If not for the veiled women, it's as if I never left the Philippines at all. I am in this tiny fishing village off the coast of northeastern Sumatra in Indonesia working on a book project. Local case writers struggle to put into paper lessons learned in community-based natural resource management.

There are ten of us in the group. Five are case writers while the rest compose the editorial team and support staff. Next week, we will meet with seven other case writers in Bali.

This is the first time I am actually staying in a Muslim village for any length of time. We are staying in a traditional Indonesian long house owned by a community leader. We sleep on pandan mats on the floor made of wooden planks that creak like crazy when someone walks. In the morning, I wake up with aching bones from the hard surface, reminding me quite plainly just how far removed from the field I had been lately. There is also not enough rainwater in the tank so we bathe from an open well with murky water. Now I have reddish-blond hair. Nyahaha!!!

The village of Teluk Pambang is fascinating. It looks like any rural fishing village in the Philippines except that in the afternoons, walang nag-iinuman at walang nagtotong-its (no one drinks liquor or play cards). What you'll see are groups of people gathered in the village square playing volleyball and spin tops.

Spin tops?! Yes, turumpo. It's hilarious to see 60-year-old granddads happily playing alongside ten-year-olds. They use home-made tops carved out of bakhaw (mangrove) trunks. And what fun they have! Yep, one can still have fun and not spend a cent except sweat. Heck, in Manila you'd have to pay a lot to sweat in gyms and indoor courts.

(ooops! someone told me horses sweat, people perspire.)

whatever.

morning guys!!! i really miss being home.

mike