PHILIPPINES3543 Kilometres – 110 Days4
September – 24 December 2013
E-BOOK
Mindanao
Island
PHOTOS
4
September – Sandakan, Sabah, Borneo – Zamboanga City, Mindanao, Philippines – By
ferry
Due
to engine problems, the ferry from Borneo only reached the port of Zamboanga
City at around nine p.m. Still, the time was eleven p.m. before we got off the boat.
The going was particularly slow, as it seemed one and all wanted to get off
first. Passengers further had to wait until transportation arrived, taking them
to the immigration office. While waiting, one had to be vigilant as small kids
hopped onboard, scavenging for whatever was going – might it be unattended
luggage or leftover food. They were like monkeys, clambering up and down the
side of the ferry. It was pretty amazing to watch them operate - they were as
quick as lightning, and even onboard security had no chance of catching them.
They were under and over the sleeping bunks without the guards seeing them.
Eventually,
I was off the boat and at the immigration building. A queue snaked from one end
of the building to the other. People were pushing and shoving (I wasn’t sure
where they wanted to go, as no pushing or shoving was going to get them to the
front any sooner). Inside, the building was hot and stuffy. Passports fanned
faces dripping with sweat, to no avail.
By
the time all was done, I set off with only a headlamp into the eerily dark
streets which revealed a few homeless people, two full hotels, and one pricey
one. Only on the fourth try was suitable accommodation found. It was thus 1.30 by
the time I closed my bedroom door.
5
September - Zamboanga City, Mindanao, Philippines
On
the boat, one could change Malaysian ringgit to Philippine pesos. Still, it
didn’t provide sufficient local currency to see me to the next big town. Priority
was, therefore, to locate an ATM.
The
Philippines is the world’s second-largest archipelago (after Indonesia), featuring
7,107 islands and the plan was to visit a few.
The
country sports a fascinating history. In 1521, the islands were claimed by
Spain, who constructed Fort Pilar, a 17th-century military defence fortress.
The British occupied it for a while but soon returned it to Spain. Then, the
U.S. came and started a war that officially lasted three years, but skirmishes continued
for a further seven, killing 600,000 Filipinos. Thus, I had to pop into Zamboanga’s
historic city hall, built when the United States colonised the Philippine
islands. After the U.S. eventually departed, Japanese troops came, and only in
1946 was the Philippines granted full independence. If that’s not enough, the Filipinos
must further deal with volcanoes and typhoons, and during my visit, political
violence was still widespread. There were repeated warnings to be careful and
NOT to wild camp.
Sauntering
about, the heavens opened and all scurried for cover. Temperatures hovered
around the mid-30°C and, being the wet season, it could rain at any given time.
Luckily, the rain came quickly and hard and didn’t last long.
Hailing
a tricycle (more like a bike with a sidecar), the going wasn’t a great deal
faster than by foot. The driver located an ATM but, sadly, no roadmap.
6
September - Zamboanga City – Vitali – 72 km
Joining
tricycles, bicycles, Jeepneys, buses and trucks, I cycled out of town. Jeepneys,
the Philippines’ most popular form of public transport, got their start as
Willys Jeeps left behind when American G.I.s departed. Filipinos recycled them
as buses sporting benches with room for 20 (or more) passengers. They were
colourful and plentiful.
Filipinos
drive on the right-hand side of the road and a roadside motorbike shop changed my
bike’s mirror to the left-hand side. Once again, the owner warned me not to
camp and advised me to go to Vitali and check at the police station where to
stay.
While
morning pollution hung thick in the air, I followed my nose north, out of large
and busy Zamboanga City. The countryside made for stunning riding, and numerous
small settlements flanked both sides of the highway. Now and then, these communities
made way for emerald green rice paddies. Water buffalo waddled in muddy puddles
and tricycles carted kids to and from school. Amazingly, even the smallest
village had a school.
As
was the case on my first day in a new country, photo stops were countless. The
Philippines was incredibly photogenic, and one could quickly fill a 36GB card.
Nothing much came of the mountains warned about, and the gradient was
reasonable even, though hilly.
At
around 15h00, dark clouds gathered, and I could see a thunderstorm approaching.
Mercifully, Vitali came before the rain and consisted of a fair-sized village offering
plenty of food vendors. Police directions were to a karaoke bar that provided
rooms above. As could be expected of a room above a karaoke bar, the room was
noisy, dark and dingy, with three-quarter cardboard walls. The owners were, nevertheless,
super friendly. At the end of the hallway was a large water container, where one
could scoop out the water to use as a shower.
Supper
was a takeaway rice meal eaten on the balcony overlooking the road. Soon three
others joined and watched each morsel I consumed. Finally, I decided to take
myself off to my semi-private room where, at least, one could eat without being
observed. The remainder of the evening was spent under a fan, downloading photos
and writing the journal.
7
September - Vitali – Ipil – 65 km
As
there was no need to hang around Vitali, breakfast was a quick bite from a
restaurant. No sooner had I finished the meal than the restaurant owner led me
off to view her sister’s corpse. Information received was that she died of a
heart attack (fortunately, not food poisoning!). Upon being encouraged to take
pictures, I politely declined, and swiftly made my way out the door before
being escorted to the funeral. Hahaha.
Although
cycling along the coastal route, the road didn’t run flush next to the ocean. Whenever
the path reached a high point, one could see a bright blue ocean below,
sprinkled with tiny islands.
Mindanao
felt like a long, drawn-out village, and there was hardly a time one was out of
the public eye. But, being a short ride, the larger town of Ipil soon rolled
into view. Surprisingly, Ipil sported a comfortable hotel with a great
restaurant and a swimming pool.
8
September - Ipil – Buug – 75 km
I
got underway in a drizzle and, once or twice, had to pull over until the worst had
passed. Yet again, the road was slightly hilly but not as bad as predicted. The
way led past plenty of tiny settlements where it appeared the main occupation was
doing laundry. Palm-woven huts and sari-sari stores, selling the whole shebang
from crackers to shampoo sachets, abounded.
On
reaching Buug, spotting a hotel was simple, as the town wasn’t large. Still, it
had a vast and interesting fish market, selling an extensive selection of fresh
and dried fish, both big and small.
A
frequent question was whether I was an American journalist or a missionary, which
most likely indicated they were the only foreigners visiting Mindanao. Seeing
my answer to both was negative left them puzzled. It was usually followed by a
polite: “What’s your purpose in the Philippines?”. Answering, “Only travelling,”
left them looking somewhat perplexed, and replying, “Oh, only travelling,”
rubbing their chins, as if such a thing wasn’t possible.
Not
as many pictures as usual were taken, for as soon as the camera came out,
whispers of “journalist, journalist” could be heard. This was one part of the
world where you didn’t want to be mistaken for a journalist. The reason is,
through the years the island Muslims (Moros) have launched repeated attempts to
establish autonomy on the island. Since the Maguindanao massacre in 2009, when
fifty-seven civilians were killed, including four journalists, Mindanao ranked
only second to Iraq for being the deadliest country for journalists. I considered
it best to keep the camera well hidden.
9-10
September - Buug – Pagadian – 63 km
It
turned out a rainy but picturesque ride as I headed towards the mountains,
mainly past rice fields and farmers ploughing using water buffalo. My route led
across rivers and past waterfalls. Spotting me, small kids ran as fast as their
little legs could carry them, and people in nipa huts looked up in surprise. So
astonished was a man relaxing under a tree, guarding his stall and selling
petrol in Coca-Cola bottles, he spun around at such speed he fell right out of his
hammock.
The
hills felt long and steep. Sometimes my legs didn’t want to cooperate, and I
was happy with the descent into busy Pagadian (still laughing about the man
falling out of the hammock!). Roads were jam-packed with tricycles and
Jeepneys, and it took weaving through them like a snake. After a quick shower, I
was off looking for a supermarket. Once at my abode, I learned I made it out of
Zamboanga City by the skin of my teeth. The Moros killed four people and held 20
hostages. Phew!
Considering
the ongoing trouble, I believed it best to get off Mindanao Island a.s.a.p. Though
I still had a long way to go, rumours were that the northeast coast was safer,
and once at Cagayan De Oro (CDO), all should be well.
The
next day was spent in Pagadian, doing the usual rest day chores and eating practically
anything I could lay my hands on while still giggling about the man falling out
of his hammock.
11
September - Pagadian – Tubod – 80 km
The
initial gentle and effortless cycle veered inland along a good climb over the mountains.
The route climbed almost forty kilometres before eventually winding down to the
ocean. This descent offered fantastic vistas. Once along the coastal plains, the
excellent road surface made it comfortable riding into Tubod.
Inquiring
about accommodation, directions were to an upmarket and expensive hotel. Still,
I thought, what the heck and stayed the night. Unfortunately, the hotel was on
the outskirts of town, and supper at their equally pricey restaurant. The food
was, nonetheless, excellent and well worth the price.
12
September - Tubod – Iligan – 66 km
The
day started with meeting the friendliest bunch of people one could imagine.
They attended a three-day conference at the hotel and invited me to breakfast.
Filipinos are incredibly hospitable and kind, always ready to share a meal.
They were also tremendously polite, generally greeting one with a “Good morning,
ma’am.” Being called ma’am always leaves me feeling uncomfortable.
From
Tubod to Iligan was a short sixty-six-kilometre ride that ran close to the
ocean offering excellent views. Shortly before Iligan was the Maria Cristina
falls - a magnificent sight but my photos could have been much better. Oh well,
there’s always another waterfall.
13-15
September - Iligan – Cagayan De Oro (CDO) – 88 km
The
horrendous traffic, narrow road, and drivers seemingly on a suicide mission
made it a stressful ride into CDO. One had to watch both oncoming traffic and
traffic coming up from behind. In addition, vehicles headed towards each other,
often occupying the same lane. As a result, I had to dive out of the way a few
times to avoid becoming roadkill. In the process, a metal pin firmly lodged in
the tyre – so tightly lodged was the pin, it took great effort getting it out.
I don’t fix punctures with any elegance and came away covered in grease.
I
was hot, sweaty, covered in grease and in a foul mood when I cycled into large
and busy CDO. To make matters worse, fume-belching tricycles and Jeepneys were so
tightly gridlocked one couldn’t even get through by bicycle.
At
least the congestion gave plenty of opportunities to enquire regarding directions
to a hotel, as no one was going anywhere. Directions were down a
hotel-kind-of-road where one could find hotels at inexpensive rates. The
air-con didn’t work, and after transferring to a different room I discovered the
air-con no better. The toilet kept running, and instead of lying in bed
listening to a running toilet, I got up and fixed the darn thing. Crawling into
bed a final time, I laughed at how bizarre things could be at times. Before finally
falling asleep, a mouse ran across the floor, but I just giggled, ignored the
mouse and fell asleep.
The
next day, I did laundry and bought two new inner tubes. Later, a river rafting
company caught my attention. This was precisely what I needed, and a trip was booked
for the coming day.
Being
picked up by a Jeepney with the rafts strapped to the roof didn’t instil much confidence.
Still, the trip was great fun, the river scenic and the guides professional. I believed
the money was well spent, and I completely changed my mind concerning CDO. By
evening, the mouse was still running around the room. Poor thing.
Camiguin
Island
16
September - CDO – Balingoan – Ferry to Benoni, Camiguin Island – 90 km
Departing
CDO was stressful as one needed to weave through the Jeepneys, tricycles,
busses and trucks. Stopping at a sari-sari store to fill my water bottle and
purchase a boiled egg for breakfast, the reality of a foreign culture became noticeably
clear. To my surprise and utter horror (and to the amusement of onlookers), the
egg turned out balut - a half-boiled duck embryo in the shell. However, no
encouragement from the villagers could get me to devour the soupy foetus. I understood
a person was supposed to crack open the top and drink the soup before consuming
the embryo and its eggy surrounds.
On
seeing properties sporting vast piles of coconut shells, and smoke billowing
from boilers or shacks, my curiosity got the better of me and I stopped to look
at what was happening. Upon closer inspection, it turned out charcoal made from
coconut shells, explaining the smoke.
The
route continued, past more stores, selling delicious-looking food as well as
the famed balut. Filipinos like their food, and it appeared unthinkable to go anywhere
without taking food along (albeit their portions were relatively small).
Roadside stores sold all the favourites. On counters, dishes were neatly displayed
from big to small. These usually contain fried fish, fried chicken, pork (in
various forms), veggies and noodles.
From
the small town of Balingoan, a ferry departed for Camiguin Island. A boat was
waiting and a ticket was hurriedly purchased. Although a short ferry ride, the
time was already half past four on reaching Camiguin Island. A nipa hut upon
stilts over the water lured me in and I thought life could indeed be worse.
Priority
was to obtain a San Miguel beer. Then, legs resting upon the railing, I sighed
and looked out over the zip-line passing right in front of me, wondering
whether to do a ride in the morning. Soon, hunger drove me to a roadside food vendor
for one of the Filipino favourites. As usual, the food was bite size as in the
Philippines people eat using a fork and spoon.
17
September - Benoni – Mambajao, Caves Dive Resort – 25 km
A
coastal road ran around the island for approximately seventy kilometres. Cycling
into the tiny city of Mambajao, the island’s capital, revealed a bank (offline),
a market, various stores, bakeries and eateries. Unfortunately, Action Geckos was
costly, and the next-door Caves Dive Resort was slightly cheaper. Being
desperate to dive, Caves Dive Resort was an excellent place to stay and do the
deed.
Booking
a dive meant retrieving my diving certificate for which an internet connection was
needed. Even though the staff informed me the establishment had internet, there
was no connection, making me feel the room was a waste of time and money. It took
some getting used to the laid-back manner of the Filipinos. Having internet
that wasn’t connected was the same as not having internet at all. Give me
strength!
18
September - Mambajao – 20 km
The
following morning, the internet was still offline and it was better to pack up and
cycle to Jasmin by the Sea, which offered large rooms and bathrooms right upon
the water. They, at least, had working internet, albeit a little slow. At last,
and with the help of my sister, the diving certificate was retrieved. But, besides
editing and uploading pictures, not significantly else got done.
19
September - Mambajao
The
southwestern monsoon came in during the night, and the day dawned with a
howling wind and bucketing rain. There’s nothing quite like crawling into bed
in lousy weather. Eventually, the weather cleared, allowing meandering to the
dive shop to arrange a dive. Unfortunately, a tricycle ride into town revealed
it was lunchtime and the supermarket closed. At least the ATM woke from its
slumber. “Pole-pole”, as they say in Swahili.
The
internet café was offline, and the only thing left to do was to have a pizza. The
pizza was surprisingly good but quite substantial, and half was saved until
supper. Once at Jasmin, the power was out and, thus, not much to do but to have
a beer. Things could be worse, as Jasmin was comfortable and a good spot to
wait out the weather.
20
September - Mambajao
In
the morning, the weather was considerably better and it was time to dive. It
felt like diving in an aquarium with abundant fish in all shapes, sizes, and
colours. Coral was plentiful and of a wider variety than I’ve ever seen. Add a
water temperature of 29°C and I thought I was in heaven.
Enough
time remained to discover the rest of the island. The island was remarkable, offering
active volcanos, waterfalls, hot springs, a ruined church, an underwater
cemetery, and even a spring that squirted soda water. The day ended with a fun zip-line
ride - I nearly went twice.
21
September - Mambajao
It
was hard to resist one more dive. Halfway to the dive shop, I got a ride with
the divemaster on his motorbike, to plenty of comments from the villagers. The
dive boat turned out one of the bangka boats, a novelty in itself. From the
shore, a short ride took us to White Island where sea life was abundant.
After
the dive, I used an internet café as the connection was slightly better than
the slow and sporadic internet at my abode. As all my money was spent on
diving, zip-lines and pizzas, an ATM was again necessary. However, the bank was
still offline and one could simply hope it would be operational by morning.
Rumour
had it a ferry ran from Camiguin to Bohol (the next island) instead of Mindinao.
Apparently, one daily ferry sailed at around 10h30 from the Port of Benoni to
Jagna, Bohol and the plan was to catch the ferry the next day.
Bohol
Island
22
September - Port of Benoni, Camiguin - Jagna, Bohol – 25 km & ferry
Plenty
of time remained to cycle to the port, as the boat departed at around 11h00,
and no sooner were we underway when the weather took a turn for the worse. The
ferry rolled and pitched, and people yelled and hung on to all conceivable
posts. Seasick bags were in high demand, as the boat rocked and rolled on the
high seas. The scariest part was there were no visible signs of any floating
devices. All we could do was sit tight and hope for the best. To everyone’s
relief, the ferry safely arrived at Jagna, Bohol two hours later.
The
wind was still pumping, and not being in the mood to battle a headwind, a scrappy
250 pesos abode made a good enough hiding place until the morning.
Bohol
forms part of what is known as The Visayas, a large cluster of islands in the
middle of the Philippines. The Visayas consists of thousands of islands, but the
nine main ones are Cebu, Bohol, Guimaras, Samar, Leyte, Panay, Negros, Romblon
and Siquijor - I could see more than one visa extension coming up.
23
September - Jagna – Talibon – 90 km
The
weather cleared in the morning, and I went to the municipality to inquire about
an island map. While waiting until the doors opened, breakfast was from a
mobile food cart. Then, map in hand, my route went in an anti-clockwise
direction around the island. A fascinating ride (vastly different from Mindanao)
took me past mangrove swamps, strange-looking hills, a multitude of small hamlets
and sari-sari stores. I even spotted giant monitor lizards.
Talibon,
the first town encountered, was steeped in history and was home to a beautiful
old church built with coral rocks and, ironically, by slaves! Construction
started in 1852 and was completed in 1899 (the slaves were clearly not in a
great hurry). Even more bizarre was the history of Talibon. It’s said that Ferdinand
Magellan escaped from Lapu-Lapu’s men who were seeking revenge for the raping
of fifty women in Cebu. His ship, Trinidad, sailed towards Talibon, where several
crew members disembarked and mingled with natives, educating them in
Christianity. The morals of the western world never fail to amaze.
24
September – Talibon – Tubigon – 60 km
By
morning, I packed my mobile home and proceeded around the island. Being blistering
hot, islanders were convinced the weather was too severe to cycle and extended invitations
for cold drinks under shady trees. Albeit blistering hot, I didn’t think one
would suffer heat exhaustion.
Tubigon
allowed sightseeing and an opportunity to investigate the famous Chocolate
Hills. Chocolate Hills consist of 1,268 identical-looking hills. The story goes
the hills were the calcified tears of a giant, whose heart was broken by the
death of a mortal lover. Regrettably, no sooner was the viewpoint reached when the
rain came pelting down, preventing any good pictures.
In
locating digs in Tubigon, a path led down a dirt track, past people’s prized
possessions, their fighting cocks, until reaching Tubigon Beach Resort. Philippine
resorts came in all shapes and sizes, from five-star to rickety huts upon stilts.
I guessed this was the rickety hut on stilts. The walkway didn’t look secure,
and the floor of the room was springy, to say the least, but at 350 pesos one couldn’t
complain. The room even had a shower and toilet. The water, nonetheless,
drained straight through a hole in the floor and ran out underneath the hut. The
bathroom was halfway between a squat toilet and a throne, and it was best not
to check to see where it drained – hopefully, not the same as the shower.
Panglao
Island
25-27
September - Tubigon – Alona Beach, Panglao Island – 75 km
The
following morning, a short ride took me to Alona Beach, which gave me plenty of
time to stop at interesting sights. The road followed the coast past small
villages, each featuring a fascinating history and past vast areas of mangrove
swamps.
The
mangroves were the habitat of a species of crab-eating macaques. These monkeys
live in matrilineal social groups with female dominance, and male members leave
the group when they reach puberty. They are clever and have been seen using
tools to obtain food and, while taking pictures, the buggers stole my water
bottle. I could’ve sworn they were laughing as they sat high up in a tree
clutching the bottle.
A
bridge connected Bohol to Panglao Island from where a good road ran the twenty-five
kilometres to famous Alona Beach. Panglao Island was the first place, since
arriving in the Philippines, where I saw European tourists. All things were,
understandably, pricier than elsewhere.
Cebu
Island
28
September - Alona Beach, Panglao Island - Cebu City, Cebu Island – 26 km
From
the ferry port in Tagbilaran, ferries departed practically every hour to the
island of Cebu. The ticket was a mere P500, and one could walk the bicycle on
board. Moreover, the weather was perfect and the sea as smooth as anyone could wish.
Two
hours later, we arrived in the large and chaotic city of Cebu where I set out
to one of the multitudes of malls. The purpose was to locate a GoPro camera. Taking
the large number of shopping centres in town, I reckoned that if one couldn’t
find what you were looking for in Cebu, it didn’t exist. More money than
intended was spent, but I became the proud owner of a GoPro camera. Although
the shop didn’t sell a handlebar mount, they located a bike shop in Bacolod that
promised to keep one until my arrival.
The
entire evening was spent figuring out how to operate my new toy and change the
waterproof housing—quite a nifty little thing.
29
September - Cebu City – Blue Pot Resort - 85 km
My
late night made it a slow start. Atill, I first stopped at the Old Fort, built
by the Spanish and dating to 1738. From the fort, I cycled through the old part
of the city with its narrow lanes and smelly open sewerage canals. The area, surprisingly, hid a considerable
amount of beautiful, old colonial buildings.
My
chosen route went clockwise around the island and even though Sunday, the going
was slow as the traffic was hectic. The road was jam-packed with busses, cars,
trucks (loaded to the hilt), tricycles and colourful Jeepneys. As a result, a considerable
amount of exhaust-laden fumes were inhaled. On a bicycle, one could keep as far
to the side as possible but still I had to veer off to avoid oncoming traffic.
The
many cyclists along the way indicated a cycle race. Seeing a participant walking
his bike, I assumed it polite to ask if he needed help. Luckily, all he needed
was an inner tube, and soon he could be on his way. In hindsight, he might not
have been overly pleased with the uncalled-for help!
Shortly
past the town of Argao, it started raining, and spotting a sign to the Blue Pot
Resort, turning off to enquire came naturally. The complex wasn’t much of a
resort, merely a few bungalows, but a good enough spot to hide from the rain.
30
September - Blue Pot Resort – Moalboal - 130 km
The
route to Moalboal ran 130 kilometres along the coast, past familiar roadside
gasoline stalls selling petrol by the litre. Amazingly, the price was similar
to what you’d find at gas stations. But, judging by the number of motorcycles
and tricycles frequenting these stalls, business was booming.
In
the meantime, crops were being dried upon the tarmac, taking up one lane. It
wasn’t that the road was used for drying produce that surprised me, but that no
one ever drove over it. Instead, busses and trucks came to a complete halt and
carefully manoeuvred around the crops before continuing.
Panagsama
Beach was nearly four kilometres from Moalboal, a real diver’s hangout offering
plenty of accommodation and dive shops. In addition, a few bars and restaurants
lined the single dirt road. This made Moalboal an easy-going village where the
beers were cheap and dive boats eagerly waited to take divers off to nearby
Pescador Island.
1
- 3 October - Moalboal
My
reason for going to Moalboal was to dive and try out the new camera. So, after
the usual housekeeping, I meandered into town to draw more money as diving was
an expensive business. It felt as if the entire day was spent eating.
The
following day was the first of numerous fantastic dives. Nearby, Pescador
Island made for convenient and exciting diving. However, taking pictures
underwater turned out more difficult than envisaged. Apart from a flat battery,
I had lots to learn.
The second dive was off the beach and even more impressive. The sardine run was
occurring at the time, and we saw genuinely unique formations of thousands and
thousands of sardines. Regrettably, by then, the camera battery was flat again.
The
underwater world is unique and incredibly rewarding. When underwater, there’s an
unbelievable feeling of peace and calm; completely surreal. Being in the Tañon
Strait, the dives around Moalboal were frequently along near-vertical walls.
The strait drops to around six hundred metres (I’ve been told), yet currents
were non-existent. Visibility wasn’t crystal clear, but the water temperature was
a comfortable 28ºC.
The
following day, I set off to the whale shark diving area in the company of other
travellers. Getting there took a tricycle ride and two buses, arriving at the
dive site around 11h00. Diving with as many as nine or ten
whale sharks nearby was a unique experience. They lazily floated about in
search of food, sucking in each morsel. With their giant mouths wide open, it
seemed they could easily suck one right in. The dive offered an excellent
opportunity to play with the GoPro. The evening was spent at a restaurant
having a few beers and sharing photos with the other divers.
4
October - Moalboal
It
was a shock to notice that it had been a month since I arrived in the
Philippines and it was time to apply for a visa extension. After breakfast, I
thus jumped on a bus to Cebu. The bus was comfortable and equipped with onboard
Wi-Fi. We arrived in Cebu approximately two and a half to three hours later.
A
taxi ride made locating the immigration office uncomplicated. Once there, I found
a room full of people all needing visa extensions. As usual, the process turned
out a long and slow one, but the day passed quickly. By 15h00, I was on the bus
for the return trip to Moalboal, visa extension securely stamped in my
passport.
Negros
Island
5
October - Moalboal – San Carlos, Negros – 60 km
I
reluctantly left Moalboal and headed north along the coast. A mere twenty kilometres
further a sign pointed to a ferry departing to Negros. With no reason to
venture further north along the Cebu coast (except to catch the boat to Negros),
I opted for the ferry. An hour and a half later, we anchored at the small
village of Basak.
Negros
came across more rural; children could be seen collecting firewood which they
carried home balanced upon their heads. Others bathed at roadside water pumps.
The route was less congested than Cebu, making it a relaxed ride to San Carlos,
where a comfortable abode at the Traveller’s Inn became home that night.
6
October - San Carlos – Cadiz – 85 km
After
breakfast, the route led north past sugarcane fields and small settlements. Unfortunately,
the path deteriorated considerably, which slowed the pace. Overloaded sugarcane
trucks wreaked havoc with the tarmac, and all attempts by the authorities to
repair the damage appeared in vain. It rained on and off all day, and the slippery,
muddy conditions and numerous potholes made for slow riding. In Cadiz, the
sight of a house came as a welcome sight.
7
October - Cadiz – Bacolod – 67 km
In
sweltering weather, I soldiered onwards past Silay and Talisay, known for The Ruins
(old mansions) for which an eye was kept open. Still, the heat didn’t make for
comfortable exploring.
Bacolod
was at the start of its annual Masskara festival (meaning a multitude of
faces). The word was a pun on mascara (Filipino for “mask”), a prominent festival
feature. The masks worn by participants were adorned with smiling faces. Luckily,
this was merely the start of the festival and accommodation was still readily available.
My
abode was in one of the side streets off the main road - a wonderful location in
the middle of a residential area where bicycle rickshaws carted people up and
down narrow dirt tracks. Dogs lay sleeping next to their owners, who sold
kebabs from small BBQs in front of their homes. Kids ran out in the road to
have a wee – and I believed the frequent rain a blessing.
8
- 9 October - Bacolod
In
addition, Bacolod was home to the exceptionally professional Dan’s Bike Shop,
which made an excellent place to hand the bike in to be serviced and pick up
the GoPro handlebar mount. I scooted up and down the road in Jeepneys, which
ran the main road’s length while leaving the work to the professionals.
At
a mall, a computer shop cleaned my laptop, as the keyboard got stuck from time
to time. They gave it a thorough cleaning free of charge. The money saved was used
at a café that sold delicious slices of cheesecake.
The
market area was hardly five minutes away, but miles from the mall and all its
fancy lights and shops. However, this was where most of the day’s pictures were
taken. I was offered an oven-fresh bread roll at one of the stalls. Delicious.
How exceedingly kind? How much could a bicycle rickshaw man make? He, highly
likely, needed the bread more than I.
By
evening, the bike shop phoned to say they were still working on the bike and it
would be ready the following morning.
10
October - Bacolod – Kabankalan - 90 km
With
the bike running like new, the route led further south, across massive rivers,
past rice paddies and sugarcane fields. Beyond the city limits and amongst
farmlands, all seemed busy harvesting. The trusted water buffalo was in high
demand, pulling and tugging in rice paddies and sugarcane fields. Large trucks,
loaded sky-high with sugarcane, dropped bits as they drove along, leaving the
road littered with stalks.
The
way led past Bago, Valladolid, Pontevedra and Hinigaran, featuring century-old
churches. Inspecting these, the children of the Philippines impressed me. They
eagerly approached, asking intelligent questions and wanting their picture
taken, all while being extremely polite.
One
of my Project-365 friends lived in Kabankalan, and I wanted to meet up with
her. However, finding a stranger in town was more difficult than foreseen. I
was sadly unable to contact her without a phone and intermittent internet.
11
October - Kabakala –Sipalay - 83 km
On
a misty morning, while pre-harvest burning smoke hung thick in the air, I
cycled the eighty-three kilometres to Sipalay. Sugarcane field burning was
carried out before harvesting. To make the process easier, the leaves were
burned off the stalks. This pre-harvest burning was a common practice worldwide.
The burning enabled manual pickers to collect the crop quickly and with less injury.
Still, it was a significant contributor to air pollution.
12
October - Sipalay
The
reason for going to Sipalay was to investigate the nearby beaches. The weather,
however, came in and rain poured down all day. I was happy to stay put and enjoyed
a day of vegging out.
13
October - Sipalay – Bayawan - 79 km
My
early departure was due to what looked like a mountainous area, and sharp the
gradient sure was. Still, the pleasant morning air made it a lovely ride after the
previous night’s storm. Once over the hilly bit, the road levelled out and headed
along the coast.
The
ride felt like a real Sunday afternoon cycle, peddling past nipa houses on
stilts, sari-sari stores, buffalos lazily grazing in the rice fields, past small
settlements where joyous singing came from makeshift churches and where Sunday
markets were in full swing, taking up the best part of the road.
Apo
Island
14
October - Bayawan – Malatapay - Ferry to Apo Island - 77 km
The
ride to Malatapay turned out a relaxing cycle; the route ran flush next to the
coast, offering stunning vistas. Sadly, the heavy rain of the past few days
caused substantial landslides, taking electrical cables and even houses with
them. Road workers were frantically busy clearing the road. It’s pretty amazing
to see what big chunks could slide off a mountain.
Around
midday, my route spat me out at the tiny settlement of Malatapay (not even
indicated on the map), where a sign pointed to Apo Island. Down a narrow lane, I
discovered bangka boats ready to whisk people off to the nearby pea-sized
island of Apo. Bangka boats, or outrigger canoes, are traditional boats used in
the Philippines. With bike and bags loaded on the bangka, we set sail. The boat
anchored at a spot straight out of a tourist brochure, sporting an idyllic
beach, palm trees and turquoise water.
The
island housed a tiny village, friendly folk, a few homestays, and the
well-organised Liberty Lodge and Dive Resort. The room rate at first appeared pricey
but the price included three meals. The best of all was dive prices were inexpensive.
I couldn’t believe my luck, so I put my feet up and ordered a San Miguel beer.
As they say, “It’s hell in the tropics”.
The
food was equally glorious - freshly-caught fish was at the order of the day, and
at the same time, a dive was organised as Apo Island counted as one of the top
dive spots in the world.
15
October - Apo Island
The
eight o’clock dive made for an early start and after a short boat ride to the
dive site, we plunged happily into the lukewarm waters of the Visayan Sea.
Arriving back, we learned a strong earthquake had hit the region. Although felt
on Apo Island, we were unaware of the tremors while diving. The quake’s epicentre
was in Bohol, where I took pictures of Chocolate Hills, severely damaging the
hills.
The
chatter continued until gearing up for the eleven o’clock dive at Coco Point. The
dive was great, and I had my first glimpse of a coral snake but sadly failed to
capture it on film.
Negros
Island
16
October - Apo Island – Malatapay, Negros - by ferry – Dumaguete City - 25 km
After
a pancake and fruit breakfast, I left paradise and returned to the mainland. A
short cycle ride took me into the city where Harold’s Mansion made convenient lodging.
My
notebook packed up, and I went in search of a replacement. The shop assistant
was kind and took out the old hard drive to use as an external hard drive. Unfortunately,
paying proved more difficult than expected as both the card machine and bank were
offline. In the end, I uncovered a working ATM prepared to spit out a few
Filipino pesos.
Siquijor
Island
17
October - Dumaguete – Siquijor Island (by ferry) – Sandugan Beach - 20 km
With
no need to stay in Dumaguete any longer and unsure where to go next, the first stop
was at an ATM. Having breakfast with his girlfriend, a Swedish chap extended an
invitation for coffee. As a cycle tourer (in Europe), he was pretty interested
in cycle touring and recommended Siquijor Island. Being only an hour by ferry
from Dumaguete, my problem was solved in where to go next, and more than
sufficient time remained to get the 12h00 boat.
Once
in Siquijor town, setting off in a clockwise direction around the island came
naturally. Roughly twenty kilometres further was Sandugan Beach which offered a
few bungalows. All accommodation was smack bang on the water’s edge under palm
trees, and hard to resist. Soon, an ice-cold beer was sipped while watching the
sunset over the Bohol Sea, one of the most beautiful sights in the Philippines.
18
October - Sandugan Beach – Siquijor Town - 57 km
Following
breakfast, my tour around the island continued. Interestingly, countless
Filipinos still refuse to visit the island due to its witchcraft and black
magic reputation. I’m sure the annual Folk Healing Festival contributed to this
superstition. Regrettably, I couldn’t find any sign of any such thing, except a
store or two selling herbal remedies. I, nevertheless, kept my eyes open for
the magic lumay (love potion - one never knows when such a potion may
come in handy). It’s understood a mere sip or sniff by the target would have the
desired effect.
Instead,
Siquijor was a friendly island where people constantly extended invitations to join
them, rest and drink water. Road workers looked disappointed at my reluctance
to share their lunch. Explaining I didn’t usually eat while cycling confused
them even further. Eating three full meals daily was considered too little for
the average Filipino. One needed to nibble on smaller snacks between meals, let
alone skip lunch. As one exclaimed: “You are starving!”
The
island was smaller than anticipated, and fifty-seven kilometres later the road
ended at Siquijor town. Being in no mood to go to the city, I kept an eye out
for lodging. All kinds of accommodation were scattered along the coast and it didn’t
take long to find a nipa hut overlooking the ocean.
19
October - Siquijor - Dumaguete City - By ferry
By
morning, a short cycle ride led to the jetty from where a ferry took me to
Dumaguete City. Once in Dumaguete, the easiest was to return to Harold’s for
the night. Unfortunately, no ferries ran from Dumaguete to the next island,
Panay. The only option was to return to Bacolod from where a ferry operated to
Iloilo on Panay Island. By evening, I ran into a great street party, and a stroll
to the waterfront revealed a lively festival. Great fun.
Negros
Island
20
October - Dumaguete – Hanseatic Resort - 92 km
Instead
of going the same way to Bacolod, proceeding in an anti-clockwise direction
around the island looked more exciting. A surprisingly beautiful ride ran next
to the coast for the best part of the day, making it a leisurely cycle to Hanseatic
Resort, right along the water. The lady was friendly, and we chatted until
sunset. After a much-needed shower and beer, a large plate of fried rice was
consumed.
21
October - Hanseatic Resort – San Carlos - 82 km
While
having a good cup of homegrown Robusta coffee, there was a frantic knocking on
the door. The owner assumed the bike had been stolen, as I usually put it
inside whenever possible. She was terribly upset as the guests, who arrived
late the previous evening, departed without paying. She might’ve thought we
were all in cahoots. This was sad as she needed the money more than her
dishonest guests.
Effortless
riding along the coast took me to the ferry port where I first arrived. There’s
no fun in doing the same route twice, and this time it took cycling the last
forty kilometres to San Carlos in bucketing rain. Thank goodness, there was no
need to search for accommodation in the rain as I went straight to Amu Tourist
Inn. My arrival in San Carlos further completed my cycle around the island of
Negros.
Panay
Island
22
October - San Carlos – Bacolot – Dumangas – Iloilo, Panay - 30 km
From
Bacolod, ferries ran to Panay Island. The boat ride was cheap but went to
Dumangas pier instead of Iloilo City, leaving a twenty-five-kilometre cycle
into the city. On the ferry was another cyclist, Roger Gonzales Aristoki, who
was planning to cycle to Ajuy the next morning. We cycled into the town
together and he kindly pointed out budget accommodation. There’s nothing like
local knowledge, and he saved me a few pesos.
23
October - Iloilo – Altavas - 120 km
Getting
underway earlier than usual made great riding as I had the benefit of a slight
cloud cover. Feeling good, the kilometres ticked by without me noticing. The
path ran across large rivers and past small hamlets, basketball-playing kids,
rice paddies and grazing water buffalo.
Altavas
only sported one guesthouse but the owner was, regrettably, out of town. Usually,
people think cycling to the next town was too far to reach by bicycle but, on
this day, they believed the next village (forty kilometres away) could be
reached within an hour. The man was entirely convinced cyclists travel at
45km/h.
Eventually,
basic rooms above a hardware store had to do. Even though inexpensive, the room
had a fan, referred to as an electric fan, and I wondered if one could get any
other fan type.
To
the villagers’ delight, the foreigner went on a walkabout. With nearly the
entire village in tow, I felt like the Pied Piper.
24
October - Altavas – Caticlan – 107 km – Ferry to Boracay
The
ride to Boracay Island started early, making it a pleasant cycle in the early
morning coolness. As expected, riding to Kalibo took considerably longer than
an hour. For the last part of the day, the route ran next to the coast and,
albeit hilly, was scenic. Nevertheless, I felt good and sped up and down the
hills, past more villages and roadside vendors, until reaching the small town
of Caticlan.
Caticlan
gave me a taste of what was to come. Bangka boats lay ready to cart the many
tourists to and from idyllic Boracay Island. It all felt a bit like a madhouse
compared to the last few days in the countryside; like cattle being led to a slaughterhouse,
we were hustled on a boat for the short ride to Boracay Island. The island was
an over-commercialised madhouse, jam-packed with tourists. Holidaymakers ate,
drank, swam and shopped. Bali was nothing compared to this island.
Finding
accommodation was easy and, in no time, I sat wriggling my toes in the sand,
sipping a beer and ordering a pizza. Fitting in didn’t take any time at all.
Boracay
Island
25
- 26 October - Boracay
Things
were costly, and I’m sure one could’ve had a dorm room at a lower rate. Diving or
doing other exciting activities the island offered was out of the question, as
the prices were nearly double what they were elsewhere in the Philippines. Only
the beers were the same price (thank goodness), and I had a beer or two while
watching the madness. It felt odd sitting there as I wasn’t Filipino, but neither
did I fit into the role of a tourist.
Mindoro
Island
27
October - Boracay – Roxas, Mindoro Island - By ferry
Relaxed
as things were around Boracay, I felt like moving along. At the ferry port, bangka
boats sailed to Caticlan, from where ferries departed to the small port of
Roxas on Mindoro Island.
The
trip took roughly five hours, giving me plenty of time to haul out the old iPod
and listen to music from decades ago. I went through them all: The Who, Rolling
Stones, Queen, Pink Floyd, Led Zeppelin, The Doors, fantastic stuff.
At
around five o’clock, we sailed into the sad-looking port of Roxas. A map of
Mindoro would’ve been helpful, but the tourist office was closed on Sundays. People
mentioned that the following day was election day, and the tourist office, therefore,
closed. Being too late to take to the road, a conveniently situated guesthouse
made easy overnighting.
28
October - Roxas – Calapan – 128 km
Following
my nose, I got going roughly in the direction of Calapan, as from Calapan
ferries sail to the “mainland” at Batangas City. No one could tell me exactly
how far away Calapan was but, as soon as the road left the city limits, signs
indicated 126 kilometres. A map wasn’t needed after all. Even the rice mills
were closed on a public holiday, making it an amazingly peaceful ride.
Discovering
indigenous tribes still lived on Mindoro Island came as a pleasant surprise.
Collectively known as Mangyans, they comprised twelve tribes, each with its own
language, culture and way of life. For centuries, they lived peacefully along the
coastal areas of Oriental Mindoro, where generally they fished for a living. Then,
however, others from nearby islands settled on the island. To avoid disputes,
these mild-mannered and peace-loving people moved to the mountains. Sadly, they
have been treated as second-class citizens, similar to other indigenous people –
often exploited, neglected and discriminated against.
It
turned out less mountainous than first believed, and with that in my favour, I
continued to Calapan. Although far, the day provided good cycling.
29
- 30 October - Calapan – Sabang Beach, Puerto Galera – 54 km
Each
island had its own vibe, and Mindoro seemed more tribal/traditional than other
islands. Farmers were riding water buffalo (not your everyday transport) and
villagers worked the fields in ways more traditional than elsewhere in the
Philippines.
Nearby
Puerto Galera was the place to go as the area’s extensive and diverse coral
reefs had been declared a UNESCO Man and Biosphere Reserve. This sounded good,
and I set out toward Sabang Beach. The road to Puerto Galera was mountainous
but, as always, offered stunning vistas. I wheezed my way up the hills, but rounding
a corner and seeing a magnificent waterfall cascading down the mountain, the climb
was soon forgotten.
A
few hills later, the road finally reached Puerto Galera, where six hilly
kilometres led to Sabang Beach. Again, I was blown away by the view: A tiny
beach settlement geared for diving provided as many as thirty dive shops,
numerous restaurants and guesthouses—a beautiful setting, featuring turquoise
water, cliffs, beaches, coves and more.
I
bedded down at an abode along the water’s edge. To think I nearly gave the
island a miss altogether.
The
following morning was dive time and in the company of the crew from Capt’n
Gregg’s, we got going at around 09h00 to Sabang Point. As promised, the visibility
was good and the sea life abundant. The dive lasted sixty-five minutes, and the
average depth was approximately twenty metres—a pleasant dive on a reef, offering
plenty of coral and fish. The water was a comfortable 28°C, and I was happy in
a three-millimetre wetsuit.
Surprisingly
enough, I got stung on the lip. Years ago, the same thing happened and, until
today, I have a small scar on my lip. The incredible thing is it sheds a small
piece of skin, like a snake! Thank the Lord, it’s not a hair or something worse,
hahaha! Maybe that’s too much information for most.
31
October - Sabang Beach
On
closer inspection, I realised with shock only two days remained on the current
visa. Time sure flies when you’re having fun. The tour operator acted as a visa
consultant, and the passport was left at his office. The process took five
days, but who would mind on an island that provided so many dive sites?
Later
I joined Capt’n Gregg’s for a 09h00 dive. A boat ride took us to Sabang Wrecks for
a fifty-five-minute drift dive. The depth was an average of twenty metres, making
it an exciting dive featuring plenty of fish. Hundreds of photos were taken,
but using a GoPro, one needed to be awfully close to your subject to get any
shots.
1
November - Sabang Beach
Shocked
at the amount spent on scuba diving, I thought it best to have a day of snorkelling.
The colours were terrific in the shallow waters. The problem with scuba diving
was one loses the colours quickly. Red was the first to go at around fifteen
feet, followed by orange at twenty-five feet, yellow at thirty-five to
forty-five feet, and green at approximately seventy to seventy-five feet. (Interestingly,
the colours disappear underwater in the same order as they appear in the colour
spectrum.) Objects further could look up to 25% closer underwater than they
are, and up to 33% larger.
2
November - Sabang Beach
This
day’s dive was a bit of a pain as my B.C. kept self-inflating and the dump
valve didn’t want to expel the air. It did, nevertheless, work when I turned on
my back. Of course, any equipment malfunction makes it a stressful dive. Fortunately,
Ted Dunn, my dive buddy, was super-experienced, and all went well. Besides the
equipment, the dive was lovely and sported plenty of colourful fish and coral.
3
November - Sabang Beach
By
then, the norm was doing an early morning dive at Dungeon Wall, a pleasant dive
revealing large schools of fish and unique corals.
Cockfighting
was, after basketball, the most popular hobby/sport in the Philippines. Summing
up the courage, I hesitantly set off to the arena. Once there, I found a well-organised
setup offering a proper “ring” surrounded by ascending rows of concrete
benches. A while later, two men entered the ring, each clasping a cock under
their arms. They placed the cocks in the middle of the ring, and with neck
feathers erect they suddenly hurled themselves at each other. In a flurry of
feathers and razor blades, blood squirted from open wounds, spectators cheered,
money changed hands, and all I wanted to do was get the hell out of there. This
was indeed a fight to the death! I persevered but after the second fight left
the stadium. Phew!
4
November - Sabang Beach
The
dive shop was again doing a two-tank dive; firstly, on the wreck of the Alma
Jane. Scuttled in 2003, she rested upright at a depth of almost thirty metres. However,
currents in the vicinity of the wreck could sometimes be strong (and the
visibility not always good). Skippers, hence, maintained a buoy line tied to
the wreck, making descending along the line without floating away into the blue
yonder, never to be seen again. The second dive was along the Dungeon Wall.
Both
were incredible dives. During the first dive, I teamed up with Mads, our
divemaster, who has the best buoyancy control I’ve ever seen in any person.
5
November- Sabang Beach
Finally,
it was time to collect my passport and move along. However, it was already late
and best to catch the ferry to Batangas City in the morning.
Luzon,
Island
6
November – Sabang Beach – Talisay – 61 km
From
the tiny ferry jetty, large motorised bangka boats departed to Luzon Island,
referred to as the “mainland”, as the island housed Manila’s capital city. The
crossing took barely an hour and once in Batangas City, the road headed north
in Manila’s direction.
Sadly,
the toll road didn’t allow bicycles (a pity), and I followed a smaller and far narrower
path. Strange how the dangerous roads allow bikes and the safer ones, sporting
a wide shoulder, prohibit bicycles.
Once
at Tanauan, a secondary road veered off to Talisay, where I believed one could get
a boat across Taal Lake to the Taal Volcano. Unfortunately, the boat ride to
the island was a tad expensive for one person. Luckily, basic accommodation along
the lake provided a spot to watch the sunset over this peaceful lake and
volcano.
I
was keen to hike to the top of this small volcano as it was reputedly the world’s
smallest active volcano. All volcanoes in the Philippines Taal Volcano form
part of The Pacific Ring of Fire, a horseshoe-shaped area of almost 40,000
kilometres where numerous earthquakes and volcanic eruptions occur. The Ring of
Fire has four hundred and fifty-two volcanoes and is home to over 75% of the
world’s active and dormant volcanoes. A few years later, on 12 January 2020,
the volcano erupted after being dormant for 43 years and continued erupting for
more than a year. A phreatomagmatic eruption from its main crater spewed an ash column
exceeding a kilometre high over the surrounding islands and Metro
Manila, resulting in the suspension of school classes, work schedules, and flights.
7
November - Talisay – Manila – 88 km
Cycling
up the hill I came down the previous day wasn’t as steep as expected; Manila’s
traffic was far worse. The National Highway led straight into the city centre
and ran through numerous towns and villages. The traffic was bumper-to-bumper
and Jeepney-to-Jeepney, all the way into the city. Cycling the short distance
of eighty-eight kilometres took practically the entire day, mainly due to the
horrendous traffic.
Once
in the town, the suburb of Melati provided decent-looking accommodation. It
felt good to be in a solid-looking guesthouse ahead of the forecasted super
typhoon, predicted the strongest typhoon ever to make landfall in the
Philippines.
Due
to the typhoon, all flights and ferries were cancelled, and all one could do
was hunker down. Pension Natividad wasn’t the cheapest, but comfortable and
centrally located. The place was packed with people who missed their flights
and ferries. Nevertheless, a jovial mood prevailed while all waited to see what
to do next.
8
November - Manila
Though
overcast and rainy, Manila was out of harm’s way and nothing came of the
predicted high winds. The islands to the south were more affected and several
islands suffered severely. Reportedly, the typhoon made landfall in Haiyan with
wind speeds of up to 315 km/h, killing 6,300 people. Entire villages were wiped
out.
In
Manila, people waited for flights and ferry schedules to return to normal. Several
of the pension’s guests couldn’t contact family and friends as all lines were
down. In the company of John and Matthew (both living on Coron Island and
waiting for a ferry), we set off to the harbour to find information about a ship
sailing to Palawan. We couldn’t find one and returned to the pension and had a beer
instead.
9
November - Manila
The
next day, the weather improved, allowing a trundle around town. Manila was an
immensely populated city (20 million) and, consequently, plagued by traffic and
pollution. Manila further had a massive contingent of homeless people. They,
however, seemed friendly and content living on the pavement amidst the fume-belching
trucks and Jeepneys. I ventured along the seafront, past Rizal Park, to what was
known as Intramuros, the old Spanish capital. A crumbling wall still half
surrounded the area. Even though mostly destroyed in World War II, the area
remained interesting.
Upon
returning to the guesthouse, my path led past Robertson’s Mall. It was convenient
shopping, seeing they had a well-stocked supermarket. Once at the guesthouse rumours
were doing the rounds of a boat departing to Coron Island the following
Wednesday.
10
November - Manila
A
stroll with Bjorn from the guesthouse to the National Museum turned out fascinating
and the Butuan boats’ discovery intriguing. The boats were excavated in 1997
and date to 320AD. These boats are evidence that early Filipinos were seafaring
and relatively technologically advanced. In addition, the discovery revealed
they had contact and traded with areas outside the Philippines, as shown by the
archaeological artefacts. Even more exciting was that the largest sailing
vessel of its kind yet discovered was unearthed in Butuan City in Mindanao.
Estimated around eight hundred years old, the wooden boat may be centuries
older than the ships used by European explorers in the 16th century when they
first came upon the Philippines.
Nibbling
on street food, we wandered off in the direction of the Palace to see if we
could glimpse the 3,000 pairs of shoes, ha-ha. In the process, we passed a Sikh
Temple celebrating the 544th birthday of Shri Guru Nanak Dev Ji, founder of the
Sikh religion. Inside, we were issued headscarves, invited to partake in the
festivities, and served the best Indian food since leaving India. What a
wonderful experience.
Our
route led past the Palace, but it wasn’t noteworthy and we proceeded to
Chinatown. At the pension, rumours were of an additional storm moving in. During
the previous storm, all ferries and boats were suspended.
11
November - Manila
We
all waited for news regarding the new storm. Meanwhile, I took to the streets
and cycled around the city to locate a bike shop but couldn’t find the one I
was looking for. Being unimportant, I looked for a vantage point to take
pictures of the city skyline. Sadly, it started raining, and I returned to the
guesthouse with nothing to show for my efforts.
12
November - Manila
I
braved the sea of Jeepneys and cycled (what felt like) straight into the lion’s
den. This time, a bike shop was located down a small residential lane, and
while the professionals did the work, I searched for more attractions. The
street was blocked off, as a TV crew arrived the next morning to record a
programme. In the meantime, a choreographer gathered the citizens and had them
do a fantastic routine in no time. Professionals could make anything look easy.
Once
the bike was done, darkness had fallen and it was quite an experience returning
without lights and in hectic traffic. I felt it best to follow a bicycle
rickshaw (pedicab) as they didn’t have lights either and were pretty good at
weaving in and out of traffic. I was mighty pleased with myself for making it to
my digs unscathed.
13
- 14 November – Manila
At
Robinson’s Mall, I found a ferry company selling tickets to Palawan. A ticket
to Puerto Princesa, situated on Palawan Island, was purchased. The weather
forecast indicated better weather by Friday, and all hoped the ferry wouldn’t
be cancelled.
I
was a tad baffled by the large contingent of American Peace Corps staff who
moved into our guesthouse. I later learned they had been evacuated from Central
Visayas after the typhoon and were in Manila indefinitely. Although staying free
of charge, a few complained they had to sleep in a dormitory. Inquiring when
they would be returning, the answer was that they were uncertain as there was no
way they could be taken care of. And there I assumed they were the ones taking
care of the people.
I
spent the entire day searching for a contact number to help the affected
islands. All to no avail as there appeared no way of communicating with the
islands and impossible to reach the relevant people. Best to leave the job to
the professionals. I’m sure they couldn’t still cope with inexperienced “helpers”.
Palawan
Island
15
- 16 November - Manila, Luzon – Puerto Princesa, Palawan
It
felt good to cycle off to the pier, and the ferry came as a pleasant surprise. The
boat was large and stable, offering air-con sleeping quarters, entertainment on
deck, and even dancing staff as we sailed off. The boat sailed out of Manila
Bay in perfect weather and I sat outside listening to music, dressed in shorts
and a T-shirt, until long past midnight. Fantastic.
The
morning broke amidst hundreds of islands, quite a spectacular sight, and
strangely more Mediterranean-looking than tropical. Naturally, food was
included in the ticket. All lined up to receive our polystyrene container revealing
a boiled egg, rice and something which resembled mince of sorts.
Arrival
in Puerto Princesa was at 0h30, and all managed to get off quickly and orderly,
unlike other ferries. I cycled into town to locate accommodation and came upon
recommended Casa Luna. The rooms were reasonably priced and conveniently
situated around a courtyard.
17
November - Puerto Princesa
Arrangements
were made to see the underground river the following morning. Afterwards, I
took off to a bank to draw as much money as possible, as I understood this was the
only ATM on the island.
18
November - Puerto Princesa & The Underground River
An
hour or two’s drive brought us to the underground river, en route stopping at
the Ugong Cave. The Ugong Rock stood roughly twenty-odd metres high, and one could
clamber through caves and crevices (using ropes) right to the top. Instead of
returning on foot, I used a zip line. In a mere twenty seconds or so, I was on
the ground. How cool is that?
Located
in a national park, the underground river was immensely touristy but worth the
effort. Turquoise, crystal-clear water disappeared into the darkness of the
mountain and ran for almost eight kilometres. The river wound through the cave
before flowing directly into the South China Sea. We merely explored one and a
half kilometres of the route before retracing our steps past stalagmites,
stalactites and strange limestone formations created aeons ago.
19
November - Puerto Princesa – Honda Bay – 13 km
Early
morning, I departed Puerto Princesa, prepared for a long day of cycling, but in
the end biked a “record-breaking” thirteen kilometres. Shortly beyond the town,
a sign pointed to Honda Bay. Turning off to investigate, I found a small jetty
where boats left for nearby islands and befriended Edna in the process. She oversaw
the selling of boat tickets and had a small property featuring two nipa rooms
and offered me one of the rooms at 200 pesos. The price included supper and a
pig in the front yard. I thought travelling didn’t get much more interesting
than this and accepted the deal.
The
boat ticket was a little pricy for one person, but Edna arranged for me to join
a family out for the day. It was a lovely family from Manila who was kind
enough to allow me to join them. They invited me to share their food and drinks,
and I got to eat an array of typical Filipino food. In classic Filipino style,
they were well stocked. The snacks included salted eggs, eggplant in garlic and
chilli, fried fish, and loads of other things I couldn’t remember. We had a
wonderful time, stopping at three nearby islands before returning to the mainland.
I’ll be forever grateful to this kind family as they could never imagine what a
treat the trip was to me.
Edna
was waiting at the jetty, and we made our way to her house. While she prepared
rice, fresh fish and octopus, the power went out. Still, she was unperturbed
and carried the food next door to where they had a barbeque.
As
darkness fell, a few visitors came to glance at the stranger in their village.
To make matters even more interesting, we sauntered to the nearby basketball
court, the centre of town and thus all activities. One half of the court was
used by youngsters shooting for the net and the other half by kids doing
cartwheels and jumping elastic rope. On the side-line, one could buy snacks
from mobile carts or participate in various games. Kids hopped, skipped, and
jumped or did silly bicycle tricks while the older ones hung around, stoic-faced,
trying to look cool.
What
a wonderful village. I’m sure I met the entire community during the short walk
to and from the basketball court. I considered it travelling at its very best.
20
November - Honda Bay – Roxas - 128 km
I
didn’t expect the day to be quite as challenging! Not only was the weather scorching,
but the hills were steep and, for an unknown reason, I didn’t feel well and
suffered from an upset stomach and nausea. Halfway, I started vomiting and
cramping, something I’d never experienced before. The day turned out one that
required mental strength bordering on stupidity while pushing the bike up the sharp
hills, cramping, rubbing my legs, and vomiting.
It
took nearly the entire day to reach Roxas, where I collapsed, exhausted. I had no
appetite and was in no mood to stuff food down my throat.
21
- 22 November - Roxas – Taytay - 80 km
I
assumed the day would be difficult, and I wasn’t wrong. In hindsight, I should’ve
stayed the day. My lack of food intake didn’t help either. Still nauseous, I
stopped at the chemist to get medication preventing cramps and nausea and
stocked up with vitamins.
Depleted
of all energy, I struggled onwards and upwards and, once again, had to walk the
bike, stopping every few metres to rest. Finally, and to my great relief (a tad
of an understatement), I reached Taytay. This old colonial town featured a fort
and a historic church.
I
flopped down in utter exhaustion for the second day in a row. Mercifully, soup
from the on-site restaurant was just the thing needed. Armed with rehydration
salts and plenty of water, I hoped for a quick recovery.
The
next day I barely had enough energy to explore the historic Taytay Fort, or Fuerza
de Santa Isabel, built in 1667 and completed in 1738. But, at least, I came to
my senses and didn’t set off again, as was my habit. Thank goodness, by evening
I felt heaps better.
23
- 24 November - Taytay – El Nido – 70 km
People
warned about the road to El Nido. The road was gravel and hilly and I wasn’t particularly
looking forward to the ride. The day, however, turned out a pleasant surprise as
the climb wasn’t as severe as predicted, and only a dirt road in places, while the
greatest part of the way to El Nido was paved. Moreover, El Nido had no
shortage of accommodation as the place was popular, and rightly so. My pick of
the bunch was a lovely guesthouse, a street or two from the beach at a
reasonable price and with welcoming owners.
It
rained on and off the following day, which made it a perfect time to hang around
and explore the tiny village of El Nido. Famed for its diving, a dive was
booked for the next morning. The fee included three dives, a boat trip to the
islands, and lunch. The evening was spent enjoying supper and a beer on the
beach, a perfect way to end a good day.
25
November - El Nido
Eight
o’clock was dive time, and the boat left El Nido at around 8.30/9.00 a.m. The
first dive was along a wall and, albeit beautiful, it wasn’t spectacular. I
was, in fact, quite surprised at the lack of coral and life down below. Nonetheless,
the scenery above water was dramatic, revealing limestone pinnacles and cliff
faces. So spectacular was the view, the area was the location of choice for a
few movies.
Our
second dive was far more exciting and sported large fish, octopus, giant shrimp
and many more. Both dives were approximately fifty-five minutes, to a depth of twenty-five
metres with a water temperature of 28°C. After the second dive, lunch was at a
tiny white beach offering crystal-clear, turquoise water, resembling a painting.
Time flew by, and soon it was our last dive - an incredible dive amongst massive
coral and other sea creatures.
The
strangest thing happened once on the boat - I became dizzy and disorientated and
suffered from blurred vision and a peculiar distant sensation. WOW, how weird? I
drank plenty of water, laid down, and felt considerably better by the time we
reached the mainland. I surmised it was a balance disorder. Having a sinus infection,
I took medication before leaving, which could’ve been the cause, or it could’ve
been simple dehydration.
Busuanga
Island
26
November - El Nido – Coron Town, Busuanga Island
The
ferry trip between El Nido and Busuanga Island (Coron town) was immensely scenic
but a lengthy seven-hour affair on an open boat. Luckily, we were given lunch
(a small fish and a substantial amount of rice). The area around Coron town was
famous for its World War II wreck-diving.
In
September 1944, a fleet of Japanese ships hiding in the harbour was sunk in a
daring raid by the U.S. Navy. The result was around ten well-preserved
shipwrecks surrounded by a coral reef. There wasn’t much to do but dive and
watch the sunset over Coron Bay. I strode to Seadive Resort, a massive
ramshackle complex sporting rooms, restaurants, bars, and dive shops. The
diving looked well organised and I booked a three-tank boat dive for the
following day.
27-28
November - Coron Town
The
first dive had an unusual location - a lake/hot spring. The dive, firstly,
involved a boat ride, then a short swim to the shore, followed by a scramble (in
full diving gear) over a rocky outcrop to the lake. Upon descending about fifteen
metres, the water temperature shot up to a boiling 38°C. The temperature
variation was so significant one could see the thermoclines. We followed the
wall for almost twenty minutes, and then returned to the entry point, making a forty-minute
dive in total. How cool is that?
Our
next dive was the Olympia Maru - a WW2 Japanese shipwreck. She was lying on her
starboard side at twenty-five metres. Like all the other Japanese ships in the bay,
it was sunk on 24 September 1944 by a U.S. air attack and was a one-hundred-and-twelve-metre
supply ship. We had appalling vision but penetrated the wreck and swam through
the prop shaft and into the engine room past two huge boilers. We even saw a
crocodile fish hiding away as we passed old kaolin bricks used to fire up the
boilers.
The
Tangat Wreck was our third and last dive of the day, a small gunboat forty metres
long. She was lying in shallow waters, making it a perfect third dive.
29
- 30 November - Coron Town
The
following day was one more three-wreck boat dive. Again, the wrecks were quite
far out, making the trip a whole day affair. First up was the remarkably
interesting IJN Akitsushima, a seaplane carrier. She was lying on her port side
at thirty-seven metres. This 4724-ton ship had a length of one hundred and
eighteen metres and a width of 15.7 metres. Powered by four diesel engines, it
had a maximum speed of nineteen knots.
Akitsushima
was armed with ten 25mm anti-aircraft guns, four five-inch guns, and one large
Kanwanishi flying boat. She was hit near the stern where the flying boat sat
upon metal tracks. Sadly, the flying boat disappeared; it’s assumed it took off
before the sinking. The crane used to lift the seaplane out of the water was
still intact, lying on the sandy bottom and attracting enormous schools of
fish. We entered the wreck and swam along the inside until reaching a large
crack that almost split the ship in half. From there, one could manoeuvre
through the crack and proceed to the engine room through dark and narrow nooks
and crannies. After the dive, we devoured most of the coffee and snacks while
the boat sailed to the next dive site.
An
hour or so later, we kitted up for our next dive. The Taiei Maru, a Japanese
freighter one hundred and thirty-seven metres long, was lying on her starboard
side. The big cargo rooms and the engine room allowed straightforward penetration
of the wreck, making it a fun dive.
Our
last dive was on the Lusong Gunboat, lying in shallow water between three and
eighteen metres, an excellent spot to do a third dive. Hard corals nicely
covered the wreck and although the visibility was poor, we saw plenty of fish.
At least this time, there were several divers and loads of fun was had between
dives. By evening, all were too lazy to go anywhere and we sat in the
restaurant, drank beer and ate pizzas.
Seadive
Resort is situated in the middle of town and on the water’s edge. Therefore, a convenient
location to hang out. The days came and went without me noticing, apart from socialising
with a bunch of crazy divers.
1
December - Coron – Manila - By ferry
By
morning, I settled my bill, loaded the bike and cycled the short distance to
the ferry. The ferry was late and departed at around 19h00 instead of 15h30, giving
me plenty of time to wander around town.
Coron
town was indeed in the eye of the storm, and the damage from typhoon Yolanda was
clearly visible. Only seeing the devastation first-hand, the reality of the
storm became real.
Luzon
Island
2-7
December - Manila
The
journey to Manila was a comfortable one where we arrived around eight or nine o’clock
the following morning. Unfortunately, the short distance to the pension was in horrendous
traffic. Still, by ten o’clock, I was all settled in at Pension Navadidad.
The
next day was spent at Makati, a completely different part of the city with a
different vibe. Makati was the heart of the financial district and was crammed with
high-rise buildings and designer stores. However, the area was surprisingly
orderly and clean. The reason for my visit was to apply for a Taiwanese visa
and I, surprisingly, found numerous people in the waiting room. With the
result, it was half-past one before all was done. The visa took three days, and
with time on my hands, I got a 150 pesos haircut. While the lady was cutting my
hair, I had a pedicure for an additional 100 pesos.
From
the South African Dragon Boat team, Pam put me in contact with Sandy. Sandy
kindly invited me to join them in practice. As a result, I was up at 4h00 to
paddle with the Manila Dragons. What a fabulous experience (albeit surmising I
would be incredibly sore). After departing South Africa six years earlier, it
felt good to be in a dragon boat, and equally pleasant to hear the familiar, “Crew.……………,
are you ready? Attentiooooooooooooon. GO!”
I
bummed around town until time to collect the visa. Unfortunately, visas could
only be collected after midday, and it was thus past five o’clock before
finally clearing out of the building. Being peak hour on a Friday in Manila
City, the traffic was bumper to bumper. Reaching the guesthouse took forever but
I was finally ready to leave Manila.
8
December - Manila – San Fernando City – 81 km
I
wasn’t ready to leave the Philippines as a vast northern region remained. Leaving
the pension, the route led past the waterfront where Dragon Boat races were on.
I watched for a while, cheering on my favourite team and snapped a few pics.
Being
Sunday morning, the traffic was less congested than during the week. Seeing the
other side of the city was an eye-opener. Shacks encroached onto the road; by
then, the three-lane highway was only two lanes. Still, it remained reasonably uncomplicated
getting out of town. If I did go wrong, I knew nothing about it and was
blissfully ignorant of whether I was on the right road.
My
path never entirely cleared the traffic, and the road stayed congested virtually
the entire 80 kilometres to San Fernando, which sported accommodation and food.
9
December - San Fernando – Santa Juliana – 70 km
My
slow start was due to a windowless room and I only emerged at around eight o’clock.
Breakfast was from the 7-Eleven, after which I continued my trek north.
The
area immediately north of Manila was significantly different from the rest. One
could easily imagine being in a foreign country.
I
met with Ray Cayabyab, cycling to his hometown in San Carlos. He was doing exceptionally
well on his old rusty bike with a basket in front but had to stop at each
petrol station to pump his tyre. We chatted non-stop (when the traffic allowed)
as he spoke good English.
Planning
to visit Mount Pinatubo, I waved him goodbye and turned off to Santa Juliana.
Mt. Pinatubo was a volcanic crater lake. On 2 April 1991, people from the lower
slopes of Mt. Pinatubo witnessed small explosions, followed by steam from the supposedly
dormant volcano’s upper slopes (the last known eruption was 600 years ago). Then,
on 12 June, the first of several major explosions took place. The eruptions were
so violent that shockwaves were felt in The Visayas. A giant ash cloud rose thirty-five
kilometres into the sky.
Santa
Juliana was a tiny settlement offering a few houses and a tourist office. First,
they gave me all the info regarding the volcano. Then, they pointed me in Bognot
Homestay’s direction, a comfortable place run by Alvin and his wife, Angie. Being
the only accommodation, I soon met other travellers. Together, we decided to visit
the crater in the morning.
10
December - Santa Juliana - Mt Pinatubo
Shortly
past 5h00, a four-wheel drive jeep left the tourist office for an hour-long
drive to the crater, a bumpy and dusty ride along a riverbed. The landscape was
stark and barren, with only the odd water buffalo.
Surprisingly
enough, people who looked completely different to the Filipinos in the rest of
the country lived up in the hills. The Aeta were indigenous people who lived in
Luzon’s isolated, mountainous parts. They were thought among the earliest
inhabitants of the Philippines. One theory suggests that Aeta are the
descendants of the original inhabitants of the Philippines. Contrary to their
seafaring Austronesian neighbours, they arrived through land bridges that
linked the country to the Asian mainland almost 30,000 years ago. Unlike many
of their Austronesian counterparts, the Aetas have resisted change. Thank
goodness, all attempts by the Spaniards to settle them in reservations failed.
We
continued until the jeep could go no further and then set off by foot for about
an hour to the top. The hike was a relaxed one along a stream until finally
reaching Crater Lake. The lake was much larger than envisaged. We took a few
pics, sat chatting, and then retraced our steps.
Once
in Santa Juliana, and already past midday, I was too lazy to proceed and stayed
put.
11
December - Santa Juliana – Camiling – 77 km
En
route to the main road, I stopped at the depressing Death March Memorial. The
area was the final stage of the tragic Death March and concentration camp. Japanese
troops forced approximately 75,000 prisoners of war to make a sixty-five-mile
march to a prison camp. The exact figures are unknown, but thousands died
because of their captors’ brutality, who starved and beat the marchers and
bayoneted those too weak to walk. The marchers made the trek in intense heat.
Finally, survivors were taken by rail from San Fernando to prisoner-of-war
camps. At these camps, thousands more died from disease, mistreatment and
starvation.
Today,
they are remembered by a large memorial and a wall bearing the names of those
who died. War is such a sad thing.
The
rest of the day was a pleasant and comfortable ride, arriving in Camiling in
the midday heat. With budget accommodation in Camiling, I had no reason to push
on as I wasn’t part of the Death March.
12
- 13 December - Camiling – Lucap – 88 km
Breakfast
consisted of the usual Filipino breakfast of garlic rice, a fried egg and
Longanesa sausage. The road was flat, making it an enjoyable ride to where the way
met the coast at the Lingayen Gulf. At the junction, I turned left. Here I veered
in a westerly direction to the small village of Lucap, mainly because I’ve no
structure in my life and go wherever the mood takes me.
Lucap,
gateway to 100 Islands National Park, was well organised, and it was easy to
locate a reasonably priced room at Sweet Honey’s. This family-run establishment
was accommodating and arranged a boat to take me to the islands.
On
waking the next morning, the boatman was already waiting. Unknowingly, my host
packed lunch and water (all nicely in a cooler box - how sweet of them), and all
was set in place for a full day of island hopping.
The
islands (hundred and twenty-three) were primarily tiny, mushroomed-shaped
islands featuring only a few shrubs. A few of them were larger and had beaches
and even caves. We explored a few of them, and there was plenty of time to swim
and snorkel. The snorkelling was an immense pleasure and revealed plenty of
fish and fantastic corals. Giant clams were being reintroduced in the area
after dynamite fishing destroyed virtually all of them. All in all, a great trip
- well worth the money paid.
14
December - Lucap – Agoo – 111 km
After
backtracking the thirty-five kilometres to the junction, I ventured in a
northerly direction along the coast—past small villages revealing fascinating-looking
churches, furniture makers and crab sellers. Like the previous day, the day offered
easy riding and the slight headwind was a blessing in the heat. My path crossed
a multitude of rivers and interesting and ingenious fishing methods. Vendors
were selling clams, oysters, dried fish, fresh fish, crabs, and just about
anything the sea could produce.
On
reaching the tiny village of Agoo, featuring a basilica, the town looked good enough
to overnight. However, finding a guesthouse was more difficult than anticipated.
The few kilometres cycled to the beach revealed just one dilapidated and
overpriced establishment. I returned to the village searching for a “Transient
Room”; a room by any other name was for only a few hours and for a completely
different purpose than I had in mind.
Eventually,
a place sporting a restaurant was uncovered. Starving, I rushed to a nearby
restaurant. The waitresses, decked out in their Christmas hats, appeared
somewhat wary of me and I suspected I was their first western-looking client.
They kept their distance as they took my order and I had an overwhelming desire
to go “Boo!” (making claws and big eyes). But, being far too hungry, I
refrained from any such behaviour as I thought it entirely possible I wouldn’t see
them or my food again.
15
- 18 December - Agoo – San Juan - 50 km
In
the morning, I biked to the tiny village of San Juan. San Juan was known for
its waves, making it a perfect spot to take a surfing lesson. Regrettably, I
couldn’t locate any dirt-cheap ones. Ultimately, I opted for a rather pricy abode
(known as a surfing hangout and a place where one could get surfing lessons). Surprisingly,
the area was slightly dreary (maybe it was the “cool surf” attitude - looking
bored and disinterested).
In
the morning, I moved to a cheaper and friendlier-looking place and bumped into
Lionel (from Coron). A pleasant surprise to see a familiar and friendly face
amongst all the other emotionless ones.
The
grand plan was to take a bus into the mountains to see the rice terraces and
the famous hanging coffins. I packed up, arranged to leave my bicycle and bags
at the inn, and moseyed over to the bus stop with only a small backpack. Sadly,
the bus never arrived. Irritated, I returned to the guesthouse (I’ve no
patience).
I
woke with a sore throat, blocked nose, bucketing rain, and howling wind and
stayed put. My idea of cycling north to Laoag (on the north coast) to fly from
there to Taiwan didn’t seem such a good choice after all, as all flights went
via Manila, making the flight even more costly. Unfortunately, no ferries
operated between the Philippines and Taiwan, leaving me no option but to fly.
19
December - San Juan – Urdaneta City - 100 km
Bored,
I swallowed a few flu tablets and pointed the bike toward Manila along a
slightly different route. The day was marked by slow-moving traffic, roadworks,
and dust which made it a frustrating ride. Finally, reaching Urdaneta City, I
was ready to find a room and spent the rest of the night watching TV, something
I’ve not done in ages.
20
December - Urdaneta – San Fernando – 120 km
Cycling
with a cold was probably not the best, but favourable conditions made riding
easy. The road passed unusual roadside stalls, a few selling dried fish and various
fascinating produce. Ultimately, I found myself in San Fernando and at the same
hotel as on the previous visit.
21
December - San Fernando City – Manila - 76 km
The
last leg of my Filipino journey was marred by slow-moving traffic and dusty
roadworks. Cycling into the city I somehow found myself in the middle of Chinatown,
midday on the last Saturday before Christmas. My word, what chaos! It took
ducking and diving through the hectic traffic to avoid the countless Jeepneys
and tricycles, but I thought I handled the madness like a pro.
22
December - Manila
In
Manila, the city was in a festive mood. The waterfront was packed with food
vendors, people strolled and biked along the promenade, and hawkers peddled
their wares.
Little
was achieved in organising my trip to Taiwan, as both the bike shop and the
travel agents were closed on Sundays. But mercifully, one could upgrade luggage
to forty-five kilograms at a small fee - good news as flying with the bike could
be expensive.
23
December - Manila
Finally,
a flight ticket to Taipei, Taiwan was purchased, and the bike was taken to the
bike shop to be boxed. The rest of my time was spent sorting out gear.
By
evening, a stroll along the promenade made me understand why Manila was referred
to as the Pearl of the Orient. The sunset was spectacular as the sun resembled
a massive ball of fire, and without any wind and an agreeable 28°C I didn’t
think my final day in the Philippines could be any better.
24
December - Manila, Philippines – Taipei, Taiwan
My
flight was only at eleven p.m. allowing the entire day to play in Manila. I didn’t
play much but did much-needed catching up on social and business matters. Collecting
the bike from the bike shop required a Jeepney to the pension, bike and all. What
a performance.
The
flight from the Philippines to Taiwan was uneventful and we touched down in
Taipei at around two o’clock in the morning. Everything went smoothly and all
the luggage came out on the belt, bike and all. Being that early, I believed it
best to wait until daylight before hailing a taxi into town. Unfortunately, the
hostel booked wasn’t open at night, and the reception desk only opened at 9h00.
I further wanted to drop my bike at the bike shop for reassembling, but they
only opened at 10h00.
I
slept soundly upon the soft airport couches and was ready to venture into this
new country when it became light.
E-BOOK
Mindanao
Island
PHOTOS
4
September – Sandakan, Sabah, Borneo – Zamboanga City, Mindanao, Philippines – By
ferry
Due
to engine problems, the ferry from Borneo only reached the port of Zamboanga
City at around nine p.m. Still, the time was eleven p.m. before we got off the boat.
The going was particularly slow, as it seemed one and all wanted to get off
first. Passengers further had to wait until transportation arrived, taking them
to the immigration office. While waiting, one had to be vigilant as small kids
hopped onboard, scavenging for whatever was going – might it be unattended
luggage or leftover food. They were like monkeys, clambering up and down the
side of the ferry. It was pretty amazing to watch them operate - they were as
quick as lightning, and even onboard security had no chance of catching them.
They were under and over the sleeping bunks without the guards seeing them.
Eventually,
I was off the boat and at the immigration building. A queue snaked from one end
of the building to the other. People were pushing and shoving (I wasn’t sure
where they wanted to go, as no pushing or shoving was going to get them to the
front any sooner). Inside, the building was hot and stuffy. Passports fanned
faces dripping with sweat, to no avail.
By
the time all was done, I set off with only a headlamp into the eerily dark
streets which revealed a few homeless people, two full hotels, and one pricey
one. Only on the fourth try was suitable accommodation found. It was thus 1.30 by
the time I closed my bedroom door.
5
September - Zamboanga City, Mindanao, Philippines
On
the boat, one could change Malaysian ringgit to Philippine pesos. Still, it
didn’t provide sufficient local currency to see me to the next big town. Priority
was, therefore, to locate an ATM.
The
Philippines is the world’s second-largest archipelago (after Indonesia), featuring
7,107 islands and the plan was to visit a few.
The
country sports a fascinating history. In 1521, the islands were claimed by
Spain, who constructed Fort Pilar, a 17th-century military defence fortress.
The British occupied it for a while but soon returned it to Spain. Then, the
U.S. came and started a war that officially lasted three years, but skirmishes continued
for a further seven, killing 600,000 Filipinos. Thus, I had to pop into Zamboanga’s
historic city hall, built when the United States colonised the Philippine
islands. After the U.S. eventually departed, Japanese troops came, and only in
1946 was the Philippines granted full independence. If that’s not enough, the Filipinos
must further deal with volcanoes and typhoons, and during my visit, political
violence was still widespread. There were repeated warnings to be careful and
NOT to wild camp.
Sauntering
about, the heavens opened and all scurried for cover. Temperatures hovered
around the mid-30°C and, being the wet season, it could rain at any given time.
Luckily, the rain came quickly and hard and didn’t last long.
Hailing
a tricycle (more like a bike with a sidecar), the going wasn’t a great deal
faster than by foot. The driver located an ATM but, sadly, no roadmap.
6
September - Zamboanga City – Vitali – 72 km
Joining
tricycles, bicycles, Jeepneys, buses and trucks, I cycled out of town. Jeepneys,
the Philippines’ most popular form of public transport, got their start as
Willys Jeeps left behind when American G.I.s departed. Filipinos recycled them
as buses sporting benches with room for 20 (or more) passengers. They were
colourful and plentiful.
Filipinos
drive on the right-hand side of the road and a roadside motorbike shop changed my
bike’s mirror to the left-hand side. Once again, the owner warned me not to
camp and advised me to go to Vitali and check at the police station where to
stay.
While
morning pollution hung thick in the air, I followed my nose north, out of large
and busy Zamboanga City. The countryside made for stunning riding, and numerous
small settlements flanked both sides of the highway. Now and then, these communities
made way for emerald green rice paddies. Water buffalo waddled in muddy puddles
and tricycles carted kids to and from school. Amazingly, even the smallest
village had a school.
As
was the case on my first day in a new country, photo stops were countless. The
Philippines was incredibly photogenic, and one could quickly fill a 36GB card.
Nothing much came of the mountains warned about, and the gradient was
reasonable even, though hilly.
At
around 15h00, dark clouds gathered, and I could see a thunderstorm approaching.
Mercifully, Vitali came before the rain and consisted of a fair-sized village offering
plenty of food vendors. Police directions were to a karaoke bar that provided
rooms above. As could be expected of a room above a karaoke bar, the room was
noisy, dark and dingy, with three-quarter cardboard walls. The owners were, nevertheless,
super friendly. At the end of the hallway was a large water container, where one
could scoop out the water to use as a shower.
Supper
was a takeaway rice meal eaten on the balcony overlooking the road. Soon three
others joined and watched each morsel I consumed. Finally, I decided to take
myself off to my semi-private room where, at least, one could eat without being
observed. The remainder of the evening was spent under a fan, downloading photos
and writing the journal.
7
September - Vitali – Ipil – 65 km
As
there was no need to hang around Vitali, breakfast was a quick bite from a
restaurant. No sooner had I finished the meal than the restaurant owner led me
off to view her sister’s corpse. Information received was that she died of a
heart attack (fortunately, not food poisoning!). Upon being encouraged to take
pictures, I politely declined, and swiftly made my way out the door before
being escorted to the funeral. Hahaha.
Although
cycling along the coastal route, the road didn’t run flush next to the ocean. Whenever
the path reached a high point, one could see a bright blue ocean below,
sprinkled with tiny islands.
Mindanao
felt like a long, drawn-out village, and there was hardly a time one was out of
the public eye. But, being a short ride, the larger town of Ipil soon rolled
into view. Surprisingly, Ipil sported a comfortable hotel with a great
restaurant and a swimming pool.
8
September - Ipil – Buug – 75 km
I
got underway in a drizzle and, once or twice, had to pull over until the worst had
passed. Yet again, the road was slightly hilly but not as bad as predicted. The
way led past plenty of tiny settlements where it appeared the main occupation was
doing laundry. Palm-woven huts and sari-sari stores, selling the whole shebang
from crackers to shampoo sachets, abounded.
On
reaching Buug, spotting a hotel was simple, as the town wasn’t large. Still, it
had a vast and interesting fish market, selling an extensive selection of fresh
and dried fish, both big and small.
A
frequent question was whether I was an American journalist or a missionary, which
most likely indicated they were the only foreigners visiting Mindanao. Seeing
my answer to both was negative left them puzzled. It was usually followed by a
polite: “What’s your purpose in the Philippines?”. Answering, “Only travelling,”
left them looking somewhat perplexed, and replying, “Oh, only travelling,”
rubbing their chins, as if such a thing wasn’t possible.
Not
as many pictures as usual were taken, for as soon as the camera came out,
whispers of “journalist, journalist” could be heard. This was one part of the
world where you didn’t want to be mistaken for a journalist. The reason is,
through the years the island Muslims (Moros) have launched repeated attempts to
establish autonomy on the island. Since the Maguindanao massacre in 2009, when
fifty-seven civilians were killed, including four journalists, Mindanao ranked
only second to Iraq for being the deadliest country for journalists. I considered
it best to keep the camera well hidden.
9-10
September - Buug – Pagadian – 63 km
It
turned out a rainy but picturesque ride as I headed towards the mountains,
mainly past rice fields and farmers ploughing using water buffalo. My route led
across rivers and past waterfalls. Spotting me, small kids ran as fast as their
little legs could carry them, and people in nipa huts looked up in surprise. So
astonished was a man relaxing under a tree, guarding his stall and selling
petrol in Coca-Cola bottles, he spun around at such speed he fell right out of his
hammock.
The
hills felt long and steep. Sometimes my legs didn’t want to cooperate, and I
was happy with the descent into busy Pagadian (still laughing about the man
falling out of the hammock!). Roads were jam-packed with tricycles and
Jeepneys, and it took weaving through them like a snake. After a quick shower, I
was off looking for a supermarket. Once at my abode, I learned I made it out of
Zamboanga City by the skin of my teeth. The Moros killed four people and held 20
hostages. Phew!
Considering
the ongoing trouble, I believed it best to get off Mindanao Island a.s.a.p. Though
I still had a long way to go, rumours were that the northeast coast was safer,
and once at Cagayan De Oro (CDO), all should be well.
The
next day was spent in Pagadian, doing the usual rest day chores and eating practically
anything I could lay my hands on while still giggling about the man falling out
of his hammock.
11
September - Pagadian – Tubod – 80 km
The
initial gentle and effortless cycle veered inland along a good climb over the mountains.
The route climbed almost forty kilometres before eventually winding down to the
ocean. This descent offered fantastic vistas. Once along the coastal plains, the
excellent road surface made it comfortable riding into Tubod.
Inquiring
about accommodation, directions were to an upmarket and expensive hotel. Still,
I thought, what the heck and stayed the night. Unfortunately, the hotel was on
the outskirts of town, and supper at their equally pricey restaurant. The food
was, nonetheless, excellent and well worth the price.
12
September - Tubod – Iligan – 66 km
The
day started with meeting the friendliest bunch of people one could imagine.
They attended a three-day conference at the hotel and invited me to breakfast.
Filipinos are incredibly hospitable and kind, always ready to share a meal.
They were also tremendously polite, generally greeting one with a “Good morning,
ma’am.” Being called ma’am always leaves me feeling uncomfortable.
From
Tubod to Iligan was a short sixty-six-kilometre ride that ran close to the
ocean offering excellent views. Shortly before Iligan was the Maria Cristina
falls - a magnificent sight but my photos could have been much better. Oh well,
there’s always another waterfall.
13-15
September - Iligan – Cagayan De Oro (CDO) – 88 km
The
horrendous traffic, narrow road, and drivers seemingly on a suicide mission
made it a stressful ride into CDO. One had to watch both oncoming traffic and
traffic coming up from behind. In addition, vehicles headed towards each other,
often occupying the same lane. As a result, I had to dive out of the way a few
times to avoid becoming roadkill. In the process, a metal pin firmly lodged in
the tyre – so tightly lodged was the pin, it took great effort getting it out.
I don’t fix punctures with any elegance and came away covered in grease.
I
was hot, sweaty, covered in grease and in a foul mood when I cycled into large
and busy CDO. To make matters worse, fume-belching tricycles and Jeepneys were so
tightly gridlocked one couldn’t even get through by bicycle.
At
least the congestion gave plenty of opportunities to enquire regarding directions
to a hotel, as no one was going anywhere. Directions were down a
hotel-kind-of-road where one could find hotels at inexpensive rates. The
air-con didn’t work, and after transferring to a different room I discovered the
air-con no better. The toilet kept running, and instead of lying in bed
listening to a running toilet, I got up and fixed the darn thing. Crawling into
bed a final time, I laughed at how bizarre things could be at times. Before finally
falling asleep, a mouse ran across the floor, but I just giggled, ignored the
mouse and fell asleep.
The
next day, I did laundry and bought two new inner tubes. Later, a river rafting
company caught my attention. This was precisely what I needed, and a trip was booked
for the coming day.
Being
picked up by a Jeepney with the rafts strapped to the roof didn’t instil much confidence.
Still, the trip was great fun, the river scenic and the guides professional. I believed
the money was well spent, and I completely changed my mind concerning CDO. By
evening, the mouse was still running around the room. Poor thing.
Camiguin
Island
16
September - CDO – Balingoan – Ferry to Benoni, Camiguin Island – 90 km
Departing
CDO was stressful as one needed to weave through the Jeepneys, tricycles,
busses and trucks. Stopping at a sari-sari store to fill my water bottle and
purchase a boiled egg for breakfast, the reality of a foreign culture became noticeably
clear. To my surprise and utter horror (and to the amusement of onlookers), the
egg turned out balut - a half-boiled duck embryo in the shell. However, no
encouragement from the villagers could get me to devour the soupy foetus. I understood
a person was supposed to crack open the top and drink the soup before consuming
the embryo and its eggy surrounds.
On
seeing properties sporting vast piles of coconut shells, and smoke billowing
from boilers or shacks, my curiosity got the better of me and I stopped to look
at what was happening. Upon closer inspection, it turned out charcoal made from
coconut shells, explaining the smoke.
The
route continued, past more stores, selling delicious-looking food as well as
the famed balut. Filipinos like their food, and it appeared unthinkable to go anywhere
without taking food along (albeit their portions were relatively small).
Roadside stores sold all the favourites. On counters, dishes were neatly displayed
from big to small. These usually contain fried fish, fried chicken, pork (in
various forms), veggies and noodles.
From
the small town of Balingoan, a ferry departed for Camiguin Island. A boat was
waiting and a ticket was hurriedly purchased. Although a short ferry ride, the
time was already half past four on reaching Camiguin Island. A nipa hut upon
stilts over the water lured me in and I thought life could indeed be worse.
Priority
was to obtain a San Miguel beer. Then, legs resting upon the railing, I sighed
and looked out over the zip-line passing right in front of me, wondering
whether to do a ride in the morning. Soon, hunger drove me to a roadside food vendor
for one of the Filipino favourites. As usual, the food was bite size as in the
Philippines people eat using a fork and spoon.
17
September - Benoni – Mambajao, Caves Dive Resort – 25 km
A
coastal road ran around the island for approximately seventy kilometres. Cycling
into the tiny city of Mambajao, the island’s capital, revealed a bank (offline),
a market, various stores, bakeries and eateries. Unfortunately, Action Geckos was
costly, and the next-door Caves Dive Resort was slightly cheaper. Being
desperate to dive, Caves Dive Resort was an excellent place to stay and do the
deed.
Booking
a dive meant retrieving my diving certificate for which an internet connection was
needed. Even though the staff informed me the establishment had internet, there
was no connection, making me feel the room was a waste of time and money. It took
some getting used to the laid-back manner of the Filipinos. Having internet
that wasn’t connected was the same as not having internet at all. Give me
strength!
18
September - Mambajao – 20 km
The
following morning, the internet was still offline and it was better to pack up and
cycle to Jasmin by the Sea, which offered large rooms and bathrooms right upon
the water. They, at least, had working internet, albeit a little slow. At last,
and with the help of my sister, the diving certificate was retrieved. But, besides
editing and uploading pictures, not significantly else got done.
19
September - Mambajao
The
southwestern monsoon came in during the night, and the day dawned with a
howling wind and bucketing rain. There’s nothing quite like crawling into bed
in lousy weather. Eventually, the weather cleared, allowing meandering to the
dive shop to arrange a dive. Unfortunately, a tricycle ride into town revealed
it was lunchtime and the supermarket closed. At least the ATM woke from its
slumber. “Pole-pole”, as they say in Swahili.
The
internet café was offline, and the only thing left to do was to have a pizza. The
pizza was surprisingly good but quite substantial, and half was saved until
supper. Once at Jasmin, the power was out and, thus, not much to do but to have
a beer. Things could be worse, as Jasmin was comfortable and a good spot to
wait out the weather.
20
September - Mambajao
In
the morning, the weather was considerably better and it was time to dive. It
felt like diving in an aquarium with abundant fish in all shapes, sizes, and
colours. Coral was plentiful and of a wider variety than I’ve ever seen. Add a
water temperature of 29°C and I thought I was in heaven.
Enough
time remained to discover the rest of the island. The island was remarkable, offering
active volcanos, waterfalls, hot springs, a ruined church, an underwater
cemetery, and even a spring that squirted soda water. The day ended with a fun zip-line
ride - I nearly went twice.
21
September - Mambajao
It
was hard to resist one more dive. Halfway to the dive shop, I got a ride with
the divemaster on his motorbike, to plenty of comments from the villagers. The
dive boat turned out one of the bangka boats, a novelty in itself. From the
shore, a short ride took us to White Island where sea life was abundant.
After
the dive, I used an internet café as the connection was slightly better than
the slow and sporadic internet at my abode. As all my money was spent on
diving, zip-lines and pizzas, an ATM was again necessary. However, the bank was
still offline and one could simply hope it would be operational by morning.
Rumour
had it a ferry ran from Camiguin to Bohol (the next island) instead of Mindinao.
Apparently, one daily ferry sailed at around 10h30 from the Port of Benoni to
Jagna, Bohol and the plan was to catch the ferry the next day.
Bohol
Island
22
September - Port of Benoni, Camiguin - Jagna, Bohol – 25 km & ferry
Plenty
of time remained to cycle to the port, as the boat departed at around 11h00,
and no sooner were we underway when the weather took a turn for the worse. The
ferry rolled and pitched, and people yelled and hung on to all conceivable
posts. Seasick bags were in high demand, as the boat rocked and rolled on the
high seas. The scariest part was there were no visible signs of any floating
devices. All we could do was sit tight and hope for the best. To everyone’s
relief, the ferry safely arrived at Jagna, Bohol two hours later.
The
wind was still pumping, and not being in the mood to battle a headwind, a scrappy
250 pesos abode made a good enough hiding place until the morning.
Bohol
forms part of what is known as The Visayas, a large cluster of islands in the
middle of the Philippines. The Visayas consists of thousands of islands, but the
nine main ones are Cebu, Bohol, Guimaras, Samar, Leyte, Panay, Negros, Romblon
and Siquijor - I could see more than one visa extension coming up.
23
September - Jagna – Talibon – 90 km
The
weather cleared in the morning, and I went to the municipality to inquire about
an island map. While waiting until the doors opened, breakfast was from a
mobile food cart. Then, map in hand, my route went in an anti-clockwise
direction around the island. A fascinating ride (vastly different from Mindanao)
took me past mangrove swamps, strange-looking hills, a multitude of small hamlets
and sari-sari stores. I even spotted giant monitor lizards.
Talibon,
the first town encountered, was steeped in history and was home to a beautiful
old church built with coral rocks and, ironically, by slaves! Construction
started in 1852 and was completed in 1899 (the slaves were clearly not in a
great hurry). Even more bizarre was the history of Talibon. It’s said that Ferdinand
Magellan escaped from Lapu-Lapu’s men who were seeking revenge for the raping
of fifty women in Cebu. His ship, Trinidad, sailed towards Talibon, where several
crew members disembarked and mingled with natives, educating them in
Christianity. The morals of the western world never fail to amaze.
24
September – Talibon – Tubigon – 60 km
By
morning, I packed my mobile home and proceeded around the island. Being blistering
hot, islanders were convinced the weather was too severe to cycle and extended invitations
for cold drinks under shady trees. Albeit blistering hot, I didn’t think one
would suffer heat exhaustion.
Tubigon
allowed sightseeing and an opportunity to investigate the famous Chocolate
Hills. Chocolate Hills consist of 1,268 identical-looking hills. The story goes
the hills were the calcified tears of a giant, whose heart was broken by the
death of a mortal lover. Regrettably, no sooner was the viewpoint reached when the
rain came pelting down, preventing any good pictures.
In
locating digs in Tubigon, a path led down a dirt track, past people’s prized
possessions, their fighting cocks, until reaching Tubigon Beach Resort. Philippine
resorts came in all shapes and sizes, from five-star to rickety huts upon stilts.
I guessed this was the rickety hut on stilts. The walkway didn’t look secure,
and the floor of the room was springy, to say the least, but at 350 pesos one couldn’t
complain. The room even had a shower and toilet. The water, nonetheless,
drained straight through a hole in the floor and ran out underneath the hut. The
bathroom was halfway between a squat toilet and a throne, and it was best not
to check to see where it drained – hopefully, not the same as the shower.
Panglao
Island
25-27
September - Tubigon – Alona Beach, Panglao Island – 75 km
The
following morning, a short ride took me to Alona Beach, which gave me plenty of
time to stop at interesting sights. The road followed the coast past small
villages, each featuring a fascinating history and past vast areas of mangrove
swamps.
The
mangroves were the habitat of a species of crab-eating macaques. These monkeys
live in matrilineal social groups with female dominance, and male members leave
the group when they reach puberty. They are clever and have been seen using
tools to obtain food and, while taking pictures, the buggers stole my water
bottle. I could’ve sworn they were laughing as they sat high up in a tree
clutching the bottle.
A
bridge connected Bohol to Panglao Island from where a good road ran the twenty-five
kilometres to famous Alona Beach. Panglao Island was the first place, since
arriving in the Philippines, where I saw European tourists. All things were,
understandably, pricier than elsewhere.
Cebu
Island
28
September - Alona Beach, Panglao Island - Cebu City, Cebu Island – 26 km
From
the ferry port in Tagbilaran, ferries departed practically every hour to the
island of Cebu. The ticket was a mere P500, and one could walk the bicycle on
board. Moreover, the weather was perfect and the sea as smooth as anyone could wish.
Two
hours later, we arrived in the large and chaotic city of Cebu where I set out
to one of the multitudes of malls. The purpose was to locate a GoPro camera. Taking
the large number of shopping centres in town, I reckoned that if one couldn’t
find what you were looking for in Cebu, it didn’t exist. More money than
intended was spent, but I became the proud owner of a GoPro camera. Although
the shop didn’t sell a handlebar mount, they located a bike shop in Bacolod that
promised to keep one until my arrival.
The
entire evening was spent figuring out how to operate my new toy and change the
waterproof housing—quite a nifty little thing.
29
September - Cebu City – Blue Pot Resort - 85 km
My
late night made it a slow start. Atill, I first stopped at the Old Fort, built
by the Spanish and dating to 1738. From the fort, I cycled through the old part
of the city with its narrow lanes and smelly open sewerage canals. The area, surprisingly, hid a considerable
amount of beautiful, old colonial buildings.
My
chosen route went clockwise around the island and even though Sunday, the going
was slow as the traffic was hectic. The road was jam-packed with busses, cars,
trucks (loaded to the hilt), tricycles and colourful Jeepneys. As a result, a considerable
amount of exhaust-laden fumes were inhaled. On a bicycle, one could keep as far
to the side as possible but still I had to veer off to avoid oncoming traffic.
The
many cyclists along the way indicated a cycle race. Seeing a participant walking
his bike, I assumed it polite to ask if he needed help. Luckily, all he needed
was an inner tube, and soon he could be on his way. In hindsight, he might not
have been overly pleased with the uncalled-for help!
Shortly
past the town of Argao, it started raining, and spotting a sign to the Blue Pot
Resort, turning off to enquire came naturally. The complex wasn’t much of a
resort, merely a few bungalows, but a good enough spot to hide from the rain.
30
September - Blue Pot Resort – Moalboal - 130 km
The
route to Moalboal ran 130 kilometres along the coast, past familiar roadside
gasoline stalls selling petrol by the litre. Amazingly, the price was similar
to what you’d find at gas stations. But, judging by the number of motorcycles
and tricycles frequenting these stalls, business was booming.
In
the meantime, crops were being dried upon the tarmac, taking up one lane. It
wasn’t that the road was used for drying produce that surprised me, but that no
one ever drove over it. Instead, busses and trucks came to a complete halt and
carefully manoeuvred around the crops before continuing.
Panagsama
Beach was nearly four kilometres from Moalboal, a real diver’s hangout offering
plenty of accommodation and dive shops. In addition, a few bars and restaurants
lined the single dirt road. This made Moalboal an easy-going village where the
beers were cheap and dive boats eagerly waited to take divers off to nearby
Pescador Island.
1
- 3 October - Moalboal
My
reason for going to Moalboal was to dive and try out the new camera. So, after
the usual housekeeping, I meandered into town to draw more money as diving was
an expensive business. It felt as if the entire day was spent eating.
The
following day was the first of numerous fantastic dives. Nearby, Pescador
Island made for convenient and exciting diving. However, taking pictures
underwater turned out more difficult than envisaged. Apart from a flat battery,
I had lots to learn.
The second dive was off the beach and even more impressive. The sardine run was
occurring at the time, and we saw genuinely unique formations of thousands and
thousands of sardines. Regrettably, by then, the camera battery was flat again.
The
underwater world is unique and incredibly rewarding. When underwater, there’s an
unbelievable feeling of peace and calm; completely surreal. Being in the Tañon
Strait, the dives around Moalboal were frequently along near-vertical walls.
The strait drops to around six hundred metres (I’ve been told), yet currents
were non-existent. Visibility wasn’t crystal clear, but the water temperature was
a comfortable 28ºC.
The
following day, I set off to the whale shark diving area in the company of other
travellers. Getting there took a tricycle ride and two buses, arriving at the
dive site around 11h00. Diving with as many as nine or ten
whale sharks nearby was a unique experience. They lazily floated about in
search of food, sucking in each morsel. With their giant mouths wide open, it
seemed they could easily suck one right in. The dive offered an excellent
opportunity to play with the GoPro. The evening was spent at a restaurant
having a few beers and sharing photos with the other divers.
4
October - Moalboal
It
was a shock to notice that it had been a month since I arrived in the
Philippines and it was time to apply for a visa extension. After breakfast, I
thus jumped on a bus to Cebu. The bus was comfortable and equipped with onboard
Wi-Fi. We arrived in Cebu approximately two and a half to three hours later.
A
taxi ride made locating the immigration office uncomplicated. Once there, I found
a room full of people all needing visa extensions. As usual, the process turned
out a long and slow one, but the day passed quickly. By 15h00, I was on the bus
for the return trip to Moalboal, visa extension securely stamped in my
passport.
Negros
Island
5
October - Moalboal – San Carlos, Negros – 60 km
I
reluctantly left Moalboal and headed north along the coast. A mere twenty kilometres
further a sign pointed to a ferry departing to Negros. With no reason to
venture further north along the Cebu coast (except to catch the boat to Negros),
I opted for the ferry. An hour and a half later, we anchored at the small
village of Basak.
Negros
came across more rural; children could be seen collecting firewood which they
carried home balanced upon their heads. Others bathed at roadside water pumps.
The route was less congested than Cebu, making it a relaxed ride to San Carlos,
where a comfortable abode at the Traveller’s Inn became home that night.
6
October - San Carlos – Cadiz – 85 km
After
breakfast, the route led north past sugarcane fields and small settlements. Unfortunately,
the path deteriorated considerably, which slowed the pace. Overloaded sugarcane
trucks wreaked havoc with the tarmac, and all attempts by the authorities to
repair the damage appeared in vain. It rained on and off all day, and the slippery,
muddy conditions and numerous potholes made for slow riding. In Cadiz, the
sight of a house came as a welcome sight.
7
October - Cadiz – Bacolod – 67 km
In
sweltering weather, I soldiered onwards past Silay and Talisay, known for The Ruins
(old mansions) for which an eye was kept open. Still, the heat didn’t make for
comfortable exploring.
Bacolod
was at the start of its annual Masskara festival (meaning a multitude of
faces). The word was a pun on mascara (Filipino for “mask”), a prominent festival
feature. The masks worn by participants were adorned with smiling faces. Luckily,
this was merely the start of the festival and accommodation was still readily available.
My
abode was in one of the side streets off the main road - a wonderful location in
the middle of a residential area where bicycle rickshaws carted people up and
down narrow dirt tracks. Dogs lay sleeping next to their owners, who sold
kebabs from small BBQs in front of their homes. Kids ran out in the road to
have a wee – and I believed the frequent rain a blessing.
8
- 9 October - Bacolod
In
addition, Bacolod was home to the exceptionally professional Dan’s Bike Shop,
which made an excellent place to hand the bike in to be serviced and pick up
the GoPro handlebar mount. I scooted up and down the road in Jeepneys, which
ran the main road’s length while leaving the work to the professionals.
At
a mall, a computer shop cleaned my laptop, as the keyboard got stuck from time
to time. They gave it a thorough cleaning free of charge. The money saved was used
at a café that sold delicious slices of cheesecake.
The
market area was hardly five minutes away, but miles from the mall and all its
fancy lights and shops. However, this was where most of the day’s pictures were
taken. I was offered an oven-fresh bread roll at one of the stalls. Delicious.
How exceedingly kind? How much could a bicycle rickshaw man make? He, highly
likely, needed the bread more than I.
By
evening, the bike shop phoned to say they were still working on the bike and it
would be ready the following morning.
10
October - Bacolod – Kabankalan - 90 km
With
the bike running like new, the route led further south, across massive rivers,
past rice paddies and sugarcane fields. Beyond the city limits and amongst
farmlands, all seemed busy harvesting. The trusted water buffalo was in high
demand, pulling and tugging in rice paddies and sugarcane fields. Large trucks,
loaded sky-high with sugarcane, dropped bits as they drove along, leaving the
road littered with stalks.
The
way led past Bago, Valladolid, Pontevedra and Hinigaran, featuring century-old
churches. Inspecting these, the children of the Philippines impressed me. They
eagerly approached, asking intelligent questions and wanting their picture
taken, all while being extremely polite.
One
of my Project-365 friends lived in Kabankalan, and I wanted to meet up with
her. However, finding a stranger in town was more difficult than foreseen. I
was sadly unable to contact her without a phone and intermittent internet.
11
October - Kabakala –Sipalay - 83 km
On
a misty morning, while pre-harvest burning smoke hung thick in the air, I
cycled the eighty-three kilometres to Sipalay. Sugarcane field burning was
carried out before harvesting. To make the process easier, the leaves were
burned off the stalks. This pre-harvest burning was a common practice worldwide.
The burning enabled manual pickers to collect the crop quickly and with less injury.
Still, it was a significant contributor to air pollution.
12
October - Sipalay
The
reason for going to Sipalay was to investigate the nearby beaches. The weather,
however, came in and rain poured down all day. I was happy to stay put and enjoyed
a day of vegging out.
13
October - Sipalay – Bayawan - 79 km
My
early departure was due to what looked like a mountainous area, and sharp the
gradient sure was. Still, the pleasant morning air made it a lovely ride after the
previous night’s storm. Once over the hilly bit, the road levelled out and headed
along the coast.
The
ride felt like a real Sunday afternoon cycle, peddling past nipa houses on
stilts, sari-sari stores, buffalos lazily grazing in the rice fields, past small
settlements where joyous singing came from makeshift churches and where Sunday
markets were in full swing, taking up the best part of the road.
Apo
Island
14
October - Bayawan – Malatapay - Ferry to Apo Island - 77 km
The
ride to Malatapay turned out a relaxing cycle; the route ran flush next to the
coast, offering stunning vistas. Sadly, the heavy rain of the past few days
caused substantial landslides, taking electrical cables and even houses with
them. Road workers were frantically busy clearing the road. It’s pretty amazing
to see what big chunks could slide off a mountain.
Around
midday, my route spat me out at the tiny settlement of Malatapay (not even
indicated on the map), where a sign pointed to Apo Island. Down a narrow lane, I
discovered bangka boats ready to whisk people off to the nearby pea-sized
island of Apo. Bangka boats, or outrigger canoes, are traditional boats used in
the Philippines. With bike and bags loaded on the bangka, we set sail. The boat
anchored at a spot straight out of a tourist brochure, sporting an idyllic
beach, palm trees and turquoise water.
The
island housed a tiny village, friendly folk, a few homestays, and the
well-organised Liberty Lodge and Dive Resort. The room rate at first appeared pricey
but the price included three meals. The best of all was dive prices were inexpensive.
I couldn’t believe my luck, so I put my feet up and ordered a San Miguel beer.
As they say, “It’s hell in the tropics”.
The
food was equally glorious - freshly-caught fish was at the order of the day, and
at the same time, a dive was organised as Apo Island counted as one of the top
dive spots in the world.
15
October - Apo Island
The
eight o’clock dive made for an early start and after a short boat ride to the
dive site, we plunged happily into the lukewarm waters of the Visayan Sea.
Arriving back, we learned a strong earthquake had hit the region. Although felt
on Apo Island, we were unaware of the tremors while diving. The quake’s epicentre
was in Bohol, where I took pictures of Chocolate Hills, severely damaging the
hills.
The
chatter continued until gearing up for the eleven o’clock dive at Coco Point. The
dive was great, and I had my first glimpse of a coral snake but sadly failed to
capture it on film.
Negros
Island
16
October - Apo Island – Malatapay, Negros - by ferry – Dumaguete City - 25 km
After
a pancake and fruit breakfast, I left paradise and returned to the mainland. A
short cycle ride took me into the city where Harold’s Mansion made convenient lodging.
My
notebook packed up, and I went in search of a replacement. The shop assistant
was kind and took out the old hard drive to use as an external hard drive. Unfortunately,
paying proved more difficult than expected as both the card machine and bank were
offline. In the end, I uncovered a working ATM prepared to spit out a few
Filipino pesos.
Siquijor
Island
17
October - Dumaguete – Siquijor Island (by ferry) – Sandugan Beach - 20 km
With
no need to stay in Dumaguete any longer and unsure where to go next, the first stop
was at an ATM. Having breakfast with his girlfriend, a Swedish chap extended an
invitation for coffee. As a cycle tourer (in Europe), he was pretty interested
in cycle touring and recommended Siquijor Island. Being only an hour by ferry
from Dumaguete, my problem was solved in where to go next, and more than
sufficient time remained to get the 12h00 boat.
Once
in Siquijor town, setting off in a clockwise direction around the island came
naturally. Roughly twenty kilometres further was Sandugan Beach which offered a
few bungalows. All accommodation was smack bang on the water’s edge under palm
trees, and hard to resist. Soon, an ice-cold beer was sipped while watching the
sunset over the Bohol Sea, one of the most beautiful sights in the Philippines.
18
October - Sandugan Beach – Siquijor Town - 57 km
Following
breakfast, my tour around the island continued. Interestingly, countless
Filipinos still refuse to visit the island due to its witchcraft and black
magic reputation. I’m sure the annual Folk Healing Festival contributed to this
superstition. Regrettably, I couldn’t find any sign of any such thing, except a
store or two selling herbal remedies. I, nevertheless, kept my eyes open for
the magic lumay (love potion - one never knows when such a potion may
come in handy). It’s understood a mere sip or sniff by the target would have the
desired effect.
Instead,
Siquijor was a friendly island where people constantly extended invitations to join
them, rest and drink water. Road workers looked disappointed at my reluctance
to share their lunch. Explaining I didn’t usually eat while cycling confused
them even further. Eating three full meals daily was considered too little for
the average Filipino. One needed to nibble on smaller snacks between meals, let
alone skip lunch. As one exclaimed: “You are starving!”
The
island was smaller than anticipated, and fifty-seven kilometres later the road
ended at Siquijor town. Being in no mood to go to the city, I kept an eye out
for lodging. All kinds of accommodation were scattered along the coast and it didn’t
take long to find a nipa hut overlooking the ocean.
19
October - Siquijor - Dumaguete City - By ferry
By
morning, a short cycle ride led to the jetty from where a ferry took me to
Dumaguete City. Once in Dumaguete, the easiest was to return to Harold’s for
the night. Unfortunately, no ferries ran from Dumaguete to the next island,
Panay. The only option was to return to Bacolod from where a ferry operated to
Iloilo on Panay Island. By evening, I ran into a great street party, and a stroll
to the waterfront revealed a lively festival. Great fun.
Negros
Island
20
October - Dumaguete – Hanseatic Resort - 92 km
Instead
of going the same way to Bacolod, proceeding in an anti-clockwise direction
around the island looked more exciting. A surprisingly beautiful ride ran next
to the coast for the best part of the day, making it a leisurely cycle to Hanseatic
Resort, right along the water. The lady was friendly, and we chatted until
sunset. After a much-needed shower and beer, a large plate of fried rice was
consumed.
21
October - Hanseatic Resort – San Carlos - 82 km
While
having a good cup of homegrown Robusta coffee, there was a frantic knocking on
the door. The owner assumed the bike had been stolen, as I usually put it
inside whenever possible. She was terribly upset as the guests, who arrived
late the previous evening, departed without paying. She might’ve thought we
were all in cahoots. This was sad as she needed the money more than her
dishonest guests.
Effortless
riding along the coast took me to the ferry port where I first arrived. There’s
no fun in doing the same route twice, and this time it took cycling the last
forty kilometres to San Carlos in bucketing rain. Thank goodness, there was no
need to search for accommodation in the rain as I went straight to Amu Tourist
Inn. My arrival in San Carlos further completed my cycle around the island of
Negros.
Panay
Island
22
October - San Carlos – Bacolot – Dumangas – Iloilo, Panay - 30 km
From
Bacolod, ferries ran to Panay Island. The boat ride was cheap but went to
Dumangas pier instead of Iloilo City, leaving a twenty-five-kilometre cycle
into the city. On the ferry was another cyclist, Roger Gonzales Aristoki, who
was planning to cycle to Ajuy the next morning. We cycled into the town
together and he kindly pointed out budget accommodation. There’s nothing like
local knowledge, and he saved me a few pesos.
23
October - Iloilo – Altavas - 120 km
Getting
underway earlier than usual made great riding as I had the benefit of a slight
cloud cover. Feeling good, the kilometres ticked by without me noticing. The
path ran across large rivers and past small hamlets, basketball-playing kids,
rice paddies and grazing water buffalo.
Altavas
only sported one guesthouse but the owner was, regrettably, out of town. Usually,
people think cycling to the next town was too far to reach by bicycle but, on
this day, they believed the next village (forty kilometres away) could be
reached within an hour. The man was entirely convinced cyclists travel at
45km/h.
Eventually,
basic rooms above a hardware store had to do. Even though inexpensive, the room
had a fan, referred to as an electric fan, and I wondered if one could get any
other fan type.
To
the villagers’ delight, the foreigner went on a walkabout. With nearly the
entire village in tow, I felt like the Pied Piper.
24
October - Altavas – Caticlan – 107 km – Ferry to Boracay
The
ride to Boracay Island started early, making it a pleasant cycle in the early
morning coolness. As expected, riding to Kalibo took considerably longer than
an hour. For the last part of the day, the route ran next to the coast and,
albeit hilly, was scenic. Nevertheless, I felt good and sped up and down the
hills, past more villages and roadside vendors, until reaching the small town
of Caticlan.
Caticlan
gave me a taste of what was to come. Bangka boats lay ready to cart the many
tourists to and from idyllic Boracay Island. It all felt a bit like a madhouse
compared to the last few days in the countryside; like cattle being led to a slaughterhouse,
we were hustled on a boat for the short ride to Boracay Island. The island was
an over-commercialised madhouse, jam-packed with tourists. Holidaymakers ate,
drank, swam and shopped. Bali was nothing compared to this island.
Finding
accommodation was easy and, in no time, I sat wriggling my toes in the sand,
sipping a beer and ordering a pizza. Fitting in didn’t take any time at all.
Boracay
Island
25
- 26 October - Boracay
Things
were costly, and I’m sure one could’ve had a dorm room at a lower rate. Diving or
doing other exciting activities the island offered was out of the question, as
the prices were nearly double what they were elsewhere in the Philippines. Only
the beers were the same price (thank goodness), and I had a beer or two while
watching the madness. It felt odd sitting there as I wasn’t Filipino, but neither
did I fit into the role of a tourist.
Mindoro
Island
27
October - Boracay – Roxas, Mindoro Island - By ferry
Relaxed
as things were around Boracay, I felt like moving along. At the ferry port, bangka
boats sailed to Caticlan, from where ferries departed to the small port of
Roxas on Mindoro Island.
The
trip took roughly five hours, giving me plenty of time to haul out the old iPod
and listen to music from decades ago. I went through them all: The Who, Rolling
Stones, Queen, Pink Floyd, Led Zeppelin, The Doors, fantastic stuff.
At
around five o’clock, we sailed into the sad-looking port of Roxas. A map of
Mindoro would’ve been helpful, but the tourist office was closed on Sundays. People
mentioned that the following day was election day, and the tourist office, therefore,
closed. Being too late to take to the road, a conveniently situated guesthouse
made easy overnighting.
28
October - Roxas – Calapan – 128 km
Following
my nose, I got going roughly in the direction of Calapan, as from Calapan
ferries sail to the “mainland” at Batangas City. No one could tell me exactly
how far away Calapan was but, as soon as the road left the city limits, signs
indicated 126 kilometres. A map wasn’t needed after all. Even the rice mills
were closed on a public holiday, making it an amazingly peaceful ride.
Discovering
indigenous tribes still lived on Mindoro Island came as a pleasant surprise.
Collectively known as Mangyans, they comprised twelve tribes, each with its own
language, culture and way of life. For centuries, they lived peacefully along the
coastal areas of Oriental Mindoro, where generally they fished for a living. Then,
however, others from nearby islands settled on the island. To avoid disputes,
these mild-mannered and peace-loving people moved to the mountains. Sadly, they
have been treated as second-class citizens, similar to other indigenous people –
often exploited, neglected and discriminated against.
It
turned out less mountainous than first believed, and with that in my favour, I
continued to Calapan. Although far, the day provided good cycling.
29
- 30 October - Calapan – Sabang Beach, Puerto Galera – 54 km
Each
island had its own vibe, and Mindoro seemed more tribal/traditional than other
islands. Farmers were riding water buffalo (not your everyday transport) and
villagers worked the fields in ways more traditional than elsewhere in the
Philippines.
Nearby
Puerto Galera was the place to go as the area’s extensive and diverse coral
reefs had been declared a UNESCO Man and Biosphere Reserve. This sounded good,
and I set out toward Sabang Beach. The road to Puerto Galera was mountainous
but, as always, offered stunning vistas. I wheezed my way up the hills, but rounding
a corner and seeing a magnificent waterfall cascading down the mountain, the climb
was soon forgotten.
A
few hills later, the road finally reached Puerto Galera, where six hilly
kilometres led to Sabang Beach. Again, I was blown away by the view: A tiny
beach settlement geared for diving provided as many as thirty dive shops,
numerous restaurants and guesthouses—a beautiful setting, featuring turquoise
water, cliffs, beaches, coves and more.
I
bedded down at an abode along the water’s edge. To think I nearly gave the
island a miss altogether.
The
following morning was dive time and in the company of the crew from Capt’n
Gregg’s, we got going at around 09h00 to Sabang Point. As promised, the visibility
was good and the sea life abundant. The dive lasted sixty-five minutes, and the
average depth was approximately twenty metres—a pleasant dive on a reef, offering
plenty of coral and fish. The water was a comfortable 28°C, and I was happy in
a three-millimetre wetsuit.
Surprisingly
enough, I got stung on the lip. Years ago, the same thing happened and, until
today, I have a small scar on my lip. The incredible thing is it sheds a small
piece of skin, like a snake! Thank the Lord, it’s not a hair or something worse,
hahaha! Maybe that’s too much information for most.
31
October - Sabang Beach
On
closer inspection, I realised with shock only two days remained on the current
visa. Time sure flies when you’re having fun. The tour operator acted as a visa
consultant, and the passport was left at his office. The process took five
days, but who would mind on an island that provided so many dive sites?
Later
I joined Capt’n Gregg’s for a 09h00 dive. A boat ride took us to Sabang Wrecks for
a fifty-five-minute drift dive. The depth was an average of twenty metres, making
it an exciting dive featuring plenty of fish. Hundreds of photos were taken,
but using a GoPro, one needed to be awfully close to your subject to get any
shots.
1
November - Sabang Beach
Shocked
at the amount spent on scuba diving, I thought it best to have a day of snorkelling.
The colours were terrific in the shallow waters. The problem with scuba diving
was one loses the colours quickly. Red was the first to go at around fifteen
feet, followed by orange at twenty-five feet, yellow at thirty-five to
forty-five feet, and green at approximately seventy to seventy-five feet. (Interestingly,
the colours disappear underwater in the same order as they appear in the colour
spectrum.) Objects further could look up to 25% closer underwater than they
are, and up to 33% larger.
2
November - Sabang Beach
This
day’s dive was a bit of a pain as my B.C. kept self-inflating and the dump
valve didn’t want to expel the air. It did, nevertheless, work when I turned on
my back. Of course, any equipment malfunction makes it a stressful dive. Fortunately,
Ted Dunn, my dive buddy, was super-experienced, and all went well. Besides the
equipment, the dive was lovely and sported plenty of colourful fish and coral.
3
November - Sabang Beach
By
then, the norm was doing an early morning dive at Dungeon Wall, a pleasant dive
revealing large schools of fish and unique corals.
Cockfighting
was, after basketball, the most popular hobby/sport in the Philippines. Summing
up the courage, I hesitantly set off to the arena. Once there, I found a well-organised
setup offering a proper “ring” surrounded by ascending rows of concrete
benches. A while later, two men entered the ring, each clasping a cock under
their arms. They placed the cocks in the middle of the ring, and with neck
feathers erect they suddenly hurled themselves at each other. In a flurry of
feathers and razor blades, blood squirted from open wounds, spectators cheered,
money changed hands, and all I wanted to do was get the hell out of there. This
was indeed a fight to the death! I persevered but after the second fight left
the stadium. Phew!
4
November - Sabang Beach
The
dive shop was again doing a two-tank dive; firstly, on the wreck of the Alma
Jane. Scuttled in 2003, she rested upright at a depth of almost thirty metres. However,
currents in the vicinity of the wreck could sometimes be strong (and the
visibility not always good). Skippers, hence, maintained a buoy line tied to
the wreck, making descending along the line without floating away into the blue
yonder, never to be seen again. The second dive was along the Dungeon Wall.
Both
were incredible dives. During the first dive, I teamed up with Mads, our
divemaster, who has the best buoyancy control I’ve ever seen in any person.
5
November- Sabang Beach
Finally,
it was time to collect my passport and move along. However, it was already late
and best to catch the ferry to Batangas City in the morning.
Luzon,
Island
6
November – Sabang Beach – Talisay – 61 km
From
the tiny ferry jetty, large motorised bangka boats departed to Luzon Island,
referred to as the “mainland”, as the island housed Manila’s capital city. The
crossing took barely an hour and once in Batangas City, the road headed north
in Manila’s direction.
Sadly,
the toll road didn’t allow bicycles (a pity), and I followed a smaller and far narrower
path. Strange how the dangerous roads allow bikes and the safer ones, sporting
a wide shoulder, prohibit bicycles.
Once at Tanauan, a secondary road veered off to Talisay, where I believed one could get a boat across Taal Lake to the Taal Volcano. Unfortunately, the boat ride to the island was a tad expensive for one person. Luckily, basic accommodation along the lake provided a spot to watch the sunset over this peaceful lake and volcano.
I
was keen to hike to the top of this small volcano as it was reputedly the world’s
smallest active volcano. All volcanoes in the Philippines Taal Volcano form
part of The Pacific Ring of Fire, a horseshoe-shaped area of almost 40,000
kilometres where numerous earthquakes and volcanic eruptions occur. The Ring of
Fire has four hundred and fifty-two volcanoes and is home to over 75% of the
world’s active and dormant volcanoes. A few years later, on 12 January 2020,
the volcano erupted after being dormant for 43 years and continued erupting for
more than a year. A phreatomagmatic eruption from its main crater spewed an ash column
exceeding a kilometre high over the surrounding islands and Metro
Manila, resulting in the suspension of school classes, work schedules, and flights.
7
November - Talisay – Manila – 88 km
Cycling
up the hill I came down the previous day wasn’t as steep as expected; Manila’s
traffic was far worse. The National Highway led straight into the city centre
and ran through numerous towns and villages. The traffic was bumper-to-bumper
and Jeepney-to-Jeepney, all the way into the city. Cycling the short distance
of eighty-eight kilometres took practically the entire day, mainly due to the
horrendous traffic.
Once
in the town, the suburb of Melati provided decent-looking accommodation. It
felt good to be in a solid-looking guesthouse ahead of the forecasted super
typhoon, predicted the strongest typhoon ever to make landfall in the
Philippines.
Due
to the typhoon, all flights and ferries were cancelled, and all one could do
was hunker down. Pension Natividad wasn’t the cheapest, but comfortable and
centrally located. The place was packed with people who missed their flights
and ferries. Nevertheless, a jovial mood prevailed while all waited to see what
to do next.
8
November - Manila
Though
overcast and rainy, Manila was out of harm’s way and nothing came of the
predicted high winds. The islands to the south were more affected and several
islands suffered severely. Reportedly, the typhoon made landfall in Haiyan with
wind speeds of up to 315 km/h, killing 6,300 people. Entire villages were wiped
out.
In
Manila, people waited for flights and ferry schedules to return to normal. Several
of the pension’s guests couldn’t contact family and friends as all lines were
down. In the company of John and Matthew (both living on Coron Island and
waiting for a ferry), we set off to the harbour to find information about a ship
sailing to Palawan. We couldn’t find one and returned to the pension and had a beer
instead.
9
November - Manila
The
next day, the weather improved, allowing a trundle around town. Manila was an
immensely populated city (20 million) and, consequently, plagued by traffic and
pollution. Manila further had a massive contingent of homeless people. They,
however, seemed friendly and content living on the pavement amidst the fume-belching
trucks and Jeepneys. I ventured along the seafront, past Rizal Park, to what was
known as Intramuros, the old Spanish capital. A crumbling wall still half
surrounded the area. Even though mostly destroyed in World War II, the area
remained interesting.
Upon
returning to the guesthouse, my path led past Robertson’s Mall. It was convenient
shopping, seeing they had a well-stocked supermarket. Once at the guesthouse rumours
were doing the rounds of a boat departing to Coron Island the following
Wednesday.
10
November - Manila
A
stroll with Bjorn from the guesthouse to the National Museum turned out fascinating
and the Butuan boats’ discovery intriguing. The boats were excavated in 1997
and date to 320AD. These boats are evidence that early Filipinos were seafaring
and relatively technologically advanced. In addition, the discovery revealed
they had contact and traded with areas outside the Philippines, as shown by the
archaeological artefacts. Even more exciting was that the largest sailing
vessel of its kind yet discovered was unearthed in Butuan City in Mindanao.
Estimated around eight hundred years old, the wooden boat may be centuries
older than the ships used by European explorers in the 16th century when they
first came upon the Philippines.
Nibbling
on street food, we wandered off in the direction of the Palace to see if we
could glimpse the 3,000 pairs of shoes, ha-ha. In the process, we passed a Sikh
Temple celebrating the 544th birthday of Shri Guru Nanak Dev Ji, founder of the
Sikh religion. Inside, we were issued headscarves, invited to partake in the
festivities, and served the best Indian food since leaving India. What a
wonderful experience.
Our
route led past the Palace, but it wasn’t noteworthy and we proceeded to
Chinatown. At the pension, rumours were of an additional storm moving in. During
the previous storm, all ferries and boats were suspended.
11
November - Manila
We
all waited for news regarding the new storm. Meanwhile, I took to the streets
and cycled around the city to locate a bike shop but couldn’t find the one I
was looking for. Being unimportant, I looked for a vantage point to take
pictures of the city skyline. Sadly, it started raining, and I returned to the
guesthouse with nothing to show for my efforts.
12
November - Manila
I
braved the sea of Jeepneys and cycled (what felt like) straight into the lion’s
den. This time, a bike shop was located down a small residential lane, and
while the professionals did the work, I searched for more attractions. The
street was blocked off, as a TV crew arrived the next morning to record a
programme. In the meantime, a choreographer gathered the citizens and had them
do a fantastic routine in no time. Professionals could make anything look easy.
Once
the bike was done, darkness had fallen and it was quite an experience returning
without lights and in hectic traffic. I felt it best to follow a bicycle
rickshaw (pedicab) as they didn’t have lights either and were pretty good at
weaving in and out of traffic. I was mighty pleased with myself for making it to
my digs unscathed.
13
- 14 November – Manila
At
Robinson’s Mall, I found a ferry company selling tickets to Palawan. A ticket
to Puerto Princesa, situated on Palawan Island, was purchased. The weather
forecast indicated better weather by Friday, and all hoped the ferry wouldn’t
be cancelled.
I
was a tad baffled by the large contingent of American Peace Corps staff who
moved into our guesthouse. I later learned they had been evacuated from Central
Visayas after the typhoon and were in Manila indefinitely. Although staying free
of charge, a few complained they had to sleep in a dormitory. Inquiring when
they would be returning, the answer was that they were uncertain as there was no
way they could be taken care of. And there I assumed they were the ones taking
care of the people.
I
spent the entire day searching for a contact number to help the affected
islands. All to no avail as there appeared no way of communicating with the
islands and impossible to reach the relevant people. Best to leave the job to
the professionals. I’m sure they couldn’t still cope with inexperienced “helpers”.
Palawan
Island
15
- 16 November - Manila, Luzon – Puerto Princesa, Palawan
It
felt good to cycle off to the pier, and the ferry came as a pleasant surprise. The
boat was large and stable, offering air-con sleeping quarters, entertainment on
deck, and even dancing staff as we sailed off. The boat sailed out of Manila
Bay in perfect weather and I sat outside listening to music, dressed in shorts
and a T-shirt, until long past midnight. Fantastic.
The
morning broke amidst hundreds of islands, quite a spectacular sight, and
strangely more Mediterranean-looking than tropical. Naturally, food was
included in the ticket. All lined up to receive our polystyrene container revealing
a boiled egg, rice and something which resembled mince of sorts.
Arrival
in Puerto Princesa was at 0h30, and all managed to get off quickly and orderly,
unlike other ferries. I cycled into town to locate accommodation and came upon
recommended Casa Luna. The rooms were reasonably priced and conveniently
situated around a courtyard.
17
November - Puerto Princesa
Arrangements
were made to see the underground river the following morning. Afterwards, I
took off to a bank to draw as much money as possible, as I understood this was the
only ATM on the island.
18
November - Puerto Princesa & The Underground River
An
hour or two’s drive brought us to the underground river, en route stopping at
the Ugong Cave. The Ugong Rock stood roughly twenty-odd metres high, and one could
clamber through caves and crevices (using ropes) right to the top. Instead of
returning on foot, I used a zip line. In a mere twenty seconds or so, I was on
the ground. How cool is that?
Located
in a national park, the underground river was immensely touristy but worth the
effort. Turquoise, crystal-clear water disappeared into the darkness of the
mountain and ran for almost eight kilometres. The river wound through the cave
before flowing directly into the South China Sea. We merely explored one and a
half kilometres of the route before retracing our steps past stalagmites,
stalactites and strange limestone formations created aeons ago.
19
November - Puerto Princesa – Honda Bay – 13 km
Early
morning, I departed Puerto Princesa, prepared for a long day of cycling, but in
the end biked a “record-breaking” thirteen kilometres. Shortly beyond the town,
a sign pointed to Honda Bay. Turning off to investigate, I found a small jetty
where boats left for nearby islands and befriended Edna in the process. She oversaw
the selling of boat tickets and had a small property featuring two nipa rooms
and offered me one of the rooms at 200 pesos. The price included supper and a
pig in the front yard. I thought travelling didn’t get much more interesting
than this and accepted the deal.
The
boat ticket was a little pricy for one person, but Edna arranged for me to join
a family out for the day. It was a lovely family from Manila who was kind
enough to allow me to join them. They invited me to share their food and drinks,
and I got to eat an array of typical Filipino food. In classic Filipino style,
they were well stocked. The snacks included salted eggs, eggplant in garlic and
chilli, fried fish, and loads of other things I couldn’t remember. We had a
wonderful time, stopping at three nearby islands before returning to the mainland.
I’ll be forever grateful to this kind family as they could never imagine what a
treat the trip was to me.
Edna
was waiting at the jetty, and we made our way to her house. While she prepared
rice, fresh fish and octopus, the power went out. Still, she was unperturbed
and carried the food next door to where they had a barbeque.
As
darkness fell, a few visitors came to glance at the stranger in their village.
To make matters even more interesting, we sauntered to the nearby basketball
court, the centre of town and thus all activities. One half of the court was
used by youngsters shooting for the net and the other half by kids doing
cartwheels and jumping elastic rope. On the side-line, one could buy snacks
from mobile carts or participate in various games. Kids hopped, skipped, and
jumped or did silly bicycle tricks while the older ones hung around, stoic-faced,
trying to look cool.
What
a wonderful village. I’m sure I met the entire community during the short walk
to and from the basketball court. I considered it travelling at its very best.
20
November - Honda Bay – Roxas - 128 km
I
didn’t expect the day to be quite as challenging! Not only was the weather scorching,
but the hills were steep and, for an unknown reason, I didn’t feel well and
suffered from an upset stomach and nausea. Halfway, I started vomiting and
cramping, something I’d never experienced before. The day turned out one that
required mental strength bordering on stupidity while pushing the bike up the sharp
hills, cramping, rubbing my legs, and vomiting.
It
took nearly the entire day to reach Roxas, where I collapsed, exhausted. I had no
appetite and was in no mood to stuff food down my throat.
21
- 22 November - Roxas – Taytay - 80 km
I
assumed the day would be difficult, and I wasn’t wrong. In hindsight, I should’ve
stayed the day. My lack of food intake didn’t help either. Still nauseous, I
stopped at the chemist to get medication preventing cramps and nausea and
stocked up with vitamins.
Depleted
of all energy, I struggled onwards and upwards and, once again, had to walk the
bike, stopping every few metres to rest. Finally, and to my great relief (a tad
of an understatement), I reached Taytay. This old colonial town featured a fort
and a historic church.
I
flopped down in utter exhaustion for the second day in a row. Mercifully, soup
from the on-site restaurant was just the thing needed. Armed with rehydration
salts and plenty of water, I hoped for a quick recovery.
The
next day I barely had enough energy to explore the historic Taytay Fort, or Fuerza
de Santa Isabel, built in 1667 and completed in 1738. But, at least, I came to
my senses and didn’t set off again, as was my habit. Thank goodness, by evening
I felt heaps better.
23
- 24 November - Taytay – El Nido – 70 km
People
warned about the road to El Nido. The road was gravel and hilly and I wasn’t particularly
looking forward to the ride. The day, however, turned out a pleasant surprise as
the climb wasn’t as severe as predicted, and only a dirt road in places, while the
greatest part of the way to El Nido was paved. Moreover, El Nido had no
shortage of accommodation as the place was popular, and rightly so. My pick of
the bunch was a lovely guesthouse, a street or two from the beach at a
reasonable price and with welcoming owners.
It
rained on and off the following day, which made it a perfect time to hang around
and explore the tiny village of El Nido. Famed for its diving, a dive was
booked for the next morning. The fee included three dives, a boat trip to the
islands, and lunch. The evening was spent enjoying supper and a beer on the
beach, a perfect way to end a good day.
25
November - El Nido
Eight
o’clock was dive time, and the boat left El Nido at around 8.30/9.00 a.m. The
first dive was along a wall and, albeit beautiful, it wasn’t spectacular. I
was, in fact, quite surprised at the lack of coral and life down below. Nonetheless,
the scenery above water was dramatic, revealing limestone pinnacles and cliff
faces. So spectacular was the view, the area was the location of choice for a
few movies.
Our
second dive was far more exciting and sported large fish, octopus, giant shrimp
and many more. Both dives were approximately fifty-five minutes, to a depth of twenty-five
metres with a water temperature of 28°C. After the second dive, lunch was at a
tiny white beach offering crystal-clear, turquoise water, resembling a painting.
Time flew by, and soon it was our last dive - an incredible dive amongst massive
coral and other sea creatures.
The
strangest thing happened once on the boat - I became dizzy and disorientated and
suffered from blurred vision and a peculiar distant sensation. WOW, how weird? I
drank plenty of water, laid down, and felt considerably better by the time we
reached the mainland. I surmised it was a balance disorder. Having a sinus infection,
I took medication before leaving, which could’ve been the cause, or it could’ve
been simple dehydration.
Busuanga
Island
26
November - El Nido – Coron Town, Busuanga Island
The
ferry trip between El Nido and Busuanga Island (Coron town) was immensely scenic
but a lengthy seven-hour affair on an open boat. Luckily, we were given lunch
(a small fish and a substantial amount of rice). The area around Coron town was
famous for its World War II wreck-diving.
In
September 1944, a fleet of Japanese ships hiding in the harbour was sunk in a
daring raid by the U.S. Navy. The result was around ten well-preserved
shipwrecks surrounded by a coral reef. There wasn’t much to do but dive and
watch the sunset over Coron Bay. I strode to Seadive Resort, a massive
ramshackle complex sporting rooms, restaurants, bars, and dive shops. The
diving looked well organised and I booked a three-tank boat dive for the
following day.
27-28
November - Coron Town
The
first dive had an unusual location - a lake/hot spring. The dive, firstly,
involved a boat ride, then a short swim to the shore, followed by a scramble (in
full diving gear) over a rocky outcrop to the lake. Upon descending about fifteen
metres, the water temperature shot up to a boiling 38°C. The temperature
variation was so significant one could see the thermoclines. We followed the
wall for almost twenty minutes, and then returned to the entry point, making a forty-minute
dive in total. How cool is that?
Our
next dive was the Olympia Maru - a WW2 Japanese shipwreck. She was lying on her
starboard side at twenty-five metres. Like all the other Japanese ships in the bay,
it was sunk on 24 September 1944 by a U.S. air attack and was a one-hundred-and-twelve-metre
supply ship. We had appalling vision but penetrated the wreck and swam through
the prop shaft and into the engine room past two huge boilers. We even saw a
crocodile fish hiding away as we passed old kaolin bricks used to fire up the
boilers.
The
Tangat Wreck was our third and last dive of the day, a small gunboat forty metres
long. She was lying in shallow waters, making it a perfect third dive.
29
- 30 November - Coron Town
The
following day was one more three-wreck boat dive. Again, the wrecks were quite
far out, making the trip a whole day affair. First up was the remarkably
interesting IJN Akitsushima, a seaplane carrier. She was lying on her port side
at thirty-seven metres. This 4724-ton ship had a length of one hundred and
eighteen metres and a width of 15.7 metres. Powered by four diesel engines, it
had a maximum speed of nineteen knots.
Akitsushima
was armed with ten 25mm anti-aircraft guns, four five-inch guns, and one large
Kanwanishi flying boat. She was hit near the stern where the flying boat sat
upon metal tracks. Sadly, the flying boat disappeared; it’s assumed it took off
before the sinking. The crane used to lift the seaplane out of the water was
still intact, lying on the sandy bottom and attracting enormous schools of
fish. We entered the wreck and swam along the inside until reaching a large
crack that almost split the ship in half. From there, one could manoeuvre
through the crack and proceed to the engine room through dark and narrow nooks
and crannies. After the dive, we devoured most of the coffee and snacks while
the boat sailed to the next dive site.
An
hour or so later, we kitted up for our next dive. The Taiei Maru, a Japanese
freighter one hundred and thirty-seven metres long, was lying on her starboard
side. The big cargo rooms and the engine room allowed straightforward penetration
of the wreck, making it a fun dive.
Our
last dive was on the Lusong Gunboat, lying in shallow water between three and
eighteen metres, an excellent spot to do a third dive. Hard corals nicely
covered the wreck and although the visibility was poor, we saw plenty of fish.
At least this time, there were several divers and loads of fun was had between
dives. By evening, all were too lazy to go anywhere and we sat in the
restaurant, drank beer and ate pizzas.
Seadive
Resort is situated in the middle of town and on the water’s edge. Therefore, a convenient
location to hang out. The days came and went without me noticing, apart from socialising
with a bunch of crazy divers.
1
December - Coron – Manila - By ferry
By
morning, I settled my bill, loaded the bike and cycled the short distance to
the ferry. The ferry was late and departed at around 19h00 instead of 15h30, giving
me plenty of time to wander around town.
Coron
town was indeed in the eye of the storm, and the damage from typhoon Yolanda was
clearly visible. Only seeing the devastation first-hand, the reality of the
storm became real.
Luzon
Island
2-7
December - Manila
The
journey to Manila was a comfortable one where we arrived around eight or nine o’clock
the following morning. Unfortunately, the short distance to the pension was in horrendous
traffic. Still, by ten o’clock, I was all settled in at Pension Navadidad.
The
next day was spent at Makati, a completely different part of the city with a
different vibe. Makati was the heart of the financial district and was crammed with
high-rise buildings and designer stores. However, the area was surprisingly
orderly and clean. The reason for my visit was to apply for a Taiwanese visa
and I, surprisingly, found numerous people in the waiting room. With the
result, it was half-past one before all was done. The visa took three days, and
with time on my hands, I got a 150 pesos haircut. While the lady was cutting my
hair, I had a pedicure for an additional 100 pesos.
From
the South African Dragon Boat team, Pam put me in contact with Sandy. Sandy
kindly invited me to join them in practice. As a result, I was up at 4h00 to
paddle with the Manila Dragons. What a fabulous experience (albeit surmising I
would be incredibly sore). After departing South Africa six years earlier, it
felt good to be in a dragon boat, and equally pleasant to hear the familiar, “Crew.……………,
are you ready? Attentiooooooooooooon. GO!”
I
bummed around town until time to collect the visa. Unfortunately, visas could
only be collected after midday, and it was thus past five o’clock before
finally clearing out of the building. Being peak hour on a Friday in Manila
City, the traffic was bumper to bumper. Reaching the guesthouse took forever but
I was finally ready to leave Manila.
8
December - Manila – San Fernando City – 81 km
I
wasn’t ready to leave the Philippines as a vast northern region remained. Leaving
the pension, the route led past the waterfront where Dragon Boat races were on.
I watched for a while, cheering on my favourite team and snapped a few pics.
Being
Sunday morning, the traffic was less congested than during the week. Seeing the
other side of the city was an eye-opener. Shacks encroached onto the road; by
then, the three-lane highway was only two lanes. Still, it remained reasonably uncomplicated
getting out of town. If I did go wrong, I knew nothing about it and was
blissfully ignorant of whether I was on the right road.
My
path never entirely cleared the traffic, and the road stayed congested virtually
the entire 80 kilometres to San Fernando, which sported accommodation and food.
9
December - San Fernando – Santa Juliana – 70 km
My
slow start was due to a windowless room and I only emerged at around eight o’clock.
Breakfast was from the 7-Eleven, after which I continued my trek north.
The
area immediately north of Manila was significantly different from the rest. One
could easily imagine being in a foreign country.
I
met with Ray Cayabyab, cycling to his hometown in San Carlos. He was doing exceptionally
well on his old rusty bike with a basket in front but had to stop at each
petrol station to pump his tyre. We chatted non-stop (when the traffic allowed)
as he spoke good English.
Planning
to visit Mount Pinatubo, I waved him goodbye and turned off to Santa Juliana.
Mt. Pinatubo was a volcanic crater lake. On 2 April 1991, people from the lower
slopes of Mt. Pinatubo witnessed small explosions, followed by steam from the supposedly
dormant volcano’s upper slopes (the last known eruption was 600 years ago). Then,
on 12 June, the first of several major explosions took place. The eruptions were
so violent that shockwaves were felt in The Visayas. A giant ash cloud rose thirty-five
kilometres into the sky.
Santa
Juliana was a tiny settlement offering a few houses and a tourist office. First,
they gave me all the info regarding the volcano. Then, they pointed me in Bognot
Homestay’s direction, a comfortable place run by Alvin and his wife, Angie. Being
the only accommodation, I soon met other travellers. Together, we decided to visit
the crater in the morning.
10
December - Santa Juliana - Mt Pinatubo
Shortly
past 5h00, a four-wheel drive jeep left the tourist office for an hour-long
drive to the crater, a bumpy and dusty ride along a riverbed. The landscape was
stark and barren, with only the odd water buffalo.
Surprisingly
enough, people who looked completely different to the Filipinos in the rest of
the country lived up in the hills. The Aeta were indigenous people who lived in
Luzon’s isolated, mountainous parts. They were thought among the earliest
inhabitants of the Philippines. One theory suggests that Aeta are the
descendants of the original inhabitants of the Philippines. Contrary to their
seafaring Austronesian neighbours, they arrived through land bridges that
linked the country to the Asian mainland almost 30,000 years ago. Unlike many
of their Austronesian counterparts, the Aetas have resisted change. Thank
goodness, all attempts by the Spaniards to settle them in reservations failed.
We
continued until the jeep could go no further and then set off by foot for about
an hour to the top. The hike was a relaxed one along a stream until finally
reaching Crater Lake. The lake was much larger than envisaged. We took a few
pics, sat chatting, and then retraced our steps.
Once
in Santa Juliana, and already past midday, I was too lazy to proceed and stayed
put.
11
December - Santa Juliana – Camiling – 77 km
En
route to the main road, I stopped at the depressing Death March Memorial. The
area was the final stage of the tragic Death March and concentration camp. Japanese
troops forced approximately 75,000 prisoners of war to make a sixty-five-mile
march to a prison camp. The exact figures are unknown, but thousands died
because of their captors’ brutality, who starved and beat the marchers and
bayoneted those too weak to walk. The marchers made the trek in intense heat.
Finally, survivors were taken by rail from San Fernando to prisoner-of-war
camps. At these camps, thousands more died from disease, mistreatment and
starvation.
Today,
they are remembered by a large memorial and a wall bearing the names of those
who died. War is such a sad thing.
The
rest of the day was a pleasant and comfortable ride, arriving in Camiling in
the midday heat. With budget accommodation in Camiling, I had no reason to push
on as I wasn’t part of the Death March.
12
- 13 December - Camiling – Lucap – 88 km
Breakfast
consisted of the usual Filipino breakfast of garlic rice, a fried egg and
Longanesa sausage. The road was flat, making it an enjoyable ride to where the way
met the coast at the Lingayen Gulf. At the junction, I turned left. Here I veered
in a westerly direction to the small village of Lucap, mainly because I’ve no
structure in my life and go wherever the mood takes me.
Lucap,
gateway to 100 Islands National Park, was well organised, and it was easy to
locate a reasonably priced room at Sweet Honey’s. This family-run establishment
was accommodating and arranged a boat to take me to the islands.
On
waking the next morning, the boatman was already waiting. Unknowingly, my host
packed lunch and water (all nicely in a cooler box - how sweet of them), and all
was set in place for a full day of island hopping.
The
islands (hundred and twenty-three) were primarily tiny, mushroomed-shaped
islands featuring only a few shrubs. A few of them were larger and had beaches
and even caves. We explored a few of them, and there was plenty of time to swim
and snorkel. The snorkelling was an immense pleasure and revealed plenty of
fish and fantastic corals. Giant clams were being reintroduced in the area
after dynamite fishing destroyed virtually all of them. All in all, a great trip
- well worth the money paid.
14
December - Lucap – Agoo – 111 km
After
backtracking the thirty-five kilometres to the junction, I ventured in a
northerly direction along the coast—past small villages revealing fascinating-looking
churches, furniture makers and crab sellers. Like the previous day, the day offered
easy riding and the slight headwind was a blessing in the heat. My path crossed
a multitude of rivers and interesting and ingenious fishing methods. Vendors
were selling clams, oysters, dried fish, fresh fish, crabs, and just about
anything the sea could produce.
On
reaching the tiny village of Agoo, featuring a basilica, the town looked good enough
to overnight. However, finding a guesthouse was more difficult than anticipated.
The few kilometres cycled to the beach revealed just one dilapidated and
overpriced establishment. I returned to the village searching for a “Transient
Room”; a room by any other name was for only a few hours and for a completely
different purpose than I had in mind.
Eventually,
a place sporting a restaurant was uncovered. Starving, I rushed to a nearby
restaurant. The waitresses, decked out in their Christmas hats, appeared
somewhat wary of me and I suspected I was their first western-looking client.
They kept their distance as they took my order and I had an overwhelming desire
to go “Boo!” (making claws and big eyes). But, being far too hungry, I
refrained from any such behaviour as I thought it entirely possible I wouldn’t see
them or my food again.
15
- 18 December - Agoo – San Juan - 50 km
In
the morning, I biked to the tiny village of San Juan. San Juan was known for
its waves, making it a perfect spot to take a surfing lesson. Regrettably, I
couldn’t locate any dirt-cheap ones. Ultimately, I opted for a rather pricy abode
(known as a surfing hangout and a place where one could get surfing lessons). Surprisingly,
the area was slightly dreary (maybe it was the “cool surf” attitude - looking
bored and disinterested).
In
the morning, I moved to a cheaper and friendlier-looking place and bumped into
Lionel (from Coron). A pleasant surprise to see a familiar and friendly face
amongst all the other emotionless ones.
The
grand plan was to take a bus into the mountains to see the rice terraces and
the famous hanging coffins. I packed up, arranged to leave my bicycle and bags
at the inn, and moseyed over to the bus stop with only a small backpack. Sadly,
the bus never arrived. Irritated, I returned to the guesthouse (I’ve no
patience).
I
woke with a sore throat, blocked nose, bucketing rain, and howling wind and
stayed put. My idea of cycling north to Laoag (on the north coast) to fly from
there to Taiwan didn’t seem such a good choice after all, as all flights went
via Manila, making the flight even more costly. Unfortunately, no ferries
operated between the Philippines and Taiwan, leaving me no option but to fly.
19
December - San Juan – Urdaneta City - 100 km
Bored,
I swallowed a few flu tablets and pointed the bike toward Manila along a
slightly different route. The day was marked by slow-moving traffic, roadworks,
and dust which made it a frustrating ride. Finally, reaching Urdaneta City, I
was ready to find a room and spent the rest of the night watching TV, something
I’ve not done in ages.
20
December - Urdaneta – San Fernando – 120 km
Cycling
with a cold was probably not the best, but favourable conditions made riding
easy. The road passed unusual roadside stalls, a few selling dried fish and various
fascinating produce. Ultimately, I found myself in San Fernando and at the same
hotel as on the previous visit.
21
December - San Fernando City – Manila - 76 km
The
last leg of my Filipino journey was marred by slow-moving traffic and dusty
roadworks. Cycling into the city I somehow found myself in the middle of Chinatown,
midday on the last Saturday before Christmas. My word, what chaos! It took
ducking and diving through the hectic traffic to avoid the countless Jeepneys
and tricycles, but I thought I handled the madness like a pro.
22
December - Manila
In
Manila, the city was in a festive mood. The waterfront was packed with food
vendors, people strolled and biked along the promenade, and hawkers peddled
their wares.
Little
was achieved in organising my trip to Taiwan, as both the bike shop and the
travel agents were closed on Sundays. But mercifully, one could upgrade luggage
to forty-five kilograms at a small fee - good news as flying with the bike could
be expensive.
23
December - Manila
Finally,
a flight ticket to Taipei, Taiwan was purchased, and the bike was taken to the
bike shop to be boxed. The rest of my time was spent sorting out gear.
By
evening, a stroll along the promenade made me understand why Manila was referred
to as the Pearl of the Orient. The sunset was spectacular as the sun resembled
a massive ball of fire, and without any wind and an agreeable 28°C I didn’t
think my final day in the Philippines could be any better.
24
December - Manila, Philippines – Taipei, Taiwan
My
flight was only at eleven p.m. allowing the entire day to play in Manila. I didn’t
play much but did much-needed catching up on social and business matters. Collecting
the bike from the bike shop required a Jeepney to the pension, bike and all. What
a performance.
The
flight from the Philippines to Taiwan was uneventful and we touched down in
Taipei at around two o’clock in the morning. Everything went smoothly and all
the luggage came out on the belt, bike and all. Being that early, I believed it
best to wait until daylight before hailing a taxi into town. Unfortunately, the
hostel booked wasn’t open at night, and the reception desk only opened at 9h00.
I further wanted to drop my bike at the bike shop for reassembling, but they
only opened at 10h00.
I
slept soundly upon the soft airport couches and was ready to venture into this
new country when it became light.
