The Garden

Hello from Baguio! I’ve now been here for 8 months, and frankly it feels strange. My Ilocano is still in what I would call the “talking dog” stage, which is to say that people are surprised and delighted by my attempts, but I can’t carry on a conversation. Still I’ve gotten used to Filipino english, and to Filipino mannerisms and that’s surely worth something. As an example, I used to feel hounded and offended by all the people asking “where are you going” whenever I walked around the school. I’ve since realized that that is just a common form of small talk. The whole phrase in Ilocano is a single word “Araramidem”, and on occasion I can get a ride to wherever I’m going if I answer. I’ve gotten used to the food too; I can’t say I like intestine very much, but liver, brain, and blood are all quite tasty if made the right way. And meals without rice don’t really seem like meals anymore. And I have friends here, a community which keeps me going and makes me feel at home.

'break the pot' like pinhata, but made of clay

What feels strange is that my comfort and love for the my community here in Baguio both conflicts with and increases my homesickness. Family, and place, are so important in the Philippines; indeed they are in some ways the same, because family extends to clan, and clans are inextricably bound to their region. It makes me more and more aware of how far away from my own family and place I am, in a word, I’m homesick. So I’m excited to go home, but when I do I’ll be leaving behind so many new friends (I might almost say new family), and so many wonderful uniquely Filipino things. But, c’est la vie, I had something else in mind when I started this blog post.

When the choir went to visit Uncle Cyril he told me a Filipino saying (please pardon a mild profanity) “Give a Filipino 4 wheels and 2 G. I shits and he’ll give you a jeepney” (if I haven’t mentioned this before, a jeepney is an extended military jeep used as public transportation, they are one of those wonderful uniquely Filipino things). Now this slightly vulgar, slightly nonsensical saying is a fine example of Pinoy humor, and as a thoroughly accurate encapsulation of Pinoy ingenuity. As Kayla, another YASCer here in the Philippines says, “Everything is everything”, which is to say, any piece of trash can be used to fulfill a necessary function. A tire can be cut into strips to make a rope, you can poke holes in a juice bottle to make a watering can, or a squirt gun, you can fill the same juice bottle with colored paper and pebbles to make a decoration or a weight. With enough bamboo and twine you can make anything, if you only have the Pinoy ingenuity.

jeepneys can also transport produce

I’ve got a little porch from my room which looks out over the back end of the Easter compound. A few dozen yards of greenery leading to a shear hill which nothing but dogs and small children can climb, and off to the side a staircase which leads to Pinsao Pilot Project, the neighborhood at the top of the hill. When I moved in the view from my porch was of brush, dead brush, and garbage. As the weeks went on I started waking up weekend mornings to the smell of smoke, and after a little bit of panic, saw that they were burning the brush outside. After all was cleared away there was a busy couple of weeks when students, teachers and staff all worked together to transform the now bare area into a garden. I loved watching this process (and occasionally helping). Everybody turns out, everybody helps, and when the job is done, everybody sits around and hangs out. And everything is made, nothing bought, except for the plants. I saw fences, arbors and walkways made with bits of scrap wood, decorations and dedications written with plastic bottles stuffed with rocks and paper, a pagoda made out of bamboo and thatch.

So here's a moral from my time so far in the Philippines. With hard work, bamboo, twine, and friends, you can make anything. 

I never did take a "before" picture, but this is past the garden area and gives a good idea

The view from the window, when the setting sun goes this crazy orange color

Almost done!

Sorry I can't...I have choir

One nice thing about being a musician is it makes you part of a tribe. Like magnets we attract each other and discourse about forces incomprehensible to the non-adept. Classical musicians, being scattered few and far between, are especially prone to this magnetism. So two of the first friends I made arriving at Easter were Ma'am Rouilla, soprano, one-time conductor of seemingly every Anglican choir in the city, and music teacher at Easter School; and Reis, tenor, composer, music student, and staff accompanist. When I met Reis his first question was how good my sight singing was, and his second was whether I wanted to join the Holy Innocents choir for their concert next week. I figured it would be a good way to meet people and agreed to help them out, four months later I'm still singing with them.

btw, have I mentioned how beautiful Baguio is?

When I joined the choir they were having rehearsals every evening, it was intense, and not just musically. It was like joining a family. We would typically have rehearsal at 5 30, so at 5 30 I would show up to find maybe half of the choir sitting around downstairs (Filipino time). So we sit and chat, drink coffee and eat the snack that someone would invariably bring; we go upstairs to start singing when a quorum of people has arrived, around 6 or 6 30. The songs for this concert were a mixture of showtunes arranged for choir, which I found pleasantly incongruous; and Filipino songs, which I found pleasing melodically but difficult linguisticly. After a little while its break time, and we go downstairs where a big pot of pinikpikan (boiled chicken soup) or adobo (ubiguitous recipe involving vinegar, soy sauce and any available meat) on the boil by an overflowing pot of rice. Dinner is served. Typically Filipino, dinner is a lengthy event, and involves a long stretch of sitting around, drinking coffee and chatting. After dinner we rehearse some more, and go home, usually around 9 or so; rather a long rehearsal, but I gained so much! Aunties, Uncles, a gang of friends my age, and of course a week of free dinners.

Before the Concert

Any place is defined by the people that live there, I think that is especially true of the Philippines. This country cannot be understood by keeping abreast of the latest natural and man-made disasters, nor by eating a bunch of exotic parts of animals, nor by reading up on the colonial histories of Spain and the USA. The Philippines is a country of interpersonal relationships, of vast extended families, clans, and tribes. Because of this the Philippines is much much bigger than its 77 islands, because these relationships extend to every country in the world, spread by the vast Filipino diaspora. So when I say that joining the choir was like joining a family it's no mere nicety, joining the choir really was one of the best things I've done here, I became part of the community. For one thing my new Aunties and Uncles also happen to be the Lolas and Lolos (grandparents) of several of my students. Many of them are teachers as well in Easter, or are good friends with my fellow teachers and my superiors. Churches are very much community organizations here, most of my new friends live within walking distance of the church, which incidentally is directly next to where I stay, so I now have the experience of being able to walk down the street and see people I know, stop for a chat just like any other person in the neighborhood. This is a tremendous moral comfort, and it is also of great practical use. I've found that things are not scheduled in the Philippines in the same way that they are in the States. There is no calender of events for the next year, or if there is it is probably wrong. Even knowing dates and times a month ahead is iffy. One finds out about coming events by chatting with other people, things come through the grapevine. If you have no one to chat with, your best bet is to hang out somewhere conspicuous and hope someone warns you before important events.

Here in Baguio there are many choirs. There are at least 5 Episcopal Churches with choirs within Baguio City and La Trinidad. There are amateur choirs attached to many other institutions, operating out of City Hall or the Department of Agriculture, choirs made up of lawyers and choirs of students and choirs of priests. I'm assuming there are more choirs in churches of other denominations. I doubt that ours is an unusually busy choir, nonetheless we are much busier than any musical organization I've ever been a part of back in the states. We sing for weddings, wakes, funerals, Sunday services, holy days, secular events, and friends. All of these are community events, so everyone is there, all the friends and family, some having crossed boundaries and oceans to be in attendance. Invariably there is food, Aunties sitting around chatting, or walking around making everybody eat; Uncles slightly removed, sitting around and chatting; children running around playing; plates and babies being passed around. Probably the most frequent of these events are wakes, with weddings a close second. In the States I have been to one wake, here in the Philippines I go to at least one a week. But these are not particularly sad occasions, they are a chance for people to gather, to support each other with music and speeches, cash donations and by simply hanging around and helping out. They're a chance to remember and say good by and look back on hopefully a long life well lived. Being able to be a part of these community events is why I am so grateful for my choir.

during the concert

I'll close by talking about Uncle Gilbert Dao-ey, an elderly cancer patient who we visited at home about a month ago. We didn't do much, we hung out, we chatted, we brought some food, we ate the food, after an hour or two we sang a few songs and went home. Uncle Gil was lovely, cracking jokes, teaching me words of Ilocano, reminiscing about his days teaching at Easter School and his own student days. I remember him telling me what he claimed was an old saying, “Give a Filipino 4 wheels and a bag of GI garbage and he'll give you a jeepney” This was during a conversation about Filipino ingenuity and lack of concern for safety protocols. All in all it was a charming afternoon, and when his wife told us (at a wedding reception a week later) that during our visit he had been happier and more lively than she had seen him for months, I was touched. It's good to be a help for someone.

We have fun too

Today I sang in Uncle Gil's wake. It was one of the first wakes that I found genuinely touching, because it was one of the first ones where I had met the deceased. But it was not sad, or at least not only sad. Instead I found myself thinking about him, the things I remember him saying, the way I imagine he used to be, and how wonderful it was that such a lot of people were in some way connected with his life, enough people to fill the room for 3 days running of the wake. I was thankful for the chance to meet him, and the chance to say goodbye.

From Left to Right, Uncle Johnny, Reis, Uncles Bede, Jimmy and Gilbert, Me

That's Sir David to you

Hello, dear, patient readers. It's been far too long since my last blog post and I have so much to write about! According to my calculations I am almost precisely a third through my year in the Philippines. What have I been doing? Same as ever, teaching, playing, eating, traveling, expanding horizons, learning. And what am I going to write about in this long belated blog post? I'm not sure yet, so bear with me.

I don't know if I've mentioned this, the Philippines is beautiful

The last time I posted I was just starting with my own class, feeling my way along and secretly terrified. Now it's been a few months and I think I've got a pattern down, moving from guitar to piano to violin to recorder all in one class, but I no longer feel quite so much like a chicken with my head cut off. I've learned that with guitar players I'm mostly needed to show them one or two of the more difficult chords and a strumming pattern, and after that I can leave them to practice and teach each other, occasionally I have to whirl around to interrupt a selfie and set them back to work. My violin players are progressing quickly and I couldn't be more proud, as are my piano players, some of whom I have playing with both hands!

some of my students experiencing actual cold in a "winter room"

I've been noticing some strange changes in myself, chief among them, I am genuinely sad that I'll have to leave these kids soon. Who will teach them music? If no one picks up where I left off, how many of them will abandon their instrument forever? Tragic.

 Here's an episode in my life I found telling. At the christmas celebrations the kids were playing with water balloons, and I felt a twinge of panic. The sidewalk would freeze and someone would fall! They'll get frostbite! Of course my first reaction after that was the base stupidity of the thought, it was in the high 50s and sunny. And then I thought, since when do I worry about kids doing stupid things? Of course that may sound callous to some of you, but I've always been a 'let them burn their hand and then they won't touch the stove again' kind of person. Oh well, my friends say I have the teacher bug, and they may be right.

Today I bought two books of etudes, one for drums and one for piano. For those non-musicians out there, etudes are those boring little pieces that you hear parents and teachers yelling at students to practice and which all students fantasize about burning. But there's an amazing thing that happens when you start being a music teacher, you open your mouth and hear your old music teacher speaking through you. Is this anything like being a parent? So I realized that in my efforts to get better at piano and drums I was completely ignoring all the advice I give to my students: going too fast, biting off more than I could chew, sacrificing technique for fast rewards; and I tried to fix it. If this is what growing up is, it feels weird.

So I try my best to be a good teacher. I tell jokes, I threaten, I cajole, I try to remember what it was like to first start learning music. I have yet to really truly yell or lose my temper, partially cause I'm not sure if I know how, partially cause I don't think it would be effective with Filipino students. They tend to clam up when singled out and I expect it would be the same when yelled at. They have a curious method of defiance; they smile, they are polite, they say “Sir, we don't know how”, “Sir, later”, “Sir, please” and they try to charm their way out of whatever I'm trying to make them do. The response that I have found which works is to charm them right back, smile, joke, be firm, maybe give a little ground, but not too much. Here was a recent interaction regarding their test, a practical in which they had to play me a song, “Sir, can we play modern songs?” “no, it has to be out of the hymnal”, “but Sir pleease? Modern songs are easier”, “I know they are, that's why you have to play out the hymnal”, “pleeeease?” “You can play Christmas songs from the hymnal if you want” (disappointed) “yes Sir, thank you Sir”. Victory!!

So that's my experience of teaching. Sometimes I feel like an army of one trying to battle an unstoppable horde of little savages. Sometimes I feel like I've woken up with a whole pile of nieces and nephews filling me with pride and worry. One time I saw a group of my students on the street after school; quick as I could I crossed the street and caught a cab out of there and pretended not to hear when they called me. One time I heard some students singing "Go Tell it On the Mountain" and accompanying themselves on guitar and I was on cloud 9. Sometimes I want to lock my door and turn out the lights in my office and catch a quick nap during lunchtime, but I never do, and my room fills up with students of all ages wanting to practice, hang-out, get extra lessons or chat about America. Sometimes I can't wait for the school year to be over, but I know I'm going to miss these little buggers.

Adventure to Ambuklao

whoops, I never posted this blog, oh well, this takes place about 2 weeks before the preceeding blog post

Hello from Baguio. Things go on much the same. Days of teaching, nights of practicing Beatles and Bob Dylan tunes, and karaoke (did I mention that Baguio is filled with karaoke bars and acoustic live music bars? I have countless opportunities to study up on country music and guitar technique). So there isn't much to report, except for last Monday when I had the opportunity to go on an adventure. The Episcopal Church here has a program called Receivers to Givers, whereby they provide soil enhancers and other helpful things to farming communities, with the stipulation that those who receive must in turn pass on help and experience to other communities. My friend Laiyan works for the organization, and she invited me up to the organic farm in Ambuklao last Monday, which happened to be a holiday from school (I'm still not sure why, various sources said it was Teachers Day, or that it was because of a Muslim holiday, frankly I didn't sweat the details too much). I hope I'm not getting this wrong, as my Philippine geography is still not too solid, but Ambuklao is in the Barangay Province, north of Baguio, in the mountains. So me and 5 other young people, some employees of the organization and some along for the ride like me, rolled up there in a truck, me and two new friends bouncing around in the back with crates of fertilizer and soil enhancers, clinging tight to the bars on the roof as we twisted and turned along the mountain roads. I found myself wondering if there are any roller coasters in the Philippines, with roads like the ones we were on, they don't need them.

street meat

The views from the window were truly spectacular. The mountains are higher, the country greener, I dare say the sky is bluer, once we left the house packed hillsides of Baguio. Here there is nothing on the mountainsides but trees, and lonely little pit stops offering chips and bathrooms perched on stilts propping them against the steep sides. So up and down up and down we drove, past other other trucks and the occasional cow grazing by the side of the road. In the valleys are little quickly flowing rivers in wide riverbeds which give an idea of these rivers' size during the rains. Suspended over the rivers are little footbridges which look truly terrifying.

So eventually we reached the farm, after getting off the highway and enduring a mile or two of dirt roads, and trail which I think can hardly be called a road, we parked by the little Anglican church of St. Bartholomew, which is perched on a little shelf above another of those spectacular views. There the employees of the Receivers to Givers program presented their program to the assembled committee of 6 or 7 community leaders (people occasionally left or arrived, so the number is approximate), while the rest of us sat or wandered around and took pictures. The presentation took place in Ipaloy (spelling approximate), so even if I was further along in my Ilocano or Tagalog I would have been at a loss. Do you know how many languages are spoken in the Philippines? I don't, every time I ask people just say “a lot”.

St. Bartholomew's

It must be tough to give a sermon with the congregation looking at this view

Of course afterwords the people offered us food and coffee, I've learned to always go to any event hungry. Rice and some cabbage dish, which I looked at askance until I tasted it, then I went back for seconds and thirds. We went walking around the grounds and the employees of the organization showed the people how to use the soil enhancers (it involves digging holes in the ground and pouring the stuff in). Then someone handed us a couple plastic bags full of little green fruits, which looked like limes. Against my better judgement I ate some along with everyone else (I'm fine by the way), and found that they tasted sort of like a cross between a lime and an apple and was filled with mushy seeds. I asked what they were and was told they were guavas. My friends were surprised that I didn't know what a guava was, and I explained that up until then I had only ever experienced guava as a flavoring in iced tea.

So we headed back. This time, not pressed for time, we stopped often at overlooks and at a dam, to take pictures. We also stopped at a sulfur spring, which I was surprised to find almost completely undeveloped. I explained to my friends that in America we would long ago have fenced the place off, charged five bucks for admission, and put fences around the bubbling springs so little children didn't fall in. And that, invariably, it would have been filled by garbage left by people who jumped the fence at night to get into trouble.

sulfur springs

there was also a horse

I would go into more detail describing the amazing sights of the mountains, but luckily I took pictures, so now I'll sign off. Blessings from Baguio!

It's been awhile since my last blog post and I'm somewhat scared of forgetting something, but I'll try my best. I think I am well and truly acclimated to living here now. I've quit shopping at the nearby supermarket in favor of the large open-air Baguio Market. The meat market is the most colorful part of this experience, a large tent full of butchers who will cleave your meat to your specifications and where you can buy pig heads and various innards as well as the more familiar parts of the animal. I've learned how to cook adobo, the most typical Filipino recipe, consisting of meat boiled in a mixture of soy sauce, ginger, vinegar, garlic, and onions. I'm getting better at eating with my hands, (three fingers to scoop and push the food to your mouth with the thumb). My Ilocano is still sadly lacking, but I know how to say “lets eat”, “I'm hungry” and the names of several different types of food, and my friends assure me that this is all one really needs to know. I still dream about home sometimes, but I invariably wake up when I start to wonder how I'm going to get back in time for class.

Which brings me to my class, which has at last started! I'm having a great time, and learning rapidly. I teach high school three days a week and elementary two days, teaching those students who are interested and who have instruments how to play those instruments. They range from a couple already competent guitar players (who I fear may be better than me) to the students who have never touched their instruments. I've got piano players, guitarists, violinists, drummers, recorder players, and one girl who said she wanted to learn cornet but has since decided to learn guitar instead. I'll admit I'm relieved. Almost none of them can read music, almost none of them have ever been a member of any kind of ensemble before. I spend the class periods scurrying around from instrument to instrument giving each a phrase to learn by rote and then whirling around to the next and trying desperately to keep everyone on track. When class ends at four I go home and pass out. I worry that I'm not being effective, but despite that (because of it?) the students still seem to like me. They still shout “hello sir!” as I walk across the campus, and at lunchtime some of them come to eat and hang out in my office. I often would very much like to nap during this time, but I don't have the heart to turn them away. Besides whether they come because of a desire to play more music or a curiosity about the American, a little extra practice never hurt anybody.

I've joined to choir at the church by the school, Holy Innocents Episcopal, and it has been wonderful for a number of reasons. I've made a number of friends, six of the men in the choir are my age, and of course the aunties and uncles are all very sweet as well. Especially nice is the fact that most of them are local, so when I walk down the street now I have a good chance of seeing people I know. Then there's the fact that all of our rehearsals include food, at least some bread or pastry and coffee, but sometimes full meals. And of course the aunties know that I live alone and so insist that I take leftovers home with me. Finally of course is the chance to be a part of a rather good choir, I've started singing tenor and on the hymns I like to play along on the violin, so it's really excellent practice for lots of different musical skills.

This Tuesday I'll be travelling to Manila for the consecration of the new prime bishop of the Philippines. I'm excited to see the capital for the first time (I don't count the week following my arrival because I spent most of it asleep), and my friends at the national office, and of course a big cathedral service with all the smells and bells is always a good time, but somewhat nervous about that oppressive lowland climate.

By the way, I almost forgot to brag about my latest culinary feat, I've tried balut. Balut is a food I first read about in an article called “5 Disgusting Foods You Won't Believe Are Delicacies in Other Countries” and I'll leave it to the less squeamish among you to look it up. Suffice it to say, the crunchiness was somewhat disconcerting, but overall it wasn't too bad.  

The More Things Change, The More They Stay the Same

It's the end of my second week in Baguio, third week in the Philippines, and first week of actual teaching. I'm starting to feel at home here. I have now mastered two different jeepney routes, the Guisad route--which will take me to the mall, restaurants, bars, and basements filled with second hand clothes, and the Trinidad route, which I learned because I played the violin for a church in Trinidad which was welcoming Bishop Pacao of the Diocese of the North Central Philippines this Sunday. I found the nearby grocery store, and the other day I corrected an elementary student who called me David, “that's Sir David”.

I think of the relationship between Trinidad and Baguio as similar to that between Queens and New York, they definitely are different entities, but not entirely distinct. Also Trinidad seems a little bit more suburban, bordering on rural. Perhaps it's not a good metaphor, but hopefully you get the picture, for clarity's sake I'm going to abandon it.

Trinidad

By the way, full disclosure, I may make it sound like riding jeepney's is very difficult, but it really isn't. The places they're going is written on the side, and you only need to know two words, “palah” (spelling aproximate) which is stop, and “bayat po” which you say when you give the driver your 8 pesos (okay it's three words, “po” is just an honorific though)

A Jeepney leaving the Military School

You remember I mentioned Fray the driver, who drove me out of Manila and up to Baguio in the middle of Typhoon Mario. Well mostly he works in Manila, but his family is based in Trinidad, and here in Baguio his wife has been a good friend, driving me around after church on Sundays and showing me the sights of Baguio, while instructing me in how to get around and where to find the things I need. Today she showed me around Trinidad, the strawberry market which borders on the strawberry farms, the vegetable market, and Benguet University. I cannot tell you how glad I was to see the vegetable market, I never realized how much I liked fresh vegetables until I thought I was going to have to go without them for a year. The vegetable market is an enormous tent where farmers from up north sell their produce and grocers and and restauranteurs from Manila buy giant bushels of it. Luckily you can also pick up vegetables in as small an amount as a kilo. At this time of year the strawberry market is mostly souvenir stands and overpriced preserves, but apparently during strawberry season it is a major tourist attraction.

As my title suggests, I've been finding as I've gotten used to this place that many things are basically the same, but there is usually some twist to remind me that I'm not in Kansas anymore. For example, the church choir I played with is exactly like choirs at home, filled with sweetly indomitable mothers who will simply not believe that a skinny young man is full after only one serving. The difference is in the food they keep heaping on my plate at the church luncheon: liver, goat, great piles of rice, and some strangely chewy type of meat. I ask what it is, “uncooked!” shouts someone, I laugh, nope, not a joke, it really is intentionally undercooked goat meat, cooked enough to take the sauce, but not enough to ruin that texture. By the way, everything is delicious, I only regret asking a little bit. Another example is the entertainment of the church lunch, the Sunday school shyly sings a song, a group of youth giggle their way through a song and dance, there is a raffle to raise funds for the church; the first prize? A goat (second prize was a chicken).

Fiesta!

You can find most of your fast food cravings here in Baguio: McDonalds, KFC, and some Philippine specific fast food like Jollibee which is a fried chicken place. But of course all of these places serve their food with a bunch of rice. And the restaurants, it seems to me, are significantly cleaner.

The biggest culture shock for me still has more to do with which end of the classroom I'm standing on than which side of the globe. The other day there were some kids shouting in the hall while I was talking to the class. I asked someone to shut the door and by golly a kid jumped up and did it! Maybe that doesn't seem like such a big deal, but remember I'm still getting used to the sensations of power. And then there's the feeling of shushing a crowd of kids and listening to the sound of momentary silence (until the whispering comes back like waves on the shore). I have my own classroom now, with a desk and everything, though I won't be teaching in there until the next grading period starts. I have a desk in the faculty room as well, where I get to participate in all that secret backroom voodoo that we speculated about as kids (mostly I read my textbook, comb my hair and go on facebook). Sometimes kids knock on the door and say “permission to enter teachers?” I cannot overemphasize how tickled I am by this.

Did I mention that I taught a class last week on the 20^th century in music? “oooh” I think, “Debussy, Ravel, Schoenberg!” nope, not that twentieth century. Gather round children, today we're talking about Led Zeppelin, Pink Floyd, and Disco. (at one point in class I used the phrase “whatever it is you kids are listening to these days”).

Which brings me to the final bullet in my journal, what do these kids listen to? Well the first rule I've learned is that no matter where you go in the world, you can't escape Top 40 American pop music. But what else? Maybe Korean pop, or J-pop? Or some native Igarot folk songs? Nope, the predominant music you hear from live music bars and people's porches all over Baguio is good ol country music. Kenny Rodgers is a special favorite. So there's a kick in the pants for all my snobby New Yorkers, on the other side of the world people are still singing God Bless Texas.  

First Week: Travel, Typhoons and being a Teacher

Well I've been in the Philippines for just a little over a week now and I think it's about time for a blog post. It'll be a long one, since I've been slacking in my blogging so far. Here's what I've been doing all week. Monday was spent in the air and in airports; since I crossed the international date line at some point I actually landed in Manila on Tuesday night after leaving New York on Monday morning. In the airport I was picked up by Fray, an employee of the church here in the Philippines and an excellent friend and guide. Manila is a fantastic city. It reminds me of New York City, except in Manila I would be much too afraid to jay walk, and the people in the stores are much more polite. I only spent a few days in Manila, and one of them was lost to jet-lag, as I settled down for a nap and ended up sleeping all day, an accident I've repeated once or twice since. Mostly in Manila I wandered around the lovely grounds of the Church center, an island of greenery in the busy metropolis, and sat in the Starbucks down the block, trying to get used to people calling me "Sir".

 The Episcopal Church Center in Manila. By the way, there are dogs everywhere 

 Filipinos are good at Graffiti 

Metro Manila peaking up from behind the trees of the church center 

On Thursday evening I was sitting in Starbucks when it started raining, the kind of downpour I associate with short summer storms back home. I tried to decide whether I should get wet or try to wait it out, and after about 20 minutes decided to just get wet. It continued for four days. This, I would learn, was Typhoon Mario. The next day Fray drove me through it for the six hour drive to Baguio, through the flooded streets of Manila and the rain soaked roadside towns where children sat with fishing poles to catch tilapia in the rising swampland. So my first introduction to Baguio was to a grey city with water running in streams down the hilly streets.

 Typhoon Mario flooding the streets and yards of Manila

Long rainy drive

I have since found Baguio to be a beautiful city. Brightly colored houses crowd each other on the steep hillsides, overlooking the steep and narrow streets where brightly colored jeepneys (a kind of public transportation looking like a stretched out jeep, driven with the aggression and abandon of a NYC cabbie) battle for space with cars, motorcycles and pedestrians. Wherever there is a break in the slightly ramshackle buildings one can see lovely views of the Cordillera highlands.

I am staying now in the Easter College Hotel, in one of the four rooms maintained by the School of Hospitality. I haven't started teaching yet, that will begin on Monday. This week is intermurals for the high school department (Easter College has an elementary department, high school, and college) so yesterday was a pep rally and field day, and today and tomorrow is given over to ball games. I was asked to judge the cheering competition, which was truly impressive. Each class had planned and choreographed their own cheer, complete with matching shirts, and painted arms and faces. The theme for this year was super heroes, so I was privileged to watch the classes being led in their cheers by Wonder Woman, Hulk and Batman, among others. Since that introduction to the school it has been my pleasure to walk out of my room in the morning to be greeted by groups of students saying "good morning sir"

So that's all for now, mostly I've been exploring Baguio, sitting in the canteen drinking coffee, and practicing the guitar. Next week will be challenging as I begin my teaching for real, but I am excited for it to start, and it seems that the students are too, I've been approached by several of them asking when I'm going to start and if they'll be allowed to join.

These lovely people have been showing me around

Of course I would be remiss if I didn't mention that I'm still fundraising. Any amount donated is greatly appreciated, checks can be sent to Mission Personnel, attn Yanick Fourcand at 815 Second Avenue, New York, NY 10017.

Thank you and blessings from Baguio!