Romblon Island

Yet again, it was an early start to the day - I caught the first jeepney to San Agustin, in order to make the early pumpboat bound for Romblon. The journey was long and bumpy…but conditions that would be unacceptable on public transport in the UK, feel like a bit of a novelty when the scenery is so visually pleasing. I surprised myself when the little girl next to me decided to check what she had for breakfast by depositing it on the floor between our feet…instead of precipitating an almost inevitable domino effect around the bench-seating, I merely gave a sympathetic smile to her parents and continued watching the world go by. Living with ‘basic facilities’ and an increasing repertoire of unknown nutrition, certainly makes for a stronger stomach!
A pleasant crossing to Romblon town, brought us into a picturesque and bustling harbour. I made my way to the Romblon Plaza Hotel where I booked into a spacious room with air-con and…cable tv. A cooling shower and a lazy couple of hours watching a Scwarzenegger film (personal crusade against Colombian terrorist – any title suggestions, as I missed the start?) saw off the midday sun and I made my way over to the tourist information centre at the imposing Provincial Capitol building…only to find it closed on Sundays. Unperturbed, as I had planned to spend a couple of days here anyway, I left my fact-finding for the following day and went to find the internet café and some food at the recommended Jak’s bar. Yet again, both premises were closed and I settled for finding some form of amusement instead. The Lonely Planet had suggested that the only way to see the island was to hire a motorbike for the day…it seemed I was left with little choice and I eventually found one at an out-of-town beach resort. Despite a lifelong fear of two-wheeled machines (I cite several near-death experiences on push-bikes and an unfortunate tumble on the second lap of my virgin motorbiking experience at Lightwater Valley as a 12-year old!), I asked the guy to show me how to ride the heavy-looking Honda. Eventually, after a few stalls and wobbles, I got underway and promised to return in four hours with an undamaged machine. Now I know my mother’s reading this, so I’ll say that the Philippines is probably one of the safest places to learn to ride or drive anything – for a start there’s very little traffic and, secondly, the roads are far too uneven to contemplate opening the throttle to terminal velocity. Just to put your mind at ease, I didn’t get above 30km/h the whole time…okay? ;-) This of course, didn’t stop me feeling like Denis Hopper or Peter Fonda as I ‘cruised’ down beachside roads and up tree-lined tracks. It was nice to be master of my own direction and not be clinging like a child to someone else’s back.
I stopped at Kilometre Two – the centre of the island’s formerly thriving marble-cutting industry. Unfortunately, the market for their exquisitely crafted goods has long since crashed and the number of islanders now making a decent living from the trade has dwindled to just a handful. I also stopped off at a deserted beach resort for a paddle and a swim, realising ruefully that I hadn’t brought my snorkel and mask for the clear waters. At a nearby bar, whilst enjoying a San Miguel and a tuna sandwich, I met a couple of English ex-pats, David and Bob. David, it turned out, owns the local internet café…which just happens to run on a wireless network. If I could have named a place in the world, least likely to have wireless internet access, Romblon would probably have been it…full of surprises this place. I left them with a promise to pop into the café and have a drink later. As I headed back up the coast to return my steed, I felt a worrying lack of power heading up a steep hill…sure enough, two hundred metres further along the road, I coasted to a standstill. I’d only gone and run out of petrol…much to the amusement of the family whose house I’d stopped outside. With a little sign-language, and much laughter, I managed to ascertain that there was someone selling bottles of petrol just ten minutes walk up the road. I think Filipinos must walk very slowly because, after less than 5 minutes of sweaty striding, I came upon a motley collection of coke and sprite bottles containing a dangerous-looking, irn bru-coloured liquid. For 32pesos, I bought a 1litre bottle and hoped it would be enough to see me home. The rest of the journey proved to be uneventful and I was able to return the bike, to its owner’s visible relief, unscratched – and unharmed myself. A short ride back into town and I holed myself up in my sweetly air-conditioned room to cool down and clean off the grime of my ‘epic’ motorbike adventure. Later, I ate lomi soup at the imaginatively named ‘Romblon Shopping Centre Eatery – a characterful, if somewhat-basic greasy spoon next to the market. On the way back, I could see in the gathering gloom that preparations were underway for a Halloween fiesta in the plaza. They don’t do things by half when they have a party here, and I wasn’t surprised to find myself staring at the ceiling at 2am wondering what time proceedings would come to an end.