Appliance Bike

A bicycle sidecar, parked on the way to Mt. Isarog, features reuse of appliance refuse:




Electric fan frame and those curvy things behind refrigerators.

Law Enforcement

In a Bicolano fastfood joint: policeman has faux tattoo pull-ons, is cradling rifle.

Gathering and Hunting from the Sea

A very casual pose indeed.

The coastlines of our country are inhabited by people who gather and hunt food from the vast and productive marine factory of life. The relationship of man and the mysterious ocean is comprised of a mixture of management, dependence, reverence, and, in sad cases, abuse. The ocean informs their daily rhythm, their skin color, and their tools.


Interesting silver earring, no doubt from the nearby Paracale.

At Pulang Daga in Daet, Camarines Norte, we came across a strikingly slender and lithe young man, holding a few small lapu-lapu fish which he had speared and then hung on a dangling rope with hooks. His homemade flippers were made of sheets of plywood cut into a roundish shape, with rubber foot straps punched through.


Lapu-lapu against the wooden flippers.

The goggles were another thing as well-- locally made, with a leather strap to pull around your head. His spear was a wooden stick with a fastened pointy edge.


Leather straps.

And so he hurried along after our short conversation, and in a few minutes a child and his mama came by, this time with a less bountiful fish catch (the kid was still learning). They, however, carried a bucket of collected sea cucumbers that they sell to people who sell them to Chinese, who love the stuff. They had no idea how to prepare the penile creatures, and had no interest and looked slightly disgusted by the idea of eating them.


A basket of fish and a bucket of sea cucumbers.


Young fisherboy.

They had more or less the same tools (except their goggles had a rubber strap instead of leather) as the first young man, but with a basket carried by the woman.



Goggles with rubber strap, fortified by a nylon string.

After awhile, they were "collected" from our blabbing away by a man who came out of the thick and thorny row of pandan plants after taking a leak. He looked a bit familiar, and turned out to be the twin brother of the first young man we came across, only with shorter hair and a more mature, responsible appearance (no photo, it started to rain). A good short encounter, while it lasted.


The gathering and going.

Laing

Chop garlic and ginger.

What would Bicol be without laing? Probably still a region with many other good things to eat. But not the same, as everyone who goes there is just so damn eager to finally eat some of it while actually in Bicol.

Our friends told us this wasn't even "special" laing, because it was made for a large group. They were unable to pinpoint what "special" exactly was, except something that tasted better than this, which tasted pretty good in itself:


Still chopping. More ginger than garlic.


Squeeze grated coconut to extract the milk.


You get the gabi leaves in with some little shrimp and the thinner milk, then after a bit put the creamier stuff.


Mix mix.


Zoom in.


Eat.

Bagasbas

May You Be A Generous Prude

Signs around the Nuestra Señora de la Candelaria church in Paracale.


"Give, and it will be given to you. A good measure, pressed down, shaken together and running over, will be poured into your lap. For with the measure you use, it will be measured to you." Luke 6:38


Another one about giving: Leviticus verse about tithes.


Put courtship in its proper place, not in the church!

Paracale Eats

A Paracale carinderia.

Camarines Norte is the first province of Bicol you hit when you're a Tagalog coming at it full-speed.


Rice, chicken curry, my second sinantol in two days.

The language is not the typical sort in the region, as it is affected by the large presence of people from adjoining Quezon. However, early chronicles from our friendly Spanish colonizers included Paracale as part of the Tagalog region. Makes you wonder about who defines the regions, eh? Stuff like this aside, though, the liberal use of chili, gabi (taro) leaves, lots of vegetables, and all those tiny shrimp remind you that you are indeed in Bicol, as you somehow imagined it to be.


Shrimp and garlic being prepared by the women.


Ampalaya, carrots, red and white rice.


Boiled camote and suman.

And, of course, there is the coconut milk. It is true, what they say. Once, I asked my friend, who is a local what was for lunch, and he joked, "Guinataang gata (Coconut milk cooked in coconut milk)".


Bottles of fermented shrimp, lemongrass, and what I thought was kamansi. My Bicolano friends claim it isn't kamansi. What the hell is it? No one can tell me for sure.

We stayed in Paracale, a laid back, historical-yet-nondescript town along the northern coastline of Daet. This meant a lot of fresh seafood. I suppose the notoriously wet and stormy weather of the area makes root crops and fruitmeats particularly common, as they are not easily damaged by the weather.


Some fish being cleaned.


Balao.

Little shrimp were also everywhere-- in the form of a pinkish fermented assemblage called balao, as well a dark purple cake of more pungent, ground ones called dinaelan. Sort of like a large stinky polvoron cut into triangular slices.


Dinaelan triangles.


Kekiam, fishballs, beside a deep-fried sweet snack.


Selling assorted fermented shrimp things, and different colored gelatin for halo-halo.

There were also those meriendas. Steaming cups of lugaw and guinataang mais to warm you when the coastal winds blew too cold and the rain came in through your tent. Make sure to get a jar of santan along the way to smear on slices of bread or suman.


Guinataang mais at camote. Mmm...


Santan. My Bicol friends claim it isn't coco jam, but that's what it seems like to me.

Mining Town

Dennis, and Superman logos.

Paracale is a mining town, with the usual prostitution and small jewelers. Though it produces gold, the craftsmen work with silver as well. One of our trike drivers proudly pointed out his "927 silver" rings and a bracelet.


Emily is his wife. There is also a large, ghetto fabulous, calligraphic "D".