Part 1 I left my heart in the Philippines

By Patrick Duffey


To say that I left my heart in San Francisco would not be the truth, for when it is time to leave paradise, this is where it will stay. By paradise, I mean the Philippine Islands. This is still the first time I have been to the Philippines. I had thought about this trip since I fell in love with a Filipina more than a dozen years ago. Since then, I have never been the same. I entertain the idea of going on a short vacation with my friends Benjie and Jennifer (I am “Tito” to their three children) to visit Benjie’s mother, “Nanay Picardo,” in Eastern Samar where she lives. This would be a good place to get a new perspective on life and to get ideas for writing some new songs.

In February, I get set to leave. Strangely, work slows down, allowing me this opportunity for some reason unknown. Good friends wish me a good time, envy filling their eyes, but work for Benjie and Jennifer’s company is out of control because of El Nino, and now they will not be able to go. They suggest that I go ahead anyhow.

All right, I can do this. After all I did sail from Hawaii to San Diego on a 30-foot sailboat with one other person. It took 32 days before seeing land. Yes, I reall do love Adventure! My plane route takes me up the coast into Alaska and then over the Bering Sea to Seoul, then finally I arrive in Manila. After clearing customs, I then make my way outside. Someone calls my name and greets me as five guys go for my luggage and boxes. Oh well, so much for my staff(not the adventure I was hoping for.) I then see Nanay’s smile and her arms awaiting a hug. I am introduced to my driver, Noling, as we head toward his car with our troop and my belongings. We pass by these strange vehicles that I am told are called a “jeepney.” They are stretched jeeps opened in the back for entry and have bench seats on both sides. The brighter the colors and chrome, the better. You have to stand out here to be noticed something tells me. These are no less than mobile museums of artwork. Then there are also “pedicabs” motorbikes that can fit two passengers inside and one on the seat behind the driver with room on the top for items. However, I have seen pedicabs with at least seven or eight passengers at once. Or something more simple wuold be the tricycle the driver pedals.

Now we are off, leaving the parking lot and drawing right into a traffic jam of such a proportion that my eyes have never seen. I‘ve now changed my mind on traffic problems in the San Francisco Bay Area. Someone in the jeepney thinks it’s a good idea to do a U-turn and the battle for space begins. Noling honks his horn and just wedges his way in front of another vehicle creating his own passage. Ah, but everyone is doing the same. Drivers are honking their horns (two short beeps), making the left hand turns from the right lanes and vice-versa. The maneuvers are usualy met with one finger salutes and handguns back in the United States. This is insanity at its finest! But there’s a method to this madness and everyone does it and the crazy thing about it is that, somehow, it works!

I am asked if I wish to reside in the same place where my friends stay when they come here to visit at the Shangri-la. I opt for something simple. We go to an apartelle, and upon seeing my room, I wonder if this was a bad choice, but I stay anyhow. I stay there a couple of days and travel around Metro Manila and Makati. The choice of fuel is diesel because it is inexpensive but chokes the air and burns the eyes. Squatters build against the roadways, every alley, polluted stream, and old railway tracks- you get the picture? I think they are good, decent people trying to find a place to exist (similar to a tree growing from a rock that has no soil). It’s very overwhelming; this is nothing less than a reality check.

Everyone stops and looks at me and I only speak enough Tagalog to get me in trouble except for some polite greetings. So I just say hello and a smile comes to their faces. To my amazement, they speak better than some folk I know back in the States. Their hospitality and warmth is the Filipino way-no less.

Night life is quite different as we make our way with ease through the city for the traffic is not as busy. Back in the States I strive to be different and here I do not have any trouble for I am the minority. I’ve now adjusted to my apartelle and the neighborhood, but now it’s time to go to Nanay’s house in Dolores, East Samar. Noling said he would drive there and I learn that it is about 30 hours of straight driving. This, I feel, is a special gift to show me the countryside. Oh, do I love adventure! I came here to relax and let go of time scheduling, and here is my first lesson: The engine on the car breaks down and a new one cannot be driven such a long distance. So we try for an airplane, but there are no seats available for a few days. So at the last minute, we get a cab to downtown Manila to take a bus.

It is February, Friday the 13th. We arrive at the bus terminal to see the back tires of the bus getting fixed and this gives me the chance to make more friends while we wait in the heat of the afternoon sun. There I meet a family, a couple and their five-year-old girl who live in the back of a pickup truck, actually they are part of a lotto house (lottery), sometimes you win sometimes you lose and until they win they are on the streets. They eat when they can earn something and are desperately in need of clothes. They are very poor but at the same time so full of life and it shows in their heart and smiles. There is magic in the eyes of Winnie, the small girl. I buy her an ice cream cone as the parents and I talk about life. I feel full in my heart and I leave them with some U.S. dollars that will go further than the peso. It is time to go and I have promised to write them and I shall. Never will they see such ease as in the United States, where most everything is taken for granted, where people sometimes yell at their microwave to hurry up and cry that life’s just not fair and so hard. I leave and something stirs deep within that I have never known. How is it that total strangers can affect me this way? And why do I have tears running down my cheeks?










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