Lars, please don't copy very long posts unless you need to.
MRD, done reading up to now.. Absolutely amazing, well done!!! Both doing it and writing about it!!
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Lars, please don't copy very long posts unless you need to.
MRD, done reading up to now.. Absolutely amazing, well done!!! Both doing it and writing about it!!
Not as steamy as Nora Roberts. I give it 7/10. Would read again though.
only just caught this, thanks Vuk!
awesome story, sounds like you had a ball (at leats as far as day 5 where i am up to).
Hay! MRD you are slacking off. This is not a monthly magazine serial is it?
Where is the rest of the story?
No mas? Come on!
This weekend. I had to move.
I was also wondering if someone could clarify if the pc-to-thread photos that I upload that go into my org "album" are capped per thread (like they are per post) or if that album is all I get. So far I have used 50/50 photobucket/direct upload, because photobucket kept crashing on me. Just trying to figure out how to proceed, as I have a photo-heavy subsequent thread I plan on doing about afghanistan
Looking forward to it.Quote:
Originally Posted by Major Robert Dump
Quote:
Originally Posted by Major Robert Dump
You may want to have a word with Tin Cow. I am sure he can answer your questions and can either fix or alert you to any problems.
Now, before I continue, I should point out (due to concerns of some readers) that Pancake Bitch was not some Top Secret contractor with super secret knowledge. I did not know this t the time, but it would later turn out he was just a sub contractor hired by a contractor to do admin and HR type stuff on a temporary basis. He was former military, not sure when or where, but probably recent since he still had a DKO account. He also had a drinking problem. In the end, his biggest crime, other than being an all-around douche, was playing loosey-goosey with his government-issued ID Card in a foreign country, which could give resourceful bad guys access to restricted areas, like military bases. That being said, my original concern was legitimate, and I had contacted my supervisor in Afghanistan and alerted him to the issue prior to The Pancake Incident. A drunk, adulterous man with a sensitive job ould be a wet dream for Extortionist Eddie or Bribery Betty, not to mention his less-than-honest girlfriend and her husband. Not sure what happened to him down the road, and don’t really care.
While finishing our breakfast with Pancake Bitch sitting quietly behind us, the cashier from the diner came up and said she needed to talk to me in private. Great, my card has been declined, maybe? Nope. The girls upstairs had apparently awoke and ordered room service. She wanted to know if it was okay, as they ordered like $30 of food. I told her it was fine, and asked her why she took me off alone to tell me this. She said because she didn’t know if my breakfast date knew that I had girls in my room, and did not want to “harm my gaming.”
The sailors left and thanked me; Pancake Bitch and his married virgin were still there when we left. I went upstairs and was met at the door by the girls, who were immediately apologizing for ordering food.
Now, I’m an easy going guy, and this did not make me mad. I’ve spent so much at this point I could care less. But this is the type of stuff that irritates tourists a lot, and it is somewhat that is irritating about the Filipino culture. The room service goes on the hotel bill, and I can see the potential for screwing up someone’s budget by doing this. OF course, I’m in a room that costs 250+ a day, so maybe the girls figured I could afford it, I don’t know. But the fact that they were apologizing after they just did it anyway… well, it amused me, because obviously they knew they did something wrong. Again, I wasn’t angry, but I did joke that if it was such a big deal to apologize that they should have asked first.
They had also pulled the mattress and some couch cushions into my room ,because they had shut off the A/C due to being cold, and now the suite was miserably hot, except for my room, where I kept the door closed and the AC turned down to 65 degrees. I had planned on maybe playing Scrabble with Wendy, but now we had a full fledged slumber party going on. Gracie seemed an innocent bystander. I mean, surely she knew what I had been doing, she had seen me walking around for the past week with various women. I considered telling them they could only sleep in the room if they had a topless pillow fight, but I was just so tired at this point I wanted to sleep. I passed out in the bed with Wendy and Grace, and Cindy and Daisy slept on their hasty bed on the floor with Alvin and the Chipmunks blaring on the TV, yet again. The picture of them on the floor was on the previous update.
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I had left money for the girls out on the table, in case they woke before me. Daisy and Cindy were gone when I got up in the early afternoon. Wendy was still asleep and Gracie was cooking us food in the kitchen. We spent the waking hours having coffee and taking pictures on the roof, and eventually we all packed my things and cleaned up the room. I dealt with the Alexa’s stain on the couch by using the time tested trick of flipping the couch cushion, which apparently worked.
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Having more coffee in the café below, I found that Wendy was also going to Cebu for a few days to see family. I was initially worried she was going to want to shadow me there, but it never did come up. What did come up, was she started crying that I was leaving, and started on and on about how I was the nicest customer she had ever had, and she was afraid she would never see me again. This, in turn, made me mist up a bit, while Gracie appeared dumbfounded by the whole deal. This was precisely what I was trying to avoid, as I felt like Wendy was maybe trying to talk me into being her boyfriend or sponsor or something. I don’t know. I mean, she had introduced me to other women to play Scrabble with. She knew what I had been up to, and several times on the phone on my non-Wendy days I had to shut her down when she got whiney about me coming to EWR her, which I did by telling her “I am here to see lots of women, not just you.”
Gracie had to go, or she wanted to leave us alone, and she went her way. We went back up to the cool lobby for a little while, where I observed the owner some more. It was here that I decided I would not return to rent this hotel when I passed back through, or ever. I will go into detail about that in a later post, as my interactions in this regard are not over yet.
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My flight does not leave until evening, so after some walking and talking, I decide I want to hit Jollibee again. On the way there, true to form, the Kid Mafia finds me and does that thing they do where they act cute and hungry and tug at my arms and try to ride on my legs as I walk and tell passersby that I am their best friend. We take them into Jollibee with us and commence ordering.
Inside of Jollibee is none other than Pancake Bitch.
Pancake Bitch was seated, wearing sunglasses and alone, next to the counter and awaiting his food. We made eye contact, but no words were exchanged. As he got his food and brushed past me, I got the impression he did not remember me. This would not be surprising considering how drunk this man gets. I was still feeling the previous nights alcohol and sweating beer from my armpits, I can’t imagine what this guy must feel like being 10x more drunk than me and getting the same amount, or less, sleep.
I bought the 4 kids their kiddy meals and we all sat down, Wendy having some giggliy conversations with the kids in Tagalog. I had never made the trip from downtown to the airport, but had heard horror stories, so I figured I would get a head start and eat in the cab. I still needed to go back to the hotel and get my bags from behind the desk. Wendy wanted to come with me to the airport, which of course means I have to pay her fare back, but big deal, its $5.
I probably also should have said no because of her apparent attachment, but I let her come, and we bid farewell to the street children.
Pancake bitch is seated at a table right next to the door now, facing the aisle, eating his food. He says “Hey,” as if he wants to tell me something. I leave my bag of food on our table and approach him, thinking he was going to apologize, so maybe he did remember me. He proceeds to explain to me, in his brilliant hung-over reasoning, that people like me make things worse for the rest of the tourists, because by giving beggars money and feeding homeless kids, they come to expect it and they never go away. “Yeah, I tip really well, too, does that also mess things up for everyone?” I ask.
“Weekend Millionaires,” he says, “****ing things up, trying to get karma points to offset their whore mongering.” The thing that got me the most, is that he was talking loudly, within ear shot of these kids, who were obviously listening.
At this point I realize he probably does not remember me. I briefly thought about telling this guy that I was the last guy who needed Karma points due to what I did in Afghanistan in 2010, and that I could probably become a serial killer and still have positive karma for quite some time. The Karma points thing gave me all sorts of witty Fallout analogies, but they would be wasted on him. I thought about telling him that I turned him in to my boss, who in turn was going to contact his agency. But Nah, in this case, it would be better to just stop talking, get my food and leave. Nothing was going to change Pancake Bitches mind, not now, not ever. Words would not help here. And I am hung-over, Wendy has me in a less-than-jovial mood, and I am not up for debate.
I walk back to the table, pat the kids on the head; we grab out food and begin to walk out. Pancake Bitch is lifting his fresh, juicy burger to his agape mouth, ready to take a bite, when I walk past, not missing a step, and slap the burger out of his hand, sending it flying into the frontage glass window with a splat, and leaving a ketchup splatter just above the We Accept Visa sign. The children laughed and chattered. I did not look back
The taxi drive was half an hour.
I asked Wendy what the kids said, and she told me they were informing her that I was a “butterfly” and a “player” and that she should not get attached to me. Apparently they took note of the various women. She said she thanked them for the advice.
This is where I discovered that the Domestic and International terminals were not on the same side of the airport, and were not even connected by a roadway. My shameless taxi driver, upon finding out that me and Wendy were not an item, was I guess to busy trying to explain that he can get me a girlfriend or a wife and trying to give me his phone number and email. Because he missed the part where I said I was flying to Cebu, and took me to the international terminal. We were out of the cab and he was gone before the cop checking passports came up and informed us we were in the wrong place. We hailed another cab, and it took – seriously – 50 minutes to drive from the international terminal to the domestic terminal, because we had to go back out to a main road, drive through downtown Manila, and circle the airport to the far end. At this point, I am very much pushing the envelope.
I’m not worried about not getting a refund, as the ticket cost like $15 plus tax and fees. I am also pretty sure Manila to Cebu flights are fairly common. I just have some plans in Cebu the following day, and do not fancy spending the night in the Manila airport. The domestic side is practically empty compared to the international terminal, and the check-in is quick and easy. Wendy and I say good-bye before I pass through the gate entry, and shortly after I discover that my flight has been delayed an hour, so all my worry was for nothing. I go take a seat in a coffee shop and order a pastry and some Joe, which even being in an airport, is still ¼ the price it was at The Monopoly Hotel.
The flight from Manila to Cebu is normally 1 hour, but this one would be a little longer because we were flying around the weather. A couple of local passengers scared to fly dropped off the roster when they announced this, which kind of had me worried, but hey, Filipinos are nothing if not superstitious.
For a small company (Cebu Pacific) with small jet liners, the plane was very roomy. I found this humorous, considering how small the locals are, but in western countries full fo fat bodies they pack us in like sardines. They also fed us a full-fledged meal, presumably because of the delay and sextended flight time, which in all only added 2 hours to the entire ordeal for a 3 hr total. You practically have to give hand jobs to get peanuts on American flights that short. I was flanked in my seat by two old ladies who were very talkative and wanted to know if I was interested in meeting their granddaughter. The ride into the airport was very choppy, complete with screaming children and one of the ladies doing a Hail Mary and holding my hand.
By the time we landed it was after 10pm. I hailed a cab and he began to drive me into town.
Cebu is its own island, with the airport on a smaller island and connected by a long bridge. It is known as the Crown Jewel of the Philippines. While not as populous and market-centered as Manila, it has a very stable economy that is not badly affected by market fluctuations. There is also a larger middle class here. The overwhelming percentage of foreigner-Filipino families move to this region, and with good reason: better schools, better economy, isolated from the rabble of the mainland.
The first thing I noticed is that traffic was not ridiculous. Even this late, it was bumper to bumper in Manila. Here the streets were quiet. The downside to this would be that I would need to cross at cross-walks instead of doing that thing locals do when you walk across 8 lanes of gridlocked traffic, holding your hand up to oncoming vehicles. There was, however, no shortage of honking, just like in Manila, and everyone driving was in a hurry as well.
The second thing I noticed was that after a 20 minute cab ride to my hotel, the driver had not once tried to hook me up with a girlfriend, wife, drugs or hooker.
I stayed in a nice, older hotel. IT seemed to be geared towards Filipino expats coming home to visit. There was a bar and a kitchen, but this place was off the grid and in a modest neighborhood. It was in a dead-end of a shopping center with a housing edition behind it. For an older place, it was quite nice, and the service looked good. The only thing I did not like was that the room doors were wooden and flimsy, and you needed an analog key to get it. I still had a card key, to turn on power in the room, so now I had to keep track of two items, blah. There seemed to be at least 4 doormen/bellhops and 2 security on site at all times, so the doors weren’t too worrisome. There was also a pool on the roof. This room cost me $28 a night, complete with free breakfast and internet. Incidentally, the same internet company that my Manila hotel charged me $10 a day for. My reservation had gotten nerfed, so they gave me a room with 2 beds.
I had a balcony overlooking the houses below.
The street in front of the shopping center had some small shops and a bank. Further down on my side was a grocery store/social drinking place (hard to explain), a gas station/convenience store and a McDonalds. Across the street were a giant church, more banks, and a row of smaller eatery/bars geared towards locals. These local places were the size of a walk-in closet, with the bar and kitchen in the closet, and the seating for the customers on the sidewalk. There were always 2 or 3 people at each of these places, usually older local men. After several days there, I would always notice the same guys.
I had a full day tomorrow, and as much as I wanted to go out, I figured it best to stay in. I did a short recon of the immediate area, and noticed prices were far cheaper than in Manila. Random people, overflows from the festival
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The store had bottles of water for a quarter. Liquor was less than 1/3rd of what it was in Manila. A real meal at the hotel diner was cheaper, too, for example a New York Strip dinner for $4.50. Food carts and street vendors would be even cheaper as I would find out later. The post-festival parties were going on, and it was tempting. My contacts in town had invited me out, but instead I sat on the balcony and watched fireworks and drank bottles water, trying to recover from the gallons of alcohol consumed in the past week.
http://www.google.com/imgres?imgurl=...9QEwBg&dur=163
On the agenda for the following day was to check in with the matchmaking agency so they could run my background check and I could start meeting some nice, wholesome Filipino girls. Later in the day I would hook up with Ian, who worked for an NGO from Afghanistan, and make contact with an American expat I met years earlier in South Dakota. On subsequent days I had some meetings set up with some local expat business owners, but they did not even know I was in country, as I wanted to do a surprise inspection of their business. Other than that, I figured I would just wander and drink
Day 9
I got up at 7am. When I went to search the web for directions to this agency, I realized I did not have my laptop cord. My battery sucks. A few minutes on the laptop and it is already low on juice. I need another battery of a new cord, so I write down the specs and hope to find something somewhere.
The place was about a mile away, and I was in the mood to walk.
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Without coming off as too much of a fool, as I already had more lady friends than a guy could handle, over the several months leading up to my trip, I spent a good deal of money on this matchmaking service. Considering the economy of Cebu and the small staff of the agency, the guys who owned this place were making a huge profit. Not granted, they did throw elaborate parties where all the girls were invited to attend, basically a meet and greet, and the employees told me they gto paid exceptionally well, but I have to admit that deep down inside I wanted to punch the little bald man who ran the joint.
Upon arrival, the office was filled with girls there to set up profiles. In terms of hotness-per-square-foot, this office had everywhere else in the PI beat at this particular moment. There were girls everywhere, on the couches, waiting in lines, on the computers, and when I walked in they all talked in Cebuano and giggled. I felt like such a piece of meat. It was wonderful.
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I fill out the background check form and tell them which ladies I want to meet. I actually only had 3 lined up, and he encouraged me to meet more, but I already felt like I was pushing the envelope of both emotional taxation and time limits. There was a meet and greet over the weekend I was also invited to, and I considered it, but again, I just felt it might be odd to attend one of these as I would feel like it was a casting call, not much better than going to a bar and having to pick a dancer out of the lineup.
While I was there, a couple other western guys came in. One was a decrepit old Englishman, who I was introduced to, and he told me he was a retired government employer whose wife of 30 years had died, and that he was lonely. The other was an American from Colorado who looked like he was better suited to be at an Occupy protest, he told me he was into graphic design, probably about 30 years old.
I headed to the docks. The taxi ride was a few minutes, closer than I expected. Something is going on here. There is some sort of police/military presence with checkpoints. They ask me why I am here and I tell them. They won’t let me in. They tell me not to take photos. From what I can tell, they are loading a bunch of military stuff onto boats, probably things headed down to Mindanao. I call Ian, who is expecting me, and he drives up and gets them to let me in. I pay the taxi and head into the mix.
The reason I am here is sort of convoluted. I met Ian at Gardez, where his NGO was doing a fine job rebuilding Afghanistan. They were, in my opinion, one of the best at what they did, hugely successful and with little over head. Their local workers always got paid, and on time, unlike lots of other contracts. They skirted the standard security contractor rules by using organic security, so their engineers and project managers were all packing heat. They dressed like locals and acted like locals. They rolled in regular vehicles. No one noticed them.
I had been courting them for a job, hopefully back in Paktya. I was not a school trained engineer or farmer, but I had a familiarity with the region and its farming, and I could handle a firearm. According to Ian, those two assets fared me better than all the degrees in the world.
Well, that was until the NGO pulled out of Afghanistan. Karzais rules caught up with them. Previously, armed contractors would need either a US permit or an Afghan. Now they needed both, and the Afghans were not budging. They would have to hire Afghan security contractors. These companies, like ASG the largest, are made up of people who could not make it into the federal ranks, which says a lot. Considering that insider attacks have always been a problem, this simply was not an option.
The NGO did not take this decision lightly, and were in fact going to continue with high dollar, handpicked security contractors. The idea was they would fund an Afghan security start up under the condition that they worked only with the NGO. But the massacre of the team of doctors for the International Assistance Mission, almost 5 years to the day of a massacre of a Doctors Without Border Team (which prompted DWB to pull out after losing 32 total over 3 years), pretty much sealed the deal.
Basically, if the NGO continued to work in Afghanistan, they were going to have to find new employees because their project managers refused to put their fate in the hands of people who could be bought for $20 or turned due to religion. They were gone, along with one of the finest NGO track records in Afghanistan.
I suppose I might still be able to bring military experience to the table for their operations in Africa and SE Asia, but these places were less dangerous than Afghanistan, the locals were more trustworthy and I did not have any expertise in the regional economy in those places. But I still wanted to hang out with these guys because they were involved in the shipping of massive amounts of humanitarian aid and materials from Europe and the states.
I was mostly interested in shipping operations, costs, times, and general import/export issues. The original plan was for me to sneak off with the team on a flight to New Zealand, but the weather was getting ugly, so instead we opted for a little US Territory 2000km east of the Philippines, as they had a small shipping relay operation there. Obviously, in most cases of agricultural products, shipping from the US to poor countries is not the cheapest way to go unless the US is providing something others cannot provide (which it doesn’t) or they can score some sort of cut rate price on bulk items or donations. In this case, there was apparently going to be Twenty 40 foot containers of baby formula coming in.
Incidentally, for all my union fans, I also discovered that the freight was shipped from the Midwest USA, through Mexico, through drug war territory, and to a western Mexican dock to be shipped out over the pacific. Apparently the extra distance, insane insurance costs and extra risk was far, far cheaper than dealing with the Longshoreman Unions on the west coast. Funny.
I won’t bore you with the finer details of Pacific rim shipping. And in my rush to conserve battery power I forgot to transfer all my pics off of my camera, so I was running out of space on both cameras I had on me. I will say the company jet was very nice, as was Guam, but in the end I was not supposed to travel to Guam, or the Mariana Islands, so I don’t have any idea what you are talking about. Carry on.
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Day 10 Friday
I returned to Cebu in the late morning. Today I was on track to meet a chap named David, who owned a little bar and restaurant, and he was looking for a partner. From the ads and emails, he was not making much money, if any, and he was looking for a partial buy in so he could become an absentee owner and pursue some other leads. Well, that’s what he said. I rushed to get my free breakfast before the hotel diner closed, forgetting to take care of my camera, and called him on the way there.
He knew I was in town, and that I planned to come by, but for things like this a drop in is always better, so he doesn’t have time to pull any magic tricks. As it turns out, he definitely needed some tricks. Either this guy is an astute business man who operates on a level I do not understand, or he is the worst business man on the planet.
After breakfast I headed to the agency to meet my first new friend.
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Her name was Doris, and she was actually pretty close to my age. She was not hip on having her photo taken, so I took a picture of the waitress and my food instead.
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It was really hot today. I’m not going to go into the finer details of who and why, but Doris and I were not really compatible. We both knew this. I also think she might have already had a man. I gave her a wad of money for the cab ride home, and got her address so I could send her and her kid some gifts. She didn’t want to do this, but I insisted, and when I got back to the Stan I used a delivery service to send them a roasted Lechon, some groceries and a mini-fridge, since they didn’t have cold storage but did have electricity.
For dinner I was meeting Jessica. Jessica was a very attractive, dark skinned girl who spent a lot of time in the gym. She had a nursing degree but worked in a call center (more money, nurses have federal salary caps), and her English was better about half of Americans. This girl was very impressive. We went to a little restaurant called Our Place, which I had found on the internet and been wanting to visit.
She was in her mid-20s, and despite her outward maturity, she struck me as very immature. She was also from a fairly well-to-do family and seemed a bit spoiled. The restaurant was not in the greatest neighborhood, and she seemed terrified to be out on the street. Either that or she did not want to be seen with me. She was very anxious from the cab to the diner, and afterwards when we could not immediately find a cab, she became visibly shaken and upset. Not sure what the deal was.
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http://www.ourplacecebu.com/
The aussie version of chicken fried steak was delicious. I think it copst like $4. She ate a filipino dish. That and some drinks cost us less than $10/
Anyway, the immaturity part: She basically admitted over dinner to having lots of profiles on lots of dating sites, and that for all of the sites except mine, she uses her moms photo. Her mom looked just like her, but older. I asked her why, was she trying to set her mom up with a man? She explained that she was doing it so see if guys would like her for who she was, not what she looked like, and after she got to know a guy enough she would show him her real photo. It would be like a reward. I found this incredibly retarded. I found it somewhat egotistical. It also sounded like she was just hunting for an older guy. Whatever the reason, as she was doing this, a giant flashing neon sign was going off in my head: Little Girl Games.
These are the types of silly games I despise when American girls do them, the same ones my ex wife liked to play. Like me for who I am, so I put up a fake photo? PFfffft. Or, she was lying altogether and was trying to set her mom up. I don’t know. Whatever.
We took a cab back to the agency and parted ways. I still stay in contact with her. Girls with her education and language skills are hard to find there, but the story above along with some other things just gave me pause.
In the evening I was meeting Maddie. Maddie was actually at the Agency the first day I met, but we did not talk much. Maddie and I met at the mall that evening, and would meet again the following evening at the meet and greet. She was not in the best of moods tonight because she had been having a hard time as an English teacher for rich Korean kids, and apparently the teenagers treat their teachers like dirt, imagine that. Nice girl, mid 20s, partial college education, no father, 3 brothers and 1 sister, all older than her.
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She did not want to stay out late because she was tired from work. I took this as a good time to drop in on Dave’s bar.
First, the location of this place is completely out of the way of everything, except a single hotel that caters mostly to japanese. Second, he has a cowboy name and cowboy theme with karaoke, but no cowboy designs or memoriabilia, and no country songs on the karaoke. Most of the cash he spent was on the karaoke machine, but its only one big machine, not many smaller ones in private rooms like the Japanese tourists prefer. This wasn’t somewhere locals would come to drink, as it wasn’t hip enough for youngsters and it was too expensive for old drunks. Did mention terrible location? Oh, and it was leasehold, and not a very good price.
There were no customers when I arrived in the late night on a Friday. He tried to give me free drinks but I was not going to have it. There was him, a barkeep and a waitress. We go for a walk and he basically admits that he bought a failing business from a douchebag and tried to turn it around. He did not make a profit. He lost about $100 USD a month after expenses, which he thought was okay and he considered it his country rent to be able to live in the PI and employ a few people. He was looking at maybe a smaller venue down the street, cheaper rent but even more off the grid. He made it sound like he was going to turn his business into one of those shanty bars on the street, where the seats are on the sidewalk and you get the same old drunks every night. He was originally trying to sell the entire place for $20,000. By the end of the evening, he was trying to get 5k out of me for a partnership.
I simply was not interested. And this place had no kitchen, which he had led me to believe, unless a bathroom sized room with a sink and table counts as a kitchen these days. I felt kind of bad. And for some reason, the dude I guess thinks I am some super-hooked-up soldier from Afghanistan, and he is always sending me emails trying to see if I want to partner with him on some contracts so we can make money in the war zone, with his zero military experience and subtle suicidal comments (seriously). I still talk to him, and would like to keep in contact, but have let him know with no uncertainly that I am likely done with Afghanistan forever unless its a nonprofit. The main reason I would like to keep contact is that, besides being a nice little German chap, he had lots of knowledge of Cebu as he has lived there for 10 years.
Anyway, we went out drinking. It was better than drinking alone. He had a girlfriend, but told me he would take me on a quick tour of the go go bars, and then we would end up at a legit disco. We didn’t actually go into any go go bars, he just showed me where they all were and told me who owned what and why not to go here or there, etc. We go to the disco.
I realize that not only are my batteries almost dead, but my cameras are full of photos to Guam and the Mariana Islands, which is odd, because I did not travel there so please stop asking.
The disco was about 25% tourists. It was enormous, and with a full menu and lots of drinks. It was packed. The foreigners weren’t loser dudes hanging out in corners, they seemed to be guys the locals knew, and they would get on stage and dance and sing along to the songs with everyone else. Most of them were guys in pretty good shape, not a lot of fat fogeys here.
It was a really good vibe. There were also lady boys every six feet, who would not admit to being lady boys, but if you did not spot the adams apple or deep voice, you could usually figure it out when he/she would lean in and offer to let you put it in her butt. I mean, girls just don’t say that.
An order of 20 chicken fingers was $2.00, a bucket of 6 Sam Miguel beers was $2.00, a shot of whiskey was .75 cents. I don’t know if these things were on special or not. The bass in this place was killing my head, as loud noises and I don’t get along too well any more. I asked if we could move upstairs and away from the stage where we can actually talk and Dave was all for it.
Upstairs we talked some more, and he told me about his other business plans. It was here that I realized how desperate he was to get out from under that bar he owned. His girlfriend, Kali, showed up and explained that they liked to come here to watch drunk westerners try to dance on stage, and get so drunk they leave with lady boys. Sure enough, it was going on all around me.
At the table next to us, a young couple was arguing. The female was getting a little fiery, and stood up quickly and aggressively, and the guy pushed he back down onto the loveseat and out of his face.
In case I haven’t mentioned it, Filipinos take the whole saving face thing pretty seriously, and getting involved in disputes with locals is a good way to get shanked or shot. It’s always best to let your local friends handle the locals, unless there is simply no other ways. The idea of not intervening with someone getting robbed or beaten is hard to swallow, but it is what it is when you are an outsider, and I learned this well in Afghanistan, watching kids getting beat up by grown men and almost creating a full scale international disaster when the ANP soldier i scolded cocked his weapon in response to my yelling, which prompted us to draw down on him, and a mexican standoff ensued but was quickly diffused by the subgovernor and my commander. I'll stay out of this fight.
Anyway, Kali went crazy on the boyfriend and was jabbering and wagging her finger, and then the girlfriend got involved in the jabbering and finger waving, too. The guy pushed them both aside and walked past, and told the girl to come with him and she wouldn’t. He walked towards her like he was going to grab her and take her, but Kali jumped between them and started acting like a black girl from the hood. The guy leaves and Kali comes back over and sits down. The girlfriend stays at her table.
We ask Kali what the fight was over and she said it was over money, and that the girl asked why he was taking her out if he would not let her buy anything. I suggested it was like walking the dog, that sometimes you just need to take the lady out for a walk, but the joke went over poorly with Kali and I thought she was going to rip my nuts off until Dave explained that I was joking. I made a comment that I would buy her as many drinks and foods as she wanted, and Kali relayed this message, and 5 seconds later I had a hungry disco girl sitting next to me. Her name was “Nikky”
I danced with this girl a few times, but let her know early on that I could not stay out too incredibly late due to morning appointments. I didn’t bother telling her I was meeting girls from a dating service, and I felt kind of bad for basically feeding her crap about looking at real estate and shipping operations, but whatever. I think it was probably around 1 am when we called it. I gave Nikky “cab fare” which was probably about 50x what she actually needed, she didn’t say anything I didn’t say anything. She told me if I saw her at this bar again she would probably be with her boyfriend, and he is very jealous and would try to kill me. I let her know that I was not a fan of being killed and would not talk to her if I saw her here again.
I was not in the mood to convince the girl to leave him, it’s not like I was going to be her boyfriend, and in case I didn’t mention I was drunk, well I was pretty drunk. She asked for my cell phone number and I didn’t know it, so she called her phone from my phone and we parted ways. Dave, Kali and I split a cab as they lived close to my hotel apparently.
This was an exhausting day. A plane trip, met 3 girls through the agency, met a guy trying to sell me his bar, and danced with a girl far too cute for me (well, as far as I can remember, I was drunk)
Day 11 Saturday
I was meeting Ian for breakfast. I plnned to take it easy today.
Largely uninteresting story, except that an older local guy, about 50, came and talked to me while I was waiting for Ian outside their offices. He was asking me the typical questions, said I looked military and told me about his dad being army. He was a little dude missing his front teeth, but a nice fellow who apparently ran some of the heavy machinery on the dock.
I told him what hotel I was at and he informed me that his church was right across the street, and invited me. Normally, I would be all about going to a Filipino Catholic church and flirting with girls in their Sundays best, but not only were my best digs currently dirty, but I had a feeling were I to walk into a church at this point I would immediately burst into flames. I passed.
He then informed me that Sunday/Monday were his two days off, and that his family came to Cebu from the rural area in the afternoon, and he wanted me to meet them. I passed.
Thenhe explained they all spent the day together, then they all went back to home togethe, and that I should go spend the night in his neighborhood and feast with the family. I passed.
Then he took out his wallet and showed me pictures of his daughters. I told him I would meet him after church, and we would hook up with his family. We traded numbers.
Of course, doing this on Sunday does mean I will miss the greatest DJ of all time: Attachment 7233
I asked Ian if the dude was on the up and up and he told me not to worry. Ian reminded me of the local culture, though, and told me if I was meeting the guy’s family it probably meant I was paying for dinner. I expected as much, not to worry. I’m not rich; I’m just reckless with money.
The social was odd. It was at a 5 star hotel on the island with the airport. There were songs, terrible songs, and the girls did skits. They changed clothes several times, had some costumes.
I mean, it was cute and all. And I am sure they loved the attention. But it was also very corny, very campy. There were a lot of guys there, from all walks of life. They asked we didn’t take many photos, because they used the photo events on their websites and the participants all have to sign releases, particularly the men, and I had to be careful not to get Mr. Occupy Denver in any pics.
Attachment 7221Attachment 7222Attachment 7223
This didn’t stop the girls from taking pictures on myself with my camera, the majority of which were out of focus, but I did get a few good ones.
It was pretty much me and Maddie the entire time, in between her performances. Other girls would stop at the table to talk, but when Maddie would come back she would give them the stink eye and they would leave.
I had corresponded with Maddie extensively over the last several months, so we had a lot to talk about, and overall, I had a great time getting to know her better. After the event, I went into town with her to a small get together with some of her friends.
Attachment 7224Attachment 7225
I still maintain very regular contact with Maddie. I have included some additional pictures she has sent me since then, her hair is grown out now, and the only reason I am including them is because quite frankly I think she is super hot.
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We said our goodnights at the end of the evening. I could not tell if I was supposed to invite her back to the room or not. I mean, I wanted to, obviously. But I didn't. I don't know why. It's not like anything was stopping me. I also knew that I probably wouldnt be seeing her again this trip because she went back to work on Sunday.
We texted the rest of the evening, and I thought about inviting her back and how romantic that would be. Maybe I was feeling guilty. Maybe I did not want to lead her on. She seemed so hopeful and pleasant and, um virginic. I didnt want to corrupt this girl.
While smoking downstairs around midnight, a shanty food cart rolls up. All the hotel staff goes out, apparently this is their lunch cart. The guys is selling these little sausage rolls he cooks and wraps in little corn tortilla thingies, with some rice inside. They are bite size, not very big. But then again, they are a nickel a piece. I am shocked. So I buy 200 of them.
I thought the little dude was gonna crap his pants. I just wanted to feed the whole crew so they had left overs and I had some to take upstairs to eat myself to sleep. It takes the guy about 30 minutes to make all of them, and he is almost out of stock. I give him 1500 pesos, no change please. One of the girls at the counter lived in the hotel with her kids, she asked if they could come down and eat some sausage toritlla thingies and I was like hell yeah, call everybody, and got her to keep repeating that we were having a "sausage party."
Next update:
Meet the Family
A Surprise Telephone Call
Since some of you are confused by the maths (per a message on Steam)
and wondered how I may have gotten to and from Guam in 24 hours
Let me explain a flight from Cebu to Guam:
@1400 miles, just over 3 hours with perfect weather and a jet. A prop plane would take longer. No different than Dallas to LAX.
The reason you get much longer flights through commercial ticket searches is Guam to Cebu has a holdover at Manila, usually for up to several hours. You also have to change from the domestic to the international terminal or vice versa, which I explained in the update. This could take several hours in and of itself. Cebu Pacific apparently just started doing direct flights from Cebu to Guam, but not very often.
Not that I would know any of this, because I did not go. But thanks for your inquiry, please have apleasant day.
Who was the girl in the pink? I'm pretty sure I'm going to hell now.
I am colorblind. You mean from day 11? That is Maddie.
https://forums.totalwar.org/vb/attac...6&d=1347932825Quote:
Originally Posted by Major Robert Dump
On the left. So basically to you, she's only wearing a shirt? I wish I was color blind.
Yes, thats Maddie. I did not take that photo, she sent me that later thorugh email. I of course wish I had been on a boat trip with a bunch of asian girls,but fate is a cruel thing
I was not dissapointed
MOAR!
Day 12
I meet dad in front of the church just after noon. This church had loudspeakers stationed outside, right next to the guard with the auto shotgun. Very effective at converting people I am sure.
Dad tells me that the family is not coming to Cebu City proper, and that we will go and meet them by the village. This irks me just a tad. I don’t know why, but in retrospect, if I may pontificate, I would say it was because they assumed the big dumb American would be flaunting his “wealth”, and it would be better to stay and shop off the grid, as things were cheaper and they would get more bang for their buck. Perhaps this is ethnocentric of me, but in retrospect I do believe that is exactly what occurred, considering that I spent the bulk of my time with the family either eating or shopping. Oh well, I had a feeling this is how it would turn out…..
The bus ride was almost 90 minutes. I really didn’t feel at risk in an open air jeepney with dad by me, but I still kept an eye on everyone who got on and off. As it turns out, they had a different definition of “rural” than I did. They pretty much just lived in a suburb of Cebu, and the only reason the ride was so long was because there was a designated bus route. A Taxi could have gotten there in half the time, but I guess dad wanted me to save my money so I could spend it on the family.
We met them at the nice mall, Alaya. We met outside, and dad introduced me to the family. Unfortunately, only 2 daughters were there, and one was married with a newborn. She was pretty hot for just popping out a baby, but I digress. The other daughter was the youngest, 19. Also present was mom and 17 year old brother. Apparently the other 2 older sisters were working and the older brother was at some sort of event. The youngest daughter, Jan, may have been the cutest creature I had ever seen. This was too bad, I thought, because the two older daughters, closer to my age, looked just like her but not quite so angelic, and they were not there.
In another odd turn of events, dad ran off shortly after we had lunch at the mall. He said he was going to meet friends. Jan confided in me that he was probably going to drink with buddies, since he never got to do that on Sundays, and now that I was here to play the man of the house he could slip away. Jan had very good English, as did new-mom sister. Mom’s was pretty spotty, as was brothers. Little brother seemed kind of…um… dumb, like a typical teenage boy. One thing I had noticed on my entire trip was that it was always the girls I saw studying at restaurants and coffee shops, and going to and from school, hardly ever any boys. Oh, the culture. Anyway, I fed this lot at – guess where – Jollibee, for under $15. I wanted the fancy Japanese restaurant, but they wanted J-bees.
Sister had her baby, Jaden, and they brought the 6 year old boy of moms sister, Janlane, who didn’t like me at first, until he realized that I was the bringer of chocolate and Winnie The Pooh. Man, kids are easy.
As we were walking up to the higher level to watch some terrible stage show, I noticed a little bottom floor carnival/arcade that appeared not to be open, judging from all he kids pressed against the glass and fence, waiting for the place to open. This seemed odd since it was mid day, but I figured the Carnies were at lunch.
We head upstairs and watch a crappy show in the mezzanine below. Then I decided that I didn’t like the ratty clothes that the baby and the little boy were wearing and I took them to buy new ones. At that point, I figured what the hell, and started buying shoes and shirts for mom and sisters and brother. A pair of sneakers for $5? I’ll take it. A new pair of Pooh Baby Jammies for $1? I’ll take it. A ladies blouse, button up, for $3? We’ll take it. Funny thing, is that this was the expensive mall, haha. I bought a lot of stuff for them, to include crap for the little kids who weren’t present. I sprung for a couple of baby trikes, as the baby would obviously need one soon and there was apparently an infant cousin who was not present but roughly the same age. I felt like Santa Clause. One thing that struck me as odd is that they immediately re-dressed the kids as soon as I bought clothes.... stripping them naked in the middle of a shop, even the 9 year old, who was very much displeased with this, and I kind of felt bad for the little dude so I tried to block the show with my body when I saw his pants coming off. On a similar note, the baby had his diaper changed at the table when we were at Jollibee. In other words, this was like being in West Virginia all over again.
We hit the coffee shop. Everyone wanted Chocolate Mousse. Jan loves to make faces in her photos. I kind of wished she would stop, as I have more pictures of her sticking out her tongue and crossing her eyes than not, but hey, she is a doll either way I guess.
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We head back downstairs later in the afternoon and I notice that the arcade/carnival still has kids just standing there watching. I ask Jan what is going on, why weren’t they open. She tells me that they were open, it’s just none of the kids could afford to play games or rides, because the place is too expensive for people in the neighborhood. She said people had complained about it and the carnival was considering moving elsewhere because they did not get enough customers there.
I go over to the ticket/token counter and ask how much for a credit. They tell me 4 pesos. Man. That’s not even a dime. This is going to be awesome.
I buy 4000 pesos worth of tickets and tokens and request that a couple of the carnival workers be the “distributors” of the credits, as I do not want to cause a mad scene, and a local would be better suited to make sure no one was getting more than their share at once. Another lesson learned from Afghanistan. The booth announced what I had done and all the little kids started screaming and bum rushing the arcade workers. I had only two caveats for the deal. The first is that this was for the kids only and that the adults could go without. That lasted all of about 10 seconds, as people followed their kids in and got into the action, too. I got over it pretty quick. Everyone was having fun.
The other caveat was that me and my adopted family got first dibs on the bumper cars. That one actually worked out. First photo on the bottom right is one of the carnies controlling a wad of tickets
Attachment 7281
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Jan and her sister's baby. Mother of christ, that is a good looking girl
Attachment 7291
We had some fun, and then packed up to leave. A middle aged lady asked the family something, Jan responded, and began holding my hand. Okay, weird. I asked her what just happened, and Jan said the lady asked whose fiancée I was, and Jan apparently claimed me for herself. A little awkward.
We took some photos outside while waiting for a cab. When we sat our boxes down I think some teenage boys were going to make off with them, because teenage brother yelled something and went into kung fu stance as I was about to snap a shot, prompting me to turn and look at the 3 boys as well. Jan would later tell me that brother yelled that he and his soldier friend would chase them down and murder them, like I murdered Abu Sayyaf in Mindanao, if they stole our stuff, and they looked terrified and darted away. I was flattered.
Attachment 7292
Attachment 7293
Day 12 Continued, photo uploads not cooperating.. Actually, I just realized i have totally been uplaoding these things wrong, I am a turd....
We got back to the family home and everyone started trying on clothes and playing with their new toys. Mom told me in a not-so-subtle way that they were low on cash for food, and wanted to make a special dinner for me, so I handed her 2000 pesos and told her to knock herself out.
Their house was a small 3 bedroom, in a narrow corridor that probably used to be nice. Most of the surrounding shanty houses were of family, and everyone knew each other very well. I was quite the novelty. Some had apparently never seen a white dude. I had to crouch everywhere I walked.
They shared a shower and bathroom with the block of homes, and they all slept on the floor in the back rooms. They put beds down at night, and took them up in the day. The kitchen had a fridge and a range and a sink and a table. The den area was narrow like a hallway, with a DVD player, a TV, some flimsy chairs and the required photos of jesus and virgin mary decorating the walls.
This was what a middle class salary got you in the Philippines. Granted, the dude had half a dozen kids and they appeared to care for the entire block, but considering how clean and educated they appeared to be, I was surprised at the arrangements.
After some food and a little beer and a lot of revelry, I made another round of the neighborhood at sunset, at one point almost falling into the sewer/ravine thing that ran next to the neighborhood. I would imagine this place got ugly when it floods. Another thing I noticed is that there were no doors, no lockable entries and very few windows. I guess when you have nothing to steal and if someone is home all day, you don’t have to worry about theft. IT was clear to me that mom didn't work, and she pretty much cared for all the babies in the hood along with the other older ladies.
They offered me to sleep in their home. Considering I was the size of 3 of them put together and had a bit of a snoring problem, I was honestly embarrassed. And, there was no way I was using a community shower I would have to crouch in, considering I almost died taking a crap in the community toilet, a story I care not to get into.
So, I opted for a room in a nearby roach motel I had scoped out. It was dark, but still not too late, and the family strongly suggested Jan and I go for a walk. We ended up going back to the mall, her wearing her new clothes. We had some pie and juice and sat outside and talked about school and war and politics. She was a pretty smart kid. But she was also very religious and superstitiously catholic. And she wanted babies. Lots of babies. +1 for her.
Attachment 7294
https://i591.photobucket.com/albums/...s/P1000207.jpg
https://i591.photobucket.com/albums/...s/P1000208.jpg
I taxied her back to her house and she looked rejected. She wanted to spend the night with me. Her family wanted it, too. Now, from the perspective of wanting a real bed and a hot shower, I saw where she was coming from. But this was a really, really, really, really, really, really bad idea. I am a man, after all. And I was not looking to get into a Monday morning shotgun wedding. I promised her I would rent her a motel room after I left, so she could sleep well and enjoy the AC and get a shower, but only if she promised not to trash the room. She said that would be okay, but I could tell from her expression that a shower was not what she was after. I don’t know, maybe she just wanted to coo and cuddle, girls do that. Or, maybe she thought I was gonna go whoremongering.
Either way, a 5 foot, 90 pound, 19 year old, catholic, nubile, dark skinned island girl spending the night in the room of a single 37 year old man with no children and baby fever = pregnancy. I know my limits, and this was it. Goodnight, Jan, I will see you in the morning.....