Just for the record, we are officially the happiest husband and wife on the planet.
Due to the recent engagement, wedding, and honeymoon activities here, I’m way behind on my work. I just wanted to let everyone know that I am now a married man. All you single girls can stop calling me now. 
I will try to fill in more details later.
It’s official!
On September 20th, 2007 I asked the girl of my dreams if she would be my wife, and she said yes! I’m still getting over it myself.
More details will follow, but weddings can happen pretty quick in this part of the world. Stay tuned.
Any amount of blogging about Daanbantayan whatsoever wouldn’t be complete without some discussion of Malapascua. It’s an island just off the north tip of Cebu, and it’s where all the tourists go for SCUBA diving, white sand beaches, palm trees, and other touristy things.
My friend Skip (of Skip’s Beach Resort in Daanbantayan, Cebu, Philippines) is married to Amy’s sister Belle. Even though Belle and Amy are locals and they live within a stone’s throw of Malapascua, neither of them had ever been there before and they both wanted to go. I’ve been there twice previously and had no particular desire to go back, except it was a good excuse to spend some time with Skip and the girls. So off we went.
If you happen to be anywhere near the north end of the island, many people will ask you, “Have you been to Malapascua yet?” This is either because they think it’s the only thing worth seeing on the north end of Cebu OR because every foreigner they’ve ever met has told them that they were passing through on their way to/from Malapascua.
(Above: The chickens-and-goats express boat to Malapascua)
Getting to and from the island of Malapascua is by boat, and it can be something of an adventure (depending on the weather). If the weather is nice, you’ll have a pleasant 30-40 minute boat ride in either direction. If the weather isn’t nice? Don’t make the trip. If you’re already there, just spend another night (you’ll have fun anyway, right?)
There is, in theory, regular boat service between Cebu island and Malapascua that costs 40 pesos (about a dollar) per person each way. In practice it works much differently. Every time I’ve been there, whenever you want to leave, you just missed the last regularly-scheduled boat back to Cebu for the day. However the hawkers on the beach will be happy to arrange a “special,” which means a private boat just for your party. A typical price for a special is around 800 pesos (a little under $20 USD).
It’s not as calculated as it sounds though. Most of the tourists spend the night, so most of the regular departures are in the morning. For locals who visit just for the day it can be a bit trickier. The majority of people on the island don’t want to leave in the late afternoon or early evening.
(Above: Amy on the trip back)
I’m glad I’ve been there. But to me, it seems like Malapascua is pretty much like everywhere else in the Philippines: blue ocean, beautiful beaches, palm trees, and friendly people. I’m certified for open water as well as Nitrox mixed gas diving, so if I had more time I might be interested in the SCUBA — it’s supposed to be some of the best in the Philippines.
The one extra benefit you’ll find in Malapascua is the food; since it’s a tourist zone there are several good restaurants. We stopped for lunch at a nice Italian place (it’s pretty hard to find Italian in the Philippines).
If you happen to be visiting the north end of Cebu anyway, I would recommend going to see Malapascua just so you can tell the locals that you’ve already been there. That way you can continue strolling uninterrupted.
The other day I went for a boat trip to another island nearby. When I got back to the main island, this is what I saw:
There’s only one road into and out of the boat dock area, which goes right past this gas station. This is the angle from the docks looking back toward the main road.
Apparently while I was gone an empty truck arrived to unload a boat. The truck wasn’t big enough for the load so they just kept stacking stuff on top of the truck. It got higher and higher.
When the truck tried to leave it crashed into this canopy (you can see the damage in the front right corner) and knocked it over. The locals tell me that this happens to electrical lines all the time. The power goes out frequently because an over-height truck drives down the main road for a few kilometers before realizing that it is tearing out all the overhead lines as it goes.
By the way, the fuel pumps were still open for business.
Ukay-Ukay day is when dozens, or perhaps hundreds, of used clothing dealers converge on a town all at once. This happens mostly in the more remote villages because the city folks have plenty of places to shop already. But when Ukay-Ukay (”ukay” rhymes with “look eye”) happens in the province it’s a genuinely huge event. People come from villages far away just to go shopping for clothes and other stuff.
I’ve seen young girls in tears because, for whatever reason, they weren’t allowed to go shopping on Ukay-Ukay day.
Of course it would be silly to waste all that good foot traffic on used clothes alone, so there are plenty of other things to buy. All manner of goods from housewares to plumbing fixtures can be had.
The clothes are the interesting part, however. When you donate clothes to the Salvation Army or Goodwill, they pick out the best stuff and put it on the racks in their stores in America. Everything else gets dumped into bulk bins and exported to poorer countries such as the Philippines. A consolidator here will split up full shipping containers of used clothing into smaller batches and sell them to vendors who travel from town to town for Ukay-Ukay. Make sense?
The vendors sort the clothing into general piles (boys pants, girls shirts, etc) and put each pile on a big table with a sign that indicates how much the items from that pile cost. Typical prices range from 10-30 pesos (roughly $0.20 to $0.60) for each article.
(Above: Amy shopping for clothes at an Ukay-Ukay booth)
Believe it or not, this is some of the best stuff available to buy in these parts. Cheap Chinese goods abound, so anything from America looks fantastic by comparison. And even Chinese goods that are made for the US market (for instance, a Chinese-made pair of denim jeans that were made for a US brand retailer like The Gap, or Abercrombie and Fitch) are orders of magnitude better than the other options here.
And let me tell you, this is a cheap date. If you take your girlfriend out to Ukay-Ukay, and buy her every item she wants, you’ll probably spend no more than five or ten USD and you’ll be a hero. This assumes that you are dating a girl from the province. If your girlfriend already lives in a big city your shopping tab will be considerably higher.
You should also note that the process of shopping is the same here as it is in the United States. So it’s going to take all day and you’d better just find a nice comfy restaurant that has cold drinks for sale, and grab yourself a seat. If that sounds bad, just compare it to going to the movies in the US, which might cost $40 and last only a couple of hours. Ukay-Ukay lasts all day and costs maybe $10.
A cop waved at me the other day as I was making a right turn at an intersection in the city. Being a friendly type I waved back and kept driving.
At the next light, another cop walked over and told me the first officer wanted to talk to me about some sort of traffic violation, and could I please go back and see the first officer to correct my violation.
I’m sure the “violation” was something shakedown-worthy like Failure to Salute An Officer or maybe DWR (Driving While Rich), which means a couple of hundred pesos ($4USD) should take care of it.
But I was in a hurry to get where I was going, so as the second officer approached my window I greeted him in Visayan (the local dialect), “Maayong hapon amigo,” (good afternoon, friend). He explained about the other officer and I replied:
“I’m sorry officer, I don’t understand you. Can you explain it in English?”
Of course I knew full well that he was already speaking English, and I could understand him just fine. But he explained everything again, in English, a second time. He explained that I needed to report back to the first officer to “correct my violation.” When he got done I said again (very slowly, for comic effect):
“I’m sorry sir, I don’t understand very much of the local language. Please say it in English.”
Eventually the light turned green and he waved me through, saying, “Nevermind.”
Okay, I’ll admit that I always wanted to name a town after myself. Henceforth, my secret town shall be referred to as Stevesville. Yay! 
A couple of years ago I was cruising down the coast on the island of Cebu with two friends from America. It started getting late, and hot, and we decided to stop at the next town to get a beer. Eventually we found somewhere to stop on the side of the road (a sari sari store) and we ordered a large beer to share (yes, we got 3 separate glasses). It was a nice day so we sat on benches in front of the store.
After a while we realized that the same wide-eyed people kept walking past the store to look at us. It seemed like the whole town was strolling past to get a look. I guess it’s not that unusual since there are very few foreigners outside of the big city. And since we were way out in the province, lots of the people probably had never seen an authentic white guy up close. It’s hard to get mad about that sort of thing, especially when you sometimes want to use your whiteness to your advantage, for instance by getting your own dedicated beer glass at a party.
Anyway, a man named Tata happened past and we started talking and I bought him a beer and pretty soon we were great friends. He introduced me to his amigos Bogart and Tibor. We smoked and drank and had a grand time like old war buddies at the VFW.
Eventually he explained why everyone was looking at us. Not one single foreigner had ever stopped in the town before. They sometimes drove past in a bus, but not a single white guy had ever stopped to say hello. We were the first. In fact, they named a week after us (”Steve, Alex, and Andi Week” — it’s the week just before Holy Week, which is somewhere around Easter).
Just down the road is a wonderful seaside resort that is owned by the town mayor. It’s dirt cheap but beautiful, clean, and convenient. They have air conditioning, and sometimes they even have a trickle of hot water for under $20 per night. The resort is pretty much impossible to find unless you know it’s there and Tata recommended that we go there for the night (obviously, we did, and we are glad). I’ve been back there many times and the resort is always empty, but sometimes I see locals eating at the restaurant.
Every now and then I’ll try to explain Stevesville to a foreigner that I meet here in the Philippines, and they all want to know, “So where is this place?”
I’m torn between spilling the beans and keeping the secret. Obviously the big attraction of the place is that I’m a special honored guest there. If I start telling white guys about it, they’ll all go there and dilute my specialness.
On the flip side, I’ve never seen anyone stay at the resort except me and the others I have brought there. I’m half afraid they’ll go out of business and then there won’t be anywhere comfy and air-conditioned to stay when I get there. It sure would be nice to promote the resort to keep them afloat, just so they’ll be there when I want them. So if I don’t tell people the name of the town, I’m selfish. And if I do tell people about it, I’m also selfish. Go figure.
By the way, I’ve since found lots of neighborhoods just like Stevesville that have never been visited by foreigners. Some of those neighborhoods are actually inside Cebu City itself. If you come for a visit and do any amount of exploring off the beaten track then you are very likely to run into one. So if you want a town named after you, you’ll need to go find your own.
So my friends from America have left and I’m on my own again, which means it’s a good time to write about the sociology of free beer in Cebu.
I was invited to a beach party a few weeks ago. If I remember correctly, one of the hosts of this party had a child who was celebrating a birthday, or something like that. But there were no candles, cake, funny hats, or noisemakers. Just a tent setup on the beach with some food and beer. As the day wore on and the sun got lower on the horizon, someone (thankfully) decided to hang palm leaves around the tent to cut the glare from the ocean. The whole thing was actually really pretty neat.
Incidentally, no one knew I was coming. I was visiting this (secret*) town to visit my friend Tata, who, unbeknownst to me, was already at the party. When I got to town the “foreigner alert” went off amongst the local residents, one of whom went to find Tata and tell him I was there looking for him. All of this happens with no input from me, of course. This town is a foreigner-free zone in the middle of nowhere, so when I show up it causes something of a stir. Everyone knows me by name (even though I’ve only met a few of the residents there) and they all know I’m there to see Tata. They also know that it’ll be orders of magnitude easier for one of them to find Tata instead of me trying to do it.
So whenever I get to the town I just buy a beer and sit in plain view on the main street, and Tata magically arrives within a minute or two. That’s a pretty neat trick, especially considering that this town has at least a couple thousand residents, give or take.
And this time, he invited me to the beach party. Not wanting to show up empty handed, I bought several large bottles of beer and we hiked off to the beach. And that brings me to the sociology part. I’ve bought many beers for many Filipino friends on many parts of this island, and they always follow the same script when it comes time to imbibe.
A large beer is roughly 1.5 liters, and the drinkers are all expected to share it equally (except the foreigners, we’ll get to that part later). When you buy a large beer from a sari sari store, they will sometimes lend you a glass to drink with. If there are foreigners in your group they will lend you enough glasses for each foreigner to have their own glass, plus one extra glass for all of the Filipinos in your group to share. These are usually very small glasses, only slightly larger than Dixie cups.
But the glass is very important for the Filipinos, because that’s the unit of measurement. First, one person is elected to serve as the bartender for the evening. I’m not sure how they decide who gets to be the bartender. It might be based on a trust factor or it might be based on who has the lowest standing in the group, or perhaps it’s something else entirely. Once the bartender is elected, he pours out a beer and hands the glass off to each member of the group in succession until there is no more beer. This assures that everyone gets an equal amount of the group beer.
Meanwhile the foreigners each get their own glass and their own bottle of beer. But whoever is acting as bartender for the evening still pours the foreigner’s beer. I think that part is simply to be polite, but it could also be done to try and cover up the Filipino beer ritual. I’ll have to do more research on that later.
*I know, I keep mentioning my secret town. I’ll try to write the story of why this town is a secret tomorrow so at least you know why I’m reluctant to give out the name.
Meanwhile I’m back in Daanbantayan and I just sent out a load of laundry. I’ll have plenty of time to write while I’m waiting for my clothes to dry.
Nope, nothing to see here folks. Keep moving.
Coincidentally, that’s roughly what I’m doing myself. My friends decided to stay a little longer and now we’re just kinda wandering around the island(s). In the local language, the term for this is suroy suroy, which would be loosely translated as, “strolling”.
When you are walking around here (at least on the island of Cebu) you will often be asked, “Where are you going?” People will stick their heads out of shops, car windows, and side alleys to give you a big smile and inquire about your destination. If you are out in the country, they might address you as “Joe” at the same time. As in, “Hey Joe, where are you going?” As far as I can tell, no one actually cares where you are going. It must be something like the standard question in America, “How are you?” In America you would reply “fine” and no one would even remember the exchange a few minutes later.
If you feel like telling someone the full story about where you are going, I’m sure your questioner would be happy to hear it, since she probably doesn’t have Internet access, and she has nothing more interesting to do. If she owns a television, the electricity is probably out. But the best answer I’ve found for the question is to answer simply: “Strolling”. For whatever reason, it seems like everyone accepts that answer without further explanation. It comes in especially handy when you are actually trying to get somewhere.
Here’s a sunset from the beach in Daanbantayan. I’m not there anymore, but I did finally get a card reader so I can import my photos.
Currently I’m enjoying some internet access at a “resort” in my favorite secret spot in the middle of nowhere. However we’re getting ready to mosey off to somewhere else. I’ve got a couple of friends visiting from America so we’re trying to see the best stuff before they have to leave. Stay tuned.