Everyday lifeon Mactan Island

Billowing clouds rose into a blue sky. Beyond the palm fronds, a tangle of power lines stretched across it. Morning in the Philippines.

A bicycle rolled slowly down a shady road. A small tin-roofed shop wore a round Coca-Cola sign, and a cloth-covered table stood in front of a general store decked out in beer ads. In an alley, a white cat and an orange tabby watched a passing dog.

Inside a glass case, round buns and sandwiches were packed tight. Standing at the counter of a bakery with blue walls, I looked over the morning bread. Under a blue parasol, a roadside stall was getting ready for the day. This is a peaceful island floating to the east of Cebu.

I'm on Mactan Island. At a roadside stall, bananas were frying in a big wok, and a glass case held skewers of bananas fried golden in a coat of sugar. These seem to be banana cue, a familiar sight at Philippine street stalls.

I took one skewer. Motorbikes passed along the shady road, and tricycles rolled by in front of brightly painted houses. Nostalgic streets that look like a picture wherever you turn. I strolled to the far end of a long, straight street.

At another bakery, boxes of bread were stacked above the counter, next to a very tropical poster for ice candy.

A comfortable place where time passes slowly. I started on breakfast in the kitchen of my stay. A red bowl held small green kalamansi, and through the screen an orange tabby looked up at me.

I minced garlic, fried an egg, and stir-fried rice with the garlic to make garlic rice. Add a sweet sausage, longganisa, to the fried egg and garlic rice, and you have longsilog, a Filipino breakfast classic. In the dappled sunlight, the same cat lay stretched out.

I added slices of tomato and squeezed over some kalamansi, a Philippine citrus. The refreshing sourness matches the sweetness of the sausage: a perfect breakfast for a tropical country. Green coconuts hung heavy on the palms in the garden, with a church cross beyond them. The start of a day on an island of eternal summer.

I came to the local market on the island. Fruit stalls were piled high with bunches of bananas hanging from the roof, watermelons, pineapples and even eggs. Wooden crates were being unloaded one after another from a truck. Beside a scale, a tabby cat slept soundly.

Red and yellow pennants were strung across the street, along with a banner celebrating the fiesta of San Roque. Tricycles and motorbikes came and went without a break. What I came here for was the tropical fruit stalls.

At a stall with a sign reading Lakatan, ripe bananas were laid out. Green bananas hung by the bunch, apples wrapped in netting, grapes, oranges and rambutans: fruits grown in plenty of sunshine, as far as the eye could see. Deeper in the market was an eatery with big pots lined up.

For lunch, I wanted to enjoy a homely taste at a local eatery. I stepped into a pares diner with a yellow sign. When I sat down at a red table, a cat peeked over from the other side.

What arrived was pares mami: pares, beef braised in sweet soy sauce, combined with mami, a noodle soup that is something like ramen in the Philippines. The soup, scattered with green onion, was full of the flavor of beef yet light, and it soaked right into me.

The tender, stewed beef was delicious too. For someone who loves slow-cooked food, it was irresistible. At my feet, an orange tabby was waiting for scraps.

For dessert, halo-halo: a sweet loaded with toppings that represents the Philippines. On top of the shaved ice sat brightly colored ube (purple yam) ice cream, cornflakes and something like a yellow custard.

At the bottom of the glass were green jelly and red beads. I heard that halo-halo means "mixed," and the proper way is to stir everything together before eating. Still, curious about each topping, I couldn't help scooping them up one by one. Not too sweet, and impossible to stop eating. A verse from the Bible was painted on the shop window.

For dinner, let's go to a night market, the tropical way. A jeepney full of passengers drove down a street glowing in the evening sun. Bunches of bananas hung in front of a shop.

I headed for Mercato de Mactan, a night market lined with food stalls. As the light bulbs came on, I found a sizzling-plate stall. The cook brushed oil onto a hot iron plate and tossed ingredients in a flaming pan.

And one thing you can't miss in Filipino food is sisig. Finely chopped pork and onions were stir-fried briskly with wooden spatulas, then finished with a raw egg, mayonnaise, green chilies and kalamansi, and brought to me still sizzling.

Under the sunset sky, I took a table lit by the light bulbs of the stalls. Breaking the egg on the iron plate and mixing it all together made it even more delicious. The egg softened the rich flavor of the pork, seasoned with soy sauce and vinegar.

With it I had puso, rice wrapped in coconut leaves. Unwinding the woven leaves revealed rice packed tight inside. It goes perfectly with the richly seasoned sisig.

As you'd expect in the tropics, the mango smoothie was wonderful too. Families strolled through the food stalls at dusk. I love the Philippines.

Time passed lazily around my stay. An orange tabby was curled up on a white plastic chair. Bunches of bananas and a basket hung from the eaves, a small shop was open by the road, and a barbershop stood with its red-and-blue striped pole. In the garden of the house, pink bougainvillea was in bloom.

I received a gift from the mother of the house owner: sweets made from breadfruit that grows in the garden. I was told they are made by putting the breadfruit and sugar straight into the frying oil. The outside was crisp like caramel and the inside soft and fluffy. Nothing like bread at all; a little closer to Japanese candied sweet potatoes.

I learned about breadfruit from the adventure stories I read as a child, and ever since, I had wanted to try it someday. I made coffee and even had seconds. My childhood dream came true unexpectedly.

The sparkling blue sea is another of Mactan's charms. At the end of a shady lane, a WELCOME sign greeted me: the entrance to Vaño Beach Resort.

This afternoon, I would relax at a calm local beach. Beyond the pale sand lay endless blue sea under heaped-up clouds, and offshore floated a small boat with outriggers on both sides.

Red bougainvillea bloomed on the beach, and a rooster strutted past the little shop. With no crowds of tourists, it felt as if I had the whole beach to myself.

At the shop I bought a lemon soda in a cute retro green bottle. I sat on an old bench on the beach and let my mind wander, gazing at the sea. In the shade, locals were taking it easy.

Then I was asked, "How about a coconut?" The green fruit was deftly shaved and a hole hacked into it, wild and quick. Poured into a cup, the clear coconut water spilled over.

At a table under a red awning, I drank the fresh coconut water. Boats passed offshore, and the sea breeze rustled the leaves. Gazing at the beautiful sea and doing nothing at all: what a luxurious time.

I rode home on a tricycle, the locals' way of getting around: a motorcycle taxi with a sidecar, a familiar sight in the Philippines. I thought I had bargained the fare down quite a bit, but the local passenger sharing the ride paid even less.

Feeling the pleasant breeze, I watched the streets flow past the window. Let's shop for dinner on the way home. The evening streets were busy with shoppers and motorbikes.

At a vegetable stall, green baskets were heaped with chilies, onions and garlic, alongside leafy greens and long beans. As the sun sank, the power lines over the street shone gold.

Some Filipino dishes are influenced by China, and fried noodles called pancit canton are one of them. Pancit is a noodle dish brought by Chinese immigrants, and pancit canton is named after the egg noodles it uses.

Tonight, I would make it the easy way, with instant noodles: Lucky Me! pancit canton in kalamansi flavor, said to be popular with locals too. I stir-fried okra, bitter gourd, red onion and chili, then added the noodles boiled in another pot.

As I tossed them with the seasoning from the packet, a savory smell filled the kitchen. Even as a Japanese person, the scent felt familiar. I plated it with kalamansi on the side.

To go with it, of course, San Miguel. Tonight's can was San Mig Free, the non-alcoholic one. I opened it and poured it into a glass. Cheers to a Philippine night.

I squeezed over some kalamansi, which has become my favorite. The smell of the sauce and the refreshing scent of citrus were irresistible, the sourness cutting through the rich flavor.

On a hot night, a cold drink and fried noodles just belong together. I'm sure that's the same all over the world. Everyday life on an island of eternal summer.