Dumaguete to Estancia, Iloilo

Yesterday is a travel day. I wake at six and am off by seven. A shared sidecar-motorbike takes me to the bus station direct after bringing the other passenger to the main city market. “Seven forty-five,” the driver tells me after he helps put my carryon and pack in the understory, but we leave early, at half past. Some trips start at night. Not this one. I have all day to reflect on my time here, more than a month in the Philippines. I think about the people I first meet in Dagupan, and the easy friendships there and in Sorsogon. I think about how marvelous the conference is! And about travel. Bus and ferry are not fast, and I spend twelve to twenty-four hours each time I go to a new place. I worry. I think maybe it is not the best. But I enjoy the effort and solitude, and seeing the countryside. I try not to eat or drink at all. Because it is not certain when or where there will be a “comfort room” or CR, and what its condition will be. The fasting puts me in a peaceful mood.

I think back. Dumaguete is lovely. The university where I lecture has such joyful students. On Monday I meet people in the biology department, and the research division, and also the college of teaching. I have an invitation to teach here anytime I like as a volunteer. I give two talks to education students on Tuesday and they are great. I share some fun teaching activities and the students are laughing and having a good time. I give the same lecture twice again on Thursday, and add in a couple of different activities. I teach a little Spanish language as a way of introducing literacy. In the afternoon I share information about grantwriting. It goes well, but the connection between my machine and the projector slows things down. A bit dull. Alas. And then Friday I have a great time teaching biology students about astrobiology. My friend Beth does the paperwork for that, and another professor fixes everything up for the education lectures I give. I sign tens of pages of a memorandum of understanding to match their administrative requirements so that I can give these few lectures for free. All for the best, for the love of teaching.

I hit another zumba class, this time by a stadium. One of the ladies at the hotel brings me here. And later on I head to the Boulevard, by the waterfront, and stop by the Honeycomb Inn. There is live music and I dance for fun for three hours. I am happy. I get a few other people up and dancing around as well. I walk home tired.

Now I am in another city, very small. Estancia is also on the coast, on the next island over, in Iloilo. I arrive at night. I have no hotel reservation, just the name of one that seems well located. Another fellow on the bus with me from Iloilo City is a teacher here, and asks about my hotel. For a similar price, he suggests one that is closer to the university, and more scenic. He gives the sidecar motorcycle driver instructions, and I check into a beach resort. It costs me 450 pesos per night, about eight dollars. I am in a cheap room because of the answer I give to a question. Do I want AC? No, I prefer a fan. The only rooms without AC are very cheap, and I don’t argue with that. It is fine. I have a room with three beds, and pick the top bunk of the bunkbed to sleep in after walking to the center of the city and seeing the layout. I plan to go today to the city market and pick up more fruits and vegetables.

In the morning I do my yoga on the shore and watch a dozen fishing boats greeting the day’s work with focus, and enjoy the backdrop of volcanoes and jungle on the other side of the water, small islands that add a majesty to the morning. I run a few kilometers to the north, outside of town, and greet about forty people on my way. Nearly all seem very surprised and curious to see a foreigner here. Tomorrow I’ll visit with a colleague who works at Northern Iloilo State University and introduce myself to the education department, and see if they want me to give a teaching demonstration. In the meantime, I feel lucky to have the time to revise a paper, and am hopeful. I sit outside, under some trees, and place myself outside the path of some fierce looking red ants, who also make use of the railing behind the concrete table and bench that seems to suit me. The smell of burning leaves and sounds of a motorboat engine fade back. I write and look out over the sea at the beautiful water, the boats, the islands, the sun and clouds, and the distance that the sea brings home to me.