nine degrees north: April! May! Wow!

What a month!

Nearly four weeks ago, I rolled out of Lila on a jeepney bound for Tagbilaran with a suitcase and backpack stuffed to threat of explosion. It was Wednesday afternoon, the day before Muandy Thursday, and I wouldn't be seeing Lila again for some time. I spent Thursday with Kate, shamelessly internetting in our favorite coffee shop before venturing out into the city with the hopes of catching a movie, only to discover that, in true Philippine Holy week fashion, everything was closed. Huh. So we went home to an evening of random fridge snacks and True Blood season 1. The next day Kate left early for Manila, and I did my best to distract myself from a the growing gnaw of nerves spreading out from my stomach. Several hours and many podcasts later, it was finally time. After a very short airplane ride and several games of UNO with my young seat-mates, there I was, landing for the second time ever in Manila, with only a few hours to kill before I would be receiving my first set of visitors from the homeland.

This being near the end of a month that had started with language camp in the wondrous city of Dumaguete, I had managed to render the contents of my PC bank account down to a measly 200 pesos (about 4.60 dollars), so my determination to find the free Marriott shuttle was fierce. Finally, huffing and puffing a bit, there it was, hulking and yellow and entirely empty. A moment later a man rushed up to me, "Miss Kuhn? Miss Kuhn??" he cried. Bewildered, I replied with an entirely eloquent, "Um, yeah?". In my hurry to find the shuttle, I had managed to brush right past this man, holding one of those lovely and coveted signs at the airport where your name is written in Expo marker, the whole thing denoting some kind of purpose and importance. Still bewildered, I was ushered into a waiting town car where a driver introduced himself as Rick and asked if I was comfortable with the temperature. Then silence. But wait, aren't you supposed to ask me now if I'm married and where my boyfriend is and why I don't have a Filipino boyfriend and how I learned Visayan? Where are all the glances in the rear-view mirror and why, oh why sir, are you staying in your lane and driving withing the posted speed limit??! Okay Dad, what are you up to here?

A few minutes later I stumbled out of Rick's perfectly climate-controlled town car and into the shimmering lobby of the Manila Marriott, and, using my very best posture to carry myself to the reception desk, was promptly and politely told that on account of the Gold Member status of the reservation I ought to be checking in up on the 8th floor, where a complementary cocktail hour was currently underway. Upon being ushered to said floor, presented with a key and a glass of wine, and having removed myself to the giant, immaculate room corresponding to the number on my key, I fairly collapsed onto the floor, unable to bring myself to spoil to perfectly stretched bedspread of that appeared to be the size of my living room. It had all happened in a bit of a rush, and I was suddenly aware of a lump in my throat born purely from the overwhelming jolt of it all. Surely, this world could not exist a mere one hour flight from the crowing roosters and burning trash heaps of Bohol. Right?

A couple hours later, Kate and I were at the airport again, and two fair-haired heads were bobbing towards us from inside the international arrivals terminal.

My experience at the Marriott was just a taste of what turned out to be my dad's one-man-mission to make his vacation to the Philippines my vacation from it. From Manila, and Corregidor, we flew down to Bohol and then ferried over to Negors, where we watched the royal wedding from an infinity pool. The next day, in a splendid trip to Apo Island and a sea full of sea turtles and banded sea snakes, I entered my mid-twenties. Just magic. For anyone interested in pure escapism and killer food in Negros, may I recommended Atmosphere. I mean wow.

Back on Bohol, I said goodbye and did nothing to fight back grumpy tears as I watched them pull away in a trike, airport-bound. Then my suitcase and I headed straight for the pier, and I bought the very last ticket to Cebu. Thankfully, and I mean, really thankfully, our two weeks of Peace Corps trainings started the next day, and distractions abounded. I was reunited with my beloved Barkada, and in the familiar session rooms of the Sugarland Hotel in Bacolod, worked closely with my supervisor to put together a project plan for creating a marine sanctuary here in Lila. Then, in a CRM-only training in Sagay City, I got to know my fellow CRM volunteers from other parts of the country a little better, got caught in a wild lightening storm, drank some tap-water (!!) in desperation to stave off a hangover, and learned some incredibly fascinating "coral gardening" techniques that I only wish had application here at site.

Next, browned and salty and happy (but mildly paranoid about amoebas), it was time to leave Sagay for a much-promised return to beloved Zamboanguita for their annual fiesta. Andrea and Mindy and I spent an afternoon visiting with our former host families and reveling in the sense of familiarity that came with it all. Here was a place we had lived for three months during training, where people really seemed to care for us, and most bizarre of all, a place that both felt familiar and homey, and was, gasp, in the Philippines. The sense of returning for a place that we hadn't been for half a year - and having that place be in this country - impressed upon all of us that we're not the newbies here anymore. No, we've been here for a while.

Back in Lila the feeling persists. This just doesn't feel like a foreign country anymore. And in a few days, batch 269 will have been here for 9 months, meaning we're exactly a third though our service.

In the meantime, when are you coming to visit?