marinegirl

I dropped my washing off at Wishy Washy this morning, and the girl behind the counter remembered my name and had already filled it in on the ticket for me, spelt correctly*. This is starting to become a pattern.

Stopping off for petrol at the Caltex on the way to Dauin: “Good morning Ma’am Rebecca!”

Walking through Malatapay in the evening, a voice out of the darkness:”Hi Ma’am Rebecca!”

Looking at some pigs in Candanay Norte, Siquijor: “These are my pigs! …various discussion about lechon and fiestas… “you should come to our fiesta, Ma’am Rebecca!”

Huh? How does everyone know who I am??

We’ve even heard people call out from the side of the road as we drive though town. Some of these people (petrol station girl, obviously Miss Wishy Washy) I know I’ve seen a few times before, others I simply have no idea who they are or where they know me from. It’s actually quite spooky.

I guess it’s a small town without many white girls! On Panglao, nobody knew my name. But by the end of the week the habal-habal (motorbikes-for-hire) guys knew us and where we wanted to go, and even the incessant “Chocolate hills tour tomorrow Ma’amSir?” guys had realised that we would never be interested.

As an aside, I’m writing this from my new-found internet cafe… chilled jazz music, peaceful, broadband and coffee. Except today the coffee machine s broken, so I’m drinking green tea. I feel very healthy.

*I had a great idea for a photo project - photographing all the people that come to meet me at airports / ports etc. holding a card with my name on. It would be a great way to remember travels, and the various spellings of my name are hilarious. Last time I was Rebeka Wiett. Sadly I always have to travel lugging tons of heavy dive bags behind me, so the camera is always packed.