Uno

Yesterday I walked to the barbershop for a clean head shave. Apart from other considerations, I fancied that such a hairstyle would help me perform better in my semifinals basketball game. So I went to Hombre’s, just five blocks away, where, beside the barber’s pole, the front plate glass windows announced in maroon lettering that haircuts cost only fifty pesos each. It seemed so like of blood.

“Dos?” my barber asked, as soon as he saw me come in. Wearing his usual thin, bronze-dyed hair, small steel-framed spectacles, and a perpetual blush in the face, he began to button up the white polo shirt which all the other employees also wore.

“No,” I muttered, shaking my head politely. “Uno…and don’t shave the sideburns; just cut ‘em clean.”

But with or without the reminder, I was sure he would’ve known that autonomously. The man has been shaving my head for years, and though I never remembered his name, the familiarity – far from breeding contempt – always inspired confidence.

It was a sweltering afternoon. The unoccupied barbers were either watching Superman on TV or writing their bets for the horse race, while a couple of familiar strangers read the tabloids. Few discussed the elections, for apparently the people at the barbershop were more excited about the NBA and Ding Dong Dantes’ breakup with Karylle. It was a sweltering afternoon, but I was consoled by the sight of white towels, the scent of isopropyl alcohol, the cheerful commonplace. Mornings will be spent answering crossword puzzles; afternoons, smoking cigars and drinking or reading; evenings, in reminiscence of youth, of “the good old days”, and on a rocking chair that rocked the ticks and tocks of time and which creaked against the wooden floor. The buzzing razor did nothing to break me out of the stupor, and all I could hope for was to always be bald by choice. My shaved head feeling cool in the climate of the city, I gave a twenty-peso tip to the barber whose name I didn’t remember.

My barber brought out his razor and started shaving the mid-frontal part of my head. Armed with a pink plastic comb, he was very meticulous. Instead of sleeping, I watched the progression and saw that we were, as always, reflected into infinity by the two facing mirrors. And because the patches of hair on both the lateral sides of my forehead were yet untouched, when I saw the rear of my head I looked to be suffering from a case of premature baldness.

And so it was that I imagined that ugly reflection turning around to show its face – older by many decades and wrinkled by many more days. What if indeed the time came when I have aged into a man with a positively receding hairline? I thought of myself as a quinquagenarian, maybe older – a few strands of white hair here and there (but none where it should actually grow) and scruffy whiskers sufficient to make a real beard. There will be warts. There will be furrows by the forehead. There will be hallmark memory loss. I’d have, by then, cute little grandchildren who’d be outnumbered by monstrous in-laws, as well as real assets, real liabilities, and real worries.

But gasp! Will I grow finally to be well-versed in politics? Will I then have my own opinions? As the barber scraped once and again at my scalp, wary of razor bumps and shaving against the grain, my head throbbed with the mysteries of aging, mysteries that left too much to the imagination. Of course I’d never be younger, for no one ever is, but still I became frightfully afraid of the prospect of being corroded by cynicism and corrupted by self-righteousness. I’d have a jaded grin, too, just like what experienced people have, and surely the belly was to bulge catastrophically.

When my barber had finished, he allowed me a moment to rise from my seat, rub my scalp and glide my hand through the very thin stubble left. The reflection in the mirror was no longer terribly thought-provoking. I felt reborn - again.

Gone Fishing

Somewhere near, a family is praying for a happy home; it’s a new one actually, the foundation of which has been laid on the swampy grounds of Dagupan, from where former House Speaker Joe De Venecia can dig up memories of his youth. It’s true, yes; the public official with caricatured ears had spent many years in this place, though now gone are the last ripples of sixteenth century Spanish merchant ships. There are also fewer palm trees, fewer foreigners, fewer communities of the indigenous, and fewer mangroves.

But the provincial city is still the milkfish capital of the Philippines. This is why I am spending a good, slow hour by the fish pond of Uncle Fred (mother’s brother-in-law) with a rickety rod, bags of feeds, and a hard, fly-infested slice of spoilt bread. My cousin FJ claims that the fish love the scum; it’s what they feed on, this film of green dead, not very different –if I will now care to take note– from that which has condensed on the surface of the water, and on the water’s floor, and which looks hardly as though it is this very ingredient that makes the catch –when fried or grilled– so divinely delicious. But according to the locals, the scum “does make your bangus delicious.“

How strange it is that we’re taking the time hooking and waiting and pulling and hooking again, given that several guests have already arrived at the new house, which is the first one constructed along this rocky stretch of pebbles and gravel and dust, rarely trampled on by modern vehicles. Auntie Josie also says the pink candles are ready to be lit for the blessing; they’re only waiting for the Catholic priest – as should we, but from under the roof, for the pond after all may require too long a walk.

The sun, however, is therapeutic. The sweat I give off of its heat is rejuvenating and the light that it glints off of the water is blinding. It’s not even the season yet for harvest. The wind of this Sunday noon is oppressive and humid and the San Miguel beers aren’t yet cold but I still think that if there is life elsewhere it won’t be nearly as tranquil and tender and seemingly infinite as this. This. Below, those creatures are swimming, not wary of our hooks. For them, it’s never well worth the pain when it ends. But it ends.

Are you ready for some football?

One thing that kind of surprises me is how many people actually base their decision about whether to move to the Philippines on how much (or little) American Football they can catch on TV here.  Two or three times per month, I get e-mails from people asking me how many games per week they can catch on TV.  Usually, people ask about NFL football, but recently I’ve also gotten several inquiries regarding College Football too.

photo credit: jor_dan

I used to be a big football fan back in the 1980’s and before, but around 1990 or so I kind of lost interest in the game.  As I recall, the players went on strike one year around that time, and after that I just couldn’t get back into the game, I guess.  Oh, from time to time I will watch a game on TV, if it is on, but I am not like I was when I was a rabid fan.  Back in those days, I knew all the players, and would look forward to games with great anticipation.  Now, I might watch one or two games per year, and sometimes I have to force myself to pay attention.

For those of you who are big football fans, though, I have some good news.  This year, the new football season is much more widely covered on Philippine TV, at least on Cable TV here.  Starting on January 1, 2008, we got a new sports channel called Balls TV and they have a fair amount of football coverage.  Currently, while typing this article (I am writing it on Monay morning, Philippine time, but it will be published on Wednesday) I am watching NFL Sunday Night Football on Balls (NBC coverage).  One thing that kind of excites me is that one of the announcers is somebody that I have always liked, John Madden.  In the past, we never got the “real” announcers that you would hear on US TV coverage, we always got announcers that you had never heard of.

Over the past weeks since the new football season got underway, I have noticed that we are getting 3 or 4 NFL games and 3 or 4 College games every week!  Some games are covered live (Sunday Night and Monday Night NFL games), and others are on tape delay.  Sometimes it is Wednesday or Thursday before we see games from last weekend (except the live games), but at least the games can be seen.  The game that I am watching now (Monday morning, 9am Philippine time) is Chicago Bears vs. Philadelphia Eagles, and it is currently tied at 7 in the 2nd quarter (this is the Sunday Night NFL game, so I am watching it live).

So, anyway, I just thought that I would let you guys know that the situation as far as seeing football games on TV is improving in the Philippines.  I know that this is important to some of you guys!

What could be better than watching the NFL with a cold San Miguel on the table next to you?  Well, maybe we could add some balut for a snack during the game!

The Congressman wants what?

Do you remember a couple of months ago I had an article where I advocated the Jeepney fares should be determined by the private sector, not dictated by the government?  Over the years I have had numerous columns where I pointed out that the Philippine government, in my opinion, gets too involved in matters that really should be private.  Also, many Filipinos, in my opinion, look for the government to tell them what to do, to protect them, etc. instead of taking care of their own needs.

So, do you know who Manny Pacquiao is?  I have written about him before, and he is quite famous anyway, so I am sure that the vast majority of you know who he is.  Manny is a boxing champion who hails from General Santos City, a place where I used to live.  Pacquiao is a World Champion, and almost all of his fights occur in Las Vegas, so he is not just a regional fighter, this guy is a world known (and feared) talent.

Manny is currently preparing for his biggest fight of his career.  On December 6, he will be fighting Oscar de la Hoya.  de la Hoya is much bigger than Manny is, but this fight will pay a huge amount of money for Manny, and I believe that although he is smaller, he still has a chance to emerge victorious - he is that good.

I was rather surprised the other day when I saw an article in a local newspaper about a Philippine Congressman, Rufus Rodriguez from Cagayan de Oro.  Congressman Rodriguez is urging the World Boxing Council (WBC) to cancel the fight.  He is also urging the Philippine Games and Amusement Board to freeze Pacquiao’s boxing license until after December 6.  Why is he seeking these actions?  Because he feels that Pacquiao may lose the fight!  My goodness!  Shouldn’t it be up to Manny Pacquiao to decide if he wants to take the chance of losing?

Congressman Rodriguez has also said that he fears that Pacquiao may get injured in the bout.  Isn’t it possible that any boxer could get hurt in any fight that he participates in?  If so, maybe boxing should be outlawed?  Certainly legislation should not be inacted any time that a Philippine boxer “might lose or get hurt.”

Doesn’t this just glaringly point out that the Philippine Government steps into places where it simply doesn’t belong?  I admit, I am conservative, and I tend to push for smaller government in almost every instance.  But, in this case, I think that a person of any political persuasion should be able to come to agreement that the Congressman is over-reaching his role by a long, long ways.

Did you see the Olympics?

Now for the first time in decades my home country of the UK did a fantastic job at the Beijing Olympics. Well done team GB!!                I JUST WISH i COULD HAVE SEEN IT.

Now the news networks mainly showed still pictures as they did not have the rights to show and the TV networks here in the Philippines had very strange coverage to say the least.

Solar showed pay for view coverage so the only other channel showing the Olympics was the CRIME and ADVENTURE network, yes you heard correct. Now I knew we were in for a rough time from the opening ceremony as the coverage that was allegedly live was stopped every five or six minutes by about seven minutes of commercials, the same ones again and again and again to the point you would know it from memory.

The commercials would come on and off without any consideration to the action that was taking place, and as the coverage seemed to be from an Australian network it  was hard for me to follow anything as the Australian network was talking to its viewers and the Philippine audience would have to catch up after the commercials even to the point that the opening ceremony nearly lost the entrance of its own athletes entering the stadium.

But not to worry when we had no commercials we had short films about previous Olympics and the hopefuls from this country, this would be INSTEAD of the live coverage!! When we returned live the torture was not over, as we then got a screen full of non stop sponsors covering the action.

Now well done team UK and all the other teams andi n 2012 its the turn of LONDON and if I am in the UK I will watch it on the BBC without any commercials!!!

The New Wave in Baler

When you walk outside the humid, tranquil streets of Baler in Aurora province, you’ll notice that there aren’t any lampposts. Instead there are only buzzing bees by day, only fluttering fireflies by night. But go further along, past the village verandas and humble tourist inns, to the shores of the nearby sea – then prepare your senses to a whole new world pulsating with life.

You’ll step into a scene that speaks for itself. Waves crashing against the rocky reefs; multi-coloured surfboards resting on brown muscular shoulders; children paddling the waters with their Styro boards; locals, several of them in dreadlocks, dressed in authentic Billabong shirts, Quicksilver board shorts, and Sanuk sandals; rthe long-legged beat of reggae and ska and Red Hot Chili Peppers beating harmoniously with the sound of the waves.

Welcome to one of the best surfing sites in the Philippines. Sabang Beach.

This was the site of the Longboard Summer Jam, a surfing competition organized by the Aurora Surf Riders Association, Inc. (ASRAI), co-presented by Aloha Board Sports, and co-sponsored by Sanuk Sandals. The three-day event gathered over 200 local surfers –from Baler, La Union, Zambales, and Manila– as well as foreign professionals from Japan and Australia. It was also supported by a formidable network of sponsors that included major industry players like Southpoint Epoxy Surboards, Sticky Bumps, Dakine, Tribu Outdoors, Sector 9, Badfish and Billabong. Throughout the competition, all kinds of vacationing families, sightseers, media, and domestic and foreign tourists were there to beat the heat.

Longboards are substantially more buoyant and easier to balance and propel than the traditional surfboard, enabling riders to increase their chances of catching the waves. “Basically the longboard is a type of surfboard ranging from 8 to 14 feet long,” said event director Tsuyoshi Takahashi. “So we judge the surfers based on their control, their techniques, their speed, positioning, balancing, and of course, their ability to execute maneuvers such as turning and carving.”

There were four divisions of heat in the Summer Jam: Grommets (for younger boys), Wahine / Women’s, Men’s Open, and the Invitational Men’s Open. The last division was well-represented by the country’s top talents, and they performed in front of international competitors like Luke Landrigan of the Billabong San Juan Surf School; Cory Wills, a professional Australian surfer and commercial model; and Marco Villareal, who himself gives surf tours and lessons all over the country. Here, I noticed, the big names were never hesitant to give the young guns some shine.

“Surfing is fast becoming a lifestyle in this country,” said Villareal. “You see a lot of kids eager to learn the sport at such a young age. The Aurora Province LGU has been very supportive, the market is increasing, and global trends are pointing towards greater interest in the sport.”

By global trends, we mean global warming. Climatologists and weather forecasters are saying that ocean levels will continue to rise – and that the waves will only get bigger.

Aside from the competition proper, the Summer Jam side activities highlighted the essence of the surfing culture and lifestyle. Yes, there were mandatory beach volleyball games and night parties. But don’t say “Boo, how Boracay!” just yet. There were also the enlivening celebratory bonfire, palo sebo (greased bamboo climbing), games that raffled off skateboards, and free surfing clinics, all of which serve to show that surfing is –by all means and to each rider, his own– the definition of fun.

“This is why we support regional activities like this,” explained Vangie Chua, Marketing Communications Officer for Sanuk Sandals. “Sanuk, after all, is the Thai word for ‘pursuit of happiness’. We want to embody a lifestyle that is at once outdoor, adventurous and laid-back.”

According to Mooney Castillo, Executive Vice President of Aloha Board Sports, Inc., “There is a culture that follows in surfing, and the Philippine community is very passionate about it. Because our surfers are very talented, we want to fine-tune their skills and support their climb to the international level; this, through our grassroots programs. And the Summer Jam is one of our efforts to do just that.”

Besides the fun to be had, the games to be played, and the trophies to be won is a camaraderie shared by beginners and veterans alike. And it’s as authentic as their Sidewalk Surfers, as passionate as the cheering volume of the Baler crowd.

Throughout the event, I saw that the surfers exchanged glances at their un-tanned ankles – “our trademark,” as they say. And those who own surfboards –be it top-of-the-line or second-hand– care for their possessions like jewelry: cleaning it, washing it, eyeing it meticulously for inspection after a ride. Surfers in their late teens are veterans and those a little younger are considered prodigies. Whatever their ages are, don’t be surprised if upon winning a Sector 9 skateboard or a Southpoint surfboard, one chokes through uncontrollable tears at his thank-you speech. These people know their stuff; more importantly, they value it like a most memorable wave.

Fifteen-year old Wilson Faraon, Aurora’s Grommet defending champion, is one of those who embraces the thrills of a surfer’s life. And he hasn’t forgotten who has helped him along the way. “I’ve only been surfing for a year and a half,” he said. “The local lifeguards were the ones who taught me. And then I was given free surfboards by an Australian named Bruce and a Japanese guy named Kazu. I’ll always remember these people who have helped me.” This just goes to show that in surfing, no player is bigger than the game. (Or is it that no rider is stronger than the wave? But you get my point.)

In a circle with the surfing community, on a stretch of sand, by the crashing waves of the sea and around a heap of woods constantly stoked by glowing embers of fire…I immediately felt I was part of something special. I felt I was part of The New Wave.

Octopush

“I dont want to scare you,” warns Meyan Aclan, 2005 Batch Head of the Philippine Underwater Hockey Confederation (PUHC). “But accidents do happen, as in any sport. If the fins on the heel of your opponent hit you in the face, you’re at the risk of getting your nose broken.

“And when you’re new, you get hurt a lot.”

Mayan is speaking of the same sport described in Wikipedia as a ‘non-contact sport’. She’s speaking of the same game which combines swimming, skin diving, and ice hockey in one; the same water sport bound to explode with its rapidly growing popularity in the metro. She’s speaking of the amazingly intense fitness activity which, in her own words, has “steam literally coming out of my head and a tremendous amount of sweat given off even while in the water.”

Underwater hockey, folks. And it is, literally and figuratively speaking, perhaps the coolest and most breath-taking sport of all.

Meyan is only one of the increasing number of die-hards of underwater hockey in the Philippines. “Octopush”, as the sport is also called in other countries, is a game played at the bottom of the swimming pool by two teams competing to maneuver a 3-lb. rubber-coated lead puck into the opponent’s three-meter, L-shaped metal goal. There is a world of difference between hockey on ice and underwater - aside, of course, from the length of the sticks and the playing field.

Granted, everything will seem to be in slow motion while under a pool. But it is in this very fact where the game’s real challenge lies. No player can hold his or her breath forever, and as such, underwater hockey forces one to constantly rise to the surface of the pool during gameplay. As Meyan asserts, “Timing is very important. You need to know when to be at the bottom of the pool and when to be on the surface. You have to be able to hold your breath, handle the puck, protect it, and think - all at the same time. Of course, it is also essentially a team sport.”

More Filipinos than ever are starting to take notice. PUHC was born sixteen years ago, and now it is fully recognized by the Philippine Olympic Committee and an affiliate of the Philippine Sports Commission. There are also affiliates in Bacolod, Angeles City, and Davao, and games are now being played regularly at the pools in La Salle Greenhills, PhilSports Arena (formerly ULTRA), and the AFP Armypool in Fort Bonifacio.

“It’s for everyone - you don’t even have to be a good swimmer in order to play underwater hockey. You just need to be comfortable in the water,” Meyan notes. “When you start, it’s a little frustrating because your movement can be awkward. But regardless of strength or size or speed, you’ll soon learn to position yourself, adjust with your team, use the fins, and maybe even make the puck fly.”

This learning process is a beauty to behold. As Meyan and her team put on their gear by the ULTRA swimming poolside, the evening grows cold and breezy. But the players brave the eight o’clock chill. As the action commences underneath, one is treated to an aquarium’s view of sorts - athletes turn and flip and move with unbelievable grace. Indeed, the sport is poetry in riveting underwater motion. And this only reflects what’s in store for PUHC members and their shared passion in the next several years.

“Hopefully, with our training - fitness, endurance, and game - we can join the World Championships soon. Filipinos, after all, are blessed with the potential to become very good underwater hockey players. So I wouldn’t be surprised if the sport becomes really big here.”

The rest of the country wouldn’t be, either. And that’s withstanding Wikipedia and broken nose anecdotes.

For more information on underwater hockey and the PUHC, visit the official website at http://www.puhc.com.ph/, or contact Nikki Navarro via phone (0917-8902330).

Run for Cover

And so I trot to the state university, the University of the Philippines, at Kilometer Zero of The North Face’s “Run for Your Life”, a 100-kilometer marathon-for-a-cause which I have been given the sadistic fortune of covering. (A hundred, yes; God I still can’t believe it was a brutal hundred.)

Under the murky shed of the campus’ mountaineering club where everyone has gathered, the support cyclists are already going over their checklists and crumpled maps, giddy in their skin-tight yellow jerseys and feverish despite the late Saturday afternoon rain. The medics are zipping neon-coloured First Aid kits, and the Kythe Foundation representatives have duly presented themselves at a wooden bench to receive what should be the early proceeds from the event, proceeds that will hopefully save the lives of impoverished Filipino children stricken with cancer. The younger runners and riders are flinging and tossing Frisbee discs, and one jokingly advises another not to worry about the distance and wear and tear, that anyway “some people sell knees and ankles in Balintawak.” Those who know better, meanwhile, are stretching against the walls. The concentrated energy under this single roof is spirited with pre-hell camaraderie, and I feel just as if in the middle of a sporty Nat Geo production.

This is going to be one heck of an adventure, I tell myself. And I’m joining in. Even though I am a journalist, an outside observer and not actually an active participant, I still tell myself that I belong here. After all, I’ve come as a brazen contributor for a locally published sports and active lifestyle magazine, wearing a Dry-Fit shirt, a five-year-old pair of Nike running shoes, and a facial expression pronouncing my suddenly resurrected love for adventure.

Having jammed myself into the throng, a tape recorder in one hand and a press pass in another, I ask a friendly coordinator who the organizer is, and if there’s somewhere I can obtain a press release. On the second question he shakes his head. Then he points to a living, breathing advertisement of The North Face – blazingly stylish eyewear, blue utility backpack (from where a yellow bike helmet hangs), classic adventure mocha hat, high-intensity headlamp, breathable multi-trail shoes, black ankle straps, black knee pads, light moustache. That’s your guy, the coordinator says, here, let me introduce you.

I pull out my silly corporate notebook from the depths of my shoulder bag. I also produce a business card, introducing myself as a part-time sports and travel writer and fulltime media practitioner. I offer a very firm though very moist handshake and give off a very warm though very fake smile. Then I ask forgiveness for the ambush interview.

“Now, sir,” I begin, pressing the red Record button with a most professional sort of thumb action, “before I ask you what this crazy marathon is all about, can you kindly give me your name and your role in The North Face?”

“I’m Romi,” he answers.

“Okay…Romi what?” I ask impatiently, whereupon he pronounces a French-sounding surname, the correct spelling of which I find rather difficult to decipher. I want to make sure he notices the inconvenience, so I scribble on my notebook something which looks as though it was written by a chicken.

“Garduce,” he says again, “Romi Garduce – that’s G-A-R-D-U-C-E.”

“Oh, I get it,” I mutter. Very French indeed; I think maybe I’ll use it for a short story in the near future. In the meantime I press him again: “May I ask for your exact title at The North Face?”

Before Romi is able to respond, Nykko, my photographer, grabs my shirt and pulls me aside. I wonder if his camera ran out of batteries, or if he needed again to go to the bathroom. And then he violently whispers to my ear, “Migs! That’s Romi, the Everest guy! Have you lost your mind?”

By ‘Everest guy,’ I later find out, Nykko meant the mountain climber who in 2006 and 2007 graced the front pages of all major broadsheets for several consecutive weeks; who became the first-ever Filipino to climb one of the Seven Summits; who has planted the Philippine flag on the summit of such mountains as Kilimanjaro, Cho Oyu, Aconcagua, K2, Gokyo, and, of course, Everest; whose last mission was sponsored and documented by GMA Network, a local media heavyweight; and who, later this year or next year, will attempt the steep climb to the peak of Mount Elbrus in Russia.

The fool in me cringes in the most pathetic way. My swagger disappears instantly, and in an attempt to save face I give Romi a friendly slap on the shoulder. So much for credibility, I think to myself. So much for credibility, Nykko must be thinking to himself. I wish I was at home watching American Idol.

I manage a couple more questions while half-expecting Romi to tell me to go lick an ice lollipop. But he effortlessly shows himself to be the perfect diplomat, respecting the art of the interview and praising the hearts of the main runners. “Thank you,” I say to Romi afterwards. He thanks me back.

Later on, Nykko remarks, “His feet are still very much on the ground.” And I agree. I suppose that nothing is more fitting to say about the Everest guy, no matter how high he finds himself.

Going for a walk

One of the things I did not do enough in the UK was to take time and walk around my own country, I was always too busy and never noticed or took for granted things like castles and beautiful landscapes.

Then I started to travel around Asia and my eyes opened up to the beauty of counties like Thailand and Vietnam.

Lets face it whizzing by in a car or train there is no way you see the details , so now I am in Davao I love to spend my time walking and taking deliberate turns into unknown areas and passing amazed people shouting “hey Joe”, I even love the fact that people begin to follow me especially the children .

Now do not get me wrong I do have common sense and am very street wise, and do not go into unknown areas at night, nor do I look like I am lost, I always give an impression I know exactly where I am going to…EVEN IF IM COMPLETLEY LOST!!

Recently I take a short code though a village that leads to my local Mall. I was stopped by an elderly man who asked me my name where I lived and why nearly everyday I walk pass his small hut. We spoke for five Min’s and he told me that the village always talks about this “white man” walking through, apparently I am a rarity as no one else does it, they all fly by down the road on their 4×4s. The guy also invited me into his home at a future time to share a beer or two, although I probably will not its a pleasure to have met him and now everyday even more people shout hi and I even got asked to join in a basketball game. Needless to say i missed the basket, which caused howls of laughter.

My Pinoy friends do not walk either they prefer to walk and wait for a JEEPNEY , now I get them to join me too and that seems to be a hardship as walking for my Pinoy friends appears to be a hardship even for short distances. Remember though I was like that in my own country, perhaps we just take our own countries for granted or we just think we are too busy to enjoy life.

Come on guys put on your shoes go for a walk and meet your neighbours.