Trip to Mt. Pinatubo

Today, my sister told me that Mt. Pinatubo was supposed to be closed to tourists that day we were there on May 1 because two British nationals died of heatstroke while or after visiting the volcano.  And that, on the same date  there reportedly  was an unusual activity observed in the crater lake.  My sister swore she saw small waves in an otherwise still and silent water that runs deep,  unfathomably deep.

This greets the visitors to prevent anyone from bathing in the lake.

But don't quote me, I just heard it from my sister who heard it from a friend who heard it from someone else. Unsure I may be of the veracity of the news they gave me the necessary push to blog about our Labor Day escape to Mt. Pinatubo.

Mt. Pinatubo is a volcano in  Zambales Province in the island of Luzon, Philippines.  Not many people knew about the volcano until its major eruption in July 1991.  It was dormant for eons; its eruption gave off massive volume of lava and sulfur dioxide that buried vast areas of agricultural lands and thousands of homes in Central Luzon.  Ash fall were so thick and heavy it covered surrounding areas in total darkness including Metro Manila -87 kms. or 54 mi. away from the volcano. Lahar continue to flow every year during rainy season and had killed lives years after the volcano's major explosion.  It also caused dramatic economic displacement for many communities.  After the eruption a crater lake was formed which about 10 years later,  (if my memory serves me right) was turned into a tourist attraction.  

Summit caldera as seen on Aug. 1, 1991, photo from Wikipedia

From the photo above, this one below is what now awaits the tourists.  The lake was magical, the place serene.  The undetermined depth of the crater and the mountains that locked the lake rendered the water sea green.   When you're there you would wonder how such beautiful piece of nature had once wreaked havoc to thousands of lives some 20 years ago.

Pinatubo Crater Lake, May 1, 2013

To get here, there's a short trek uphill

and then downhill.

You stay near the lake for one hour max and then you climb back up those steps you see in the photo.  I'm not telling why, but good luck on that.

The place was quiet despite the steady flow of tourists coming and going.  You could hear happy voices but no boisterous laughters, no screaming nor shrilling.

 

 I could tell that all the people were too careful to trigger soil erosion just because they got too excited being there.  Especially when you know that should you be trapped help could take a while to get there, as it takes at least an hour and a half drive from civilization before reaching the crater lake.

4x4s take tourists close to the crater lake up to the area where
it  is already totally impassable to any type of vehicle. Photo by  Patita.

The more breathtaking part of the trip to Mt. Pinatubo wasn't seeing the crater lake but the rugged ride on a 4x4 jeep as it snaked through imaginary road from Capas, Tarlac where the adventure began, and entered the 7-kilometer gorge.  From this point (Lipit Station) visitors can choose to begin their trek that would take 1 and 1/2 to 2 hours, or at the rest station  which 1 kilometer from the crater. which would take less than half an hour.

Entrance to the gorge, Lipit Station, 7 kms. to the crater.
No shouting or loud noises from this point onward.

End of the imaginary road for the 4x4's.
Rest Station, 1 km. to the crater .  

 The gorge was formed from the lahars that flowed from the volcano and  rise to as tall as  5 to 10-storey buildings high.

Photo by Patita

The closer we got to the crater the bigger the boulders that we encountered.

Photo by Patita

As it was middle of summer, the rivers were quite dry except for several streams that we crossed.

Photo by Patita

According to Jimmy, our guide, the gorge is filled with water during the rainy season and would wash away lahar deposits thus changing the landscape every year.  It's a vast land but nobody lives there, Jimmy told me.  Only grass grows in the gorge, no trees, fruit-bearing or otherwise.

Photo by Patita

The trip to Mt. Pinatubo was worth the  wait, we had planned it one summer ago but because of a scheduled US-Philippine joint military exercises under the Visiting Forces Agreement it was closed to tourists. This year, I wasn't part of the plan, on the last minute someone backed out, my sister asked me if I wanted to go. I didn't even have to think, I just said yes.

After going to the crater.  I actually made it
back to rest  station in just 10 minutes. Photo by  Dillan

Filipino Style Baingan Bartha

One of my favorite dishes while in India is baingan bartha, but it was kinda difficult for me to make, not having the appropriate spices and even if i did, i didn't know how to make baingan bartha in the first place.  but baingan bartha i discovered is the complicated version of our inihaw na talong (grilled eggplant with tomato and onion) so while still in my placement i concocted my own version.

ingredients:
eggplant
sliced tomatoes
sliced onion
ground black pepper
some salt
olive oil
lemon
chili (if you want it hot)

it's easy to make, not much cooking required really.  all you need to do is wash the eggplant and grill.  remove the charred skin and mash the eggplant.  put it in a bowl, add the sliced tomatoes and onions, plus the chili (again, if you want it hot), pour in a reasonable amount of olive oil,  add a dash of salt and pepper, squeeze in some lemon and just stir it in.  wallah, Filipino-style baingan bartha.  It's good with rice or chapati.

Baingan bartha is best served hot, with my version, you can chill it for about five minutes and would still taste good.  

Thoughts on the Delhi Gang Rape

The gang rape that killed Jyoti Singh, a 23-year old student in India hogged the news and shocked the world the past weeks.  It happened during my busiest days when I hardly had the time to read beyond the headlines.   It was not disinterest or callousness on my part that I didn't bother to find out the details of the crime.

That a woman was raped in India is not new to me. An article in Rupee News said one woman is raped every twenty minutes in India but it is a "notoriously under-reported crime because of social stigma and that the culprits in most cases were known to the victims."  I lived there for two years and it isn't just once that case of rape was reported by the media.  Except that such cases were hardly discussed at length or addressed a as crime.  At best, the governments would respond by beefing up security for women, like ensuring that female BPO employees have shuttle service from work to home or by making arrangement for Ladies' Special buses in high-risk areas for women.  The issue would always boil down to security and safety rather than combating violence against women  

I also didn't religiously follow the news that Indians were angered and came out in throngs to protest the crime and demand action from the government.  Paradoxical it may seem but it was good news, it's about time this was talked about in public.

What finally got me to read about it was when the the Jyoti's friend, Awindra Pandey, came out to talk about their ordeal.  What jarred me was the fact that hardly anyone stopped to help them for almost 20 or 25 minutes when  Jyoti was bleeding profusely. Those precious minutes could have made a difference in her  chance of survival.  Awindra said it could have been fear that prevailed among the passersby that if they helped they would be made witness to the crime.  Equally appalling was sluggishness of the police who finally arrived,  their reluctance to take immediate action; didn't even bother to help him carry Jyoti to the van that took them to a distant hospital, because "they were probably worried about their clothes."  

Rape is rape, whether the rapist or rapists, in this case, used just his junk or more. It is violence.  It is not just wrong, it is unforgivable.  But I'm afraid to say that in my view, it was not just the rape that eventually killed Jyoti but the fear and apathy that prevailed, when courage and concern were required.  I do not blame those passersby but the reality is Jyoti is dead, it just makes me ask, what if someone helped the first minute Awindra cried for help?  What if the police acted promptly and responsibly?  Sometimes, what takes the life of a human being isn't just the action committed but the action that is omitted.  As Awindra had said,  "If you can help someone, help them.  If a single person had helped me that night, things would have been different."

Jyoti who could still smile when she saw her friend in the hospital would have survived the social stigma had she lived because what happened to her raised the social consciousness of Indian society.  It made them fearless to demand justice and action for Jyoti's rape and other women who are still victims of gender-based violence. As of date, the suspects have already been arrested, a commission has been set up to recommend measures to combat sexual violence.

Indian President Pranab Mukherjee called Jyoti a 'true hero".  I hope that her death would not be in vain, but instead would lead to reforms both in the system and the attitude  towards sufferings of other people.

When Onions Made People Cry

(I wrote this last year but completely forgot to publish in my blog til now. Photos are by Mike Rosenkrantz, fellow volunteer and room-mate)

There's been a dramatic increase in food prices here in India in the last month. It started with price of onion soaring to Rs60 or Rs70 in New Delhi (and much higher in other states, reportedly up to Rs100/kg) from Rs30-40, apparently a shortage in supply. According to reports, it was due to damage to crops in states of Maharashtra and Gujarat, the largest onion producers. Some reports said it was due to hoarding and speculation. To arrest the price increase which was making the poor and the middle class cry, the Indian government suspended exportation of onion till mid-January this year. But not long after did the other prices of basic food commodities, such as fish, egg, tomatoes, went up that hurt my purse.

In pursuit of lower price Mike and I headed to a different market which he discovered during one of his strolls around our neighborhood. To get there we passed a creek with much of the water dried up while what remained of it has turned black with filth and all kinds of wastes imaginable or not. Near the bank of the creek is trashville which i thought was where all our garbage go, and where some people find a living...

or where cows bask in the sunshine.

The market, although not the most pleasant site you could find in Dabri, West Delhi, is fascinating. There are no stalls in this market, just rows of fruits and vegetables strewn on the mucky grounds, separated only by sacks or tarps laid out to protect them from getting soiled. The vendors seemed to recognize Mike from his previous visit when he didn't buy anything but took a lot of pictures of them. They looked affable and amused as two foreigners gasped with glee at the sight of a heap of broccoli. I was supposed to purchase a week's supply of veggies but with the atrociously cheap prices in this market I ended up buying two or three times more than the volume I needed.

Imagine this: ( at exchange rate of 1.00 INR=0.963946 PHP/0.0219198 USD)

broccoli - Rs30/kilo
papaya - Rs20/kilo
grapes - Rs60/kilo


carrot - Rs20/kilo. (and that's me checking twice that i heard the man say "bis ek kg" - 20 one kilo, notice the man's hand)


pepper -Rs20/kilo


green peas Rs.20/kilo


potato - Rs30/kilo


eggplant -Rs20/kilo


cauliflower Rs5/kilo. now this was tricky. the vendor (not the child in the picture) kept saying, "das doh kg" (10 for 2 kilos). I couldn't blame him if he tried to lure me into buying two kilos of cauliflower. he's got over a hundred kilos of only cauliflowers at his disposal. Mike wondered how much a farmer got if the market price (in New Delhi were nothing is grown) which bothered me for one second then i continued in my shopping binge. Bad, eh?


garlic and tomatoes were still a bit pricey at Rs240+ and Rs60 a kilo respectively.


I didn't dare buy or even ask about the price of onion, afraid it would make me cry. But had i noticed the sacks of onion behind this man in the picture perhaps I changed my mind. Maybe supply has gone back to normal after all.

P.S. I'm not entirely sure if these prices are low by Indian standard. I've read that people here do not complain if prices of non-essential or created needs are high, but will grumble if the prices of vegetables and fruits go up, thus the government really makes effort to keep the prices low, so low that the farm gate prices minimum(est), remember the cauliflower.

Looking Back

I've had two opportunities to share about my volunteering experience in India since I came back home 5 months ago. Thanks to VSO Bahaginan that allows the returned volunteers (RV) to stay involved in many different ways. My involvement has been through RV sharing during trainings for pre-departure volunteers (i will refer to them here as pre-deps). The first one was during the Wider Role of Volunteers (WRV), the training when pre-dep volunteers have received placement offers. The other one is Preparing for Change (PfC), that which selected candidates go through after they have passed the Assessment Day.

The objective of the sharing is to give pre-deps glimpses of the lives of the volunteers while in their countries of placement. Both the RV and the pre-deps receive fair warnings that the experiences shared are unique to the RV speaker and does not reflect those of other volunteers. Volunteers can encounter similar situations but as i have told the predeps during my sharing, the experiences vary depending how we approached situations. And that's what makes it unique.

If I helped them, the predeps also helped me reminisce my life in India and allowed me to cull more lessons as I answered their questions.

Most asked questions:

1) On accommodation: How did you get an a/c? The a/c was provided to me by my employer. I got very sick during my first summer in India, aside from recommending to eat curd rice, they allowed me to use their spare a/c unit. I paid for the installation fee. Employers are not required to provide volunteers with a/c. In India, the basic requirements are bed and mattress, fridge, one fan, gas stove, table and chair, almira (cabinet) with lock. The flat must have kitchen and bathroom.

2)What was your most difficult experience? The most difficult was when the organization where I was assigned went through a crisis, all staff and volunteers were on the wait-and-see mode. I was not doing anything substantial and related to my placement. While it was okay for them, it was devastating for me. It was only resolved when I was given another placement.

3) How did you manage the food? I love Indian food. But at times I would crave for Filipino dishes, I also craved for meat so I would buy bacon even if it was too expensive for my limited allowance.

4) How did you deal with isolation? I contacted the Filipino community. I also established very good relation with my organization. Once in the placement, the organization is the first line of support for any volunteer. I also maintained communication with other volunteers.

5) Was your allowance adequate? Yes, the living allowance allowed me to live decently while in India. I had enough to pay for food, transportation and utilities. I could even afford to buy comfort food, although when I did, my allowance could barely make it till the next release.

6) How do you rate your performance as a volunteer? Oh wow, that's a bit hard to answer. I did my best, I was asked to extend my placement, I received good reviews from my organizations. I must have done well.

7) What lessons did you learn from volunteering? I learned that we can only do so much. The concrete outputs I delivered in my placement may not be sustained or be forgotten in time but the way I interacted with people and how inspired some people will remain.

8) How has volunteering changed you as a person? I live a simpler life now. I don't waste food. I learned to be patient.

9) Did you plan to find love while in placement? No. but when I saw Michael I thought he was cute.

10) Where is your partner now and what are your plans? He's still in India. We're figuring out what's going to happen next.

photo credit: one of the volunteers who brought a camera, grabbed from facebook.

Tropical Storm Killed Hundreds in Northern Mindanao

My country, the Philippines is one of the most vulnerable to climate change. Disaster of this magnitude is not the first, but there is no telling if it will be the last. Please help the victims in any way possible wherever you are in the world.

Tata India. Mein ja rahi hun.

Mein ha rahi hun ( I am going.)

A few days ago Chitra, an Indian colleague, interpreted the lines in the back of my hands. She said that I like to travel but there’s always one place I would call home. And it is definitely not India.

In two weeks I will be concluding my love-hate relationship with India, my place of residence for 26 months, as I fly back to Manila mid-September. Yesterday, it being a holiday (Idu’l Fitr) I started sorting my stuff, decided what to bring and what to leave behind. As I neatly folded the clothes to pack I was melancholic. I always thought that I was very excited to go back home. I still am. Only, it is beginning to sink in me now that a different, thrilling, sometimes boring and at many times, frustrating phase in my life is about to end.

I always knew that my stay in India would be short and temporary. It might have been two years but the days, weeks and months flew by so quickly, even those days when all I did was wait for the night to come. There wasn’t a day that I looked forward to the end of my placement. I savored the good times while they lasted and braved myself into thinking that bad times would come to an end eventually.

Two years and two months ago I did a very similar thing of sorting stuff and deciding what would fit in my suitcase. That time, I think I was apprehensive rather than sad – new place, new people to work with, different culture, spicy food. If ever I was sad, it was because I would be separated from my son and my family for many months. But again, there’s internet and cellphones, and I knew I was coming back at some point and would be reunited with them. I would be home again.

This time I am more sad than apprehensive. Sad, because even if I didn’t really gain a family here, there are people I have come to love. There’s Anjalie and Bulbul, my landlord’s daughters who became a ‘fixture’ in our flat because they were there almost every night and regaled me with stories about their schools and urban view of Indian culture. There’s also the 1-year old Meethu whose one of the first words he learned to say was my name.

I don’t have very many friends in the Philippines. In fact even my Facebook friends number only 300+, and that includes the people I met here plus the unknown people I 'friended' only because we all played the same game app. I certainly have not acquired so many friends here, but many of the Indians I have met and interacted with made my stay bearable, if not very pleasant. There’s the Indian hospitality that is quite different from Filipino hospitality. They made me feel at home yet not entirely at home. No matter how many months I’ve lived here they still considered me as guest and ensured my comfort and safety. There is a considerable distance, a lot of it is due to language barrier but also because most Indians I met don’t socialize a lot especially after they got married, yet there is a connection which I would always cherish.

There was also the community of Filipino expatriates that became my refuge while in Chennai. Not only did I have the chance to taste Filipino dishes during gatherings but also allowed me to shift to my first and native language.

And there’s Michael, my fellow volunteer, travel companion, colleague at work, roommate, boyfriend. It’s not completely rosy but life was often easy when you know you have someone with whom you can split bills, or vent frustrations. It also helped to think aloud because I knew that somehow there is always someone who would hear me and relate with my experiences. And during worse times, there’s a shoulder I could cry on. I could also allow myself to be flippant around him, and only around him (or maybe Anjalie and Bulbul sometimes). Of course there’s the indispensable community of VSO volunteers. They reminded me I am not alone and that even if I didn’t regularly meet with them I always knew that one email and they would rally support when it got very tough.

It’s safe to surmise that volunteers do introspection, recount the experiences towards the end of service, assess the placement, ruminate what difference we made and what lessons were learnt. I am not there yet. I am simply pondering from where the melancholy emanated. I realize it is from the fact that it is home to the people who made me feel I belonged in the last 26 months, and that leaving means a very good chance that I will never ever see them again. I will not see Anajlie become a doctor, or Bulbul become an artist and entrepreneur, I will not hear Meethu learn to speak English. Soon many of the people I’ve met here will just be part of my memory, precious memory. With hard-to-pronounce names I may even forget many of them as soon as the plane reached the Manila tarmac.

Chitra may be right, there’s only one home for me , it is where my heart is and I am heading back there very soon. India may have never been home to me but a good part of my life had been lived here and I am thankful for the generally wonderful experience.