the Philipinnes

The taxi ride through Manilla is slow through long roads all lined with huge Shopping Centres. At Araneta bus station, I book a ‘lazyboy x-treme bus’ seat for the night and with a few hours until it leaves, I wander into the Shopping Centre opposite to find some dinner. People are walking round with 20 inch pizza boxes. The Italian, McDonalds and Jolly Bee are bursting with people. I opt for the Food Court and a chicken and rice dinner where the staff initially take me for a local and do that weird thing of being so embarrassed they can’t take my order and someone else has to take over. Next job is a Filipino SIM card. I ask around and I’m directed to the Department store. Oh, ho. ho, it is well and truly Christmas in here. It is packed with decorations, Christmas trees and whole sections just selling candles. I stock up (on candles) and eventually, I get my SIM card.

The woman sitting next to me on the ‘lazyboy x-treme bus’ is the double of me only she’s about 20 years older - same style shorts and T - shirt, same hair style (in a bun), same short build and same glasses. She lives in Naga City. We both fall asleep pretty soon after the bus sets off waking every couple of hours to look at each other. We are woken by the fight to stay alive in the freezing air conditioned climate we are being exposed to us. After losing feeling in my nose and my toes and recognizing that everyone on the bus is shivering, I become infuriated but do nothing. (I don’t speak Tagalog!)

At 4 am we arrive in Naga City to a bus station heaving with passengers and porters. The porters have PORTER written on their T’shirts and are all instantly attracted to my backpack. They are surprised to find I am the owner and even more surprised when I open my mouth and then they all try to get some business from me. Unable to deal with PORTERS taking me anywhere at this time in the morning, I plonk myself on the closest chair and my older twin joins me. We establish that my minibus leaves from behind the Shopping Centre opposite. But my sensible side insists that I wait till sunrise for this short journey. By sunrise my older twin’s husband arrives and walks me across to the minibus station. The prices are written on a board in English and I can see that everyone is paying this amount but when it comes to my turn to pay, I say where I’m going the price has doubled. I question it but they insist this is the price. I am given a seat squashed into the back of the minibus where the only room for my back pack is on my knee. The journey to the pier seems to take five minutes as I fall asleep within minutes of getting on. (It actually took 2 hours.) I am woken by the sight and sound of porters banging frantically on the minibus windows. I try to ignore them - although I really want to look because I have never seen anything like this. But then eye contact would surely indicate business. Trying not to look at anyone I stumble down onto the beach towards a large boat which may be mine and then I realize the boat is 100 yards from the waters edge and the water looks pretty deep (it’s up to the porters’ necks). It appears these are in fact people carrying porters. I ask if the boat is to the Caramoan and before I know it I have been lifted pack and all onto the shoulder of a very old and very skinny porter and he is running me to the boat – I am screaming with surprise and fear. I am prompted to sit next to the boat driver (who is standing) .A small boy who appears to be the same age as the kids in my class (about 5) is pushed towards me. He sits next to me and his mum squashes in the other side of him. The water looks great. It is indeed aqua marine and it’s surrounded by lush green land. We pass tiny islands dense with jungle in the middle and fringed by white sand beaches. This is exactly what I needed. I take out my Tony Parsons novel and I am consumed until the boy next to me rests his hand on my lap and his head on my arm. (Has he got me mixed up with his mum?) I realize the boy’s mum isn’t bothered as she asks me where I’ve come from and if I have family in the Caramoan. After an hour of sitting, once the boy wakes up, I take the one step out on deck to take some photos. I return to find the boy pretending to read Tony Parsons in a very convincing manner.

At the Caramoan I am of course mobbed by drivers and end up being swayed by a motorbike taxi who speaks good English. He offers the ride at three times what the guidebook suggests but I think he knows where I want to go. I have never driven down hill, at speed, over rubble, for 30 minutes before. It is quite scary. Once we arrive at my guesthouse, the price has doubled compared to what we agreed at the pier. Why? (This isn’t fun.)

After freshening up at my guesthouse, I stroll into the main street for some breakfast. I am famished. I am (sadly) drawn to a sign which reads ‘real coffee, real hamburger and homemade fries’. I ask for a menu and wait 15 minutes for it to arrive. I order coffee and the waitress doesn’t understand so disappears into the kitchen. Later, a man comes out and says they have no milk. I cancel coffee thinking I can get this anywhere and order eggs and toast. Later, another man comes out and says there is no bread. I say I’ll switch to eggs with rice. Ten minutes later they come to tell me there are no eggs. Oh shit. I have left Bangkok to come to a place where there is no coffee, no milk, no eggs and no bread. How will I survive? This won’t be a holiday. This will be horrible. I head back to my guesthouse and see a sign for a café within a guesthouse. I ask if they have coffee and eggs. People wander off to ask other people. Yes, they have. Twenty minutes later I get a menu. Twenty minutes after ordering I get coffee. An hour later, I have eggs, bacon, beans, toast and tomatoes.

Following a suggestion in the guidebook I take a cyclo out to Gota beach. This takes an hour in a side cart attached to a motorbike (the cyclo) again going at speed across rubble. Gota beach it turns out is actually part of a resort and Security refuse me access. After a protest by myself (mostly after the long hard journey here and the trouble I had getting food), I am allowed through. It is soooooooooo picturesque. And there’s just me on the beach - and all of the resort staff watching me!

I spend the afternoon back at the guest house debating whether this is the place for me. Yes, I wanted to escape the city and I wanted to see what a secret paradise looked like but I also need coffee and eggs and paved roads and good food and maybe some wine…

I decide to give it some time. I have a nice dinner cooked by my guesthouse owner and 2 bottles of Sol and through my guesthouse, book a boatman to take me out to the islands in the morning. Things are looking up.

I have to wake ultra early for the guesthouse breakfast and before I’ve finished it my driver is at the gate waiting for me on his motorbike. Another rubble ride and we are at Paniman beach. We wait 30 minutes for another boatman and then we’re off to one gorgeous island after another. I have never seen anywhere so unspoiled in the world. The last island we visit is the one on which Brittany and Erin are camping. I arrive to them swimming in the clear blue waters, a tiny desert island behind them and nothing on the island but little blue tent in the trees.

Swimming around, we exchange the details of our last few days and our first impressions. The girls have been on some bizarre outings in Legaspi with a local Councillor and others they stumbled on as they were trying to walk Mayon volcano. They spent one night on the mainland and since then have been living on the island. They have arranged for their guesthouse on the mainland to bring us an evening meal each night, beers in a cool box, eggs for breakfast, flasks of hot water and supplies of tea and coffee. The guesthouse also makes us a fire each night. Fantastic!

The small boat from the guesthouse arrives just before sunset complete with three members of staff. They have heard on the mainland that another Filipino has joined the girls on the island! (That’s me of course.) After identifying all our boxes of supplies, the guys set about making the fire and then leave us for the night. Dinner is amazing. Fried fish, a delicious pumpkin curry and hot rice washed down with Sol and al sat around a blazing fire.

Yes, this is Paradise. We do stretches (led by me) on the beach, we read in the shade, we swim to cool down, we read in the shade, we take photos, we read in the shade, we feast out of the boxes, we swim to cool down, we read in the shade, the boat comes in, we help make the fire, we feast again, we pop open the beers, we stargaze. Then the rain comes and it really isn’t paradise at all. Lying in a sleeping bag in the tent (only dry area), I have visions of the water levels rising above this little island. Sand is spraying into everything. Everything is wet (books, clothes, food) and there is nothing to do.

In the morning, we text for a boat back to the mainland and pack up our den. The boat arrives and takes us though the storm back to the girls’ Paniman guesthouse where they pick up the rest of their belongings. We then take a Cyclo (bearing in mind this is a side cart attached to a motorbike) and with the weight of us all it can’t get up the hill. So, we have to get out and run up the hill alongside the Cyclo in the rain. Back in my guesthouse we take shelter from the rain, have guesthouse dinner and talk about getting back to Bangkok. Next morning it’s still pouring. We take a Cyclo to the pier (rubble in the rain) and buy boat tickets. We are directed to tiny wooden canoes which I can’t even climb into without falling (the waves are so high they’re moving the canoe). I am in first and sat flailing around at the back with my backpack on, as Erin and Brittany begin rocking their way in, I think I am surely going to drown. I plan my escape route should we capsize and Brittany and her pack fall on me. (I will kick Brittany up, slip each arm out of my pack and float to the surface.) Against the odds we make it out to a big boat. We are packed into the boat and asked to sign a register detailing our name and age and country of origin. The woman before me is 75. (What the hell is she doing making this journey at 75?) Once registration is over big pieces of tarpaulin are thrown across the boat over our heads and so we are thrown around in the dark and under tarpaulin for two hours. We arrive to PORTERS hanging off the boat, their bodies crashing against the sides of the boat as they try to lift the tarpaulin. People drop off the side of the boat into the porters arms and are quickly carried in the air to the beach. Begrudgingly, I follow suit.

We are immediately squashed into the back of an ice cold minibus and two hours later arrive in Naga City. After roaming the streets for somewhere decent to stay we eventually find a nice hotel by the river, put our clothes in the laundry, clean up and dry out. After a hot meal we spend the evening in SM Shopping Mall. First stop a massage, followed by pizza. The next day we spend wandering the city before again retreating from the rain in SM Shopping Mall where we watch a movie and stock up on extraordinarily cheap wine and gin in the Supermarket. Here, all the staff are (clearly) forced to line up and perform a supermarket dance at midday. (Why?)

I had planned to travel north next week to a place called the Chocolate Hills but I am exhausted after my first semester back at school, the week long camp and the chill of the Philippines. Knowing that Erin and Brittany already have flights for Bangkok tomorrow and that I want to go home too, (to my music, my kingside bed and the Condo pool) I change my flight and book the first bus to Manilla. This resembles a ride on a rickety roller coaster for 12 hours. Halfway there I call a guesthouse in Manilla and as its rooms are fully booked, accept a bed in a dorm. (I want my apartment). To my salvation I have stumbled on a free cheese and wine night at the guesthouse and joyously feast on Feta, olives, blue cheese, brie and red, red wine before a blissfully deep sleep.

written by  Yee Ling Tang on October 30, 2009 from Manila, Philippines
from the travel blog: the break
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