The Smell of Home?

It comes as no surprise that the Philippines is hot, humid, and otherwise wet.
It also comes as no surprise that the city smells as a result of the heat, humidity, and....wetness (which more often than not really just plain sweat).

What is a surprise, however, is just how bad the stench is. As we all know, smell has a direct line to memories and can bring up things from the past -- both good and bad. The smell of metro Manila is very distinct, and even though it's been over 16 years since I've been here, the moment those airport doors swung open and that refreshing gust of memories assailed my senses, I knew I was in the right place. This city's odor is wondrous mixture of gasoline, body odor, and sewage/urine. Quite unique, it is a smell I've never forgotten. Add that to skin that is constantly damp, and you have yourself an instant body spray that'll never leave you (so to speak).

It doesn't seem like anyone notices the smell. Really, the only way I do is when I consciously think about it. Oddly enough, it doesn't bother me in the slightest....it's kinda reassuring actually. It's a good reminder of where I am.

The gasoline comes from the abundance of vehicles on the road -- everything from buses, cars, jeepneys, tricycles, taxis, etc -- is in excess. If they cut out even a third of service vehicles from use, not only would people be able to get around quicker on the unclogged roads, but they wouldn't have extra cars lying around for no reason wasting resources.

Body odor -- I think that one is self explanatory. I've found Filipinos are very hard workers even without the incentive of money (which is so ironic in a country that has an overwhelming amount of people living well below the poverty line). Not wanting to waste money on such things as deodorant or body spray, their body odor can become quite....distinct.

Sewage/urine seems to run in the streets these days. Not joking. Sewage is everywhere. Due to the fact that it rains nearly everyday, things tend to flood into the streets on a regular basis. And due to this fact, it makes everything smell like sewage. Also, I've stopped keeping track of how many little boys and men I've seen peeing on the side of a building or bush. Apparently toilets are more of an accessory rather than necessity. In fact, I've also seen several signs meant to stop people from peeing in public places such as this one:



I know it's in Tagolog, but trust me, it means: "Please do not urinate here"

And this is the smell I am surrounded by day in and day out. It's quite homey.

Coffee at Cupcakes

I don't think Filipinos understand the concept of blended drinks. Here I am in an artsy little shop ordering a blended latte and all the barista behind the counter does is put my iced latte that she already made into a blender and hands it to me. I would have faired just as well if she forgot about the blender and gave me the iced coffee. Strangely enough, she acted like she didn't understand what I was asking -- which I find incredibly hard to believe considering everyone speaks English and she's catering to a crowd that adores blended drinks. Oh well, I'll just have to think of it as an iced latte.

But, on the positive side, I did just have my first ever cupcake. We're not talking any old made-from-a-box-mix or buy-from-Safeway kind of cupcake -- we're talking about a CUPCAKE.


From the world famous been-featured-in-several-magazines shoppe Cupcakes. It's a typical little specialty shop, specializing in what else? cupcakes. But this little bistro is decorated oddly enough as a throw back to the 1950s USA. Not something you find everyday in Manila, Philippines. But again, from where I sit in a plush outdoor shopping plaza, they are catering to the rich American tourist.

I obviously don't belong here, but don't tell. There's a security guard standing twenty feet away from me.

The Easiest Way to Get Me Mad...

We're not talking annoyed, maybe a little upset, or even frustrated. We're talking I'm-so-mad-I-can't-remember-what-it's-like-to-even-fake-smile kind of mad.

And the easiest way to see this flip side of me is to treat me like a child and take away my right to make decisions on my own. We're talking deciding anything. Because apparently I am not old enough to make basic decisions on my own, such as when to eat, what time to go to bed, or where to stand on a sidewalk. Last time I checked, I'm 25 -- I can rent a car, buy my own house, and, oh yeah, move to another country on my own.

Let me detail this out, just in case you're tempted to treat me this way or are frightfully concerned that you might have already done it:
1. "Come eat Lissa, you haven't had lunch yet."
You're right, I haven't. But that's because I had breakfast an hour ago.
2. "What? You're going to the market on your own? You don't know how to get there."
Of course I do, I'm not an idiot; we were there last week.
3. "How are you going to get there?"
By taxi. I'm no country bumpkin -- I can flag a taxi, tell him where I want to go, and pay -- all on my own.
4. "What do you want to order [food]? I'll get it for you."
Thanks for the offer, but they speak English. I speak English. I think we'll get along just fine.
5. "You want to rest? Go downstairs and nap."
I just woke up three hours ago. I'm not sleepy, and I didn't come here to sleep.
6. "How are you going to shop/pay for that?" (at an open market)
Does it look like I'm five? I have money, and money talks. Besides, I haggle better in English. If they want to make a sale, they'll lower their price.
7. "Here, stand here."
What difference does it make if I stand here or two feet away? I won't get lost.
8. "You'll want to use this straw -- it's still wrapped in plastic."
I think I'll take my chances with this straw that's only wrapped in paper.
9. "Don't talk when we get in the taxi; they'll charge us more."
It's a metered taxi, there's no way to charge us more just because we're speaking English. Have more faith in your countrymen. Besides, it's not like I can hide my American side.
10. "Why are you walking so far ahead?"
Because you're walking too slow. We want to get there today right?
11. "What? You think you can go there on your own?"
Contrary to this time-warped belief, I actually do things without someone walking me through it. Let me reiterate: We all speak the same language.
12. "Does [the rash] flare up on her hands a lot?" (doctor says to my mother who insisted on following me into the doctor's office)
Hello? I'm sitting a foot away from you, I'm the patient, and I also communicate in English. Would you mind directing all your questions to me?
13. "You want to go to the beach -- here, tell your mother you want to go.
Umm...why do I need to run this by her again? I'm pretty sure I can make up my own mind on this one, and if I want to go, I don't need her permission. Thanks for the suggestion though.
14. "Kick the door open, you don't want to use your hand."
Yes I do want to use my hand. If I need to, I have hand sanitizer in my purse.
15. "Lissa, hurry get under the umbrella, it's raining."
I know it's raining, that's why I'm out here. I like tropical rain.




So please, for the sake of both of us, don't push me down this road. I'd like to not kill you. The moment you start making decisions for me without my input is the moment I cannot guarantee your safety.

Be Assured -- You Are Safe

It's amazing how many security guards they employ in the Philippines. You wouldn't think security would be needed for McDonald's or the local bakery, but Filipinos do. Walk into any mall (which by the way is distinct according to social class) and there will be at least one guard at the entrance to check shoppers' bags/purses/backpacks for....I don't know, a bomb maybe? But even within the mall at almost every store inside you are almost sure to spot a man or woman in white uniform complete with handcuffs, walkie-talkie, club, and the too-frequent gun.

More often than not the security guard acts as a macho janitor -- opening doors for customers, cleaning away trays left on the tables, and giving general directions to passersby.

For a country that is so poor with an economy worse than the States, it's a wonder they can afford a million guards who stand around all day and do absolutely nothing.


I wish we had guards who did this in the States.

The Art of Staying Cool When the World Around You is Melting

My mom bought me three hankies today. You might not think it's a big deal; you might even think that that's only something that old-fashioned people use.

You. Are. Wrong.




I've been in the Philippines for two and a half weeks now. During that time I am quite certain that I've produced fully one gallon of sweat. There is absolutely no way to stop it. Truthfully I'm not even exerting energy because it's so hot out, but the sweat still comes.

There are only three ways I've found to keep cool:
1. Driving around in air-conditioned cars which include: taxis, personal cars, and driving services. Considering how much time we actually spend driving it really amounts to considerable non-sweat moments. Traffic is horrendous at all hours of the day and night, so it takes forever to get anywhere. But that's a story for another time.

2. Going to malls. Which, considering they're as common as churches in America, it's quite easy to immerse myself in one mall or another. I'm quite certain that 90% of the Filipinos frequenting the shopping centers are really only there for the air-conditioning. I mean let's face it -- they don't have the money to spend on shopping frivolously every single day. A good number of these people are jobless. It's amazing how nice and cool these malls are -- even when they're packed with Filipinos in every corner.

3. Lay naked in front of a fan. Now I haven't tried this yet, but I've thought about it every single day. But I'd look like a beached whale sprawled out on the bed. It's not even my bed, it's my kid cousin's. And he has a tendency to burst into the room at any given moment.


So for now, I'll make good use of my hankies to wipe my brow, my neck, my back, etc. Besides, it's become something of a fashion statement here in the Philippines. And I like to stay current with the times and people I'm surrounded by. Aside from that, I am making good use of a good ole fashion hand-fan. You know the kind: they use them in all those southern movies all the time. I feel like I've stepped back in time with my farming hankies and belle fans.

Dressing to Stand Out

I don't understand how I can stick out so much here in the Philippines -- as if my very attire screams "I'm an American!" It's not that I mind being American, in fact I love it, but I'm also half Filipino, and I wish I could show it more while I'm in the midst of fellow Filipinos. I should fit in somewhere, right?

But I don't.

Women here tend to wear the more fitted tops that almost always have sleeves. Tank-tops or spaghetti strapped dresses aren't as popular as it is in the States. This is quite ironic considering the climate year-round is perfect for loose, airy clothing. Shorts or short skirts also aren't as prevalent as I thought they'd be. Everyone wears long jeans -- even when it's a sweltering 90* with 80% humidity.

Because people have the good sense to stay in air conditioned areas as much as possible, it's quite common to see people wearing long sleeves or jackets. I will never adopt this habit while I'm living in the tropics. And I trust you to hold me to this.

Back to women's clothing....it's so incredibly average -- nothing you wouldn't see in any US city. So this still makes me ponder all the more why I look so different. Is it my colorful dresses? The fact that I'm baring my shoulders? Or the excessive amount of underarm fat that refuses to hide within my tops? Believe me, I'm a clumsy looking walrus compared to these spiffy-dressed mini penguins. They're tiny and look sharp. I'm blubbery and look....messy.

I don't get it.

I find myself quite fashionable -- at least I did back in the States. Now I see myself as a sloppy dresser, preferring looser tops and dresses to the form-fitting style that's so in style here in the Philippines.

Where women show off their curves, men tend to hind in their overly-baggy clothes. The tops for commoners tend to be two to three sizes too big, and even pants are worn overly loose. For the trendier male, v-necks are highly fashionable, as well as tighter jeans. I guess some things don't change from country to country.

If cleanliness is next to godliness then Filipinos are damned.
So to speak.


I have found it nearly impossible to remain clean during my month-long expedition in the city of Manila. Of course, I'm applying my high-and-mighty American standard of cleanliness mixed in with my mild case of OCD standard of cleanliness. Let's just say it doesn't paint as luxurious a picture of the tropics as one would hope. Don't get me wrong, I am enjoying my stay here tremendously, but every time I look around the city I am appalled with how much disease and filth the average Joe is carrying on their person. I manage to hide this judgment by feigning disinterest or by hastily putting my sunglasses on so people can't see my expression.

Am I a spoiled American? Yes, I most certainly am.

Does this distress me? More than I can say. In fact, I am very disappointed with my inner reaction.

I See White People

Well, I saw white people. Yesterday in fact. I've been here almost a week now, and this was the first time I saw people who weren't brown (excluding my cousin-in-law who is a Brit). I also saw a black guy and quite a few Chinese people.
Where can you find so much ethnic diversity in the Philippines, you ask? Well in the enormous ritzy shopping mall located in the ritzy business/commercial district, of course.

Metro-Manila area comprises almost a dozen cities where it is common to live on one side of the city and work on the opposite side. My uncle is a prime example of this. He lives in a gated, rather posh, community that is located near the middle- and lower-class, but works an hour away (depending on traffic) smack dab in the middle of the commercial district. His neighborhood is evidence of just who is above who (in terms of class); almost designed to show the literal structure of the stringent class system set up in the Philippines.


The commercial district is really all foreigners see of the Philippines. That, of course, and Boracay Island which was voted among the world's top ten beaches. It is clean, somewhat ordered, and most importantly, air conditioned. All the fanciest hotels and shopping centers are found in this district. All the rich condo owners, famous restaurant franchises, and movie directors are found here. My uncle is found here. As are white people. This was the first time he took me to visit his office, and set me loose in the shopping centers. Needless to say it was quite impressive.


We walked into Greenbelt 5 (the Greenbelt shopping center is comprised of 5 malls all joined together with a central open park/seating area in the middle) and the first thing I saw was a blue-eyed, blonde-haired, over-weight family of four. Ah the typical American. We went into the first store to our right -- a drug store/convenience store and saw more white men -- only with their Filipino girlfriends/wives. That's usually how it goes; you won't see a white woman with a Flip boyfriend, it just doesn't work that way. Sad to say, a lot of Filipino women would do anything to get out of the country -- including becoming the equivalent of a mail-order bride. Men have more pride than that, thank goodness.

I found it quite ironic that these 'rich' white people (who I think were mostly European) would congregate in the glamorous part of Manila where the streets were clean and the mall sported such American stores as Levi and Adidas.

Word to the traveler: if you want to actually see the country you're visiting, you've got to get out of the Hiltons and the Mall of Asias where taxis cart you everywhere, and see the open markets and province from the seat of a jeepney.

A Filipino Shower

WARNING: THE CONTENTS OF THIS BLOG ARE T-M-I. IF YOU WOULD RATHER SKIP A POTENTIALLY AWKWARD READING, MOVE ON DOWN TO THE NEXT ENTRY.

Scene: Shower
Time: 8:30am
Outside temperature: 89*
Humidity everywhere: 100%


Yes, you read right, I'd like to tell you in detail about my first shower experience in the Philippines. I had never been more eager and excited to take a cold shower in all my life. I'm not talking room-temperature cold, or washing-your-hands-before-eating cold, I'm talking about from-a-mountain-stream cold. It was exhilarating. It was so cold that it made me catch my breath for a moment when it hit my skin, yet I was too entranced to move away. It was the kind of shower I could stay in forever.

If you are unaware, the Philippines is an extremely hot and humid place. Hopping into the shower only meant a slight reprieve from the heat, but sadly not the humidity. Being as hot as it was, my skin had absorbed the heat until it was just as hot as the air around it. My skin was so warm in fact, that by the time the cool water rolled down my head and arms, and pooled in my hands, it had already become noticeably warm. I turned my attention to the water reaching my feet. Same experience. I had no idea my skin could change the temperature of water.

I finished my shower quite content to stand under the gushing stream indefinitely, and prepared to towel off. It was then I noticed a small gecko crawling near the open window in the shower stall. Ah, the inhabitants of humid climates. I missed seeing lizards all over the house. Instead of picking it up like I wanted to, I decided to urge it back out the window. No sense keeping a Peeping Tom around. I toweled dried as best I could and failed miserably to put clothes on. You see, it is absolutely impossible to tell whether your skin is wet with water or already wet with sweat after that bout of showering. I dried myself multiple times, but no matter how much I dried off, two seconds later beads of moisture popped up all over my body. Trying to be dry in a country that practically breathes moisture is a futile attempt, I decided. I eventually got a dress to slide on. Took me five minutes, but eventually I was decent enough to leave the bathroom.

So here I go, leaving you, my devoted readers, in the dry heat of Oregon, as I try to wade through the water that flows around me everywhere I go.