Part two

Part two:

Adventures from the mall:

Going back to the mall for a bit (this was Sat day- in the afternoon) a few noteworthy things happened:

Number one, I found and fell in love Rustan's dept store. This is where I bought the perfume I featured in my album, and I quite frankly wish I'd spent the entire three hours in this luxury brand emporium. We only were there for about 20 minutes, but it was Sinequanone (one of my fave brands) heaven.

Number two: In wandering the mall with glazed eyes looking for something to do, we passed a store that was literally called "Havin' A Baby". (It was a mix of maternity clothes and a small section of baby clothes). I cracked up, immediately listing other equally coy names for the store
"How about "Knocked UP?" How about "Preggers!" How about "A Bun in the oven?"

A light bulb goes on over Ives' head and he remembers that his good friend just had a baby and he wants to get her (and the baby, Megan) something. We go in and I wander over to the frilly dress section, speculating out loud as to how old Megan is now "three months?" I ask, and I turn to see Ives studying some very hardy denim overalls embroidered with a backhoe as if they contain the secret of the universe. He then picks up a boldly striped utility shirt and studies it with equal concentration.

"Uh, isn't Gemma's baby a girl?" I ask him, and he drops the item as if it were radiated. Now I'm questioning my own memory- I mean, it was late a night when I met the baby- nope, I clearly remember the ninety pounds of pink frills this child had on. Ives gives up almost immediately. "I'll just get her cash. That way she can get whatever she wants" he concedes defeat with grace, gratefully leaving the store.
I had to laugh. Good to know a dude is a dude is a dude, no matter where he was born.

So Sat night around 4 we fell asleep. We woke up once to turn up the aircon at 8 pm, but didn't wake up again until the next day around 4 am. We watched TV until 6.30 when the buffet opened (a show called True Beauty, which Ives was fully caught up on, having stumbled on it while I was in the shower- he could and did fill me in on all the major players and their quirks).

Breakfast was lacking in peace, since the TV was on CNN, which was showing coverage of the Libyan conflict, which the US had just entered. We hustled our way through the meal, and then got a taxi off to the fish market. The region is famous for it's dried fish, and our friends had asked for it, could we please bring some back.

This leads me to a side discussion of culture here: I had to explain to Ives that in the US, not only is it totally gauche to openly ask for a souvenir (at most you would put on a faux naif tone and ask in a voice dripping with irony, and then only from your closest friend), you really wouldn't expect one. If you got one, great. If not, eh. No biggie.

Given the atrocious taste level of most of the world (you should SEE the kitchen mats my cleaning lady tried to buy for me- we're going to have to have another little chat about how cartoon characters have no place in Naomi's world) it's really better that way- I mean, do you really want that "I got blown away at the top of Mount Whatever tee shirt? Here, people really buttonholed Ives, reminding him multiple times of what they wanted, right up until the last minute. I'm surprised there weren't people yelling their requests at the bus station at 5 am!

Anyway, we had to get pasulabong for about 10 people, to the tune of almost 2500p, and my god was that box heavy. Most of it was dried fish, but I got cocoa and dried mangoes for my friends, and we had tee shirts made for Ives' two closest friends (a grown man with two kids who is called Ro-ro. really. and children, he's the kind of man you see shooting darts at the end of the bar and think "That guy looks like a hell of a good time and I bet he's nothing but T-r-o-u-b-l-e" and by god are you right) and a sweet, quiet girl named Sophie.

After this we took a dip (it was starting to get sunny out) and then off to the spa, where I got a pedicure and Ives read back issues of Glamour magazine. At the back of one was a one page article called "10 times it's okay to throw a hissy". He turned to me "What's a heee-see?" he asked.
I was stumped for an explanation. "It's uh...it's when you have a temper tantrum as an adult, basically. It's short for "hissy fit". Heh.
Having to explain things like the new 30 oz Starbucks drink, exactly what a "hissy fit" is, and various other Americanisms sometimes sheds a rather cold, angular spotlight on the eternal adolescence that is the good old USA.

Then it was off to the Lighthouse, a place recommended in the guidebook that was also handily next door to the hotel for a long lunch. We ate ourselves into a coma and sat outside, flicking mosquitoes away from our faces as we tried not to fall asleep after two beers in the hot sun.

Then it was time to go to the airport. At the airport were two places of note: the first was the smoking lounge, which was called "The Tinder Box" and was classier than any place in Clark that's not inside the perimeter (inside the perimeter is much nicer than out). Modern and sleek, it was exactly the kind of place I've been dying to go to for 7 months. However, calling a place "The Tindebox" is a little like just outright naming it "the Firetrap" something that eludes Filipinos, and I couldn't adequately explain, so after having a private chuckle I just contented myself with the knowledge that my American friends would get it.

So we hung out and had coffee and chatted, and Ives told me a folktale about "The magic tinderbox" which is a story I've never heard (although I bet Kez has), and then we paid our fees and went to the gate.

At the gate we were delayed by an hour, so it was off to the other smoking lounge, also a place about 75% cooler than any single location in Clark. This place was full of yellow glass, giving everything an ethereal, gorgeous golden glow, including the television that only showed cigarette ads and the hazy, dessicated smokers all around me, desperately smoking their last cig before the plane ride. I do tease Ives a little about smoking, (he claims he'll quit before he's 35, but seeing as he's 32, we'll see) but honestly you can't make someone quit, and quite frankly, I can 100% see exactly why people smoke here. They live on the firing line.

I read an article just recently about a massacre in another island where 58 people were killed (shot to death execution style) by the ruling clan, their cars crushed by a backhoe with the clan's NAME ON IT. These were woman, journalists, and children on their way to support an opposing government candidate. The brazen, shocking, and cruel way this went down (this was almost two years ago now) makes ME want a cigarette. And trials will take about 5 years or more. And the family is still in power. Thinking about this makes me so angry and helpless I feel as if I'm floating in a sensory deprivation tank, saturated with nameless emotions. One of the things that's good-bad about being here is that I've felt emotions I've literally never felt in my entire life, some of them I couldn't even put a name to. This was one of them. So yeah, smoke em if you've got em.

Also in the airport: As we got our boarding passes, I was idly reading the signs: among the awesomest:

"Jokes about bombs in the airport are taken very seriously, etc, etc. Anyone caught cracking such jokes will be dealt with very seriously." Cracking!! HAR!

"the following things are allowed as exceptions to the carry on rule:

[a bunch of other stuff]
-a reasonable amount of reading material"
I totally know exactly what happened here. Some a-hole totally brought an UNREASONABLE amount of reading material and was like "what? I need this to read!"

"this area is off limits to well-wishers"

On the plane, it was explained to me that as we were in the emergency exit row, Ives had to have the window seat because women can't sit in it because, and I quote "They become too tensed in an emergency". Well. Okay. Now, not that Ives' isn't admirably (almost autistic-ally, sometimes, to be honest) calm, but DAMN!

After a long plane ride and a longer bus ride (this was nice though because the bus left from the heart of downtown Manila, which is a breathtakingly spectacular site, a true spectacle in the old sense of the word- huge towering icicles of buildings roped around with pedestrian walkways, sidewalks teaming with people that looked like ants, huge white hot billboards illuminating the sky for miles around, the whole thing looking like a set from Blade Runner)--we were home. Sleep, and then more sleep.

All in all, a good time.