Introducing the zero-energy, zero-cost, solar-powered light bulb.

But how does it work, you ask?

Find a big plastic soda bottle, preferably from the trash to make it really eco-friendly. Wash it out and then fill with water. Add a few capfuls of bleach to prevent the growth of algae. Screw the cap on tight.

Snip a hole in the congregated tin roof of your house, lean-to or shack, and shove the bottle halfway through. Seal with caulk or some other type of water-tight substance.

Wait for the sun to shine through and, bam!, you have the equivalent of a 55-watt light bulb, sans electricity. For people living in the poorest regions of the world without access to, or money for electric bulbs, the bottle light has the potential to significantly improve the quality of life, as Notions Capital describes it, for “billions of poor people in sun-swept favelas, shantytowns, and bidonvilles and scattered rural dwellings around the globe.”

Will the use of this “light bulb” end poverty and restore equality for all? I’m guessing not. But it is a glowing example of how we as convenience-minded humans can negotiate creative innovation in sustainable energy.

Or, at the very least, we can pimp out our dream treehouses.

[Photo by sheeshoo/Flickr]

By Jenna Blumenfeld

About the Author

Jenna Blumenfeld, (Jenna Ogden Blumenfeld when she’s in really big trouble) hails from the wee state of Connecticut. Although her childhood dream of becoming a bug doctor — with a specialization in ladybugs — has gone unfulfilled, she is content writing about travel, cuisine and culture. A vegetarian, she currently resides in the food hub of Boulder, Colorado. Read more of her food-centric writing at NewHope360.com.

The post How The 2-Liter Bottle Can Change The World (And It Doesn’t Involve Mentos) appeared first on The Expeditioner Travel Site.

It’s lunchtime, it’s Friday, and I know what you’re craving to eat: fish balls. Unfortunately, these tasty treats are a rare find stateside, but head to certain parts of Asia and you can find them everywhere.

Fish balls in the Philippines, for example, are usually made from cuttlefish or pollock, and are sold all over the country by street vendors who offer several varieties of sauce to dip your skewered snack in, as seen above.

1) Spicy (vinegar, water, diced onions, and garlic),

2) Sweet (corn starch, banana ketchup, sugar and salt), or

3) Sweet and Sour (sweet sauce with hot chilis added).

The post Video: When In Manila, Eat Fish Balls appeared first on The Expeditioner Travel Site.

I wouldn’t consider Manila a “destination” as far as destinations go. It’s one of those cities you fly into then spend a day or two getting your feet wet before you go to the places you’ve come to see.  Although that may be somewhat true, the few days I spent there made me realize it may be a perfect jumping-off point to those truly amazing destinations.

I chose to hangout for a day in the Intramuros part of the city before some rum-laced scuba diving adventures in Boracay. Others choose to head north (my itinerary forced me to choose north or south, but not both), to the mountains and their dramatic rice terraces.

What I wish I had known before my trip last year is the island of Corregidor. It was brought to my attention, not by the World War II section of my old history books as it should have, but by an article in The Wall Street Journal.

I hadn’t recognized the name  — apologies to all my history teachers — but this is where General MacArthur famously declared “I shall return” (he did, after abandoning the country for the next three years). The small island, about 48 km from Manila, has played an important, though gruesome, role throughout its history. It began as the main outpost in Manila’s defense against pirates and other unwanted visitors, then was the stopping-off point for ships paying duties before entering Manila Bay. It was barraged by both Japanese and U.S. forces before the U.S. occupation during World War II, and now has ruins littering its hillsides like scars from a retired, but never defeated, boxer.

The most alluring thing for me is thinking  that if Corregidor were a person, I’d go out of my way to buy her a drink and listen to her stories. Maybe next time.

The post The Embattled Island Of Corrigador, Philippines appeared first on The Expeditioner Travel Site.

What does one do when thrust into the unexpected situation of teaching a class of 57 children in the capital of the Philippines? Why, sing, of course.

A trip to the Philippines is always an education, but this time I’d planned on taking things easy. Rather than sail out into the wilderness and explore some of the 7,000-plus islands that make up the archipelago, the idea was simply to stay put in the capital, visit some friends, grab a few bargains in the vast malls and generally avoid the unusually harsh European winter.

It isn’t long, however, before I’m tempted out of my 35th-floor hideaway in the grandly named Global City district of Manila (once the site of a vast American military base called Fort Bonifacio, today it is an upmarket assemblage of corporate skyscrapers, plush apartments and overpriced restaurants) and into the altogether wilder environs of neighboring Taguig.

I hand the taxi driver a piece of paper with the scrawled address of the Captain Jose Cardones Elementary School — where I’m meeting a friend — and he assures me he knows exactly where to go. Soon he’s stopping every few minutes, thrusting the note at every other pedestrian, “just to check, sir.” Meanwhile I sit helplessly in the back, watching the meter tick up and wondering why I still fall for this trick after so many years.

Mind you, I can understand his confusion. Taguig is a maze of ramshackle markets, makeshift eateries and tiny sari-sari stores, where men in string vests and baseball caps reach between rusting iron bars to make micro-purchases of Nescafe sachets and rough local cigarettes (sold singly, rarely by the packet). A welcome, cool breeze is doing its best to disperse the ever-present fog of pollution, and it seems like the entire city is outside, haggling for vegetables, chewing on chicken kebabs, playing tongits to win a few pesos, or somehow sleeping through the din of traffic and the warbling efforts of unselfconscious videoke singers. The shiny saloons of Bonifacio are gone, outmaneuvered by overloaded tricycle sidecars buzzing down the narrow lanes, causing scrawny dogs to leap for their lives.

As we pull up in a cloud of dust, I briefly wonder whether the taxi driver will ever find his way out again. Then every head in the street is turning magnetically towards me; very few foreigners have cause to come here. Fedila, an old friend who happens to be an English teacher at the school, is waiting to greet me at the gates. Her daughter is currently in a music class; before we go to dinner, would I care to sit in?

As we make our way along the shiny stone corridors, passing a compact clinic, computer room and library, I hear the first excited cries of “Americano!” from kids who have spotted a visitor through the slatted glass windows of their classrooms. There would be little sense in pointing out that I’m from England, actually (numerous previous trips to the Philippines have taught me that in this country, if you’re white, you’re an Americano — end of story)

Soon we reach the music room where Mrs. Chonchita Savedra is teaching a new song to a class of first-graders. There’s a quick exchange in tagalog — a language spoken by about 22 million Filipinos — of which I understand little, but from the frequent glances and nods in my direction, I sense something is being agreed. Then Fedila disappears, thanking me somewhat cryptically for “helping out.” What, exactly, am I helping out with, I wondered?

“This is Carl, he’s my new boyfriend,” says Chonchita, getting a big laugh from the class, whose lesson has just taken a very unexpected turn. “We’re very lucky to have him with us today. He’s going to teach you all some English songs. Carl, over to you.” And with that she scoops up a stack of exercises books and marches off to catch up on some grading, leaving me with a lot of eager five-year-olds and no idea what to say to them.

It’s hard to say what comes as the bigger shock: the fact of finding myself in front of a class for the first time in 20 years (I once taught English, rather ineptly, to Italian language students during university holidays), or the mortifying prospect of singing in public. There’s no time to dwell on that, though, with 57 expectant faces studying me intently as my mouth opens and closes like a goldfish. Instead I play for time, dredging up a couple of long-forgotten name games and finding out what some of them want to be when they grow up (doctors, astronauts and soldiers mostly).

As I’m going through this routine, some animal pictures on the wall catch my eye, and the old standby, “Old MacDonald Had a Farm” springs to mind. I ask them to list some animals for our farm, expecting them to come up with the usual: cows, pigs and sheep. Instead they call out monkeys, flying foxes and water buffalo — a menagerie not many kids from the West would recognize. After a boisterous rendition, complete with all the right noises, we’re on to “Once I Caught a Fish Alive,” providing an opportunity to practice counting and past tenses.

Just as I’m getting into my stride, Mrs. Savedra comes back, having finished her grading. There’s just time to take a group photo of my five dozen new best friends. As I’m saying my goodbyes, some of them press the back of my hand to their forehead in the pagmamano gesture of respect. Then I’m being ushered along, like some visiting dignitary, to the principal’s office.

As one of her colleagues places a plate of pork adobo in front of me, Rebecca fills me in on the bigger picture: 3,230 children aged between six and eleven are enrolled at Jose Cardones. With 75 teachers to look after them, they attend in two shifts of 6 a.m. to noon and noon to 6 p.m. All of their teachers are female (which accounts for their animation in meeting not just a foreigner, but a man to boot). The curriculum encompasses tagalog, English, math, social studies, science, music, religion, home economics and physical exercise. Thanks to a recent and enlightened government “Education for All” initiative, basic primary tuition is free. In a relatively deprived neighborhood like Taguig, though, many parents struggle to afford the miscellaneous charges for books, packed lunches, uniforms and so forth, and all too frequently, a child halfway through his or her school career will be taken home when the money runs out.

Those fortunate enough to attend benefit from a clear code of conduct, spelled out on posters around the classrooms: “Be Helpful”, “Respect Your Parents and Elders”, “Love Your Country” (“Lupang Hinirang,” the national anthem, is solemnly sung, hand on heart, at the start and end of every week). Other placards instruct the reader to “Worship the Lord Jesus,” and (my favorite) “Obey Signs Such as Keep Off the Grass.” I’m still wondering where this fabled patch of grass might be in the concrete capital.

The school day over, and it is with some reluctance that I head back out through the teeming alleys of Taguig towards the posh end of town. The real life of the city, I now realize, is going on down here, not up in my air-conditioned bubble. Even as a grown man, an afternoon in a children’s class has certainly taught me a thing or two.

By Carl Thompson

About the Author

Carl Thompson has been writing for travel publications and guidebooks for many years, mainly with the intention of avoiding a proper job. For the full story of a misspent decade, please visit UKTravelWriter.co.uk.

The post The Day I Spent Teaching In The Philippines (Without Any Warning) appeared first on The Expeditioner Travel Site.

As a kind of bookend to the week here, the Philippines has been in the news all week as a result of some of  “the worst floods to hit Manila and nearby provinces in four decades.”

If you remember, we started off the week with a story from Justin Calderon from his own trip to the country where he was treated with nothing short of spectacular hospitality. In lieu of payment for his article, he agreed to allow TheExpeditioner.com to make a donation on his behalf to the U.S. Fund for UNICEF where they will be “delivering more hygiene kits, essential medicines, water purification tablets, portable toilets and family kits containing blankets and soap to aid in relief efforts,” as well as further support and relief as the cleanup continues.

To make your own donation to the ongoing emergency relief efforts in the Philippines, please visit: www.unicefusa.org/donate/Philippines or call 1.800.4UNICEF.

The post Time To Give A Little Back: Philippines Edition appeared first on The Expeditioner Travel Site.

By Justin Calderon

The Philippines, the world’s second-largest archipelago next to Indonesia, is speckled with hundreds of islands boasting pristine beaches, cross-cultured cuisine, and friendly people wearing content smiles. The wide variety of islands encompass an illustrious array of different languages and topographies that make the Philippines a destination that travelers find themselves revisiting over and over again.

Beaches with driftwood that ornament the sugar-like sand lightly sparkle from the sun. The water is a sapphire blue that melts into the afternoon sky making the horizon vanish. There is only one set of footprints in the sand that lead directly to a village just beyond the barrier-bitten black volcanic rocks. No, this is not bustling Boracay, the destination most well renowned in the Philippines, but Negros, an island located in the central Visayas.

A ferry from Cebu city, the major travel hub in the Visayas, can connect you with the port city of Dumaguete, the self-proclaimed “most friendly city in The Philippines.” Dumaguete is home to the first Protestant university in the country, Silliman University, and incorporates the exemplary fiesta vibe that seems to resonate throughout the rest of the Visayas. The pace in Dumaguete is leisurely, even for a city in the Philippines, and a great port of entry to the rest of Negros Oriental.

A five-hour bus ride northwest from Dumaguete along coastline and through rice paddies will bring you to Sipalay, the home of secluded Sugar Beach. However, your journey has only made it to the start of the last leg at this point. From Sipalay you must rent a “trike” — a motorcycle with a side car — to ride over a rickety wooden bridge. From there, small motor boats must be hired to take you and your belongings around the peninsula of Sugar Beach. If you are lucky enough to catch the night sky, the boat ride will be illuminated by globs of fireflies clenched to mangroves and the occasional shooting star plummeting through the stainless sky. The hum of crackled karaoke and chatter breaks through the silent night as the boat passes a small village. The beach looks like a black void completely barren of lights. None of the hotels on Sugar Beach break the forest line.

Sugar Beach is a castaway’s haven, offering a small selection of palm-roofed bungalows, driftwood villas, and sand-carpeted bars a stone’s throw from the Sulu Sea. Beach-washed European proprietors claim the four main accommodations on Sugar Beach. Jogi, a willing castaway from Germany, remembers the days when travelers would wash up on the shores and set up tents under the thatched roof that has now become his restaurant and bar. “I started the construction on Sulu Sunset in January of 2000,” Jogi remembers. “When the restaurant was finished, I, my family, and the staff slept in tents.”

All of his employees are locals from the neighboring villages around Sugar Beach. “That was the time we cooked and ate where the bar is now. Of course, we had to run generators at the time,” Jogi continues. “Germans need cold beer.”

The bungalows, chairs, and tables are all built from the surrounding coconut trees and bamboo stalks. If it rains, you’ll find that coconut-based items from the restaurant will be limited because the trees will be too wet to climb.

By the end of 2000, Jogi had built four bungalows with the help of his family, staff, and fellow German cohort, Oliver, a backpacker who discovered Jogi through a pension house in Sipalay. He ended up staying two weeks to help Jogi with odds and ends. “Oliver continued his trip to Palawan and told every backpacker in the whole of Palawan Island about my place.” After the word got out, Jogi’s four bungalows periodically began filling up. But, if travelers can’t find a place to sleep during the high seasons of January and February, they’re always welcome to pitch a tent.

* * *

Beached fishing boats sway in the sand as the gentle tide glides them with the pace of the evening current. The sand turns a shade of red as villager’s gaze on to the sunset. Day trips picnicking on the beach are very much a part of Philippine culture. The English literacy rate in the country is over 90%, making it very easy to communicate here compared to many other parts of Asia.

Fifteen minutes by foot from the northern point of Sugar Beach lays a beach facing east towards the sunset, barricaded by jagged volcanic rock on both sides. As I sit, a shadowy figure emerges from the damp jungle behind me, spilling onto the sunlit sand. Doubts grow in my mind as to whether I have arrived on his private property or insulted him by taking pictures of what appears to be a village beyond the brush.

“Hello friend,” the young man says, greeting me with a smile wide enough to knock the blue baseball cap off his head. “Do you need a room?” He offers. “You can stay here in my village . . . we can also cook some fish for you.”

* * *

The sound of the sea slowly dissipate behind the squawks of chickens and the snorting of giant pigs. A proud fighting cock takes center, perched upon a six-foot stick puffing up his belly in anticipation of new visitors. The territorial beast belts a boisterous coo, provoking a contender in the distance with all the charm of a prize fighter in his prime. Baby chicks roam freely with babies from the village next to the local store. Stapled on a wire frame are various bags of snacks sandwiched between cans of corn beef hash and small bags of vegetables. The blue walls of the store stand perpendicular from a bamboo bench where a mother breastfeeds her newborn baby in the shade.

Nene, my new friend, guides me towards his house, a small structure at the end of the dirt path pressed up against a calm river. His village helps ferry visitors from the mainland to the peninsula of Sugar Beach, a journey that takes about five minutes during daylight. The leaf awning shelters a small group of people from the torturous afternoon sun. Three girls in white school uniforms are serenading themselves with an over-amplified karaoke machine attached to a television set. There is a comfort in their willingness to disregard any timid tendencies for sake of song and new friends. The microphone is passed around like a peace pipe. Like many other nations in Asia, Karaoke is both a pastime and a way of life. An act of reverence and childish congeniality all at once — a conundrum that allures foreigners first with awkward anticipation, then with courteous courtship.

Nene did not get the opportunity to go the college and, like most of his family, he will likely join the fishing business. Yet, despite the apparent gap in our two worlds, I am eagerly welcomed into his home to enjoy the catch of the day: a grilled fish dinner prepared by his mother. The kitchen lies just behind the karaoke machine around an inclined bend dipping into the water below. The wood-burning stove is sizzling with the sweet aroma of adobo sauce, a soy based blend of garlic and spice that is a staple of the Philippines. The stove rests upon the same brickwork pattern of dark cement blocks as the house. The interior walls match the exterior and the nipa leaf roof is placed over the foundation like an awkward jigsaw puzzle piece that doesn’t quite fit.

As I bask in the fragrance of the sautéed fish and the harmonious hospitality of my surroundings, it’s not hard to appreciate the allure of the Philippines. Jovial curiosity and inquiring eyes search me, piercing my peripheral vision with the smile of humans who are truly happy in a paradise they call home. A castaway is never alone in the company of a Filipino. As Nene starts up the crackling karaoke box as an interlude during dinner, the moon begins to reflect off of the clear water, illuminating his face with a spotlight. This particular patch of sand is his home. The words of the song drift off the screen and into the empty night, drawing neighbors and family members down the dirt path to Nene’s hut by the water. Boats float by carrying new travelers past the village. He eagerly beckons for me to take center stage.

Back up the beach, Jogi is snapping open another bottle of San Miguel. The girls behind the bar offer me a menu, trotting towards the bar with a bashful giddiness in every beat of their subtle steps. They recognize me from my off-key rendition of “New York, New York” the night before. The hit had apparently not gone unnoticed.

A week on Sugar Beach has slipped by, providing enough time for these friends to turn into family. The 70 or so somewhat familiar villagers and travel companions I have accumulated blend in with the more alien faces of fresh forlorn travelers sloshing up against the shores. Weary from the daylong excursion, they stumble off the bobbing ship into the earthy sand amongst a group of complacent companions. Welcome to our paradise. Welcome to our home.

Justin, in lieu of payment for this piece, has agreed to make a donation in the amount of $40 to the U.S. Fund for UNICEF in support of relief efforts connected to the recent natural disasters that have hit the country.

You can do the same. Click here to make an online donation to UNICEF.

The post A Long Week’s Journey Into Paradise In The Philippines appeared first on The Expeditioner Travel Site.

Anthony’s doing No Reservations from the Philippines this week, where, for some reason, he felt compelled to walk the streets of Manila sampling chicken balls (not what you’re thinking) and Pansit (stir-fried noodle dish) while decked in a flowery Aloha shirt. Tony, this is the Philippines. Not Hawaii. Not Kappa Sig’s backyard. Please don’t make this your new thing, like Mario Batali and his Crocs. Sigh.

Check out 0:52 where he tries the amazing looking Taho (tofu with tapioca), a favorite street food in the Philippines.

The post Bourdain Brings His Punk Rock Sensibility And Aloha Shirts To The Philippines This Week appeared first on The Expeditioner Travel Site.