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On my last visit to the Philippines, Mr. Bong remembered me. He had cut my hair the previous year at GQ Barbers in SM City Pampanga, and a year later I was back in his chair.
For about 300 pesos, roughly $5, I received a haircut followed by a gentle shoulder and head massage. Back home in Florida, I pay $30 or more for the haircut alone.
But what stayed with me was being remembered and having the chance to talk with him about his life. Those conversations gave me something a price comparison couldn’t capture: a connection with someone I hoped to see again.
Across the way was VIBES, a massage business staffed by blind therapists. An hour-long massage cost me about $10. Near my home, I would expect to pay $150. I appreciated the savings, but I also appreciated the care I received and the feeling that my business mattered.
These encounters are part of what draws me back to the Philippines. Through Joey, his family and the people I’ve met on our visits, the prospect of spending more of our retirement there has become increasingly personal.
The financial differences certainly help. An occasional indulgence in Florida could become a regular pleasure in the Philippines. Spending less on everyday things could leave more room for travel or treating Joey’s family to dinner.
I noticed savings while grocery shopping, too, although they varied by item. Milk, for example, could cost more in the Philippines than at home while rice and eggs are significantly lower. A lower cost of living doesn’t mean every purchase is a bargain.
Some establishments also gave me a 20% senior discount when I showed my Florida driver’s license. This usually happened when I was with Joey’s family. Perhaps it was hospitality; I can’t say for certain. I appreciated it, while recognizing that foreign visitors shouldn’t assume they qualify for the national benefits available to eligible Filipino seniors aged 60 and older.
As appealing as these prices are, they also give me pause.
We would arrive with money earned and saved in the United States. The people cutting my hair, providing a massage or serving our meals live on local earnings. What feels inexpensive to me may still be difficult for a Filipino household to afford.
I can compare a grocery bill with what I spend in Florida. Someone living there has to compare it with what remains of their income after paying for housing, transportation and other needs. We may stand in the same checkout line with very different choices available to us.
I’ve worked hard for my retirement, and I’m grateful for it. I also recognize the advantage we would bring with us. I want that awareness to shape how we live and spend.
For me, that includes tipping generously, returning to businesses where we’ve been treated well and helping where I can. Our budget can accommodate both enjoying those savings and sharing some of the benefit.
I’m grateful to each person who has shown me kindness on our visits. Remembering their names, listening to their stories and taking an interest in their lives matter to me, too. I hope, in time, to become a familiar face in the community we may one day call home.
Mr. Bong remembered me after a year. I hope he’s still there when I return. I’d like another haircut, of course. But I’d also like to hear how he’s been.
Chrissy and I love our sunny vacations in the Caribbean, and always enjoy interacting with the workers. One memorable trip was in the Dominican Republic. A tour we bought included visiting the home of a typical family and a grade school class of children. Our guide’s name was Elvis, who was a citizen of Haiti who crossed the border each day to haul around a bunch of American and European tourists. We had very interesting conversations about the DR and Elvis’s life in Haiti. I know that just passing through a place and seeing how people live day to day isn’t remotely like living there, but it did give us a small glimpse into their reality.
Finally, don’t forget the people at home who struggle to put food on the table and raise their kids well. America may be a land of opportunity, still, I wonder if my little tax practice would have grown as easily if I were a color other than white, or if English was my second language.
My family and I had that sort of relationship with Woody Pettus, maître d’ in the dining room at the Homestead Resort in Virginia. The first time I went back into the dining room after he died, I had to choke back tears. It’s been over 8 years, still miss him.
Bob, what a small world! We also visited the Homestead many times , and Woody was a familiar, welcoming presence in the dining room, greeting us warmly and showing us to our table. I can understand why returning without him was so emotional. People like Woody become part of what makes a place special. Thank you for bringing back that lovely memory.
Andrew, your post struck a chord. For 35 years we’ve been very regular visitors to Maspalomas in the Canary Islands, and we have a favourite open-air restaurant there. We’ve become well acquainted with the owner and with Jorge, the head waiter, who was in his late twenties when we first met. Over the years he has watched our daughters grow from children into adults and has high-fived my grandson, while sharing photos of his own children and now his grandchildren. The owner shows his respect for our loyalty by sending traditional Spanish dishes to our table, not on the menu, that the kitchen staff have made for themselves. We always leave very generous tips.
It all sounds lovely, but in the back of my mind I can’t help thinking about the difference. Jorge is now in his 60s and still working 12-hour shifts in the hot Canarian sun, while I’m retired. Being a local on a beautiful but poor island that depends on the service economy isn’t the same as being an affluent visitor enjoying the ambience.
I hope the warm, kind-hearted Jorge eventually gets a well-deserved retirement, with family and travel adventures of his own.