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Published: February 24th 2009
Pure Philippines
An image I couldn't resistSo, there we were, sitting at a bar in Bangkok with one day left on our visa trying to decide whether to head east into Myanmar or west into Cambodia. Either choice was going to be a hassle involving a long bus ride on an awful road ending in a hectic border post and all the stress and general mayhem that ensues at such places. This all needed happen within 20 odd hours to avoid the dreaded "VISA OVERSTAY" stamp in our passports which, when going through immigration, is akin to having really bad credit when visiting loan office (although nowadays I'm sure we could get a bailout from Congress). We sat there deep in contemplation, even having dug out and dusted off the Lonely Planet from deep in the nether regions of my backpack where it has resided along with other condemned and useless parasites such as my pair of nice shoes (what was I thinking) and underwear (
I'm as freeee as a biiirrrd now...and this bird will never chaaaaange! (underwear again anyways)). Great...now I'll have Lynard Skynard in my head for days...the sacrifices one makes for mediocre blogging. Anyways (and by the way, Lee suggests I use the word
Sunset from Malapascua
An apt representation of our time on the islands of the Philippines. "anyways" too often and even goes so far as to say that it's improper English. Shakespeare seems like gibberish to me but he seemed to do alright. Apologies to any language buffs), I digress.
We had a decision to make, and as we sat there making it, Lee looks over at the travel agency next to us where the agent, or more likely one of her employees, is hanging a sign listing their last minute, must go, cheapest possible airfares. Why take a bus to anywhere when you can fly to the Philippines for the same price? If there was a good reason we couldn't think of it, so there we were, headed to the airport off to the Philippines. In truth, friends we made in Borneo had urged the Philippines upon us and this little twist of fate merely served to seal the deal. The decision Gods must have approved. The Philippines were awesome!!!
We landed in Manila late at night and shared a cab from the airport with an Aussie who thankfully knew his way around a bit...Manila can be intimidating at first to say the least. There were many first impressions, few of them positive.
Manila
Our first San Mig's at a great street restaurant that we found in Manila The city itself is huge, it's edgy, and it doesn't make you want to stop the cab and go waltzing down the avenues. It makes you want to lock the doors and ask to be rerouted to the nearest Hilton...this isn't a South East Asian city, this is a Central American one. It really did have a distinct Central
American feel to it, maybe not quite Managua or Tegucigalpa, but it sure felt a long, long way from Bangkok or Kuala Lumpur. The three most obvious reasons were Tagalog's (Philippine language) high correlation with Spanish, the heavy and overt Christian influence, and a reintroduction to the Honduran-like shotgun culture. All those chubby little Buddha's riding shotgun on the tuk tuk's dashboard having been replaced with the rosaries and crosses hanging from the Jeepney's rear view mirror. Far more importantly...where was all the street food??? Where's the Pad Thai? The red curry? The tom yam? Oh God, what have we done!!!!!!!
The morning brought sanity, as it usually does. We always say it takes daylight to get comfortable in a new city and Manila was no exception. We had a walk around our neighborhood (Malate), which according to the guide
Manila
The view from our guesthouse. You can see a modern background and a rather rundown reality everywhere else book is a revitalized and trendy new area. In truth it was nice enough, yet did leave us wondering what an "older, run down" area must be like. Any store housing anything of value, including 7/11, has an armed guard with a shotgun outside. Walls have barbed wire. Windows have bars. It reminded me of Johannesburg, where all the elements put in place to ensure your safety, paradoxically seem to make you feel less so. This is all perception of course. We were safe, the people were more than friendly, an invitation to a game of street basketball ever present (suckers never knew I had two career points back in junior high) and if bbq chicken, fish, or pork is your thing, there was good street food aplenty.
I think what really settled us down and reminded us not to judge a book by it's cover, a city by it's streets, or a person by how new his shoes are, was when we happened upon a local family watching TV on the street. There they were, from grandchild to great grandfather, in absolute tears-running-down-cheeks, laugh-out-loud HYSTERICS. Curious as to what could be causing such unbridled laughter, we strolled over
Ummm...Lee?
Lee asked if she could spend five bucks on books to replenish our supply...neglecting to say she found a book sale in the Manila shopping mall. Carrying these up a mountain was extra fun. for a peek, only to find them watching an old bugs bunny cartoon. Bugs Bunny! We got the giggles too; the infinite humor they found in watching Bugs smack Elmer Fudd with a carrot was infectious. There was, at times, genuine suspense, as if this was reality TV not a cartoon...bugs was in the cooking pot...could this finally be the end of bugs, everyone leaning forward...the tension was palpable. OH NO, surely he can't go out like that!!! Then out hops Bugs and smacks Elmer 50 yards through the air with a shovel....ERUPTION OF LAUGHTER...HAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHA...Bugs is back!!!. At this point Lee and I are in hysterics just watching them watching Bugs, and from that point forward Manila was ok and we knew we were amongst good people. No one enjoying a cartoon that much could have a bad bone in his body.
The other thing that really stood out about Manila was the distinct lack of tourists, so much so that firstly, people actually notice you, and secondly, no one is trying to sell you a souvenir. In Bangkok, there were so many tourists that at times there seemed to be a distinct lack of Thai's; you're as likely
Jeepney
Each one is personalized, there were some great ones! to find Swedish meatballs or hamburgers as Pad Thai. If you stitched together all the t-shirts on Khoasan road you would have a quilt big enough to cover the earth, or, if you folded it in half, Jared before he discovered Subway. Yikes, we were off the beaten track! Had we strayed beyond the South East Asian tourist route? You bet we had, and the ensuing three weeks turned out to be nothing short of incredible. (Don't worry Ma, we didn't flirt with danger once!)
Since we ended up in the Philippines pretty spur of the moment, we hadn't really the foggiest idea what to do once we arrived. We sent out some emails to friends we've made along the way who had visited the
Philippines and then went out to find a bar with some backpackers who might be finishing up the trip with some up to the minute info and advice. We didn't find that, but we happened to squeeze some info out of a few guesthouse owners. Generally, it was decided that the rice paddies up in Northern Luzon are not to be missed and, well, there are 7107 islands at low tide, many with great
Manila Jeepneys
The yellow cab of the philippines. A little intimidating at first but we got the hang of it diving...take your pick. Once you start to nose around you realize that you could spend years drifting around this country, and in another lifetime, I hope to do so.
Anyways, there we were on another overnight bus heading up to Batad and it's legendary rice terraces or "the amphitheater" as they're collectively known. Apparently, if there was to be an eighth wonder of
the world, Batad's terraces would be it. The bus trip was uneventful and it didn't take long to realize that we were headed toward an experience of a much simpler, older way of life. We arrived in Banaue in the morning, which besides being a tiny little hamlet nestled on the side of steep hills, serves as the end of the line for the few bus routes. From here, you check out the Jeepney schedule. A Jeepney is a staple Philippine mode of transport for the masses. It's basically a stretched out jeep seating anywhere from 16 comfortably to, lets say 40 or so if you use the roof. Check out the lead picture for clarity here. The jeepney schedule is as follows: when it's full it leaves. This could take an hour or half a
Banue
A quaint town in the hills of northern Luzon and the gateway to the famous rice paddies of Batad day, but most likely, we were told, by 2pm (it was 7am in the morning). If the jeepney schedule doesn't jive, you hop in a tricycle, another Philippine staple mode of transportation, basically consisting of a motorbike and a modified sidecar. These can handle, lets see...4 on the motorbike, 4 in the sidecar, 1 hanging off the back, 1 hanging off the front, and if you have an irresponsible driver and no bags, 1 on the roof, totaling 11. This is speculation and in truth I never saw a tricycle with more than 9 passengers, although there were several large bags of rice and 10 odd chickens involved.
We opted to hire a tricycle, which we had to ourselves, the driver and the driver's buddy, for the 12km trip to "the junction" which serves as the next end of the line. The trip was interesting, not only because we were hurtling along on muddy slick roads next to steep drop offs, but also because those muddy slick roads happened to pass through some really remote and beautiful terrain. At one point, as could be predicted, we became stuck in the mud. Our driver and his mate seemed quite used
Banue
More pics of the town. It was a little Peru-ish to this...no doubt they had a good solution to this jam. As it turns out they did. "Hold on," says the driver, whom, I might add, should probably have been attending 3rd grade not playing taxi driver. He then proceeded to gun it...fully. Driving a tricycle 'round the side of a mountain on three wheels is fun, doing it on two wheels as you pop the ultimate wheelie, spraying mud and spinning in circles is not...although our driver and his mate seemed to be having the time of their lives. Lee was in full panic mode! We became unstuck, straightened out, and 50 yards or so up the road the front wheel eventually regrounded with the grace of a landing Concord. We finally made it safely to "the junction," having decided that the 12km return trip would definitely not be too far of a walk! From the junction, it was a two hour walk with the backpacks (and Lee's new stash of books) up to the top of the mountain and a 45 minute walk down the other side to get to the little village of Batad. At this point I think any rational person is wondering what about a
Jeepney
One of these would be great for tailgates back home rice paddy could possibly warrant such a journey, I know we were.
Up the hill, over the peak, down the hill, 'round the corner and there it is. STUNNING! Batad is basically a tiny little village, probably one of the most quaint in the world surrounded by what is described as an amphitheater of rice terraces. It is the body of the peacock, the terraces the outstretched tail, and no less beautiful. Built by the Ifuago people over 2000 years ago, at an altitude 1500 meters and with steep slopes of up to 70 degrees, all maintained by a complex system of dams, sluices, channels and bamboo pipes that keep the whole complex of terraces adequately flooded and functional. The engineering complexity has been compared to the Pyramids, and although it is a World heritage site, many feel it warrants being a wonder of the world.
We found a spot to stay at Simon's Guesthouse for $6 a night overlooking the terraces and the village below. As it turns out there were only six tourists in the whole valley that night (you sign a register as you enter the region and the last two in know the count),
Banaue
when you've filled up the middle, throw em on top and everyone ended up at Simon's, probably due to the incredible views from the patio. There we sat, a Swede, an Israeli, 2 Canucks and us, with this spectacular place all to ourselves. Needless to say, six people in the same guesthouse, sharing a valley, with 50 cent San Miguel's, get to know each other quite quickly. As it turned out we ended up spending the duration of our time in the Philippines with Emil, the Swede. Now that I think about it, the first and last San Miguel we had in the Philippines was with Emil, and probably every one in between. I'd like to think we'll share many more together in time, it was great traveling with him (Emil if you read this, it's beer o' clock dude...your round). One truism we've learned along the way is that no matter where you go on this planet, a Swede has traveled there first!
We basically spent the next four days exploring the region around Batad. Follow that path for two hours and you get to the next village, there's a guest house if you want to stay the night or else walk back. Follow that path and you
Tricycle traffic
on the way from Banaue to Batad. The tricycle was able to take us halfway, but we would have to hike the rest. eventually get to the waterfall. Follow that path and who knows...it doesn't really matter... just go and feel what it's like to be truly detached from everything and everyone, in the middle of nature, in the middle of nowhere...it's the ultimate antidote. When not trekking around we'd sit upon our patio, usually with a cold San Miguel in hand and watch the villagers working the terraces, which may seem boring, but was quite the opposite. We had just missed the harvest by a week, so instead of a vista of endless terraces of bright green rice we looked down upon brown terraces been replanted, cleaned out, rewired and repaired. It looks like a lot of hard work and the scale is so big that to really follow along would take binoculars. Simon, the owner of our guest house informed us at breakfast one morning that the tiny little village set amongst the vastness of those terraces can't actually produce enough rice to support itself, and about 8 months into the year they're out of rice. We found this fascinating; I still do. As it turns out, the terraces aren't "worked as a village," but rather each of the paddies within
Hiking up to Batad
It was a decent walk to the top and a little tricky down the other side...and of course, those books!! the terraces are individually owned, and "worked as a family" This information, San Miguel's, socialist Scandinavians, capitalist North Americans, and an Israeli, all with nothing better to do, led to some genuinely interesting conversations. "If they worked the terraces together the increased efficiency would produce enough rice "...wait a second, who brought the communist!!!...anyways, you get the picture, soapboxes everywhere.
Personally, and without trying to be funny (which is hard for me), I wonder why they don't explore a more productive specie of rice. The rice they do produce is organic by default because fertilizer costs are high, but the industrialized world can breed rice for a huge range of environments these days. It truly may be that simple, but 2000 years of tradition, or possibly non exposure to such expertise, prevents it. An incredible percentage of African land is ideal for rice production but a wheat/corn based history still leads to the cycles of famine and starvation that has become synonymous with it. Nothing is simplistic until you know about it, even the world not being flat.
Memories of Batad will also bring food to mind. Our little guest house had a little kitchen where they would
Batad
This sign was a welcome relief for all in need of a sweet potato??? make food to order. It was pretty much a crap shoot, be we figured out that the pizza (which was not pizza at all, but was in fact tasty) and the pita (which differed from the pizza in a manner that still eludes me) were the way to go. It got repetitive, but hey, we had steamed white rice to spice things up if it got a bit boring...and banana ketchup...seriously. After a couple of days of this I asked if I could try the chicken. "Of course," says the chef. Into the "kitchen" she goes, out the side door goes her son with a big knife and a chicken under his arm. Before I put two and two together we found out what the saying "running around like a chicken without a head" really means. I was subsequently served a delicious, and very fresh, leg and thigh of chicken. The next day someone else ordered the chicken and received what must have been its other leg (24 hours less fresh mind you!)...so, of course, the debate began...if someone orders the chicken tonight, and requests a leg, do they say "sorry, breast only" or kill another chicken. This is the
Batad
Simon's Guesthouse. we were 2 of 6 tourists in the valley. A nice break from Thailand stuff you think about when you spend three days watching rice grow. Before the experiment could be put to test, we noticed that there was also pork on the menu. Coincidentally, our little guesthouse had its own little pigsty...with its own cute little piglets. Screw the chicken experiment, let's see what happens when you order the pork! Thankfully, especially for the piglets, clearer heads prevailed, and a pack of cards turned our attention to more humane methods of passing time.
After our fill of mountain air it was time to go get some sun again and hopefully sample some the Philippines legendary dive sites. The problem, if you can call it a problem, is getting around all of these
islands takes time. Part of the great Philippine charm is that it still goes along at it's own speed. A inter island boat may only go once a week and the journey can be anywhere from 10 to 30 hours. When you only have two weeks this means you really have to pick and choose. Our original plan was to go diving in Coron, widely considered the best wreck diving in the world as an entire fleet was sunk in
Batad
The guesthouse dog who never had a name but loved a good scratch under the chin shallow waters during WWII. From there, we would head down the to the unexplored island of Palawan, where one finds beaches of astounding beauty and a coastline to match. One of them, it is rumored, was the actual inspiration for the book
The Beach, which the author set in Thailand, hence diverting the masses away from this still pristine slice of heaven. Whether this was intentional or not, it certainly was fortunate. I don't know why I'm going into all this because we opted to go elsewhere. I guess my point was the remoteness and slow pace of the Philippines meant that two weeks was not enough time to cover these distances which could probably be done over a long weekend back home. If I'm not clear, this is not a bad thing, it's magical.
So what did we do you're asking? We hopped a cheap flight to Cebu, a rather central island and headed north over bumpy roads, through rustic villages, seemingly creeping slowly back through time with each
passing mile. Once we reached the little town of Hagnaya, we reunited with Emil, who had a later flight, and caught the ferry over to the remote little island
The boys
A Swede, 2 Finns, an Isreali and us...with all of Batad to ourselves for a few days. We ended up traveling with Emil for the duration of our stay in the Philippines of Bantayan. Here we found a little spot on a
gorgeous beach, which we pretty much had to ourselves. It had all the ingredients of a paradise, our version anyway. Great beach, great ocean, tons of palm trees, pretty much no one else around, and the
cherry on top...a floating bar moored about 50 yards offshore. I think the pictures will do it more justice than my drivel so check 'em out.
Bantayan is pretty much a fishing island with three little towns and so few tourists that you can really melt into the local way of life. There is a bank on the island, unfortunately 12km away from the town of Santa Fe, where we were staying, which required me to strap the running shoes one day and go test my fitness. It was an interesting run, and if I haven't mentioned this yet, proved that little Filipino children are some of the most adorable and friendly in the world. As I would run along, they would see me coming and sprint out of their little homesteads together (there's safety in numbers when you're four years old) to try catch up and score a highly sought after "high
Batad
Overlooking the "ampitheatre", a pretty relaxing place to be. five." It was if someone had posed a mighty dare to them. Of course they caught up. At this point snails were passing me, offering encouragement and muttering something about laying off the street food. The kids would get their high five, at which point they would run back squealing in delight and more often than not end up in a wrestling pile of laughing bodies next to the road. A foreigner running down the road was big news in these parts. To get a high five from one was apparently the coolest thing on earth. It was a stark and contrast to Manila, where kids the same age approach you, with much less enthusiasm, and ask not for a high five, but for five pesos.
We spent a lazy five days on the island, pretty much sitting in our beach huts, observing the world and putting the family that ran the places' kids through school one San Miguel at a time. We did some reading, got some exercise, acquainted ourselves with the tiny community of expats that had discovered the place and decided to call it home (mostly on the floating bar which serves as a de facto
The world's best pig sty
our guesthouse had a pigsty. we would joke that these pigs surely have the best view in the world UN). But all good things must come to an end.
We were planning on going over to Malapascua island where the odds of seeing thresher sharks on a dive was rated at over 70%, and the island itself was said to be not a bad place to spend some time, thresher sharks or not. When we showed up to catch the 5am ferry back to Cebu city, which we would have to cross to catch the ferry to Malapascua, we were informed that the coast guard had grounded the ferries because of the Typhoon. TYPHOON!
I suppose a disadvantage of being off the beaten track is that news travels slowly. "Not to worry," we were told, "the ferries will be up and running in the next few days, and it doesn't look as bad as the
last typhoon." "Ummm...what last typhoon," I asked. "The one last year that wiped out the island..." Two things happened at this point as we sat there on the docks pondering our immediate future. First, a host of the fisherman who tend to frequent the docks, smelling opportunity to earn six months worth of fishing income in a few hours, took turns trying
Batad
The little town of Batad nestled amongst spectacular rice paddies. The engineering is up there with the pyramids. to persuade us that although the Coast Guard thought it unsafe to allow a fifty foot passenger ferry to make the crossing, taking the three of us and our backpacks into their two man "pump boats" was really a very safe way to travel. And for the privilege of such safe passage they would only charge us each ten times the ferry ticket. It took a few heated words and possibly a few expletives to get the message across that there was no way in hell they were going to convince us to gey anywhere near their little deathtraps. We later heard that three Swedes gave it a shot only to beg the driver to turn back half an hour into the journey. Heroes we are not!
The second thing that happened was that we were approached by a young couple, both ministers, also at the dock trying to catch the ferry, who offered their home to us for the duration of the storm. If I'm honest here I'll admit that we were, at first, both skeptical about the offer (you get pretty scam-weary along the way), and not thrilled about the possibility of being on the receiving end
Batad
It must be one of the most quaint villages in the world. The rice had just been harvested, usually it's surrounded by green. of spontaneous sermons if the offer was, in fact, genuine. The three of us uncomfortably danced around the invitation for a while until we eventually relented, figuring if all of a sudden there was a hidden cost involved or any signs of a foreigner sized cage, we would hit the bricks and take our chances with the typhoon...
Here, I must make a confession. In fact, I shall take my soapbox, turn it upside down, bury it in the ground and step down into it. Back in the remoteness of Borneo, completely out of reading material, we stumbled upon two random books at the place we were staying. A French version of Don Quixote and a Bible. There were many hours to kill and very few things to do. After running, repacking, doing jumping jacks, sewing buttons back on, repairing backpacks, chasing mosquitoes, counting petals, contemplating the big bang...you name it...there was absolutely nothing left but
Don Quixote and the Bible. So, after ten long difficult and nonsensical chapters of
Don Quixote (I can't read or speak a lick of French), I finally relented and picked up the good book and reintroduced myself to the Gospels (I was force
Rice
Some of the paddies were being replanted. They are individually owned so it's up to the owners to decide when to plant fed them back in primary school). They make interesting reading. I mean, the message seems pretty clear...spend your life doing right by others, give of yourself what you have to others less fortunate, if you accumulate wealth a camel has a better shot at jumping through the eye of a needle than you'll have of going to heaven, etc, etc. It's a great, pure, simple message, and if all you have to do to experience eternal bliss is to follow the guidelines for a measly seventy-odd years, its seems like a no brainer. Eternity is a long time, and bliss is blissful, it seems like a miniscule price to pay. Now, if my soapbox wasn't buried as it currently is, we could talk about how rich the Church is and how many hungry kids there are and what the Gospels would say about that. We could debate whether those people pulling their BMW's into the church parking lot on Sundays have either never read the Gospels or simply just don't comprehend the message. Like I said, thankfully the soapbox is buried.
Ok, so back to my point, For the first time in my life I met two people who
Rice terraces
A truely remarkable feat of engineering. Keep in mind they're thousands of years old. truly lived as the Gospels suggested those who follow Jesus should. If you asked the proverbial "What would Jesus do?" question, you would probably find them doing or having done it. We were welcomed into their house for as long as the storm persisted. We shared their house with students whom they care for (I'm not sure of the relationships), who in turn insisted on giving us their beds while they took to the couch or floor. The couple spent their time island hopping to feed hungry children with whatever income they generate. They are well educated, and truly delightful people to be around. Every time I go an a rant and Lee tells me "that's not what true Christianity is really about" I can honestly say that now I get. You still won't find me in church on Sunday, but I do have a new, true, and genuine respect for those people that believe enough in the message to live their lives accordingly. Maybe there are just too many hypocrites in the world.
How does one repay such generosity? In this case , Lee, Emil and I went out for dinner and a beers and woke 'em all
Our view
Not a bad view to wake up to...and look in the background, that's not a bad view either. up at midnight when we got home. Shameless indeed. While we were out, we ran into a
gathering of what must have been every stranded tourist on the island, all fifteen or so of us. Rumors abounded. Uffe, an elder Swedish gentleman, and the life of whatever party he's at, apparently had seen
on BBC that all flights and ferries had been cancelled until Monday afternoon at the earliest (it's Friday night now). This resulted in a few problems, not the least of which was we were collectively running out of money, as had the island's only bank. Another issue was if we were stranded for another 3 days it wouldn't really make much sense to try and attempt to get to another island so we'd miss out on our diving, which is why we came in the first place. Looking back now, I don't think the fact that there was a typhoon barreling down upon us even entered the equation.
To (belatedly) make a long story short, when we woke the next morning to start sniffing around the island for a place that took credit cards (we simply couldn't let kids sleep on the floor so we could
have their
beds) we were informed that the storm had passed and the ferries were running. It was later determined that old Uffe spins a bit of a yarn after a few of his beloved Jagermeisters and isn't beyond making up a
story or two to keep people around for a bit longer than need be, especially if some are his countrymen, as Emil was. I'm sure at least a few people hung around until Monday unsuspecting.
We did the ferry, bus, tricycle shuffle to the little town of Maya where we would catch a boat to Malapascua. We arrived just after the ferry had left but were lucky enough to catch a ride on a fishing boat
that was running a load of supplies over. It was a quick, smooth thirty minute ride, and the fact that our boat had to get towed half way never seemed to be an issue. Such are the Philippines, things break, things get fixed, one way or the other, things just get done.
Malapascua was just as amazing as Bantayan. It was slightly more developed, but still very relaxed and other than a few hundred yards or so of beachfront resorts
Walking to the Waterfall
If you're a hiker this is the place to be. A very peaceful, scenic place (dive shops with lodging), it's pretty much an island of fisherman, unchanged by time. You'll see the occasional TV, and the island gets electricity between 6pm and midnight, but other than that, it is a simple life. We spent a few nights in a nice room on the beach (with a twenty-four hour generator, very fancy for us), then moved into the middle of the island where we found the "Hideaway Resort," which consisted of one little hut on a nice little piece of land, surrounded by the homesteads of the villagers who seemed amused to have the foreigners living amongst them. Next to our hut was the little "Kiwi Restaurant," fully adorned with a New Zealand All Blacks rugby jersey (who knows?). The couple who ran the place (sister to the Hideaway Resort owners), and served as chefs, made us great Filipino meals and even let me cover the All Black jersey with my Springbok jersey to save me the indignity of having to dine beneath the Silver Fern (silly rugby references for those who don't know).
The primary reason tourists make the trip is that it's one of the few places you can be reasonably assured of
Young rice
a close up of one of the paddies seeing thresher sharks if you choose to dive, which of course, is what we did. At 4:30 in the morning we were awoken by the alarm on Emil's borrowed phone (Lee had traded her old Timex for a string of pearls the day before), and took a walk under an amazing array of stars, through the sleeping village, and up the beach to the dive shop. After getting kitted up, we were soon underway, headed to the dive site full of anticipation. On the way we were treated to a sunrise that would have made the trip worthwhile by itself. Upon arrival we got the rundown from the dive master: hop in, descend quickly (25 meters) and try to stay within a meter of the bottom. This we were told is to avoid competing for space with the threshers who like to swim two meters from the bottom. I think I buried myself! Sure enough, there they were. Incredible creatures; what a rush! We saw five thresher sharks in all, along with some lionfish, stonefish, moray eels, and rather ordinary corals. All in all it was certainly well worth the trip.
The night after our dive we were informed
Terraces
looking down the terraces about the "disco." Everywhere we went someone would ask if you were going to the disco tonight. I'm not one for discos, but once you've experienced the Filipino zest for anything involving music, dancing, or karaoke, you understand that a disco in the middle of a village, in the middle of an island, in the middle of the Visayan sea is not something to be missed. What a blast! If it takes a village to raise a child, it takes the village children to make a disco. Forgetting for the moment that 10 year olds should be in bed at midnight instead of dancing circles around the likes of me, the sheer joy they exhibited and the seriousness with which they took themselves will be a memory that makes us smile for quite a while. For the adults, it was a time for a few beers, catching up with mates, and strengthening the community bonds that must be necessary if everyone has to coexist on a little island in the middle of nowhere.
Our three weeks in the Philippines went way to fast. I think we both agree that coming here was the best decision of the trip so
Terraces
you don't appreciate the scale until you climb down into them far and I still wonder why there aren't more tourists doing the rounds. It's certainly one of the first places I'd go back to. Traveling with Emil was great as well, a free spirit in the truest sense of the word and a great person to be around...I think we miss him 😊 We'll be hoping our paths cross again before too long, and I'm sure they will.
Countries are either blessed with beauty or they're not, much like us humans. The Philippines got lucky, they have it in abundance, but it's the Filipino people that are it's biggest assets. The 7107 islands have
a combined coastline of 22549 miles, and I'd be willing to bet that the combined smiles of its people may stretch a little farther (don't do the math). It seems like just yesterday when we made our first lonely, nervous steps out into the streets on Manila. In hindsight our apprehension seems silly, and now we know better. I guess that's the point of it all. Next stop is northern Thailand, then on to Laos and beyond.
We'll catch you then,
Cheers
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Marc
non-member comment
Fantastic blog
And you should definitely head back, 7000 islands are waiting for you to discover. Great blog, fantastic pictures!