Me, Simon (from San Fran) and Jonny English at the hotel bar in Hanoi
November 10, 2004
Hanoi
As I'm coming to appreciate on this trip, cities have certain immutable - and often tiresome - features in common: they smell, they're noisy and they're full of people who can't wait to get where they're going! It's an inevitable fact when you fly from destination to destination, that you find yourself at the mercy of one of these sinkholes of humanity. So it's with some satisfaction that I can now look forward to three months of overland travel throughout Indochina. Of course, I'll still be making forays into cities - but now entirely by choice.
I hope I haven't implied through my little rant that Hanoi is a particularly awful place - compared to Seoul and Manila it's actually quite pleasant, but two days is wearing enough after my idyllic time on Lugbung. For a start the traffic is like nothing I've ever seen...not insanely dangerous so much as grating on the nerves. After a day you realise it's both pointless and dangerous to try and wait for a clear gap in the traffic and run across the road. For a start there is never a gap in the traffic...and if it ever seems like there is, you can guarantee a high-speed moped appearing from nowhere and beeping its horn close enough to perforate your eardrum. You simply saunter out into the road and proceed at a slow and steady pace to your destination - often walking along the middle of the street is the only option, with so many mopeds parked on the pavements. As you saunter (sucking in your breath a little to avoid the old dears with their baskets and clenching your buttocks to avoid the wing mirrors) the traffic miraculously parts around you, using every part of the highway, pavement and gutter to full effect. There appear to be no laws governing which side of the road you ride/drive on, none to place any limits on speed nor to stop when the lights are red. As far as I can tell the only rules are to beep your horn continuously for any and no reason and to get out of the way of anything bigger than you...this works pretty well for me as there aren't many mopeds plus driver that get to be my size - and the denizens of Hanoi are smart enough to work out that mowing me down is going to cost them. I didn't see one accident during my time in Hanoi and the haphazard chaos at every juncti0n and crossroads seemed to have an almost organic fluidity that allowed everyone to pass without too much obstruction. The only downside is the constant ringing your years develop after being assaulted by a daily battery of horns, ranging from the irksome to the comical (theme tune to Only Fools and Horses, anyone?) and from foghorn to piercing. Visitors to Hanoi seem to develop a form of shellshock induced by moped horns...one can only hope its not a precursor to a full-blown PTSD by the time I get to the DMZ!
So, apart from the traffic, what does Hanoi have to offer? Well, unusually for me, food was top of the list of attractions. There are two things you can't avoid whilst wondering the streets of Hanoi - the ubiquitous Xe Mo driver offering you a ride on the back of his motorbike and the countless street-food stalls spilling out of every doorway. Everywhere you look, someone has entered the catering trade with nothing more than a bunsen burner or a tray of hot charcoal and an exotic array of vegetables and herbs surrounding a tray of animal parts. Chicken feet, cow's heart, dried squid, pig guts, fish heads t0 name a few...as well as dubious looking piles of recognisably edible cuts. For a little more than 50pence, even a man of my considerable appetites can satisfy himself on tasty, filling snacks that appear in the twinkling of a goat's eye. I like vietnamese food well enough back in Blighty - imagine my horror at being surrounded by myriad opportunities to consume from the minute I get up until my head hits the pillow. If the profusion of bunsen-burner hot-food stalls don't appeal, it takes little effort to be pestered by one of the old dears carrying double-ended baskets of fresh fruit or donuts. One almost feels compelled to eat something from them just to lessen the horrendous weights they seem to casually sling over their shoulders as they pace the gutters, dodging mopeds.
It is possible to escape the temptation of food and irritation of traffic by taking a wander down to the shady shores of Hoan Kiem Lake. This (relatively) tranquil spot, to the north of the teeming Old Quarter, is bordered by trees and flower gardens. In the centre sits the solitary Thap Rua (Tortoise Tower), while at its southern end is the Ngoc Son Temple, reached by the charming hump-backed Huc Bridge. On my second day, seeking solace from the humidity and heat of midday, I perched myself on a shoreside bench and had a satisfying lunch of donuts and fresh fruit supplied by one of the ubiquitous basket carriers. Satiated and enjoying a little peace and quiet, I was pleasantly surprised to be approached by an amiable young man, who seemed keen to make polite conversation. I was just thinking how friendly even big cities in Vietnam were, when said young man asked me if I would like to make love to him...a little taken aback I replied with a firm negative, whilst trying not to be too rude. Ten minutes of convincing him that I only liked members of the opposite sex in that way (including fictional description of girlfriend back in England!) finally persuaded him to leave me alone. Perusing my Lonely Planet ($3 at book exchange - although turned out to be a knock-off with slightly difficult-to-read photocopied maps) a little later, I discovered that the lake is actually a favourite pick-up point for locals and tourists looking for 'man' love...hmmmm! Oops! At this point I was on the verge of feeling somewhat flattered...until I read on that the local boys frequenting the area were doing so for money rather than love. I appear not to be a big hunk of gay love...just a walking dollar sign. This it seems is a recurring theme in Hanoi...the locals trying every possible (mainly legal) means to wring tourist dollars from tourist wallets and money belts. Certainly Hanoi feels very safe as capital city's go, but it's not the violent crime you need to watch out for so much as the daylight robbery that takes place in the multitude of travel agencies and hotels throughout the Old Quarter. I had been tipped-off by friends that Sapa and Halong Bay were must-see stops on my tour of Vietnam, so had gone window-shopping for all-inclusive tours to both. The prices for my 4 day trekking trip in the north-western mountains ranged from $69 to $120, depending on which company you went through. I can imagine that those too lazy to venture past the travel desk at their hotel could easily get ripped-off. As it was, I felt quite smug after sweating and toiling around a dozen different agencies to find the best deals...and pride cometh before a fall (details later).
Staying in my $2 dorm with me were a couple of older guys who had been touring Vietnam by motorcycle. Jonny English (nickname) hailed from Lincolnshire and Simon was a policeman from San Francisco. Together with another American - Mitch from Arkansas - they had followed a Vietnamese guy called Tin all the way from Danang to Hanoi on motorbikes (about 600km). The more they told me about it the better it sounded...and they were all salt of the earth types so I was inclined to take what they were saying at face value. We hung out for the next day or so - enjoying Cha Ca (fish cake hot pot - a local speciality) and endeavouring to find the cheapest beer in Hanoi. The eventual winner was a little street stall with plastic kiddie stools selling a glass of no-name draught beer at 1500Dong (about 5p!) E-mail addresses were dutifully exchanged and I wouldn't be surprised if I was using Tin's services later on in the trip myself. On my final evening in Hanoi, Simon, John and I went to see the famous water puppet show. Performed in a murky pool with scenery and accompanied by a nine piece traditional band and choir, the show was amusing and instructive on the Vietnamese way of life...with each little vignette exploring traditional agricultural and historical themes. The puppets themselves were intricately designed and brilliantly coloured, while the team of puppeteers showed great strength and skill maneuvering them about the 'stage'. The show only lasted an hour but was well worth the 'tourist price' of 40,000Dong (locals pay considerably less...another theme that recurs throughout the country!) I bade farewell to my companions after a final beer and headed up to the train station to catch my sleeper train to Lao Cai, en route to Sapa.
I hope I haven't implied through my little rant that Hanoi is a particularly awful place - compared to Seoul and Manila it's actually quite pleasant, but two days is wearing enough after my idyllic time on Lugbung. For a start the traffic is like nothing I've ever seen...not insanely dangerous so much as grating on the nerves. After a day you realise it's both pointless and dangerous to try and wait for a clear gap in the traffic and run across the road. For a start there is never a gap in the traffic...and if it ever seems like there is, you can guarantee a high-speed moped appearing from nowhere and beeping its horn close enough to perforate your eardrum. You simply saunter out into the road and proceed at a slow and steady pace to your destination - often walking along the middle of the street is the only option, with so many mopeds parked on the pavements. As you saunter (sucking in your breath a little to avoid the old dears with their baskets and clenching your buttocks to avoid the wing mirrors) the traffic miraculously parts around you, using every part of the highway, pavement and gutter to full effect. There appear to be no laws governing which side of the road you ride/drive on, none to place any limits on speed nor to stop when the lights are red. As far as I can tell the only rules are to beep your horn continuously for any and no reason and to get out of the way of anything bigger than you...this works pretty well for me as there aren't many mopeds plus driver that get to be my size - and the denizens of Hanoi are smart enough to work out that mowing me down is going to cost them. I didn't see one accident during my time in Hanoi and the haphazard chaos at every juncti0n and crossroads seemed to have an almost organic fluidity that allowed everyone to pass without too much obstruction. The only downside is the constant ringing your years develop after being assaulted by a daily battery of horns, ranging from the irksome to the comical (theme tune to Only Fools and Horses, anyone?) and from foghorn to piercing. Visitors to Hanoi seem to develop a form of shellshock induced by moped horns...one can only hope its not a precursor to a full-blown PTSD by the time I get to the DMZ!
So, apart from the traffic, what does Hanoi have to offer? Well, unusually for me, food was top of the list of attractions. There are two things you can't avoid whilst wondering the streets of Hanoi - the ubiquitous Xe Mo driver offering you a ride on the back of his motorbike and the countless street-food stalls spilling out of every doorway. Everywhere you look, someone has entered the catering trade with nothing more than a bunsen burner or a tray of hot charcoal and an exotic array of vegetables and herbs surrounding a tray of animal parts. Chicken feet, cow's heart, dried squid, pig guts, fish heads t0 name a few...as well as dubious looking piles of recognisably edible cuts. For a little more than 50pence, even a man of my considerable appetites can satisfy himself on tasty, filling snacks that appear in the twinkling of a goat's eye. I like vietnamese food well enough back in Blighty - imagine my horror at being surrounded by myriad opportunities to consume from the minute I get up until my head hits the pillow. If the profusion of bunsen-burner hot-food stalls don't appeal, it takes little effort to be pestered by one of the old dears carrying double-ended baskets of fresh fruit or donuts. One almost feels compelled to eat something from them just to lessen the horrendous weights they seem to casually sling over their shoulders as they pace the gutters, dodging mopeds.
It is possible to escape the temptation of food and irritation of traffic by taking a wander down to the shady shores of Hoan Kiem Lake. This (relatively) tranquil spot, to the north of the teeming Old Quarter, is bordered by trees and flower gardens. In the centre sits the solitary Thap Rua (Tortoise Tower), while at its southern end is the Ngoc Son Temple, reached by the charming hump-backed Huc Bridge. On my second day, seeking solace from the humidity and heat of midday, I perched myself on a shoreside bench and had a satisfying lunch of donuts and fresh fruit supplied by one of the ubiquitous basket carriers. Satiated and enjoying a little peace and quiet, I was pleasantly surprised to be approached by an amiable young man, who seemed keen to make polite conversation. I was just thinking how friendly even big cities in Vietnam were, when said young man asked me if I would like to make love to him...a little taken aback I replied with a firm negative, whilst trying not to be too rude. Ten minutes of convincing him that I only liked members of the opposite sex in that way (including fictional description of girlfriend back in England!) finally persuaded him to leave me alone. Perusing my Lonely Planet ($3 at book exchange - although turned out to be a knock-off with slightly difficult-to-read photocopied maps) a little later, I discovered that the lake is actually a favourite pick-up point for locals and tourists looking for 'man' love...hmmmm! Oops! At this point I was on the verge of feeling somewhat flattered...until I read on that the local boys frequenting the area were doing so for money rather than love. I appear not to be a big hunk of gay love...just a walking dollar sign. This it seems is a recurring theme in Hanoi...the locals trying every possible (mainly legal) means to wring tourist dollars from tourist wallets and money belts. Certainly Hanoi feels very safe as capital city's go, but it's not the violent crime you need to watch out for so much as the daylight robbery that takes place in the multitude of travel agencies and hotels throughout the Old Quarter. I had been tipped-off by friends that Sapa and Halong Bay were must-see stops on my tour of Vietnam, so had gone window-shopping for all-inclusive tours to both. The prices for my 4 day trekking trip in the north-western mountains ranged from $69 to $120, depending on which company you went through. I can imagine that those too lazy to venture past the travel desk at their hotel could easily get ripped-off. As it was, I felt quite smug after sweating and toiling around a dozen different agencies to find the best deals...and pride cometh before a fall (details later).
Staying in my $2 dorm with me were a couple of older guys who had been touring Vietnam by motorcycle. Jonny English (nickname) hailed from Lincolnshire and Simon was a policeman from San Francisco. Together with another American - Mitch from Arkansas - they had followed a Vietnamese guy called Tin all the way from Danang to Hanoi on motorbikes (about 600km). The more they told me about it the better it sounded...and they were all salt of the earth types so I was inclined to take what they were saying at face value. We hung out for the next day or so - enjoying Cha Ca (fish cake hot pot - a local speciality) and endeavouring to find the cheapest beer in Hanoi. The eventual winner was a little street stall with plastic kiddie stools selling a glass of no-name draught beer at 1500Dong (about 5p!) E-mail addresses were dutifully exchanged and I wouldn't be surprised if I was using Tin's services later on in the trip myself. On my final evening in Hanoi, Simon, John and I went to see the famous water puppet show. Performed in a murky pool with scenery and accompanied by a nine piece traditional band and choir, the show was amusing and instructive on the Vietnamese way of life...with each little vignette exploring traditional agricultural and historical themes. The puppets themselves were intricately designed and brilliantly coloured, while the team of puppeteers showed great strength and skill maneuvering them about the 'stage'. The show only lasted an hour but was well worth the 'tourist price' of 40,000Dong (locals pay considerably less...another theme that recurs throughout the country!) I bade farewell to my companions after a final beer and headed up to the train station to catch my sleeper train to Lao Cai, en route to Sapa.
November 08, 2004
Au revoir Romblon - Je retournerai bientot
What can I say...I was sad to leave Romblon province - particularly Tony and Violet's idyllic island hideaway on Lugbung. I had met and spent time with some canaos (white men) with whom I felt a kindred spirit...more importantly, I had met and spent some time with 'real' Filipinos. I don't mean this in any other sense than that they were people (so it seemed to me) who lived and worked like the vast majority of their compatriots. Boracay was an unreal environment in much the same way as Magaluf, Ayia Napa and Ibiza are in their own respective ways. People go there with the sole purpose of enjoying themselves and they expect to find entertainment...in Romblon province, I found my entertainment as a smaller, integral part of my day - not its main focus. With so much natural beauty and the peace and solitude that I've really grown to love, this small group of islands will always be calling me back. As a kid, I could never understand why my parents frequently replied to my inquiries about what they would like for Christmas or birthdays with, 'Peace and quiet!'...I get it now. It's the hardest thing to find back home and when you do, it's difficult not to appreciate.
My journey back to Manila was a lot less arduous than I had been led to believe...punctuated by one of those strange, but pleasing, coincidences that often seem to surprise me. I took one, reasonably-sized rustbucket back to the port of Odiongan on Tablas Island. As ever, the sky was clear and the sun was shining - so I limited myself to a shady spot on the starboard rail and listened to DJBillyGonzalez's 'Ethereal Trance' to pass the time. I deliberately didn't feed myself, as the Lonely Planet had suggested an air-conditioned (extremely important for me as the clubbing fraternity will attest!) diner in Odiongan. As there were three hours to kill between my ship arriving and the ferry to Manila departing, I had already made up my mind not to sit around at the ferry terminal. A quick and pleasant lunch, drowned with a couple of 'last-chance' bottles of San Mig, left me with a little time to kill...just as I was about to head to the market to try and find some books to read, a familiar face walked through the door. On my departure from Lo-oc, the previous week, I had talked briefly with a guy in the town plaza, whilst loading my bag onto the Jeepney. We'd not had chance to get into a decent conversation before the Jeepney had fired up to go to San Agustin...I'd left with some small regret that we hadn't been able to chat. Anyway, it was the self same guy walking through the door in front of my eyes - and we both gave a start of surprised recognition. It turned out he was giving a friend a lift to the ferry port (a 50km round trip in his palatial Mitsubishi people carrier) and they had just stopped in at the diner for a farewell meal with some friends. Champ (yes, his name!) kindly offered to take me back up to the port after they'd eaten...and we ended up being able to have that chat after all. Nothing of any great consequence...just nice to shoot the breeze with a contemporary...and we did swap e-mails as I boarded the boat.
I found my berth in what was formerly a car deck of the ferry. Instead of a hundred cars, there were 400 bunk beds - each with its own thin, vinyl mattress. I found myself lucky to be on a top bunk - a space about 5ft by 12ft, which was designed to sleep four. As the boat got underway, it became apparent that I wouldn't have to share with anyone, so I had the luxury of spreading out and relaxing. I was just tucking into a collection of short stories by W. Somerset Maugham (20 pesos - bargain!), when a Filipino in his 50s asked if I would mind him talking to me. Never one to deny someone a good jaw, I nodded. His first question gave me some warning, 'What do you think of this election between Bush and Kerry?' and we spent the next hour debating the 'War on Terror', Bush's motives and the relative evils of Christianity and Islam. The Philippines (for the most part) is strongly pro-American and pro-Bush...there seemed to be little real thought in most of his arguments - mostly a depressing parroting of Bush propaganda. I think he was slightly taken aback that I didn't support Bush's policies and couldn't really understand my point when I told him that I have little faith in most politicians to do the right things for the right reasons. I was trying to show him that there are two sides to every story, but he really didn't seem to go for that one. Politics is a subject I tend to avoid, only because it gets frustrating discussing it with people who have firmly entrenched views that they refuse to reconsider. In the end, I made an excuse to go to the toilet and disappeared into the cinema to watch a crappy horror flick, 'Darkness Falls'. The guy had asked me if I was playing safe with my views because I was away from home - a logical and wise choice if I'd had to think about what I was going to say. At the end of the day, there is no right or wrong way to look at a situation...as long as you look at the whole situation. If you're not in possession of too many facts, it's difficult to make an informed decision. I'm not a fence sitter, but I won't judge people or a situation when I only know one side of the story. I think I left him a little disappointed...
The rest of my trip was peaceful...I even slept for about 5 hours, before the ship pulled into Manila around 3.30am. A jeepney and a taxi ride to my hotel, left me7hrs to sleep, spruce up and feed before my flight to Hanoi. I left the Philippines with regret - but in the certain knowledge that I'll be back in the not-too-distant future. The islands are beautiful, their inhabitants too in every sense of the word. Filipinos are so open and friendly that its hard not to love being around them and I met some kind and interesting people, with whom I shall endeavour to stay in touch. I just hope that political corruption doesn't allow the natural resources and the immense work ethic of the people to be permanently squandered. It would be heart-breaking to return and find that things were not as they are now.
My journey back to Manila was a lot less arduous than I had been led to believe...punctuated by one of those strange, but pleasing, coincidences that often seem to surprise me. I took one, reasonably-sized rustbucket back to the port of Odiongan on Tablas Island. As ever, the sky was clear and the sun was shining - so I limited myself to a shady spot on the starboard rail and listened to DJBillyGonzalez's 'Ethereal Trance' to pass the time. I deliberately didn't feed myself, as the Lonely Planet had suggested an air-conditioned (extremely important for me as the clubbing fraternity will attest!) diner in Odiongan. As there were three hours to kill between my ship arriving and the ferry to Manila departing, I had already made up my mind not to sit around at the ferry terminal. A quick and pleasant lunch, drowned with a couple of 'last-chance' bottles of San Mig, left me with a little time to kill...just as I was about to head to the market to try and find some books to read, a familiar face walked through the door. On my departure from Lo-oc, the previous week, I had talked briefly with a guy in the town plaza, whilst loading my bag onto the Jeepney. We'd not had chance to get into a decent conversation before the Jeepney had fired up to go to San Agustin...I'd left with some small regret that we hadn't been able to chat. Anyway, it was the self same guy walking through the door in front of my eyes - and we both gave a start of surprised recognition. It turned out he was giving a friend a lift to the ferry port (a 50km round trip in his palatial Mitsubishi people carrier) and they had just stopped in at the diner for a farewell meal with some friends. Champ (yes, his name!) kindly offered to take me back up to the port after they'd eaten...and we ended up being able to have that chat after all. Nothing of any great consequence...just nice to shoot the breeze with a contemporary...and we did swap e-mails as I boarded the boat.
I found my berth in what was formerly a car deck of the ferry. Instead of a hundred cars, there were 400 bunk beds - each with its own thin, vinyl mattress. I found myself lucky to be on a top bunk - a space about 5ft by 12ft, which was designed to sleep four. As the boat got underway, it became apparent that I wouldn't have to share with anyone, so I had the luxury of spreading out and relaxing. I was just tucking into a collection of short stories by W. Somerset Maugham (20 pesos - bargain!), when a Filipino in his 50s asked if I would mind him talking to me. Never one to deny someone a good jaw, I nodded. His first question gave me some warning, 'What do you think of this election between Bush and Kerry?' and we spent the next hour debating the 'War on Terror', Bush's motives and the relative evils of Christianity and Islam. The Philippines (for the most part) is strongly pro-American and pro-Bush...there seemed to be little real thought in most of his arguments - mostly a depressing parroting of Bush propaganda. I think he was slightly taken aback that I didn't support Bush's policies and couldn't really understand my point when I told him that I have little faith in most politicians to do the right things for the right reasons. I was trying to show him that there are two sides to every story, but he really didn't seem to go for that one. Politics is a subject I tend to avoid, only because it gets frustrating discussing it with people who have firmly entrenched views that they refuse to reconsider. In the end, I made an excuse to go to the toilet and disappeared into the cinema to watch a crappy horror flick, 'Darkness Falls'. The guy had asked me if I was playing safe with my views because I was away from home - a logical and wise choice if I'd had to think about what I was going to say. At the end of the day, there is no right or wrong way to look at a situation...as long as you look at the whole situation. If you're not in possession of too many facts, it's difficult to make an informed decision. I'm not a fence sitter, but I won't judge people or a situation when I only know one side of the story. I think I left him a little disappointed...
The rest of my trip was peaceful...I even slept for about 5 hours, before the ship pulled into Manila around 3.30am. A jeepney and a taxi ride to my hotel, left me7hrs to sleep, spruce up and feed before my flight to Hanoi. I left the Philippines with regret - but in the certain knowledge that I'll be back in the not-too-distant future. The islands are beautiful, their inhabitants too in every sense of the word. Filipinos are so open and friendly that its hard not to love being around them and I met some kind and interesting people, with whom I shall endeavour to stay in touch. I just hope that political corruption doesn't allow the natural resources and the immense work ethic of the people to be permanently squandered. It would be heart-breaking to return and find that things were not as they are now.
November 07, 2004
Return to Lugbung
On my return to Romblon the following afternoon, I arranged passage over to Lugbung with Sinando once again. I did, however, negotiate a better price with the old scallywag this time, having discovered from Rodel that the twice-daily passenger boat only cost 7pesos. We arrived after dark and soaking wet from heading directly into the waves…well I say we…it was mostly me that was wet…Sinando getting revenge for the low fare? Who knows? Tony, Violet and Joe welcomed me with open arms and I really felt like I’d done the right thing coming back. After a delicious meal, which was actually in celebration of Tony and Violet’s 24th wedding anniversary, we fell to talking again about the history of Romblon and the Philippines. They gave me a clearer insight into there reasons for living in such a remote part of the world – a combination of the appeal of the natural beauty and a fierce dislike of the nanny state and endless regulation of the western world – sentiments with which I can identify. I was to spend the following three nights in their convivial company and sleeping in my own personal beach house. This simple lifestyle: candle-light and chess, fresh fruit and soft drinks appeals so much more than the comparatively bright lights of Boracay. I made up my mind that future visits to the Philippines would be consistent with this.
Between the twilight hours spent in my idyllic, evening hideaway, Tony encouraged me to get about and see the locality. He steadfastly refused to let me help with his forest and shoreline projects – maybe to maintain a consistent working environment for his workers…perhaps just ensuring that his guest was thoroughly enjoying himself.
I spent another day taking a motorbike around Romblon, finding the peaceful resort of San Pedro for a spot of lunch. Fresh lapu-lapu with rice, whilst watching golden orioles darting around the bougainvillea…very tranquil.
Friday was diving day. I spent the day with Pedro on his reef, where visibility was far better than anything in Boracay. We saw ribbon eels, sea cucumbers and lion fish to name the more exotic species…I was surprised to see Pedro killing and chopping up a sea-urchin with his dive-knife – but, as he explained to me afterwards, removing the urchins from the reef allows the coral to grow…and the maelstrom of fish that descended to feed was certainly worth seeing! Pedro’s gorgeous wife, Mai, cooked us a very pleasant lunch of sweet n sour fish and we sat, peacefully enjoying the southern aspect onto a turquoise sea, burnished by the midday sun. I certainly envied them their life in a secluded wooden beach hut – with beach and reef for a front garden.
On the way back from Pedro’s, I came upon Rodel and the fishermen having a bit of a party. One of the guys, Phil, was celebrating his 35th birthday (note the full head of hair – git!), so the lads were letting off some steam with a few crates of beer, several bottles of brandy and a 5-stringed, tuneless guitar. After playing catch-up and swiftly necking a couple of beers, I soon got into the swing of things. Guys all over the world have the same need for a little, occasional carousing. I felt privileged to be accepted as a canao (white man) amongst the menfolk of the village. The party eventually broke up when some of the guys had to go fishing (!) and Phil’s wife came and berated him for getting too hammered, before dragging him off by his ear to sober up. I stumbled back, in the gathering gloom, for my last meal and last night’s rest with Tony and Violet.
Between the twilight hours spent in my idyllic, evening hideaway, Tony encouraged me to get about and see the locality. He steadfastly refused to let me help with his forest and shoreline projects – maybe to maintain a consistent working environment for his workers…perhaps just ensuring that his guest was thoroughly enjoying himself.
I spent another day taking a motorbike around Romblon, finding the peaceful resort of San Pedro for a spot of lunch. Fresh lapu-lapu with rice, whilst watching golden orioles darting around the bougainvillea…very tranquil.
Friday was diving day. I spent the day with Pedro on his reef, where visibility was far better than anything in Boracay. We saw ribbon eels, sea cucumbers and lion fish to name the more exotic species…I was surprised to see Pedro killing and chopping up a sea-urchin with his dive-knife – but, as he explained to me afterwards, removing the urchins from the reef allows the coral to grow…and the maelstrom of fish that descended to feed was certainly worth seeing! Pedro’s gorgeous wife, Mai, cooked us a very pleasant lunch of sweet n sour fish and we sat, peacefully enjoying the southern aspect onto a turquoise sea, burnished by the midday sun. I certainly envied them their life in a secluded wooden beach hut – with beach and reef for a front garden.
On the way back from Pedro’s, I came upon Rodel and the fishermen having a bit of a party. One of the guys, Phil, was celebrating his 35th birthday (note the full head of hair – git!), so the lads were letting off some steam with a few crates of beer, several bottles of brandy and a 5-stringed, tuneless guitar. After playing catch-up and swiftly necking a couple of beers, I soon got into the swing of things. Guys all over the world have the same need for a little, occasional carousing. I felt privileged to be accepted as a canao (white man) amongst the menfolk of the village. The party eventually broke up when some of the guys had to go fishing (!) and Phil’s wife came and berated him for getting too hammered, before dragging him off by his ear to sober up. I stumbled back, in the gathering gloom, for my last meal and last night’s rest with Tony and Violet.
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