types of bolos, in all manner of shape and size, for different tasks. Some curved like a sickle, for harvesting rice. Others with a really curved, nasty looking blade, for slaughtering pigs. Yet another on the end of a 2 meter handle for cutting down buko or other fruits. Yet still another shaped somewhat like a tomahawk, for chopping wood or meat. Finally, a long, curved blade for hacking through brush and jungle.

Mama picks up each bolo with an expert eye, testing the edge with each one. The maker calls one of his sons over, who then puts a bolo between his teeth, scurries up the nearest palm tree, and cuts bukos down. He slides back down and gives a buko to Mama, who then proceeds to test the bolo out. Satisfied, the negotiations begin, taking around 10 minutes. Rebecca returns to the car and tells me “Mama is buying one of each.” I give Becky another 1,000, and she goes off. When I see them wrapping the bolos in newspaper, so I load them into the truck (We ended up with 12, at 100 pesos each.) Mama came back with a big smile on her face, happy as a clam. Seems that the maker saw the truck, with me in it, and wanted to charge her Kano pricing… Mama would have none of that. She bargained him below the normal price. I would trust her to negotiate anything (Becky learned from the BEST!)

I’ve come to regard Mama as family… Yeah, she’s set in her ways, but I can learn a lot from her. She has stories about the old days and the old ways that are fascinating, and she still lives pretty much the same way to this very day. Indeed, I am very lucky to have such a Mother-In-Law.

Brief return to the UK

I have been staying in the Philippines on and off for about five years now and really love the people and the place. I have just returned to the UK for three weeks to help a friend move and to catch up on some legal stuff , and of course to catch up with old friends and the family too.

I kept my return to the UK very secret in order to surprise certain people, like my Mum who is 80 and was shocked to see me walk into her house announced a few days ago. The picture on her face was amazing, and i detected a real tear. Bless her. I will be catching up with her several times over the next few weeks, as we have three years to catch up on.

I also set up a surprise with two of my friends who turned up at another friends house for dinner , and then suddenly I pounced out and surprised them so much, and spent the next few hours in a boozy remembrance of our times together.

Both of my friends have been to the Philippines and are also coming back next year for another visit. Actually I am proud of the fact that they are coming over again because of me, and that they too have fallen in love with the country. I hope that one day both will join me in the country and marry a beautiful Filipino lady and settle down.

I also took a trip to my oldest friends and their kids, who are now adults, and spent a very emotional weekend with these people I have not see for three years. Yet on arrival to the house it felt I had only been away a few hours. A true test of friendship.

I should get commission from the Philippines Tourist Department as two of the family are going to come over next year too.

My time here is great and rewarding and its great to see some of the old friends. But I do not really belong here now, my heart is truly in the Philippines, as no matter how bad things are in the Philippines you will see a street full of smiles and big hearts. In the UK now its gloom and doom and the faces of the people in the malls are fall of sadness.

I cannot wait to get back to my new home country.

What Lolo Jim Taught Me About Moving to the Philippines

James Young Duncan II was my mother’s grandfather. He was born in Scotland back around 1890.  Of course we didn’t call him “Lolo,” that’s Tagalog for “Grandpa.” I don’t even know if my grandpa ever met anyone from the Philippines, or even had any interest in the Philippines, but he was an international traveler in his own small way, something a remarkable number of Americans can’t figure out how to do.

I know little of Lolo Jim’s actual background in Scotland, I believe he was from a working class or perhaps what was then service class background.  I’ve seen an old family picture of him on the seat of a two-wheel pony cart, with an older man, and from their dress I think thy might have been grooms or stablemen.

Things weren’t good in Scotland at all as my grandpa neared adulthood.  Money and jobs were tight, the nation (Great Britain, which Scotland only grudgingly [as in force and occupation] was apart of) was engaged in an horrific war in France, the world was poised on the brink of a flu epidemic that was to kill people in mammoth numbers, and jobs were certainly hard to find.  (Hmm, sounds a bit like today in some respects).

But Lolo Jim didn’t hunker down in little government-provided shelter somewhere and wait for King George to solve his problems.  He heard of this land called the USA where one could ‘live his dream’.  Without a lot of forethought he gathered up a substantial pot of money for those times, journeyed to Liverpool, England, and hopped on a ship bound for the ‘promised land.’  I don’t know where the money came from, but after paying his passage he still landed in the USA with $100 cash money, which was a pretty tidy sum in those days.  According to his immigration record, Lolo Jim went directly to a “boarding house” in Kearny, New Jersey where thousands upon thousands of other Scottish immigrants settled.  Many found work in several of the large Scottish companies which flourished there … American Nairn Linoleum Company, later the Congoleum Nairn Company, (if you have any sheet vinyl

or vinyl tiles in your home, chances are they made them) or Clark’s Thread, also still in business today, the major manufacturer of thread for 165 countries).

But mill life wasn’t for Jim.  I’m not clear on what he did for the short time he was in the US, but it’s very clear he suffered greatly from ‘Culture Shock,”  among other things, language difficulties,  even though both countries allegedly spoke English, if you ever tried to have a conversation with my Lolo Jim you might well have tried Tagalog instead of English. Chances of understanding each other were about the same for most people. (Tis a braw brict moonlit nicht the nicht).

Most of his money gone and all of his enthusiasm, my grandfather packed up what he had left and boarded a ship back to Scotland.  The ‘promised land’ having failed miserably to live up to its ‘promise’.  Unlike many seem to think, even today, making a trip from one country to another to ‘try the waters’ is not an all or nothing affair.  I can just imagine how many friends and family back in Scotland laughed at this young man, who had left with great hopes and then returned, obviously disenchanted with the country he thought would be a better place.

But Lolo Jim didn’t let the laughter and derision worry him much. Unlike a lot of people, he tried, rather than endlessly ‘think about trying,’ and for that he knew his life would forever be richer.  Even on its own that little vignette night be worth some thought and consideration, but of course the story didn’t end there.

As young men sometimes do, Lolo Jim met a woman who caught his eye, fell in love and married.  Pretty soon it came to pass that a baby was on it’s way.  Lolo Jim and my Lola Kate talked things over, weighed their options, and the options for their still to be born baby, and decided to try the USA one more time.

Bad economic times, war, epidemics, world in turmoil, uncertain economic times … wouldn’t it be a good time to wait and see?  I’m sure my grandfather received lots of advice along those lines, but he and his Kate made up their minds and once again left home and hearth to travel to Liverpool and thence Ellis Island.

They almost waited too long.  My grandmother was so far along in her pregnancy that the steamship company gave them a hard time about boarding her (according to family legend, anyway), but somehow they were convinced that she would wait until after the ship docked to deliver, and they set sail.

This time Lolo Jim had substantially less money to his name, but the couple still went to the same location, Kearny, New Jersey.  About a month after their arrival, a little girl named Elizabeth was born, my Mom.  She was always known by family and friends as Betty, in another little Scottish – Filipino parallel, her first name was actually Mary. Had she been born in the Philippines her birth certificate probably would have read Ma. Elizabeth, and that second and final trip of Lolo Jim’s is probably the reason I am as US citizen rather than a British Subject. The couple had plenty of ups and down over the years, they even ran a hot dog stand for a couple summers on the boardwalk in Asbury Park,  reminiscent of couples thinking of moving to the Philippines and supporting themselves with a little restaurant, but eventually all was well, they eked out a satisfactory middle class existence and by the time they passed away had the greatest of treasures one can hope for, a family of successful children, with children of their own, making their way in the world.

My mother relayed to me a story which makes this even more ‘moving to the Philippines’ related.  At his funeral, after more than 55 years in the USA, relatives from the ‘old country’ sent messages of condolence and hope.  Several people mentioned how they wish they had followed Lolo Jim’s lead and made the move back when they could have, and several clearly indicated they were glad they had stayed in the homeland and wished that Lolo Jim had too.  She brought this up during a conversation about pleasing relatives as an illustration of why that goal is impossible: you can’t please them all.

So, if you read this far, thanks for following along.  My only message or advice is not to convince you to move to the Philippines, it’s not for everyone, and the decision can only be yours and yours alone.  The message is, though, don’t let it be a decision of the magnitude some make of it. It is not a once in lifetime thing or an irrevocable decision, planes fly both ways. And remember, “More is lost by indecision than by wrong decision.”  Or so Dave (and Carmella Soprano) opines.

A gentle and quiet people

Filipinos are a very gentle people.  They are very quiet and demure.  They speak very softly, sometimes so softly that sometimes it is difficult to hear what they say.  Of course, you already know these things, because we hear it all the time.

STOP!  Wait, is it true?

If Filipinos are so gentle and quiet, then why do we also hear complaints from our fellow foreigners (myself included) about the noise problem here?  Oh, I know… you are saying that the noise is from the dogs, the roosters and the traffic.  Is it, though?

I did not plan on writing about this topic today, but a while ago I was in my office making some coffee.  I keep all my coffee supplies in the office and have a little “coffee station” there where I can brew up some wonderful coffee concoctions.  When I was standing there waiting for the brew to finish, a group of construction workers next door was taking a break.  They were sitting in a group of a half dozen or so, and talking.  These guys were probably 60 to 80 feet away from me, and I could hear the entire conversation!  And, I didn’t have to strain to hear it, or be quiet so I could “eavesdrop” on them.  No, even if i was loud in what I was doing, the conversation could not be avoided.  And, I was inside the house and in a different house from where they were!  They were downright loud!  They were not abnormally noisy either, not fighting or arguing, just having a normal conversation!

The same thing happened yesterday.  In the morning I went into my office and sat down at my desk to get to work.  In the mornings, I like to keep my office windows open to let the morning air permeate the office.  Yesterday morning, though, when I sat down, after only 5 minutes or so, I had to get up and close the windows, because all the conversation among the construction workers next door was just so loud, I couldn’t even concentrate!  Even with the windows closed, I could still “listen in” on what the guys next door were talking about!

Another example of this is in my own household.  A lot of times, if I am upstairs in the bedroom of my house, with the kitchen directly below me, I can listen to the entire conversation of my kids and other family members downstairs!  Sometimes, if I am watching TV, I even have to turn up the volume so that I can hear what is said on the TV show over the conversation downstairs!  And, I am not talking about hearing muffled noises from downstairs, I am talking about being able to understand everything that is said!

Why is it that we have an image in our heads that Filipinos are very quiet and gentle people, but in actuality they can be quite noisy?  As this thought came to me because of the “conversation” next door this morning, it kind of amazed me.  The truth is that Filipinos can be quite quiet in talking, sometimes very reserved.  I find this to be the case when they talk to me, as a foreigner or an ousider, not part of their “core group” – but when the group or barkada is all together, all inhibitions go out the window, voices move up to “loud” and the conversation is ON.

What do you think?  Have you noticed this too?

Fire The Nanny Or Just Beat Her?

Seems like a lot of life happens right on my front porch.  Its a bit interesting how many stories I get while sitting on my porch.  In a land, a long long time ago, people used to sit on their front porch with their family, especially on Sunday afternoons, and watch life go by.  Many of you have been to that land, it was the 1950’s in the USA and of course somewhat into the 1960’s and there are a few hold outs like me.  The Front porch in the USA  leaves a lot to be desired these days.  I still remember sitting on the porch with my grandfather, this was a normal pattern way up into the late 1980’s.  Air conditioning probably had a lot to do with that pastime coming to an end.

How To Deal Your Nanny

Since, I’ve become a bit addicted to these wonderful Filipino hand made cigars, I’ve been headed out to the porch more often.  I could smoke them inside but I don’t want too.  They stink things up badly.  I’m going to write about those cigars soon, either here or on heyjoe.com  I’m not sure which.

I live in what used to be a family compound.  It is still known by that family name.  We don’t have a street address, we just use the family name, such as the “Yap Compound.”  Its not really Yap, I just don’t care to give GPS coordinates to my home.   Someone might mistake me for someone that has something to steal. HaHa

I rent the main house in the compound but there are six buildings in the compound.  They’ve been converted into rental units and one into a boarding house.  So we see a lot of what is going on in the other homes and I’m sure they keep up with me, its a pastime in small town. 

The other day I invited a friend over for a couple of beers and a smoke.  He’s headed to Subic to teach English to Filipino and Koreans and wanted to wish him well.  While we were out there, we got a bit of a surprise.

There’s a cute little 17 year old over there, yeah she’s cute and totally off limits so don’t even go there!  She is working as a yaya, the local term for a nanny.  She takes care of a five year old while mom is working at the local Gaisano.  The other day mom came home to find a bruise on her son’s cheek!

The language got a little loud with sounds like “he’s just a baby!”  That was followed with a flurry of fists!  Mom decided to exercise some fast Filipino style justice.  I didn’t see the yaya for a couple of days, I figured she was gone for good.  I think she’s a family member though and she turned back up.  She’s working for her aunt or ate (big sister) we think.  That probably made this form of justice safe.  Police here don’t like to get involved in family matters of this type.  Sometimes the Barangay captain will get involved, mostly though that’s when a kano is beating his wife or girlfriend.  Kano, stop doing that, her family will show up and “bash” you.  That’s the word many Filipino use for that circumstance.

On a side note, guys stop hitting your women!  No matter how insecure you are there’s no excuse for it.  I put women beaters and child abuses on the same level.  STOP DOING IT!

I wanted to share a bit of my Cebu Experience and some Philippine culture with you.  I’m sure the girl and the aunt are back on good terms for now.  She is 17 though, there will probably be more trouble.  I saw her running through the complex with paper on fire last night.  I guess she needed some fire so she borrowed some from a neighbor.  Just the kind of thing a 17 year old would think was a great idea.  I’m glad my house is concrete!

I hear there’s often a lot of drama in the average Philippine family.  I’ve only had limited contact with Jessie’s family but didn’t see much of that there.  I’ve seen a little though.  Do you have any stories to share or thoughts about this one.  Always love to hear from you, yes you too Roy.    And don’t forget to come visit me at Living In The Philippines.

The Dalaga

What is a Dalaga, you say?  Well, a Dalaga is a single woman.  Usually it is a young woman, maybe a teenager.  There are two things that make a female a Dalaga.  First, they have already had their first menstruation.  Second, they are single.  I suppose a woman who is older can also be a Dalaga assuming the meets the first two criteria.

Our daughter became a Dalaga this year.  She is only 12 years old (almost 13), but I can definitely see a big difference in her level of maturity since she became a Dalaga.  She is visibly more a woman now.  Before she was a girl.  The difference seems to have happened literally overnight, before my eyes.  It’s amazing to me.

In Philippine culture, becoming a Dalaga has serious implications.  A close friend of mine has two daughters who also underwent that change this year as well.  One of the girls is a bit younger than our daughter is.  She still seems like a child, a youngster.  However, when a youngster becomes a Dalaga her behavior must change.

I was kind of surprised when the mother of this other girl was talking to me about her daughter recently.  The mother told me that her daughter recently came home from school a bit late because, as the daughter said, she was “playing with her friends” after school.  The woman went on to tell me that since her daughter was now a Dalaga, she was not supposed to be playing anymore, she was now a young woman after all!  And, I believe that she is 11 years old, possibly 12.

Seeing the changes in my own daughter this year has really opened my eyes.  Having several friends who have daughters in the same stage of their lives gives me a broader perspective to see how my own daughter’s life is different now.  Philippine society expects a girl, once she has undergone the change that makes her a Dalaga, to act like a lady.  Even if her age is still very young, she cannot act like a child any longer.

Just tonight, I was watching our daughter.  She is taking on more of a womanly role in the house.  She helps a bit with the cooking, cleaning up, and everything else around the house.  Today, she helped with washing clothes too.  Our boys spent the afternoon at the swimming pool enjoying themselves.  Our daughter, though, chose to stay home and help around the house a bit.  In the States, I could not imagine a 12 year old girl being offered to go swimming, but choosing to stay home and wash clothes.  I find it kind of amazing, and a window on Philippine society.

For those reading this who don’t know, our daughter is adopted, by blood she is really our niece.  I only mention this because our kids are more American, but our daughter has never been to the States, and lives a more Filipino life.  It is in her blood after all, and I enjoy watching her and observing differences between her and our sons.  Some differences are because it is the difference between a male and a female.  Other differences, though, are cultural.  I am amazed by both.  Firstly, we never had a girl before, so watching our daughter grow up is eye opening to me.  It’s different from a young boy growing up.  The cultural differences are naturally of interest to me, because I consider myself a student of the culture here, trying to learn as much as I can.

By the way, just as a side note, boys, when they reach a similar age and are single are called Ulitawo in Bisaya, or in Tagalog it is called Binata.  So, we have two sons who would be considered as Ulitawo now, a 17 year old and a 12 year old.  Watching them mature is also an interesting experience, but from what I can tell at this time, the maturing of the boys does not have as many cultural aspects.

So, it’s interesting times in the Martin household these days.

Old times… and new

I’ve grow up with a few coffee plants in our farm just for our consumption. Our house sits on 5 acres land.  On a third of that my dad planted coffee and cacao (cocoa) plants. Well of course at that time I never really appreciate the coffee.

I tried to help my parents harvest the coffee.  Its kind of hard work though. After harvesting we would put the coffee in a big mortar and pestle and work on that ( it helps to strengthen the muscles). Then we would put it on a tarp and try to dry it under the sun. It probably takes a few days. Then its ready to be roasted. I would watch my dad roast the coffee. It takes a long time because he will roast the whole coffee that we harvest, it could be like 5 kilos and also for fire we are using firewood. So it takes forever. When time to get the chafe (skin of the beans) off so that the coffee will be clean and ready to be ground, my mom would use a large flat basket (Bilao in tagalog, Nigo in bisaya) and clean there. To use the bilao you have to be expert do it. It amazes me how the coffee beans and the chafe really separated from it. I’ve been watching my mom do it since I was a child and I never can do the way she does. Never learned from it, in short.

My favorite things that I liked to harvest were the cacao because me and my cousins like to chew the cacao and spit out the seeds for the cocoa (I know for some people it sounds gross, because chewing the seed and spitting it out for cocoa it doesn’t sound appetizing though), sorry guys but at the end it taste good though. Really the procedure on achieving the cocoa is just similar to the coffee. The only thing to grind the cocoa it’s much harder and muscle straining. For us it is because we are using the grinder manually. My gosh I can remember me and my cousins we are sweating to death on it. But we like it afterward because my mom makes a good cocoa with good puto or suman (sweet rice wrapped in banana leaf). Yummy.

Lately Bob’s been into coffee thing. While watching him roasting the coffee I really remember those years in our farm. The only thing its much easier for him to work on it now. I mean the green beans are ready for him to roast since it arrived in our house cleaned already. Then to roast we have nice pot and the stove is there ready for him to use. Then when the time comes to take the chafe off he will put the beans in the strainer and put the fan underneath and turn on and it will just blew the chafe off then. It sounds easy but still a hard work for Bob to do. I enjoyed watching him roasting the coffee. It just amazed me how the hard work involved in roasting the coffee. I do help him sometimes. Since I help drink it too.

We’ve been tasting coffee from all over the world. Different countries and different continents. The good thing while drinking the coffee we are also learning the place where it came from. It’s amazing really. He ordered the green beans from the US that have been grown all over the world. I wished my dad could be here and see how Bob works on roasting, I’m pretty sure he would enjoy watching Bob and help Bob drink the coffee too.

My Dad just had one kind of coffee just the arabica. I think my siblings that came here to the house and tasted the coffee were enticed again to grow more coffee at the farm even though its not good compared to what Bob’s been ordering.

At least better than the instant coffee.

Cheers!

Father's Day in the Philippines

Well, I am writing this article on Sunday, June 21, which is Father’s Day.  I think.

Why would I be unsure about that?  Well, let’s just say that my Father’s Day experiences in the Philippines have been a bit… well… different.

It all started on my first June in the Philippines.  We moved here in May of 2000, so we had only been here for less then 2 months at the time.  One week, on the radio that week, whenever you would tune in they would keep announcing that Father’s Day was coming up that weekend.  Stores were announcing “Father’s Day Sales.”  All kinds of Father’s Day wishes going out to listeners.  It was a festive mood.

When is Father’s Day?

All the while, I couldn’t help but feel that something wasn’t right.  For some reason, it didn’t seem right to me.  Then I figured it out.  It wasn’t Father’s Day that weekend at all.  No, Father’s Day was slated for the following week!

Well, the first thing I thought was that maybe the Philippines celebrates Father’s Day on a different day than the US does.  That would be fairly normal, after all.  For example, almost all of the world celebrates Labor day on May 1, but the US celebrates it on the first Monday in September.  So, it wouldn’t be unusual that Father’s Day was celebrated a week earlier than expected in the Philippines.  I just went with the flow.  However, the following week, after Father’s Day had passed, some of the radio stations even started announcing how they had made a mistake, and actually Father’s Day was still coming up… the next weekend.

That was kind of strange that more than one radio station would make the same mistake like that!  And, after that year, 2000, I never experienced it again.  Until this year!  That’s right.  A week ago, on June 14, when I woke up in the morning, I started getting text messages on my cellphone.  “Happy Father’s Day, Sir Bob” – stuff like that.  I must have gotten 15 such messages.  Hmm… I thought, this is not Father’s Day.  So, I looked it up on the Internet.  According to what I found, on Wikipedia, Father’s Day 2009 was scheduled for June 21.  And, Wikipedia even listed what countries celebrated on that date.  Both the USA and the Philippines were listed as the same date, June 21.  Why were all of these people wishing me Happy Father’s Day?

Somehow, much of the Philippines had gotten the date wrong again!  How could it happen?

I posted a message on Facebook, reading:

I keep getting texts from people wishing me a Happy Father’s Day…. That’s great, and I’m happy for it. But… Father’s Day is next week!

Later in the evening I got a message on Facebook from another American expat, Jerry Olson, who lives in the Philippines.  He said:

Bob that’s what I was thinking but I’m being told they celebrate Fathers Day here in the Philippines today? Go figure!

Then, after I told him that the Philippines actually celebrates on the same day as the USA does, he said…

So I was right all along, Went to the mall and there were several couples that I know out celebrating Fathers Day. Asawas taking them to the movies and out to eat.

Yep, he experienced the same thing too, and he lives in the Visayas!

Now, here we are a week later, on June 21, and everybody is wishing me Happy Father’s Day again!  I’m getting text messages, e-mails and such from people all over the Philippines wishing me Happy Father’s Day (again).  Some of these messages are from the same people who wished me Happy Father’s Day last week too!  Ha ha…  I love it.

I wonder how the confusion comes into play.  Why do people keep thinking it is Father’s Day a week early?  But, like I say, in the ten Father’s Days that I’ve spent in the Philippines, this has happened only twice.  I wonder why?  Father’s Day is always celebrated on the third Sunday of June, it would seem pretty easy to keep track of that.

Anyway, I do love celebrating Father’s Day and every other holiday here in the Philippines.  I just wonder why the date always gets mixed up?

Any ideas?

Happy Father’s Day to all Dads who are reading this!

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