Big Weekend: Part 1 - WHALE SHARK!!!

I'm sure you were all bored to tears this weekend waiting for my new blog post, frantically clicking "Refresh" over and over, intently scanning Facebook, desperately searching for any new scrap of information regarding the exciting life of Matthew W. Walsh. Well don't kill yourselves yet because I have quite the treat for you! Presenting, Matthew Walsh's BIG WEEKEND! (The caps emphasize the bigness).

I'm just messing around. Well, about the waiting by the computer, finger sore from repeatedly jamming on the left mouse key, eyeballs bleeding from the lack of blinking thing. I'm 100% serious about my BIG WEEKEND! Let me begin:

On Wednesday morning Duncan, our British photographer roommate, invited us to swim with whale sharks. Turns out that a metric bunch (ie, 10) were found swimming around Honda Bay. Apparently this is a big number for whale sharks, so Duncan urged us to go along for the experience. We agreed. Then I remembered I can barely swim. So I promptly canceled.
Duncan said it was probably for the best because there were too many people already, and the more people the worser. But, he wouldn't let me crap out so easy, so he reassured me that I didn't need to be a strong swimmer to enjoy myself. If all else failed I could cling to the side of the boat and have a blast. ".......fuck it", I proclaimed. And so a plan was born.

We rented the necessary gear and met the boat at Baywalk bright and early 6:00 a.m. Friday morning. Duncan wound up on a different boat somewhere or other and never actually ended up going out with us. We were early so we sat in the boat and waited for the others to arrive. Five other passengers soon arrived: Four Germans and an American. We later found out that only two of the German's were traveling together, but they all were staying at the same Pension house, and all arrived at approximately the same time, independently of each other. I have no logical reason to find this strange....but I find this strange. Anyway, we set sail and began the long trek to Honda Bay. Maybe 40 minutes into our journey the boat operator points to some churning, bubbling water, and shouts "Tuna Feeesh! Tuna Feeesh!" I had to smile. It was pretty cool though. Tuna were splashing around near the surface of the water, some jumping into the air, I assume to escape the nearby whale shark. I tried to get a picture with a tuna feeesh jumping in midair, but ended up just getting bubbly water. Shouting and pointing became a theme of the journey, so much so that Andrew and I devised our own set of criteria that the ideal whale shark ecotourim operator should possess. More on this soon.

About an hour and a half later we arrived to a bigger, bubblier batch of tuna feeesh at which point the boat tour operator ran the length of the boat shouting , "WHALE SHARK! WHALE SHARK! You can sweeem!" We were all unprepared for this declaration, so we missed getting in the water the first time. The second time the boat operator shouted "WHALE SHARK!" we were all ready. The three German men jumped into the water like the boat was sinking. Andrew and Jessica, the American, followed. I was last in, fearing that I'd sink like a stone. I didn't sink, but I quickly realized that my swimming ability was even poorer than I remembered. I decided to cling for dear life to the floats on the side of the boat and let the whale sharks come to me. Everyone was swimming around the boat, heads in the water looking at what I sure were beautiful majestic creatures. I didn't even see a damn tuna. Andrew tells a funny story of being directly in front of the creature as it swam towards him. Whale sharks can be over 10m in length, so I can only imagine the crazy experience this must have been. Here is a picture of a whale shark for reference.

Christ!

The way he tells the tale, that diver was him. I would have been terrified, but (un)fortunately for me all I was getting a good look at was the boat's paint job. Oh, and blue. I saw lots and lots of blue.

We continued putting around for the next hour or so, stopping whenever we saw thrashing tuna
and heard "WHALE SHARK!" I guess this is a good time to explain the proper procedure, as determined by Andrew and I, for pointing out a whale shark:

1. Jump at least 2 feet into the air.
2. Land with your feet spread at least 2 feet apart in a sumo stance.
3.Point at the area potentially containing a whale shark. The point can either be a thrusting stab motion (ie, like a fencer) or an overhand tomahawk-like swoop motion.
4. Scream "WHALE SHARK!!!" like a maniac. Pepper with "You can sweeem" as appropriate.

I'm only making fun because I love. Overall it was a great day, even though I never got to see a whale shark underwater. I did get to see one later as it surfaced. The back and the fin surfaced right in front of the boat. It was very cool. Oh, I almost forgot. At one point, the boat operator nearly clipped the whale shark and two of the German dudes. I'm sure that isn't very eco-friendly, but what do i know?

Later we ate a vegetarian meal on the boat and dropped two of the German dude's off at a local beach. The boat operator drove the boat right up to the beach, so that the German's could get out in about a foot of water. If I had my time back I would've taken a picture of this one child playing in the water. He gave the quintessential "What...the...fuck?" face I have ever , and will ever, see. It was priceless. Actually i did get one picture of the German's getting off the boat, but the child is running off-camera to the left. Shitty. All in all, the perfect end to a great day.

Ok, this entry is pretty big, so I'll post Part II in a separate entry.

Flying Pumpkins

Bugs are bigger in the tropics. It's a fact. Also, to compliment their novelty sizes, they all move at foolish speeds. I've gotten used to the size, but I'm still having severe speed issues. Anything I can't outrun scares the living shit out of me. For example, the last thing I needed today was to be chased down the hall by a hornet that could pass as a zeppelin. Actually I fibbed a little when I said I can deal with the size. The size had a lot to do with the terror in this case. I'm pretty sure it could smell fear, and I was sending out major puss vibes. I guess I shouldn't have gotten in his personal bubble with the Goddamn macro function of my camera. I'll go on record for all the agitated hornets reading this blog: "I apologize. I overstepped my bounds. It will not happen again". If (God forbid) I have an accident here, I want it to be completely out of my control. A Jeepney flipping over and crushing the living shit out of me would be a cool way to go out. Tripping over the coffee-table while running away from a bug, like a little girl, and sticking my head through the television would not. Actually, yeah it would.

The funny thing is this is less than a day after I gave Andrew a hard time for being afraid of a cockroach. He was talking on the phone when he pointed out a dark blob on the wall. I went over the investigate and found a cockroach that had to be a guy in a suit. Like i said, the size isn't usually the issue. It's the speed. So Andrew's noticeably disturbed by our guest and I'm making fun of him. I grab the trusty ol' camera to get a nice picture of the bastard, a superior shit-eating smirk on my face the whole time, when the cockroach decided to pull a fast one on me. It flew. It flew right over my head, landed on the upstairs step, turned around, gave me a wink (probably) and said:

"Didn't think I could fly did ya pal?"

"No sir, I did not".

So...cockroaches can fly...

I have a pic of the beast on FaceBook for those brave enough to look. The comments so far are pretty funny.

I'd like to thank everyone for the positive response to my pictures and blog entries. It's fun to wake up every morning and find new comments waiting for me. I really appreciate the interest, and I thank you. I miss all of you guys and can't wait to see you all again.

Until the next one, later.

Skulking Around

Western Philippines University (WPU for those in the know) has been preparing for an accreditation for the past three weeks. The goal of the university is to achieve Level Three accreditation. This will allow them to teach other higher level courses, attracting new students, and increasing overall revenue. To be completely honest, I have no idea what "preparing for an accreditation" actually entails, but to the best of my understanding, it basically boils down to the following sentence:

"Yeah, yeah, yeah...you're interns, we get it. Just calm the fuck down, chill out for a few weeks and we'll get around to talking to you...or not, whatever. Go away, I'm busy stapling important documents to other important documents".

So we wait. We research and we wait.

We've actually researched an insane amount of material regarding ecotourism, come up with a project plan, set objectives, and begun to determine what types of questions we want to ask ecotourism operators and tourists. The overall goal is to determine the ideal skill-set and knowledge level of an ecotourism operator, assess the actual skills and knowledge level of local ecotourism operators, and try to determine the knowledge level and perceptions towards ecotourism of local ecotourism stakeholders. Overall, we are providing data to WPU for the development of curriculum relating to a new proposed ecotourism course. Sitting back and reading that previous sentence for speeling mistaks actually makes me feel like we are accomplishing something, or at least on the way to accomplishing something.

We were called into an impromptu Wednesday afternoon meeting last week to answer some questions for the accreditation. The questions were pretty general, asking what we were doing at WPU, our goals and objectives, etc, etc. When we finished this meeting with the accreditor we had another brief meeting with Doc Ben, our immediate supervisor. We went over what we had been doing and where we planned to go, detailing our research and preliminary time-frame. We talked for a few minutes, Doc Ben listening intently the whole time. When we finally finished our spiel he remained silent and sat still for a few moments. Shifting in his chair and adjusting his posture he remarked:

"Sounds good, sounds good, but slow down".

Heh.

Today we went to Honda Bay. Honda Bay is a tourist destination where you can rent a boat and go island hopping to five different islands. We went as part of an opening ceremony for a new ecotourism project. The project is a floating classroom. Here, local fisherman educate divers on the surrounding reef ecosystem, explaining what a coral is, how it grows, the importance of coral reefs to fishing and biodiversity, among other things. After this we went to Luli Island, an island that is almost completely submerged during high tide. Here we ate some BBQ and seafood and explored a little. I came to realize that I have an unnatural obsession with the super macro function of my camera. No matter how boring something may be, I am determined to squeeze every last drop of excitement from it by zooming in. I spent 10 minutes trying to drain a rock of all its awesome when it struck me that I was on a beautiful island in a tropical paradise taking pictures of a fucking rock. I did manage to tear myself away from the wonders of the stone long enough to snap some pretty good pics of the island and the floating classroom though. All in all it was a pretty fun day. We saw some sights, had some eats, met some peeps, and snapped some rocks. Also, I burned. Next weekend we are planning a trip to see the Puerto Princesa Subterranean River.

I bet there are all sorts of rocks in there!

Shakey's

I've realized that my last few blog entries have been fairly long, and in one case, elaborate. Not all my stories will involve bible-thumping homosexuals or the consumption of hog-head. I don't want to peak too soon. My goal is to go at least 3 months before I jump-the-shark (See:www.jumptheshark.com), so let's slow it down a little bit. I do have a short story to tell, but first I'd like to provide a short list of the things I like and dislike about living in Palawan. The culture is different, the people are different, and the food is different. You know you aren't in Canada anymore when retail clerks not only spontaneously break out into a choreographed line dance, but actually seem to enjoy it. All 10 minutes of it. Andrew has captured this on camera and I will post it soon for you to judge.

Now, in no particular order: What I Likes!

1. I enjoy the fact that 90% of the people in this city (and most likely province) are ultra polite, friendly, and generally awesome. You walk up to the entrance to a fast-food joint, a guard opens the door and says "Hello sir" or "Welcome to *establishment* sir" while flashing a winning smile. You go to the counter to order some food and the employee welcomes you with a toothy grin. Oh shit....Pineapple Juice has ice... An employee notices this minor mistake, on his own no less, and runs away to fix the problem. I'm shocked that they don't thank you for taking a piss. Actually, now that I think about it, shocked isn't the right word. Disappointed.

2. NCCC.

3. The kids. I'm a local celebrity. Wherever I go the kids react in an assortment of equally awesome ways. I get a lot of smiles and "What's your name?", but the best is when the kids shout "Hey dude!!", "Wassup Man", and once "Evening Bro!". I was on an epic bike ride the other day and a short fat kid shouted "Wassup n***ah!". He was probably making fun of me, but I don't care.

Things I Don't Likes!

1. Getting ripped off. I realize I have tourist imprinted on my forehead, and I expect to pay a little more for things than the locals. I was warned of this and I fully accept it. However, I'm not paying three times as much as the next guy. I have to laugh when the tricycle driver says "20 pesos...". "Regular fare is 7 pesos you shitface", has been on the very tip of my tongue more than once. It may sound petty, getting worked up over paying what amounts to 50 cents rather than 15 cents, but it's the Goddamn principle. I do admire the balls it must take to ask a customer for over triple standard fare though, especially when there are approximately 20 zillion other tricycles on the road willing to charge normal fare. Maybe I'll carry around "An Introduction to Economics" and provide free lessons on supply and demand next time.

2. The heat. It's hot heat. Hot Hot Heat.

Anyway, we decide to go to Shakey's Pizza the other night. Apparently Shakey's is a big deal in the U.S. with thousands of stores nationwide. Heh. Who knew? It is one of the few "western style" fast food joints in the city. The only others are Chow King, Jollibee, and Dunkin Donuts. We had exhausted Jollibee and Chow King for the moment, and as far as I know Dunkin Donuts only sells donuts and shitty coffee. Andrew ordered pizza, I ordered spaghetti, and we decided to try 6 Shakey's Wings. Well the wings were delicious, but they held a dark secret. Eating your way to the center revealed that HA! Not cooked asshole!

Think rare steak, but more chickeny.

I'm no foodologist, and I'm pretty lenient when it comes to sanitary practices. I've even been known to eat off the floor on occasion. BUT, I'm pretty sure (correct me if I'm wrong Sweetapple) you're supposed to thoroughly cook chicken. Just sayin.

Andy summed it up best:

"Here at Shakey's, we will give you the uncontrollable shakes. Thats our guarantee"

Also, Happy belated Birthday Pat!

The Gay Guy

Andrew and I have been slowly settling in to the Puerto Princesan lifestyle. I found a great laundry place that does laundry by the kilogram. The first time I went I wasn't sure of what to expect. I put all my laundry in a duffle bag, hopped into a tricycle, sped to the NCCC parking lot, and walked inside the tiniest laundromat I've ever seen, fictional or real. It's literally a room wedged between an internet company and a travel center with a young woman surrounded by mountains of clothes. Anyway, I walk in, plop down the bag and tell her what I need. She takes the bag and proceeds to scoop all my clothes out with her bare hands. I'm standing there with Andrew, watching wide-eyed, as my dirty drawers are piled high onto a scale and weighed. The damage, besides psychological, was 90 pesos. Holy shit! I'll gladly endure strangers manhandling my drawers for 2 bucks!

Anyway, the real point of this blog entry is to tell a potentially entertaining story (See what I did there?). So, Andrew is big on massages. He's always getting them at little places along the main strip, Rizal Avenue. One day he decides to get a girl to come to his room instead of going out. To make a long story short, they start seeing each other casually as friends, or not, whatever, it doesn't matter. Today Andrew asks me to go meet the girl with him. He said they were going to Baker's Hill, a local attraction with a few animals and minor sights. "Fuck it", I proclaim. I've got no problem being a third wheel.

We get to the place where we are meeting her when he gets a call. Apparently she's bringing a friend. "Whatever", i proclaim. She shows up a few minutes later with her friend, and as soon as I saw the two of them I knew exactly where the day was going. I was expecting a woman, not an obviously gay man.

We exchange pleasantries and pile into a tricycle. We drive for about 10 minutes, crammed like....crammed like, something...crammed in a small space......*cough*

We arrive at Baker's Hill and start walking around. there really isn't much to see except a few bored animals and a hilariously gay dinosaur (I'll post a pic soon). At this point the gay guy isn't paying anyone much attention. All is well. We decide to walk up the road to Gov. Mitra's house, a huge government home that doubles as a guest house. The property is open to the public to walk around and enjoy. We walk around a little bit, making small talk, and generally being bored. On the way out the gay guy starts walking next to me, asking questions, being friendly. I think nothing of it. Or maybe I just didn't want to think of it. I should have thought of cats, or Easter, or Rock Band 2. Man, I really want to wail out some Pearl Jam "Alive". That's not gay.

We continue talking a little bit here and there on the way back to Baker's Hill. At this point Andrew's lady friend and the gay guy are talking in Tagalog quite a bit more than before. I take note of this for no good reason. When we get there we decide to go to the most heterosexual place on earth: The Butterfly Pavilion. So we hop in another tricycle and speed away.

We arrive at the *sigh* Butterfly Pavilion, pay for the tricycle (Sidenote: they didn't pay a damn cent either time. Andrew and I footed the bill), and walk up to buy tickets. A sign informs us that the butterflies aren't very active in the afternoon, so we decide to go the hell home out of it. Actually, first the gay guy decides to talk to his sister on the phone for 20 minutes, passing her around to talk to us, complete strangers. She was nice enough though. We start to walk towards the intersection when the gay guy and the lady friend begin to talk again in Tagalog. Andrew put it eloquently: "Dude, I think they're trying to figure out if you're gay or not". After this the gay guy asks me about religion. Specifically, he asks if I was a Catholic. Without thinking about where it might head, what day of the week it is, or how "Catholic" I actually am, I say yes. Excellent news, because they are heading to church and would love us to join. Fortunately Andrew had a pre-planned bullshit meeting to attend with a make-believe person. Unfortunately for me, he completely sold me up the fucking river with: "But Matthew's free". I quickly made up some "family phonecall night" story and focused on hating Andrew.

We are still walking towards the intersection while I'm thinking of a nice way to let this dude now that I'm not gay and not interested in him or God when, and I swear this to be true, a giant truck full of young men drives by, all of them shouting and waving: "Hey man, what's up", "Hey dude", "What's up man", and "Looking good hot-ass". Well, it's all true except that last one.

We all catch a tricycle, drive to the end of our road, say our goodbyes, and generally breathe two distinctive sighs of relief. Andrew is away from the girl he was barely interested in to begin with, and I....well you can gather why I am relieved. So that's the end of the story, or it should have been.

I'm sitting down, about to waste time on the internet, when my phone beeps. I have a message. It's from gay guy. How he got my number I'll never know. I don't even know my damn number. He tells me how he had a great time. I do not respond. We go out later to Itoy's coffee house and I tell Andrew about what happened. He figures gay guy got my number through the lady friend because Andrew needed to use my phone to text her one night. Whatever, we have a little laugh and order some food.

Later, I get home and have 2 new messages. They both are from gay guy, preaching the bible and the good word of the Lord. I do not respond.

Oh man. I wish i had a big steaming plate of Sizzling Sisig right now.

Update Re: Exotic Meals

I've come to learn more of the mysterious Sizzling Sisig....

It's been confirmed from two different sources, both Filippino, that Sisig also contains the brain of the pig. Apparently the crispy bits that I actually enjoyed were the brain and face meat. The "sauce" was a combination of egg and mayonaise. Sick.

I'll have a more significant blog entry this weekend. We are traveling to Irawan on Saturday to do some hiking and then Honda Bay on Sunday for some field work. Until then, the week!

Exotic Meals

Andrew went for a meeting with World Vision, so while I'm waiting for him to get back I guess I'll tell you about two of the weird meals I had so far.

One night we decide that we are sick of eating at Chow King and Jollibee. Chow King is basically a fast food version of The Emerald Palace and Jollibee is a hilarious burger joint in the same vein as Mcdonald's. Every time you enter the building a guard opens the door and someone somewhere always says "Welcome to Jollibee" in an accent you can only really appreciate if you hear. It's my second favorite noise so far, only bested by that wonderful NCCC jingle. I'm smiling just thinking about it now.

Anyway, Andrew finds this place called the Lotus Garden. I posted a few pictures of it in my previous entry. It was an Asian themed restaurant with all sorts of different Asian food. Like pretty much every other time I go to a random restaurant, I have no idea what anything means. They have pictures on the menu, but in the case of ordering a meal a picture says significantly less than a thousand words, maybe 20. If a picture said a thousand tastes I'd be laughing.
I'm flipping through the menu while a hen and a group of baby hens (henlets? chickendees?) do their thing outside, a skinny ass cat takes a drink from the fish pond, and a puffy dog runs around. I finally settle on Chicken Satay, a chicken dish with a brownish red sauce and a side of rice. It looks delicious.
The dish arrives and it smells delicious. I take a bite and am hit right in the mouth with a taste not entirely unlike Pirate Cookies. Yes, Mr. Christie peanut butter Pirate Cookies. You might think this would be a welcome "homey" flavor, but it ain't. A big plate of cookie flavored poultry only has so much charm. The pineapple juice was solid though.

The second meal was, ahem, um.......hmmmmmm....

Yeah, so we decided to eat at a place called Sari Baryo. I'm pretty sure it isn't spelled like that, but they don't have a website for me to fact-check. When we get there the power is out. Brown-outs happen frequently in Puerto Princesa when it rains, and it always rains. Each table had a small candle illuminating it. We glance at the menu for a few moments (this one didn't have the false security of pictures) and decide on our orders. Andrew ordered a bowl of soup that I'm sure contained one of every living animal in the ocean, and I order a pork dish called "Sizzling Sisig". Remember, no picture. When I order my Sizzling Sisig the waiter stops for a second, looks at me, and says "It's pork". I look at Andrew, he looks back at me, I look at the waiter, he looks back at me, and I say "...Ok". He smiles and walks away. When he's out of earshot Andrew and I quickly try to decipher what just happened. The conversation wen something like this:

"Why did he say that?"

"I don't know. It says 'pork' on the menu..."

"Maybe because the power is out?"

"Maybe....but why would they sell me bad pork?"

"I dunno"

"...........Oh man........."

The dishes arrive and, as I mentioned, Andrew's is almost swimming away. He honestly scooped out a huge half of crab (an actual half, complete with shell) and asked, "Is this moving?"
My dish came out on a hot skillet, bubbling and hissing away. It was a brownish, pink paste with little hunks of meat sprinkled throughout. It did not match the delicious image I had concocted in my head. I was not expecting this. I decide that since I paid for it, I'm at least going to try it. I pile the rice on the plate and begin scooping the Sisig on top. I take a bite and can honestly say was not impressed. I was expecting a "porky" taste, and got a mouthful of what tasted like seafood slurry. I decided to stick to the rice. Andrew and I have a conversation, and when the waiter comes back to give us our check Andrew decides to ask what I just attempted to eat actually was. The waiter says "Pork" and then points to his face, specifically his cheeks.

I ate pork face.....

I'm sticking to Chow King and Jollibee.