The previous night, I’d fallen asleep to the sounds of breaking waves and the monsoon wind passing through the palms. I came to with a start, wondering what had woken me…I was later to discover that my early-morning visitor was a local lizard, often given to rousing lazy humans with his pre-dawn bark. On another occasion, I might have rolled over to go back to sleep. However, the view from my balcony was stunning – even in the grey light before sun-up. Perched no more than 30ft from the island’s eastern shore line, I had a perfect view across the sound to see the sun rising behind Romblon’s northern mountains. I sat there wishing I had my bag with my camera…but I suppose it’s one sunrise I’ll have to keep for myself.
After a wash and brush-up, I wondered back down the path to the living area of Tony and Violet’s little kingdom. Every species of fruit and timber imaginable stretched away in all directions from the shore…scratching chickens and gobbling turkeys wandered freely amongst the plants, affording themselves of the rich cornucopia of insect life that seemed to thrive in this garden paradise. Tony greeted me with a cup of coffee and insisted on taking me on a tour of his domain. This involved a steady, and increasingly sweaty, climb up through plantations of mahogany, mango, gemlia, hibiscus, coconut and banana palms…and a succession of other species, too diverse to remember. As we walked, Tony explained that when he and Violet had first arrived, the hillside was barren grassland, prone to burning flat during every dry season. Despite the locals’ best attempts to tell them nothing would grow there, they persisted – constructing dams to fill the water table and using fast-growing trees to provide the shade cover necessary to despatch the unwanted ground cover. They must have done something right as the place is now a veritable Garden of Eden. The views from the top of the hill are amazing…enough to make a man give up a way of life to make a fresh start. As we headed back down to a breakfast of fresh, green coconut, Tony explained his current project of cleaning the reefs and using the dead corals to help form beaches that would prevent the erosion of the foreshore. He didn’t deny there was a dual purpose in beautifying his surroundings…but one can forgive such when the result is so beneficial. I liked Tony and admired his work immensely…I was sad to leave in order to catch the boat to Sibuyan – and his offer to stay for as long as I wanted was extremely appealing. However, I had an appointment with a mountain which I wasn’t prepared to give up.
Before heading back to Romblon, I went to meet a Swiss-French guy, Pedro, who had recently set up a dive shop on the island. It was his reef that Rodel was aiming to get protected and he proved to be knowledgeable and passionate about marine conservation. A very cool, laid-back kind of guy, I found yet another reason for wanting to stay on Lugbung – not least, to practice my recently acquired diving skills. However, I eventually headed back to Romblon with Sinando at about 9am. First port of call was the Romblon Plaza Hotel where, thanks to Virgie, I was able to grab a shower to wash away the detritus of my early morning exertions. I then wondered down to David’s computer shop and got my laptop reconfigured for wireless use on their network. This meant I was able to drink ‘the coldest beer in the Philippines’ at Jak’s whilst e-mailing a few people and updating the blog. Eventually, at half-twelve, I headed down to the pier to catch the pumpboat to Sibuyan. The sea was calm, the sky blue and the sun shining…schools of dolphins raced along at the prow of the boat, as we cut through the waves towards the mist-shrouded peak of Mt. Guiting-Guiting. This arduous peak had been my inspiration for heading into the Romblon province in the first place…I was really looking forward to donning the boots and ‘hoying myself up her’ – as a good friend of mine would say.
Arriving in Anbulong port, I took the first tricycle I could find to head for Vickie’s Place in Magdiwang. The Lonely Planet and virtually everyone who knew Sibuyan highly recommended her hospitality, and particularly her cooking. With a certain resignation, I had submitted to the awful prospect of being overfed…again! Vickie herself was very welcoming – and her three daughters proved to be equally friendly. The eldest, Grace, spoke remarkably good English and she really struck me as a bright cookie. As I showed her some of the photos from my previous travels, the conversation touched on the problems of religion, environmental destruction and the terrible brain-drain affecting the medical and nursing professions in her country. She was polite and intelligent and, for a sixteen year-old, she seemed ridiculously well-informed. In the future, I wouldn’t be at all surprised to find her working as a doctor or perhaps doing a PhD in ecology and conservation.
Vickie arranged for a friend to take me to the Mt. Guiting-Guiting National Park Office to arrange guides and permits to climb the mountain. Hurtling down the roads on the back of his Yamaha, I again felt the exhilaration of being far-removed from the cloying strictures of rules and regulations that so often get in the way of having fun. Admittedly, riding on the back of a motorbike on the roads in the UK is not something I’d recommend with leathers and a helmet. However, with only the occasional tricycle or Jeepney to scoot around and the odd stupid dog or chicken to dodge, Filipino roads are a much safer (if bumpier) experience.
Before heading into the park, we made a slight detour to Lambingan Falls – a beautiful cascade of crystal clear mountain waters falling into a deep swimming hole, where I spent a pleasant half hour cooling off from the afternoon heat and harassing the local river fauna. I had brought along my mask and snorkel in case there was anything worth checking out…and took an exploratory dive with just the mask to have a look around. Of course, having gotten so used to swimming underwater with a mask and being able to breath, I managed to take in nice lungful of water mid-dive. I surfaced, coughing and spluttering – much to the mirth of the local kids sat higher up the fall. I gave an embarrassed grin before rushing off to get my snorkel to prevent any repeat performance.
Eventually, we headed down the shady trail into the National Park. The deeper we went into the virgin rainforest, the darker and cooler it became. Towering trees, laden with fruit of every description closed in around the narrowing track and the background noise of insects and amphibians overcame even the steady roar of the motorbike’s four-stroke. We came, unexpectedly into a clearing dotted with smart-looking huts and picnic benches…all looking ominously deserted. Unfortunately, it seemed, the curse of the public holidays had struck once again…the offices were closed. As I later found out, it seems the funding for the preservation and upkeep of the National Park had dried up. The European Commission had taken umbrage at the lack of research resulting from their substantial financial contributions. It must have been particularly galling to discover that the local mandarin, supposedly administering the funds to develop a sustainable concern, was pocketing the cash whilst directing the illegal logging operations that are destroying the island’s unique habitat. Now that the funding had ceased, Romblon Province could only afford to employ one ranger in the park – who, not unreasonably, had taken advantage of all the public holidays to spend time with his family. More concerning than one European’s sudden inability to climb a mountain, is the scale of illegal logging that now appears to be going on in the Cajidiocan Barangay on the far side of the mountain. If it isn’t stopped soon, another of the world’s great natural resources will be destroyed. Something that doesn’t seem to matter to the rich few controlling the purse strings and the politics.
As we headed back into town, it began to dawn on me that my major reason for travelling through Romblon had suddenly disappeared. It requires a minimum of 3 days to scale Mt. Guiting-Guiting - and the major ferry service between Magdiwang and Luzon Island (home of Manila) was offline after a sunken ship last year…I had cut it too fine and could not afford the extra day required for fear of missing my flight to Vietnam. In simple terms, I was going to have to find something else to do for a few days before catching a ferry back north from Romblon Town. After dinner (a delicious piece of marinaded blue marlin, with rice and stir-fried vegetables), I took a stroll down to the beach to consider my options. Realising I had to be back in Romblon for the ferry anyway, it made sense to return there and see some more of the island and its surroundings. I felt very strongly that I would return to Sibuyan some day and spend some real time exploring the forest and (hopefully) climbing the mountain – I didn’t want to hang around for a day or two within sight of the mountain, unable to scale its great peak. Still frustrated by the state of affairs at the National Park, it eventually occurred to me that there was a practical way in which I could contribute to the ecological restoration of the islands. Why not take up Tony on his kind offer in Lugbung…and in return, get stuck into the restoration and reclamation projects he had initiated? The more I thought about it, the more sense it made and I quickly came up with a plan, including some diving on Pedro’s soon-to-be marine sanctuary.
As I sat on the sand, listening to CRW’s ‘I Feel Love’ and the gentle background swish of the surf, I had the pleasure of witnessing a pyrotechnic display of lightening over the sea. It dawned on me that, although Guiting-Guiting had been my objective, I had met some special people and seen some beautiful sights on my tour of Romblon. Is it true that travelling isn’t just about the destinations? I think so…
I’ve always been a planner – it’s in my nature – but I was fast overcoming my disappointment, because the journey to the objective had been every bit as fulfilling as climbing it might have been. I felt like I’d seen and done so much just getting there that I was beginning to appreciate my travels as a continuous journey, rather than a series of destinations. In much the same way, I don’t begrudge the time I spend writing the blog or returning all of your many e-mails…sharing it with you all is as much a part of the experience as being here. While I have appreciated the solitude and peace that comes from travelling alone, I don’t think I’d enjoy myself half as much if I didn’t have someone to tell about it.
November 05, 2004
November 04, 2004
The following day, with the information centre still closed due to All Saints Day, I set about trying to organise my own camping trip to nearby Lugbung Island. Virgie, the very helpful and accommodating concierge at my hotel, kindly introduced me to her father, Sinando, who agreed to take me over and pick me up the following morning for the sum of 500pesos. We agreed to set sail at 4pm, so I went off to the beach I’d discovered the previous day for some fascinating snorkelling. The first thing I discovered was that I’d been lucky not to stray too far during my previous day’s swim – the seabed was a veritable minefield of lethal-looking sea urchins the size of footballs! Even in the shallows, all manner of marine life scooted around and under lumps of coral and granite…hermit crabs, parrot fish, clown fish, clams and five different species of brightly coloured starfish. After an hour, with the sun beginning to feel hot on my back, I trotted off down the road to find the peaceful beach resort of ‘Tiamban’, where I found the ubiquitous tuna sandwich and some refreshingly cold San Miguel. Sat, alone and unmolested, in the cool shade of the palms I looked forward to the peace and isolation of my camping trip on tiny Lugbung…funny how things never turn out as you expect…and how much you appreciate them all the same.
Back in town, at Jak’s bar, I finally discovered what San Miguel is like ice-cold…whatever they use for refrigeration in that place, the rest of the Philippines could do with copying! David and Bob wandered in and we shared a few beers and talked about their lives as ex-pats until it was time for my boat. A slightly damp trip through the strong currents and across the monsoon winds brought Sinando’s pump boat ashore at what looked like a reasonably well-populated little island. At my companion’s insistence, we went to meet Rodel, the local Barangay Captain. (A Barangay being the local equivalent of a parish.) Rodel turned out to be a well-educated and affable chap, with a gift for putting people at ease. We sat and had a coffee and talked about my trip, the small island’s economy and his efforts as Barangay captain to improve education and conservation in the area. It soon became apparent that Lugbung was no deserted paradise, but a thriving fishing community with a population nearing 1000. My plans for a peaceful night camped on the beach and a solitary dawn were fast evaporating. Rodel explained that an ex-pat Australian called Tony lived on the island – in fact he was married to Rodel’s sister, Violet. It seemed that Tony had heard I was coming over and had invited us over to his place for drinks. Ever willing to go with the flow, I agreed to head up there with them after I’d seen the sun go down. Shortly after, I sat, undisturbed, on the sand-spit point of the island, watching the sun sinking behind Tablas’s mountainous backbone. I began to notice the wind increasing in strength and, as I turned to see ominous black thunderheads, the first spots of rain began to fall. In the 3 minutes it took me to walk back to Rodel’s, I managed to get completely soaked. However, the rain was so pleasantly warm that it was like stepping into the shower with clothes on. Forced to take cover by the tropical downpour, I sat talking with Rodel and some of his fishermen buddies, while the rain hammered against the corrugated tin roof. Although quite spacious and containing a newish TV, the shack was pretty basic…earth floors, plastic garden furniture and a dark recess in one corner, containing the toilet and a bucket for manual flushing. The work surfaces and crockery, however, were scrupulously clean – and the two healthy-looking kids being spoon-fed rice and fish by Rodel’s wife looked perfectly happy. We supped brandy and sprite as we chatted about the local politics. It seemed the previous Barangay captain had been corrupt and, despite bribes and threats during the election, Rodel had been returned in a landslide victory by a population that was sick of being conned. Rodel had already instituted regulations preventing fishing of the island’s waters by outsiders. He was also in the process of helping one of the island’s ex-pats set up a marine sanctuary on a reef – something that would ensure future tourist income on the island, as well as protecting its natural resources. It was refreshing to see democracy being given a chance to work in a place, like the Philippines, renowned for being corrupt. Despite their strong belief in Rodel’s leadership, it was plain that some of the men didn’t agree with all his policies. The biggest bugbear of the fishermen was that keeping the kids in school all day (8-4 here as opposed to 6-12 elsewhere), prevented them from helping their parents. As Rodel pointed out, education is the one thing that will help the next generation move forward – and keeping the kids in school also helps avoid problems such as delinquency. We were all agreed that Filipino children still have that degree of innocence and a respect for authority that is sadly missing in western society. Eventually, the rain subsided and Rodel took me round the other side of the island to meet his sister and brother-in-law.
First impressions of the Field family were extremely favourable. We were warmly welcomed and, before I knew it, plates of fish, rice and vegetables were being eagerly thrust under my nose. Violet turned out to be an attractive Sino-Filipina in her early forties…Tony, a little older, and looking very much like a white man who had grown used to the merciless heat of the tropics and now coped with ease. Their 19 year-old son, Joe, was intelligent and amiable - with a playful sense of humour. I was made to feel at ease by my gracious hosts and, before long, Tony was giving me a brief history of his time on Lugbung. As Rodel, had already suggested the local politics had not been conducive to progress in the area…many of Tony’s plans and dreams over the years had fallen by the wayside, due to a lack of support or filibustering by local politicians. The way Tony spoke about the island and the local people, you could see there was a genuine affection. Despite the shortcomings of living in the back of beyond, it seemed Tony was still committed to making a difference. Absorbed in our conversation, I didn’t notice time passing, but suddenly Rodel was seeing if I was ready to leave. Without warning, Tony and Violet were insisting that I stay in one of their empty houses and head back to the sandspit in the morning. Despite the fact that I didn’t have my toothbrush or a change of clothes, I could feel fate pushing me down this path and agreed. To my surprise and delight, I found a new toothbrush, toothpaste, soap and a towel in my beachside villa. Tony and I sat on the roof as the Milky Way rolled into view above the palm trees - and talked long into the night to the sound of waves breaking on the beach below. Tony prefers the simple life – shunning electric lighting and eating fruit grown mainly on his land. In his own small way, I could see that he was doing as much as anyone to preserve the ecology and the beauty of his surroundings. The scale of his project would become apparent in the light of day.
Back in town, at Jak’s bar, I finally discovered what San Miguel is like ice-cold…whatever they use for refrigeration in that place, the rest of the Philippines could do with copying! David and Bob wandered in and we shared a few beers and talked about their lives as ex-pats until it was time for my boat. A slightly damp trip through the strong currents and across the monsoon winds brought Sinando’s pump boat ashore at what looked like a reasonably well-populated little island. At my companion’s insistence, we went to meet Rodel, the local Barangay Captain. (A Barangay being the local equivalent of a parish.) Rodel turned out to be a well-educated and affable chap, with a gift for putting people at ease. We sat and had a coffee and talked about my trip, the small island’s economy and his efforts as Barangay captain to improve education and conservation in the area. It soon became apparent that Lugbung was no deserted paradise, but a thriving fishing community with a population nearing 1000. My plans for a peaceful night camped on the beach and a solitary dawn were fast evaporating. Rodel explained that an ex-pat Australian called Tony lived on the island – in fact he was married to Rodel’s sister, Violet. It seemed that Tony had heard I was coming over and had invited us over to his place for drinks. Ever willing to go with the flow, I agreed to head up there with them after I’d seen the sun go down. Shortly after, I sat, undisturbed, on the sand-spit point of the island, watching the sun sinking behind Tablas’s mountainous backbone. I began to notice the wind increasing in strength and, as I turned to see ominous black thunderheads, the first spots of rain began to fall. In the 3 minutes it took me to walk back to Rodel’s, I managed to get completely soaked. However, the rain was so pleasantly warm that it was like stepping into the shower with clothes on. Forced to take cover by the tropical downpour, I sat talking with Rodel and some of his fishermen buddies, while the rain hammered against the corrugated tin roof. Although quite spacious and containing a newish TV, the shack was pretty basic…earth floors, plastic garden furniture and a dark recess in one corner, containing the toilet and a bucket for manual flushing. The work surfaces and crockery, however, were scrupulously clean – and the two healthy-looking kids being spoon-fed rice and fish by Rodel’s wife looked perfectly happy. We supped brandy and sprite as we chatted about the local politics. It seemed the previous Barangay captain had been corrupt and, despite bribes and threats during the election, Rodel had been returned in a landslide victory by a population that was sick of being conned. Rodel had already instituted regulations preventing fishing of the island’s waters by outsiders. He was also in the process of helping one of the island’s ex-pats set up a marine sanctuary on a reef – something that would ensure future tourist income on the island, as well as protecting its natural resources. It was refreshing to see democracy being given a chance to work in a place, like the Philippines, renowned for being corrupt. Despite their strong belief in Rodel’s leadership, it was plain that some of the men didn’t agree with all his policies. The biggest bugbear of the fishermen was that keeping the kids in school all day (8-4 here as opposed to 6-12 elsewhere), prevented them from helping their parents. As Rodel pointed out, education is the one thing that will help the next generation move forward – and keeping the kids in school also helps avoid problems such as delinquency. We were all agreed that Filipino children still have that degree of innocence and a respect for authority that is sadly missing in western society. Eventually, the rain subsided and Rodel took me round the other side of the island to meet his sister and brother-in-law.
First impressions of the Field family were extremely favourable. We were warmly welcomed and, before I knew it, plates of fish, rice and vegetables were being eagerly thrust under my nose. Violet turned out to be an attractive Sino-Filipina in her early forties…Tony, a little older, and looking very much like a white man who had grown used to the merciless heat of the tropics and now coped with ease. Their 19 year-old son, Joe, was intelligent and amiable - with a playful sense of humour. I was made to feel at ease by my gracious hosts and, before long, Tony was giving me a brief history of his time on Lugbung. As Rodel, had already suggested the local politics had not been conducive to progress in the area…many of Tony’s plans and dreams over the years had fallen by the wayside, due to a lack of support or filibustering by local politicians. The way Tony spoke about the island and the local people, you could see there was a genuine affection. Despite the shortcomings of living in the back of beyond, it seemed Tony was still committed to making a difference. Absorbed in our conversation, I didn’t notice time passing, but suddenly Rodel was seeing if I was ready to leave. Without warning, Tony and Violet were insisting that I stay in one of their empty houses and head back to the sandspit in the morning. Despite the fact that I didn’t have my toothbrush or a change of clothes, I could feel fate pushing me down this path and agreed. To my surprise and delight, I found a new toothbrush, toothpaste, soap and a towel in my beachside villa. Tony and I sat on the roof as the Milky Way rolled into view above the palm trees - and talked long into the night to the sound of waves breaking on the beach below. Tony prefers the simple life – shunning electric lighting and eating fruit grown mainly on his land. In his own small way, I could see that he was doing as much as anyone to preserve the ecology and the beauty of his surroundings. The scale of his project would become apparent in the light of day.
November 03, 2004
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.
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.
November 02, 2004
Tablas
An early start next day to catch the 6am pump boat to Tablas island. Learning from the woeful looks and tossed cookies of the previous day’s travelling companions, I opted to sit on the roof again. This allowed me to keep my breakfast down and watch the sun crawl lazily into the sky. That mischievous charm of the Filipinos’ came to the fore once again – as the boat prepared to depart, one of the elderly gentlemen sat behind, loudly asked his companion (in English) what time the boat was arriving in Boracay. Not at all worried, having checked at the port about twenty times already, I turned round smiling to find three of them stifling giggles, eyeing me expectantly. We all cracked up laughing and for the rest of the journey, my new-found friends questioned me about my travels in the Philippines and we discussed the merits of the various islands. As the journey progressed, I found myself fascinated by the thick oily texture of the water…there seemed to be no pattern to the rising swells and deepening troughs and yet, somehow, our skipper seemed to guide us effortlessly through the path of least resistance. The spray remained at arm’s length throughout the journey and I could understand why the Filipinos are regarded amongst the world’s finest sailors. Once at Santa Fe, I caught the jeepney to Looc– a 23km journey over bumpy roads, winding through hilly passes and terraced rice fields. Looc, just inland from my day’s objective, the Looc Marine Sanctuary, turned out to be a thriving little market town. Accommodation was plentiful and I settled on the big, airy Marduke Hotel, purely on the basis that it had air-conditioning and I was sweating like a mare in foal. Stood in the shade, quaffing a much-needed bottle of Sprite, I was accosted by a dodgy looking character wearing shades and an LA Lakers basketball top. His English was excellent and I soon warmed to his affable, Del-boy character. He offered to guide me round the local sights and sort out the requisite boat and pass for the marine sanctuary…his banter was good, his price even better and I decided to take him on. An hour later, after a refreshing shower, Johnny Calowad came back to take me for breakfast (burger!) at a local restaurant. After sating my hunger, we chugged down to the pier in his funky-looking tricycle and boarded a rickety-looking pump boat out to the moored raft at the marine sanctuary. I spent an absorbing hour swimming around the protected reef – marvelling at giant orange and blue starfish; avoiding death-star sized sea-urchins and flirting with shoals of parrot fish and other, brightly-coloured species of every size and shape. The piece-de-resistance, however, was the giant clam bed. Clams the size of my head (yes, it is possible!) and of every shape and colour imaginable covered an area about the size of a football field…very surreal and very enticing. I kept wishing I was wearing scuba rather than my snorkel…I would have loved to have been able to stay down on the seabed and study them in more detail. Eventually, we chugged pack to the pier and juddered back to the Marduke – mindful of the saying about mad dogs, Englishmen and the midday sun. I retreated into the air-conditioned cocoon of my room and used the time to work on the computer in preparation for the relative civilisation of Romblon and the internet café the following day. Around 4pm, Johnny returned to escort me down to Roda Beach – a tranquil and serene spot, bordered by mangroves and crystal-clear water. As the sun sank, the crickets, birds and other inhabitants of the nearby swamp filled the air with a truly tropical symphony…once again, I felt like I’d discovered paradise. Sinking a San Miguel, Johnny and I chatted about his family – three children under 6 years old. He had coached league soccer for the province for several years, but had recently given up the commitment to spend more time with his children. He was very eager, still, to give something back to his community and had taken up coaching the local schoolchildren on Sundays instead. We moved on to the matter of the plundered natural resources of the Philippines…a subject he was passionate and well-informed about. He was demonstrably proud of his own town’s decision to protect the reef and clam beds…we both agreed that, as the beauty of the natural habitat is one of the Philippines biggest attractions, it was truly in the best interests of the populace and the administration to protect it. I explained to him that in the UK the few remaining areas of outstanding natural beauty were well-protected (for the most part), but unfortunately over-visited by the knowledgeable and unappreciated by the rest. The chances of finding a place like Roda, unspoilt and deserted in my home country are close to zero…having the place to ourselves was a gift worth appreciating. Then Johnny said something that really touched me…he confessed to not having watched and appreciated a sunset for two years…and then he thanked me for reminding him that the world was a beautiful place. I know how easy it can be to get mired in the mundane existence of daily life and I was glad that my visitor’s perspective had temporarily broken the spell for him. Still, without his local knowledge and eagerness to help, I may never have discovered the place and been able to share in its enchanting power. As he dropped me off at a restaurant, I was sad to see him go – I felt, again, like I had found the real Philippines and made a connection with someone whose life bears so very little resemblance to mine.
November 01, 2004
Welcome to the 'real' Philippines
The following morning, with my first hangover since Canada, I packed up and moved out. A ferry back to Caticlan on Panay was the first leg of the journey. After some hunting around, I discovered a boat that would take me to Carabao Island. It soon became apparent that this was no passenger ferry, but a cargo boat…loaded to the gills with supplies (beer, soft drinks, petrol and dog biscuits). This is the Philippines though so there was no shortage of passengers to take advantage of the ride. We sailed back past Boracay where a few of the passengers and some goods were off-loaded. Worryingly, there was quite a crowd gathered on the beach, waiting to be ferried aboard. Fortunately, the astute captain, decided that our heavily-laden boat was too crowded for any more and we set sail for Carabao, leaving a few disgruntled folk to wait for the next boat. The seas were pretty heavy…something that left me grateful for my late embarkation. Sat on the roof, I was in full view of both my luggage and, more importantly, the horizon. As the boat pitched and rolled in the dark, heavy water, those down below grew increasingly nauseous. Sitting in the cooling breeze, feeling the spray, a broad grin grew on my face. For the first time, I really felt like I was an intrepid traveller. There were no other tourists aboard and I felt like I was taking a voyage into the unknown. After two hours we arrived on the South side of Carabao Island. Rather than take a further hour round to San Jose in the boat, I jumped off with some other passengers and climbed aboard my first Jeepney. The little 1.3litre engine struggled up steep tracks and round tight bends with a full load of passengers and baggage. As we passed along avenues of coconut palms, through thick forest and by open rice paddies, I couldn’t suppress that grin again. Every turn in the road brought a clearing, populated by nipa huts and grazing Carabao (buffalo). Occasionally, groups of school children would jump out of the way of the speeding jeepney and stand staring at the giant white man, grinning maniacally out of the back door. After half an hour of reasonably bone-jarring and white-knuckle engine revving, we came to a halt in San Jose. Helpfully, the driver stopped right outside the only hotel, where I was able to secure a nipa hut for a negligible fee. After dumping my bags, I set about finding someone with a motorbike to take me around the island. My usual lucky streak kicked in nicely and the first guy I met was Pablo. At 25, he was the island’s chief electric engineer. His natty, purple motocross bike was ideal and we set off on a hair-raising, but thoroughly enjoyable trip around the island. Yah, boo sucks! to the health and safety…this was local transport at its best. There’s probably about 1km of paved roads on the island – the rest, little more than what we’d call footpaths in the countryside. Pablo showed me some beautiful untouched corners and, I have to say, road with the utmost care at all times. How his poor little arms must have felt after wrestling that bike up hill and down dale with me on the back, I’ll never know. Certainly, the dull ache in my thighs and knuckles after gripping the saddle and luggage rack must be something to go by. We stopped for lunch at the Carabao Beach resort – an idyllic, peaceful little spot, with white sand and views back over the sea to Boracay. The proprietress, Melanie, had lived with in Germany with her husband for 17 years and spoke excellent English. She served up seafood Bolognese with a side dish of pickled fish (the local equivalent of roll-mop herring with a healthy portion of fresh chillies) and a dessert of videoke. Eventually, after two relaxing hours we were on our way to Ngiriton cave at the island’s northern end. Unfortunately, when we arrived, it turned out the local tourist board and decided to develop the caves for ease of access to tourists – installing lights and hand-rails etc. – this meant that the cave was closed for the ongoing work. Nevertheless, the tour of the island itself was more than enough…I still couldn’t wipe the grin of my face as we flew down the hill back to San Jose, with the wind ruffling my hair (no laughing at the back!). Pablo and I sat on the beach for some time, talking about his family and his job and our shared love of music. I ran to pick up my cd player and let him listen to one of Dave’s trance mixes. He was suitably impressed, as a fellow dj would be, and asked if I’d write to him and send him the occasional cd. He was a thoroughly nice kid and I definitely intend to stay in touch with him…and maybe seem him again someday when I return to the Philippines. Long after he’d gone, I sat on the beach as the sun sank behind the island, enjoying the cooling breeze and listening to trance.
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