The Peace Valley Profiles, final installment: Gorgeous

Amy's Nickname: Gorgeous

Amy was my favorite habal-habal driver. I was the second passenger to hop on Princess Whitecloud, her trusty scooter, and we were almost hit by a car. But after that she quickly mastered driving – even with multiple passengers. She really could have started a business shuttling people through the traffic-jammed streets, so adept was she at squeezing between jeepneys and cars in her silver astronaut helmet.

While always friendly, I think Amy really became my friend on the night we went looking for mischief. She had seen an abandoned casino along the road to Tops, a mountainy area that edges Cebu City to the northwest, and we felt compelled to explore. In rugged clothes and close-toed shoes we set off on Princess Whitecloud, ready to overcome all obstacles in pursuit of excitement, adventure and discovery.

But before we had even reached JY Square, the shopping mall close to our house, a light rain swelled into a downpour and we were running for cover inside McDonald’s.

And there, accomplishing no mischief whatsoever, we instead discovered that we were friends.

Amy: Partner in Crime

Amy is a good friend to have. She’s excellent at planning trips, taking photos and being creative. She’ll be brutally honest with you, but never give up on you. Her stories are great.

We had other adventures after that first failed attempt. During our ‘ocular inspection’ of a resort outside the city, we were shocked and appalled to find a huge spherical monkey cage and a mysterious courtyard filled with ailing birds in cages. Yes, we explored the place thoroughly before running in the opposite direction.

There was a point in time when Amy misinterpreted everything she saw me eating. In the mornings before work, I would make espresso and heat milk for a latte. The milk heated faster if I used a frying pan, so one day Amy saw me pouring milk from a pan into a travel mug. Of course she assumed I was drinking grease.

Then there was the time when I was cutting raw chicken to marinate for the next day’s meal. After I finished cutting the chicken, I made myself a salad for dinner with chunks of feta cheese. Amy only saw me preparing the chicken and then devouring my dinner, and was convinced that I was eating the raw meat.

Amy was welcomed and loved wherever she went. I could not go to her favorite breakfast café without the waiter asking me where Amy was that day. A deeply compassionate person, she draws people to her and makes them welcome.

Plotting Mischief. Eating cookie dough with wine. Having deep conversations on rooftops.

We had a good year in Cebu. And now Amy has ventured off to Manila while I've moved to northern Uganda with the same NGO she once edited videos for. Small world, no? And I'm glad, because in such a small world there stands a pretty good chance that we will cross paths again.

Amy: World-class Traveler

Amy, if an 11’ caste-iron replica of the Eiffel Tower ever appears in your yard…

… I don’t know anything about it.

Happy Birthday, Sunshine!

Ever since I read her blog the summer before moving to Cebu, I had an inkling that Crystal and I were similar souls, and after arriving in Cebu I learned we had more in common than a fondness for eggnog and C.S. Lewis.

Here are some highlights:

The Book of James Talking Party. Meant to be a self-explanatory title.

Watching TV shows in her room - including zany British quiz shows - for hours.

Sharing life stories on the drive to Dumaguete.

Getting excited about the prospect of reading out loud on a road trip because the iPod adaptor broke.

Rescuing huge dogs from the middle of a busy road while running late to catch the ferry back to Cebu.

Realizing that we have the same body shape.

Night picnic at Tops overlooking the city.

Eating seafoods.

Watching Crystal lead her staff in devotions before the opening of My Refuge House aftercare home.

I don’t think I met anyone in Cebu who worked longer hours than Crystal. She would leave for work early, stay late and work most weekends. And you can tell she loves what she does. For all the challenges she has to deal with, she still comes home with stories of celebration, rejoicing with each victory in the lives of the trafficking survivors she is serving.

However, this did prevent me from spending much time with her for the first several months, and was part of the reason our friendship was rather slower in developing than might be expected of people sharing something as deeply personal as a bra size. Those initial hang-ups overcome, Crystal quickly became one of those people I trust and value the most.

Crystal finds joy in life and delight in people. She listens, engages and asks good questions. She is brave and kind. My life is immeasurably richer for having intersected hers.

One of the most difficult things about leaving Cebu has been the loss of my daily dose of Sunshine. Let's meet again soon, Stal.

Even gentle people play basketball

A few weeks ago Crystal and I roadtripped down south and took a ferry over to Dumaguete (a name that I will probably never be able to pronounce just right), a city on the neighboring island Negros.

To sum it up, it was beautiful. A college town, it is home to numerous universities including Silliman University – the first private American university in Asia. It is clean, laid-back and peaceful. Exactly what you’d expect from a place known as “the city of gentle people.”

I spent a good chunk of the day driving about on a rented motorcycle, enjoying the freedom and sunshine.

I also enjoyed the ~$6 all-you-can-eat sushi/sashimi buffet.

It is true that no matter what barangay (the smallest government unit in the Philippines) you visit, you are sure to find two things: 1. a church 2. a basketball hoop. This is indicative of the deeply rooted Roman Catholic tradition, and the also very deeply rooted obsession with the NBA.

Some samples of the basketball courts I encountered on the weekend roadtrip:

Equally enjoyable were the hours driving along winding oceanside roads, sharing life with Crystal. I highly recommend her if you are looking for a good roadtrip buddy. It didn't even matter that her iPod adapter was broken.

Fish nights

It was late, very late, on a Saturday night. My mom had made her famous, incredibly delicious tiramisu and the espresso was keeping us all awake. I wandered out to the porch around 2AM and found my sister chatting with Francis, Nino and Ced. I can’t remember exactly what happened, or how it came up, but someone proposed a trip to the night fish market and everyone was just caffeinated – or crazy – enough to second the motion. Mom, Marie, Ced and I piled into the back of the yellow VW, with Francis and Nino (the fish ‘expert) up front.

At 3AM I am generally sleeping soundly in my tiny twin bed (army cot, some have called it) with the gentle breeze from my fan softly brushing my face and the sound of the occasional motorcycle or furious dog the only interruption to my slumber. Not so for the crowd at the fish market. People are everywhere, buying fish, selling fish, carrying giant buckets of fish on their heads. Fish, people, noise, fish people, fish noise and chaos.

Francis gives us strict instructions on where to we can go. Nino is trying to buy fish, and if it looks like the ‘white people’ are with him, it could drive up prices. We dutifully walk where we are told, trying not to be a liability. It’s an impressive collection of seafood, this market. Fish of all sizes - squid, sharks, stingrays and eels. Francis takes on the role of our bodyguard, keeping us in sight at all times. Sometimes I think we’ve lost him, only to find him right beside us warning, “that guy there is a thief, be careful.”

After wandering through the many rows of ocean harvest, we move on to the next market scene – via horse and buggy.

At Carbon market the vegetables and flowers are fresh, but the people show more signs of the wee hours.

Things you must do when you live on an island. Resistance is futile.

Living in the same house as a dive instructor with a beach only 45 minutes away, it was only a matter of time before I agreed to a Discovery Dive - basically a first date with the ocean, after which one decides to get serious or stop calling.

After my first dive last November - I wasn't sold on scuba. I had a tough time equalizing pressure in my ears, and the mask was uncomfortable, and my mouth hurt from the mouthpiece. So while others suited up for deep sea explorations, I needed to wash my hair.

Then, in June, I decided to give diving a second chance. Mostly because Francis started waking me up at 7AM on the weekend insisting that I join them.

“Come on, B. Don’t be boring. Let’s go diving!”

This time, diving treated me much more kindly. The pressure was right, I began to get my underwater balance with the correct number of weights, and seeing all the sea life was awesome!

But I was still just flirting with the idea of diving. Not in love. And certainly not ready for the commitment of becoming a certified diver.

“B! We’re going on a night dive! Just come with us. It’s a birthday present!”

Oh, ok Francis.

So we drove out to Mactan at 10pm, setting up our gear for a shore dive as lighting began flashing near the horizon.

In we plunged with our flashlights, and were caught up in a fast-moving current.

The night dive experience is unique. Your view is limited mostly to the beam of your flashlight. You catch the flash of a red sea creature, and because your vision is so limited, you are better able to observe colorful details and tiny animals.

At one point I turned around and looked up, through the water to the sky. The other divers were silhouetted above me, flickering as the lightning far away splattered on the surface of the ocean.

Hm, I like this.

After the night dive, I went to Coron with mom and Marie. We went snorkeling and saw the most brilliant coral I’ve seen anywhere. At least in my limited experience. And I decided then that I should not limit my experience.

When I got back to Cebu, I went on more boat dives.

Went to Moalboal for my 8th and 9th dives and was enthralled by the massive wall of sardines, easily 40 feet tall, pulsing and forming tunnels and passages as the fish re-oriented themselves to get away from the nosy divers.

We saw 10 turtles.

Diving may have a chance after all.

Kulot

'Kulot'

Lindsay was my first connection to Cebu, contacting me early on to help answer questions and ease the adjustment to life in the Philippines.

I love the way that Lindsay threw herself into, well, everything. She was dedicated to the street children she met regularly as part of a feeding program. She volunteered once a week as a tutor. She decided to apply to law school and filled out applications for at least 18 universities. Although she hardly ever bought groceries before, when we started making family dinners she came up with creative and incredibly delicious meals every week for her night. She made excel spreadsheets for absolutely everything.

Francis nicknamed her 'Kulot' for her curly hair.

We shared countless lunches of veggies and rice together, talking about life, the future, and how our hearts were changing because of the things we were seeing and the work we were doing.

I know that it was difficult for Lindsay to leave this place she loved.

It was hard to say goodbye.

Driving to the airport the night she left it felt like the end of an age had come. Hugs under the orangey street lights. Long hugs with whispered final words. Loading up luggage onto a cart. More hugs and wet eyes. In the final moments, a light rain sputtered down from the dark sky - even Cebu was sad to see her go.

One year in Cebu. One year as a Peace Valley girl. One year donated on behalf of victims of violent oppression. One year dodging through traffic on a little yellow motorcycle. One year of diving, trekking, and buggy riding. One unforgettable year.

Birthday blog

June has been the month of birthdays.

First Francis.

I've had some requests for blogs about unique foods, and considering the impressive spread at Francis' birthday gathering, this seems like a good place for me to insert some remarks on Filipino cuisine.

This, quite obviously, is squid. Squid is eaten grilled, or fried as calamari, or cooked in black ink.

At the bottom left corner is a bowl of palitaw. It is a dessert made of rice flour mixed with water and flattened like a pancake. It is then boiled and rolled in shredded coconut. Just before eating, it is dipped in a mixture of sugar and toasted sesame seeds. The texture is similar to mochi and it may be my favorite Filipino dessert. Lami kaayo!

On the bottom right is kinilaw, my overall favorite Filipino dish. It is a sour/spicy salad made with raw fish, vinegar, tomatoes, hot peppers, and onions. There are other versions which substitute fried pork or eggs for the raw fish.

Just above the kinilaw, I think that is just a sauce for dipping pork.

The little basket-weave sachets in the top right corner are called puso, or 'hanging rice.' They are like individually wrapped portions of rice.

Top middle, a nearly finished bowl of kinilaw.

The caramel-colored discs are kutsinta, another very sweet dessert made from rice and eaten with shredded coconut.

The pan with sliced egg on top is some kind of salty/sour noodles, similar to a dish called pancit. No one seemed to know what this particular kind was called, but it was 'not pancit.'

Happy birthday kuya Francis!

Next was my birthday, with more friends and food arriving at the house.

So blessed to be surrounded by lovely, loving people.

The evening wound down until only a few of us were left awake. Although midnight passed, we continued to celebrate - after all, on the other side of the world I still had 12 hours of June 27^th left.

We just sat and talked…and sang. Mic Mic undertook teaching me a Tagalog lullaby about vegetables: 'Bahay Kubo.' For some reason I never could keep the tune in my head, and opted to sing it to the Philippine national anthem instead. And then the U.S. national anthem. Somewhere there lurks a video of this horrendous rendition which I hope never surfaces publicly.

After this, we tested one another’s verbal dexterity with English and Bisaya tongue-twisters. Mic Mic was much more successful than I, although eeny meeny miney mo did trip him up a bit.

The very next day, my friend Karla celebrated her 21st birthday [picture pending]. Happy birthdays all around!