Right down by the beeeeach

I am alive. I am also doing great, this week has been ridicules in more ways than one. Boarding the bus to manila i wondered what was awaiting me on the magical ride that is Filipino public transit. Sitting i noticed that the seat in front of me was moved and re-bolted to the floor and coincidentally a few inches closer to me. I wedged my legs into position, i literally had my knees jammed into the back of the seat in front of me. I wondered if everyone was as uncomfortable. As i looked around i noticed men with there legs crossed and girls wiggling there feet free and easy. Dang! I tried to stay positive, "its only a 9 hour bus ride, it will go by quick". When getting a bus ticket in many places you pic your seats by signing your name in one of the empty spaces on grid. There was no one to blame but myself, unlucky pick i guess. As i wondered what had happened to the old seat that had to removed the bus began to fill. The man in front of me took his seat and just that little pressure kept my leg from moving even the slightest without help from my arms. As the night grew later, we all tried to get some sleep many people reclining there seats to add to the comfort of riding a bus for 9 hours and the man in front of me was no different. shocked awake by the seat slamming my knees as he tried over and over to lower the back. i leaned over the seat and said "sorry man, truly but its not a broken seat its my legs that are preventing you from moving back", most Filipinos know some English at least enough to get around and this man stopped instantly. As i swallowed a motion sickness pill to help with the roads rolling hills. i dosed off again, only to be shocked yet again buy the same maneuver. i hadn't gotten through to him. I tried again, actually many times that night but still have the bruises at a testimony to his lack of English understanding. As we came into Manila at 3 am we were told for our own safety we would be allowed to stay on the bus till daybreak, that was a new one for me. So there i slept. After calling "my guy" in manila to procure his cab, i sat wondering what the next week would bring. Krystle, my friend from Boston has a stepfather who has a brother who has a place in San Antonio that i was free to stay at along as i wanted. The details were a tidbit light and my instructions on finding the pace slim. Regardless, after three buses and a taxi and a total of 15 hours transit i was coasting on a tricycle on my way to Pandakit beach in search of the "Surf and Sun" of which my driver told me he knew its location. I had stared at him, feeling that he had no idea where it was, but asking four or five time varying my sentences he assure me. So there i was rolling in town, the first stop, a place to ask for directions wahhh wahhhh haha. i think he and my favorite bus passenger were cousins. No one had heard of the "Sun and Surf resort" They all talked for what seemed like a decade in tugulog me sitting there trying to explain what the word surf meant, "no, NOT surfing. Surf." Finally i said the proprietors name "Kevin" Having no last name i figured it was a long shot, but instantly everyone said "Ahhhhh Kevins place, yeah sure sure", lesson learned. I go there to find a charming bungalow right on the beach. When i say on the beach i mean in the sand, nothing separated me from the deep blue green waters but a small fence and a fewr bankas (Filipino boats that look like a big canoe with outriggers). As i set my things down i noticed that the bamboo hut had no lock. Hmmmm, not good. But i was assured with a laugh that my things were safe there when i asked if they had a secure spot for my things. "everyone is afraid of Kevin" i was told, can't wait to meet him i thought! Alarm bells going off in my mind i tried to think about what i would do with all my stuff, not wanting to leave it unattended, ever. I sat down still in awe of the beauty to a wonderful meal cooked by the resident chef Marie. Fried chicken?! there wasn't a menu, i had just been asked if i was hungry, there wasn't a price list either but i was staying for free and that all i needed to know. It was hands down the best chicken i have had. Feeling slightly better about my predicament. i sat lazily looking out at the beckoning water. Three large island lay not far from the beach and i wondered if i could swim there. I tore off my dirty cloths (the last hostel forbid its residents from washing cloths but did offer a cleaning service, how convenient! i opted out. never the one to worry about smelling a little, or a lot) and jumped in. Wow, the familiar feeling of the ocean and the wonderful lapping of the waves lifted my spirits. This week has been amazing and the most expensive thing i have bought was sunscreen, no one uses it here. I have been hiking with a friend i have made named autie Olivia. She was to be my guide (for free, others wanted 500 pesos) to hidden waterfalls. We trekked for 3 hours and when there was a split in the river and i was asked which way i wanted to go, i wondered who was guiding who. As the mountain stream grew smaller we were forced into the bush, pushing our way threw, me guiding, her following till i said i had had enough, tired in the 90 degree heat we trekked back. Maybe another day, or guide i thought. I have eaten fresh tuna brought in from the resident fisherman, oliver and cooked whole on the grill. I have been invited to cock fight training camp, feasted on a homemade meal a couple made just for me. I have been treated to what feels like 1000 rounds of brandy, drinking it, sometimes reluctantly, almost every night as bottle after bottle is passed around the table each taking a shot till it is done. Just when i thought that would be it, another bottle would materialize in front of me. I have been brought to the local market and treated to fresh coconut milk and spent a long night playing "Sorry" with the locals, their all locals here and i am the only "white face of white monkey" anywhere near here. Most girls say they want my eyes and my large nose, exclaiming in front of the boyfriends and husbands that they wished there respective mate had those features, making me just a little bit uncomfortable, to say the least. There have been some sketchy moments too,when at night i left my bungalow to take a picture of the sunset over the beach (we face west and they have been the sunset of legend proportions) one guy shouted out from the darkness "hey buddy, where you go?" knowing that my bungalow was without a lock. i thought, well nowhere now damn it. ( i have since used what i call the trifector of security measures, a Bandana, a cloths line and a padlock) When a beach jewelry dealer would not stop looking at my watch and trying to trade me the same Chinese made necklaces that they sell on all beaches (substitute the name pundakit beach for myrtle beach or ocean city) and me trying to explain that it was worthless, (i had bought the cheapest they had at target) him pronouncing "Timex! i want this watch, trade me watch", i have not worn it since. Or when after a few brandy rounds someone produced a snack called "Ding Dongs" and i explained that i often call my friends that when there being stupid, or vise versa. When that didn't go over well and i was asked to explain what i meant hoping someone would chime in with a joke or anything really to cut the tension, and no one did. i apologized to the man who's favorite snack i had offended (it was time to call it a night). But all in all its been paradise and i have had a great time joking with the children that often come by to ogle at the "white face" with all the odd trinkets that they have never seen before. I am getting to know people here just in time for me to leave. I wish i could stay but the road calls. Just three more days... wish you all could be here with me and i missed you all dearly on thanksgiving. i will through one back on the beach for all you stuck in the cold rain and snow. Krystle, thank you for going out of your way. Thank you a million times over.

Bontoc to Sagada to Banaue

Leaving the farm was hard but it felt good climbing up the mountain on my own again. when i reached the top dripping in sweat i had my first cold drink, a San Miguel, in a week. I really took the simple pleasures of refrigeration for granted and i pledge never to leave the fridge door open again Mom, promise.  I hopped a Jeepney back to Bagio then a bus to Bontoc, took maybe 6-7 hours. Some of the bus's here have two seats on each side of the aisle like normal but another fold down seat to make it a 5 person row. In my mind i kept thinking about just how i would hurdle these people in the aisle if a fire or other emergency were to occur. An emergency seemed plausible as we careened around corners meant for half a car in a bus clearly made pre soviet union. Most of the mountain roads here take the high route where in Vermont most of the roads are in the valley. We were high enough for my ears to pop and at some points at the very tips so much that there was nothing but air on either side of the bus. My plan was to go to Bontoc for there Sunday market where my guide book said there might be elder head hunters that come down from the hills to sell the fruits of there labor. I decided to head to the Bontoc museum to learn some more before i came across any of these elders as to not become a trophy from some simple slight. It was interesting, not mind blowing but for a buck i could swing it. There were a few photos taken in the early part of the 20th century with men minus there heads that i found grisly yet fascinating. I read that head hunting was practiced for no real reason except the towns people were bored. They would get all bored then work themselves up and head out for some fresh heads. Given the way they lived (the same way for 2000 years) i would think they got bored often. After i left i no longer felt hungry for some odd reason and i made my way to the market. I didn't see any elders really, at least not in tribal dress but i did see some butcher shops that were equally as unsettling to my stomach as the headless men. without refrigeration the meats layout on display in the heat and i kept thinking that "maybe the pig (whose head was on display) was just killed" but probably not. As i passed each butcher shop the men and women would wave a long stick with a handkerchief on it to scary away any fly's in hopes that i would consider buying a choice cut like the intestines or eye sockets. I didn't, instead i bought a homemade cinnamon bun wheel the size of a medium pizza for 50 cents. On to Sagada! This hip mountain town is where white people like me seem to cluster. Caves and waterfalls abound and cheap homestays make leaving hard. I decided to spend two nights there for 5 bucks a night, not bad, not bad at all. The power was off in town for most of my stay but i was able to get out and do some treking on my own. I walked to the caves to see Sagada's famous "hanging coffins". Guided tours were available but the price for one person was the same as three so i decided to check out the caves myself. As i descended into the Sumaging cave just as far as i cared to go, even with my fancy boots it was slick and i could hear the little chirping of thousands of bats. As i walked up a guide and five Filipinos where headed down and i couldn't help but notice that the guide was wearing flip flops and two of the men where wearing no shoes at all, wow. immediately i thought to tell them that i think there must be a lot of bat shit on the ground and they might want something on their feet but then, haha, i thought they must know. Maybe they like bat shit? Maybe its good for calluses or dry skin? while i thought of this they stopped me to see if i cared to join for 100 pesos. A two hour cave tour for what was normally went for 500-800 pesos was a great deal. I was thinking it over when a man with two gold front teeth and no shoes put his arm around me an urged me into the immense dark hole in the earth. There are times when you are traveling, anywhere, states or abroad when something just doesn't feel quite right. Staring into his mouth and looking back into the cave this was one of those times. I was in the forest by myself and no one knew i was there. Becoming a real life Gollum minus my money and my pack suddenly seemed like a real life possibility. i had to decline, i kicked myself a bit for not being more adventurous but i have heard many stories from other travelers and they all start the same "i knew i probably shouldn't, i didn't follow my instincts or something seemed wrong but i said F it" so i quickly got over it and headed to my next cave. The Lumiang cave's entrance was full of ancient wooded coffins stacked high against the wall. This place was sacred and you could feel something when standing at its six story entrance. An eerie calm maybe. I left there and headed back to my room to grab a shower, i was drenched from the hike, only to find that the power was out and cold showers were the only thing going. i am learning to love them. Its less about the pleasure of the shower and more a game about trying to get in and out, clean, as fast as you can. After a decent night by the bonfire with some other travelers drinking rum and pineapple juice (a 1/5 cost 1.75 usd :) ). i woke early and went back to Bontoc in hopes that the power was back on so the only ATM in town would be working. i was in luck. I boarded a Jeepney to Banaue a two hour hair raising ride through the mountain where landslides seem to take up half the road in many places. This was rice terrace country, i stared out the window at the beauty of it all. Endless mountains and valleys covered at least partially with terraces .i was in awe as i finished my cinnamon bun and last of my water but was jolted out of this wonderful landscape dream when the woman on my right asked very politely if i wanted her to throw my trash out the window. My heart sunk as i shook my head and said thank you anyway and with a shrug she tossed hers. Thus is the paradox of the Philippines, bewildering beauty marred in part by trash that no one seems to care about. The rest of the ride went by decently as i watched the woman on my left pick lice from her daughters hair and toss them out the window. That sort of trash throwing i was ok with. i discretely  tried to wiggle a few centimeters farther away but no luck this Jeepney was packed. Banaue is home to a UNESCO world heritage site, these rice terraces are supposed to be the eighth wonder of the world but were recently taken off the list and i am not sure why but couldn't help thinking trash and poverty to be partly to blame. The mountains here are those of legend and appear on the filipino 1000 dollar bill. I took a tricycle to the top and spent my afternoon ooohing and aweing. Night fell as it always does around 6pm and i decided that i would make my first trip to a local bar. I don't have a lot of money to spend at bars so this was a treat. The only place open was "Friends country music bar" haha, damn! ah well from the noise i figured it was hoppin inside. Well i was wrong. I was the only patron but settled in with a "Red Horse Extra Strong" anyway (6.9% for about a buck a bottle). The house band was on a run, willy Nelson, John Denver and Elton John haha so i decided to stick around. It was a sight to behold. Well, things picked up and by the end of the night i was arm wrestling the locals as we hoisted our glasses to anything and everything. i lost more then i won that's for sure but had a hard time saying "no thanks i don't arm wrestle". It was a really fun night and wish you all could have been there with me to help them sing jimmy buffet in style.

WWOOFing it up

They call me Mr. Machete
I've been eating lots of rice
with very little spaghetti
hackin all day, through the trees
got lots of water but can't make it freeze
there isn't any power, in this valley
sticking to the map like i be Randy McNally
No need to get lost, almost cold enough to frost
all the cats and dogs have thousands of fleas
that rice wine's got me beggin on my knees

haha, i had a lot of time to think this last week while at the ENCA farm in Acop. For those of you that are not familiar with WWOOFing, a little background might be necessary. Essentially you agree to work a full day on an organic farm (there are hundreds of WWOOF locations worldwide) for three hots and a cot. So i signed up to pull a weeks worth of duty at a small family farm in the jungle or the Philippines... I arrived on Monday to warm smiles from my host family and lots of wags from there eight plus dogs of every shape and size. Corky was my favorite, the little guy only had one eye left but he was still rockin, and itching. In fact they all were, itching, a lot. Now I, being a dog lover, but also being very allergic to flea bites was caught in a dilemma from the first moment i opened the gate till the last moment i left six days later. To pet or not to pet? I arrived just in time for the family meal and over pigs feet and rice i was told a little history of the family and the farm. During the Japanese occupation Grand Mother Colosan was forced to flee into the valley and hid in a cave for a good portion of three years. Her brother had joined the military, American Army actually and the Japanese were hunting down all family members of those who served the enemy. She survived and had eight children all of which still work on or in one way shape or form for the farm that is in the same valley where she hid for those three long years. One of the daughters, Olive, lives in the valley at the farm and it was with her that i was to spend the next week and share so many laughs with. Olive's father fought the government for 30 years over the farms land rights in dispute was 45 hectares of thick lush green valley. He won his fight and now there is a beautiful organic farm and education center on the land he fought so hard for. After lunch i jumped into a very old jeep and we took off down the mountain towards the farm. I have been on a professional jeep tour before and they have nothing on Bob and this mountain road. He seemed to know what i was saying when i told him what a great driver he was but for him, its just part of his day and i don't think he realizes, or maybe it was that he didn't understand me at all. His smile said enough. From there Olive and i walked with our gear over two rivers, using only a small tree as a bridge. I fell right in the second river, once i got off balance, my pack took me down. I was only wet up to my knees but it was a heck of a way to start.
The farm itself is beautiful. Traditional hunts blend into the surroundings and guava, papaya, jackfruit, lemons, limes, oranges, two types of coffee plants, bamboo, editable ferns, orange ginger and wild tomatoes grow everywhere and all you need to do is pick them and enjoy. I was joined by a french speaking Swiss couple and for the first four days we hacked and pulled our way through the jungle with a machete and sickle clearing paths that had been swallowed up by months of neglect. It was hard work and i was forced to work in my sandals because my shoes where still wet, of course. To my surprise there were few creepy crawlies lurking under the brush (i expected a spider or snake, rat or some unknown fungi to pounce at any moment) except for ants of all sizes and colors, many of them biters. Damn ants, always up my pant legs. If anyone has seen the movie Platoon or Apocalypse Now (both were filmed in the Philippines) you know what type of jungle we were dealing with. But Olive fed us well, and kept our energy up with a different entree every meal, always with rice, always. i had rice coming out of my ears. Vincent and Maude the Frenchy Swiss were great company and we had lots of laughs as we sweated it out in heat. I took only one shower that whole week and it was in a river all to myself that flowed from a cave the size of a minivan as fresh as water can get. We boiled all of are drinking water on wood stove which gave it a smokey taste i grew to love. Olive brought only two of the family dogs (snow white and brownie) down with her to the farm joining the three resident cats (Ollie, Sophie and the little Tinker Bell) and the 33 some odd free range chickens (trying to count them was impossible). There was only one rooster, a trouble maker that was made to be caged and he seemed to crow whenever he felt like it in a sign of defiance. So when he crowed so did I and I consider myself something of a professional at this point. On the fourth day we bribed Peter (a college plants science major and native Filipino) to bring us some rum, gin and "something local" from up high on the ridge where the small town of Acop was located. He did not fail us and after we picked some lemons, limes and oranges we had warm rum and cokes, gin and orange juice's and some of the local fire water (homemade rice wine, a big bottle of it). Trying to save enough for my last night on the farm a day later. The walk up the hill took about an hour, straight up the mountain and i decided to let bob drive my large pack up the night before i left. As i gave bob my pack he gave me a new WWOOFer Madalena, she was Portuguese but had spent several years in the states and her English was as good as any. It was my job to show her to the farm and so we set off across the first river, she made it across but i warned her that the next crossing was the hardest. It felt odd, i felt like a seasoned vet showing the new recruit the ropes. As we approached the second crossing, i gave her all the tips i knew, but no luck, in she went backwards up to her neck. I pulled her free of the river that had grown from the recent rains and we laughed on the rocks. She fit right in and that night I taught the three others how to play a few popular drinking games from the states golf, up the river down the river and bullshit but it was Asshole that truly amazed them. They fell in love with it, making sure to write all the rules down of which there are many. we played into the night and when all the booze was gone we played some more. I woke the next morning with a very sizable headache only to stand at the foot of the mountain that i was about to climb wondering what those Filipinos put in the rice wine beside rice. I made it out however, in one piece taboot, still amazed at the week i had just had. I miss the Swiss couple and Olive very much and wish i had gotten to know Madalena better, they are truly kindred spirits. In closing i want to thank Lindsey Hunt for turning me on to WWOOFing in the first place, without you going out of your way to tell me about it i would never have had this life changing opportunity. Thanks buddy. So that was my WWOOFing week. I was off on my own again to Sagada north about 6 hours in the hills of the Cordillera, it was time, my shoes were growing mossy.

Manila to Acop

Riding north from Manila on the Victory Liner was a lesson in off road, big rig driving. But we were on a road, at least as good as any i have seen here. The bus driver, clearly a professional showed me just how it was done. We passed cars, flashed our high beams, honked and road bumpers for the entire 6 hours, swerving and breaking only to gun it again when semi clear of what ever obstacle had gotten in his way occasionally oncoming traffic. I arrived at Bagio city just after 3 am, i had been told it would take closer to 7 hours but we made it in just over 5. I, not having a place to stay and not caring to venture into the unknown darkness that was the sleeping city, decided to camp out and make my home for the night right there under a handful of eerie incandescent. i woke many times, but for good at sunrise with the need to find the local "comfort room" as they are so eloquently called. I can say that one thing is for sure, no matter what they are called i have encountered not one that i would deem comfortable. As i left the comforts of the local bathroom I over heard the song "no soy americano" and i remembered a little dance preformed by the great Oakley masterminded by Alan and Kris. I turned a corner and could see some possible miscreants milling just outside the door and as i approached all but one stared at me as i emerged. The one who didn't was singing along with the song. He was nudged and looked up also."think fast i thought" then in a spur of inspiration i did a little jig. Nothing. one second, two seconds (maybe the longest of my life) and the man who had been singing started again and i did a little more dancing, laughter erupted and i was applauded as i walked past. Phew. The Filipinos are very warm people if you just get past there often hard exterior. With a smile i headed to town in hopes of making contact with the farm. My phone was not working just when i needed it most of all. In times of doubt i am learning to just sit and be patient, so i sat and had a cup of coffee on the outskirts of town and by the time i had finished my second round i had talked with the farm and was confident of how to get there. Walking into Bagio in the wee hours of the morning, on a Monday was not very intimidating. A few directions and a number of pointed outstretched arms urged me to walk a little furthur where i could find Dangwa station. I got there looking for a Jeepney (local transit of unknown origin, many are Mercedes) to take me to Acop. A very nice gentlemen told me that in fact i was wrong and that they leave from a different terminal. They use the word terminal but really street corner would suffice. Off again i went in search, after a few more stops to consult the locals i was told more than once, "Dangwa station". By this time i the streets where flooded and quite a bit more intimidating. Was this man wrong? Or was the farm and everyone else wrong? Back i trode up the hill and was soon approached by the same man. I told him of my quest and he assured me that he was right, in fact so sure he walked me nearly all the way there. Everyone else was wrong, go figure. I loaded into the back of a Jeepney about to depart.The Jeepney can hold up to i would say 25 people and more if you care to ride on the roof. the one hour trip would cost me 21 pesos. Just about 50 cents. Imagine going an hour for 50 cents in the states. there seemed to be no formal way to give the driver your fare. People just simply paid when they chose and passed the fare, person to person to the driver who navigated the streets full of people, debris and a large amount of stray dogs with one hand as his other made change. Passing the change over his shoulder, back it went to whoever it was meant for. Each Jeepney has a colorful name and elaborate decorations. On my trip i decided to jot some of the better names down. "Cold Dessert", "Shadow Chaser", "Midnight Blue" and my personal favorite the "Diana Ross" these names were just some of the many hundreds we passed. Apparent in my Jeepney was a few "wear your seat belt" signs. What was not so apparent was where the seat belts could be found. Certainly not on the seats and certainly not on the roof. As i sat i reached into my bag and pulled out a sack of clementines i had picked up for breakfast. i pulled on the bag and like a volcano shooting bright balls into the air they went everywhere. i quickly said, "oranges for everyone!" (as they are called by those who don't know how to say clementines in English) but only a few seemed to know what i meant. quicker than i could say "would you mind handing me that" i had them all placed nicely in my lap with smiles from all. I was thankful but wondered if anything could be easy for me, just once. I still laugh thinking about it. Beyond the city i was amazed to find that we were in fact high in the mountains. something i could not tell in the dark of night when i arrived. Steep ravines cascaded down all around as we bumped our way to Acop. A quick bang on the ceiling to stop and a very thankful "salamant" i was standing in the middle of a very small Filipino town with no real idea of what direction to go in. I was directed to the local Municipality Center. Off i went a tid bit nervous about what the next week would hold for me.

Pacquiao, the legend

When i came to Manila i was asked almost instantly after getting into the cab, if i was going to watch the fight. "fight"? i asked. "Pacquiao vs Marquez"! I shook my head. A frown grew across his face and i instantly decided it was best to change my answer less i end up a statistic. "Maybe" I said. "who do you want to win"? he hit the brakes and looked in the mirror, "Pacquiao"! Picking up on his tone and eye language i chimed in "Yeah me too, totally, i hate that Marquez guy" He didn't buy it but he took mercy on me and i was driven directly to my hostel. i really didn't give it another thought but the next morning the security guard that i had chatted up the day before asked me "are you going to watch the fight? see the streets"? i looked around and they looked empty, "Everyone in the Philippines is watching it" he said. He suggested i watch it across the street at a hotel that was offering it with a brunch buffet. The idea of getting in on something that was captivating the country was too good of an opportunity to miss and i wandered over to check it out. It was 9:30 am and i was told in fact that there was only one ticket left. I bought it on the spot for 700 pesos (about 16 bucks) and was told i better get a seat on the double. "Salaman", utilizing the only word i knew. Surprised looks and giggles from the ladies behind the counter reaffirmed the notion that even if i butchered it, showing that i am making an effort goes a long way. If you are like me and not a boxing fan, you might have missed the biggest thing to happen here in a longtime too. As fate would have it, i was in the elevator on my way. the fight was scheduled for 1:00 pm but at almost 10:00 am the room was packed with some 300 people. I found an empty seat and was told i could leave my complementary water on it in order to hold it and go take the shower i so badly needed. so there i left my headband and water. I hurriedly packed and showered and was back with all my gear for the fight of the year. I went to my seat and was informed that in fact it was taken. I looked down and sure enough there was my headband and water. "no, no, this seat is taken" i was told again, "this is my husband" pointing three seats down. Apparently that fact won the disagreement. Not knowing what to make of it, not wanting to make a big deal about it, being the only one standing, the only white guy in the room and the only one wearing two backpacks, i searched the sea of curious faces for an empty seat. Not 5 seconds had gone by when someone said, "here, take this one" she got up and moved and boy was i thankful. "Salaman, Salaman" grins all around and i found myself sitting within a family of six. Parents, their two daughters and their daughters husbands. I was asked who i was rooting for and the whole family and indeed anyone in ear shot turned and waited for my answer. Having learned my lesson, i threw some shadow punch and pronounced "Pacquiao"! extra loudly so that there was no mistake that this odd looking white guy was firmly in their corner. Cheers and pats on the back from the Flores family and a particularly happy look from Mother Flores. The Flores family and i hit it off them taking pics of me and i them as they told me about their golden boy Pacquiao. I learned not only was he the welter weight champion of the world but a congressman, singer and actor. From what i gathered this was the third fight between him and Marquez (all you sports people are shaking your heads no doubt wondering where i have been for the last few years) With one draw in the first fight and a particularly contentious win for Pacquiao in the second. This was going to be a battle for the ages. The two had a rivalry that was compared to Muhamed Ali and Joe Frazier. How lucky to have been able to be there for this monumental event. the beginning of the fight started with the singing of the Mexican and Filipino national anthems. I stood with the whole room for the Filipino anthem and was in awe of the beauty of it really, really great anthem. Then, i heard from the speakers, "its now time for the American anthem". As i stood and removed my bandanna, i was clearly the only American but when it finished no one clapped harder then the Flores family, bless them. The fight was a nail biter, 12 rounds of pounding and punishment from both sides. Girls shrieked when Pacquiao was hit and men cheered when he was able to counter. Almost everyone in the crowd was pretty certain that he had lost going into the final decision. As luck would have it, Pacquiao, the pride of the Philippines, held onto his title. The room went crazy and i found myself hugging and highfiveing everyone in arms reach. Just another wow moment from across the globe. Ok, on to the bus terminal for my 6 hour overnight ride north. Miss you all.

From Hong Kong to Manilia

Hey ooooooo!
Wow i feel as though so much has happened since i last wrote to this thing. My second and third day in Hong Kong were simply amazing. After making the mistake of canceling the second night at my original location. i was out on streets at noon so it was a little bit of a mad rush to find a spot on the double. I again decided to look past the lack of reviews for my new hostel and set my eyes on the fact that it was the cheapest deal in town. If you have ever been to Chung king Mansion you know that things are not as they appear. Listings for 4 different named hostels might very well be one and the same as they try to dodge bad reviews. I settled on London Hostel because like i said, the price was right for a single bed room. Well yes the price was low but right? yikes. I spent a good portion of the evening keeping my eyes peeled for a screw, nail or other slim metal object to insert into the door frame as the lock was clearly not preforming its sole purpose. As luck would have it a shiny screw called to me from the tiled side walk, i crouched and tried for about 5 minutes to pry it from its hold. I would estimate that a good thousand people passed me during the process. ah well, they didn't know where i was staying and if they had i bet they would have helped. I found the people of Hong Kong as warm and welcoming as they were generous. Amazing people, and the simple effort of learning "thank you" in Mandarin and Cantonese brought smiles to there face every time i tried them out. Now that i no longer had to worry about my rooms lack of security it was time to find dinner. Earlier in the day i had stumbled on a hole in the wall where i ordered pork dumplings. I found out ath this place was very famous and i could tell by the 100 pictures of the owner and clearly important stars of the hong kong stage and screen. what luck. I sat and ate next to a lovely women who clearly out ordered me and after learning what she was eating "sour spicy dumpling soup" i knew i had to come back somehow to get it later. So there i was on my way back, sure i knew just where it was... well, i also found that Hong kong streets look a LOT a like. I spent the good portion of an hour saying "this street, not this one, damn, ok back this way and cross this street and shit, thats not it either" But i found it. i settled down and since the menu was in Chinese i had made sure to memorized exactly where on the menu the soup appeared. I ordered and soon was joined by a guy name Kyle. He sat and we struck up a conversation. We talked about politics and religion and world affairs, truthfully it was more about girls, food and gambling. Kyle was the man, he watched as i had the best soup i might have ever had in my life. It was filled with pork dumpling, tofu, bamboo, minced pork annnnd "whats this"? before he could answer i knew what from an eppisode of bizarre foods. at the bottom of the bowl of soup i had just finished was congealed pigs blood. he confirmed my diagnosis. Well, as i was told many times in regards to this trip, "do it for the stories". so i  looked at him and down the hatch a wiggling cube of pigs blood went. You know it sounded worse then it was really, but i dont think i will have it again. Kyle ordered more food and ordered me to try it. Far be it from me to disobey a interior decorator on his home turf. The meal had come to and end, and with a flash Kyle took my check and paid my bill. I tried to stop him but again, home turf rules. What a guy. He then disappeared into the night heading to his 8:30 pm hair cutting appointment. I was left in awe at the kindness of strangers. Still not fully on hong time i stuck it out on the streets for another hour or so, but really only cause i got lost a half dozen times and ended up in a basement challenging a guy to street fighter V. i stood no chance, he clearly taught me a lesson about video combat, so i, as i left, became the teacher and taught him a lesson about how to bump a fist in proper fashion, it was the least i could do. I slept with one eye open that night getting up a few times to check my trusty screw but all was well. I got a early start on the day and was checked out of the hostel (which just entailed slipping the key under a random unmanned door) and in the park with my full gear searching for the so called "Chinese garden" that had alluded me the day before. As i traveled i was lured by the sound of music, i followed my ears and came upon a group of grandparent, aged gray haired men and women playing instruments and singing. I kept my distance and sat to listen. The music was so sweet and beautiful and the players seemed to be having a unbelievable amount of fun, they had been doing this their whole life. Soon i was offered a seat within the circle but i, not wanting to disturb this scene, refused. Well, that didn't stop them and i found myself in middle of Hong Kong, a serene Chinese garden and a circle of kindred people. I couldn't understand them and they couldn't understand me but they got a kick out of my clapping and swaying. They played one song after another and the only time they broke was to pass around a jar full of candied orange peels. My hands were made to open and i two was given some. They played for an hour and i didn't move, instead i was transported to a lost time. It was truly one of the most magical experiences of my life. I feel odd admitting it but they sang and played so beautifully that i teared up. I will never know what they sang about but i believe it was about love, beauty, honor, history and a time forgotten by the city that buzzed just outside the gates. But here in this place, these carriers of the torch would not let the fire go out. I will remember it always. If you have read this far i will tell you that i have made it to my hostel in Manila and after getting a new sim card and contacting a farm in northern Luzon (http://www.encaorganicfarm.com/) tomorrow i head out to work for my room and board. I may be out of range of any internet but i will write when i can, might be as long as a week when i will descend from the rice terraces of Banaue to the beaches of Boracay. Be well friends. one of these days i will figure out how to attach some pics, i got a few gems.

big trouble in...

I made it to hong kong. 15hr flight but it wasn't that bad. Got here at about 4:30 am and it was pouring rain. I slipped on my pack covers and boom, ripped on right out of the gate! I walked to my bus and watched as it pulled away right in front of me, shoot. i then realized that the buckle on my large back pack was broken, bummer number three. I reached my hostel to see a guy leaving that said, "don't stay here" haha, yikes. i realized i couldn't check in till 12 and so out on the streets i went, in the pouring rain before most of this huge city had even gotten up. it is pretty neat to see a city go from silent slumber to giant roaring machine going full tilt in a 3 hour span. I have to admit i wondered standing in the rain "what the hell am i doing here" and "what am i suppose to do in this downpour without being able to get to my room"? I saw a McDonald's. I retreated in a western hole. i was feeling down and wet and tired and i just wanted to be home. Crazy right? half a day in the world and i wanted to go home. But after about a half hour of drying and a coffee i was on my feet with renewed energy. I put some Gregory Issac's "night nurse" on my ipod and that was all i needed. It put a bounce in my step. ahhh the power of reggae music. by then i was starving and had almost finished the peanuts i had squirled away from my flight. My first branch out of the western diet was not much of a stretch, BBQ pork bun. if you know me, you know i wasn't going to say no and costing just over one American dollar, i had my breakfast on the street. made my way via subway to Mong kok, with a hearty street scene i was on the look out for three things a cheap pair of sunglasses, a repair kit for my rain cover and a new buckle for my pack. After 5 hours of walking and two shops i found what i needed and with the store managers help, a pair of pliers and about 5 minutes of swearing we got everything fixed. now here i am in a room that looks a lot like my closet, only with four beds and a "all in one" stand on the toilet, shower deal. hope my roomates have ear plugs, cause i snore and snore and snore somemore ehh Lauren?

more later i have to change and take a shower on the toilet

Fear of the cookie

Got a fortune cookie with my lunch and as everyone else ate i sat and looked at it. Damn. The last thing i need right now is a BAD fortune. "They're never bad right"? i asked myself. i held it and tried as hard as i could to remember if i had ever seen a fortune cookie about lost limbs, air travel, or spiders. But i hadn't! i didn't think i had anyway. So, i deduced, quickly, that if it wasn't a bad fortune it had to be good...right? my hands started to open the package and then i remembered, that sometimes, just sometimes, they throw you a life lesson or a vague proverb about broccoli and animals. If this has happened to you, your face slumps, you were sure it was going to read something about money and the lottery. You're forced to confront the age old question, "is this truly sage advice or the mad scribblings of a man who has spent his whole life coming up with small lettered fortunes"? You read it over and over again, "broccoli twice boiled..." it starts, you know you're screwed. I stopped my hands in the nick of time and placed it back on the counter. "But just because i didn't read it doesn't mean it still isn't true, its still my fortune" i thought. "And wouldn't it be better to know? It could say something about buses, bad curry or those damn spiders!" i shouted, in my mind, so no one would think i was crazy. i decided to open it. I held it and put some pressure on the bag, enough to pop it, but not enough to break the cookie. i slide it out, i snap it in two. As i pull apart the cookie, i read "45... 5... 66" Dang! i forgot about that stupid numbers side. OK, OK, Stay focused, i pulled the paper free and held my hand over it. i pulled my hand away slowly "Be... Prepared... to..." Shit! great, now look, "be prepared to get bit by spiders" i just know it! "Be... Prepared... To... Have... Extra... Energy", wait? really? oh. alright then. i guess that's over with. i ate it and it was a great cookie made with skill and i knew just then that it had to be sage advice meant just for me. Written by a man with a long beard sitting in a temple. The thing is though, right now, I'm beat and i am a little frustrated that i wasn't given more information about when i will be getting this energy. Five years from now is great, you know? But i have lots more packing to do, now. one more day.

The Final Countdown

Reading this blog is not advisable if you are prone to getting migraines when reading spelling and grammatical errors. To tell you the truth, i don't buy into the social norms and conformity's that others might find common place or second nature. That was a lie, i'm just not a very good speller and grammar, well, grammar, yeah... grammar can take a hike! So good luck you "your using the wrong you're" and "punctuation matters" people, its going to be an uphill climb. I promise to try Jane.

I want to thank all of you for your warm words, your financial contributions and your warnings, often repeated, grim stern warnings in fact that i better come back alive and if possible in one piece. I will do my very best. Whether it was a hug, a text, card, a donation or some sage advise about the best Laotian beer brand, it's all been greatly appreciated. I hope you all know that all ready. Your helping me take this just a little bit furthur :) Carol Haraden gets a special mention in the "thank you" section. Without her home cooking, her encouraging "you can's" and her generous wealth sharing habits i would not be going, plain and simple. I also want to thank Oreida for making the tatter tots lesser known rival, the "crispy crown" and Mackenzie's hot dogs, without you both, these last few days would have been a lot less tastier and patriotic.

Here are the places i am going and about when you can expect i will be rolling into the neighborhood.

Nov 9th Hong Kong

Nov 13th Philippines

Dec 3rd Thailand

Feb 15th India

Mar 25th Greece

April 13th Hungry

Traveling on foot till i fly from Madrid on June 15th

June 15th Ecuador

August 11th Peru

Traveling over land till i fly from Boliva TBA

Come out and meet me. Tell your friends, neighbors and long lost cousins that i am on my way and to stay off the roads. Only a few days left. My email is REDGREENGOLD@GMAIL.COM

drop me a line sometime and i will do my best to get back to you with some stories from the road. More later mohonchos .