Bits and pieces from letters and journals written Christmas-time 1974;
location: Cebu, mostly barrio Pakna-an at Peace Corps training camp:

Wish I had a quilt—there’s some kind of cold front here and I’m absolutely freezing. It must be in the 70°’s. I’ve been using towels as blankets to keep myself warm and I had to borrow a sweater because I already took most of my things to Bugasong on my pre-assignment visit.

Where is the cold, stark
sterility of winter
catering to oneself
with long hot baths
and smothering
under the night quilts
open books
closed eyes—
a light switch left on
all night
or until a roommate laughs
and extinguishes it.

(Mosquito just kicked the bucket –I got him before he got me.)

I got a letter today that was mailed Nov. 12…it took over 5 weeks to get here. It was the first mail I’ve gotten in 3½ weeks.

My most valuable possession here is my Bob Dylan tape. It seems I’m the only one who brought one. People bribe me to let them listen to it. It’s always lent out. It’s great to have some American music that’s not totally obnoxious.

Well I built a toilet today—discovered I’m really allergic to cement before it’s hard. Guess I’ll need to teach the sanitary health workers how to do it and let them take over. Yes folks, toilets are now one of my specialties. Each Peace Corps Group makes T-shirt designs…One of our T-shirts is “We Give a Shit” with a picture of a toilet and Rural Health—Peace Corps—Philippines 81 written on it.

Got interviewed for language yesterday. The evaluation was—that I have the best command of my new language of anyone in the group. I was pretty surprised because to me it seemed to be going slowly.

As for the current health report…all of us are wiped out and alternately full of shit or crappin’ out with cases of terminal diarrhea. I was one of the only 2 people in my language class today and I’ve got a terrible cold, tonsillitis, a helluva sunburn & constipation. We all just seem to keep getting sunburned but not really tanning. Oh but it was worth it this time—Sunday we took small boats to a deserted island for the day. In one direction it was shallow enough to wade and look for shells for 2 miles out. Signing off to crash (if I can sleep…I can’t breath & I can’t lay on my sunburn).

___________________________________________

Christmas

Yes Christmas did happen. My roommates and I made stockings for each other—mostly filled with munchies. I got tea from my one roommate and a shell hairclip from the other. I also got a hand carved mug from my secret Santa.

Santa Claus (volunteer Tom Stewart) gave gifts to the kids…it was great. (I hand sewed his Santa suit.) Unfortunately, Christmas dinner was not made for vegetarians (except, of course, the smashed potatoes).

Mom’s Christmas present was excellent!!! A picture book of the Pacific Coast with fantastic photography. People here were impressed, especially the Wn, Ida, Ore, and No. Cal people.   The pictures are beautiful and the write up is really interesting too. 

Grandma sent me a Christmas card with an $8 personal check from RI (it’ll take 3 months to clear) and she also tried to mail it airmail with 13 cents—it was returned to her. Not so smart, but cute.

So, how was Christmas in the Philippines?
It was O.K. in the end; far better than our expectations
We 28 volunteers who came here together from San Francisco—
We’re still together in training—for one more week
We spent Christmas together and made it good
Though I expect the others have all been going through the same:
Waves of nostalgia—vivid recollections of good times and bad times past
I seem to leave this dimension totally at times
It’s a very emotional experience—at times enjoyable, at times depressing
Enjoyably mellow—a much needed period of mellowing out—for us all
For in another week we go to our permanent assignments
I face living with a strange family in a grass house built on stilts
With a lot of people under the same roof—
though I will have my own room
There’s an outdoor toilet (not a flush toilet either)
and an outdoor bucket-over-the-head shower
At night I’ll read and write by kerosene lantern underneath a mosquito net
All this to adapt to soon—and I can’t even talk now because of the surgery
Sounds sort of dramatic but will probably be much more simple when it happens
And I prepare myself in strange ways, like by writing letters.

_______________________________________________

I got 800 pesos (a little less than $100) “settling-in” allowance and I bought towels, face cloths, sheets, blankets, pillow cases, peanut butter & jelly, material for a dress and 2 wrap-around skirts and for 1 blouse. I also bought 12 books (paperbacks are very expensive & hard to find here), 50 aerograms, a pair of pants, and a pair of shoes. All were things I had decided to use the money for—having evaluated what I needed. It’s costing me only 15 pesos for the dress and 2 skirts to be made by the tailor (about $2) and the material cost me less than $5 American money. I also bought a stuffed animal for my Godchild. My family in Bugasong also gave me a Christmas present. It was nice. Anyway, I’m all set to move in there and begin working.

_____________________________________

New Years Eve

Last night most of the group (well about ½) went to a beach house for the night and celebrated New Year’s Eve for me because I won’t be around for the real one. We went skinny dipping in the ocean at 12 a.m. for about 2 hours. It was great.

Ending the Year in Youthful Abandon

Playing cards
drinking beer and rum
eating foreign munchies
at a tropical beach house
under palm trees
skinny dipping at midnight
in water that sparkles
ending on the sand briefly
back to the water
past the boats
to fifteen friends
mellowing through the night
sleeping, not too well
on a concrete floor
not really caring because
it’s been a comfortable night
with music in the background

December 29, 1974

The nurses came in just now to stare at the uncommon patient with blue eyes…. and take my temperature, blood pressure and blood count. Oh yes, I’m in the hospital now patiently awaiting the knife (tomorrow) which shall remove my tonsils.

My hospital dinner arrived, but the guy just came back to take it away and bring me the “American diet”…I have to see this. It’s got to be better than a heap of rice and a whole fish with eye (I eat rice 3 meals a day, which is great, but variety wouldn’t hurt either).

Good night Chet…Good night David.

New Years Eve, 1974

Got my tonsils out—how painful. The first few hours were rough. When I regained consciousness I was gagging on blood pooled in my throat. I can’t talk now, but I think my visitors like that—finally they can get a word in edgewise and otherwise;   and most of the hospital staff can’t speak English anyway.  A Catholic priest (Irish, of course) just blessed me and gave me an apple (which I can’t eat). I got a great telegram from Johnny—overflowing with personality. And things started looking up at 7:30 when I got visitors and ice cream and flowers. Sue, and Patty, and Pat and Rick. I laughed some. In another day I get to go home (back to training camp).

Rain is just the next logical step
from 100% humidity
and one more day
until the clothes dry.

____________________________________

Surgery

So middle class
I keep on thinking of lying on the sofa
and mindlessly watching television
being brought ice cream
getting up only of necessity
Why did this have to happen
in the tropics with occasional
melted ice cream
and fevers made worse
by sun and humidity
there’s no Campbell’s soup
or jello or applesauce
and somehow friends
are less of a consolation
when you have no voice
to answer back
only a jar of formaldehyde
with grey dead tonsils.

___________________________________________

How strange not to be where I’ve always been
Slipping in and out of present time and space
Grasping pieces of dimensions long ago lived
Distorting memories to a new perspective
Letting them fall away again.

_________________________________________

Cecile brought flowers and Chris, Ken, Joe, Paul, Toni, Crain, and James came—then I slept until 9:30 p.m. when Joe came back twice—once at midnight. Friends are all that’s pulling me through—the pain is horrendous.

Dear Johnny,

Can’t believe I’m writing a letter on New Years Eve
Can’t believe a Philippine radio station is just now playing “American Pie” (one of my favorites)
Can’t believe I received your wonderful telegram (my first ever)—received when I needed it most
Why did I need it just then most?
Because I’m lying here in Chong Hua Hospital in Southeast Asia
So weird—but I get out tomorrow
The throat problems I had in the states became rapidly chronic an the tropics
So now I have a jar of tonsils and a pain in the neck
The first day was pretty scary and lonely—a real character builder
I didn’t see a face I recognized for almost 24 hours
But now things are looking up (3^RD) day)
Friends are bringing me flowers and ice cream and laughter
They took the IV feeding out and I began to eat ice cream a little before noon
Soon I’ll be spoiled
But yesterday was bad—always spitting up blood
Couldn’t sleep because one swallow would wake me up from the pain
Then I received your telegram—my one consolation—my first smile
You continue to be of help—thousands of miles away—thanx
ESP continues

1/1/75 – Wednesday

Home to Pakna-an—it’s almost worse here. There’s no ice cream…I can’t eat a thing.People don’t even try to communicate—all because they feel so awkward because I can’t talk and they know I’m in pain. Such a lot to cope with—I surprise myself with depression.

1/2/75 – Thursday

I continue to be surprised by my lack of ability to cope—to be happy. The pain has got me down—all I do is sleep—my fever is always high. Somehow I want to be home —watching television while lying on the sofa—with ice cream and Jello. And just being left alone for one or two weeks. (how middle class)

1/3/75 – Friday

I still can’t talk but am forced to be with people at meals—while I eat two raw eggs at each meal (and a pill). What a drag. The pain just won’t subside—Neither will my depression. I don’t want to go to my assignment Monday – so sick. Feeling trapped.

1/4/75 – Saturday

We had our farewell brunch—I got an award for “most vocal”. It was good, though sad at times. I felt almost like crying—like leaving your friends at summer camp. Then went shopping in town with Jerry and to the revolving restaurant for dinner with Sue & Pat & Patty & Rick & Jerry—fun. Then out dancing, Joe and I got left dancing and almost missed curfew. Still in pain but feeling mentally alive. Began to talk.

1/5/75 – Sunday

Went to a festival in Carmen. For these Ati-Ati-han festivals, people dress aboriginally. We dressed as Native Americans. Danced in the streets. Then to the beach in the rain and home to pack. I sat out much of the day but feeling pleasantly mellow. Still a lot of pain but can talk quietly.

I’ve lost 19 lbs since I left Seattle.

Lolo Tatay (Grandfather Manuel Rivero) with first grand daughter Peachie

Nanay (Mother, Anacorita Rivero) pounding the rice at the side of our house.

My younger sister Marivic, then 13, at the beach at sunset in Bugasong.

12/13/14

40 years ago this week (December 8 – 13, 1974), I spent the first days alone with my host family in the Philippines. I was the only female Peace Corps Volunteer assigned to the province, with four male volunteers.
The following are excerpts from letters and journals and poems written at that time.

December 9, 1974 – Letter to my sister
Dear Charence,

Here I am, pen in hand once again. I have now arrived in Bugasong (boo-găh’-song), Antique (ahn-tee’-kee), my home for the next 2 years. I am staying with the Rivero family. They are lower middle class in income—but very well educated. We have no electricity, no running water, a squat toilet (outside), and the shower is a matter of pouring buckets of water over your head (however, the “helpers” pump the water for the buckets ahead of time.) The Grandparents are quite old—the grandfather however, was a music teacher for 42 years and is going to teach me the mandolin (my handmade, dark-wood, inlaid mandolin with case should be ready on Dec. 18, for 200 pisos, or just under 30 dollars). There are 5 children of the grandparents spread over 30 years. There is a 14 year old girl in high school, a 23 yr. old daughter who has a medical technology degree, a 33 year old son who is a doctor and whose wife is my rural health doctor, a 40 year old son who is a civil engineer, and a 43 year old daughter who is a teacher of the local 6^th grade. The doctors then have a little girl who will be 1 on December 21^st. She already points to me when they ask her “where is Auntie Marilyn?” She’s really a beautiful baby.

Today I met the priest here—he is Austrian but has been in the Philippines for 14 years. He reminds me of Karl Malden. Anyway, he’s the only other white person most of the people of Bugasong have ever seen. We’re way far removed from “city life”.

It’s going to be weird here—even more remote than I expected. Thought my back would break on the bus ride here—spent most of my time mid-air between bumps in the road. I’m still in pain 36 hours later. Good thing I won’t be doing that too often. I’m moving here permanently on Jan 8.

VOCAB LESSON #2
(1) utot (ūtōt) = to fart, e.g., “nag-utot ikow” (you farted)
or “ma-utot ako” (I will fart)
(2) Pating Nga Manaba It Lupad = Prostitute (= “Dove with low flight”)

Hi to the kitty and Josh.—they’ve got 2 dogs, a goat, a baby goat, ducks, roosters, mice, etc. here.

Love Maranan

December 13, 1964 – (Journal entry)

Apprehension

Apprehension is perhaps the one word that could describe my emotional state the most consistently this past month. That is an emotional mid-point I am designating between fear and excitement, between frustration and optimism. Of course, in actuality, from moment to moment I’ve been juggling emotional extremes like fine China dishes. I have made conscious efforts to minimize fear and frustration while maximizing the optimism and excitement. Perhaps this sounds wide-eyed and unrealistic, but for me, it has been necessary to survive my first month here in the Philippines. Rural Southeast Asia is a far cry from middle-class America, and the enormous changes imposed upon me cannot be ignored. Yet, at the same time, change should be welcomed as a virtue—a means of avoiding stagnation of the mind (the dreaded disease of Middle America). And like all the things worthwhile, this experience of change and growth is both happily exciting and incredible frustrating.

As for my excitement and optimism here—it has been easily expressed and reinforced. In fact I arrived with very little excitement because I had no expectations; I was in the dark. But my excitement has grown, smiles and laughter have exploded outward a thousand times—and have been shared with others of the 28 new volunteers of our group. In no time I became incredibly close to those other volunteers—loving their conversations, their smiles, their eyes. I accept them in the same way I have finally learned to accept myself—with all those faults and eccentricities. And these people have been a source of strength to me……an explosion of excitement or optimism is contagious and becomes magnified when shared. We talk together, laugh, sing, and drink together—then we share and reassure and touch each other. The old volunteers constantly warn us against too much excitement….they have warned us of the hardships and have predicted our fall into depression (culture shock) within the first week, then after 1 week, then they predicted our depression after 2 weeks, then after 3 weeks. We have been continuously warned of how difficult and slow everything will be. Yet all these warnings and predictions have only increased our general optimism and idealism because we are continuously surprised at how much more easily handled are the situations—than was forewarned. And so I see growing, in the members of our group, an idealism and excitement (with apprehension) of their life in the Philippines. Now there are emotions and ideals coming into focus where last month there was only curiosity.

As for my fears and frustrations, I have dealt with them pragmatically. Writing letters has been an enormous outlet for me. My letters become abstract or philosophical or humorous, or like poetry…they bring the changes around me (and within me) into focus. This past month seems to be filled with a year’s activities, therefore I feel often very far removed from my friends back home. But when I write them about the changes within me, it somehow seems to lessen the distance between us and keeps me in touch with the life I had lived for 22 years. In fact writing letters is actually a means of keeping in touch with myself more than of keeping in touch with the people left behind. The people that are real to me are those that are here now—Filipino people and the other volunteers. The other volunteers lessen my fears and frustrations merely by having the same fears and discussing them with me. Knowing other people have the same problem somehow lessens the problem—and once a problem becomes smaller in my mind, it also becomes smaller in reality. However, this week I am alone for the first time on my pre-assignment visit, and even the other volunteers are not real to me this week. This week, more than any other, my fears and frustrations have surfaced. My frustrations are what should be expected—I want to know the language, for without it I will never accomplish anything in my work. This frustration is being greatly lessened by the town people—I realize they want to teach me and have already begun speaking to me in the language. If I am willing, the Filipino people will help me. And as for my fears, they seem to center around my questioning whether I will ever be able to feel at ease in this complex social structure. Again these fears have been most lessened when I allow myself to be lost in the people. A hundred times when I have felt awkward, the people have invited me for a walk or a scrabble game or a boat ride—suddenly my upset ceases. Perhaps my muscles have been tight this week, but all in all, I have talked and laughed and mostly been myself with these people. It should begin to get easier now.

Undated, from journal scrap of paper………

Changes are intensely underway
to the point that I can rationally deal
with none of it yet I feel compelled
to cry or scream frequently—and
sometimes cannot withhold
the tears—
I’m like a sensitive child
without any answers today
but a long-lost child’s innocence
is also overtaking me as I stumble
haphazardly over some of the questions
which plague me now and I wonder
where I’m growing

yet just now I see myself so poorly
that I beg this change to hasten
as I know it cannot
I’ve been taken to deep, dark places
to learn selfishness where before
I could never see self at all
And I come to the climax
with extraordinary defenses and
fun-filled games
dangling lovers and
notches on my thigh bone
the liberated independent
self-reliant floundering
whisp of femininity  by convenience
confused within the maze I’ve built
seeking not to find the exit but to
reconstruct and rediscover
simplicity in design

Culture Shock
December 14, 1974 – – (Journal entry)

This first week visiting the town of my assignment has been unusual for me, culturally speaking. As a matter of fact, this may be what they call “cultural shock”. I was wondering when it would come and how I would cope.

Last Sunday, at 4:30 A.M., we left our training site for the Cebu airport. We landed in Iloilo City airport (on Panay Island) at about 7 A.M., had breakfast, and boarded the 76 Express Bus—bound for San Jose, the provincial capital of Antique where 5 of us were assigned. The bus was immediately stopped for about one hour because of a town fiesta. I didn’t know how lucky we were—to be stopped. Then we got on the way, unfortunately. The back seat of the bus was a true pain in the derriere—rising about 8 – 12 inches off the seat then forcefully crashing down again. Of course I was already having cramps. But alas, I survived the epic and was served lunch at the capital in San Jose. Dog—just what I always wanted to eat for lunch. Then after the meal everyone gave speeches, including the volunteers. I was teased about being the only woman and introduced as “the thorn amidst the roses” (foreigners don’t always get American clichés quite right.)

After lunch, while waiting for 1½ hours for the ride to my town, one of the Regional Health Officers had a heyday asking me all sorts of personal questions. He said (1) I was too shy and didn’t look enough at people in the eye when giving my speech (I did no worse than the boys), (2) I was too excited, (3) I talk too fast (he retracted that one later), (4) I should get married in the Philippines, and (5) It was wonderful that I am Filipino size” (5’4”). Chuckle. Chuckle.

Then we finally headed out to Bugasong, my town. I rode with my doctora and her husband (also a doctor). We went directly to their home where I will be staying for the next 2 years. There is a large family, with the doctor’s parents, 3 sisters, 1 brother, and a 1 year old girl (and the doctora is presently pregnant—due in 4 months). One of the sisters is 14 and one is 23, just a year older than myself, though I thought she was about 16 when I first saw her. The eldest sister is 43. The father kept insisting from the beginning that he would think of me as his daughter. He kept offering this and that and said he would always have a chaperone for me. I tried not to listen too intensely so I wouldn’t feel stifled. And I try not to feel self-conscious with a thousand eyes always staring at me—asking me to “eat again” or “rest now”. A few games of scrabble and my first day was over.

So I woke up in the middle of the night with menstrual cramps, a backache from the bus ride, abdominal cramps, and diarrhea (probably from “the dog”, as I was vegetarian for the 2 years prior). I couldn’t make my way past the dogs and the servants to the outdoor squat toilet, so I suffered all night. When I visited the toilet 4 times before breakfast, the doctor catches on and gives me medication for diarrhea. And the day begins—we visit all the important town people, walking around in the hot sun all day. The doctora tells everyone in town that I have LBM (“loose bowel movement”). I guess that’s the way it flies—they didn’t seem to think anything about it. Anyway, it was a good excuse for me to eat less—they keep being bugged by my small appetite. I’ve never eaten so much in my life! During the afternoon I was a judge in the children’s Elementary School Christmas Program. I really loved it; kids are great everywhere.

Tuesday through Thursday we had barrio clinics and the “town clinic” day. I began to get acquainted with the people and the peacefulness of barrio life. I loved the barrio clinics—the people were friendly, generous, and gradually willing to help me learn their language. At the beach barrio we drank a lot of coconut milk, ate snails, strolled on the beach, gathered flowers, and went for a boat ride. In another barrio we went to market, were given all sorts of cake and peanut candy (homemade), they talked with me in their language, and they gave us dozens of coconuts to take home. If my effort is as great as theirs, getting to know these people should come easily.

Then the week began passing somewhat more easily—like finding the time and energy to write in this journal (usually I’m sluggish because we get up at 5:30 A.M., eat all the time, wait around a lot, and it’s so hot.) I mentioned getting a bike and the grandfather got out a bike that wasn’t being used. It felt so good and free to ride down this rural dirt road—alone and getting exercise. Sometimes I feel stifled by social structures and lethargic from the pace and eating customs—but riding a bicycle alone seemed to give me a release both physically and psychologically. I think a bicycle and the beach will be my biggest refuge here.  So the week got better and I became better at the nightly games of scrabble.  My moods fluctuate with the newness of everything and I learn to cope. And the people here begin to realize things about me: I like their food but eat very little, I like to sit alone and write sometimes and other times play scrabble.

Then on Friday we went by jeep up to the town of Valderama, in the mountains. This was no simple jeep ride. There were no bridges and we literally had to drive through the river half a dozen times. There was a current, though the water was only about 1 – 2 feet deep and seldom came into the jeep. Everyone kept talking about the times they had gotten stuck in the river. Several times I thought the jeep would overturn for sure. In the town we visited the rural health center and all the doctor’s relatives. We were fed again and again. The judge asked me if I was 16 (everyone thinks I’m young). He mentioned that he was a Mason just like President Ford—I made the mistake of telling him my grandfather was also a Mason. He practically offered to adopt me. He talked to me for hours (mostly about the Masons. I got so tired of listening and listening and adapting and socializing. I’ve always loved people and gotten along well, but I’ve never cared for social-type contrivances. So I went back to the house and to my room to be alone for a while. Shortly after dinner I was summoned for scrabble. I could hardly make any words because I had nothing but consonants. Then we started another game, and just when I was going to use up all my letters on “VACATION”, I was serenaded by the local town males. Thoroughly embarrassed, I was told that I had to invite them in. When I did, the host family became completely ashamed because the serenaders were not formally dressed and several were drunk. Slightly nervous, but laughing at the whole situation, I sat and listened to their music and compliments. I refused when they asked me to sing—I said it would embarrass me and it was just not natural for me because of my culture. The sober serenaders politely said it was all right, but the drunk ones were persistent. At this point my host family got angry and my visitors finally left. The situation would have been merely humorous except for the endless apologies. I get so tired of discussing the social restraints. Once again I was aware of how long it would take for us to fully adapt to each other.

Saturday morning I had to go to church for a baptismal service. I was about to become a Godmother for my first Filipina child. I was already feeling some residue frustration because everyone was still talking about the previous night’s serenade. Sitting in  the hot church for an hour and a half was frustratingl. My God-child said it all as she peed on the pew. She is a little doll and her mother is beautiful. It was a good experience to have, but I wouldn’t want to have to go through it every Saturday—though they say it will probably be the case. First of all, I couldn’t afford to pay 5 pisos every week and buy so many Christmas and Birthday gifts. Most important, however, is my need for Saturday to myself. Baptisms followed by luncheon parties could really eat into my free time. I’ll have to use the excuse of not being Roman Catholic, or something else equally tactful. Time will tell if I can easily weasel out of this one or at least limit the occasions to the families I know well. Just one more frustration to solve…the need to live some of my life separated from crowds of people. I need to make arrangements with other volunteers from my island to get together now and then.

Especially here in Bugasong I find myself writing frequently—cultivating on paper the thoughts that are not easily understood by my new family, colleagues, and friends—and, of course, I the same, do not understand many of their ways. I could never live at 40, still with my parents…or could I? I could never be restrained to going every where with a companion, being expected to be always a part of the norm—and striving for the same goals as everyone else. No I’ve been brought up to individuality; I embodied individuality and independence. And now, the test of my flexibility. Will I survive here? Will I be restrained by restraints? Will Filipino people be able to really know me if I adjust my behavior in order fit in? I think they are already learning that I am not what they expected.

So tomorrow at 4:30 A.M., I leave Bugasong to return to Cebu for 3 weeks further training, and for the Christmas Holidays—my first Christmas away from home. We’ll party and talk and share our frustrations—all 28 volunteers. And perhaps with others to help me sort out all these new experiences—to put them in perspective—I can return here on Jan 8, ready to face a permanent stay here…ready to cope and maximize the experience.

Tong kong and mud
Sweet Time and rum
Manila camera shop
Pan Am champagne flight
Dock of the Green Spot
San Francisco seagulls
Peppermint Patty
In a Notre Dame Baseball Hat
Barry Devine and talk and gin
Editing the Peace Corps Oath
Poker games with Anejo and laughter
strip poker with Pan Am playing cards

Stuck in Tagbilaran
with the Cebu Blues again
Hell’s Angels of Manila
Lifeboat mentality
Grateful Dead and Brandy
in the reading room
You shared a letter
I shared a poem
We both shared our lives
Milwaukee and Seattle
Amazing to be
In Southeast Asia

Notes: tong kong is a green leafy vegetable common in the Philippines. There was a field of it at our training site on Cebu island. One night I was carried out into the muddy tong kong field; Tagbilaran is the port city for the island of Bohol where I, and several in my group, went by overnight boat for our “host volunteer visits” when we were less than 2 weeks in the country; Anejo is a Philippine rum; there was a reading room at our training site where we often hung out socially in the evening (it was near the tong kong patch); we drank San Miguel beer and Anejo when the reading room turned into a dance hall one evening; Barry Devine was (I believe) the Country Director of Peace Corps Philippines in 1974 when I was sworn in; Sweet Time (I think) was a restaurant/drinking establishment at the dock where we hung out; Pan Am airlines gave everyone in our group champagne during the flight on the 747 (which was nearly empty, esp. in our section) when we flew from San Francisco to Hawaii to Guam to Manila.

November 26, 1974 (Journal entry)

Mike calls it “lifeboat mentality”−
when people survive together
as their lives are totally disrupted
whatever you call it
we are surviving
together.

We who last week were treasuring old friends
and the independence of our new experience;
strangers to each other
find ourselves now sharing
loving each other’s smiles
like the smile of an old friend
or a Buddha
or a lover
drinking and laughing and crying
as in ancient Arabian poetry.

Now thousands of miles from home,
filled with sensations of the landscape
off balance in an unknown culture;
blanketed in camaraderie
strength and joy triumph
over fear.

November 26, 1974

 Dear Mom and Dad, Grandma and Grandpa, Auntie, et al,

      Merry Christmas. My thoughts will be with you on Christmas. I’m sure I’ll have a good Christmas here. Our group will still be together, in fact, it will be just about our last week of training. We’re all really good friends and have a lot of fun together, so I’m sure Christmas will be fun. We’ll probably go to the beach for the afternoon—we can make a snowman out of sand with sea shell eyes.

      Mom, I did get the Thanksgiving card….it was my first mail!!!!! Then yesterday I got a letter from Cherry.

      Yesterday we were interviewed and received our permanent assignments. Mine is at Bugasong, Province of Antique, Island of Panay. I will be on a beach from which tall mountains rise abruptly. Three of the guys will be located a few hours bus ride away. The Director said it was the most out of the way assignment he had ever given a woman, but we were both convinced it would be right for me. None of the other women will be anywhere near however.

So today we begin language classes. I’ve learned a lot already. I’ll be doing a lot of work with a young woman doctor who has been in Bugasong less than a year. She is the first rural health doctor in the area.

So things are going well and we’re all getting very excited. The food is great too….I’ve had squid, raw fish, the works. Grandpa would love all the fish.

Well this is my Christmas gift to you. Just a letter. And I’ll have a good time here on Christmas if you’ll do the same there.

The best for all the next 365 big ones.

James, Bob N., And Jerry (back to camera) at fruit market

Linda and Pat C. on field trip away from Manila

Rick, Dr. Juan Flavier (author of Doctor to the Barrios, Ramon Molina, Peter, and Cecile Motus on field trip to health center outside Manila during first week in country.

Dave (from Ida Grove, Iowa) rides water buffalo (carabao); Chris looks on. field trip outside Manila.

Mike McQuestion on water buffalo (carabao). Steve and Sioux look on.

Ken takes in the view on our first field trip outside Manila.

November 12 – 16, 1974

Most of the following is from Journal pages, unfinished, scribbled, undated

The first morning I was awakened at 5:30 by Christmas carols and folksy John Denver tunes blurting from a radio or juke box in the alley below. There was no sleeping late. We were in Quiapo, the most crowded section of Manila. Fortunately there were no vacancies in the more touristy area where the Peace Corps administration prefers to transition new volunteers. We all appreciated the grittier side of Manila.

Volunteers from other rooms paraded into my room to use the only working shower. Kathy and I were on the 2nd floor. The water pressure was not enough to reach floors above us. However, our toilet did not work. I dressed and left the room to seek a working toilet and food for my now rumbling stomach. I found a place with cold milk; I returned daily to this “automat”, drinking all the milk I could before I would be  unwillingly dairy free for two years. I remember not liking papaya that first morning. The three days in Manila were mad. I could make no sense of the bus system, nor could I develop a sense of direction while walking.

During this time we received a basic orientation and met some enthusiastic Filipinos involved with rural health or nutrition programs. We browsed the open markets and patronized various night clubs until curfew. These were side attractions, to our eventual experience. Manila grew increasingly oppressive; I was anxious to proceed to the rural area. An excursion Friday outside of Manila set tired faces to sparkling. (You can view my blurry pictures, from an instamatic camera, of volunteers on water buffalos.) The world became tropical green and warm with a promise of serenity, unlike the concrete madness of Manila, or “Maniller”, as Dave, from Ida Grove, Iowa, called it.

Annotation: While in Manila, we had our “Swearing In Ceremony” at the house of Barry Devine, Country Director. We all imbibed before we were handed the Peace Corps oath to sign. We then were instructed to raise our right hand, and recite the oath in unison. I was taken aback by the part about defending the Constitution of the United States.  So I edited my statement to make it clear that I would not raise arms, or shoot anyone, to defend the U.S. I then read the revised version aloud. I think a few others may have copied my edits, but I’m not sure. It is probably on file somewhere with the FBI.

November 10-12, 1974

As we took off, the streets of San Francisco sparkled in neon. Sailing through the sky is unreal, all the more so in a luxurious, modern lounge combined with restaurant and theater. The jumbo jet was no less incredible than when I flew one of the first 747s in 1970. The excitement of flying, for me, was like a return to the magic of childhood. My enthusiasm burst forth as reality engulfed me. Faces were alive now; the briefest eye contact erupted in smiles. Many vacant seats left our group alone in a private section of the plane. There was no reason to restrain our enthusiasm; we had a private party passing swiftly over the Pacific. Our steward must have enjoyed our youthful energy because he joined in the spirit of the affair with the offer of free champagne. We drank until there was no more—24 bottles consumed by fifteen to twenty of us. We sang. We ate. We listened to headphone music and watched movies—George C. Scott or Barbra Streisand. We talked. We played cards. We laughed. Needless to say we were bubbling unintelligibly upon our arrival in Honolulu. Two hours later, viewing the group at reboarding, the exhaustion and the effects of alcohol were apparent. It was 6 a.m. our time. Nevertheless, I remained among the obnoxiously energetic and enthusiastic through the first continental breakfast of our continuing journey. As the plane departed again I had succeeded in naming all members of our group. Admittedly the majority were tired and rather unimpressed, but I repeated the gesture for James, our long-haired, red-headed Texan who was as enchanted as I by all the faces and smiles. Energy and appetite diminishing, I donated my breakfast, as I had my dinner, to Paul “easy” Rider, our tall, lanky, short-haired Texan. For the remainder of the interminable flight I settled down to quiet conversations, piped in music (Jim Croce and Carol King), and occasional strolls, though I certainly never slept. Michael and Michael, to everyone’s chagrin, spent hours en route to Guam singing off-key rock tunes (Eagles especially) in atrocious harmony. I smiled. There were several of us whose energy never entirely diminished. However, during the brief layover at Guam, the heat, exhaustion, and suffocating humidity was foreboding. In the non-air-conditioned rest rooms, it was if someone was taking a steaming shower, only beads of moisture were visible in the mirrors, no reflections. This was 2 a.m. Would smiles continue in such an oppressive climate? When we finally arrived, customs agents ignored us. Still the Manila airport was a hassle after 36 sleepless hours and a week of late nights. The six a.m. bus ride through Manila was a shot of adrenalin. Mike McQuestion, our Notre Dame Irishman, sat beside me making cryptic observations, I laughing. Upon the passage of some neatly dressed Manila businessmen on motorcycles, McQuestion made the motions and sound effects of an engine being revved up as he shouted so inappropriately: “Hells Angels of Manila”. Laughing and remarking, I kept up my end of the last of the lively conversations. Barely able to maintain sitting postures we were then subjected to form-filling, welcomes, and group (un)dynamics. Advice was given to stay awake as long as possible for “jet-lag” adjustment. We were now sixteen hours ahead of San Francisco. Fools we were to take the advice and off we went, a group of seven, to roam the streets of Manila, its parks, the bay, and the cultural center. I realize now that we could have walked no less than fifteen miles, returning to the hotel at dusk to “nap” before dinner. When James called me for dinner at nine, nothing could have deterred my head from immediate return to that pillow. My new roommate, strawberry blonde, giggly, Kathy, never awoke.

Warm November day

The next day I met up with my Peace Corps group at the Hotel California in San Francisco.

Biking across the Golden Gate Bridge, November 1974

Last adventure in the states before joining up with my Peace Corps group in San Francisco.