Pt. 5 Pictures

Corregidor Pt. 5

     After lunch, we visited, for the most part, more militaristic places. We visited barracks, ammo storage spaces, batteries (not AA but artillery), and things of that nature. Rebecca said she was tired of it after the first couple of destinations, but I had a sort of boyish fascination. I explored all of the ammunition buildings with the puny flashlight on my Nokia.

     Essentially, there were two notable places. The first was the very large artillery piece with a 17 mile firing range, with a 360 degree rotational capacity. After the Japanese took over the island, several troops climbed on top of it and yelled, "Bonsai! Bonsai! Bonsai!". There were also several shrapnel scars, some as big as my thumb. The second was the "Mile Long Barrack" which housed 6,000 troops in its heyday. Now it roughly resembles its previous structure as everything but the concrete has faded away and crumbled. Even the concrete has fallen apart in places.

     Finally, our last stop, was the Pacific War Museum. There was an outdoor section of marble slabs, the brief historical facts of the Pacific Theater carved into them. There was also a chapel of sorts, essentially a dome with a hole in the top and an altar directly underneath said hole. The sun is supposed to line up with the hole sometime in April when the war ended. There was also an indoor section, which was traditional as museums go, i.e., displays and photographs and maps and uniforms donated by veterans. One thing I found particularly interesting was the display of a soldier's letters home. There were "automated" letters which were streamlined and had "Medical Condition:" and "Send My Regards To:" etc. I found it interesting because the letters were from a Houston boy, and I showed Dad and he remarked that he knew exactly where the printed address was.

     Then we got back on the ferry, finished the bad movie, and went home.

Pt. 4 Pictures

Corregidor Pt. 4

     After the Japanese Memorial Garden, we were on our way to the vast tunnel systems underneath the island. The Malinta Tunnels were originally designed to be bomb-proof hospitals for the wounded troops. As a hospital, the tunnels could fit 1000 beds, and were manned by Filipina nurses, and there are no end of stories depicting their bravery and their refusal to leave their patients during the Japanese invasions.

     The tunnels were also used as a seat of government by President Quezon during the Japanese bombing of the city of Manila. Brigadier General George Moore, Texas A&M Class of 1908, held an 24-man A&M class reunion with all of the Aggie soldiers stationed in the tunnels. The tunnels protected fuel tanks which were used to provide power to the whole island.

     The tunnels themselves are quite large. The main tunnel, running east to west, is 831 feet long, 24 feet wide, and 18 feet high. There are 11 lateral tunnels on the south side of the tunnel and 13 lateral tunnels on the north side of the tunnel. Each lateral was about 160 feet long and 15 feet wide.

     Corregidor has a resort, and thus provides the option of staying the night. There is a more in-depth tour of the island, covering the bits that weren't covered during the day tour, that includes a walk-through of the tunnel laterals that were skipped, including the hospital tunnels.

Pt. 3 Pictures

Corregidor Pt. 3

     After the Filipino Heroes Memorial, we stopped at the Japanese Memorial Garden. Here, there were several dedicated tablets and statues that described the loss and commemorated the dead.

     My first stop was a small tablet that had a brief historical/memorial blurb about the fight at Corregidor. Then, I went to a Shinto shrine, with an incense bowl and a wooden stake with Japanese characters. Not far from there was a cemetery, with a central granite lotus, and lily pads with the names of the fallen. There were also several anti-aircraft guns painted over to prevent rusting. Also at the Japanese Memorial Garden was a large statue of the ancient Japanese goddess of hope, with dedicated plaques and tablets. There was also an old Japanese flag written on by Japanese suicide soldiers.

     Being there, I felt the gravity of the location, and its historical significance started to weigh on my shoulders. Being able to walk where soldiers from 70 years ago walked was like nothing I've felt before. Because there were no velvet ropes and no "Please Don't Walk on the Grass" signs, I got to touch these historically charged items, and I think that being able to touch these things really helped them connect and hit home.

Pt. 2 Pictures

Corregidor (The Sperm Isle) 

Corregidor Pt. 2

     Corregidor is shaped somewhat like a horizontal sperm. It is split into 4 parts: Top side (the top half of the sperm's head), Bottom side (the bottom half of the sperm's head), Middle side (the section of the tail closest to the head) and Tail side (the rest of the tail). We loaded into the tour bus, and headed towards Tail side, where there were various memorial sites.

     Along the way, we stopped at Lorcha Dock, General MacArthur's launching off point on his way to Australia. Nearby was a large bronze statue of the man with a plaque inscribed "I Shall Return".

     Our next stop was the Filipino Heroes Memorial, which has large bronze murals of Filipino wars throughout history. On top of a museum filled with paintings of wartime atrocities by the Japanese, was a large bronze sculpture of a Filipino with a plow in one hand and a rifle over his shoulder, depicting the fact that many Filipinos farmed by day and fought by night.

Corregidor Pt. 1

     My day started at 5 am. We were told to be at the Peninsula Hotel by 6:30 so we could get to the docks on time for our trip to Corregidor, an incredibly historically important island about 50 km west of Manila Bay. For those of you who aren't WWII buffs, Corregidor was the last stronghold against the Japanese in the Philippines. President Quezon transferred his seat of power to the large bomb shelter/tunnel system there; General Wainwright surrendered to the Japanese at Corregidor; General MacArthur started his island hopping retreat at Corregidor. All in all, Corregidor was an incredibly important island for Japan, the US, and the Philippines during WWII.

     After a very speedy breakfast at the Peninsula, the driver took us to the docks, about 20 minutes away. After a half-hour, we boarded a "fast ferry", which is what the company calls their boats. All available space on the ferry was used for passenger seating, so unfortunately, there was no deck space to wander on. The boat ride was just over an hour, and to kill time, they played a bad movie: "The Spy Next Door" with Jackie Chan.

Photos from Pundaquit

Photos of the Clinic and the Kubow

Shower and Cooktop

My Room

Photos of the Jeep

Photos from Wild Orchid

An Update

     Hong Kong: Rebecca has been in Houston for the past week or two, trying to get the house in Montrose fixed up before she leaves on Wednesday. Unfortunately, the house has leaks and other things that houses shouldn't have, so she's had to spend quite a few dollars trying to get it in selling condition. Also unfortunately, those "quite a few dollars" were originally going to be spent in Hong Kong. So, no Hong Kong trip. Sorry.

     Typhoon Glenda: There is currently a typhoon on track to sweep through Manila in a while. That means 5-10 inches of rain, no power, etc. Also, because Dad has been in bachelor mode without Rebecca, he forgot to get new water jugs, which means we will have to ask the neighbors for a water jug. Mom, Grandma, Nana Gail, everything will be okay, I promise.

Letter to Mr. Musk

Elon Musk

     So I sent a letter to Elon Musk the other day.

     "Who's Elon Musk?", you ask?

     Well, Elon Musk is probably a super-genius. He was the co-founder of PayPal and some of its predecessors. He also founded some other super valuable internet companies. More recently, he is founder and CEO of both Tesla Motors, first company to produce an electric car that goes decent distances, and SpaceX, first private company to hook a rocket up to the ISS. Also, he's a multi-billionaire.

     Anyway, I sent him a letter asking for funds on behalf of Val. I'll post it at the bottom of this. I sent it at 3:09 PM here, which was 12:09 AM there. It is now 7:00 AM here, or 4:00 PM there. Frankly, I'm kind of freaking out. My original plan was to send the document via Google Hangouts though Google+, where I found Mr. Musk's profile. Turns out you can't do that. So I had to print the documents and scan them as pictures, which you can apparently send on Google Hangouts. So I did that. I even signed the document.

     This is stressful.

Pundaquit

     Pundaquit is a beach.

     We were invited to spend Sunday the 6th with one of Val's former patients. She and her Aussie husband live in the Australian Village, a complex of pretty swanky homes inhabited by ex-pats who are, not surprisingly, mostly Australians. Turns out, the Australian Village has its own private Pundaquit beach area with a two-story structure, complete with grill, working sink, tables, benches, etc. The second floor is an observation deck.

     The drive up to Pundaquit was pretty long. You have to get off the main highway, do some twists and turns, and go quite a while before there are any indications that you are going the right way. The land in that area is depressed (low, not sad), and Val said that when the flooding is bad, the whole area is under water. Apparently, the water laps the sides of a bridge spanning a particularly sad low area, but the bridge is fairly high up. During the floods, locals farm kang kong, a local water spinach, and when the floods recede, they set up houses on the river banks.

     The drive was pretty spectacular. The mountains that are in the background in Castillejos are really close to Pundaquit, allowing us to see the tree cover in more detail, which was quite something. There were, again, quite a few resorts along the way as well as small family farms planting rice for the second or third crop. Once we got there, we passed the Australian Village the first time, turned around, went too far the other way, and finally managed to find the place after our hostess walked out of the gate and waved at us. She is a Filipina, and her husband is an Aussie.

     I was pretty impressed by their house. It was two stories, and it was essentially two separate houses on top of each other. The 1st floor was for guests, and they lived on the 2nd floor. There was also a deck on the 2nd story overlooking the mountain where the moon rises. Below that was an outdoor space with a large raised table and a grill built into a counter with a sink.

     Anyway, we went to the private Australian Village beach strip and set up shop. Our hostess brought cheese and crackers and pickles and chips and salsa. Mona and I went to frolic in the water, while Val and the hostess talked about something or other.

     Our lunch was at a place called Dogs Offshore in a kubow 15 feet in the air. The view was great and there was a nice breeze, but getting up and down was difficult.

     And that was my Sunday.

Up the Mountain

     The other day, Val took me up the mountain to see the Aeta school, formerly a hospital. (The Aeta are the indigenous peoples of Zambales, maybe the whole of the Philippines, but not sure.) Unfortunately, we couldn't go all the way up on account of foreboding rain clouds and a flooded river, but more on that later.

     The day was clear, at least for the Philippines, so Val thought it was time I saw the Aetas. They are a short people, due to their lack of calcium. They are dark-skinned with dark, curly hair. Unfortunately, they are stubborn. They refuse to change their way of living by even an iota because if their ancestors could live the way they did, then the present-time Aetas should be able to live that way as well. Val said that they are also lazy. They would rather get the fish than the knowledge of fishing.

     On the way up, Val couldn't stop commenting on the fact that the road was now paved. I was noticing some incredible vistas. Rice paddies with mountains as a backdrop are tantalizingly beautiful. The only type of house in this area was a bamboo kubow, which is essentially a hut. It's one-roomed, no modern amenities such as running water or power, and right smack-dab in the middle of the fields. The whole "no power" thing might be false soon, as we saw power lines on our way up, and the Aetas told Evelyn that there were lines going up to the school.

     Anyway, we stopped at the house of one of Val's former patients, a 3 year-old Aetan who had corrective surgery for his cleft lip. This house had power, and was blasting their stereo. There was also a sign that had prices for charging various electronic items. We went on a Monday, so the matriarch of the family was out foraging/harvesting crops for market day on Tuesday. On the ground was a pile of peeled bamboo shoots, which are a food supplement. Of course, Val took an obligatory picture of me with the Aetas, and once I get all of the photos in one place, I'll upload it so all of you can see my awkwardness.

     While at the house, Val asked if we could go up the mountain, but the Aetas said we couldn't because the river flooded over the road, and if the Aetas say don't go up the mountain, you better believe them. There were also clouds hovering over the mountain peak, exactly where the school is. According to Val, going up after it rained/while it's raining is like driving through "chocolate soup".

Healthcare

     Healthcare is astonishingly bad here. It's shocking, and I'm not exaggerating. Whenever the topic comes up in conversation, Val gets angry about how bad it is. I'm going to describe it piece by piece.

     The state of the hospitals: It's gross. Plain and simple. The beds are old and falling apart. They are the ones covered in vinyl, and the vinyl has holes, rips, tears, empty patches, you name it. The walls are moldy. They stick 35 people in a room, regardless of age or gender, without any sort of barriers to give some privacy, with one dirty toilet. The lights are on only where it's necessary. We were walking to visit the Hope Foundation, stationed in the hospital, and half of the hospital was lightless. The same is true for air conditioning. I'm not a medical person, and it upsets me.

     Nurses: They do nothing. They actually do nothing unless a doctor explicitly tells them to do something. The day to day care for patients is administered by a family member that essentially lives with the ailing person in the hospital. Evelyn, Val's assistant, was hesitant to do anything without Val's permission when she started working with her. Once, Val was with a patient and someone put in the IV incorrectly, and the liquid started leaking into the arm, which, if not fixed, would have essentially rendered her arm useless. Val told the nurse she had permission from the doctor, which she did, but the nurse didn't let her do it until the nurse witnessed the doctor giving permission. And the nurse didn't even remove the IV, it was Val.

     Medical bills: Everything is upfront. If you can't pay for the procedure, including all of the medical supplies, you don't get it. All of the medicines are bought at pharmacies across the street after the doctor gives you a prescription. Money is often gotten after selling items of high value like motorcycles, tricycles, property, etc. and from the rest of the extended family. There is no such thing as a "charity case" here. I just recently got a text, unknown number, that someone was in an accident and is now in the hospital. Val said it was a scam set up by the phone company that, if I had replied, would have asked me to send money to the "hospitalized person". More often than not, people simply can't pay. People die from poverty.

     Malpractice: I only know what I know from pictures and what Val has described to me, so I don't know much, but here goes. Val showed me a picture of an infant with a broken leg, with a bottle of bleach as traction hanging off the bed (traction is used to keep broken limbs aligned for proper healing). First of all, infants don't need traction, their bones are soft enough that they'll just grow back together without a problem. Second of all, the fact that they use bleach bottles hanging off the foot of the bed is absolutely ridiculous. Burns treatment is also absurd. They do a lot of surgical debribement, which is essentially scrubbing the burned tissue away. Apparently the doctors do this regularly, every few days, and not only scrub away the burned tissue, but also undamaged tissue. This, as it sounds, is incredible painful. They also leave the wound open, which is one of the worst things you can do to a burn. They also essentially disregard scar management, which is almost the most important thing when treating a burn, otherwise you get horrible contractions. If that isn't addressed, essentially your body shrinks into itself. Val showed me pictures of a girl who had pretty horrendous burns to begin with. She went to a hospital in Manila for treatment for eleven months. Her scars were not taken care of, and she had incredibly bad contractions. Her shoulders shrank inward, her jaw sank to about mid-breast, leaving her mouth open at all times. Because of this, her tongue is below her lower teeth. Her eyelids come about halfway over her eyes. There is a very large lump of amalgamated flesh sitting in the middle of her chest. In other words, it's not a pretty sight. She is stuck at a 3rd grade mental level because after she got out of the hospital, schools wouldn't take her. All of it could have been prevented. All of it. She is now at an Australian hospital getting surgery to correct all of the contractions.

     This is what Val is dealing with. She is adamant about fixing the healthcare system, at least with burns, before she dies. And honestly, I hope she does it.

Work

     Some of the more astute of you probably noticed that I am writing more about general conditions than my everyday life. This is partly because I want you to know the conditions that these people live in, and partly because I am not doing very interesting things.

     My day starts at around 6 AM (by choice), and I go to the kubow, a covered pavilion-like piece of outdoor furniture, and write an entry for you guys. Val usually wakes up a little later, gets me a cup of tea, and proceeds to get Mona ready for school. They leave at 7, and I read/lounge/play spoons until she gets back. Val and I eat breakfast together, and she gets to work at the clinic. I do all sorts of odd jobs for her, from fixing the drainage of her potted avocado tree to finding the average cost per burns dressing to doing the dishes to sending mass emails for fundraising to setting up her Gmail account and transferring everything from her Hotmail to walking the dogs to helping Mona with her homework, etc., etc. Val's clinic is open on Mondays, Wednesdays, Fridays, and Saturdays, but people invariably come for help. I like helping Val out. For one thing, I wake up fairly full of energy, and go to bed exhausted. Occasionally, I go do some last-minute shopping or get Yakult for Mona from the corner-store. But mostly, it's been a fairly quiet and simple week.

Water

     The water situation in Zambales is atrocious. There are a few ways of getting water here: 1) Pay the water company for water from the tap, which is rusty and has quite a few bugs in it. None of the ex-pats drink it. 2) Some properties have "deep-well pumps" which come from underground reservoirs. Getting water from these is free. 3) For drinking water, you have to go to one of many water purification centers. 4) Some of the especially poor families get water from the rivers and streams around the area.

     Because water is so expensive, showering is quite different. At the clinic, when we shower, we have to stand in a large black tub, not unlike a small kiddie-pool. The water from the shower collects in the tub, and you transfer it to a large 3-4 gallon bucket, also in the shower area. The water, newly transferred, is used to flush the toilet (let me explain). Toilets, as Americans know them, are non-existent here. Here, they have no seats, i.e., they are just bowls. Plumbing is also practically non-existent in residential areas, so the pressure from pouring a quart or so of water into the bowl after it is full of you-know-what essentially flushes the toilet.

Pets

     Val has two wonderful dogs and two wonderful cats. The dogs are named Bonnie and Waggley, and the cats are named Tom and Jerry. The dogs are well behaved, they deal with people nicely, they occasionally bark at animals walking down the street, but they are what pets are supposed to be. The cats like a nice lounge, they hunt, and again, are pretty much a textbook pet cat.

     This is not true for other dogs (I rarely see cats). From what Val tells me, the vast majority of ex-pats treat their dogs like they should. However, the ex-pats make up a small percentage of the Zambales population. Most Filipinos keep their dogs in a cage with a foot long chain keeping them there. If they don't do that, they have them unleashed and just behind the gate. And most of the time that isn't an issue. But gates are big and dogs are small, so now you have a brand new stray dog. And they are vicious. If another dog passes by, they bare their teeth, bark, growl, and other not-nice things.

     Side note: I have been walking Bonnie and Waggley with Val since I have gotten here. Apparently, issues, i.e., loose dogs, have been arising only in the past few days. But it's probably not my fault. I hope.

     Anyway, Val and I walk the dogs, and unfortunately there is only one route to the field we let them loose in. And on this route, there is one house with a gate that has a hole big enough to let one of their smaller dogs out. And it is mean. And yesterday, there were a handful of dogs without any restrictions whatsoever. Most defended their territory and barked as we walked past but didn't do much else. There was one in particular that followed us for a while, and the whole time it did, it was mean.

     Good dogs are great, but mean dogs are incredibly scary.

Castillejos

The town that the burns/cleft lip/palate clinic is in is Castillejos, in the province of Zambales. It is a poor town. Incredibly poor. The clinic is, for Western standards, not what it should be, but in Castillejos, it is one of the nicest houses in town. I shall now describe the town.

     Roads: There is one main road in Castillejos, with lots of little dirt sidepaths. The road is covered with little businesses, from cornerstores to barbershops to a gunstore to little food stalls. Sad to say, many of the residents of Castillejos don't have much business sense, meaning that the moment they have money to rent the land to open a store, they do. And many of the shops fail as soon as they open.

     Vehicles: Most of the vehicles on the road are either jeepneys, long hollowed-out, no doors or windows, 23-person carriers that operate much like public transportation, trikes, which are motorcycles with a passenger side-car that can hold two people, and a third behind the driver, or motorcycles, often with two or more people. Val, the owner of the clinic, owns a stainless steel jeep with two seats in the front, and cargo space in the back. It is as barebones as a car can get. The clutch is between the two front seats, just on the floor of the car, the wires in the dash are just hanging out, the A/C is two fans and slideable windows, the doors work with small hook latches, most of the -meters in the dash don't really work, any lights in the front are just little lightbulbs, and you can open the hood with a latch on either side of the engine compartment.

     Supermarkets: Imagine a conventional supermarket, full of fresh fruits, vegetables, fish and meats, with some frozen prepared meals, breakfast cereal, etc. Mostly full of things that are good for you. Not in the Philippines. Here, a supermarket is a glorified gas station store. Everything in the store is packaged. Everything. Chips, crackers, insta-ramen, candy, soda, you name it, and it's there in 17 flavors and varieties. The only place for people to get fresh fruits and vegetables is the palenque, or the market. It's a big open-air market with dozens, maybe hundreds, of vendors. There is an area for clothes, for produce, for rice, for meat, for fish, for prepared foods, etc. The vegetable stands had shredded banana heart, which is actually a banana tree seedling. It's hard to describe but you can cook it like a starch. We went to a stand owned by one of the aboriginal peoples, and the owner was 19 and a mother of 4. Val had helped her child medically, and she insisted that Val take a banana heart. The stands also had a sort of medley of cabbage, green bean, eggplant, and what looked to be butternut squash.

     People: Families in Zambales are very large. Couples get married between 16-19, generally, and have lots and lots of children. Mona came from a squatter family, and she was the 10th child. They are now on their 14th child.Granted, that's probably an extreme, but here is another example. A former patient of Val's came in yesterday because she heard that Val was looking for a maid. She wasn't. Anyway, the patient is almost 17, and her parents just had another child. She quit her job at the water station because her mom needed help with the children, and now she needs to get one to support the family. Another common sight is an ex-pat marrying a young Filipina. There is generally a 10-15+ year age difference.

     Food: Val is an extraordinary cook. So far, for dinner I have had roast chicken, steak and fries, tacos with homemade flour tortillas, and fried chicken. All made at home. Fresh meat is fairly available. The meat shop chain "Fresh Options" is overseen by a former veterinary surgeon, so the meat is of good quality. Val's assistant is also a good cook and baker, although I have yet to taste any of her food. There are plenty of street stalls with food of their own, although I probably won't be having it on account of foreign germs and whatnot. At the palenque, we did stop for "banana-que" which is essentially caramelized bananas on a stick. They also sold fried squash balls, which were mild and pleasant. One of Val's friends sells organic salted eggs, and she is looking into safe balut, so I can have the complete Filipino experience.

     More will be on the way!

Val & Co.

It seems I have been talking about Val without actually describing her. Val is a wonderful English woman who moved to Australia in her 30s. She is a highly trained nurse specializing in burns treatment. She is about 5'8" or 5'9", dark hair and brown eyes. She exudes a motherly air, making you feel right at home at her clinic. She has seen much during her years as a nurse, and always has a story to tell. When Val first came to the Philippines, she was planning to stay for 6 months, but during her work she met a child with a cleft lip and palate whose parents didn't want her, and essentially tried to kill her through neglect. That child, now named Monalisa, is Val's almost officially adopted daughter. She is quite rambunctious. I couldn't have chosen a better pair to stay with during my time in the Philippines.

Subic

     Subic is about a three-hour drive north of Manila. Subic is a province, not a city, and a very picturesque one at that. North of Manila, the terrain gets more mountainous, and so by the time we got to Subic Town, where the hotel we were staying at was, the geographical landscape was an amalgamation of mountains, jungle, and fields. Picture the movies located in Vietnam, with the shots of the jungle covered mountains. 

     The drive up was quite beautiful. I tried reading my book, but was too distracted by the scenery. The road to Subic goes straight through the mountains, so instead of cutting tunnels through them, the Filipino government essentially cut a "V" into the mountains, with the road at the base of the "V". Our driver was from a town farther north, so he told us about the geography and tidbits about his childhood etc. Granted, Dad and Rebecca asked him, so he was obligated to respond. 

     Side Note: Drivers, maids, and service people of that sort are somewhat treated as sub-humans. Not to say that they are mistreated, but people don't recognize them as people, rather "the help". Their employers generally interact with them in a minimal way, so they are not used to the people they work for asking about their lives, inviting them to meals, or giving them a place to sleep other than the company van. If you can't already tell, I am talking about our experience with our driver. In the States, for the most part, if you hire a driver or a maid etc., you act courteously towards them. And the US has laws that protect them from various ethical issues like expecting them to sleep in the 40 sq. ft. maid's room or their van. We hit civilization at about lunchtime, and stopped at a McDo's for lunch. We invited the driver to eat with us, and he was uncertain about this. When we ordered our food, he wanted to pay for himself, and Dad insisted that the driver need not pay for his food, and again he was uneasy about this. Eventually, the uneasiness turned into gratitude. We went out for dinner that night with Val, the owner of the clinic I am working at, and we invited the driver to eat with us. After some cajoling, he finally joined us. Dad paid for a place for the driver to stay for the weekend, and he was just overjoyed about this. It was understandable, but I fear we went a touch too far. The next morning, on our journey to visit the clinic, he got us fruit that a village boy picked off of a tree. It was tart and soft. I was the only one out of the three of us (Dad, Rebecca, and myself) to try it, and I probably shouldn't have on account of the questionable source. Later that day, he got us each a balut (the famous almost duck, cooked days before it hatches). Again, none of us touched it. He joined us at the pool as if he were one of the pals. I went to noodle around at the pool table nearby, and he promptly started a game in which he quickly beat me. Anyway, in the States, you treat your driver/maid/whatever like a person, but not like your friend, and in the Philippines, it seems hard to do one without the other. 

     (Alright, back to the story at hand.) We got to Subic Town, where we were staying at the Wild Orchid Beach Resort for the weekend. It was last in a very long line of resorts, spaced probably every quarter-mile or so. Beach resorts in Subic are a misnomer. Yes, they are resorts, and yes they are by the beach, but you don't actually swim at the beach. The beach is where all of the poor people without toilets do their business. Anyway, we got there, checked in, but my room wasn't ready, so Rebecca and I hung out in her room while Dad sorted out the driver.

     For what Dad was paying (I have no idea what he paid, Rebecca said "for what we're paying"), the resort was not up to snuff. Their door was coming off of the hinges, I couldn't get my A/C to work until the technician fiddled with the remote, the door across the hall from Dad and Rebecca had all of the paint sanded off, when we went to the pool, they ran out of towels and then after over a half-hour, got us room towels, which in the room they specifically said not to use. But other than being a little run-down, it wasn't that bad. The view from my room was great. I saw into the bay, which had a few carrier ships of various sizes. There was also a mountain range dead ahead, which was gorgeous at dawn.

     Sunday afternoon, Dad and Rebecca got rid of me again after seeing me for only a few days. Ms. Val Smith-Orr and her adopted daughter Mona picked me up and we were off to the clinic. 

Trip #2

     Well, I'm back. To the Philippines, that is. I got here, after a 22-hour plane flight, on Tuesday night. I came back to 1) see Dad and Rebecca, and 2) do something meaningful with my time that colleges are interested in. I begin part 2 on Saturday. I will be traveling to a small village 6 hours north of Manila to work at a small clinic aimed at children with various ailments, such as burns, cleft palates, etc. I will be there as a handyman, fixing things as I go, and I will be dealing with the children through speech therapy and various summer camp-like activities. Rebecca and Dad will drive up to Wild Orchid Beach Resort with me, on the way to the village, and we will spend the weekend there. The owner/operator of the clinic will meet us there and take me the rest of the way. 

     So far, I haven't done much except college stuff and get ready for the 3-4 week village-living experience. It's kind of weird, saying college stuff. As you may know, I am a rising senior, aka, just a senior, so that means that I have to research college, start filling out applications, and start writing the dreaded essays. I think that I have my final list of 9 schools I will be applying to. And they are Rice University, Purdue University, University of Michigan @ Ann Arbor, Boston University, Georgia Institute of Technology, University of Texas @ Austin, University of Texas @ Arlington, Texas A&M @ College Station, and Colorado School of Mines. Honestly, a pretty daunting list. My preferred major (unless, or rather, until I change my mind) is any one of Aerospace Engineering, Astronomy, or Astrophysics. So pretty much something to do with space. 

     Whoever is reading this, I will keep you updated on my progress, as my grandmother made me promise that I will keep documenting my exploits this summer. When more interesting things happen, I will let you know.