It’s been a long time since I went on hiatus, but it’s time to fill in
the stories once again. I started this blog to share my experiences with
family, friends, travelers and dreamers. It’ll soon become clear why the long break,
but thank you for keeping touch and catching up with me. The next dozen posts
certainly have some magic in them. This one's chock full of fun stories, so settle down with a cup o' tea and enjoy!
When we left off, my time in Cebu closed with bad news. Aunt Kathy
boarded a plane to Seattle with butterflies in her stomach for what she was
leaving behind and for what was waiting for her at home. My dear friend, Tony’s
dad passed on. I, on the other hand, was ready to head south.
The southern islands of the Philippines are shrouded in mystery and
pain. Throughout my travels I’d received warnings to under no circumstances
visit the south. Foreigners have been kidnapped for ransom by mountain rebels,
who fight amongst themselves and against the government. A nurse who works with
my mom lost a son when they couldn’t produce the ransom in time. The Philippines
is a very Catholic country, but the few Muslims who reside there are ostracized
by much of the Christian population and relegated to “Muslim Autonomous Zones”
within the southern islands. Also woven into the veil, however, is a sense of wonder
– curiosity for the substantial fruits, arts, and indigenous culture that are
exported to the rest of the Philippines.
I “risked” a visit to Mindanao for four reasons:
1.) I’m a musician and sound healer, so I had to visit the Talaandig
tribe of artists, musicians, and peace-workers I’d heard so much about from the
Inner Dance circle.
2.) I’m a raw foods expert so I couldn’t miss the famous Kadawayan
Festival of Fruits in Davao City.
3.) The Philippine Eagle is my spirit animal, and the Philippine Eagle
Foundation is perched in the mountains above Davao.
4.) Leave through Zamboanga
4.) Leave through Zamboanga
Bukidnon
Two weeks before I left Cebu, a huge new ferry was Christened. I
boarded that boat early in September feeling present, empowered, and brimming
with wisdom to share with whoever was interested; but most of all, I took in my
surroundings with every sense available to me. It was like the moment when Neo
became “The One” and saw the Matrix from the inside out. I was pulled aside by security, who probably don't see many white tourists taking the "poor man's berth" on a boat from Cebu to Cagayan de Oro in Mindanao. A long series of gruff questions ended with, "What is your religion? You are Christian dibah?" I said, "No, I'm not Christian and I'm not Muslim, but I do believe in God." "Good. Very good," he replied. I found it funny The boat was 8 hours delayed, so I slept on the cement floor of the boat terminal along with everyone else. Then, with an expanded sense of "Matrix" time, the 20-hour ferry ride
seemed to take forever and no time at the same time.
I disembarked at Cagayan de Oro before sunrise, took a jeepney to the
bus terminal, and caught the morning bus up into the mountains. Just inside
Bukidnon province was a huge junction, and I had to ask quite a few people to figure
out which road and which combination of jeepneys would get me up into the
remote region where the Talaandig tribe resides. I loaded up on some banana,
papaya, chico, carrots, and rambutan, and hit the road.
After 20 hours at sea and ten hours on the road, I was ready to arrive.
My final jeepney had been climbing a dirt road for more than an hour when it
started to rain. I helped several others pull rain covers over the window
openings. When a bridge crossed a river surging at maximum, I thought, “Wow,
the rain must be strong upstream.” Five minutes later, the wind came. While
still moving, I reached up and untied Josephine from the roof of the jeep and
brought her inside the fuming jeep and let her take the seat of someone who had
already been dropped at their stop. As soon as my guitar was safe inside, the
clouds dumped on us. I can count by fingers the number of times have I been in
rain like that. Totally unable to see, I was happy when the jeep finally
stopped. But it stopped too late. I was at the end of the line, but the jeep
driver had misunderstood where I wanted to be dropped off. He kindly helped me
find a ride back in the right direction, and two jeeps later, I was headed up
another dirt road - a brand new dirt road. Newly cut the day before, the dense, clay soil
was totally exposed. Pop quiz:
What do you get when you mix water with clay? ………………………. Stuck. Everybody gets
stuck.
big, bad excavator |
Rain dumping
harder than ever, the excavator used a long arm to nudge us a quarter mile
through the newly cut section of road to a section of decent traction. Not long
after we bumped along by our own petrol, the driver dropped me off, pointed
along a dirt road bordered by rice paddies and funny buildings and said,
“Talaandig,” the word flipping off the end of his pointer finger like a
chirping cricket diving into one of the many patches of water on the path
beyond.
Child's rubber sandal doused while I waited for the elders |
Time with the Talaandig
Lugaw-stewin', coffee-brewin' kitchen |
At a break in the rain, I was brought to the home of the lead artist, a
beautiful two-story structure made with care by his own hands from hardwood,
bamboo, and corrugated tin. He offered me a bowl of “lugaw” – a hot rice
porridge fresh off the fire that I seasoned with salt and pepper. At other
times in my travels I had put aside diet restrictions when I felt propriety
demanded it. This was one of those times. As a raw vegan, a cooked porridge of glutinous,
white rice was a go-to food, as it were. But after the long boat ride, all of
those buses and jeeps, getting stuck in the mud, and arriving in a cool rain,
lugaw made with open love was a meal I remember as particularly special.
Monkey skull bamboo chimes overlooking the neighbor next door |
Front door to my home for 5 days with the Talaandig |
Second Floor |
Living room walls decorated with Japanese bamboo. |
Kudlung and windows from branches |
I spent most of my time inside because the sky continued to weep softly
off and on for several days, and because the men who owned the house are the
music instrument makers of the village. My host, the eldest, specialized in
drums, another was a master flute maker, and yet another specialized in the “kudlung”,
a peculiar two-stringed instrument. I am a percussionist, flautist, and
guitarist with a particular interest in earthy-sounding native instruments
living with indigenous instrument-makers and soil painters in a natural home
high in the misty mountains. I was in heaven.
Canvasses ready for carving |
Soil painting above my sleeping mat upstairs |
These amazing people are also famous for their art from different
colored clays, a medium called soil painting. The Talaandig are making waves
throughout the Philippines as they use music and art to transmit messages of natural
wisdom, peace, and Filipino empowerment in the face of globalization. Deep cultural themes, stories, and messages come out through their art, and one gets the sense that below that layer of clay, the inspiration for each painting goes much deeper than what anyone born outside the tribe could understand.
My host carving drums by hand. The drum head is tanned by hand as well... |
View from the second floor |
Bathroom at the house decorated with soil paintings rejected by their maker, my host |
All of the paints used are clays of different pigments |
The sun rose bright in the morning, and everyone’s spirits rose and
fell in tangible waves of vibrant love and murky sadness. Eight men including
my drum-carving host and flute master Oliver carried the tiny casket on their
shoulders with all of us in procession behind. After winding through the dirt
streets of the village and breaking trail down a steep hill into a marshy
field, we finally arrived at the cemetery. It was a forest of reeds and
Japanese bamboo that obscured small markings where the dead were buried. You
had to know exactly where your loved one was buried or you might get lost and
add your own corpse to the forest fed on human remains. It was beautiful actually.
Her place was specially chosen and prepared. The path to the grave was marked
with several sticks and smoking herbs that must be stepped over, similar to the
smudge at the threshold of the vigil house. The funeral was presided over by a
spiritual leader who was also ordained as a catholic priest. I could tell that
his words were well spoken and touching by his alternating fluidity and
faltering, and by the reactions of the 50 of us who were listening. I was
tucked away in the reeds, tears oozing out, but also feeling blessed at being
able to observe with expanded awareness the beauty of life.
This painting was too precious to be sold by the artist. It tells many stories important to the Talaandig, stories rendered with exceptional skill, basic tools, and clay. |
More soil paintings |
The next morning, Oliver presented me with the flute I’d asked him to make and was absolutely blown away by the craftsmanship. It was made of bamboo, holes were burned in by a hand, microscopically detailed carvings done with a small awl, colored with ash from the fire where we cooked each day, and coated with coconut oil to seal the ash in the grooves. He was trained by the last flute master of the village who’d died of old age less than a year before. With his typical luminous smile, he traded me his masterpiece for enough money to buy seasonings and clothes for months. I asked him how old he was – 22 years old. My heart nearly broke at that. He was wiser and more skillful than any “educated” American I had ever met. In a culture more full of heart than most of the rest of the world, this young man shocked me with the electric power of his endless love. I’ll remember him until my mind breaks or death clasps my hand like it did his sister’s.
Oliver's signature |
Farewell photo |
My friends and I flagged a jeepney, gave each other tearful goodbyes,
and turned to what lay ahead.
Side note: If you're interested in commissioning a painting, it can be done through the tribe's facebook page: https://www.facebook.com/pages/Talaandig-soil-paintings/164676080218380
The next day, we biked the opposite direction through “Muslim” villages
in the countryside. An occasional headscarved woman passed us by. Oddly enough,
we had difficulty finding fruits in the country, presumably because everyone
had brought all of their ripe fruit to the streets for the festival the week
before. After riding through tall grasses and along the edges of rice paddies,
we stumbled upon a small property lined with “madre de cacao” trees with large,
ripe, purple pods hanging from them. It was the first time I’d actually seen
the fruit of the tree. On the way back, we found a huge rambutan tree hanging
over a dirt road we followed, and then saw the little girl at the very top filling
plastic bags on either shoulder with bright red fruit. We offered money for
some, but the lady of the house simply gave us a bagfull for free. I was
touched.
Then I met with Baba’s Foundation, which was partnered with the Cebuana
friend who connected me to her brother Dev in Davao. They soon had me giving
Inner Dance sessions at their new wellness center. On the first day, the
speaker they had was broken, but they had a rusty toy guitar! I mustered all of
my training in music improvisation and the basics I knew on the guitar, I
facilitated an hour-long Inner Dance session by walking among the bodies
sprawled out on the floor and playing and singing along with the energy of the
space. I facilitated a series of Inner Dance sessions for a week, and the music
situation improved with each input. When discussion closed on the final day, I
descended the stairs and was surprised to see another dance happening in the
large open entryway; the candle dance. Here's an example:
The weekend after I facilitated Inner Dance, Dev took me out to an
island they work at called Maxima resort. The deal went like this: if he fire
danced on the weekends with his partner, Christian, then he could run a stall
to sell his sculptures, necklaces, art, and hand-painted T-shirts during the
day. It was such a fun time. There was a huge water slide into the ocean,
snorkeling around a vibrant reef, and one of those blob things you use to
launch people into the sky by jumping on the other end. After hours in the
tropical waters, I cooled off by swinging in a hammock under some trees and
hand-sewing a pair of loose yoga-type pants. On the last night, a Sunday, I sat
on a floating dock and played drums behind Dev’s and Christian’s fire-twirling.
In the middle of a dance, a sea snake slithered up onto our dock. It was one of
those super-venomous, white-and-black banded snakes you’re only supposed to see
on TV. But this one was really sick. A healthy snake would’ve swam off to
another respite once it realized we were there first, but this one seemed to
lack the energy to swim another stroke. When I touched it or tried to nudge it
away from the drum, it wouldn’t even react. It seemed barely alive. For me, the
drumming and fire dancing was channeled more towards healing the poor snake
than entertaining the middle-class Filipinos who had gathered outside their
cabins to watch this spectacle on the water. In the morning, we hitched to the
port on a delivery truck, ferried back to the mainland, and then hitched back
home.
Philippine Eagle Foundation
I’d intended to leave Davao by heading West to a port in Zamboanga and
south to Indonesia, but in my final week there, fighting broke out between
rebels and the government in that region, and bus transport was suspended. So I
changed my plans. I booked a flight to Singapore from Cebu City, and hopped a
bus north to catch it. On the way, I had to stop at the Philippine Eagle
Foundation, which I’d passed on my way. I came to the Philippines for four
reasons: to explore my roots, to spend time with my best friend, to find
myself, and to see the Philippine Eagle. Three down, one to go. I wasn’t going
to miss it.
Side note: If you're interested in commissioning a painting, it can be done through the tribe's facebook page: https://www.facebook.com/pages/Talaandig-soil-paintings/164676080218380
Davao City: Kadawayan Festival of
Fruits
Mmmmmmm.... Rambutan....... |
Several jeepneys later, I was on a bus to Davao City on the Southern
Coast of Mindanao. The highest mountain in the Philippines, Mt Apo, crests the
mountain range of southern Mindanao. On the way up, our bus stopped at a
cluster of stalls. A small delivery truck was parked on the other side of the
narrow road, several people scurrying back and forth through traffic to sell
rambutan to us on the bus. I bought a huge bag and it was so good I ate the
whole thing by the time we reached Davao. It was only a taste of the fruit
gorging to come. Crossing over the mountains, we passed a huge sculpture of a
Philippine Eagle, and I reminded myself that I have to stop there when I leave
Davao. Several friends from Cebu had connected me with cousins and friends of
theirs I could stay with in Davao. They were expecting me.
Pack horse on the side of the road with crazy improvised saddle/harness |
Mt. Apo |
Selling snacks at a bus terminal. Happens all over SE Asia, but homemade goods are particularly special in the Philippines |
My bus puttered along the coast through Friday rush hour-type traffic.
The misty peak of Mt Apo fell behind us as we inched our way towards the heart
of the city. I knew we had arrived when I smelled what I had come for: durian.
The whole city smelled of durian. Durian is a supernutritious, utterly unique
fruit. Called the king of fruits, it had very hard spikes around the outside,
and was even attached to the ends of poles and commonly used as a weapon. It
has a unique smell that some find revolting and others find mouthwatering.
Durian’s yellow flesh-covered pods are sweet, rich, and creamy, and not the
kind of thing you’d want to eat to top off a stomach already full from a cooked
meal. There are two kinds of people – those to abhor durian, and those who
worship it. I’m of the latter persuasion. The first time I tasted it, it was
too much for me and my palate just couldn’t make heads nor tails of it. The second
time, I was full when I tasted it. But the third time, my mind, body and soul
said, “Who needs to eat anything else? This is the KING OF FOODS!” Davao must have
been the main export route for the fruit to the rest of SE Asia, because it was
practically buried beneath an aromatic, spiky, smothering avalanche of durian. The
Kadawayan festival of fruits had ended a week earlier, but most of the vendors
were still around. It was peak season for most fruits, and Mindanao was famous
for the durian shipped from Davao.
Durian Varieties |
Gail, a cousin-of-a-friend-of-a-friend I’d arranged to meet was waiting
for my bus after work. In the dark, she led me down into a valley on the
outskirts of Davao, where she lived with her fiancée, Donald, and
friend-of-my-friend, Dev. The house was very small in a cluster of wall-to-wall
houses broken up by narrow dirt roads. The building was only 3 meters wide, with
a covered outdoor eating space in front, Gail and Donald’s 3x4 meter room
attached to it. Down a narrow passage beside the house was a door to Dev’s room
(mine for a while), which was scarcely larger than Gail and Donald’s. Farther
down the passage was a covered C.R. (bathroom) with a ladle toilet/shower and a
kitchen counter/sink under the same awning.
A lean-to made of scrap materials and a 30-year-old tin roof was
snuggled up against the back wall of the building. My friend Tony’s partner’s Shiva’s
oldest brother, Jun Jun still lived there where they grew up. Theirs was a
tragic story. Jun Jun was the oldest, Shiva in the middle, a third whose name I
couldn’t remember, and Clenton youngest. When Clenton was very young, their dad
died. Their mom left them to fend for themselves, teenaged Shiva raising his
brothers when he was still figuring out what puberty was. A typhoon caused a
potable water shortage, and though the neighbors helped when they could, severe
scarcity nearly destroyed them. Many years later, Tony is with Shiva in Cebu,
and has taken responsibility for little Clenton’s living situation and
education expenses. Jun Jun lives there now, snatching every labor contract he
can get, and while by Western standards he would be considered the poorest of
the poor, his intelligence helped him see how beautiful life is for providing
for him. So there I was, visiting the place where it all happened. Gail,
Donald, their daughter, Dev, and Jun Jun welcomed me, we ate together, and
slept. I had planned for one week that soon became three, true to the pattern
of the rest of my time in the Philippines.
Jun Jun and Dev
Jun Jun and Dev took it upon themselves to tour me around their home
city the best way I could’ve imagined. We hopped on some kid-sized bicycles that
were pieced together with spare parts and went on the hunt………. for fruit! We started with the malls and
markets of downtown Davao. We bought mangoes, mangosteens, durian, marang,
unusual bananas, and a host of other fruits that were in such abundance during
Davao’s famous fruit harvesting season. We drank fruit smoothies at a street
stall – mine was durian of course – minus the condensed milk and white sugar
she was habituated to including in every blend. At dusk, we visited an eerie
amusement park with weird sculptures, empty lots, and a life-sized memorial
sculpture for Lolong, the largest crocodile ever captured. It always baffled me
how a country comprised of 7,100 small, mountainous islands separated from the
mainland by 800 miles of the South China Sea could evolve the largest eagle
(Philippine Eagle), saltwater crocodile, bat (Giant Golden-Crowned Flying Fox),
and others, and still contain thousands of undiscovered animal species.
Lolong, the largest crocodile ever captured, died shortly after placed in captivity. |
After those first two days, I wandered the city by foot, sampling fruit
and conversation wherever I walked. Durian was everywhere. At one point, I was
quite hungry (very unusual for me), and I wanted, I needed durian. There are so
many varieties too! “Basketball” was one of my favorites, but everyone swears
to a different variety. Other common varieties were “Puyat”, “Duyaya”, “Kod”,
and “Aroncillo”. All are simply scrumptious to me. I bought some puyat durian,
which the vendor opened and then spooned the pods into a bag for me. They’re
such a delicacy and I couldn’t believe how cheap it was there at the source
during peak season. I was in the front seat of a jeepney in traffic when we
came to a long stop. Knowing how some people hate and some people loved the
smell of durian, I asked the driver next to me if it was okay if I opened the
bag and ate some of the durian teasing my nostrils from within. “You like
durian?” He asked. “Love it!” I said. “Okay, no problem! There durian
everywhere see?” “Yes, I’ve seen.” So I opened it up and ate one after another
until I’d finished the whole thing. The other passengers behind me were split
right down the middle. Those on the left couldn’t restrain their giggles at the
sight of a white “Americano” stuffing his face full of the controversial fruit.
Those on the right glared at me, restraining their own smirks, because they
hated the smell of durian. I was so satisfied by the end that I really didn’t
care. I was nourished with happiness bursting my seams.
This is where donated shoes go - a store that sells them somewhere in SE Asia |
The candle dance is a traditional Philippine dance usually performed by
groups of women but occasionally by couples. It is elegant, extremely
difficult, and moving. These were girls aged 16-20 or so preparing for a
competition the next day. The sun was down, the lights were out, and the
candles were lit. Standing behind a crowd of supporters and passersby, I was
captivated. With tall flames on their heads and hands, the danger element of
Filipino dancing arts was masterfully displayed for all to see. The serendipity
and serenity of those moments spanned less than an hour but seemed to mold
space and time around those 20 girls. It was one of my more enduring memories
of the Philippines.
Jun Jun, Dev and Christian |
A few days later, I finally made it to Ponce Suites in an obscure
neighborhood of Davao. I’d heard from my friend Pi about this 5-story inn run
by an artistic genius. It took a few tries to find it, but I knew I’d made it because
the street was littered with bus-sized sculptures before you even came into
view of the place. Every inch of the place is covered in art that was
constantly circulating, each piece making a profound statement about the human
condition or power relations. The top floor felt like we were inside his brain,
seeing how his mind worked in exquisite detail. Words won’t do it justice, so
here are a series of photos:
Inside a durian |
Philippine Eagle Foundation
I finally said goodbye to my hosts in the best way I could think to:
over durian. I gave special thanks to Jun Jun and Dev. Jun had talked about
wanting to rebuild the lean-to, so I invested in a high-quality hammer, nails,
and good work gloves (things Filipino construction workers never see in their
entire careers). Dev’s guitar was broken down and needed work. I’d bought parts
and strings and fixed it up nice for him. I was sad to leave, but I had
butterflies over the prospect of moving on to another country in SE Asia for
the first time since I arrived in the Philippines 14 months earlier.
The Foundation was amazing in that they rescued and protected birds
that were in trouble, but the sight of birds in a cage will forever make me
sad. The Philippine Eagle is my spirit animal. I’d dreamt of it, studied and
worn a pendant of one around my neck for most of my journey through the
Philippines. Being able to interact with them and with other Philippine raptors
was something really special. The merchandise vendors near the entrance seemed
to sense my excitement and playfully tickled the reason out of me.
Tony was expecting me and played gracious host for a few more beautiful
days. I said goodbye one last time, made my way to the airport, and, for
reasons I’d rather not disclose in a public forum, nervously endured quite the
adventure actually getting on the plane. But when I was on my way to Singapore,
the tears of loss and joy trickled down nearly the entire 90 minutes in the
air.