Philippines Adventure, Pt. 6

This is going to be my blog post for two weeks. I arrived home late on Tuesday, and I did not get a chance to finish everything until Thursday. This current week is a catch-up and a preparation week. We are going to a place called Loo (Lo-oh) next week, so I am helping the students prepare a musical drama to the song “Hands and Feet” by Audio Adrenaline. So, the days fly by! I cannot believe that there is less than three weeks before I return to the States. Even though I am so thankful to be returning to the US, I am so glad that I have the opportunity to return to the Philippines for another three and a half months. I know my work and development are not complete. Many blessings to all of you; grace and peace be with all of you in Christ Jesus.

Stupid Chickens!

Why is it that every week almost, I have a new chicken story? I am not sure why chickens have become such a humorous motif in my life as of late. Maybe it’s the bond I have with the hen—whose name is Smokey—that is clucking at my window. I am writing this to somehow relieve myself of the annoyance I feel toward this hen. I am sure she is blissfully unaware of what she is doing to me. In her little world, she is only comforting her eggs; maybe she is singing a song to them that sounds beautiful in her oratory orifices, but to me sounds horrendous. Who knows? I found out that she actually hatched her eggs, and now she is in fact talking to them or comforting them. I guess she is a good mother ☺ but an annoying neighbor! I can hear the little chicks make their entreaty to their mother.

Then, right before lunch on Tuesday, my least favorite chicken, for which I would gladly—and momentarily—renounce being a vegetarian in order to eat him, got spooked and entered the house! I got a badminton racket in my hand, which happened to be lying around from my morning game, and I started to chase it around the house. It was so funny to see him scuttle and slip on the wood floors. It was so frightened, I almost felt bad for it, but not really. It decided that it would be better to jump ship from the window then deal with what he thought would be the end (I guess I made an imposing figure in his mind). It jumped from the window and flew down into a jungle of large weeds. I heard it clucking from down below, but I have no idea if he survived. I hope he’s dead! That’s harsh, I know, but really, death would be benign for such an annoying creature that no one loves. It’s true; I’m not the only one who harbors enmity for this animal. He is not welcome, so maybe he wanted to bow out with a little bravado and is now seeking other pastures.

The Making of Thanksgiving pumpkin pies ☺

I decided that I wanted to bring Thanksgiving to the Philippines. This is my second year abroad for this holiday. Last year was a success, cooking a full Thanksgiving meal in France for my host family. This year, I considered my limitations and thought I could at least make dessert for the students and staff here; besides, this is my favorite part of the meal anyway! I announced this desire to the staff that was very excited and told me that they hoped it would work in the wood-burning oven. For almost 10 years the stove/oven combination that is upstairs in Apartment A (I live on B, the rest of the staff and female students live on C and the boys live on D) has been broken. The stovetop works but the oven is broken. So, I squared up my shoulders and decided that I would make the best of it. I am sure that I can make three pies in this oven. How hard could it be?
The first step was the marketing. The cook and I set out at 4 pm on Wednesday afternoon. It took us more than 50 minutes to reach the market, which is about 4 miles from the house. We should have walked, but we were persistent in trying to get a jeepney that did not seem to want to stop. I do not understand its system of picking people up. We were standing in a legitimate bus-stop hovel, and many empty jeepneys passed us up! I suggested we start walking and maybe we would be able to pick up a jeepney on the way. This happens often with these jeepneys; they will be riding along and will suddenly stop for a single passenger that is walking along. They will stop anywhere you desire. Once I asked the jeepney driver to drop me off right in the middle of the street. I did what I saw others do, and that was to scoot around the big van that was behind me to scuttle to the sidewalk. People walk wherever they can except where the signs say “No Jaywalking!” This is only on the busiest road and main thoroughfare in Baguio. Elsewhere, it’s a circus and a free-for-all. Do what the Filipinos do!

Although the cook walks very slowly when she is walking along on the sidewalk, she rivals an Olympic sprinter when she is in the market. We arrived to the market about 5 pm, which is apparently prime shopping hour. Everyone is buying things for dinner, whether pre-made or just freshly caught. I love the market, but let me tell you, it can be quite overwhelming. There are people and jeepneys all vying for the same space. Vendors are frying up kebobs of different shapes and sizes, then yelling out their names to passers-by. Many people would greet me, but I could not even pay them any mind because I was trying vigorously to keep up with the cook. She was weaving in and out of people and vendors like it was a race to be won! I was astonished. Good thing I have been running!

We began at this “wholesaler,” if you will, that sold baking pans. Get this! The baking pans that I bought were hanging in a stack from the ceiling. They looked vintage and were quite dirty. I bought shallow 9-inch cake pans because there were no pie plates and it seemed like a good alternative. I laughed when I thought about where I was buying my materials ☺ I bought a kilo of flour, which was more than good enough for three piecrusts. I could have bought plastic spoons and plastic bags and other assortments of baking pans. It reminded me of a Party Central store only Filipino-open-market style! It cracked me up!

Then, we went to a small vendor who was selling a delectable array of fresh vegetables. I bought six squash/pumpkin slices for 25 cents each. I am guessing that they each weighed about one pound or so. Pretty cheap! From there, we weaved through the market. I saw fish vendors selling their smelly and fresh wares next to shoe vendors. Little old women had their veggies and fruits piled high on blankets as they sat on the ground waiting for a sale. One such woman was a banana saleslady. I wanted four small bananas, but she would not sell me only four. She would only consent to sell me the whole bundle for a little over one dollar. I was going to walk away to find someone else who would sell me four bananas when the cook offered to buy the whole thing. Man, this lady was tough! She knew what her bananas were worth ☺ Have you ever heard of banana-que? Me neither! The name is a shortened version of banana barbeque! It is three bananas that have been fried in sugar and coconut oil (which they use here like canola oil or olive oil) then skewered on s stick! Oh, it is so delicious! We each bought one to eat on our excursion. I, of course, devoured mine as I was walking while the cook waited until she was seated to eat it. I am impatient when it comes to delicious new food ☺

I wanted to make this Thanksgiving treat a real start-to-finish project, taking note of every step. I really love the market and am always joyful to go rub shoulders with all sorts of people—smelly, clean, old, young, child peddlers and elderly peddlers, fish mongers and vegetable salesmen, shoe store owners and kitchen accessory salesmen. You can find it all at the market, and right next to one another! That is the great thing about the market: you are all placed in one small area irrespective of genre of merchandise. The fish and the shoes are next to one another, and the eggs and kitchen towels are even sold in the same little hovel. It’s like Super Wal-mart without the sterile floors and tall aisle dividers.
From start to finish, it took us about two hours, which is not too bad considering we ate up most of our time getting to the market. If you have a guide and know what you want, the market can be easily navigated and controlled. However, woe to those who are unassuming tourists! I would never have survived the melee alone. Thank the Lord for locals. All in all, the ingredients and pans cost us about 12 dollars. Not too bad!

Thanksgiving day, I started the pies early around 8 am, so they would be amply ready for the evening meal. I began by cutting the squash and boiling it. Then, I made the three crusts and taught the cook how to make them. Instead of using butter (it is rather expensive, and I did not feel like spending more money just for butter) I used coconut oil that looks like shortening. It is a lot better than shortening, though, because it is not highly processed. We use it for all our cooking needs here. It was a little difficult for the cook to get the crust-making rhythm down, but that was not surprising considering we were working with cake pans and not pie plates. Oh, well! All pioneers make due ☺ I kept telling myself I was a pioneer. This might not surprise you, but I always dreamed of being a pioneer, forging my way westward, not caring about the trials because new land and new territories were being discovered. So, I got a little taste of pioneer-hood.

Next, came the filling. We took the boiled squash, which when mashed, really looked like pumpkin. I think Libby’s © would be proud! The most disappointing aspect of this whole process was the fact that I had to use gross evaporated milk. I had no choice but to use this highly processed evaporated milk that contained added oils and emulsifiers. Where was good Carnation © when I needed it! I even tried to look at the labels of the two brands available to me and to no avail; they were both highly processed. I used fresh ginger as an accompaniment to the cinnamon, which smelled delicious. Since I was using cake pans, the crusts kept falling down, so I decided it was better not to fight. I have done this before at my mom’s house because the only pie plate we have is this awful glass thing that never makes the pies the way I want, and yet, we persist in using it. Anyway, I am used to adapting my piecrusts. I knew that if the oven worked properly, all would taste great. We decided to bake the pies after lunch.

When I saw the oven, I started to laugh. I have never seen such an ancient-looking thing being used. It’s like when I went to Burkina Faso and discovered that people still use the treadle sewing machines; you know, the kind that people buy in antique stores for decoration. (I also discovered that Filipinos use the same kind of machines. If you ever wonder where your discarded things find a home, you should think of the developing world. All discarded things from the West end up being used somewhere in the developing world. I suppose in some way it’s a good thing considering we stopped using perfectly good treadle machines only because something newer and faster was on the market.) I knew my success would only be the grace of God in wanting to bless us all on this day. We all had faith that God in his mighty provision would give us success. (This might sound strange, but I truly believe that God honors his children who give of themselves to help others or to share with others. Since I was giving of my time and resources, I know God chose to bless us with great pies that tasted as if they had been made in state-of-the-art ovens!)

After lunch, I faithfully attended the fire. I watched how they placed wood on the one side where there was one “burner,” which we covered with an aluminum teakettle and where we later cooked our rice for dinner. This small space then heated the “oven” portion of the contraption. This meant that the side closest to the fire cooked much better than the side furthest from the fire. Rotation was key. Thankfully, it was nice and breezy that afternoon, so there was plenty of air circulation. I was inhaling a lot of smoke fumes, but not as much as if I were inside or something. That is really dangerous. Never burn wood inside where there is no controlled smoke stack. (This is a problem in Africa where they use wood and coal for cooking. They oftentimes do not have proper ventilation, which promotes lung cancer. How sad.)

I poked and prodded the fire. I fanned the flames, and I saw the fire turn into a small conflagration. I was amazed and mesmerized by the heat and the way the flames licked the dry wood. Whenever I saw the fire getting low, I carefully prodded it back to life. Obviously, the stronger fire made the oven hotter, so I wanted to ensure that my pies were being properly cooked. I rotated them halfway through, which ended up being about 30 minutes. It took a little over an hour to cook each pie, which is not too bad, considering in a controlled oven, it takes about 45 minutes plus. As soon as I took out the pies, I knew they were going to be delicious. If you are a baker, you just know when you have successfully made something from scratch. It is so satisfying! I have never been so pleased with one of my creations, and I praised the Lord for his blessings.

I talked about Thanksgiving during our once-a-week chapel service. I told them that the first Thanksgiving was in 1621, and they likely did not have pie or any type of dessert. It was a carnivorous Thanksgiving because the first Pilgrims did not have enough time to plant a large quantity of vegetables. Then, in 1863, Abraham Lincoln declared Thanksgiving a national holiday, which was meant only for D.C. and the federal territories; however, all the state governors decided also to implement the law in each state. That is how we have Thanksgiving today. Except for a few anomalies, Thanksgiving has always been on the last Thursday of the month of November or the fourth Thursday if there are five during the month. This is a funny little tidbit I discovered from the History Channel: during FDR’s presidency, so in the 30’s, there were two Thanksgivings. He declared one day to be Thanksgiving, and since it only applied to D.C. and the federal territories, some states followed, but others decided to have it on another day. All the calendars were messed up and some people even celebrated it twice!

I made the students line up and tell me something for which they were thankful before receiving the pies. They all laughed as they expressed themselves in English. Most people were thankful for the pies! I laughed and had a good time. All my hours of work were definitely worth it. Some of the students had never eaten pie! I was excited to be the first one to share with them the wonderful experience ☺ It was great pie, and we had such blessed fellowship as we ate our pie and expressed our thanks. That is why I love Thanksgiving. It allows us to really reflect on those things for which we are grateful. We can love and give and embrace one another for each person’s life and encourage one another never to take for granted the blessings in life. So, I hope you all had a blessed Thanksgiving, full of love and compassion, peace and kindness.

Off to Paete, Laguna, “The Carving Capital of the Philippines”

I traveled to Paete with the director of the school and the cook, who jokingly called themselves the “master” and the “armor bear.” Wherever the master goes, the armor bearer follows. I had a good time getting to know these two individuals better. I am really blessed to be a part of a staff that is so kind and accommodating. They really encourage me to follow God wholeheartedly and to serve those around me. This is my first experience working for an extended period of time with people from a different culture. I am finding that it is not so strange because we are all of one heart and mind and purpose (to share salvation through Christ and to train up individuals to go forth and share the same). I think that many cultural barriers can be broken when people have the same spirit. That is what I discovered on this trip. I was the only American in the whole town of Paete—about 23,000 individuals—so I was a unique breed. Wherever I walked, I heard “Americano” and “What’s your name?” and little giggles of children who were amused by my presence.

Taking the bus from Baguio to Manila at 10 pm on Thanksgiving, we arrived at the bus stop around 4:30 am. From one dingy bus stop, we walked a couple of blocks to our connecting bus that would take us to Santa Cruz, which is a larger town than Paete and the place where our friends planned to pick us up. It is more tiring to travel on a bus than in a car because you don’t have the same freedoms and you are always on your guard. I was able to sleep a few hours, which made the trip seem a lot shorter than on the return trip. The Philippines is such a relaxed country in many ways. For example, food vendors will get on the bus for about 10 minutes hawking their food to the passengers, then when the bus stops again, they will hop off and enter another bus.

This is how they sell their wares. I happily bought a small little buko pie, which is a sweet pie made from the young coconut. (We do not have this type of coconut in the States. It is green and large, and the juice inside the coconut is full of electrolytes, but it kind of tastes like sweet sweat. I do not care too much for the juice, but the pie is another story. The buko, which is translated “young coconut” is really soft and white and creamy. It is used in all sorts of treats. Later on the trip, we had these things called halo-halo or shaved ice, sugar, evaporated milk, sweet corn, buko, small marshmallows, processed cheese, and gelatin cubes. (This is on my list of the Top 10 Weirdest Things I have Ever Consumed).

From Santa Cruz, we traveled the 45 minutes to Paete, which is known for its carvings. As soon as one enters the town, one understands why it is given this title. I think every other shop sells carvings. (I never figured out how anyone actually makes a living!) There were a lot of Catholic carvings of saints and the Virgin Mary; in fact, Paete is known to have 23 different forms of Mary. It is a pleasant town, squeezed between the lake, where hydroelectric power is generated, and the Sierra Madre mountains, which is the longest mountain chain in the Philippines, beginning in Southern Luzon and continuing to Northern Luzon, even past Baguio into the northern province of Nueva Viscaya. We would climb one of the “mountains” on Monday. They were quite small, but lush and created a paradise feeling around the city. All the homes were tall—at least three stories—and were narrowly constructed to allow small ally ways, fitting only one or two people. That is how the small town could fit so many people—double the population of my hometown and about 1/10 of the size.

We were warmly welcomed, as I have come to expect in Filipino households; but this family was one of the most generous families I have ever met. They extended so much kindness to me at every turn, even allowing me to stay with the middle child in her room. (I was all prepared to sleep outside in a sleeping bag, using my own pillow, but here I was blessed to sleep in an air-conditioned room. I felt silly to have brought my big backpack when clearly I had no need. Oh well! I was pleased to receive.) I am going to talk a lot about food while recounting my trip because our experience was bathed in good food, which is the best way that Filipinos can entertain their guests. Being no exception, I ate so many delicious things, mostly fresh bread called pan de sal and sweet rolls and other local treats like balut and suman. From the moment we arrived, we were blessed by the church with treats, like sticky rice that has been stirred with sugar until it becomes this thick and chewy substance that is poured onto banana leaves and eaten in squares and this delicious coconut-milk pudding made with cornstarch and sugar and mixed with sweet corn, and covered with toasted coconut and shredded cheese. (They use this light yellow processed cheese on many of their sweet rolls and desserts. It is very bizarre being a mix between jack cheese and Velveeta. I don’t really understand why it is so widely used, but I suppose it is cheap and Filipinos obviously like the flavor.) The church also brought us sopas, which I did not eat because it is a chicken soup with macaroni and evaporated milk; a favorite in many Filipino families. It did look good!

I discovered a funny thing about food differences between the Filipino and the American. Filipinos eat sweet corn in sweet things; Americans like it salty. Filipinos consume avocados with milk and sugar; Americans make guacamole or eat it with salt. Cheese is both confectionary item and savory item for the Filipino; Americans see cheese as strictly a savory food. I had a funny conversation about food with one of the alumni from the Bible school who now works on a cruise liner. He has been exposed to all sorts of Western food and Western methods of preparing food, and he expressed to me his confusion the first time he was served sweet corn on the ship. He saw the sweet corn, and he served himself a big, heaping bowl of the kernels, only to find out that they were slathered in butter and doused with salt. He couldn’t even manage to eat it! It is so great to get someone else’s perspective on food differences. You know, I sometimes feel like I am the only one to notice these changes, but really, you notice the differences when you have experienced other manners of eating and living. It was refreshing to be able to talk about our stories and laugh about the dissimilarities in our cultures.

I tried balut, which is a duck egg with a partially developed baby duck inside. I know it sounds disgusting and from the picture you can see it is not the most appetizing-looking food, but it tastes good and is a commonly eaten food in the Philippines. First, you have to crack the thick shell; then, you slurp out the fluid from around the duckling; then, you completely remove the shell from around the fetus. Upon removing the shell, you notice all the tender, black feathers that would have been the duckling’s coat had it survived. Inside the egg, there are two parts: the black, misshapen figure, which is the fetus, and the yellow yolk, which is almost intertwined with the duckling. Even though I am a vegetarian, I had to try this local favorite. You eat it just like a hardboiled egg: with salt! Everyone was impressed that I could manage to eat it because many foreigners refuse to consume this. I ate two!

The family with whom we stayed is a family of artists. The father’s father was a nationally acclaimed artist who won the national art prize in 1952, and now he is a pastor of a church called the Light House. He was given a prize of 4000 pesos (a little under $100), which was enough to buy a house at that time. The mother’s mother started a handicraft business in her later years, which is now run and developed by the middle child, who is a sculptor by training. The eldest child is an amazingly talented sculptor and the youngest is a painter in Manila. She is working with one of the premier fashion designers in metro Manila. It was so much fun to learn about the art scene in the Philippines and to talk about art. I told them I had been to Paris and New York, where the art scene is obviously predominant. They were amazed because it is very difficult to obtain a tourist visa considering the authorities think that whomever requests a visa for a wealthy country actually wants to immigrate to that place. I was sad for them because I know they would appreciate—a lot more than I did—those places with their training and knowledge. Someday I am sure they will make it abroad. I told them that when I am settled in the US, if they still have a desire to visit the US, I would host an art competition and invite them to stay. (When Filipinos are personally invited, they can readily obtain a visa. The system is so bizarre, but I suppose there are many people who want to take advantage of it, so everyone is penalized.)

The primary reason why we traveled to Paete was for a conference at their church. It was a daylong conference, and I met a lot of alumni who attended the church. I did not understand the majority of what was being said, so I used that time to read my Bible and memorize some verses. It is such an interesting experience to be in a place where everyone comprehends the language except you! They would laugh, and I had no idea why. They would clap, and I would mechanically follow, but I could not tell you the reason for the excitement. They nodded their heads in agreement, and I did not comprehend the meaning of their accord. It was certainly a growing experience; you have to be patient and calm and really create your own alternate world. Although the day was a little tiring and tedious towards the end, I think it was beneficial to see because it humbled me. Sometimes Americans think that we can communicate with anyone because the “universal” language is English. Well, this may be true to some extent, but the depth and nuances of different languages cannot be accounted for when everyone speaks English. Even in the

Philippines, where English is considered the national language alongside Tagalog, people are shy in speaking English or have trouble speaking their hearts with English. I was reminded that if you truly want to get into the hearts of people, you must speak their language.
I rode on a tricycle for the first time since arriving in the Philippines. They are curious little contraptions, called “tricycles” because there are only three wheels—two for the motorcycle that powers the vehicle and one for the side carriage where two people can sit comfortably. They are quite practical in the little towns where only one jeepney or car can pass feasibly at a time. These contraptions, however, can weave in and out of traffic without any hassle. (Sometimes I feared for my life, but I can say that I was never harmed, by the grace of God! We got so close to the jeepneys and cars that I was afraid my feet were going to be chopped off!) I opted for the seat on the motorcycle. I wanted the full effect of the tricycle as it whipped down the provincial cement roads. I got to see all of nature from my vantage point, and it was wonderful! You pay by the tricyle, just like a cab. In fact, some people call them “taxi-cles.” I think this was one of my highlights ☺ Yeah, I know it’s a little strange that a trip highlight would be a ride on a tricycle, but it’s true, not so much because of the actual ride but because of what I saw while I was riding.

Another highlight, and probably the best part of the excursion, was my trek into the Sierra Madres. We hiked for 45 minutes uphill, actually climbing stairs that had been constructed some 10 years ago. The trek was not challenging but one had to endure the heat and the sweat and the incline, so it was a good workout. I followed the pastor who was the guide for the hike. We had left at 5:45 am to beat the heat and to see the sun rising over the trees. It was amazing how quiet the town was when we started off and how noisy it was when we came back two hours later. I love to see the waking up of a place; the air is different when people are awake than when people are asleep. During the waking hours, the energy scintillates and the air expands with the kinetics; yet, during the sleeping hours, the energy dwindles and the air responds as it becomes placid and peaceful.

On top of the hill were three crosses, which were built for no apparent reason other than to honor the death of Jesus Christ. For Holy Week (the week before Easter), a light is place on the hill to keep the crosses illuminated even at night. They were full of graffiti, but they were still beautiful as they rose up into a breathtaking view of Laguna Bay and the small, nestled town of Paete. Our group of seven or so people was the only presence up there for a while. We had a breakfast of sweet rolls that I had purchased at a local bakery. I love Filipino baked goods, so this occasion provided me with another reason to buy and to try new rolls ☺ I could not get enough of the view as I enjoyed the breeze that dried my sweat-soaked body. Finally, we left the small paradise, and on our way down, we stopped at a waterfall that crashed down into a small yard-deep lagoon at its base. The sprays from the water served as a natural coolant, like the misters at Six Flags Great America that spray water onto over-heated tourists. What a lovely adventure that we accomplished all before 8 am! What a joy to do something that amazing then realize you have the whole day ahead of you to seize.

That same day, Monday, was hero’s day or Bonifacio Day, in honor of the man who started the Filipino revolution against the Spaniards. The director of the school said that it would be fun to go see the house of José Rizal, who is considered a national hero because of his works of fiction that gave people the words with which to fight the revolution. He was never personally involved in the uprisings, although he was tried and convicted as a violent revolutionary. I was excited to see his home and read about his history; I had recently finished his first revolutionary work called Noli Me Tangere, which is a work of satire about Filipino and Spanish societies—the Catholic church, the police force, poverty and peasant life, and home life among the nobles and the poor—in the Philippines in the 1870’s. It was a great book and really illuminated the history of that time. Well, it would be my luck that no one knew that the house museum was closed on Mondays! I told everyone that this is very typical for me, so I was only a little disappointed. I will just have to read online about Rizal’s life.
The trip to Paete was really a blessing. I was befriended by many people and accepted as an honored guest, both of which served to humble me and bring me joy. It is true that being welcomed by people who are similar to you is a good feeling, but being welcomed and loved, being called “tita,” which means aunt, by the granddaughters of the family where I stayed, and being treated as a beloved relative by those who don’t even speak natively my language is something to behold and to remember.