Filipiniana

Friday 25th November was Filipiniana Day. This is not a national holiday but the annual day on which the school traditionally celebrates some of the customs and traditions associated with the Philippines. Pupils were released early from lessons in order to line the parade route to greet some of their teachers ...



who accompanied the marching bands.

This was followed by the Barrio Fiesta in the courtyard where pupils could enjoy traditional Pinoy
food, such as a whole roasted pig known as lechon which is the national dish ...

and side dishes with white rice in banana leaves.

There were many traditional costumes on view ...

in many different forms ...

styles ...

and colours.

There were exotic dancers...

and some very impressive displays of elegance ...

and swordsmanship.

And for those unable to cope with the heat and in need of light refreshment,
the Magtataho (taho vendor) was on hand ...

 to sell you a cup of taho ...  



that much-loved Filipino snack of fresh silken tofu scooped straight out of a bucket

and then mixed with brown sugar, vanilla syrup and pearl tapioca.

Even the ex-pats ...

of both sexes  ...

joined in the spirit of the occasion and needless to say, a great day was had by all.

Some thoughts one year on

It's probably not every day that you get up and think to yourself that it feels good to be alive. However, exactly 12 months after enduring a heart attack that could easily have changed my life in a far more drastic way than it ultimately did, I feel that I have come out of that whole experience with a greater perception of just how much I have to be thankful for.

Irrespective of the size of my bank account and the number of countries I visit; whatever car I drive and however much crap I needlessly buy to stock up the shelves containing my video, DVD and CD collections; I ultimately know that all of those things would be completely meaningless without the continued love and support of the many people that I owe so much to.

It was in no small measure thanks to the generosity and seemingly never-ending selfless nature of so many of my close friends and family members, especially during those 6 months that I spent recuperating, that I was able to come through it all with a feeling of such positive energy.

In particular, I'll forever be grateful to my loving wife Monika for the incredible way she patiently nursed me back to health without ever once complaining; to my brother Steve and sister Lynn for coming from Britain to be with me when I was released from hospital; to my colleagues from school for all of their visits, gifts, phone calls, text messages and cards during the 6 days that I spent recovering in St. Luc's; to the many caring friends I have in Germany like Dirk and Annette who always made me feel I was in their thoughts; to Elaine, Julie, Leonie and many others who continually gave up their afternoons to make the regular trip to Tervuren; to the Old Firm back in Blighty whose many phone calls were always incredibly uplifting; to all the numerous contributors to the Anglophone department's present of an Amazon Kindle and gift voucher; to Michelle and Penny for their hospitality; to Lucy for her incredible send-off, together with all of the girls who contributed to the performance of Penny's lyrical masterpiece; to Dr Goossens and Dr Dewingaerden and my wonderful physio Els van Rossum in Duisburg, all of whom enabled me to cope with the added complications of a shoulder operation; to Soeren for making me believe that I could risk the amazingly fulfilling trip to Eyke and Mark's wedding; to Caren and Pascal for making me feel such an integral part of that very special day; to my stepdaughter Juliane for her undying love; and to Nicky whose ability to forgive was far more than I ever deserved.

Thank you so much to all of you, and to the many others like Roger & Martha, Pat & Frank, Chris & Rowena, Robert & Sylviane, Kevin & Margaret, as well Luc, Dick and John for helping to put a smile back on my face after what was unquestionably the most difficult 6 months of my life. My recovery wouldn't have been possible without you.

Pacman Fever

November 13 was a big day in the Philippines as it was a chance for Pinoys to see their national hero in action, Manny Pacquiao.  Not surprisingly, the boxing legend's face was visible everywhere you went.

The World Championship fight was billed to be the classic final and decisive victory for Pacquiao in his trilogy of bouts against the Mexican Juan Manuel Marquez. The early start didn't deter his admirers from turning out in force and fans were in confident mood at 7.30am on Sunday morning, posing for pictures in front of advertising posters.

The fight could only be viewed on pay-per-view and bars in Greenbelt were charging anywhere between 400 and 700 Pesos to guarantee you a seat in front of the TV screen. Bear in mind that the receptionist in my apartment block is paid just 350 Pesos for a 12-hour night shift and that will give you some idea as to how much that sum represents for Filipinos. Nevertheless, this was the scene at one such bar a full 5 hours before Pacquiao was due to step into the ring.  

Unwilling to pay those prices, I ventured downtown and ended up paying 200 pesos to watch the action in a rather seedy looking dive called Rogues in the red light district.

Everyone was being consumed by the atmosphere and the waitresses were all sporting Pacquiao

T-shirts specially produced for the big day. 

As the big moment approached I walked out into the middle of Makati Avenue, at this time completely deserted in both directions.

At any other time of the day or night, it's one of Manila's busiest streets polluted with the stench of exhaust fumes and petrol, but not when Pacquiao is fighting. It seems that even the taxi drivers stop working.

The fight itself was a complete and utter anti-climax. Pacquiao failed to live up to all expectations but despite taking something of a beating from Marquez during the middle rounds, the judges nevetheless controversially awarded a points decision in his favour. As the verdict was announced, the tension for some was almost too much to bear. 

With Pacquiao declared the winner, everybody was happy, (with the possible exception of Marquez, his whole entourage, thousands of booing fans sitting ringside at the MGM Grand, and just about the entire population of Mexico). However, this was of little concern to Pinoys and normality resumed in Manila...

... as the taxi drivers and motorists ventured out onto the streets again, bringing Makati Avenue back to life.

Money it seems makes the world go round and if we are to believe what we read, they are already planning fight number 4. (I wonder why?) Nonetheless, impoverished Filipinos will never tire of spending their hard-earned cash on a pay-per-view barstool to see Pacman in action, so watch this space to view photos of the whole thing repeated all over again for a 3rd time! Either that or I'll be taking pictures of the crowds celebrating as he's crowned Philippine President. He's already a Congressmen, so given his popularity, it's not entirely unthinkable. 

All Saints Day Filipino style - A Celebration with a Difference

In light of the fact that the Philippines are so Americanized, it was in no way surprising to discover that Hallowe'en is celebrated so widely here. However, with the ghoulish masks intermittently still on show the following day to help spice up the occasion, it was certainly intriguing to experience the celebratory manner in which absolutely all Pinoys honour the Dead on All Saints Day which follows on 1st November.



The first thing I wasn't prepared for was the sheer volume of traffic out on the streets. Any means of transport was permissible to get you and your loved ones to the cemetery and it felt as if the entire locality was congregating in one place when we reached the entrance to the burial ground.

Large groups of people were gathered around gravestones everywhere you looked. Invariably, the locals were seated, not just around the tomb, but in some places actually on top of it.



The ritual appears to follow a common pattern. At first, flowers and candles are offered to the departed as a sign of respect.

When the whole family is present, a feast begins to celebrate your loved one's life, during which you honour their memory by serving their favourite food.

As a family-oriented society, all generations and branches of the family are expected to attend.

Some individual mourners honour their departed loved ones by exhibiting the manner in which they died.

Other mourners erect brightly coloured parasols and spend the day playing cards.

Children from different branches of the family use the opportunity to enjoy each other's company.

Yet however you chose to spend the day, eventually you are forced to succumb to one of the many vendors who trawl the cemeteries in search of potential clients. The blistering heat ensures that some will resort to any means possible in a futile attempt to combat the soaring temperatures.

Once you're in the cemetery, the only way to leave it is by tricycle. There are simply hundreds of them clogging the roads between the individual graveyards and by-passing them in a car is simply not an option.

It is well worth the short journey by trike to visit the public cemetery. Despite the arguable discrepancy in graveside opulence, the air of celebration tangible there is essentially no different to the almost carnival-like atmosphere in evidence all around the private plots just a few hundred metres down the road.

Before the actual day, I couldn't conceive of what it would actually feel like to spend several hours celebrating with a graveside picnic in a cemetery. Having done so, I have to confess that it was a touching experience I feel privileged to have shared.

A deaf-defying dive!

Given that the Philippines is evidently a diver's paradise, it made sense for me to do all that I could to try to overcome my aquaphobia whilst on holiday on the island of Bohol. The first four days had been really enjoyable, so as a grand finale Soeren, Di and I decided to hire a diving instructor, don some scuba gear and explore the coral reef cliff face just beneath the water at the nearby island of Balicasag. 

Ever since I was a young boy, I have always felt really scared of water and overcoming my fear that day to get below the surface took a lot of conviction. Unfortunately, whilst the marine life beneath the waves was certainly very impressive, things didn't go quite as planned. 

First, I needed to calm myself down as I prepared to enter the water. Having watched both Di and Soeren do a backward flip into the sea, I had rather foolishly assumed that I would be allowed to climb down a ladder into the water. Instead my instructor told me I just had to take a step off the side of the boat but that was easier said than done. It felt to me as if I was walking the plank and as I stood looking at the deep ocean in front of me, I was absolutetly petrified. Thankfully, Di and Soeren were really supportive and it was their patience that eventually coaxed me into taking what for me felt like a giant step.

Before I could give myself time to change my mind, I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, put my left foot forward off the edge of the boat and suddenly found myself falling through the air. I felt like a stone about to sink to the bottom of the ocean.

I instantly became aware of the chilling sensation of water all around me and the speed of my breathing immediately increased, due to a combination of fright and exhilaration.

During the next few seconds, the fear within me started to rise as I prepared to start the dive but could not stay calm. However, with my mask in the water looking down, I was able to see to a considerable depth without any problem at all and it looked really beautiful down there.

Yet the sound of the air bubbles escaping from my mouth was making me panic. The bubbles came up right past my ears and I could not only hear them, but also feel them. It does not seem natural to me to be in the water at all, so actually being below the waterline felt even more bizarre. In a strange way, I felt like a fish out of water. 

I had tried to dive once before, with friends in the Atlantic Ocean in Ireland. During that particular dive, I had panicked when I felt myself starting to be physically sick into my ventilator which effectively cut off my oxygen supply. The sound of the bubbles in my ears at Balicasag made me realize just how vulnerable I was down there below the water, and that if anything went wrong, the consequences could be disastrous.



This psychological fear was probably the hardest thing to combat as I then tried my utmost to muster the courage to go down. Eventually I succumbed to the inevitable and surrendered to the whims of my diving instructor who then slowly guided me down into the water. It was every bit as spectacular as I'd imagined.

However, the pressure on my ears began to increase the moment I left the surface and started to dive. I had experienced this exact same sensation the first time I had dived, so it was not a great surprise to find myself in pain the moment I disappeared below the waves here in the Philippines.

In order to deal with the changes in pressure when diving, it is important to try to equalize by holding your nose under water and blowing outwards into your ears. As my diving instructor took me a little deeper with every passing moment, I could soon feel the pressure on my ears growing stronger and the pain becoming ever greater. No matter how hard I tried to equalize, the discomfort kept increasing with every second I was down there.

I would estimate that I was about four metres below the surface when I frantically signaled that I needed to go back up. My ears were not equalizing and I was starting to panic with the ever-present sound of the exhaled bubbles in my ears. My instructor made the necessary adjustments to enable me to get back to the surface and as I started to rise, I could feel my ears starting to rumble loudly inside until I felt a ripping sensation in my left ear when I was only about a metre from the top. I wrongly assumed that this was my ears equalizing, and breathed a sigh of relief in the mistaken belief that my ears were coping admirably with whatever dangers the dive presented. The internal noise I had heard was in fact my left ear drum tearing due to its inability to cope with the strains of the increased pressure from the water, but I was completely unaware of this at the time.

After making my instructor aware of my need to take a breather on the surface, I did all I could to calm myself down, while psyching myself up for a second and final dive to get down to see the coral reef from close up again.  I composed myself, replaced my ventilator, took one last look at the world above the waves and went back down below the water.



With a supreme effort, I managed to calm myself enough to get so far down that I could actually touch the coral with my hand. Beautiful multi-coloured fish were swimming all around me, and I was then pleasantly surprised to see a huge turtle just a few metres above me.

Suddenly Di and Soeren reappeared, showing their approval that I had made it down to a depth of 10 metres. The pain was ever-present in my ears, as was the fear of drowning which was ever-present in my head. However, towards the end of the dive, I was nevertheless able to focus on the incredible world I could see all around me, rather than merely concentrate on taking my next breath to try to stay alive.



With a huge feeling of both relief and fulfilment, I headed back to the surface and felt like a million dollars when I took my first gulp of air as my head came up out of the water. The taste of blood in my mouth and throat was the first sign that everything was not as it should be, and the hours which followed are now a blur of pain and blood coming from my nose and ears. Soeren proved to be the voice of reason and with the flow of blood from my ear growing increasingly worse as the evening wore on, he arranged transportation to a local hospital. This in itself was an experience to remember. I was examined, apparently as a matter of routine, in the emergency room right next to a screaming baby on a bed who was having surgery performed on it. I protested in vain that I couldn't go in there as I had no mask or gown yet nobody from the medical profession who was present that night appeared to share my concern that contamination by germs and bacteria might be an issue. With seven people standing next to me all around the bed, I couldn't even distinguish the doctors from the nurses or the parents.  It was somehow a surreal yet fitting end to a most bizarre day from start to finish.

As a result of my injuries, Soeren and I had to cancel our flights back to Manila and endure a 21 hour boatride from Cebu instead. I am now receiving medical care at Makati Med and the specialist there is hopeful that the hole in my eardrum will be healed within the next 4-6 weeks.