Tag Archives: Cebu

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Return of the Queen

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When last I posted to this blog, the subject was the sad passing of Janet’s 90 year old Lolo. Within a couple days the body was ready for viewing and the funeral was scheduled in Southern Cebu.

I asked Janet if she wanted to go. She did but must have told me 20 times that she could not leave me and so would not go. I was insistent and finally said, “Let’s find out what the process is and whether it can happen and then we can make a decision.”

I had actually encouraged Janet to go see her family on several occasions during the madness of 2020. I knew she missed them and now felt guilty that she hadn’t seen her grandfather just one more time. So this was the perfect moment to push her just a little bit (and Janet is not easily pushed) to go for the dual purposes of being at the funeral and seeing the family for the first time in nearly a year.

Visits to the Barangay Captain and the local health authority, known as the RHU, happened quickly. Janet was given a permission letter and documents from the Barangay and the RHU. But then the real question was revealed – what would the local Southern Cebu authorities require. Everyone, including me, assumed she would be required to quarantine, meaning she’d miss the funeral. If that was the case the trip might not be worth it.

To our surprise the local RHU where she needed to travel did not require her to quarantine. In fact they did not require her to be tested. They only required her to sign a form saying she would not leave the municipality.

So now how to go? The standard fast ferry out of Sibulan has been closed for tourist traffic throughout the pandemic. She could take the 7 hour Dumaguete to Cebu City ferry and then take a 3+ hour bus ride to her home town, but that was a PITA. There is another ferry out of Bato, about 10 kilometers from the Sibulan port. While some of that ferry traffic is for passengers most of it is commercial. It turns out that ferry had started running again about a week before Lolo’s passing.

And so it was that Janet had all her documentation ready and I prepared to drive her to the ferry. At the last minute she once again said, “I’m not going. I can’t leave you.” I pushed back hard. There were no more obstacles and who knew how long it would be for such an opportunity, so she needed to go.

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BTW, in case anyone wonders why I didn’t also go – here’s the reason. True, for those who know me, I am far more terrified of government’s responses and lockdowns than I am of the virus. But that doesn’t mean that I am not cautious. I knew I would be surrounded at the funeral by large numbers of strangers and that sounded a bit riskier than I was comfortable with. I am in the age risk category and Janet is not, so it made sense (at least to me) for her to go and me to stay.

We got to the ferry and there was a big snag. Turns out she needed permission from the local authority where the ferry lands in Cebu to be in their municipality, since her plan was to get off the ferry and grab a bus. Had she driven a car or motorbike there would have been no problem; she would have just driven off the ferry and been on her way. She waited an hour for an answer; an answer that was not coming. She finally sent a series of texts begging them to help her. And finally they acquiesced and allowed her to come.

For my part, I was confident I had done the right thing, but I knew it would be hard. We had never been apart for more than four days. I had agreed that she could stay through Christmas but I wanted her to come home before New Years.

As the days and weeks passed, I became more and more bored. This is unusual for me; I am rarely bored. Boring – yes; bored – no. I watched movies, I played the guitar hours a day, I worked on repairing guitars for those customers who came to see my shop around the holidays. I walked/paced in our lot. Hell, I even mowed the lawn a time or two lol.

The paperwork involved in ensuring Janet’s return was not complicated, but unlike Cebu, she was required to provide a negative swab test for Negros. That proved to be more difficult. She could only have it done at a hospital in Cebu City, a 3+ hour drive. I booked the appointment for her shortly after Christmas. They told her it would take at least a couple days for the result. In the meantime all the local authorities here in Valencia said they would be closed after Tuesday for the rest of the New Years week. On Wednesday I received the negative test result, emailed it to the Valencia Tourism Office (BTW, they were very nice and professional). But of course by then no one was there and we had to wait until today, Monday the 4th.

First thing in the morning, Valencia Tourism approved and forwarded the docs to Valencia RHU. They sent it to me, I sent it to Janet, Janet printed it and signed it, sent it back to me and I sent it to RHU. Piece of cake. RHU contacted Janet quickly to determine how she wanted to quarantine. A hotel for sure – I know my wife lol. Plus the hotel provides breakfast and dinner, so it shouldn’t be too bad, although 14 days is a lot for both of us. I expect I won’t get to see her, unless she sticks her head out the window.

Anyway, the bottom line is that in 2 weeks we will be back together. We’ve never been apart for more than 4 days so 6 weeks has been a bear, but we’ve survived. Her friends miss her and tell me that often, but they miss her nothing like me. One thing’s for sure. She ain’t leaving my side again any time soon.

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The Passing of a Friend

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Prologue: I first have to apologise to my wife, Janet. After the last couple of blog entries, which were serious and somewhat negative, she asked if my next entry could be more of my typical funny or irrelevant style and I happily agreed. But as you’ll see, this ain’t it.

Facebook and all social media are a weird amalgam of good and bad. One of the good things is that I have many many Facebook friends who I have never met in the “real” world. Most of them came my way via this very blog. Guys (a few ladies too) friended me because they liked my writing or humour or because they too were married to a Filipina, or had moved or were considering moving to the Philippines. More recently I got lots of friend request from guys who were interested in my house build.

One such friend was Alan Zaintz. He lived in Cebu and Florida and was married with a young child. We chatted online regularly, particularly the last few months. Of course we shared being Americans married to a Filipina. We also shared being Jewish; with names like Zaintz and Weisbord it was pretty obvious. There aren’t many Jewish expats here but I know a few.

As I say, the Facebook thing is weird. Is a guy a friend who I have never met? Anyway I thought he was a friend and so did Janet. He “liked” many of my posts on FB and commented often.

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This morning I found out that he passed away in Florida at the end of December. I don’t know the cause although in our conversations he implied that he was in excellent health.

Again, how do I feel about the death of a friend I only knew in cyberspace? In my case I feel as sad as I would if he were someone I knew here in Dumaguete.

And then of course my own fears kick in; those of mortality. Alan was actually two years younger than me. Janet reminded me to enjoy life now since there are no future guarantees. I ask you all to do the same.

I have nothing else profound to say. I can only ask you all to lift a glass today to the memory of my friend, Alan Zaintz.

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Stinking Rich in the Philippines

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It should come as no surprise that most Americans, Europeans, Australians, or UKians (sorry – I know that’s not a real word) – aka most white guys – aka most kanos, are considered rich in the Philippines. And the assumption is right. Even the guy who makes the proverbial $1000/month in a pension or Social Security check is by Philippines standards well into the middle class.

When I first met Janet’s family (just days after I’d first met Janet) I was seated in the family home explaining to 50 relatives, friends, neighbors, and hangers on, what Janet and I were planning to do with our vacation time together. Everyone knew this was serious stuff. I asked her parents whether they had any questions. Her father quietly asked (translated by Janet) what problems I foresaw since I was rich and Janet was poor. I tried to explain to him that by American standards I was not rich. I realized halfway through my diatribe that my rant was ridiculous. Of course I was rich. I had flown halfway around the world. I was carrying a camera, tablet, and iphone worth more than they could imagine. I gracefully got out of my soliloquy and just stated that I foresaw no problems.

Now that we live in the Philippines it’s no different. OK, I take that back. It’s a little different; now everyone thinks that Janet is rich too. The family says it, not as criticism or even as envy, but just as a statement of fact: “Uncle Dave and Yaya Janet are rich.”

After all, we have a car, and a new one at that. There’s no point in saying that if I drove my Ford into the parking lot where I formerly worked, loaded with Bimmers and Teslas, my little Ford would make me appear like I was borderline homeless.

I have found myself a time or two trying to explain to someone that by American standards we are not rich. Janet has told family members how high our bills were in the U.S. Looking back on it, such explanations seem silly. By the standards of where we now live – we are rich – stinking rich. I never thought I’d be able to say that in my lifetime.

What’s my point in all this? I have a few. First off, accept your “wealth” as a reality. I know several guys who kid themselves by saying, “They know I am not rich. I live simply and drive a motorcycle.” Nonsense – everyone still thinks you’re rich – just kuriput!

Another thing that I hear a lot of foreigners rail about is the fact that Filipinos don’t seem to know the difference between Americans, Europeans, Australians, and those Brits and often just lump us together as kanos, and non-Americans flip out. It’s not that they don’t know the differences; they don’t have any reason to care about the difference. Rich is rich. What difference does it make if you’re a rich American or rich Canadian?

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The same is true in the Philippines except the amount you have to transact anywhere to be viewed as rich is about 1/10th of what you’d have to do in the US. The Bank Manager here says hello when we come into the bank. She always remembers the last issue we spoke about and questions whether it got resolved for me.

When I go into a mall every Filipino (including Janet) is searched. They rarely do more than pat me on the ass; no comments on that! Now you might think that’s because I am Caucasian, American, and old. I think it’s more likely the false perception that I am rich and the notion that a rich old, white guy’s not a thief or terrorist.

Now contrary to constant complaints about the Philippines on a variety of forums, I get excellent service here. I’m not talking about the competence of those serving me, which can be hit and miss. I’m talking about the fact that 95% of the time, people want to help or take care of me. Of course, part of that is general Filipino friendliness, but part is the notion that they’re helping the rich kano.

Now I do my part as well. I’m polite, I try not to act like an Ugly American, I don’t condescend, and I do tip, if modestly.

I find nothing wrong with taking advantage of advantages you have in life. Hell, there’s enough things that I have going against me, that I might as well enjoy being perceived as different – and so should you!

 

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Why the Hell Would You Buy a Lot in the Philippines – PART 4

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Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

So, now Janet and I (mostly Janet) own two lots in the Philippines. I can hear some of you mumbling, “they’re nuts,” and you would not be completely wrong.

While the lot in Southern Cebu was a very good deal, by the time Janet paid the taxes (the ones that were higher than expected) it had taken a chunk out of her savings for the project.

Janet researched house building here and really learned a lot. She must have drawn up 10 different versions of a potential house design. Occasionally I would say, “You know you could get everything you want and save money by reducing the overall size of the house.” And she did!

We went to her hometown and spoke to a couple of “architects” about drawing up blueprints; architect is a misnomer; mostly they just draw up the blueprints. A blueprint is a requirement to get a permit and while some people do not bother to get the required permits, Janet was determined to do it all right. But the reality that we found out is that the blueprint and associated cost estimates are a formality that might not be used much by the builder or foreman. The first architect we interviewed seemed competent but was expensive for a provincial town. We went with guy number two, since he was cheaper.

Now, how to build the house? You can hire a contractor and certainly that’s what we will do for our own home here in Valencia. But for a simple house in a provincial area, that just adds expense and we already weren’t positive whether we could afford to build the entire house.

So in the end we hired a Foreman and Janet functions as her own contractor. Here’s what that means. The Foreman, aka Boy, oversees the crew. He tells Janet every week what materials he needs. Janet purchases those materials and arranges to have them delivered to the job site. Unfortunately in her home town there are not a lot of options for where you can buy material, so she’s pretty much stuck with the vendor and whatever price is charged.
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Every Saturday Janet has to pay the crew for the week’s work. General laborers earn 250 pesos a day (about $5). Skilled labor (masons, electricians, plumbers) usually cost 400 pesos a day but Janet had Boy negotiate 350/day, based on the fact that the laborers would have consistent work. In the provinces often projects are done in fits and starts, but Janet was determined to go from beginning to end without let up. The Foreman earns 500P/day. He mostly oversees and does some labor. Our Foreman, Boy, seems quite competent. Janet had actually hired another Foreman, a cousin of hers, but just a few days before the building was to commence he took another Foreman job and bowed out. Fortunately Boy was available. And BTW, he’s a lot older than his name would imply; I’d guess close to my age.

In addition to the paid labor, Janet’s older brother works full time on the project. Her father works his farm during the day as usual and then goes to the job site and works till dark. Every weekend the kids go to the job site and help! It’s amazing to see and you can check out a brief video to see them all at work here.

At this point, at the beginning of August, the house is really coming along and if I had to venture an uneducated guess would say we are at least halfway finished. The foundation’s been done, the concrete floor has been poured, the walls are up and soon they’ll start working on the roof.

The workers, despite their modest pay, work very hard. Now they don’t necessarily work efficiently but they work hard and earn their money. When I say the work is not that efficient I mean that the basics are not there and are substituted with hard labor. There’s no wheelbarrow, for example. Almost nothing of what you’d call jigs and fixtures; things that in the West would be done for items that had to be repeated.

Everyone in the family is excited with the house. It reminds me of the last time I had any involvement with the building of a new house. I was 6 or 7 years old and my parents were building a house in the suburbs. Every weekend we’d go and check the progress. At first I thought it was all a big nothing but as the weeks went by and I saw my bedroom framed it all got very exciting. I would imagine that’s how they are all feeling now.

——————–

There’s no point in arguing with expats here who say they would never do what we are doing. I get it – really I do. Whether or not they like their girl’s family they have no interest in helping them in such  a way. Like I say I do get it. As the mantra goes, “they did fine before I came along, didn’t they?”

The truth is compared to Janet, I’ve done very little. Mostly I provided a stable environment where she could pursue her dream; a dream that her parents and family would have a decent home to live in; a home of their own. Maybe I also provided some guidance but I’m not even sure of that. After all Janet has a B.S. in Business and is quite capable of tracking the money, labor and supplies. Mostly I just look on and have people give me credit for what I mostly haven’t done. It’s a pretty good life!

 

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Alcoy & Cebu City ’16 Gallery

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Cebu is Less of a S*ithole – More Tips & Nonsensical Words of Bulls*it

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My last blog entry, Manila is a S*ithole and other Words of Wisdom, was a hit! No two ways about it. The first day it was posted I received the most hits I’ve every received on this blog. Hell, the second day I still received more hits than I had ever received in a day.

Clearly you folks like it when I curse! I’ve thrown two bombs in the title here, which ought to ensure a massive readership 🙂

1. Cebu is Less of a Shithole!: There is a reason that Cebu City is often called “Little Manila.” The same reasons I trashed the capital of the Philippines in my last outing are true of Cebu: Traffic congestion, pollution, poverty, kids on the street, crime. All the goodies are there.

But there are some positives. The airport’s not bad and I now always fly into Cebu. Hell, there’s even a decent hotel right across the street, eliminating the need for getting a taxi and risk being ripped off for a couple hundred pesos late at night. Of course you could get taken by scores of guys wanting to carry your bags. Just lip point across the street and tell them you can manage to drag your bags and kano ass yourself.

There’s decent malls for the wife, a few sites to see (Tops is my fave – it overlooks the city and the view is great), some cool churches, and the Magellan Cross. And if you’re single and not a complete lummox you can find an attractive girl or two; hell, you can do that even if you are a complete lummox 🙂

It short, Cebu’s a decent starting off point but I wouldn’t stay there any longer than necessary.

2. Check out the provinces:  There are a certain number of guys who think if the place doesn’t have a major mall, a McDonald’s, and a good supply of hot and cold running bar girls, it’s not a good place to go to. Nonsense!

BTW, there are a hell of a lot of nice cities not named Manila and Cebu. Just in my modest experience I like Cagayan de Oro, Davao, Dumaguete, and Tagbilaran. All those and others have those city amenities you’re jonesing for without some of the qualities I dislike in the two biggest cities.

But further still, you should broaden your horizons and check out other islands and towns; the vast majority of the Philippines, that some expats simply lump together and call “the provinces.”

The beaches, the people, the air, food – frankly just about everything is superior. Even the women are, though you’ll have to do your own comparison shopping!

3. Stop worrying about American foods: I just saw a posting on Facebook from a guy wondering where he could find American groceries in Boracay. No offense to the guy, if he happens to read this, but if you go halfway around the world and are lucky enough to get to a beach like Boracay (or Palawan or Camiguin for that matter) and all you’re worried about is finding your favorite ketchup – there is no hope for you.

OK, ok – you expats who live in the Philippines are different and get a bit of a pass. I get why after a year you might want a non-Skakeys slice of pizza, spaghetti without a sugar laden sauce, or the aforementioned ketchup actually made with tomatoes not bananas; I still don’t get banana ketchup and probably never will. But for the casual or serious visitor, man up and try some adobo, find some lechon (your girl will go gaga), take a gamble with some crap on a stick from a street vendor (ask them to hold the food poisoning 🙂 ), and quaff a San Mig or two. Hey, Oscar Meyer hot dogs and French’s mustard will still be waiting for you when you get back home.
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I get why after a year you might want a non-Skakeys slice of pizza, spaghetti without a sugar laden sauce, or the aforementioned ketchup actually made with tomatoes not bananas.

4. Try a trike or jeepney: You haven’t really been to the Philippines unless you occasionally get in a trike or jeepney. I am a short guy but even I have to squeeze into a trike, but hell I’m squeezing next to the wife, so that’s not so bad. I’ve even taken a couple rides in pedal powered trikes at Janet’s home in Alcoy. I felt bad for the driver who had to peddle up a hill carrying my kano keester, no doubt a hell of a lot heavier than the average Filipino.

Jeepney’s are often considered dangerous, and passengers may stare at you like a dog stares at a juicy steak, but my ancient lungs can still yell for the cops, Janet carries pepper spray and is skilled at kicking people. So take a chance and experience the real Philippines.

5. Meet the Family: You’ve met the girl of your dreams, she’s as sweet as you imagined and now she wants to take you to the aforementioned “provinces” to meet her family. Go!

Sure, you’ve read all the horror stories about evil families taking advantage of you, the simple, naïve kano. It ain’t always so. If you’re very lucky they will come to view you as part of their family as well.

6. Mussolini was a terrible dictator but the trains ran on time: I chuckle at guys who post about the terrible governmental corruption in the Philippines. My guess is that most of these guys’ political activism in their home country doesn’t extend beyond the barstool or their fave tshirt which declares “Obamacare Sucks!”

Not to suggest that there isn’t plenty of corruption in the Philippines. I read a recent post (and a good one at that) by an expat who has lived in the Philippines over 40 years. He spoke fondly of the Marcos era when policeman were respectful and criminals were dealt with fairly – IOW executed. Of course Marcos was a dictator, no one got to vote for him, but the jeepneys ran on time.

Today the Philippines is a democracy but like with most new democracies, it’s a work in progress. The one central dictator has been replaced by a thousand petty ones. You might want to consider that while arguing with the cop over that traffic light you didn’t blow threw.

7. Tip of the Day: Your wife/gf will talk about ghosts and witches. She ain’t referring to Casper or a scary movie. She believes. You may come to believe also. When Janet says she is going to witch someone, I no longer laugh – I duck!

 

 

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Tell Us Where to Go

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OK, that title was a great setup line and I am not interested in being literally told where to go. Since you’re not my kids or either of my exes, you don’t get to do that.

However, Janet and I are very excited. Last night we booked our flight to return to the Philippines. We will be there for three weeks  from April to May!

So now I am giving you, dear readers of MarriedaFilipina, an opportunity to tell us “where to go;” your favorite place in the Philippines and why.

Our trip will have 3 pillars: family, travel/fun, and future living. Regarding family, we will spend about one week in Alcoy, Janet’s home town, 3 hours south of Cebu City. I know she misses her family terribly and I look forward to seeing them also. They have always been wonderful to me and the energy surrounding family get togethers makes me soar.

The other couple weeks we want to spend having fun, exploring, and checking out spots to live in in our dotage (coming much faster for me than for Janet).

Other than our plans to be in Alcoy, we also will spend part of our time (perhaps just a few days) re-visiting the Dumaguete area in Negros. I really liked what I saw of Duma and Valencia last year, and would consider it for that for that upcoming period of my dotage, so any other recommendations in that area or surrounding Negros areas would be considered.

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Where else? There are over 7100 islands in the Philippines and I am open to exploring any or all of them. Let’s see – if I visit 100 islands a year I can see them all by the time I turn 133. Sounds like a plan and your help is appreciated.

 

 

 

 

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The Bad Seed or How I Went from the Outhouse to the Penthouse

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OK, I’ve gushed about Janet often enough that you can tell that I like her pretty well and think she’s a great wife. But lest you think that all Filipinas are like Janet – well “it ain’t necessarily so.”

Janet wasn’t the first girl I met in the Philippines. Actually she flat out wouldn’t meet me when I first planned visiting the country. “I’m not interested in being part of your collect and select,” she declared when I suggested that we could meet in Cebu, where I was planning on meeting a couple of other candidates. No problem, I thought. There are plenty of the proverbial fish in the lush seas in and around the Philippines.

Naive guys go to the Philippines thinking getting around ought to be as easy as renting a car and taking off. But again, “it ain’t necessarily so.” The country’s made up of 7107 islands; the biggest ones are reached by ferry, not car. And if you are a brave enough soul to rent a car and drive in the Philippines, just let me know and we’ll alert the ambulance services and morgue, though not necessarily in that order.

I had scheduled a flight from Manila to Cebu and booked a hotel for a few days. One very compelling girl I was chatting with lived in Mindanao. I looked it up on the map. Only one island over from Cebu – how far could it be? She lived in the southern portion of the island. I didn’t know or care at the time that that was a dangerous area, filled with rebels – allegedly. All I knew was that there was a cute girl there who wanted to meet me – how dangerous could it be? The next thing I knew we decided to meet in Davao (she took a long bus ride to get there which impressed me) for a day and then fly to Cebu the next day.

The three days went by in a blur, a pretty hot blur I have to admit. After parting, I traveled a bit more around Manila and then spent a week in Vietnam, before returning to the U.S. We chatted every day online and by the time I returned I was pretty hooked.

While in Cebu, Kathy (name changed to protect the guilty) asked, “When are you coming back?” I hadn’t thought about that at all but instinctively said, “Spring break – April.”

The four months whizzed by. We chatted online every day. It was fun, exciting, sexy; just like relationships with most Filipinas. I decided to go all in so to speak, so in April I took her for a week to Boracay. Now for those who don’t know, Boracay is the most famous tourist destination in the Philippines. The long, white sand beach is spectacular. Parties happen up and down the beach. Each night tables magically appear for dinner on the beach. It’s fun, sexy and romantic – and hot as hell in April.

The place is filled with tourists from the U.S., Europe, China and Korea. Less so Filipinas (except for the staff) for whom it’s generally too expensive. Cebu Pacific Airlines flies to Boracay but the normally inexpensive commuter airline is for some odd reason damn expensive if you want to go to Boracay. Add the costs of upscale hotels and meals and it’s just not a place the average Filipina has visited, without a “rich kano” boyfriend or husband.

Personal Note of Guilt: I haven’t yet taken Janet to Boracay and it is – well, a bit of an issue 🙂 Don’t worry baby – it’s gonna happen!

The week was exciting, sweet and sexy and by the end we decided to officially be in a relationship, meaning we declared it on Facebook, which has replaced the silly formality of a wedding as the only modern way to make relationships official. My friends were excited for me; that is those that weren’t appalled. Her friends friended me and chatted online, happy to meet Kathy’s boyfriend.

The week was exciting, sweet and sexy and by the end we decided to officially be in a relationship, meaning we declared it on Facebook, which has replaced the silly formality of a wedding as the only way nowadays to make relationships official.

Yet despite all the excitement, I remained cautious. The hairs on the back of my neck tingled enough that I told myself and her that I would visit the Philippines a few more times, before I got really serious. She agreed entirely, not wanting to rush into marriage. That in and of itself should have been a red flag.

A month later, chatting and talking started happening a bit less; the excuses made sense, but nevertheless I worried. Eventually she laid the boom on me. Her father was seriously against our relationship and wanted her to cut it off. She and her dad weren’t speaking but they were fighting. I wrote her dad a serious and impassioned note and asked her to give it to him. She assured me it wouldn’t  matter – that his mind was made up – but I was equally insistent that she try.

Why was he against the relationship? Because I was a foreigner, much older than Kathy, and because I was not a Mormon. Oh, yes, I failed to mention that Kathy was not the standard Catholic Filipina; she was Mormon. At one point I had spoken to Kathy’s brother and he asked me if I understood just how important it was for a Mormon to marry in the temple and this would be impossible if Kathy were not marrying another Mormon. I began to investigate the ins and outs of Mormon and non-Mormon relationships and assured Kathy that I would in no way interfere with her religious beliefs.

Another week passed and Kathy sadly informed me that her father was adamant and that in the Philippines not obeying the wishes of her father regarding marriage, particularly as a Mormon, was impossible; so sadly we would not be able to see each other again.

It seemed so ironic. Here I was nearly 60 years old and for the first time in my life the parents didn’t like me. In the past the parents, particularly the mothers, always liked me. It was their daughters who were a bit less enthusiastic.

By then I had already booked my next trip to the Philippines which we had been planning. What should I do? I licked my wounds but wasn’t down for long. I had discovered that I liked the Philippines very much and Filipinas even more. Perhaps there was another one out there for me; Kathy had been magnanimous enough to encourage me to go find another.

Of course I had been chatting with Janet for about a year and she was the person I wanted to meet (and that bit of drama will get written up eventually). I had been telling her of the struggles with “my girlfriend” and Janet was sympathetic though disinterested when the subject of said girlfriend came up. Truth be told, Janet was pissed as hell that I had “chosen” another girl. But something was to happen first to change everything.

A week went by after our forced break up. We made it official – by removing the “in a relationship” status on Facebook, via a sad click of the mouse. Then, one Saturday morning I was checking FB. I was still friends with several of Kathy’s friends. And there posted on one of her friends walls were pictures of Kathy in white wedding dress. A full blown set of wedding pictures, party and all followed.

I was incensed! The guy was another American, and while not as ancient as me, he was no spring chicken either. For all I knew he wasn’t even a Mormon!
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I wrote Kathy a furious email telling her in no uncertain terms that I didn’t give a damn that she had another boyfriend who she decided to marry, but that at the very least she should have told me the truth instead of the fairy tale about her dad not approving.

Two days after the wedding Kathy and I were back chatting on Facebook and she told me the whole truth – finally. Seems that the man in question was a friend of the family and had supported the family (aka given money). She told me she didn’t love him and loved me but “I am obligated.”

Worse yet, the man was ill, terminally ill with cancer. I remarked that he “looked pretty damn healthy to me.” He traveled with his nurse, she replied. His dying wish was to marry her and between the man and her family, she felt stuck.

“I love you,” she said. “Not him. But I will do my best to be a good wife.”

Back on my end of the chat, nervous laughter became hysterical laughter at the depth and lunacy of the whopper I was being told. I calmly reminded her that with the lengthy Visa process there was little chance that she would be able to enter the United States before her poor husband passed away. “He has connections to speed it up,” she said. She had a line for everything; damn, she was good.

Fortunately, the depth and nuttiness of the lies made it easy for me to move on and to move on up.

A couple months later, unexpectedly, I heard from Kathy again. “Are you still planning to come to the Philippines in October?” she asked. By this time Janet and I had decided to meet.

“I’ll be in Cebu,” I said and I told her the date.

“I will be in Cebu then too,” she replied, “getting my passport.”

“Are you implying that we meet?” I asked, stunned at her gall.

“No, no, of course not. I am sure by now you have a new girlfriend,” she sneered.

“And I am sure you are still married, right? By the way, how is your husband doing. Must be hard not being with him in his dying days.” I threw in an “lol,” one of the rare times it seemed totally appropriate.

“He is fine. I will take care of him. Maybe he will get well, God willing.”

I heard from her one more time. I was packing on the October morning I was going to fly to Cebu to meet Janet. She obviously remembered the date and thought she’d needle me one more time and hint that we ought to meet, except she knew that I was “already taken.”

Over the months I had received a few bits and pieces of information from friends of Kathy’s. The new husband had asked her to marry him several weeks before I met her in April and she’d accepted, meaning that entire trip I was sleeping with an engaged woman. I’m such a slut!

Her parents had not known of my existence, but at some point prior to the wedding her father found out. A religious man, her father hit the ceiling at the notion of his engaged daughter playing around with another guy and forbade her from contacting me. So I suppose in a weird way her story about his opposition did have a kernel of truth. I truly believe that in her twisted mind she figured she would get married and while the Visa process was happening meet me in October for fun, games and prizes.

So what’s the point here, other than to tell a funny story at my own expense?  What did I learn? I went halfway around the world to the Philippines and got f-ed over, but good. But I must admit I sure as hell enjoyed the f-ing.

This is my cautionary tale – we all must be careful when it comes to any type of relationship – but by learning and remaining confident and true to my goal, I ended up a hell of a lot better off, going from the outhouse to the penthouse.

 

Blogette

Stories of Kano Idiocy

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I wrote a little while back about “Uneducated and Dumb Filipinas – Really?” attacking some negative stereotypes. I am on several forums where stories of Filipina idiocy are routinely posted. In many cases it strikes me that the idiot is the kano who has no idea how to act in a foreign country. Acting the fool or acting like an Ugly American can only get you in trouble in a developing nation like the Philippines. Here’s my current favorite one:

“When I visited the Philippines two years ago, the first thing I did was head to the mall to buy a cell phone. I thought that it would be a simple matter to pay with my credit card. Boy, was I wrong!

You know that strip on the back of your credit card, where you’re supposed to sign it? Well, instead of signing it, I always write ‘Ask for photo ID.’ This makes it less likely that some thief will be able to use my card.

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So I try to pay for my cell phone with my credit card, and the bimbo salesgirl says that my card is no good, because there’s no signature on the back. I tried to explain to her that what I put on the card was even better than a signature, and that if she would just look at my passport, she would see that I really was the owner of the card. She wasn’t buying it, though. I tried explaining to some of her co-workers, and they too insisted that I had to have a signature on it. I thought about asking them to let me speak with their manager, but I thought, “the Hell with it, I’ll just pay cash”. After all, I was a representative of the USA, and I didn’t want to do even more damage to the reputation of Americans among foreigners.”

So the guy in question not only doesn’t sign his credit card, as he’s obligated by the credit card company to do, he puts in a ridiculous amendment and then thinks that the Filipina sales clerk is an idiot for not accepting his card or his explanation.

Anyone else want to share similar stories about themselves or others? I’ve got a story about my own idiocy that will be posted shortly. Stay tuned.

Blog

The Myth of the Middle-Class Filipina

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Like in most of my wiseassed blog entries, the title here was meant to suck you in with a bit of hyperbole. Of course there is a middle-class in the Philippines, albeit a modest sized one. What I am referring to today is the fact that many Western men go to the Philippines looking for that elusive middle to upper-class Filipina woman and why.

Apparently for many, it isn’t enough that the woman they seek is attractive, youngish, feminine, intelligent and educated, let alone that such a woman would actually consider someone like them (and me) as a partner. No, these guys also are delusionally determined to find someone who is not a poor Filipina, who is part of the Philippines middle-class, or worse still, the upper crust, the Pinay version of a 1 percenter.

This made me consider a couple things: what constitutes middle-class and why would such a distinction be important to some guys?

I’m not a sociologist but it strikes me that in daily practical life there are three types of middle-class: economic, occupational, and social.

Economic’s obvious. In the U.S., does a guy make enough cash to afford a decent place to live, make his car payment, put food on the table, and pay for his booze, dope and gambling debts? If so, then he’s middle-class.

In the U.S., does a guy make enough cash to afford a decent place to live, make his car payment, put food on the table, and pay for his booze, dope and gambling debts? If so, then he’s middle-class.

Occupational’s a bit fuzzier. A guy doesn’t have to be a doctor, lawyer or engineer to be middle-class occupationally, though it helps. He can be a blue collar guy and make good money, yet might be considered just a bit less middle-class than the MD. For that matter, is an unemployed doctor with no income still middle-class? A “sort of” relative of mine lost his medical license for a couple years (ask me about that story sometime); he still told everyone he was a doc, but was he?

Socially middle-class is the murkiest of all. I grew up in a suburban environment. My father was a business executive and we might have been considered middle to upper-middle class. But by 21 I was on my own and spent my 20s in a series of low paying, low class jobs, with a lifestyle that matched. Was I still upper middle-class because my family was? Or was I a hippie bum barely scratching by?

Murkier still is how these categories translate to a developing nation like the Philippines. In the Philippines if a middle-aged man with a decent job makes the equivalent of $1000/month, he’s middle-class. He can afford a simple house, puts food on the table, maybe owns an older car or motorcycle. But is that middle class by American standards? Nope. Here, someone can be on the dole and do all those things.

Just as in the U.S., occupational middle-class in the Philippines is fuzzier. Nursing or teaching would be considered a good, professional job in the Philippines. But since the typical nurse makes maybe $400/month (assuming she can find a gig), while she might have prestige she doesn’t have enough cash to be middle-class, at least economically. Even doctors in the Philippines barely make enough to constitute middle-class in the U.S.

And then there’s the elusive social class. A very small percentage of Filipinos belong to the upper crust social class of a few, monied families. These aren’t people even a rich kano’s likely to interact with in daily life. They are rich and powerful, rarely ride in jeepneys and can buy all the lechon they want.

Because of this, the medication should not viagra brand online be eaten along with other drugs that are taken to control high blood pressure or antidepressants are known to also relate to impotency. When you open the door to that system-to-system-level comparison with people with a lot of years of experience in the field of medicine as it will viagra low price increase your chances of becoming pregnant is to make sure your husband or boyfriend has a good sperm count. Erections are supposed to be firm and if that does not happens viagra free order then a person might be prone to erectile dysfunction someday soon in their life. The therapist or aesthetician is typically a cosmetologist with a state-administered license. vardenafil vs viagra Janet grew up in a poor, provincial family; no ifs, ands or buts about that. Yet now she lives in the U.S. and since everyone in the Philippines believes Americans are all rich kanos, does this make her middle-class or even upper-class? She doesn’t think it does. She still considers herself to be a poor, simple girl. But is she? She lives in a nice house, rides in a nice car (or at least a car with a nice monthly payment), and eats well. For God’s sake, she shops at Target; how much more middle-class can you be?

And I think this is a key issue. People in the U.S. believe that class distinctions are fluid; you can be born poor, work hard and end up rich; or the other way around if you’re Bernie Madoff. But in the Philippines and most of the developing world, going up or down is pretty rare. Class-wise a person usually remains the way they were born.

Throughout my impoverished 20s, if you’d asked me, I would have told you I was middle class or above, despite the contradiction of my surroundings. After all, if I was ever hard up enough I could have always hit my father up for money.

One other interesting factoid in the U.S. Almost every American considers himself to be middle-class. A guy makes $25k/year and he thinks so; another makes $400k/year and he too thinks so. No one wants to admit that he’s lower or upper class. It’s un-American.

But in the Philippines millions of people acknowledge matter-of-factly that they are poor. Unfortunately, the 1 percenters also readily acknowledge that they are rich. In some weird way they believe that makes them, not only economically superior but morally superior.

So now we get back to our tourist or expat in the Philippines. He may be young, living in mommy’s basement or old living on a small pension – but since all Americans are middle-class he thinks he is too and damn it, he deserves a middle-class woman. He’s drunk the koolaid and believes that more money makes a better woman.

And here’s where I really get annoyed. After all, he thinks, poor people are all crooks and scammers; it’s in their nature. Surely, he reasons, a woman from a richer family or with enough money to afford some extras (like the ability to go Dutch on a date) is morally superior to those poor people in the provinces.

It’s true in the U.S. also, right? Crime is strictly committed by poor people. OK, there are a few exceptions; the aforementioned Bernie Madoff, the Wall Street guys who brought the entire Western world into ruin in 2008, the crooked politicians (an oxymoron), phone scammers, email scammers, texting scammers. There’s also door to door con artists who call themselves salesman. And don’t get me started on those douche bags at the cable or cell phone companies. But despite these “exceptions” most crime is committed by the poor who are just born that way, right? Hmmm…wrong!

Some men travel to the Philippines and want to be more than they are. We men are competitive; it’s in our nature. Since finding a Filipina who’s pretty, sweet, sexy, loving and will take good care of you isn’t that difficult, some men need to find a challenge. They think it proves something about their own skills, manhood, and just plain animal sex appeal that they met and conquered a Filipina woman who’s not poor.

Janet comes from a poor family. Her family’s hard working and ethical, as is she. She put herself through college, working for five years, alone, far from her family, to get it done. Let those other expats brag about the middle-class women they met. I’ll brag about Janet!

Addendum: As always, my primary intention is to be a bit of a jerk and somewhat humorous. Whatever class your wife or gf is, I am sure she is a lovely ethical woman and you, stud that you are, completely deserved getting her. Me – I’m just very, very lucky.