I was reminded that it was the Day of the Dead by that delight, Google Calendar. There is something deeply disturbing about social media; the dead live on through it. It turns out that the dead never really die nowadays; they live on in virtual reality, their pictures and their words floating forever in cyberspace. … Continue reading Day of the Dead: A time to remember
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Western feminists, for over half a century, have argued that gender itself has been the fundamental agent of women’s oppression. But very few have considered the consequences of matriarchy. I suggest that matriarchy in the Philippines offers an alternative. In ‘Why Men Made God’ we pointed out that powerful, high-status women in the patriarchy were … Continue reading Matriarchy in the Philippines
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Few clinical definitions, established by obscure researchers in obscure institutions, referring to an obscure subject, can have caused more brouhaha than Ray Blanchard’s definition of autogynephilia as ‘a man’s paraphilic propensity to be sexually aroused at the thought or image of himself as a woman.’ But what does it actually mean? ‘Paraphilia is any intense … Continue reading The thought or image of oneself
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Autogynephilia is a self-reinforcing, narcissistic sexualised self-reward system. It is stimulated by a man’s desire to be, or appear to be, a woman. It is satisfied by achieving this. Although there are other rewards, the main one is by having sex as a woman. Because it is self-reinforcing, the more often the satisfaction is achieved, … Continue reading Autogynephilia: Sex as a woman
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The Philippines has become very important to me over the last four years. It’s now the focus of much of my life and I want to spend more time there. The winters in France are just too cold for me now. When you visit a country for longer periods, months at a time, as I … Continue reading Philippines 2016: Markets and Mountains
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Rodrigo Duterte Pic: Rappler.com
This month the Philippines elected Rodrigo Duterte, a tough-talking maverick largely unknown outside his own country, as President.
The Western media has been completely wrong-footed by Duterte, and has even compared him to Donald Trump. But Duterte is a far more complex character and if he reminds me of any politician, it is Alex Salmond of Scotland’s SNP. The two men play the politics game very alike — something the rivals of both have come to rue.
Despite the ignorance of the outside world, Duterte is by no means an unknown quantity in the Philippines. Over the last four years, in my travels there, I have become used to the affection with which ordinary people — living hundreds of miles from his bailiwick — speak of him. He is ‘Rody’ or ‘Digong’ and in text, sometimes D30.
Duterte’s city, Davao on the southern island of Mindanao, is one of the three largest in the Philippines, with a population greater than several European nations. He has proven himself a skilled manager of the city’s finances over the decades of his rule. He has fought and won eleven elections — not a bad score for any political animal. While claims for the security and low levels of crime in Davao may be exaggerated, people there regard him as a true defender of the peace.
When one of the Vice-Presidential candidates, Alan Trillanes, put out a story, in the last days before the election, that Duterte had 17 million USD (equivalent) that he had not declared — a tricky matter for a career public servant earning less than 50,000USD per annum to explain — Duterte dealt with it in typical style, turning the story on its head and severely damaging his enemy when he, finally and after extracting the maximum of drama, released his accounts. This is no rookie at the game of politics, but a master.
In other ways too, Duterte’s gamesmanship is remarkable. All through last summer he dithered and denied. Yes, he would stand, then no, he wouldn’t. And again and again, for months. Some began to call him ‘flip-flop’ on social media. But the joke was on us, because by the time he finally announced that he was going to stand for President and filed his notification, only days before the deadline, millions of ordinary Filipinos were literally begging him to stand. You can’t buy that kind of electoral boost; Duterte did it with brilliant — if Machiavellian — manoeuvring.
Davao, Duterte’s city, is known to have freelance death squads, which have attracted the attention of the United Nations’ Commission for Human Rights. Thousands have been summarily executed by these thugs, usually because they had been denounced as criminals. Duterte, it is alleged, did nothing to stop these killings and, if anything, used them as political capital. Davao was safe, he claimed, because criminals are too frightened to operate in it.
Does Duterte order the killings? It’s unthinkable. For all his ‘man of the people’, tough-guy persona, he is a lawyer by profession and has repeatedly proven himself as such. That he would put himself in a position where he might be arrested and charged is so unlikely that it may be discounted; and there have been twenty years in which such charges could have been brought. The Davao Death Squads do exist; but the overwhelming likelihood is that Duterte has nothing to do with them — except to claim the credit for making his city safer.
Whether or not Duterte is innocent is of academic interest in any case, because the fact is that his Teflon coating has dealt with them. Knowing Duterte’s track record, investigators will go blind with paperwork before they get anywhere near the truth, by which time his presidency would likely be over. Duterte is now 71 and his life in politics is drawing to an end.
Enough of the man; but what has made the Philippines elect him? He won 38% of the vote in a multi-party election with 80%? turnout. (David Cameron would so wish.)
In tactical terms, the establishment Liberal Party were completely blindsided by the candidacy of Senator Grace Poe. Poe is a foundling and had also acquired US nationality, at which time she renounced her Philippines one; so her candidacy faced a legal challenge. Presidents must be both Filipino by birth and Philippines citizens. Many believed that Poe would not be allowed to stand.
Grace Poe
However the Supreme Court, in a majority decision, upheld her right to stand. Poe, although relatively inexperienced and lacking real ‘star quality’, found herself pitted against the Liberal Party’s Mar Roxas, who is experienced, competent and has even less star quality.
Poe’s candidacy meant that these two were — belatedly — trying to win votes from exactly the same demographic. In a race of two lacklustre horses, each, in the end, took around half that vote.
Mar Roxas
That this left a hole as big as a house for Rody Duterte to charge through became obvious to many observers very soon but not, alack, to the Administration. While it is true that President Aquino did call, in the last week, for the parties to ‘come together’ to stop Duterte, what he meant was that Poe should stand down to let Roxas take her votes. This, unsurprisingly, did not persuade Poe. (Meanwhile other pundits were calling for Roxas to stand down for the same reasons — which cries were similarly ignored.)
The Philippines does not have a two-stage voting system such as in France, where the various candidates are thinned down to two in the first poll and the winner decided in the second. In the Philippines, there’s one vote and whoever gets the most votes wins. In a French-type system, Mar Roxas and Rodrigo Duterte would be facing off in another round and the chances are that Roxas, despite his blandness — I am always reminded of John Major; competent but dull — would win comfortably, assuming a majority of Poe’s voters switched to him. However, such is not the case.
In political terms, the impetuses for Duterte are complex. First is the ongoing civil strife, in the southern island of Mindanao especially. Aquino has supported the attempts of the Muslim minority there to extend the autonomous region they live in and deepen its powers.
Many Filipinos consider this unconstitutional, since the Philippines is a unitary state with no tradition of federalism, where all citizens are equally protected under the same law. They point, amongst other things, to the existence of non-Muslim tribal peoples living in the area that would be covered and insist that this arrangement would be contrary to their constitutional rights and protections.
Nevertheless, the negotiation of a separate law, the so-called ‘Bangsamoro Basic Law’ or BBL, was a major Aquino target and looked certain to be ratified, despite its unpopularity with the 95% of the citizenry who are not Muslim.
Then, in February 2015, a military assault was organised to capture a number of known terrorists hiding in the Moro region. It was carried out by members of the Special Action Force (SAF) who were really armed policemen rather than soldiers. They were ambushed and forty-four were slaughtered by gunmen from the Moro Islamic Liberation Front (MILF). The fallen became instant martyrs and heroes, the ‘SAF 44’.
While blame for this catastrophic debacle fell on the shoulders of the Police General responsible, Alan Purissimo, Aquino was tainted both because he was seen as accommodating of the MILF — who overnight became pariahs — and because Purissimo was Aquino’s appointment. (As a result of the massacre, the BBL was not ratified.)
Duterte, whose city, Davao, is in Mindanao, is seen by many both on that island and elsewhere, as tough enough to deal with insurgents; and on the other hand, he has ‘lines’ of communication with several insurgent groups himself. Foreign observers should realise that low-level war and insurrection has been going on in parts of the Philippines, especially Mindanao but also Luzon and Visayas, since the Vietnam era. It was this that provided the justification for Marcos infamous dictatorship and the Martial Law era. Filipinos are inured to it, but heartily sick of it. It is a major reason why the tourist industry there lags so far behind, say, Thailand, despite the astonishing natural beauty. It is a sad fact that many in the Philippines have forgotten the realities of that time and see a ‘tough guy’, a benevolent dictator, as the best solution to the problems of insurrection, despite the fact that it has been tried and failed.
The next big issue is crime and particularly, drug-related crime. There is no question that drug trafficking is being used as a scapegoat for wider social ills and has allowed politicians — even Duterte — to sidestep them. However, the persistent, chronic level of crime throughout the Philippines is a major problem. That this is so is obvious by the sheer numbers of armed security guards. They are everywhere. Even small convenience stores have round the clock armed security and any bank branch will have at least three at the door. They will be armed with pepper sprays and batons but also with pistols and pump-action shotguns. That’s serious firepower right there; you don’t invest in protection like this without cause.
As well as this, there is a degree of public disorder related to alcohol. The Filipinos like to drink and when they do, they can be unruly. Compared to the Scottish ones I grew up in, Filipino towns, even late at night, are havens of peace and order; but there is a public perception that they are not.
Low-level crimes, which exist alongside much more rare and localised, but far more severe ones like ransom kidnapping and even piracy, are a constant niggle. Duterte’s promise, to clean it all up in six months, is like a breath of fresh air to a population sick to the back teeth of criminality. They know that the establishment has done nothing to curb it and the prospect of a new broom has proved very enticing.
Next, the age-old problem of Pilipino politics is that it is in the hands of a small number of wealthy and powerful clans. The Aquinos and the Marcoses are the best known of these, and historically, power has passed between them since the fall of the Ferdinand Marcos in 1986. This has, unfortunately, led to obvious cronyism, nepotism and political favour, as well as the public perception of massive criminality on the part of the political class itself: in other words, corruption. Just by being from outside the cabal of powerful families, Duterte is a threat to their convenient political arrangements. This alone was probably enough to secure the man millions of protest votes.
It is a sad truth that the Philippines has become synonymous with corruption. It is much more severe than in other southeast Asian nations and some believe it is a hangover from the Spanish colonial era. Whatever the cause, it is a major problem; look at the extent to which Filipinos bemoan it, even to a foreigner. You can hardly hop on a taxi from the airport but the driver will start talking about it.
This corruption exists not only at the highest but all levels of the bureaucracy. It ranges from unfinished — but paid for — public works programmes, through the millions allocated for disaster relief (example) which have vanished while thousands of victims, years later, are still living in refugee camps, to routine payoffs for traffic offences. The facts are that public servants are underpaid and have the power to augment their salaries through graft. So they do.
This has been going on or many years, however; why has it become an issue now?
To answer this you have to look at demographics. The Philippines is seeing an exponential population explosion. While it does have indigenous manufactory and a huge agricultural sector, two other areas have grown up as a result of the numbers of young, relatively highly-qualified people. These are Overseas Filipino Workers (OFWs) and call-centre workers.
The former comprise everyone from maids to nurses, doctors, engineers and architects, and number around 2.3 million. The latter are by and large degree-level young people with excellent English. These two sectors contribute disproportionately to the economy and their power is growing. They constitute a new, moneyed and educated middle class.
While call-centre workers and other domestic professionals suffer the same levels of victimisation by corrupt officials as everyone else, they are inclined to be more articulate in their protest. If my own straw-polling as well as others is correct, a majority of these, by some way, were right behind Duterte. They have no memory of the Martial Law era under Ferdinand Marcos; they see a strong but fair leader, even one who might bend the rules here and there, as a force for good.
OFWs have for decades suffered at the hands off corrupt immigration and customs officials. Allegedly, their ‘balikbayan boxes’ — essentially duty-free gifts for those at home — are routinely pilfered and the contents presumably sold, or outrageous and unfounded ‘customs charges’ are applied — which can be unapplied on payment of a bribe.
The fury of the OFWs went full beast mode when a scam at the Philippines’ largest airport, NAIA, as well as others, was made public. Passengers going through the final security check would be detained and told that there was a live bullet in their baggage. Either the victim could pay a bribe or miss the plane. This became known as the ‘tanim-bala’ scam.
Several high-profile incidents like this last year, which, unusually, were publicised, opened a floodgate of resentment. The scammers’ mistake was in picking on a foreign traveller, a US citizen who was a missionary, and who not only refused to cough up, but went very public indeed, bringing the US Consulate into the case. Thus the can of worms was opened and we learned that for over two decades, police, security guards and baggage handlers had been extorting from thousands if not hundreds of thousands of passengers a year. And the most victimised group was, of course, the OFWs.
It turned out that of the detentions for ‘tanim-bala’ — that were actually recorded, and nobody knows how many were not — only 3% actually resulted in an investigation. In other words, in 97% of recorded cases, the victim coughed up the bribe, typically ten to twenty USD, and was released.
Despite over 50 of the staff at NAIA being suspended over this, it was the straw that broke the camel’s back. OFWs were incensed at a patrician, establishment Administration that was not only, they believed, corrupt in itself but connived with corruption at every level of the bureaucracy. And President Benigno Aquino III symbolised that corruption.
So when Rodrigo Duterte, the tough-talking, joking, affable but firm mayor from Davao, who comes across like everybody’s favourite uncle, wears jeans and checked shirts, lives in an ordinary house and drives an ordinary car, blasts in and says, ‘You leave it to me, I’ll sort this mess out,’ he is like a messianic superman, an answer to so many prayers. At last, someone who understands ordinary people and who is prepared to actually do something about their hardships. And a quirk in the Pilipino electoral system has allowed this maverick, this Lone Ranger brandishing metaphorical silver pistols and gunning for the bad guys, to break through.
We cannot know what will happen next. Social media is alive with a conspiracy theory that the establishment intends to oust Duterte and seize power again. The scenario goes like this: Duterte will impeached — for something — and Liberal Party Vice-President-elect Leni Robredo will take over. This despite Robredo’s impeccable history and her assurance that she will work with Duterte and not against him.
Leni Robredo
However, when did a conspiracy theorist ever heed facts or personal reputations?
This conspiracy theory, which has been stoked by the dictator Marcos’ son, ‘Bongbong’ who ran a close battle with Robredo for the VP slot, may have provoked Duterte into his first major political mistake, before he has even taken power. In defeat, Marcos has proven bitter and petulant, but his support is roughly contiguous with Duterte’s.
In the Philippines, the Vice-Presidency is a non-executive, ex-Cabinet position, without any portfolio at all. The Vice-President is elected completely separately from the President and may not be in the same party — indeed, the two might be arch-rivals.
At the same time the President has absolute power to appoint the Cabinet.
A statesman would have probably have given Robredo — a proven and accomplished politician — a portfolio and Cabinet post that would not have demeaned her…Foreign Affairs, for example, where Duterte is weak.
While he won the Presidency by a clear majority over his nearest rival, Duterte remains a minority President, with 62% of the population having voted against him. Bringing Robredo into his Cabinet would have been an olive branch to the majority who were defeated by the electoral system, while at the same time keeping her from getting into any mischief. I suspect Duterte would have liked to do that, but feared a backlash from his own supporters as a result of Marcos’ post-facto allegations of electoral foul play. That’s politics.
Notwithstanding what, on the face of it, appears to be an early slip, Rodrigo Duterte is a consummate politician. He knows exactly where every crack in the ice is and his great talent, apart from his ability to appeal to the public, has been in knowing how to skate within a hairsbreadth of them, always staying just on the safe side.
The Philippines remains, potentially, a vibrant and dynamic regional power, crippled by corruption, poverty and internal strife. It is a nation of young people and many of them are highly educated. It has vast natural resources and is, literally, a tropical paradise; not for nothing is it called the ‘pearl of the Orient’.
If Duterte can re-unite and revitalise this disparate and riven nation, then he might just be the Lone Ranger after all.
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Mount Arayat at sunrise
A couple of weeks ago I went to Mount Arayat National Park in Pampanga, here in the Philippines.
I’d been invited by some friends to spend the day, with a walk in the mountain park in the morning followed by socialising later. This meant first taking a bus to San Fernando and then another, local bus. We wanted to be there for sunrise, which is why I found myself sitting in a taxi at 3.30 am, hurtling through Quezon City at speeds in excess of 100 kph. It was a good adrenaline rush to start the day.
I took a Victory Liner coach from Cubao. Many of the coach lines have terminuses there, and the other that serves Pampanga is Genesis. (Yes, the biblical one; this is the Phils.) The fare to San Fernando is 102 pesos. You can pay on the bus but during office hours there’s a ticket office which they prefer you to use. You can also get refreshments in the terminus.
As ever, food and drinks vendors boarded the coach to ply their wares before we set off. The journey time to San Fernando is roughly an hour, depending on traffic, following the North Luzon Expressway (NLEX). Be sure not to get off at the first stop in San Fernando, wait till you get to ‘interchange’.
Azumi doing her trail guide thing
I was to meet my friend Azumi Ballesteros and some others for the morning walk, but in the end only Azumi and another girl called Chin showed up. Two others had said they would come but hadn’t, and this had clearly annoyed Azumi; she has a sparkly nature, quick to anger but as quick to forgive.
After exchanging greetings we boarded another bus, which took us close to the Park entrance. Then, in true Pilipino style, we boarded a trisikel (a motorcycle and sidecar) for the last part of the journey.
Unfortunately, Azumi hadn’t checked the opening time of the park, which was 6 am, and we arrived at 5.30. No matter, the security rustled up some chairs in front of a television to divert us while we waited, and even made us hot drinks. I think mine was tea, but I’m not sure; as ever the main thing I tasted was sugar. It’s one of the charms of this country, though; everybody shares, even if they have a sweet tooth that would make a Westerner’s eyes water.
At six the official ticket-seller arrived and we began our walk up the hill. The first part is a steep and very uneven staircase called the Hundred Steps. It’s far more tiring than it should be, because of the difference in the heights between the steps; fortunately there’s a good handrail which allows the less than super fit (i.e. me) to haul themselves up. I noticed that Azumi and Chin had no problems though. Ah, youth.
After the Hundred Steps, the trail debouches (love that word) onto a metalled road for half a mile or so, and then becomes a rough trail through the forest again.
The Philippines jungle is actually a delight to walk in. There are very few nasty insects, unlike jungles elsewhere, to bite and make life misery for the walker, and
The jungle in the Phils is pretty healthy
even the flies are not numerous. I don’t know why this is, but Philippine jungles feel fresh and healthy, even when the temperature climbs.
But it is still jungle and one always has that sensation, as one does in any jungle, of being watched by myriad hidden eyes. I imagined how soldiers must have felt — and still feel — campaigning through country like this. I thought I was being watched by hundreds of shy animals, but the eyes could easily have been those of a predator or a hostile enemy. To patrol in country like this would be nerve-wracking. I grew up during the period of the Vietnam War but it was only much later, when I began to visit jungles, that I realised what that must have been like and why it was so traumatising for the US soldiers.
We were chatting about this as we walked and Azumi agreed.
‘My friend told me it’s really dangerous here.’
‘Is it? Why?’
‘There are NPA (New People’s Army) hiding in the forest,’ she replied, with her characteristic lisp.
Involuntarily, I looked around. The NPA, or in Filipino, Bagong Hukbong Bayan, are the armed wing of the Philippines Communist Party.
They appeared in the late 1960s and during the Marcos era their ranks were swollen by young people disaffected by the dictator’s brutal regime. Ever since they have been responsible for a trickle of killings, kidnappings and other banditry.
I am aware that as a European, I am a target that they might consider to be worth cash money; the fact that nobody would pay it would mean I would disappear.
Chin relaxing
While I shrug off Azumi’s worries, it’s true that you could hide hundreds of armed guerrillas in this jungle and not only would nobody ever know, they would be completely self-sufficient. The jungle is literally a larder. There is fruit hanging from the trees to pick and vegetables growing everywhere. The wildlife is rich and while we, as noisy townies, see only birds, there is certainly an abundance of game.
I confirm this in discussion — Azumi translating — with one of the park wardens, who double as guides. He has stopped us to ask where we intend to go, and suggests a viewpoint a few hundred metres higher up. I mention the NPA and he nods. ‘Maybe. You must be careful and stay on the path.’ I personally can’t see how this would make me less likely to be kidnapped, but I let it pass.
I point to the densely-forested peak of Mount Arayat itself, looming above us. He makes a face. ‘It’s four to six hours up there and the same back. And you can’t go alone, you need a guide. We can sort that for tomorrow, but I’m booked today.’
As well as the NPA, it turns out, whose presence the warden is being coy about, a more mundane cause of danger exists. The path is not well marked and the unwary can wander off it and get completely lost. It turns out that recently a party of Germans did just that and it took six hours of search the next day to locate them.
‘They were out in the jungle all night,’ explains the warden. ‘Now we don’t let people go up without a guide.’ I can see that Azumi is quite satisfied with this answer, although I’m not quite. Being a nosey journalist.
Why so dangerous in the dark? I suppose there are animals but there are no large predators; the most dangerous terrestrial fauna here are snakes and I remain unconvinced about the NPA. I think the real issue lies in the Filipino’s terror of the dark. I have encountered this before.
Filipinos are deeply superstitious and believe in a range of truly nightmarish supernatural beings that populate the night. These are not casual beliefs in the way that some people think it’s unlucky to walk under ladders or go anti-clockwise round churches. These are real, visceral beliefs in a spirit world that is not only immediately present, but a genuine threat to humans. These spirits, which range from the kapre, a dark-skinned, cigar-smoking, but usually harmless man* who sits up trees watching people, through the engkanto, and to the truly horrific aswang, a genus of ghouls that feed on people, only appear at night.
The most famous aswang is the mananangal
I am pretty sure this is the real reason the warden is so emphatic that it is dangerous to be out in the jungle in darkness; compared to the monsters of the mind that infest the darkened jungle, the NPA are small beer.
Research into these fascinating ideas, which I’ll go into another time, throws light on the Philippines’ history. Although the originals of the demons existed long before the Spanish came, these colonial overlords used them to terrify the people out of living in the forest and come to live in the towns where they could be better controlled. They slaughtered natives — who may or may not have been campaigning against them — mutilated the bodies and put them on display, claiming that this was the work of the aswang and other creatures of the night.
This, apparently, worked and to this day Filipinos are extremely nervous about being in the forest after dark.
The friendly warden led us a little further up the path and pointed out the viewpoint, then struck off on another trail. Despite the terrors of the night and the poor pay, this was a man with a great job, I reflected.
Azumi, Chin and I reached the viewpoint at around 11, by which time the day was heating up. The most prominent feature was a massive rock, black basalt, which
Massive basalt rock erupted by Mount Arayat
must have been blown out by Arayat when it last erupted and looking around I could see dozens of other, similar rocks. The destruction wrought by these must have been enormous. This individual rock must have weighed 300 tonnes or so; the power needed to blast it up into the air from the crater itself, at least two miles away, is truly humbling. Mother Earth is not just the nurturing goddess that brings life, but the Dark Goddess of death and destruction. To the Sumerian she was Ereshkigal, to the modern Hindu Kali; but she has always been with us, her body the dread portal into death. Arayat, thankfully dormant for now, is where she spews her vengeful anger.
(Arayat is considered to be the home of goddess Mariang Sinucuan, the archrival of Namalyari of Mount Pinatubo.)
Azumi collecting banana leaves
At the rock we sat and some sticky sweet rice cakes, called malagket, which Azumi had brought. I can attest to the sugar content of these and confess I couldn’t eat all of mine, while the girls munched away happily.
Azumi and I climbed to the top of the basalt. The view was magnificent, even though it was a little limited by the heat haze. I could see Olangapo to the southwest, and, closer but still distant, San Fernando. Azumi pointed out other towns.
After a relaxing break we set off down the path again. It was very broken and obviously in times of rain, serves as a temporary river. I had noticed, on the way up, large deposits of manure that looks like they originated in something that was not quite a cow and neither a horse, and to my delight we discovered the source: a carabao. This is a kind of buffalo, and here it was being used by the licensed charcoal-burners who exploited the fallen wood to transport their produce back down the mountain. We watched as one, a female, was hitched into a cart. She seemed very placid and later we discovered more wandering loose. Nobody seemed to bother.
a carabao being hitched up
As we reached the lower levels we became aware of the heat; on the slopes the breeze had kept us cool, but here the trees were much bigger and sheltered us from it. There were many more people around by now and, as usual, everyone greeted us politely.
Once down near the entrance once more we stopped at one of the ‘cottages’ under the trees and the girls set out lunch — barbecued fish, meat and salad. I took a few pictures and we headed off to get a bus back to San Fernando.
*It is widely believed that a tree at the entrance to Malacanang Palace, the Philippines President’s official residence, is inhabited by a kapre, whose role here seems to be of supernatural protector.
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molinot
New Year’s Resolutions have never really been my thing, but this year I have made one. Let me explain.
Twenty-two years ago, almost to the month, my then wife Madeleine, my first son Brodan and our dog Dina, set off in a Ford Granada Estate car to find our dream home in France and live the life we pictured there.
The quest, discovery and purchase of said house became the subject of a series of books called French Onion Soup!. The first was published in 2013 and the second will be later this year; my notebooks have enough in them for perhaps one or two more.
Did we live the dream? Yes we did. Was it what we expected? In some ways it was more so and in others less; but it was altogether far greater than we had anticipated.
We lived in the big house in Molinot – renamed P’tit Moulin in the books – for two years. Our second son, Silas was born there. But in 1995, with another baby on the way, we elected to go back to Scotland. We worked hard and did well and then, now with a brood of four and another two dogs, we returned to Molinot in 2001. Again we stayed for two years and returned, again for a complex variety of reasons. This is a decision which, though it had unforeseen and drastic consequences, I have never regretted.
During the next few years our family was blighted by cancer. Madeleine suffered breast cancer and required a radical mastectomy. Yet I could not give her the support she needed and deserved, because at the same time, my mother was diagnosed with terminal lung cancer, which I believe to have been caused by decades of using carbon tetrachloride in the boutique she owned. Even I was touched by this horrible disease, and had to have a skin tumour removed. I am one of those white-skinned, fair haired Scots for whom the sun is both blessing and curse.
During this time I struggled to complete the self-build house we had begun and somehow, at the same time, hold together a business. It was not easy and the summer after my mother died, 2005, almost broke me.
But then the phone began to ring again and business came through our doors. We survived.
For five years we did not set foot in our home at Molinot, and then, in October 2008 we finally returned: Me, Charis, Ythan and Silas. It hadn’t fallen down, though it had suffered from neglect. Still I rolled up my sleeves and set to work and from then on made at least two visits a year.
In 2009 Madeleine and I decided to separate. After much heartbreaking wrangling, I took on the house at Molinot and she the one in Scotland, finally completed.
In 2011 I moved to Molinot permanently. I arrived just before Christmas with Brodan, my eldest son. After he returned to Scotland in January, I was alone. It was the first time really alone in decades. Alongside working on the house I began to write again, the Onion Soup! books but also more serious works. The first of these, now called Why Men Made God, is due for publication on May the first 2015.
Through FaceBook I met a woman in Canada, Karis Burkowski, who became the editor and now the co-author of Why Men Made God. Her enthusiasm and support made the project actually happen.
But I get ahead of myself. In 2012, I was in France, but I still had a sailing boat in Scotland. I wanted to bring her to France but soon realised the futility of the idea. Still undecided, I returned to Scotland in April, repaired and launched the boat – called Misty – and sailed her, with my sons, up the east coast of Scotland, through the Caledonian Canal and down to Oban, with a very hairy sail round Mull.
I had received an offer on Misty and in August, with no other real alternative in sight, decided to take it. A few more great solo sails were had and then, with great sadness, she and I parted in September.
I returned to France. Charis and Ythan visited for the school holidays and once again there was life in my house; but not for long. The days drew short.
I had been looking on online dating sites to see if I could find a partner. A couple of girls had chatted and one really seemed to be interesting, but then something happened: a whirlwind blew into my life and turned it on its ear.
The whirlwind’s name was Crissy Cruz José. 
I will tell the story of what happened, with her permission, another day. Suffice for now to say that we fell in love. I returned to France after three heady weeks with her, and came back in late February 2013. Something was wrong; we had had silly tiffs before, but now we were arguing a lot. Crissy and I both hated it. But we worked hard to resolve the issues, and the second half of the visit went better. Nevertheless I had a bad feeling as I said goodbye to her outside her house when I left for NAIA.
2013, while not as bad as 2005, was not a great year. I was really tight for money and began to lose sight of the plans Crissy and I had made, for her to come to France. She saw herself finding a job there – I know the place and knew how unlikely that would be. The plan was flawed and in the end that flaw ate, like the cancer I had known before, through our relationship. At Christmas, full of misery, I ended it.
It was a shitty thing to do and I deeply regret it. But what is done is done. I was hollow and broken. I had lost so much; my mother, my wife, the house I built. My kids were a thousand miles away. The loss of a beautiful love seemed just another coin in the well of my unhappiness. Crissy, I reasoned, would be better off without me and would quickly find someone new. I cried over her and tried to move on.
2014 turned into a good year. With Karis Burkowski I finished Why Men Made God and the project began to look like it might work. French Onion Soup! sales began to creep up, and I had plenty of other work.
So much so that I arranged another visit to the Philippines in December.
I had a few contacts for girls I had met on line and I went on dates with four of them – all for a big nothing. They were nice and all but…I was totally cold. I had known this feeling before, earlier in 2014, with other women, both online and in real. It was as if a part of me was missing. These relationships just felt wrong and I could not pursue them.
Then I saw Crissy on the same dating site where we first met. ‘Why not message her, just for old times’ sake,’ I asked myself. So I did and to my amazement she replied, saying yes why indeed not, we might meet.
The story of the next four weeks is between me and my Crissy. Suffice to say that as I write this she is sleeping in the bed we share in a rented condo. She looks so beautiful and peaceful and I love her so very much.
So where is this rambling parable taking us? Only here: Crissy’s redemption, her return to my life, is bought at a price. No more fantastic schemes of bringing her to go mad in rural France. I will do as Mohamet had to, and go to the mountain.
Which means that the big old house in France, which has brought so much joy and is full of over two decades of my life, will go on the market as soon as I return there. I will cry when I finally close the door but I will get over it. It’s just a house.
Crissy is not just a house. She is the person I want to be with for the rest of my life. She is a flesh and blood human with needs and desires, who can be hurt – and I have hurt her – and yet still love. I could never ask for more of a partner than that she would forgive the wrong I did her and open her warm heart to me again.
So the great French Dream will finally, after twenty-two years, come to an end. I will miss it and doubtless, in my dotage, sigh over my memories. But with the end of every chapter comes the start of a new and I know how that will begin, though not yet how it will end.
I will sell up in France and move to the Philippines to spend the rest of my life – or a long as she’ll have me – with my lovely Crissy. The decision has at last been taken. It’s time to start again.
And that is my belated, but at least considered, New Year’s resolution for 2015.
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Jeepneys at Waterfun, Taguig. Pic Rod Fleming
Most people have at least heard about jeepneys, the ubiquitous, colourful and incredibly noisy backbone of the Philippines public transport system. For those who have not, you’ll catch up.
The first jeepneys were in fact modified Willys Jeeps that the Americans left behind. The enterprising pinoys lengthened the chassis and fitted seats. Now they are custom built with stainless steel, all-enclosed bodywork and diesel engines.
Most jeepneys are 20-seaters; 18 in the back and 2 in the front, guv. This makes them unquestionably the friendliest form on transport on the planet, because actually there’s only enough room for 16 in the back and we are talking kitten-hipped pinoys here.
pic: Rod Fleming
This ensures fairly intimate physical contact as you are wedged in between people on either side. The conductors will make sure you’re wedged in too, banging on the outside and telling the passengers to squeeze up.
(I have only once had a conductor look me in the eye and say ‘You’re too big.’ I laughed it off as a matter of principle. If you’re one of those colossal American things, best get a cab.)
The next thing to be aware of is that there is only about 1.5 metres of headroom, so if you’re much over six feet, you will bang your head off the roof even when seated. For everyone, the low height means entering and leaving the jeep in a crouched position, of which more later.
Once wedged in between your new friends-for-life…well, at least for the next few minutes of it anyway… comes the small matter of fares. If you board at a terminus, a conductor will either take the fare as you enter or he’ll come on board to collect it. (I have never seen a woman doing this job. Jeepneys do appear to be strictly male that way.)
If you board en route, however, things are slightly different, and the etiquette demands that you call out ‘Bayat po,’ to the driver before handing him the fare. This he will take while driving and sort out your change and return it, also while driving. It’s quite a feat. Unless you tell him otherwise he will assume you want to go to the terminus, so if you don’t tell him. This also means he’ll stop to let you off at the right place. Since otherwise you won’t have a clue when to get off, this amounts to Good Thinking.
Pic: Rod Fleming
Jeep fares range from a low of four pesos to a maximum of sixteen, at least on the routes I have travelled.
Now the observant among you will probably already have picked up on a problem: what happens if you are not sitting right behind the driver? You’re wedged in, right, and negotiating a forest of knees crouched into a hunch while rattling along in this, let’s be honest, fairly basic machine would be impractical anyway. (At least if you lose balance you won’t fall far.) Well, there is a system. You call out ‘Bayat po’ just as if you were sitting behind the driver and wave the fare in his direction. One of the other passengers will take it and pass it forward till it reaches the driver.
In exactly like manner, your change, if there is any, will be returned to you.
Naturally etiquette demands that you participate, so when someone thrusts money at you, pass it in the appropriate direction. It should be obvious enough.
Now all this is very well, but how do you decide which jeepney to get in the first place? Well, they all ply defined routes for which they are licensed by the relevant city authority. The route will be painted on the side of the jeep itself…so, not obvious at night or when one is coming towards you. However in the windscreen there will be a small destination board with the terminus the jeep is heading for on it. These are only about 20cm x 8cm, so you’ll need sharp eyes and at night, a sixth sense. Best to ask if unsure.
Hailing jeepneys is easy, just wave your arm at an approaching one. If it has vacant seats, the driver will stop, if it doesn’t, tough. There will be another along soon.
To get the driver to stop and let you off, the standard method is to tap one of the stainless steel overhead rails with a coin. There are no real jeepney stops, the driver will just pull up as quickly as he can.
Getting off a jeepney is almost as entertaining as getting squeezed into the seat, especially at a terminus where everyone gets off. Here, you will leave in crouched stance, following the crowd in single file. This means that your face will be around a foot away from the person in front’s bottom. Depending on your preference, choose to enter the line after a boy or a girl…
I told you it was a friendly form of transport.
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Pic: Rod Fleming
The beach at Boracay[/caption]Boracay is a bouquet of impressions. Triangular sails silhouetted against the sunset, tropical forest all around, an avenue of palms along the beach. Pure white sand, clear, unpolluted tropical water, adventure excursions, fun night-life and a laid-back atmosphere—not to mention exotic dancing girls. All this at prices that remain very reasonable. Does this appeal? Well, instead of Phuket or Bali, consider a trip to Boracay instead.
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