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Guys, I never planned on sharing this with the forum...I wrote it almost half a year ago, it's an entry in my travel journal...it's somewhat private, but I decided tonight I'd share it with you all, since I've definitely obtained some value out of the forum, both regarding my time living abroad, and now that I'm back in America, regarding other subjects. Also, Roosh always puts himself out there in a raw fashion, he shows us the humdrum, the exciting, the successes, and the failures, and I think, in that respect, it's an admirable example he sets. Since I've joined the forum, I've tried to contribute value back to it, and I appreciate the rep. points some of you guys have given me regarding some of my other posts, especially the comments regarding those points. Thank you. I do try to keep in mind the value that we all look for in this forum whenever I make a post...I hope you guys feel this piece brings some value to the thread/forum.
Here goes...
Davao.
I haven't set aside the time to sit down and write about my experiences thus far in Davao because the city's nooks and crannies, friendly people, and the blatant juxtapositions between its poverty and its wealth have enthralled me. I arrived Monday morning on Cebu airlines from Iloilo City to Davao with no delay and no issues. We encountered some turbulence on the flight, and I couldn't help but think of the Malaysian airliner that went down over the ocean several days ago, a couple of hours away from here, taking the lives of 239 people. The newspapers are still unsure what happened, but next of kin have been notified. There's the possibility that there was a hijacking, but a high altitude disintegration is the most likely culprit at this point, according to the newspapers here. My father has updated me on this, informing me that two of the passengers on the plane, Iranians, used fraudulent passports. As in, the people who those passports belong to are alive and in their respective countries and were not aboard that flight. Those two people reported that their passports had been stolen about a year ago. This could be part of the rumor mill, but if true, is an interesting development.
My father was somewhat worried with my being abroad, considering the revolution going on in Ukraine, and now with this airliner going down, but I explained to him that Ukraine is quite far from here. He knew this, but was mentioning the events as part of an "it's a dangerous world" theme. He doesn't know that a force of about 100 NPA (New People's Army, the armed faction of the Communist Party of the Philippines) rebels attacked a police station about 40 minutes away on Monday, the day I arrived. The shootout ended with the deaths of 2 rebels and the capture of several, who are now undergoing tactical interrogation, according to local newspapers. However, as the government soldiers pursued the rebel force, a landmine exploded, causing 9 soldiers to lose their lives, and a similar amount to sustain injuries. The rebel force was able to get away, and they did acquire seven M-16 rifles and two 9 mm pistols from the police station.
In any case, the taxi ride from the airport to my intended lodging, the Jun N Dell Appartelle, was fairly short. The taxi driver turned on the meter without me asking him to, and like in Iloilo City, his English was almost non-existent, but it was good enough to get me from point A to point B. A cool breeze flowed through the island, creating perfect weather, which, it turns out, is fixed year round. There is no winter here, it is continuously about 80 degrees, very nice and cool in the morning, and fairly hot midday, but it doesn't go over 90 degrees, as this isn't Texas, so you won't see mirages on the roads here. I was initially concerned the humidity, hovering at about 89% while I've been in this country, might be stifling, but it actually feels amazing. It's very comfortable, even as I've been walking five to ten miles a day. The pleasant breeze continuously dries out my clothes as I move about.
My immediate concern upon arrival was finding long term lodging. As I arrived in the Appartelle, a blonde-ish guy in his 30's with a bald spot in the back of his head was walking out of his apartment with a Filipina in her 20's accompanying him. I greeted them both, my new neighbors. It looks like this path I walk on has been tread before...and the ruts run deep. There were two rooms available at the Appartelle, a studio for 13,000 pesos a month and a 1 bedroom apartment for 20,000 pesos a month. I took the 1 bedroom apartment, as the 20,000 pesos a month comes out to 450 dollars a month, all bills paid, which is half what I was paying in Iloilo City. Also, my new place has not one, but three internet connections, so if one goes down, I simply switch to the other one and all is well. This is fantastic and has contributed greatly to my peace of mind. I'm now able to plot my explorations beforehand, to ensure I don't get lost, and to increase my day's efficiency. As of yet, the I have never been unable to get online. The electricity here is not rationed like it was at the luxury hotel in Iloilo City. I can leave my electronics charging while I'm out exploring without any issues.
My neighborhood has two armed guards protecting the only entrance to it, and if you don't live here, you can't get in. If you are a taxi driver coming in, you have to hand over your identification when you enter the neighborhood, and you get it back when you leave. Safety is fantastic. I haven't mentioned this, but in the Philippines, there are armed guard everywhere with an amalgam of weapons, M-16's, shotguns, pistols, etc. Every establishment that's somewhat respectable-looking has armed guards. They're all very friendly, they open the door for you at the establishments and you can ask them for things, like wifi passwords and where the restrooms are.
As soon as I arrived, I paid for the room for a month, then headed out to the mall to access more cash for the deposit (one month's rent plus deposit, for a total of 900 dollars). The owner of the place is an older lady whose kids live in America. She's managed the place so well that she is now building a third Appartelle (there are currently two locations, each with about 18 units). She can understand most of what I say, as long as I keep it simple. That's not to say that the people here are not good with languages. They all speak Tagalog, fluently, English, ranging in fluency from basic to fair, and many speak a third language, such as Hiligaynon, or some other local language. The lower you go on the social scale, the more basic the English is, though, with it being non-existent at the very bottom of society.
At the exit to Rivera Villa, my new neighborhood, I decided to take a left, heading over to Ayala Abreeza Mall. There was construction going on en route, but unlike in Iloilo City, the construction area was surrounded by 15 ft. high tin sheets, painted a nice blue color, so they weren't an eye-sore. The sheets blocked out most of the dust from reaching the street, which meant I could breathe air much cleaner than in Iloilo City. Still, the air is much, much dirtier than in Austin, TX. I had noticed that people wore rags on their backs, stuffed into their shirt collars, and I wasn't sure why they did this, but now I know it is because they carry these rags to cover their mouth and nostrils when the air gets particularly bad, especially for the children.
On the way to the mall, I looked for some kind of chain restaurant that sells entire chickens, like the one in Iloilo City, which I enjoyed, but I saw none. There were chain restaurants, but they all sold junk food, high carb, low meat, like typical American fare, not what you want to eat if you want to look like a man, not a eunuch. The chain restaurants here are outnumbered by mom and pop eateries with small portions of chicken, pork, and rice cooked in a hundred different ways.
When I entered the mall, a security guard inspected my backpack and patted me down, which is standard protocol on the Philippines. What greeted me as I walked in, though, was unexpected. It was a mall unlike anything I'd ever seen before. 3 floors, each extremely large. The storefronts were mainly glass, all in a peak state of cleanliness. Glass, glass, and more glass. Amazing lighting. Not only did this place have trash cans on every floor, unlike in Iloilo City, but it had two at each spot, a recycling bin and a trash bin. This mall puts Barton Creek mall in Austin to shame. It makes Barton Creek look like a cold, dark cave with gnawed up cave-bear bones strewn about. I ate some sushi, and it was amazing. Not very filling, but it was amazing. It was about 6 dollars, which was reasonable enough for the presentation/ambiance.
The food court in the mall was quite a sight. It's on the third level of the mall, but the outer wall is open to the outside, with a section protruding from the rest of the mall covered by a very strong tarp of some kind, similar to that used in the "balloon" stadium in Austin off of I-35. Think of it as a giant terrace overlooking the city. Most of the restaurants sold typical mall food, the kind which you might see in any American mall, but there were several nicer restaurants as well. I grabbed some cash from the ATM, went back to the appartelle to pay off my bill, and took an inventory of the things I needed, then headed back out, going left again at the entrance to Rivera Village. I walked quite a while, past the first mall I had gone to (Ayala-Abreeza Mall), all the way until I reached a mall called Victoria Mall, which is the equivalent of the "not as cool" mall in an American town. This older mall was far more populated than the newer mall, so I got to see what the people of Davao look like.
The people of Iloilo City were Visayan, of that there was no doubt. Davao, however, is very different. The Visayan blood is dominant here as well, but there is a strong Japanese and Chinese strain in Davao's veins. It is very common here to see light skinned girls without the Visayan nose, something extremely rare in Iloilo City. I like the look of the women here better than the women of Iloilo City. An important factor is that this city is noticeably wealthier than Iloilo City, which means the people here get better nutrition than the people in Iloilo City. That doesn't mean their nutrition is adequate, however, it is still sub-par, and many of the people here look like they have lived a calorie-deficient life, their bodies tell a story of going without. The middle class girls here are noticeably healthier than the lower class girls. I have seen some girls here who, had they had proper nutrition growing up, could have been very beautiful, but perhaps their hips did not develop properly, or their height did not reach its full extent. You will see people here with minor deformities which, in America, you would not see because, as a last resort, a charity or the government would have treated/dealt with the issue, for example hairy moles the circumference of a quarter, and protruding almost an inch, on someone's face. It's terribly sad.
I ate junk food all day, because of the flight and my lack of knowledge as to where the good restaurants are, and at this point, while traversing Victoria Mall, I needed to go to the restroom. This was the first time I had to take a dump in a public restroom. I'd urinated in public restrooms here before, but had never taken a dump. So, I get to the food court restroom and go in a stall, but I notice it has neither toilet paper or a seat cushion (you can sit on the piss-covered rim), so I check the next stall. Same thing. At this point, I'm ready to explode, and I'm thinking it's going to be a wet one. I check the other four stalls, and none has toilet paper, and none has a seat cover, and I'm ready to pop. I go up to the bathroom attendant and say, "toilet paper?" He goes, "no, no paper." I go, "how can I use the toilet, then?" He goes, "you buy." Okay, okay, no worries, I have cash on me. "Where? Where can I buy?" He motions to a shelf on the wall with a glass cover, where you put coins in, kind of like a cheap condom dispenser at an American gasoline station, except it has no sheets of toilet paper in it, it's supposed to, but it's empty. No toilet paper. "There's none!" I tell him. He looks at me and goes to the ladies' restroom, knocks, and yells out, "toilet paper!" This girl comes out holding a rectangular box in her hands, with seven bundles of toilet paper in it. Each bundle has three sheets. I tell her, "I'll take them all!" and I try to give her all the change in my pocket, 31 pesos, but she refuses to take it and says, "only 1 peso each." I go, "just give me all of them!" I'm laughing at this point, which makes holding the upcoming eruption in that much harder. I motion for her to keep the cash and to just give me all of them. She goes, "only one peso," not wanting me to take her entire stash. I play along, I don't want to be rude, so I adopt a serious, inquisitive expression and say, "Okay, well, how much does a normal person use to take a shit? What would you suggest?" She looks at me -- at this point, I'm alternating between standing on my left leg and standing on my right leg -- thinks for a moment, pondering the matter seriously, then counts out 5 small bundles, takes some of my pesos, and gives me change.
Trusting in her judgment, I take the bundles and head over to the final stall. I figure shit's about to get real, and I may need some privacy. I pull my shorts down, attempting to avoid them touching the piss-covered floor (it's slippery). There's no way I'm sitting on the wet, shit-stained rim, so I squat over the toilet bowl. I forgot to take the small toilet paper sheets out of my pocket before I went into my bare-bottom squat, so now I have to reach down while maintaining the squat, to find my short's right pocket, while not moving my shorts around too much, lest they touch the liquid floor and soak up the contents. My legs are aching. I grab the toilet paper and decide the time has come. My legs are too long, so half the shit explodes into the bowl, while the other half explodes onto the back rim. Perhaps I'm just making excuses, I might just have lousy aim.
At this point, I would normally just start wiping away, but the problem is I only have 5 bundles, one wipe per bundle, unless you're ok with the liquid seeping through the paper onto your fingers. The issue is, what if there's more shit? I mean, what if this was just the beginning of a continuous eruption? If that's the case, then if I wipe, I'll have to go again immediately, and I'll be out of paper. There's no faucet nearby, so I can't use the water method either (handy in a residential situation where the toilet paper has run out). If I wipe, and the pressure returns, I'll be in deep shit. So I hold the squat, but for how long can I hold it? I'm in pretty fantastic shape, but I have a limit as to how long I can hold a squat. I can walk all day, but I can't squat all day. I decide after a couple of dribbles that this is going to be a one-eruption kind of shit, and start wiping, taking my chances. The first bundle disintegrates in my hand almost immediately as I wipe. The second bundle fares no better. The third bundle is more resilient, and I'm relieved. Now I've got two bundles left. Do I wipe down the rim? Or do I focus on myself and leave the rim to the mall workers? I'd be a jerk if I did that. I ponder this for a moment as I maintain my squat. I decide to attempt to do both, so I use the fourth bundle to wipe, but I wipe as if my life depended on it, I mean, I got all up into every nook and crevice, it was really an exemplary wipe.
Unfortunately, it still wasn't enough, and I needed the final bundle for some after-action work, but luckily, after achieving a satisfactory level of cleanliness, I did have enough left to wipe the rim down (mostly), so I did. I did this while still maintaining my squat, reaching in between my legs, because I had no place to set the toilet paper aside, since if I put it on the floor, it would get soaked in piss and become useless. I finished and put my pants back on, but then I felt a rumbling in my stomach, and I had to erupt once more, fudge! Just kidding, that would have been a disaster, but, luckily, the situation didn't escalate beyond the above-described events (and if it had, I would keep it to myself). Note to self, in the Philippines, carry toilet paper everywhere you go.
After that incident, I washed my hands thoroughly and headed over to a plaza, where I walked into a seafood restaurant. I picked out a live eel, which the cook killed and prepared for me. It was amazing. I'll have to go back to that restaurant, the quality was fantastic. In general, though, the food here is more expensive than in America, while at the same time being of poorer quality. For example, I bought some pistachios, and they were about the same price as pistachios in America, but the quality was far lower. You cannot find walnuts or pecans here. They are simply not for sale. Forget about filet mignon. I bought a frying pan when I first arrived, thinking I would cook my own food, in order to eat healthy, but this was a mistake. The food in the supermarkets here simply does not attract me. It is of poor quality. I bought some dried pineapples (the sugary treat), and it tastes almost fermented. It's of far lower quality than in the U.S. I ordered a plate that feeds "4 or 5 people," because I figured that might be enough for a meal for me, and it was 8 small shrimp, some battered onion rings (like 8 of them), about a half pound of fish, and two large scoops of rice. Basically, not enough food for me for one sitting. It was 16 bucks (with the glass of water), which is more than it would have cost in the U.S. The Philippines are an archipelago, so goods that have to be imported from abroad are going to be more expensive than back in America, where economies of scale keep things relatively cheap. Some food items, like chicken, pork, and rice, are cheap here, though, and they make up the majority of the Filipino diet.
I did find one place I liked, where meals can be had for 6 dollars, spaghetti with some veggies and about 1/3 of a pound of fish. It even comes with a complimentary ice cold coffee of some kind. It takes them about 20 minutes to prepare the meal, but it's delicious. I was curious about the economy of the Philippines, so I asked the cashier at that place how much she makes a day. She says she makes 300 pesos a day, which is about 7 dollars. That means that my meal, at 250 pesos, plus a 50 peso tip that I leave, but most diners would not, is her entire wage for a day. I eat there because the food is as close as I can get to what i would normally eat at home (minus the spaghetti). I also asked a lady at a retail store how much she made, and her answer was 300 pesos as well, but she does not make tips, like the cashier does (the cashier splits tips with the waiter and cook). 300 pesos for 8 hours is the minimum wage in Davao, or close to it. 300 pesos. 300 pesos is about 7 dollars. About all you can buy with that, if you want to have money left over for some underwear, is rice. So minimum wage workers here do make at least enough for underwear and rice. These minimum wage workers work 6 days a week, then have one day off, unlike most Americans, who work 5 days a week, and then have two days off. These folks work very, very, very hard for the little that they have.
The houses are constructed in a haphazard manner, with no building codes, in some cases resulting in a reality approximating an Escher painting, with doors opening up to a staircase (no hall), and a shower spraying water onto the toilet, which is right under the shower-head, for example. I have been to bathrooms which are not fully enclosed, with the upper half wall of the bathroom missing (deliberately), opening to the kitchen of the restaurant. The reasoning behind this, I don't know, but I am thinking it's for ventilation, as there are no vents in most restrooms here like we have in America. The apartment where I live at the moment, while more than satisfactory (I would highly recommend it if visiting Davao), has small structural cracks (stress fractures from the foundation settling in unevenly) everywhere. There is one in the archway between my bedroom and kitchen. There is one starting in the corner of my bedroom window. There are several coming down from the ceiling of my bedroom down to the floor of the bedroom. There is one coming up from the floor of the living room to the living room window. They are everywhere. I am on the second floor of the building. I imagine the small cracks run through the entire building.
Whenever you shop at a large department store, let's say you want to buy a towel, and then you want to buy an umbrella as well. These two are in different sections of the same department store. So, you grab the umbrella, then, an employee will come up to you, grab the umbrella, write a receipt for it, pack the umbrella in a plastic bag, seal the plastic bag with a heat-machine, charge you for the umbrella, then staple the receipt onto the plastic bag. You can then continue to the other area of the department store, to keep shopping, and repeat the procedure with each purchase. This is some kind of theft-deterrent mechanism, from what I can gather.
If you go to a bookstore, every book, every single book, is wrapped in plastic. You cannot peruse books here like you can in the U.S. The price of books here is equal to the price of books in America, except it really isn't, because in America, we have Half-Price books, my favorite bookstore, which the Philippines doesn't have, so books are, effectively, more expensive here. I did not see a public library in this city of 1.36 million or so. In America, one of our greatest authors, Ray Bradbury, was self-taught. This is a partial quote from Wikipedia's Ray Bradbury page:
"He did not attend college. Instead, he sold newspapers at the corner of South Norton Avenue and Olympic Boulevard. In regard to his education, Bradbury said: "Libraries raised me. I don't believe in colleges and universities. I believe in libraries because most students don't have any money. When I graduated from high school, it was during the depression and we had no money. I couldn't go to college, so I went to the library three days a week for 10 years." He told The Paris Review, "You can't learn to write in college. It's a very bad place for writers because the teachers always think they know more than you do鈥攁nd they don鈥檛.""
There will never be a Filipino Ray Bradbury. Or if there will be, he won't come from Davao.