Category: Philippines 2015

Wednesday, January 7th. 

We arrive in Manilla at 10:45 A.M, clear immigration and retrieve our bags easily.  I see Art’s brother Joe waiting for us outside of the terminal but I don’t want to exit until I have changed money. I wait in line at a non-working A.T.M; eventually admit defeat and exit without pesos. Joe has arranged for a 6 passenger van for our 10 hour drive to Banaue. The van and driver are waiting elsewhere and when I exit, Joe welcomes me and calls for the van. “Marky” is waiting in the van, is 19, slight, handsome and soft spoken. We connected with Mark Anthony about 12 years ago, through Childreach or Plan, when he was assigned to us as a foster child. English is spoken in the Philippines and he (with the help of his mother and the plan sponsors) would write laborious letters and send photos several times each year. Because our son John is of similar in age, it was easy to identify and to connect with him but at 18 years old, children “time out” of the program. Thanks to Facebook, Mark Anthony contacted me and we have communicated sporadically over the past two years. We have now invited Marky to be our guest on a three night trip to Banaue, a Unesco heritage site in the mountain provence of Luzon and meet him face to face for the first time.

Our van is spacious enough but is lacking several seat belts which to me is of considerable concern, but at least some of us are belted in. John and Marky sit together in the rear seats and we begin our long drive towards Banaue through the noon traffic of Manila, clogged and barely moving. Long, ornately decorated Jeepneys, (Manila’s style of a mini-bus with two long bench seats along the inside and rear ladders and roof racks for extra passengers and for baggage,)  and trikes, (three wheeled vehicles, powered by a motorcycle and with a passenger side car adequate to carry 2-3 passengers, sardine style,) slip in and out of traffic. Scooters, often carrying 4 family members, children sandwiched in between adults and usually without helmets, add to the chaos and congestion.  It is amazing that we don’t hear the crunch of metal regularly. It takes us two hours to work our way out of Manila and we use this time to get to know Marky. We ask him about his work, his family, his education and his goals for the future.  He is the oldest of 5 children. He has 4 sisters, 15yrs, 13 yrs, 9 yrs and 6 yrs. His 15 year old sister is in 8th grade in Manila and lives with their aunt and uncle. Marky finished high school and has completed one year of university where he studied marine engineering.  He would like to be able to finish his studies at the university but rather than being a marine mechanic, he aspires to be a neurosurgeon. He now works full time to help pay for his sisters high school and to provide for his mother and his younger sisters back home in Samar.  Marky is a sales assistant for a Japanese clothing shop in Quetzon City, (a suburb of Manila) and makes a little over the minimum wage which is about $10.00 a day. He works 6 x 12 hour days at his job and shares a room with a friend who works at the same company. He is still on probation but they gave him this week off for vacation and he expects to be a regular employee soon. 

At 2:30 we stop for lunch at a Jollibee fast food restaurant. John and Marky pose beside the Jollibee mascot and I take photos.  (Art passes Marky a little spending money so that he won’t be stressed about personal expenses and at the same time tells him that he is our guest on this trip.) I am not impressed by the Jollibee experience but Joe tells us they are everywhere in the Philippines. Joe, John and I order spaghetti with a red meat sauce with a few chunks of hot dog mixed into the oddly sweet sauce.  Art orders a hamburger and Marky has fried chicken.  

The drive to Banaue is 10 hours and we still have 8 hours to go. Once outside of Manila we speed along  a new freeway above delicious green rice fields, lush vegetation, banana trees and palm trees. The countryside is flat except for Mount Arayae that rises above the rice fields in the distance.  About 8:00 P.M. we stop at a simple rest stop for dinner. The food is unappealing; uncovered cold pans of unidentifiable stir fry and the rotisserie chicken, that looks promising, won’t be ready for 30 minutes. We order simple bowls of noodle and vegetable soup which are at least hot and continue driving another two hours onto Banaue.

We arrive in Banaue at 10:30 P.M. Art and I have a room at the Banaue Hotel on the outskirts of town, a large sprawling tourist hotel that has seen finer days, and the boys; (Joe, John and Marky) have a triple room at the Greenview Lodge, a backpackers lodge, in the heart of town. (Apparently there were no triple rooms available at the Banaue Hotel.)  We part ways and after much needed showers, Art and I fall into bed exhausted. (Our hotels are a 15 minute walk , or 5 minute trike ride, from each other.)

Thursday, January 8th  Batad Rice Terraces

Our rambling Banaue Hotel, a 15 minute walk from the town center, is cold, dark and cavernous but we have slept well and are hungry for breakfast. The warming trays of scrambled eggs and mystery stir fry dishes are unappealing to me, but the brewed coffee is a welcome relief  from the instant coffee we’ve had during most of this trip.  Our driver picks us up at 8:00 A.M. to shuttle us to the Greenview Lodge where we meet up with Joe, John and Marky. Their rooms are extremely sparse and drafty and John tells me that he froze during the night with just one thin blanket, but their hotel has more charm than ours and is in the center of town. 

We climb into our private jeepney for the 45 minute drive to the departure point for our hike down the rice terraces of Batad. There are two long bench seats along either side of the vehicle and support bars overhead to hang onto when the going gets bumpy. The cliff road is under construction and we jostle along the narrow road as workers dynamite the hillside. I am a little worried that an avalanche of rocks will cascade down and crush us but I have obviously survived to write this account. We stop frequently to take photos of the jaw dropping vistas of rice terraces below and the verdant green mountains beyond. We are at 5,000 feet and mist hangs in the saddles between the mountains. As the morning warms, John and Marky climb on top of the jeepney, holding onto the luggage rails for the ride to the end of the road. It is common for overloaded jeepneys to pile both baggage and passengers upon their roofs, but I am anxious that an unexpected stop or bump in the road might send my boys flying.  

We leave our jeepney at the end of the road and I give myself a silent pep talk as I stare down into the steep valley below and begin our trek down the to Bataad Village, hundreds of feet below. Sometime later this afternoon, I will need to climb back up to this saddle point to meet our jeepney for the return.  The cliff road ahead is still under construction and we begin our hike down along it, sidestepping piles of rocks, gravel and road working machinery and soon veer off to hike down a lush jungle path. There are occasional breaks in the foliage where we have glimpses of the rice terraces below but with each step down, I worry about how I will manage to climb back up. The flooded rice terraces are silvery reflections in the overcast morning with occasional patches of green where the starter shoots are growing. The pathway is steep and varied, alternating from dirt to chiseled stone steps cut into the hillside. 

Art, Joe, John and Marky, Batad Rice Terrace View

Half way down there is a tiny village, clinging to the hillside and we register our names and pay the Heritage fee. There are two simple restaurants, several home-stay guest houses and a village school. Our guide instructs us to order our lunch now so it will be ready on our return hike from the Tappiyah Waterfall, sill far below us in the valley.

We continue our climb down and enter the labyrinth of terraced rice paddies. We walk along the narrow dikes, a narrow stone pathway framing the edges of the flooded rice fields, stepping carefully upon the uneven stones, set deep in the mud. We pass a few tourists returning from the falls and I ask how difficult the final climb is down to the waterfall? If given time, I am quite sure I can make it both down and back up, but I do not want to be the one to slow up our group so I opt to return to the village above and wait for the “boys” at the restaurant.

John trekking the Batad Rice Terrace Dikes

Batad Rice Terrace Dikes

Marty hiking the Batad rice terraces

Children along the path

Children of Batad

Upper Batad Village

Beer at a Batad Village Cafe

Hillside Inn, Batad

Lunch after the hike, Art and Marky

Return hike along the road

Hunter’s Backpacks

Banaue City Trikes

Marky shopping in Banaue

We assume that finding a trike to take us back into town will be easy but it isn’t and we end up walking the 20 minutes back into town. We meet Joe, Art, John and Marky at the Greenview Lodge for diner. John has just downloaded his grades online and tells us that he has all A’s so we are in celebratory moods; order a bottle of reasonably good Chilean red wine for $750 pesos, about $18 and toast to his success. (Joe points out that one of John’s A’s is an A-)

John, straight A celebration

Joe and Marky Greenview Lodge, Banaue

Friday, January 9th

Trek to the Hungduan Rice Terraces.  

Hungduan Rice Terrace Vista

Art riding inside the Jeepney

Vista stops on the road to Hungduan

John and Marky on top of the Jeepney

Hungduan Rice Terrace Sign

Papa and Son

The trek down is not as strenuous as yesterday’s and is mostly along the narrow, meandering, stone dikes framing the rice terraces. The uneven stone pathways vary  between 12” – 18” wide and are slippery with mud so I must pay close attention to my footing and balance. We hike down, edging along the terraces for an hour before the rain begins in ernest; cross over a bridge footpath in the valley and begin our ascent on the other side.

Walking along the rice terrace dikes

Stepping stones along the dikes

Planting Rice, Hungduan

Hungduan Rice Terraces in the rain

Hungduan Rice Terrace Vista

Everything is deliciously green, slick and lush and I am chilled when we arrive at the Guihob hot springs and  we all look forward to slipping into the warm sulphur water. When we arrive, we sign a simple guest book and our guide pays the modest fee (included in our “tour.”)

Sulphur turns my ring black

Guihob Hot Springs

Frigid river beside the hot springs

Guihob Hot Springs

My swimsuit is underneath my clothes and I slip out of my damp jeans and stow my gear under wooden benches protected from the drizzle by an open round tin roof shelter. The natural hot spring is dammed and a half dozen other bathers soak in the clear hot pool. The frigid river is diverted and rushes along side the hot springs compound. I am wearing my silver Mavericks Wave ring and I notice it has immediately turned black from the sulphur. We soak and visit with the other bathers for 30 minutes before drying off and eating our meager lunch under the shelter of a picnic area. My egg and cheese sandwich is pasty and cold but I chew it dutifully, knowing that I will need the energy in order to ascend to our jeepney high up on the cliff road beyond.

Mossy stepping stones

Stone stairway to Hungduan

We arrive back in Banaue mid afternoon and treat ourselves to afternoon coffees and hot chocolates at a local café. There are no Starbucks here and no other patrons in the cafe which is dark when we enter. The waitress turns on the lights and a small T.V. glows from a corner of the ceiling.  A science fiction movie is showing that is of some interest to John, Marky and Art and just like back home, we check our phones for wifi. There is a bakery next door and Art steps out to buy pastries and returns with the uninspired sweets. Although this gloomy cafe is a far cry from the trendy cafes back home, I feel an overwhelming contentment, sipping the warm drinks and nibbling on odd pastries in this remote mountain town with my extended family. Late afternoon, Art and I hire a trike to take us back to our hotel to shower, rest and write. We ask our driver to pick us up at 6:15 for the return ride back to town.

Chess Game, Banaue

Banaue City

Banaue City Cafe

Video Game Arcade, Banaue

Our trike is waiting for us at the appointed time to take us into the town meet our family at the Las Vegas restaurant, just across from the Greenview Guesthouse.  I have come to expect little from the food but surprisingly this meal is reasonably good. John and I are trying to be vegetarian, but tonight, following Marky’s lead, I choose a saucy chicken dish and we order a bottle of wine for $400 pesos ($9) that tastes rather like a fruity “Thunderbird.” 

Marky, Karaoke Bar

Not ready to call it a night, we walk up the street to a Karaoke Bar. The bar is on the second story of a rickety wooden building with a plank floor and wood shutters thrown open wide. The mountain air is cold and damp and Art who is looking forward to a real drink is disappointed that the bar serves only beer.  We order beers and Marky shows us how to operated the karaoke machine and soon Marky, John and Art are singing away. Joe and I are more timid but I eventually decide to try my skills at “On The Road Again,” and completely humiliate myself. An hour later, the boys walk back to their lodge and Art and I take a tricycle back to our hotel.

Saturday, January 10th. Bangaan Village. Heritage village.

We wake early, check out of our hotel and are finished breakfast by 6:45. I have still not purchased a Hunter’s Backpack and I walk to the gift shop to buy the small rattan hunters back pack that I examined last night but it has been sold. I am very disappointed and don’t want to leave Banaue without one. Having shopped and compared in the village,  the two at our hotel were/are the best. I tell the sales girl that I was prepared to spend $3500 pesos for the one that was sold but not $5500 for the larger one. She offers the large one to me for $4500 but the owner is not here and she is not authorized to discount it further. Just as I am exiting the lobby, the owner comes running after me and offers me the large one for $3500. ($45) I am still disappointed because I would have preferred the smaller one, that got away, which was beautifully woven and designed for a women with a closing cover. I quickly pay the $3500 and exit the hotel with my purchase. 

We meet the boys at their guest house for our morning tour of Bangaan Village.  We drive the muddy cliff hanging road, clogged with heavy road work machinery and with jeepneys trying to pass each other on the narrow mud slick road. Our jeepney has isinglass windows that diminish the view yet not the morning chill. The mountains are shrouded in fog and we stop at several view points for the required photos and John and Marky climb on top of our jeepney for the final leg of the drive to Bangaan.  

This is my third day of rice terrace trekking and I feel somewhat conditioned and I appraise the trek down to the village in the valley below as an easy one. The initial part of the trail is steep and there are countless stone steps to descend. Once down the steepest section we descend more slowly, walking carefully along the narrow dikes dividing the terraces. The raised dike pathways are between 18” – 24” wide with irregular rock stepping stones imbedded in the mud. A few of the rice fields are lush and green with sprouting rice shoots and women, knee deep in mud, separate these brilliant green shoots and replant them with optimal spacing in the empty fields.  There are just a few women planting and I take particular notice of a girl of about 13, wearing ear buds who thrusts the shoots deep into the thick grey mud.

At the bottom of this steep valley is Bangaan village, a UNESCO heritage site and the villagers are subsidized by the government to keep the old traditions.  Children scamper nimbly along the dikes, peeking shyly at us and a village woman shows us how to pound and husk the rice. There are a few souvenir  trinkets to buy and John and I argue who will buy  the one wooden lizard box. We are the only tourists and we wander the authentic village where pigs, chickens and one proud rooster wander. Three old and bent women walk by, presumably walking the steep terraces to the road above and I marvel that they are able to make the climb.

I take my time climbing the pathway and many steps up to the road and the return climb seems relatively easy.

It is 11:00 A.M. when we leave Banaue for our 10 hour drive back to Manila. Two hours into our drive we stop at a McDonnalds in Solano for lunch. John is sticking to a strict vegetarian diet and orders macaroni and cheese and French fries; a carb and trans-fat meal.  I regretfully have the same, thinking how displeased Stephanie would be with my choice but I am unwilling to complicate travel by bringing food alternatives from home.

I withdraw $20,000 pesos at the ATM and we are on the road again. We pass the time talking. John talks about the electron double slit experiment and uses his phone to write an analogy between this experiment and proving the existence of God and how observation can change the outcome. The conversation shifts to Mizuho and the Mishima family history. Their eldest brother, Mizuho, who passed away 8 years ago, was a Green Beret in the Special Forces and flew 26 missions in Viet Nam. It is fascinating listing to the two brother’s memories of their childhood on Okinawa. The subject shifts to John’s beliefs and John tells us that he feels that he would have been a good fit for the military;  a good and disciplined leader but that he doesn’t believe in what the U.S. is doing overseas and that he would not want to kill people.  Art talks about Japanese history…..John more about our environment, species going extinct…etc. 

Joe’s ex fiancé lives in Angeles about three hours outside of Manila. Joe has been texting her and the plan is to meet her briefly tonight. Our driver misses the turn for Angeles and I am not clear why we don’t turn back but Joe is quiet and withdrawn for the remainder of our drive. We drop Marky off at a bus terminal in Quezon City, a suburb of Manila. We say awkward good byes’ by the side of the road. The Sunday night traffic is light for Manila and we are soon pulling up in front of our Manila Crown Plaza Hotel. (Do not be fooled by the regal name; this hotel wears a very tarnished crown.)  Art’s and my room has a king bed and all the expected amenities, but the paint has formed cancerous bubbles above the air conditioner and the smoke detector will later cause us sleep deprivation.

It is 8:30 P.M. when we step out onto the streets of Manila to find dinner. We are exhausted and want to choose a restaurant quickly. There are several sushi  restaurants on either side of our “Royal” hotel and various female hawkers try to persuade us to enter their restaurants. One woman sidles up to John and asks him what he is looking for; would he like her? Another hawker asks John if he wants to go to a K.T.V; (Karaoke, T.V. and Video?)  We do our best to sidestep these aggressive hawkers and quickly choose a busy, smoke filled Japanese restaurant. Art and Joe order beef and vegetable rice bowls but as vegetarians, it is more challenging for John and me. I order a spring onion omelet and stir fry vegetables and John orders a croquette and rice. The vegetables are delicious and we order a second serving and wash our meals down with St. Miguel beers.

Japanese Restaurant, Manilla

Sunday, January 11th, Manila to Palawan Island.

At 3:45 A.M we are shaken awake by an earthquake and our hotel sways noticeably. I jump out of bed expecting aftershocks and wonder where the safest place in this not up to building code hotel might be?  I slip on clothes, use the bathroom and locate my purse should we need to evacuate.  I worry about John and Joe on the floor above but there are no aftershocks and I drift back to sleep for 45 minutes until our alarm sounds at 4:30 for our morning wake up. While Art showers, I check my phone to find out the magnitude of the earthquake. It was a 6.2 ; 85 miles west of Manila and 10 miles deep. There is no significant damage and there are no reported casualties. Because of the earthquake, the elevator is out of commission and I start to carry my bag downstairs but a bell hop (or elevator repair man?) appears from nowhere to carry it down two flights to the lobby. Joe and John appear momentarily and we catch a taxi to the airport.

There is little early morning traffic and the ride to the airport takes just 30 minutes. We check our bags and search for breakfast and fueled with coffee, we go through security and proceed to our gate. My rattan back pack gets a lot of attention from the x-ray technicians and passengers alike and I am able to slip my jacket, my computer and my extra shoes in the back.  I sleep the hour and a half plane flight to Palawan. 

It is a six hour drive to El Nido and the two lane road takes us past small villages of houses built of bamboo, corrugated tin and cinderblock.  Woman, children and animals walk and loiter along the side of the road. Men ride scooters and (water buffalo) and trikes zip along beside us. The countryside is lush and green; a patchwork of rice paddies, banana trees, coconut palms and bamboo. We have glimpses of the ocean, a steely blue in the distance and we cross over a wide jungle river where longboats float idly at the water’s edge.  

We arrive in El Nido around 3:00 P.M. and check into Silla Del Vincejos hotel on the main tourist street. Joe has stayed here before and although our hotel isn’t on the beach, it is in the heart of town and just a 5 minute walk to the beach strip of restaurants and bars.  There are about 20 rooms in this clean and family run hotel.  The rooms are simply furnished but the management is trying and a pair of swan folded towels form a heart on the king sized bed in our room; the air conditioner works and there is hot water.

Ten minutes after checking in we are walking the shop lined street towards the ocean. Beach front restaurants line the shore, all with tables set in the sand and sandwich boards advertising their happy hour specials. John wants to sit and enjoy a beer in this beautiful bay, fringed with jagged black limestone cliffs and dramatic “Jurassic” islands jutting up from the sea.  It is 3:50 P.M. and happy hour starts at 5:00 P.M  I procrastinate drinks on the sand and suggest that we walk the pathway around the island and see what might be around the next corner? This area isn’t as touristy and there are guest houses interspersed with village houses. Joe knows a Japanese, American women who owns a guest house and we walk to her inn and find her in the courtyard. She is about 70, slight and genky and greets Joe warmly. They banter as old friends about gardening, Koi ponds and her apparently failing husband who repeatedly reads the same book over and over.

We return to the tourist strip of beach front restaurants and choose one at the far end for happy hour.  Joe orders a banana smoothie which proves to be more expensive than the gin and tonics. We move to the restaurant next door where they have happy hour margaritas and appetizers. The margaritas are good and strong and the fried mushrooms are delicious. I leave the restaurant feeling a bit tipsy as we move down the beach to choose a restaurant for dinner.  We choose on on the sand and our dinners are all pretty awful, but in spite of this we have a good time. We make our way back to our hotel along the side streets, past tourist shops, tiny massage parlor, nail salons, tattoo parlors and bars.

Monday, January 12th, El Nido Island Hopping.

The morning is bright and beautiful and breakfast is on the open air rooftop terrace of our hotel.  Disappointedly, the morning coffee is again Nescafe 3 in 1, mixed with hot water and we wait a long time for our toast and fried egg but the hotels wi-fi is working and I check and send e-mail.  Frank Murphy has contacted us with a potential buyer for our Lincoln Street house and Art responds telling him we will talk when we are home from the Philippines.  Today we are going island hopping  and at 9:00 A.M. our guide meets us at our hotel and we walk with him to the beach and his companies shop. We wait in the shade of the open air shop while the other passengers arrive for our catamaran island hopping tour. The dozen of us wade to the boat, slip on our life vests and we set sail past the spectacular craggy limestone cliffs of El Nido.

Hitching a Ride

It is late afternoon when we reach the Small Lagoon and I can’t imagine the day getting any better or that this lagoon might surpass the previous lagoons, but it does. We drop anchor in intoxicating turquoise waters and have 30 minutes to swim or kayak.  John chooses to snorkel and swim but Art and I rent a kayak for a few pesos and we are pointed towards a small opening in the cliff face. Art paddles us through an opening in the rocks and we pop into an enchanted lagoon, framed by tall cliff faces. I have left my camera in our catamaran for fear of dropping it in the water and I am regretfully unable to take and photos, so the photo used here is from an image search on google. John soon swims up beside us, hops atop the kayak and takes the paddle from me. I relax blissfully into island time.

Our Island hopping day is at an end and we wish we had several more days to explore the El Nido islands. There are three standard Island Hopping excursions offered out of El Nido and today’s trip was remarkable but unfortunately we must leave tomorrow morning.  We enjoy another evening of drinks and dinner on the touristy beach strip, an easy stagger back to our hotel.

Returning to El Nido

Toasting to the Islands

The Town of El Nido – Art and John

An Unhappy Pig

Tuesday, January 13th   El Nido to Cebu

It’s another early morning and our driver picks us up at 6:30 A.M. for the trip back to the Puerto Princessa Airport. We leave before our hotel breakfast is served and stop for coffee at a roadside restaurant along the way. It’s an uneventful drive and we make very good time and when we realize that we will be a couple of hours early for our flight to Cebu, we stop at a mall on the outskirts of Puerto Princessa for lunch. We eat an uninspired lunch at a food court, each going our own ways to pick and choose from the meager options.

We arrive at the Puerto Princessa small town airport a little after 1:00 P.M. for our 3:00 P.M. flight to Cebu City. Check in is chaotic and their ex-ray machine not working. When we are finally checked in, we are informed that our plane will be two hours delayed. I am not too bothered by this and take advantage of the time to write this blog. When it is announced that our plane will be delayed another hour more, Art decides to have a chair massages at the airport. The massage is not great, but cost less than $8 and it helps to pass the time.  When our plane is delayed yet another hour, I choose to follow suite with a chair massage. The massage area is in a corner of the overcrowded waiting room and I awkwardly sit down on one of the four plastic chair and wonder why my masseuse is wearing sun glasses? He expertly massages my neck and shoulders and keeps contact with some part of my body as he pivots around me. I soon surmise that the three masseuses are all visually impaired. The hour passes quickly and when my massage is over, I grasp his hand and pass him the posted amount plus a generous tip. For the past hour, a not very charming woman has overseen the massage transactions and when I pass him the money she grabs it from his hand and barks that I must pay her. I wonder how much this gentle man is paid and if he will ever receive his tip?

We are all very hungry but aside from snacks and “Instant Ramen” there is little food available. Joe buys an out of date airport sandwich and just as our plane is beginning to board he gets violently sick and heads to the bathroom.  We are frantic that he will miss our long awaited plane and he is green when he stumbles on board and he sleeps in the back where there are empty rows of seats and a bathroom close at hand.  When we land in Cebu he is still sick and sporting the alien color of E.T.  It is an hour taxi ride to our Skypark Pension @ 58 Landon Street near the corner of CNU Osmena Blvd.  Rates for a double room are $18.  It is a bare bone minimum room but clean with comfortable single beds, working air-conditioning and hot water. Joe has reserved three rooms, a good thing with Joe being so sick, in case Joe’s ailment is not food related. It is close to 9:00 P.M. and Joe is too sick to eat and Art just wants to go to bed so John and I go next door to a 24 hour fast food restaurant where we sit and drink a San Miguel beer and eat scrambled eggs and rice. A pretty waitress has just come on duty and she tells us that she earns the equivalent of $11 a shift. Our two meals cost under $5. 

January 14th – Swimming with Whale Sharks at Oslob

Today is my birthday. We are up at 5:00 A.M. and Art, John and I eat breakfast at the restaurant next door. The young waitress who served us eggs and beers last night is still working. Her 12 hour shift is  7:00 P.M. – 7:00 A.M. and we order more eggs and rice but instead of beer, wash these down with coffee (pre-sweetened Nescafe.) I order an omelet which has been cooked in rancid oil and I hurry to the toilet and spit it out. Unfortunately, Joe is still ill, but the swim with the whale sharks is high on everyones list so he is going anyway. The morning is not starting out as I would like. 

We arrive at the whale shark “park” a little after 10:00 A.M. and are ushered to a staging platform where we listen to the orientation. We will have 30 minutes allotted time to swim with the whale sharks. No sunscreen is allowed, no touching and we must keep 3 meters away from them. (We will soon realize that the whale sharks have not listened to this orientation because they swim within inches of us, gaping mouths open and it is impossible to keep our distance from these gentle giants.)  The 6 of us (Australian couple included) climb into a small wooden outrigger boat that takes us a few hundred of feet out to where another 15 – 20 boats float idly.  Dozens of snorkelers bob in the water all wearing orange life vests. (The three whale images immediately below below are borrowed from tour company web sites.)

I slip on my mask and lower myself over the side of the boat and come face to face with two whale sharks. Their immense toothless mouths slurp in gallons of water with each swallow. They have white spots speckling their black skin, patterned rather like snowflake obsidian. The spot pattern on each whale-shark is unique, like a fingerprint and is how scientists identify and track them. They have five gill slits on each side, tiny eyes and their immense bodies glide through the water effortlessly.  Although we have been cautioned not to get within 12 feet of them, it is an impossibility, because they swim within a foot or two of me, and often two or three at a time. They are 15 feet to 20 feet long and slurp in the chummed krill through big gummy toothless smiles; the krill tossed to them by the crew onboard the outriggers. Our 30 minute swim passes all too quickly.  I think a whale shark will be one of this year’s new designs.  

Lunch is included in our tour and we stop at a tiny beachside restaurant. The family style lunch is all meat and rice and I request something vegetarian and they bring John and me a reasonably tasty plate of stir fry vegetables. It is a three hour drive back to our hotel in Cebu and our aggressive driver passes vehicles at unsafe speeds,  playing chicken with oncoming trucks and jeepneys. He clears within inches, scooters loaded with entire families and children playing precariously close to the side of the road. 

It’s 4:00 P.M. when we are dropped back at our hotel and after quick showers, Art, John and I walk up to the old part of town. All of Cebu is preparing for their annual Sinulog festival which will take place this weekend. Colorful pennant flags are strung along the main streets and countless market stalls selling colorful Sinulog T-shirts. We watch young men silk screening them on the spot and other entrupernal young men sit on the pavement and for a few pesos, paint “Henna Tattoos” on arms and bare legs. They are talented artists but the “henna” is actually just paint applied with fine brushes and I wonder how toxic and difficult it is to remove? Art and John play a ball toss gambling game in the square, John confident that he can beat the odds. He comes out a few pesos ahead.

Because it’s my birthday, I get to choose the restaurant for dinner. My guide book recommends a number of restaurants at the “Terraces” a section of the Alyana mall and at 6:30 we catch a taxi to take us there. Twenty minutes later we are deposited at the elegant circular drive entrance and after a security bag check we enter the mall. It’s an immense and beautiful mall, especially in contrast to the polluted, grimy and chaotic city beyond. I locate a directory and punch in the names of the several recommended restaurants.  Most of the restaurants are located on one of three outdoor terraces overlooking a large public garden and event space.  The “Terraces” are lovely and remind John and me somewhat of the outdoor restaurant area at the Dubai Mall. After much debate and menu checking, we choose “Siam Restaurant”, where after a game of musical tables, we settle ourselves down for dinner. The cocktail prices are extremely reasonable and we order drinks and vegetarian appetizers. The drinks are excellent and the spring rolls and coconut encrusted tofu delicious. We share plates of Pad Thai, curried vegetables and pineapple rice and enjoy it all.  After dinner and a second, (or was it the third round of drinks?) Art pulls a plastic bag from his backpack and passes it to me. Inside is one of Tabra’s beautiful leather bags crafted of thick chocolate leather, embellished with an iconicely Tabra; jaguar, fish, moon-face, carnelian and dinosaur bone pin with lovely embossed metal beads decorating it’s long rounded straps. This bag was a prototype for others she plans to design and she carried this bag personally when we visited her in Ubud Bali just last week.  I’m thrilled to have it and I will carry it often as a reminder of this trip, my husband’s generosity and Tabra who for the past 35 years has inspired and influenced my life in so many ways.

After dinner the four of us wander to the edge of the terrace and lean on the railing overlooking the terraces below. Many other people are gather along the railing enjoying the warm evening and John strikes up a conversation with three college coeds. Since English is a primary language spoken in the Philippines communication is easy.  All three of the girls are attractive and all going to the University but John is charmed by one in particular and before long he has become Facebook Friends with her.  We follow the three young women out to the taxi station and wait for 20 minutes in a quickly moving line as taxi after taxi swoop in and swallow up the exiting mall patrons. It is soon our turn to pile into a taxi for the return ride to our hotel.  

January 15th – Island Hopping off of Cebu Island.

We actually get to sleep in until 7:00 A.M. and during  breakfast, John tells us he has a date tonight. To recap: John met three young women at the mall last night and was charmed by one in particular and they exchanged Facebook information. It is our last night in Cebu and I ask John about his plans for meeting? They want to meet at the Alyana Mall, at the railing where they met the night before. Although I am surprised, this will work well. We can all take a taxi together to the mall again for dinner tonight and John can meet up with Hana, take her to dinner and return by taxi on his own.   

After breakfast, our prearranged driver picks us up for a 1.5 hour drive to Mactan Island the departure point for todays island hopping and snorkeling.  We take a large and private catamaran out to three different snorkeling spots; Talima,  Hilutungan  and Nalusuan, off of Olango Island.

  

Our first snorkeling stop is reasonably good, the second very good and the third one amazing. I wear a life vest, more for the coral protection than for my own.  With a life vest to keep me buoyant, I will not be tempted to stand up and possibly damage the coral with my fins. We snorkel just a few feet above huge islands of stag-horn coral with luminescent pale green and blue damsel fish swimming in synchrony, like leaves blowing in the breeze. Bright orange damsel fish add to the underwater symphony and luminescent orange anemones, each with their own species of clown fish, undulate in the current. Brain coral, table top coral, ribbon and stag-horn coral abound. Dr. Seuse could not have imagined a more magical underwater garden filled with brilliantly colored parrot fish, trigger fish and angel fish. It is remarkable and heartening to see this fragile and remarkable ecosystem thriving.

Shortly before lunch, a small boat pulls along side of our catamaran and three men climb aboard. We are not quite sure what they are doing here and feel a bit uncomfortable. Although our crew seems to know these men it feels as if we have been boarded by pirates. They hang back by the motor and watch us. I don’t want to go back in the water and leave our valuable unattended so I tell Art and John that I will rest onboard awhile. Art remains onboard as well and it soon becomes clear that the islanders wish for us to “order” coconuts from them for the exorbitant price of $4 each. They speak an island dialect and little English but Art manages to communicate and negotiates the price down to $2 each and they motor off back to their nearby island, presumably to climb a coconut tree to procure the coconuts. The men return thirty minutes later, Art pays them and we sip the sour, rather than sweet juice. In the meantime our crew has fired up a rusty grill and barbecued a surprising good lunch of grilled chicken, pork, squid and fresh mango. For lack of vegetarian options, John and I eat the chicken, rice and mango. 

In 2008, Art, John and I traveled to Komodo Island and spent two days onboard a tiny wooden boat motoring between Komodo and Rincon Islands where the dragons roam. We slept one night in the open on the wooden deck of our boat and were surprised and somewhat frightened when two small boats pulled along side ours; village men selling souvenirs. One of the men was missing an eye and we felt vulnerable, anchored off shore of this remote island. John and I purchased a teak carved Komodo Dragon sculpture and several bone and shell necklaces from the men. In retrospect, our night time visitors were one of the highlights of the trip.

We are tired and salty when we return to the dock for our return drive to our hotel in Cebu. We all shower quickly and change and it is a little after 6:00 P.M. before we all climb into a taxi to drive to the Mall. Traffic is terrible and John checks the time on his phone anxiously. Last night it took only 20 minutes by taxi to reach the mall but it takes us nearly an hour tonight. it is nearly 7:00 P.M. when we arrive and John’s date is at 7:00 P.M. and we leave him standing at the railing waiting for Hana. I tell him I will check back in 15 minutes in case she stands him up but when I return a few minutes later, John is no where to be seen. 

I want to have dinner again at the Siam Restaurant but John is planning on taking Hana there and we don’t want to intrude.  Art, Joe and I wander the terraces reading the posted menus until we settle on a Japanese restaurant. Because both Art and Joe were raised in Okinawa, Japanese food is always a draw. We sit outside on the patio overlooking the public garden space below. Dinner is disappointing and I am worried about John. He is 22 years old and a seasoned traveler but I am still anxious. Will he remember the name of our hotel if he looses the hotel card and I think of worst case scenarios and how we could find him if he doesn’t return to the hotel?  Eventually I relax into the evening, glad that we have Hana’s contact on Facebook.  

My alarm goes off at 4:30 and after pulling on some clothes I go next door to check on John. He has made it home and stumbles to the door and asks if he can go back to bed? I give him the bad news that we need to leave in 20 minutes and ask him if he had a good time on his date and what time he got back home?  “Yes….I had a good time and I got back about midnight; I’ll tell you about it later…please can I go back to bed?”

We catch a 5:00 A.M. taxi to the port terminal. Joe buys our tickets, regretfully buying the cheapest class seats for the two hour trip to Bohol. ($400 pesos each or about $9)  We check our luggage, go through security and listen to blind musicians perform for the waiting passengers. What is it with blind musicians and blind masseuse’s in waiting room terminals? They are reasonably talented and their favorite song seems to be John Denver’s, Take Me Home Country Road. We tip them as we board the ferry and head upstairs to find our seats; at the rear of the ship above where the diesel exhaust puffs out and across from the toilets. It’s not an ideal combination on an empty stomach. At the front of our rear section is a door leading to the enclosed business class section with cushioned reclining seats and a television. Although I wonder what the ticket price is for business class, I don’t asphyxiate on the exhaust and the two hours pass quickly as I catch up on this blog.

The ferry docks at 8:00 A.M; we disembark, collect our luggage and see a guide holding up a sign printed with Shoshuku Bobroskie.  We follow our guide, Kathy, to the waiting van and begin our tour with a stop at the Blood Compact Shrine, a memorial of the friendship between the Spaniards and the Fillipinos. We are hungry and more interested in the adjoining upscale hotel and restaurant and we ask Kathy if we can take time for breakfast before continuing on our tour? John, Joe and I order  simply; coffee, eggs and toast but Art orders an egg(s) benedict which takes a very long time to cook and although delicious and beautifully presented is egg benedict singular, not plural.

Picture Perfect

Marty takes Flight!

Bohol is most famous for it’s Chocolate Hills, an unusual geological formation of rounded hills, seemingly hundreds of them, extending as far as I can see like oversized gopher mounds. We drive to the visitor center and climb the crumbling cement stairway up to the view point. During the rainy season, the Chocolate Hills are “mint flavored,” covered with lush green foliage. In the summer, they are reported to be a golden brown.

Bohol Chocolate Hills

Art, John, Joe and Marty

It is lunch time and I am looking forward to our scheduled jungle river boat cruise but when we board a tourist laden barge with an electric guitarist for entertainment and a picked over buffet I am disappointed. The food is passable but I was expecting a serene commune with the river not a rockaous party boat.  The river is wide and a muted emerald green color with lush palms and ferns growing along it’s banks. To me, the color of the river seems beautiful but John leans over and tells me that water color is because of fertilizer contamination. We do not see any wildlife, except for what is on board our party boat. Half way through the “cruise” we stop at a recreated “Pilippino Village” an extremely politically incorrect presentation consisting of drumming natives and dancers in grass skirts. I take one photo but am too embarrassed to take more.

Bohol River

Art, Bohol River Cruise

Party Boat, Bohol River Cruise

Native Village Embarassment

I’m not sure that we needed to stop at the Bohol Reptile Zoo, but we do and wander the sad facility of caged reptiles. For a price, one can pay to have the 12 foot albino python wrapped over one’s shoulders, but I  decline recollecting a story my friend Tabra told me just last week. The grounds keeper at a resort hotel in Bali rushed to the screams of several guests when they spotted a large python slithering across the manicured lawn. He calmed the guests and to prove how harmless the large python was, picked it up and draped it around his neck and shoulders. The python strangled him on the spot.

Albino Python and Reticulated Boa

Art as a Tarsier

Our final stop for the day is the historic Baclayon Church and museum.

Baclayon Church Bohol

Jo and John lighting candles

We are staying at Flushing Garden Resort Hotel, on Panglao Island and the just the name sounds promising. The hotel is a thirty minute drive from Bohol and is at the end of a gravel road overlooking a pristine beach. My first impression is hopeful but our rooms are at the back of the property behind the tennis court and they are dark and without a view. The layout of the hotel is odd with a confusing network of pathways and terraces and there are life size dinosaur sculptures on the grounds. I am mildly amused by the dinosaurs but there are no other apparent guests. (Perhaps the tyranosaurus has eaten them?) Art rests, John dives into the very pretty hotel pool and explores the beach in front of our hotel. Joe and I settle down at the open air hotel restaurant and relax. It’s been a long and full day and we are all tired and there seem to be no other restaurants or hotels in our vicinity so we have drinks and dinner as prisoners in our beach resort hotel. Mark is our waiter and gives excellent service but the food is mediocre. Dinner and drinks for the four of us come to $2600 pesos (about $35) and Art miscalculates the tip and leaves just $115 pesos. (Tomorrow, he will make amends and hand Mark an additional $200 peso tip.)