Wanderlust Heaven!

It’s already summer here. Incredible. Not that winter is too strenuous…if it drops below 15 Celsius (approx. 60 Fahrenheit) it’s considered cold. There was an article in one of the local papers about Manilans ‘shivering in their beds’ because the thermometer had dropped to 18 Celsius. Me, I was only shivering because the aircon was on and it’s always hard to get the temp just right – when I hit the sack I’m warm, when I wake up I’m cold and stiff (my back and legs, that is). Not that I’m complaining – at least I’m not shivering all day long. Escaping the US Northeast winter was not a bad thing to do.

But the heat here does present challenges. I always make sure to carry a handkerchief around with me, to wipe off the sweat. Not many locals seem to need one. And even though I wait till sunset/night to go for a run, it’s still damn hot. I usually wear a bandana to soak up the sweat – which often pops up while I’m still stretching – and that’s drenched within a couple minutes. I wear some lightweight ‘new age’ running shirts, but even those get soaked here. Running in this heat does get you in shape, though…and my timing appears to have been pretty good. If I weren’t yet in shape, with ‘summer’ upon us, I’d be hard-pressed to ramp it up now. As it stands, I can probably handle the uptick in temp. Always good to try to stay in shape before it gets really hot. Thank God for ‘winter’ here!

The other night I was making my way round Rizal Park, with just a few hundred meters to go, when I decided to take the last stretch hard. I’ve been meaning for the past year to try something called ‘Sprint 8,’ which I read about in Outside magazine – the technique involved alternating hard sprints with regular running, with the idea being that the stress of sprinting can build significant muscle and dramatically reduce fat. You can probably read about this online, perhaps it’s archived at Outside.com. Anyway, it’s not easy/unobtrusive to try this sort of thing where I’ve been traveling – I’d look pretty weird and might even risk getting arrested – imagine a swarthy sweaty Semitic-looking fellow wearing a bandana (need to avoid wearing the red one) running at top speed. No one else around me is ever running…they’re just looking at me. So while I want to try Sprint 8, it still hasn’t happened. But the other night I started sprinting, just to see how it felt. And I was doing pretty well…felt strong, legs were springy, and I was moving along quickly. A kalera (horse-drawn carriage) was prancing along just ahead…I accelerated and drew alongside it, then passed it. The driver looked at me like I was crazy. I kept sprinting and soon got to the ‘finish line.’ The kalera pulled up, and the driver grinned at me and gave me a thumbs-up. Filipinos are so good-natured that way…they might think you’re crazy, and they’re often right. But they do tend to like randomness and I like to provide some from time to time.

My back’s been bothering me, and has been for some time. I’ve been adjusting my yoga routine to try to address this…have mostly been practicing asanas (poses) that stretch the lower back and twist the spinal column. Has helped, I think – but not enough. So have been going to get a massage a couple time a week, right near my apartment. InSense is the name of the place, and it’s quite good. The masseuses are well-trained, the place is serene, and they give you a good beating – feels like they’re doing yoga on you. I walk out of there 80% better, at least for a day or two. I’ve always been one to classify massage as entirely optional – a luxury and not a necessity. But I’m rethinking that classification – might need to make twice-weekly massages part of the routine, as far as my travels allow. My thinking is probably typical of a Western male – we don’t spend much time, even now with acceptance of metrosexual lifestyles, on our well-being and grooming. We might buy an expensive suit, but it often stops there. Many Asians think differently – they get massages often, get manicures/pedicures/facials while getting their hair cut (nearly every salon/barber shop offers these sorts of things, and sometimes much more, if you know what I mean), and treat themselves generally pretty well. I speak, of course, of those Asians with loot – those without scrape by as best they can.

Was in Makati City a few days ago – wanted to check out the Shangri-La Hotel’s Conways Bar, a place I’d been many years before. And actually, Manila/Makati City was an early stop for me with Monitor in Asia. In 1998 I visited there, with a colleague from Boston named Don, for a presentation to some senior regional Monitor folks. I was working mostly in Tokyo, and was happy to get a break and see a new city. Don and I did our presentations, they went fine, and that night a bunch of us went out nearby. There was a great bar on the corner called Giraffe – I seem to recall that around 3 a.m. a colleague and I were stumbling out to return to the hotel, and we were followed out of the bar by a couple local lasses, who asked us where we were going. Probably professionals, although you can rarely be sure around here. Anyway, we sidestepped them and went to sleep – but for a while after that we recalled that night and shared some laughs. This time, I looked around for Giraffe, to return to the scene of the crime…finally asked a guard, who told me it had been gone for three years. Man, that made me feel old.

Had dinner last Friday night (sorry for jumping around here…the week was a bit of a blur) with my ex-colleague Kathy and her husband Vince. Went out to Fort Bonifacio, a complex which was still being developed when I was last out there a few years ago. Now it’s a huge set of residential and commercial buildings. Lots of restaurants and other stuff there. Met at Jill’s, which is owned by some friends of Kathy’s. Drank quite a bit…ordered a bunch of stuff, the wait staff flubbed some of the orders, probably because they were over-eager to please us, but everything worked out and we ate/drank our fill. Kathy was surprised at how much weight I’ve lost. And she looked great too – we agreed that leaving Monitor was a healthy decision for us both. Vince has also lost a lot of weight – he’s an entrepreneur and now seems to have time to hit the gym most days. The local diet doesn’t make it easy to keep a girlish figure intact, but we’re managing…

Got emails from Iain in Oz and Georges in D.C. on the same morning. Their wives (Stephanie and Alice) just gave birth, and everything’s well. That necessitated a round of congratulatory phone calls. This was Iain’s first child, and it sounded like he was a happy daddy. Now the hard work starts!

Also got an email from my fraternity brother Ari. Ari’s been a very loyal reader – claims my slog provides a welcome respite from his being chained to the trading desk. It’s funny…Ari was a few years behind me at university (3 years?), and we only knew each other a bit there. I feel like we’ve corresponded more recently, and that’s been good. He’s out in Jackson Hole – talk about a tough posting. I have serious doubts he’s ‘chained to the trading desk.’ I have visions of Ari shouting sell orders into his mobile while cranking down a double-diamond at 1 p.m., ostensibly on his lunch break. Ari – rebuttal?

Between my slog and LinkedIn, an online ‘relationship-building community’, I feel like I’ve been in touch with about 5 million people recently. I do get a hell of a lot of emails, even without a job. So I spend a lot of time in front of a computer, still, but I think it’s worth it. With my solitary lifestyle and endless meanderings, I need a network and links and it’s not that hard to keep that going nowadays.

Did I mention that I find the ‘classical’ aspects of Filipino society somewhat touching? Shop-girls wear their hair in buns, often with a hairnet – haven’t seen one of those in the West in about 20 years. Feels like I’m looking at old pics of my grandmother as a girl. Everyone’s in uniform here – Asians in general get off on their uniforms, I think it helps them make sense of their place in society. And many look pretty spiffy in those threads, to be sure. I feel like a slob slouching around in my REI shorts, Tevas, and grotty shirt. And I’m comfortable with that. Another thing – when you hand over cash for something, the recipient (waiter, clerk) says “I received X pesos.” Not sure if that practice arose to prevent confusion? Dishonesty? Is it just a polite thing to do? Or what? Anyway, it’s interesting – the only time you do something like that in the West is when you hand over a C-note.

Went over to Manila’s Chinatown last weekend for the Chinese New Year holiday celebrations. Ongpin Street is the center of Chinatown, it’s a long winding street lined with gold/jewelry shops and little eateries. Amazing how many little gold shops there are, in Chinatowns everywhere – probably a sizeable amount of wealth sitting under cases. I suppose we all love money – or more likely, we all love the love of money. Manila’s Chinatown is relentlessly commercial, as you might expect.

As I was walking down Ongpin Street I heard a loudspeaker kick in, with a scratchy version of ‘Dashing Through the Snow,’ a Xmas classic. Didn’t expect to hear that number during a tropical Chinese New Year parade. Then the speaker paused, and the Chinese version of the song was played – that was very odd…and that is why I love to travel. Weird things like that happen all the time…if I wasn’t so lazy I’d share about a hundred of these instances with you every week.

The usual dragon parades and drum-banging were in evidence – a couple photos here to whet your appetite:

Also saw the ubiquitous US chains – McD’s and Starbucks – but these stores here had Chinese characters adjacent to their usual names – haven’t seen that before, even in mainland China:

Was walking out of Chinatown, looking for a taxi back to Ermita. Wasn’t quite sure where I was, but I wasn’t in a hurry and was cool about taking a lengthy stroll if necessary. Young fellow sidled up to me and offered his card – he was a ‘Property Consultant’ and told me all about a new development going up across the street. I let him go on for a while, and finally said I was just a tourist, not a long-term resident. His pitch was not aided by the random fact that we were walking on a bridge over a stinking trash-choked canal when he was selling his cause. There are good places to live here, but this ‘hood wasn’t one of them.

That night I was walking down a street in Ermita, munching a 7-11 sandwich. A young guy ran up to me and startled me – he was obviously out of his mind with hunger and wanted my sandwich. I haven’t seen a lot of real hunger…which certainly doesn’t mean it’s not common. I don’t cross paths often with people who are starving – but they exist. And this fellow was desperate. At first I was so startled I moved away from him – my defenses are high when I’m walking down (certain) streets. He was barely coherent and very aggressive – and after a few steps away I gave him my sandwich and walked off. Disturbing experience – perhaps some people thrive on providing assistance to the needy and find it enriching. As for me – I find scenes like this sobering and they remind me that my global jaunt is not just all about me, the people I meet and observe have their own lives and aren’t just actors in my play…

But these experiences can happen anywhere. Back in 1993 or 1994, I was having dinner with my b-school friend Alex in Manhattan. We were at Margaritaville or a similar Tex-Mex place, sitting at our table, when suddenly a ragged-looking woman sat down with us and asked us for our food. She had come in straight off the street and was hungry – we gave her a plate of food and that was that. It was pretty depressing. Probably indicates that I’ve built a shell around myself, and whatever penetrates is going to sting – but I’m sure I’m not alone in that regard.

Jumping around…most of the trucks and jeepneys here have signs saying ‘How’s my driving? Call X if any complaints.’ Yeah, right. They’re driving like maniacs, and if someone calls to complain all that will happen is that one or two bribes get made. I wonder how safe the vehicle-licensing process is. I wouldn’t be surprised if you can buy your driver’s license here – there are some insane/incompetent drivers (admittedly, those can be different things).

Was in Robinsons Mall last Sunday. Within the space of 5 minutes two different fellows walked up to me and asked me for ‘powdered milk’ for their children. The first came up to me as if he recognized me. He said he was Rico ‘from the hotel,’ and that he had seen me there. He said it was his day off and that he was getting presents for his son’s birthday. Asked me where I was going. I said I was doing some errands…I said see you later and goodbye. I walked over to the ATM, got some cash, and kept going. Rico bumped into me again…then asked me for some pesos for the milk. Had obviously seen me at the ATM. My paranoia set in. I said I needed all my cash right away but that if he saw me at the hotel later I could loan him a bit. He persisted…I said sorry…he smiled and walked away. Later at the hotel I asked if ‘Rico’ worked there. No. Apparently these scams take place all the time, and many foreigners fall for them. I mean to tell mall security, but they’ll probably do little or nothing. Be forewarned.

Was walking to Rizal Park to go for a run a couple nights ago. There’s a makeshift basketball hoop at the end of my street – Arkansas Street. Bizarre. Anyway, a guy was shooting hoops there. Basketball is the #1 sport here – unlike anywhere else in Asia. Many good players here. And this fellow was damn good – had a very nice turnaround jump shot technique that reminded me of growing up in Framingham, where our neighbor Lee, a former college hoops star, taught me the classic turnaround move and helped me get my game in order. This Filipino had a great move, probably as good as Lee’s and much better than mine. Be forewarned.

Went out for a steak at the Australian-owned Swagman Hotel. Don’t often go for a steak – too boring a meal, there’s almost always something more interesting on offer. But this night I didn’t have a yearning for anything special – so steak was a default option. Got a pepper steak – which was solid, not spectacular. I’m fairly demanding about steak, despite rarely eating one. I’ve been spoiled by Argentinian beef, by Morton’s, and other high-end products. Anyway…I felt like getting into my grandfather’s Oldsmobile after having the steak, felt like a 1950s commercial. I don’t plan to become a regular steak eater, it just isn’t me, I suppose.

The Swagman restaurant was sleazy. Lots of old white geezers with young(er) Filipinas. The old men didn’t look particularly healthy – probably because they eat steak every night – and their consorts weren’t the best of the Philippines either. Gave me a shudder. Put the scene out of my mind and read the paper.

Spent some time reading my old slog entries and looking at last year’s photos. Certainly helped me recall the mileage and experiences of the past 10 months or so. My time in Oz with Iain and Stephanie feels like ancient history. In the time since I left Oz, Iain pretty much finished building his house, he and Stephanie have had a daughter (probably conceived right when I was leaving!), and his business has grown tremendously. And there are other ‘perspective-building’ examples I could mention. Time isn’t an easy variable to analyze, and I find that I need comparatives to help me gauge how far I’ve come.

Saw the movie Ghost Rider, with Nicholas Cage and (meow!) Eva Mendes. The movie was OK, reasonably entertaining. Absurb story, but great motorcycle stunts. Much better than anything I could muster last winter in Goa. And Eva’s wardrobe was superb – her cleavage deserves its own feature film at some point. I think she’s up there with Jessica Alba and a couple others. Your nominations, dear readers, are sought and welcomed.

The traffic signals here are sometimes confusing. There are the usual green, yellow and red lights, and pedestrian walk/don’t walk signals. Then there are instances with no signals at all – and then you have a free for all, with cars coming from all four directions and pedestrians trying to get through in one piece. And even with red lights and walk signals, cars often go straight through. You need to be on your toes here – driving is a creative activity and being a space cadet can have serious ramifications.

My friend Tim’s dad passed away while traveling in India. Got the sad news from Paul in Boston. Called Tim to see how he’s holding up. Sounded OK – recognizes that his dad lived a cool and full life and that it was his time. Still, very hard times. Of course I recalled losing my mom and how hard that was, and still is. It’s a good thing we only have two parents…I’m not I could take more than a couple losses like that.

Went over to the SM Mall of Asia to get some cologne. I like Etienne Aigner X Limited, which isn’t that easy to find. This mall is new and probably the largest in the RP. And given the size and popularity of malls here, that’s saying something. This place was extraordinary – ice skating rink, petting zoo, thousands of stores and restaurants, car givaways, all that. Found my cologne. Ate a great fish meal – which threw off my entire schedule but was worth it. During the cab ride home – during which time the cabbie pulled over twice, one for gas, once to piss in the bushes – we talked about the mall. Seems like it’s Chinoy (Chinese-Filipino) owned. Ayala family? Not sure. Anyway, the cabbie said it wasn’t ‘Filipino-owned,’ it was ‘Chinese-owned.’ There’s certainly an undercurrent of resentment against the Chinoys – they stick together, are relatively successful, and you don’t find them sleeping out on the street. I don’t have much empathy for those bashing the Chinoys – I mean, get over it. Get off your ass and make something of your own life, and leave the Chinoys alone. They might have the advantages of comm(unity), but you can’t say they’re favored by the government, they don’t have special privileges. Quite the opposite. It’s not as bad as in Indonesia, where any major riot tends to result in arson in Jakarta’s Chinatown, and often much worse…but the Chinese in the RP are often treated like crap and the wealthy ones are subject to kidnapping. It’s always easier to divide than to unite, but it must be done…

Have seen quite a few Arabs in the neighborhood. And I’m told that they come over from the Middle East for gambling and sex. I walked by an Arab in full regalia with a young Filipina. She called him Mohamed. Beautiful – whoring Mohamed. Well, at least there’s diversity in that world too.

Have been buying the basic foodstuffs and sticking them in my fridge. Started with the convenience store, then shifted most purchases over to Robinsons Supermarket in the mall, but just found a cheaper supermarket down the street. The price diffs are significant – a 1.5L bottle of water is 32 pesos in the c-store, vs. about 20 pesos in Robinsons and only 15 in the cheapo supermarket. Since the distances from my place are about the same, the only issue is trading hours. But I think I’ll make most of my buys in the supermarket. We aren’t talking about big sums…32 pesos is less than 70 US cents. Still, I am cheap in many ways and where I can economize, I will. Then I’ll be able to go out and have a bunch of beers every night…

It’s funny. Last year when I was in Cebu I fell in with a group of guys at Our Place bar. Most of them are there because they married locals, and they tend to have modest jobs, like teaching English to Koreans students (ugh!). Most of them are economizers of the highest order – they take jeepneys around town, and generally live like locals. When I was there I didn’t have much empathy for them and their lifestyles – while they’re good guys, I thought they were a bit ridiculous. But having spent more time over here, I can understand where they’re coming from. We all like to save a buck where we can, and no one likes to get ripped off. The definition of that term shifts depending on your situation…

Wanted some Middle Eastern food a couple nights ago – walked a few minutes to a place I’d seen called Cedars. Lebanese food. But it was padlocked – must be out of biz. Walked around nearby Remedios Circle, which is packed with places. Stopped in one I’d read about, called Ciboney, after a city in Cuba. Excellent find. The owner, Johnny, looks like a Pinoy Ernest Hemingway, his staff are all hotties, and within 15 minutes we were sharing a gratis pitcher of brandy/ice-tea (better than it sounds) and cigarettes. Ate a pretty good fish dish for dinner, and stayed there for hours. While there I also met a fellow who manages the Ringside Bar in Makati City. This places features female boxing (they wear bikinis) and I’d seen the place, but never stopped in. I think I’ll be there pretty soon…

Have gotten some practice lately in squatting – over toilet seats, that is. Quite a few places lack a seat, or even more than a hole in the ground. My calf muscles are up to the task, I’m happy to report. But there is always a slight degree of fear – namely, that I’ll fail to lean far enough back and will ‘make a deposit’ in my shorts.

While we’re on the topic…I usually try to take a crap first thing in the a.m., so that I won’t have any emergencies later in the day. And I like to sit on the throne and read a few pages in calm, clean surroundings. But this past couple weeks my schedule has been off and I’ve found myself having to make deposits in random places. Or at least I get the urge, then race to my apartment to finalize matters. Usually the urge comes, annoyingly, while I’m sitting at the computer typing away. My body must get fooled into thinking I’m on the toilet and ready to go. Maybe my sphincter muscles need more tone. In any event, if you get curt emails from me, you now know the reason!

Got a haircut yesterday. And sprung for a manicure and ear-cleaning while sitting there. On my way out, one of the many girls who work there asked me if I am an Arab. I smiled, looked in the mirror and said, no way. And she smiled right back at me. Over and out.

I think my muse visited me this week – this entry will be a lengthy one. Manila has perhaps been the muse in question – this city is an amazingly freewheeling place and there’s loads to tell…

After a couple days at the Citadel Inn in Makati City – one of the planet’s true Sodoms – I moved over to the Malate/Ermite neighborhood, a somewhat more ‘normal’ neighborhood with lots of restaurants, bars, Internet cafes. Checked into the Ralph Anthony Suites – a friend had recommended it and it’s a very solid place. They have reasonable monthly rates, and my studio room had a decent little bathroom, aircon, a fridge, and a desk. It’s also very clean, and it’s dark – no window. Which is cool with me – most places have a crappy windowshade/blind which lets the sunlight in at dawn and inevitably wakes me. I can sleep forever in the room I have now – reminds me of rooms I’ve had in Spain, where they also know the value of a good dark cave after a hard night out.

This place is right near everything I require: restaurants, bars (there’s a very good place down the street), Internet café, coffee (Starbucks), huge mall with supermarket and all the usuals, and Rizal Park, around which I go running most nights. Rizal was the founding father of the Philippines – at least primer enter pares – and there’s an honor guard at the Rizal Monument in the park. Two guards are posted there, and they stand at attention and do a little jaunt at a regular interval. Reminded me of the guards at Westminster in London (or one of those palaces). On closer inspection, though, you see the differences. The Filipino guards aren’t exactly ramrod stiff – and they have little smiles – and they shake around a bit as if they’ve got a tune in their heads. And I imagine the mosquitos are worse here than in London.

The Ralph Anthony is thus fine for my purposes. There are a few quirks; I was trying to take a nap around 5 p.m. the day I checked in, but was disturbed by what sounded like a cat being tortured out in the hall. Turned out to be the resident parrot, which they keep in the hall for a few hours each day. Striking white thing – but it has a shriek that would wake the dead. Or me, for that matter. Anyway, I’ve adapted and anyway the sound of the aircon usually drowns it out.

First night in this neighborhood, went running out on the harbor road, Roxas Blvd. It was Friday night and the crowds milling around were enormous. In general it seems that 90% of Filipinos are either outside or in shopping malls at any given time. You wonder who’s minding the shop. Anyway, I dodged about a zillion people as I jogged along Roxas. The promenade is wide in places and there were a few stages set up, each with the usual fast-food purveyors and a pop band blaring out top 40 hits. Ran from the US Embassy down to the Cultural Center of the Philippines. Worked up a nice sweat and only about half a million people stared at me like I was crazy.

Anyway…forgive me if I’m repeating stuff I mentioned in last year’s entries from here, but I must mention that Filipinos are serious music and dancing fans and you’re always hearing US/British music played by cover bands and on radio stations here. Real blast from the past – while much of the stuff is recent crap, you hear plenty of 70s and 80s stuff and even a few Beatles and other classics.

The RP certainly has its problems…massive unemployment, crappy government, corruption (inherently related to crappy government), etc…but it’s oddly endearing. I feel welcome here – a bit of a circus freak, given the constant stares from locals – not too sure why. Maybe it’s because most things are on the surface here; in Japan I always felt very much apart from the natives…who would almost never stare at you (way too direct), but then again you’d never know what they were thinking. Filipinos do seem to be fascinated by gringos…and to generally like us. The people are polite, if direct – I’m stopped all the time on the street and asked questions, propositioned by women, offered goods (and services – grin) for sale. You really get the sense that people here are fun-loving and pretty laid-back, albeit with hard lives. You wonder what we’d have to do to piss off the locals – I’m sure there’s some tipping point. But it’s not easily reached…

Have been reading The Japan Journals by Donald Richie. Richie came to Japan after the war and is still there. He’s a renaissance man – journalist, movie critic, man about town. The book is basically a selection of his diary entries from 1947-2004 – brilliant stuff. He movingly outlines how things have changed – and not changed – over almost 60 years. In 1955 he took a train to the Kansai region and observed people hanging out the door, looking around or smoking. Fairly dangerous practice, but in those days life was cheap. Not now. I can personally say that the Japanese government nowadays is seriously maternalistic – when you take the subway there’s often a long monologue on the loudspeakers about minding the gap, being careful, etc. The government seems to treat its citizens like children – with the best intentions, one hopes, and not with an eye toward fascistic control.

Richie pretty much met all the foreign biggies who came through Japan – Francis Ford Coppola (cool photo of 19-year-old Sofia Coppola in the book), Ian Buruma, Roger Ebert (can you believe that fat fuck outlived Gene Siskel?), many more. Such a fascinating life – contrasting with my own constrained existence in Japan, which rarely broke beyond the boundaries of apartment, office, park and bars. My yoga teacher and friend Leza Lowitz edited the book and that’s how I found out about it. Anyone who’s remotely interested in Japanese culture, go pick this up now.

One of Richie’s passages particularly spoke to me, one on being solo. I’ll plagiarize it directly right here:

’30 April 1993. I am more and more able to detect a small but evident pattern in the carpet. My life seems to have been predicated upon not joining. So far as I can remember I have rejected the group, any group – the Boy Scouts, my family. Any kind of teamwork also makes me uncomfortable, any having to work with others – whether on shipboard during the war, during the Occupation of Japan, working in companies (Zokeisha) – all were unhappy times. I first thought this probably had to do with my fear of competition, but now I am not so sure…It is not competition but politics I dislike…’

There you have it. It’s not that Richie’s misanthropic – on the contrary, he seems to have a jam-packed social life. It’s just that he seems to need to retreat and not be pegged to any label. And I like the bit on competition vs. politics. I’ve often thought I’d lost my desire to compete over the years, along with much of my ambition – but after reading this piece I think more like Richie, it’s that I hate political bullshit (while being intensely interested in fixing government and leadership), and not that I fear healthy competition. I don’t think that I’m particularly misanthropic, either – I love my family and friends, it’s more that I need space and privacy and resist being dragged along or labeled.

Anyway, Richie’s book helped me put my time in Japan in perspective. That, plus Lost in Translation (by Sofia Coppola), which provided a humorous counterpart to Richie’s diaries. Glad I took the time to digest both.

Back to the Philippines. Am here in Manila for a month or so, as mentioned earlier. And it’s relaxing to be in one place for that long – last year I traveled like mad, and while in the States just now I was all over the place as well. Malate is a real barrio (the Filipinos use quite a few Spanish words, but can’t be said to speak the language), and I’ve settled into a solid routine here. My project is going fine – bumping along, not too much work, mostly getting our hands on some data and thinking it through. In a few weeks we’ll have made sense of it all and decided if/how to proceed.

I’m sure I mentioned last year that it seems half of the young(ish) men here work as security guards for shops, hotels, etc. It’s shocking, really – it’s certainly not a sector that provokes innovative thinking and mental development, and the cost to businesses must be painful. Pretty sad that this is the only job many young men can get. On the flip side, it is easy to get directions around here – always a plethora of guards milling around and happy to talk to a kano (Americano – slang for foreigner). One security company is called – seriously – Shooters Security. And they have some major league firearms. The incidence of guns here is a bit scary – there’s always a guard with a pistol just down the hall from my room. I should take advantage of the opportunity to take riflery lessons – maybe I’d actually come to like firearms. But knowing the general intelligence of those packing, I doubt it.

Prices in Manila are very reasonable…but you can spend money here, whereas in Cebu or the smaller cities you really have to make an effort. Taking an example near to my heart: the go-go bars on P. Burgos charge the equivalent of $5 for 3 San Miguel beers during happy hour, not half bad – but in Cebu the happy hour beers are around 60 cents, rising to a buck during normal hours. And the convenience stores sell all sorts of booze, including heinous Spanish/Italian-named plonk – haven’t tried it yet but might soon. Come on down…

So you can have a good time here, for sure. Not many sights to see, but regular street life is so lively that it takes the place of sight-seeing. Last Friday night after going running, I walked around Malate and I swear the size of the mobs reminded me of Madrid. There really might be something to that Latin connection after all. And if you happen to want any Viagra, there are guys selling it right on the street. Let me know if you need any…
Went into a karaoke place to let off some steam – not that I had actually accumulated any, but I do miss singing. There are different sorts of ‘KTV’ places – the main distinction being ‘family KTV’ which are wholesome and you can take your kids there, and other KTV places which generally feature ‘GROs’ (Guest Relations Officers) – basically, hot girls who sit with you while you sing/drink and tell you that you’re a wonderful singer, handsome, etc. Japanese and Koreans love this sort of shit – they come down in droves from their countries, which also have tons of these places but cost 10 times as much. So you see many Japanese/Korean karaoke places here, with names like ‘Roppongi’ and menus in Japanese and Korean. I don’t think the local girls are big fans of these guys – particularly the Koreans, who are often crass, smoke like chimneys, and rowdy. At least most of the Japanese guests are well-mannered – although that can change pretty fast once you get a few drinks in them. The girls love to see Westerners come in – as I mentioned earlier, Americans are actually popular here…and we’re usually reasonable well-mannered…and we don’t smell like a tobacco factory…and we can hold our alcohol. So when I visit one of these places, I feel like a celebrity. Even when I go with my Japanese friend, I can lend him a bit of my aura. And because he’s Japanese, at least the establishment knows that high spending is likely. Makes a pretty good team, actually…

Walked home around 3 a.m. that night. The dark underbelly of the city is being scratched at that hour – saw a guy sorting trash on the sidewalk, and the smell was incredibly rancid. There are some real hellholes around this city, and in most similar cities – people gotta make a living and you wouldn’t believe some of the ways they do it…

On Saturday I walked around Rizal Park, my usual running spot. Inside the park there’s a row of noteworthy Filipinos. I probably knew 20% of them…not too bad, I thought. And some of them are from way back – Rajah Suleyman, who fought the Spanish in Manila (and obviously lost), Chief Lapu-Lapu from the Cebu area, who fought and killed Magellan. The sign claimed that Lapu-Lapu and his boys were responsible for delaying Spanish control of the Philippines for several decades. Which might be true…but I always thought that Magellan and his expedition was largely to circumnavigate the globe, and not to claim territory. Might be wrong about that. Anyway, the inclusion of these non-Christian heroes was interesting…there was certainly a slight anti-Spanish/anti-colonial message in there, even though latter-day Filipinos are overwhelmingly Roman Catholic and very much shaped by the Spanish presence. And probably just as much, or more, by the more recent American occupation – which had little to do with the religious dimension, but which seems to have washed over this place with its music, film, and other cultural weapons.

Traffic cops are posted around Rizal Park. Most of them are middle-aged and have that classic banana republic traffic cop look: brown skin, dark shades, slightly sweaty brow, and starched uniform worn even in the most sweltering heat. Seem to remind me of ex-President-for-life Marcos, for some reason. And I thought of Marcos again soon thereafter, as I walked to the former walled enclave of Intramuros (literally, ‘inside the walls’). This was the old center of Spanish power in the Philippines, and apparently was quite an amazing sight before U.S. bombs devastated it during the war. More on this in a minute.

As I strolled over to Intramuros – slow pace, not wanting to bring on the sweat – I saw a large statue, and is my habit, went up to check it out. Turned out to be a memorial to Ninoy Aquino, the opposition leader who was gunned down by Marcos’s goons as he descended an airplane at Manila’s airport. Talk about brazen…I recall the news reports from back then, I think it was 1985 or ’86. And that was too much for the good people of the Philippines to take – within a few months, after another round of crooked elections, they deposed him and selected Aquino’s widow Cory as the new President. Wonderful story, to be sure. Of course, Cory didn’t have a great term in office…her work was certainly cut out for her. She had to weather a series of near-coups and natural disasters. But hey, it was progress.

Then over to Intramuros, which has several of the old walls standing and which remains an interesting spot – probably the only real tourist attraction in the capital. The oldest church in the Philippines is still there, and looks old – not sure how much was damaged. And there’s a huge cathedral and a few old administrative building extant – well worth a visit. One side of Intramuros used to look out over the Chinese section of town – the Chinese were thought to be trouble-makers and the Spanish wanted to keep an eye on ‘em. Funny how times change…imagine the Spanish today trying to manage the Chinese.

Of course, the troubles of the country have not been kept out of Intramuros. There are the usual shanty-towns and pop-up eating joints, beggars, you name it. When the walls come down the family moves in. I did enjoy walked around this old place, I had my little iPod Shuffle with me and it was good to stretch my legs, see the sights, and listen to Clannad, Matchbox Twenty, U2, and the New Radicals while doing so. And I understand that there are a few nice/romantic restaurants in the better-preserved parts of Intramuros, must try them out sometime.

Walked back to Ermite, to my hotel. Workers were painting yellow borders on the sidewalks – I guess the neighborhood must have a bit of cash to use up. Noticed that the fresh paint had not been ‘honored,’ people had walked right through it and already there were footprints in both paint and yellow footprints all over the sidewalks. This is a random place…people do what they want. You wouldn’t imagine this happening in Germany. But Germans are to Filipinos as Axl Rose is to Cat Stevens (aka Yusuf Islam). Or something like that…

Walked around some more, saw a pornographic cake shop called Kink’s down the street. Penis-shaped cakes on offer…as well as other provocative products. Probably do a roaring business for bachelor/bachelorette parties.

Ate breakfast at McDonald’s on Sunday. Remember all the reports of McD’s troubles a couple years ago? Crappy share price, losing out to competitors? Well, from what I’ve read lately the stock price is way up, and McD’s is focusing more on same-store sales rather than simply buying land and opening stores. And it seems to be working well, and reflected in the everyday customer experience. Everywhere I travel, McD’s has customized products. In India, McAloo Tikka (potato burger with peas). In the RP, McRice Burgers. In Japan, Teriyaki McChicken. I think they’ve gotta do stuff like this, and I’ll bet these products outsell the usual mainstays. And you know what – they’re not half bad. In the States I tend to avoid fast-food – I want to watch my girlish figure. But in the RP, there are reasons to eat it from time to time – one is that the local cuisine is not great, in my opinion. And there is huge diversity of fast food here – Chinese, Japanese, as well as the usual burgers and pizza. So you can eat OK for not much cash. The only other type of place I frequent fast food is in the UK, where a ‘normal’ meal can cost a fortune.

Back was sore…although better than it was in the cold of Boston, where I felt like an old man. There’s a good massage place a few storefronts down from my hotel – got an hourlong shiatsu/Swedish combo for $9. And it was excellent – I felt 5 years younger afterwards. There are much cheaper places around, including the old ‘rub and tugs’ – but I wanted a real massage and the masseuse was skilled here. Must make this a weekly or twice-weekly affair…

Had a couple calls and meetings for my project. Made a bit of progress, but need more information…which is hopefully forthcoming. Anyway…my social life is full-on already. I already knew a few people here, and it doesn’t take long to meet others. Met a cool half-Spanish/half-Filipina named Catherine (awesome Penelope Cruz eyebrows - am I developing an eyebrow fetish?) – hung out with her for Valentine’s Day…which is a huge deal here. There are parades, store sales, rock bands playing all around town, etc. Everyone asks you how was your Valentine’s Day. It would not be particularly hard to get a date if you needed one – I think it’s a badge of shame not to have a date for that night.

Walked down to take a look at a gym in Malate. Mostly went just for the walk, to see the ‘hood. Prefer to run outside, and my hotel room’s large enough for me to spread out my yoga mat and exercise right there. The gym was OK – a bit blokish, and basic. But it is 24 hours and not expensive. It’s just that the weather outside is usually good, except during the rains, and I generally dislike working out with tons of others around. So will give this a miss for now.

On the walk there I noticed endless signs touting the upcoming expansion of Hotel Sogo into Pedro Gil Street, Malate. This chain is notorious for offering short-time stays – you can use the rooms for a couple hours for amorous liaisons, no problem. I think it’s technically against the law here, but the value proposition of Hotel Sogo is precisely that. I walked by the Sogo already in Malate, it’s like the one in Cebu (where I first noticed this establishment); it’s painted entirely in red and yellow and looks like some sort of circus. Which I suppose it is – god knows what’s going on inside at any given minute. The in-your-face garishness extends to their advertising strategy – which is, in a word, ubiquity. Sogo is the co-branding king – it creates signs with other establishments like bars, shops, etc. – and shares the sign space with them. I imagine Sogo pays all/most of the signage costs – so undercapitalized/cheapo businesses get a free sign, with Sogo painted across half of it. Kind of confusing…you keep thinking that Hotel Sogo is just up ahead, when it’s merely that they’re advertising on the shoe store’s sign. I had to laugh, though, when taking a cab back to the hotel a few nights ago and passed a police station – the sign of which was co-branded with Hotel Sogo. The police station and a notorious short-time hotel sharing a sign – beautiful!

Walked back to the hotel from the gym. Saw many people hanging out in front of one store, turned out to be an employment agency. Multiple positions offered overseas – ‘Domestics in Dubai’ etc. Nothing local. Shameful, in my mind. The government here lives on taxes from Filipinos toiling overseas, and does little to create jobs here. Families are torn apart and the leadership does nothing.

Found an Internet café with an Ethernet cable, allows me to plug my laptop in and access the Internet. Besides emails, handling my finances, etc. I need to download episodes of the only TV program I like, 24. I bought a ‘season pass’ on iTunes, but the episodes are 500MB apiece and it takes forever on wireless, so I wanted to plug in and double the speed. Even that way, it takes 5+ hours…so I just check email and handle other matters for an hour a day, and after a week I’ve got the program. Works fairly well. I’m happy I generally hate TV and only watch this show. Otherwise I’d be spending all my time mucking around with this sort of crap.

Went to a go-go bar last night and played the game Jenga. You might know this one…involved building a tower of wooden blocks, then removing individual pieces and stacking them on top, creating a new structure. You collapse the tower, you drink. Good game, fun to play in a group. Minimal mental involvement required. Good for me.

Went home that night. Guy walked by me on the street and said ‘hey Joe.’ He wasn’t quoting Jimi Hendrix – locals often call foreigners ‘Joe’ after GI Joe during the war. Nice habit.

Did I mention this is a pretty good town for a bachelor’s party? If not, there you go.

Will get back to adding a few photos next week. Gotta run. Over and out.

Welcome to entry #40. There’s no special significance to that figure, but this entry does see me back on the road again. My time in the States went by quickly, probably because I did a million things while there. Let me recap my last few days in Boston…

Caught up with my ex-colleague and old friend Eric at Pizzeria Regina in Boston. Eric and I used to work together on projects all over Asia-Pacific, and we made a pretty good team. We still fondly recall our projects together in Sydney, which came on the heels of a brutal project in Japan for me and a series of forgettable projects for him. We went to Oz to work on an 8-week project, fell in love with our situation there, and sold follow-on work that took us through year-end – including the 2000 Sydney Olympics, which we attended. When that work ended Eric and I reminisced about it and agreed that it would be very difficult for any project to top that one.

That prediction turned out to be true. Eric’s still with the firm, in an internal capacity, and is in Boston for a while on an assignment. He’s from Manila, and might get back here while I’m still around.

Before I left Boston I moved most of my stuff into storage. Brother-in-law Dave helped me out and we were finished in a few hours. Dave’s a huge U2 fan – he claims that he’s just a fan while his brother Steven is a fanatic, and that’s probably true, but I think the margin is blurry. After lugging the boxes around we went to his house in Hopkinton (listening to a fair bit of U2 on the way) to relax for the rest of the weekend. On Sunday morning my sister Bonnie had an emergency patient to take care of, so Dave, nephew Jacob, and I went out for breakfast. Went to a classic little diner in Westborough – I do miss places like these when overseas, I haven’t found many real diners outside of the East Coast of the States. We stuffed our guts on fatty fare and had a few cups of coffee. Our waitress was a local and had a major league Boston accent. She took one look at my blonde-haried, blue-eyed nephew and pronounced him a ‘little chahmah’ (charmer). I love it. I’ll be needling Jacob about this when he’s 30 years old…

The Super Bowl was that night, and we went over to some friends of Bonnie and Dave for a small party. Gary and Stacey brought in barbecue from Redbones in Somerville – this place opened up when I was still in school at Tufts, just around the corner, and it’s stood the test of time. My intestines were blocked for a couple days after this meal, but it was worth it. It’s difficult to find diner food abroad – it’s pretty much impossible to find this type of barbecue anywhere outside the States. So I availed myself of it and settled in to watch the game.

Which wasn’t that gripping. It was perhaps the first rainy game in Super Bowl history – and it certainly was the rainiest if it wasn’t the first. Players were fumbling the ball, falling down, screwing up, and it was too messy for my liking. I also didn’t have any mental or monetary investment in the game…my beloved New England Patriots had lost and weren’t playing now. So I mostly played with nephew Jacob and his little friend Mia and only glanced at the screen now and then. Indianapolis won the game and that was that. Wait ‘till next year.

Dave drove me back to Newton that night…I was flying out the next day. Did my final load of laundry, finished packing my backpack, and hit the sack. I felt like I was in the right place: I had spent a lot of time with family and friends while in Boston, I had taken care of a few remaining tasks, and I had more or less behaved myself while home. That said, I was ready to roll. The road was beckoning, and I was continuing to be conscious of feeling most happy when I’m self-sufficient. There are two aspects at play here: one, I’m not good about doing things just to please others and be a good householder – read, taking out the trash, lifting up the toilet seat, etc. etc. I can deal with these things for a bit, but they make me feel stressed, like a task machine who’s walking around on eggshells – and after a while I need to move on. Two, I have a misanthropic streak that I keep fairly well-hidden – and which might surprise some people. I’m generally very good about seeing family and friends (see below for some evidence), and I go out of my way to travel long distances to see them…but I soon need my privacy and can’t go long stretches without tearing through a book. So when I’m surrounded by people for a long period I get shpilkes (Yiddish for ‘ants in the pants’).

So my next journey loomed. And on Monday, I took a cab to Logan Airport and got on a plane to Dallas, the first leg of several that would get me to Manila by mid-week. The cabbie was from Trinidad, had a great island accent, and knew his political and sports history, having spent 20 years in the States. We were both bitching about the weather – it was about 15 degrees Fahrenheit that day – and we both agreed that Trinidad or Manila sounded much better.

I was heading to Manila/the Philippines for a few reasons. An old friend had enticed me to help him think about starting a small business in the country – and he had promised me a solid chunk of change and part ownership if it took off. I wasn’t interested in signing on for a real job, but was happy to help him for a month or so. I can’t divulge the nature of the opportunity here – I signed a non-disclosure agreement – but if it takes off I’ll say more in these pages or elsewhere.

I was also heading back to the RP (Republic of the Philippines) to island-hop, scuba dive with a friend who owns a dive shop in Dumaguete, and to work more diligently, with modest distractions, on my book. In 2006 I made slow progress on the book, largely because I was traveling at a frantic pace. This year I want to slow it down and give myself a couple long stretches in one place, to get into a routine of writing, exercising, and relaxing. We’ll see what really happens…

So there you have it. I really don’t need any excuse to travel, but I have a few anyway. That said, the series of flights from Boston to Manila tested me. I used frequent flyer miles, and many of you know how the airlines have moved to make using your miles more difficult. I had to stop in Dallas, Vancouver, and Hong Kong en route. Door to door the entire trip took 40+ hours. Long even by my standards.

A recap of the highlights and lowlights:

• When I got to Logan I found that I couldn’t get a seat assignment right away on the flight to Dallas (the subsequent 3 flights were all fine). My entire round-the-world flight package was in business class, and I anticipated easy check-ins and all that. But American Airlines had overbooked business class (and the flight in general) and bumped me down to economy. I complained and they gave me a $300 flight voucher – which was alright, but I don’t have much use for this given my overseas traveling for the rest of ’07. But I took the voucher and sat in my cattle car seat for the 4-hour trip to Dallas.
• At the risk of stating the obvious – flying on a carrier that has been in Chapter 11 (bankruptcy/restructuring proceedings) is depressing. The mileage of the plane could probably be expressed in light-years…the only food in economy class was crappy sandwiches for $5 apiece…the flight took off late…and the flight attendants weren’t exactly eye candy. The passengers were even worse. The couple across the way both wore plaid flannel shirts and spoke to each other loudly the entire flight. The woman asked an attendant for a ‘seatbelt extender.’ I wasn’t aware those existed – and they probably shouldn’t exist. Only in America. The fellow sitting next to me – in the center seat – was a fat slob who immediately fell asleep, allowing his arms to slide into my space. He only woke up to buy a $5 sandwich, scarf it down, and read a hot-rod magazine. Then back to sleep. I spent the entire flight pushing his arms away – felt like I was losing a World Wrestling Federation match. He also didn’t smell pleasant. Thinking back, I should have demanded a $1,000 voucher for being bumped to economy class – it was that aggravating.
• The only saving grace was the book I was reading: Perdido Street Station, by China Mieville. You could call it a fantasy/sci-fi work – Mieville created his own world and the story was just captivating, after a somewhat slow start. I got through the 600-page book in a couple weeks and it blew me away. He’s got a couple follow-ups: The Scar and Iron Council, both of which I’ve got with me and I’ll probably plow through those at a similar pace. Go check it out.
• I spent some time looking out the window, in an attempt to forget that the slob next to me was compressing my body into a tiny space. We didn’t seem to be flying at a particularly high altitude – I could usually see the ground. We flew west over the lovely cities of Buffalo and Syracuse, which were covered in snow. It was actually a fairly interesting view, given all the snow – almost like looking at a Google Earth shot or some other satellite map view. So between the book and the view I somehow survived the flight to Dallas.
• Had a short layover in Dallas-Fort Worth Airport – nothing interesting to report. Got into the American Airlines lounge, had a couple drinks, and took it easy. Next flight was to Vancouver, and I was in biz class – it was still American Airlines, but much better. Four more hours and I was in Vancouver, a city I’d only visited briefly once before. This time I had a long layover – 5 or so hours – and took a cab into the city to have dinner and drinks. Didn’t know anyone in Vancouver, but I remembered that Granville Street downtown was a cool stretch and went over there. Hit a couple places, then back to the airport. Cabbie was a Somali refugee – I guessed his home country and he liked that. Had a good talk about politics and real estate prices. Vancouver is very multi-culti – walking around downtown was a real lesson in diversity. I think that Vancouver is a ‘Pacific city’ – huge Asian presence and an eclectic feel.
• My next flight was on Cathay Pacific (partner of American Airlines) to Hong Kong. What a difference – I got in line and right away a (pleasant) Cathay rep came over to take care of me. Sorted everything out and went to the Cathay lounge – where I found a couch and passed out. It was midnight and the flight was leaving at 2 a.m. Slept there for 90 minutes, fitfully, then got on the HKG flight. Business class on Cathay is a real treat – the seats were comfortable (although they didn’t recline fully – bummer), the staff is very classy, and they just do things right. Doesn’t feel like they’re out to make an incremental $5 off every passenger. I have to say that I enjoy – and crave – the service levels and luxuries of Asia. Sometimes it costs you, sometimes not…but the value you get is unbelievable high compared to North America. My aforementioned friend Eric, from Manila, has enjoyed his stretch in Boston but is looking forward to going home – where he has a great apartment, a Mercedes, a driver, and random other luxuries that would cost a fortune in Boston.
• On that same note – I caught up with some ex-colleagues upon reaching Hong Kong. Had lunch with my friend Sam, with whom I stayed when in Hong Kong in August ’06. Sam and his wife have two kids, and they have a fulltime maid to help them out. These maids only make about US$500/month in Hong Kong – but compared to what they can make in their home countries (the RP and Indonesia), it’s a great situation. There are around 250,000 (perhaps many more) overseas maids/domestics in HKG and from what I’ve seen it sure beats sleeping 4 hours a night and doing all your own household chores. I might sound like an imperialist/capitalist pig here, but I’m completely serious.
• Had coffee with Nicole and Jessica at Monitor’s office. They’re both doing well, working reasonable hours and expanding their non-work activities. Jessica’s taking an HR management course at a local uni, Nicole is deep into her yoga and also planning to write a novel. We compared notes and exhorted each other to get a move on. I mentioned earlier in this posting that I try to make an effort to see people wherever I go…which is true. I had thought about getting a shorter layover in Hong Kong – there are numerous flights to Manila – but wanted to go into town, despite my exhaustion, and see these folks. And I’m glad I did.
• That said, when I touched down in Manila I was beat. I felt like a merry pilgrim returning to a promised land – but really needed a nap. Took a taxi into the city, checked into my ratty hotel, and slept for 3 hours. As I drifted off I reflected a bit on my love of the dimensions of our world…there aren’t many feelings like dropping into a place, either for the first time or as a repeat visitor…and while the trip had exhausted me, I wouldn’t choose to compress the distances by a single mile. Might sound naïve or corny, but hey, that’s what makes me tick.

Took it easy that night – went out for a few beers but stayed away from the sordid stretch of go-go bars along P. Burgos Avenue. I’m sure that in some post last year I touched on the irony of this street – its full name is ‘Padre Burgos Street’ and the chief industry is girlie bars. What would the good father think?

Went to a 7-11 to get a phone card (you can reach me at +63-928-717-5698), some water and toilet paper. When I entered the store, the security guy (there were actually two of them) was putting his pistol into a drawer. Gulp. But Filipino 7-11 stores are great – you can buy any sort of booze you want, and they have a full range of toiletries – this store had a big Oral-B display area. No need to stock up on toiletries in the States any more…most of the key stuff is available here.

Last thing – I’ve been complaining regularly about this blog hosting site, and finally did something about it. Call ‘em up, told them I was thinking of switching, and they raised my photo download capacity from 20 gigs (which I obviously already filled – hence no photos for the past couple months) to 200 gigs – which should hold me for the indefinite future. So I’ll probably stick with Boots’n’all for the time being. But if you’ve tried another site, or know someone who has, let me know. I’m keeping my eyes open for a better deal. We Jews are good that way. Over and out.

“A journey is best measured in friends, rather than miles.”
-Tim Cahill, author & intrepid traveler

Spent a lot of the past week with old friends. Had dinner with an ex-colleague last week, right before the dreaded ‘mancation.’ We had a lot of catching up to do…he filled me in on various PG-13 gossip about our mutual employer, I told him about my recent round-the-world trip. Which he already knew about in some depth…he’s been a steady reader of this Slog and has sent me encouraging emails from time to time. And during our dinner he continued to praise my writing. It’s obvious to us both that I’m a hell of a lot better as a writer than as a consultant – and I’m certainly more switched on by this new life than by the old one. But I did find it difficult to react to my friend’s praise – I just didn’t know quite what to say. Perhaps it’s because we used to work together and the criticism : praise ratio was a number vastly greater than 1…ergo, I’m not used to hearing positive feedback from him. In any event, there was no doubt back in the day that I didn’t react well to criticism…it’s somewhat surprising that I also can’t handle acclaim either. Yet another thing for me to work on…

The coming of the Florida ‘mancation’ got me thinking about the wider topic of traveling. My next round-the-world adventure looms, and I’m excited to get going again. Not that my time in the States has been sedentary – I’ve been gone nearly every weekend since late December. A weekend in New Hampshire, two in the Caribbean, one in Washington, and now one in Florida. All justified, of course – even with the relatively mild Northeastern winter this year, I’m still having trouble dealing with the cold. I think my body changed during my years in Asia. I need to strap on the Tevas and feel some warm wind in my face…I want to spend an hour or two every day in the ocean…I need to gaze upon some long-limbed beauties wearing sun dresses and high heels (not sweatpants and work boots). This is who I am, people. Pathetic, perhaps, but simple.

Back to the mancation. The term came from a fraternity brother of mine whose wife, incredibly, set up a trip to commemorate his 40th birthday, and defined it as an all-boys weekend in Florida. I was a late entrant, signing up all the way from Goa, and he and I were joined by 4 other fraternity brothers. We flew down last Friday afternoon to West Palm Beach, rented a car, picked up a pile of alcohol, and drove up to the town of Fort Pierce, where we’d be staying and fishing for the weekend. Getting on the plane, I had a notion that sometimes comes to me – I think back to the time my parents put me on a plane to Florida to see my grandmother. I still have a faint memory of the trip, specifically getting random goodies from the flight staff and later, getting off the plane and seeing my grandmother. And even now, 35 years later, I sometimes can’t believe I’m allowed to get on a plane by myself and that grandma isn’t waiting for me on the other end. If I got off a flight in Hong Kong and my grandmother was waiting there, I wouldn’t be all that surprised – although I would probably lower the dose of my current meds and see a shrink.

On this flight to Florida, I sat next to a kid clutching a stuffed animal. His family was with him, in nearby seats, but it was obvious that he hadn’t flown much and that this was a very big deal for him. Perhaps grandma was waiting for them…whatever. I could identify with his excitement, even though I fly all the time, and while I might appear stony-faced and relaxed about flying, I still get worked up – not nervous as much as energized. When I was working I found flying to be a respite from the craziness of the office. Now I just find it relaxing and an interlude between places and times; a good long flight is something I look forward to from time to time.

So there were 6 of us on the mancation – a collection of cretins, perverts, and attorneys (2). I have been asked (begged/threatened) by some of this cohort – guess who – to keep my account of the mancation PG-13 and as anonymous as possible. That will obviously lead to some system losses, so I need to have fun with this in other ways. The following is an anonymous and highly dumbed-down overview of the weekend – you might call it a PG version, or whatever rating is a notch down from that. Dumbed-down – that’s something I can do very well…

Start: This was a really cool trip. Maybe the coolest part was when Friend1 got seasick on the fishing boat and turned gray (grey?). He was grey (gray?) for a really long time…then he booted. Then he lay down and fell asleep. His stomach was probably pretty tired from booting. Wouldn’t yours be? Then Friend2 got a funny look on his face and his eyes got all narrow and stuff – then he leaned over the side of the boat and booted too. Me, Friend3, Friend4, and Friend5 all laughed – that was really cool. I wish I took a picture of them booting – I wonder if my camera could get the chunks flying out of their mouths? Gotta try that sometime.

We all caught some fish on that big boat. The crew was really nice – one guy did all the baiting and set up all the fishing rods, all we had to do was hold the (fishing) rod and reel in the fishes. The guy was pretty quiet – I think he was either dumb or stoned (maybe both). And there were really big fishes too – sailfish, dolphin fish (not dolphins, dummy), and some other ones. Friend2 (done booting by now) caught a huge sailfish but we had to throw it back – ‘catch and release’ is what the crewman said. Isn’t that some stupid movie with Ben Affleck’s hottie wife? Whatever. My fishing skills were pretty bad – good thing all I had to do was turn the handle. It was still pretty hard. I got tired, and the end of the rod banged up my groin. What do you call those special doctors who look at mens’ johnsons all day – urineologists? Maybe I should go see one soon.

Friend2 and I joked that fishing could be much easier if certain steps were taken: using a button instead of manual reeling, giving the bait fish a Valium so the prey got tired faster, and having a slip-proof ship deck. We called this ‘Jewish Fishing.’ Don’t try to steal the idea – we already patented it!!

Friend1 was back on his feet. He called his experience ‘boot and rally’ and that was really neat. He still had bad breath, though. Friend3 took a 45-minute nap, he was fully asleep and yet he didn’t spill one drop of the Tecate beer that he was holding in his hand. When I fall asleep all my muscles (except one) go limp and I drop everything. Friend3 must be some kind of sleep athlete…

Then we got off the boat and gave the fish to some guy on the dock and then he cut off the meat and gave it back to us and then we brought it to Chuck’s Restaurant where they told us the night before that if we caught fish and brought it to them they would cook it for us. And they did that. Dinette the cool waitress brought out all this fresh fish and we drank a lot of beer (don’t tell Dad) and ate a lot of fish and had really smelly burps (especially Friend4). Friend3 challenged me to a running race to the bar…one time in college I ran (with a belly full of rum) all the way from school to a White Hen Pantry just so Friend3 would buy me a large sub sandwich. Now I have more money and am not as desperate – anyway we both wimped out and just drank and ate more.

Then we argued about where to go see hot chicks and Dinette told us that fat old ladies in thongs could be found just across the bridge but the meanie policemen always sat at the bridge and arrested cool dudes like us so we didn’t go over the bridge we just went over to the Jetty Bar again, just like the night before. We were pretty cool.

There were a lot of big kids in the bar with bad teeth. Good thing crystal meth isn’t that big in Boston (at least I never found any). There were some ugly yet aggressive women in there – I was kind of shy and afraid they would sit on me so I hid behind Friend5. Some of the girls had really big bazongas. I looked at them for a while. Friend3 tried to set up Friend2 with a blonde girl – he said a few stupid things and then nothing happened. Then he blamed Friend2 for being a lame-ass. Then we peed in the bushes outside after the cop closed the bar down and told us to go home. We sure showed him. That was really cool.

Friend3 ate lots of Spicy Cheese Doritos in bed that night. His teeth were gross orange color and you could hear the chewing all the way across the hall. Also I heard that he walked right through a screen door (they are hard to see, sometimes, when you’re really drunk) and I wished I was there because I would have teased him a lot about that.

The next day we had brunch/lunch/whatever. We all had headaches. Then the cute little waitress told us that they couldn’t serve booze till 1 p.m. We had asked for Bloody Marys (don’t tell Dad). We were bummed out. Then we asked her about bending the rules and then she said that actually only hard booze was restricted, beer and wine were OK. So we ordered lots of beer and the next thing we knew, it was 1 p.m. and then we could all get Bloody Marys and that’s what we did so na na na!

I ordered some nachos and they were hard to eat. I wondered aloud why I even had any clothes that didn’t color-coordinate with spilled nachos. Then I dumped some on my white t-shirt and boy was I ever right! We were all laughing a lot and you probably couldn’t blame it all on the Bloody Marys and beer. Friend5 was sitting across from me and I made a dumb joke about some short storys involving him. You had to be there to get this joke (like all of the other ones too).

Then we went to the beach and swam and slept on the beach for a while. We brought some beers but the mean police didn’t see us. Friend5 told us he locked up our rented minivan (with all of our stuff in there). He did lock it – but left a side door completely open, anyone could have reached in and grabbed our (heinous dirty laundry) valuable stuff. I guess he was right, though – the other doors were locked. He’s really literal about things, that’s what I like about him.

What else? Friend4 ran all the way from the hotel one morning to get the car, we had to leave it at the bar the night before because old meanie cop was sitting outside when the bar closed. What a loser (the cop, I mean). Also, Friend2 brought a whole bunch of newsletters from our fraternity meetings and we laughed over those. One of our fraternity brothers was quoted in one of them as saying ‘Ice is one-tenth water.’ But that was a long time ago. I think he now understands that it’s really five-tenths water. End.

That’s all for this week. I’m off on my next journey starting next Monday, I’ll be flying through Vancouver and Hong Kong to Manila, where I’ll spend a few weeks on a mission I’ll spell out in more detail next week. Also – my next entry will be #40. Thanks for sticking with me – one of these days I’ll actually write an entertaining and semi-truthful column. Just remember: life can be incredibly rich, just give it a chance. Over and out.