Hong Kong and the Philippines Part 3: Cebu and Bohol

Greetings!

It's been a busy week indeed as I've been finishing my Balkan travelogue (90,000+ words!!!) but at last its done and I hope to start posting it here in full very soon. Reflecting on five countries is hard work indeed, (particularly when you've a kid and full-time job as well), so I'll be taking a break and heading off to Poland next week. Therefore, there shall be no update to look forward to Monday for Uncle Travelling Matt will be doing what he does best... travelling.

Keep travelling!

Uncle Travelling Matt

Links to all the parts of this travelogue:

Part 1: Hong Kong

Part 2: Manila and Lapu Lapu

Part 3: Cebu and Bohol

Part 4: Vigan, Badoc and Batac

Part 5: Bagiou, Montalban and Manila

 

We awoke early for the trip to Bohol and took the taxi all the way to the pier in Cebu rather than taking the cheaper, and slower ferry. Arriving in plenty of time we perused the various stores in the terminal before passing through the ticket checks and seating ourselves in the waiting room. Playing in the waiting room was a group of blind musicians and singers, who were heartily belting out all the Christmas classics that they knew in English and Tagalog, and even the Spanish 'Feliz Navidad'. A lady came around with a collecting bucket explaining that this was some support group for the blind in the city, so we willingly dropped a few pesos their way.

 

The boat was not a boat actually, it was a catamaran, one of the many that seem to be taking over ferry services worldwide. It was full and we sat down in our allotted seats and proceeded to watch the TV, which was showing a very bad film about ballet dancing, that was only interrupted by the safety instructions and a prayer for a safe voyage. Seated next to us was an American guy of about fifty and a young Filipina who was very obviously his partner.

 

One thing that I'd expected to see a lot of in the Philippines was tourists, particularly of the backpacking variety. After all everywhere else in South East Asia is teeming with them, and the Philippines does have a lot to offer. To our surprise however, throughout our whole stay we saw virtually no foreign tourists at all. The biggest group of all were the Koreans whom were easily spotted since they came in big groups and all the men had the same haircut. At first we thought that they might be Japanese, (I still can't tell the difference though there is a rumour that Koreans have slightly rounder faces), but after we greeted some in Japanese and they replied indignantly in English that they were in fact not Japanese but Korean. But of Westerners there were very few, and Westerners under fifty, well we saw only two, (ourselves), and a party of about ten Americans who jogged past up in the Philippines Military Academy, which led us to suspect that tourists they were not, and military personnel they were. No, the only Western tourists we saw on a regular basis were of the type seated next to us on the boat, old guys with young and sexy Filipinas in tow.

 

What to think of the whole situation is morally confusing for me I must admit. Firstly, although I know that a lot of girls favour the older man, you could plainly tell that most of this lot weren't in it for the love, since the guys they were with, (and we spoke to quite a few), were more often than not the rejects of their society at home. They weren't lookers and they certainly weren't over-endowed in the personality department either. You can certainly see why they enjoy the Philippines, after all, as Ryan said, "I think I'd come here if I was that age and I could get a hot bird like he's got. After all, most guys our age can't get women like that now, let alone when they're hitting fifty." He had a point, and so yes, we can understand the guy's motive, but the girl?

 

The sad fact is that much of it is due to poverty. There are plenty of young Filipinas out there willing to sacrifice their romantic bliss for the money. One could look at this in a negative light and say that they're nothing better than prostitutes, especially if they're only in it for themselves. But many actually enter such relationships with the aim of helping their families. For many uneducated, attractive young girls, the easiest way to enable their family to move out of their shack in a shanty town and into a proper house is to team themselves up with some elderly foreign man. They have their family's consent in all this, as in a way the girl's are used as a sort of 'sacrificial cow' for the welfare of the family. When this is the case, is it truly fair to look on such people as whores? Would we be willing to sacrifice so much for our families?

 

To be fair to the guy sat next to us, he wasn't a complete reject and he was actually a rather friendly fellow. He explained that his girl was from Bohol, (they'd met via the Internet), and he was going over to meet her family and then spend some time alone. He'd been to the island before and he recommended we hire a taxi for the day and do an island tour.

 

Once there we did just that, and hired the first driver we saw, a reasonable 1,500 pesos for the whole day. Our driver's name was Dan and he proceeded to take us through the island's capital, Tagbilaran, and on the standard tour. Our first stop was Bool, the spot where (allegedly), Legaspi (early Spanish guy) had made his blood pact with Sikatuna (local chieftain) when he had first landed on the island on 16th March 1565. A life-size statue of the Spaniards and the Filipinos in what seemed to me a rather jovial meeting commemorated the event, and when that was sufficiently photographed we moved on to the Parish Church of Immaculate Conception, in the town of Baclayon.

 

Monument to the first Spanish landing in the Philippines, Bohol

 

The church was built in 1595 and is allegedly one of the oldest in the Philippines. How true that claim is I know not, but it certainly was worth a visit. The museum was housed in the priest's quarters adjacent to the house of worship, which were constructed from timber and plaster and certainly had something of an aura about them. The church itself though, being a House of God I suppose was built from more durable stuff, coral rock. Inside it was cavernous, yet had a nice atmosphere I thought, not dark and dismal like many churches. One thing that struck me about that church, and indeed most of the ones that we went to in the Philippines is that often there is no glass in the windows, just ornate iron grilles. This is undoubtedly due to the hot climate though what good it must do to precious artefacts, having them open to the elements I can only hazard a guess. Despite this I quite liked it as it had resulted in birds flying into the building and nesting in the rafters. The chirping of the young birds lent the building a peaceful and natural atmosphere which pleased me greatly, totally in keeping with the spirit of the religion that the place was built to represent over five hundred years ago.

 

Free with entry into the church came a guided tour of the parish museum in English. Our guide obviously had a passion for his church and village and explained in detail all the various statues and fading photographs of Father's long departed. He lamented the theft of some items and showed us the area where the priest still dine to this day. Out in the back garden was a monkey, a pet of one of the Fathers he informed us. I thoroughly enjoyed looking round the musty decaying old church which reminded me a lot of our church at home; like this one it's still serves it's two primary functions, as a place of worship and as a repository of the heritage of the parish.

 

During the journey we got talking to the driver who turned out to be an interesting and informative chap. He told us that the car was not actually his, but part of a company who had about twenty drivers. That explained why none of the drivers fought in vying for our attention at the dock, or tried to undercut one another as happens in many places; they all got a share of the dough anyway. As we drove along he pointed out his house in a village, a small concrete abode. A concrete house, however small is a sign of wealth in the Philippines, normally the preserve of those who have relatives working abroad. He had never worked abroad however, nor had any of his family, so one must assume that driving tourists around is a profitable business.

 

I asked him what people do on the island and he explained that most income was derived from farming and fishing. There was a little industry he continued, but it was insignificant, the next biggest sector being tourism, though what with all the kidnappings in Mindanao, the flow of foreign tourists to the Philippines had dwindled to a mere trickle, most American and Korean, with a few Germans.

"What about in their free time?" I asked, "What do the islanders do?"

"Tuba" came the reply. "They sit around and drink Tuba."

Tuba, turned out to be the local brew, a potent wine distilled from coconuts, the island's main fruit.

 

We then went on to talk about our lives. "You work in Japan" he exclaimed, "a lot of Filipinos in Japan."

"Yes, we know some of them. They work in a computer company."

"Maybe, but most work in bars and clubs. Loose girls, we call them Japayuki. They're girls from poor families, but they come back with lots of money."

"But a lot marry Japanese guys," I added.

"Maybe they do, but they don't stay married to them. Their purpose is to help their family, once they are old they come back here. Many Filipinos leave but they always come back." We talked about the Japayuki's and the problems that Filipinas have when they marry the Japanese. "The problem is the values," our driver continued. "To the Japanese the company and work is number one, money is their God I think. But for the Filipino the family is most important, we are Catholics, Christians, we care more for our family than the Japanese. I think that is hard for the girls there to live with."

 

 

Our main purpose in visiting Bohol was of course to see the Chocolate Hills, probably the second most spectacular sight that the Philippines has to offer after the famous rice terraces of Banaue. The hills are situated in the heart of the island and were formed way back in prehistory when two local giants had an argument. Their crossed words soon turned into a full blown fight where they scooped up handfuls of earth and threw them at each other. Those handful of brown earth are now the Hills, or at least that is the story according to '101 Myths and Legends of the Philippines'. The real reason behind these strange freaks of nature is not entirely known, though geologists think that the hills are as they are because the marine limestone underneath cannot support plants. Thus, the surrounding landscape is lush and green whilst these hummock-shaped mounds are covered only by a thin layer of grass; grass that turns brown in the summer causing the chocolate effect from which their name is derived. When we went it was not summer, so the hills were more mint green than chocolatey, but the effect was stunning nonetheless and difficult to describe, the hundreds of small, perfectly-formed mounds creating a landscape quite unlike anything else I'd ever seen. That landscape was duly improved by the placing of our handsome mugs between the camera and the hills, and that touristy task completed, we headed down to the gift shop where we purchased a few postcards for the folks back home. No stamps however, but we figured that we'd come across post office in Cebu, so we were not unduly worried.

 

The Chocolate Hills, Bohol

 

Considering that the hills are the Philippine's number two tourist site, we were once again surprised by the sparse numbers milling around. There were a few Filipino sightseers, but once again we were the only foreigners. Not that we were complaining mind, one of the strongest recommendations for going to the Philippines in my mind is that it is well away from the backpacker trail and thus all the commercial exploitation that goes with it.

 

On the way back our friendly driver stopped off at a small hut by a river. Here were housed the famous tarsier, the world's smallest monkeys, tiny creatures the size of a hamster but with huge bulging eyes. During his visit to the Philippines several years ago, my esteemed countryman, Prince Charles Windsor of Wales had also visited here so it was only right that us two ambassadors of internationalisation should stop by too.

 

The monkeys were extremely tame and climbed all over us. The only thing was, you are not allowed to pat them on their heads as they have extremely thin craniums. We resisted the temptation and got our photos taken, before taking a traditional Filipino fishing canoe up the river to see the allegedly famous waterfalls there.

 

Ryan monkeying around

 

The waterfalls, whose name I remember not, were to be quite frank a disappointment. Supposedly famous, I'd never heard of them before and with good reason since they were little more than rapids. Nonetheless, the boat ride was fun and when the navigator suggested that we take a swim, we did so with gusto, much to the amusement of a boat of Korean tourists who turned up later. Thus, dripping wet, we headed back into the taxi and drove back to Tagbilaran.

 

When we arrived in the island's capital there was still an hour or so until the boat came so our driver dropped us off at the shopping centre and we passed the time perusing second-hand books in a shop there. The Philippines is full of English second-hand bookshops, since most Filipinos read in English as much as Tagalog, (this is probably due to the fact that during their formative years at school, they are taught in English only, and not in their native tongue). I am a big fan of the second-hand bookshop it must be said, but I was rather disappointed with the ones that we came across, since they were all stocked with Mills and Boons, Harlequins, and sadly, not a lot else.

 

Leaving the shopping centre we met up again with our driver who'd now found somewhere to park his vehicle. He then announced that if we wanted, we could purchase some Tuba, the local moonlight juice that he mentioned earlier. We voiced hearty approval for the scheme, and so we followed through a jeepney terminal to a small shack of a shop where an old crone was selling the liquor in litre bottles. The smell alone told us that perhaps we'd never manage a whole litre, so she procured a smaller bottle and filled it full of the murky liquor, before demanding 15 pesos. Thus, armed with some local brew, we headed back to the ferry where we met our American friend and his Filipina from the trip over. He was not so chatty this time but he had a huge grin on his face for the whole journey.

 

"I assume he managed some time alone with her" said Ryan.

 

 

By the by, I'd forgotten to mention that that particular day was December 24th, Christmas Eve. The previous night I'd asked the receptionist at the hotel where a Mass in English could be heard and he recommended the Redemptorist Church in Cebu City. That was not until the evening however, so when we got off the ferry in Cebu, we decided first to walk the short distance to the area around the cathedral which seemed to perhaps be the centre of the city. The short distance on the map seemed a lot longer on foot but the walk was fascinating nonetheless, taking us through the dockside slums to the town park. These slums were perhaps not as poor as the ones near Tayuman Railway Station in Manila but it was nonetheless shocking to see them. That night however, being Christmas Eve, was party night. Whole streets had clubbed together and hired disco units which were blaring out music in the middle of the street, young and old dancing alike. Every street also contained a small chapel with pious maidens sat inside praying devoutly. Despite the fact that they were so poor and we were obviously rich Westerners, not once did we feel threatened. People shouted 'Merry Christmas' to us and wished us well, but that was all, not once was a robbery or attack attempted, and it would have been so easy. The only danger we were in was from marauding fireworks which whizzed and banged around the streets.

 

We ended up by the Santo Nino Basilica, the oldest church in the city, surrounded by old ladies urging us to buy candles for a peso a piece to light inside and say a prayer. Inside the church people milled around, looking at the crib and praying to their favourite saint. Santo Nino, like Santo Agustin in Manila was a beautiful old building, dating from the Spanish days which had a peaceful ambience despite all the hustle and bustle.

 

Time and tide wait for no man however and it was getting late, so we hailed a taxi and got him to take us to the highly recommended Redemptorist Church. The Mass, we learnt, started at ten, so we dined at a nearby Austrian Restaurant, before joining the masses in church.

 

And masses they were. We arrived around five minutes before the service was to commence yet already the church was overflowing. We managed to find places to stand at the back however, but many later arrivals didn't and there were several hundred worshippers outside the church also. It certainly is interesting to think that this must have been what it was like in Britain in Victorian times and before, when a real religious zeal pervaded the whole population. I personally have only seen churches as full for funerals, a half full establishment being considered a large congregation these.

 

Quite how and why Britain lost it's religious zeal I don't know, but one thing is certain, it's definitely still there in the Philippines. Whilst we were there the Redemptorist Church was being extended and judging from the size of the congregation that evening, it needed to be. All over the country we saw new churches being built, perhaps the only construction projects that ever get finished.

 

I would imagine that the Philippines is one of the most Christian countries on earth these days. 85% of the population are Roman Catholic, and only 8% of the people follow a faith other that Christianity. They are mostly Muslims, but we saw few of those, since they are located largely in the south, on the isle of Mindanao. Like their Catholic brethren, the Protestant sects here also seemed to be flourishing, particularly the homegrown Igliesia ni Cristo (Church of Christ), a sect that does not believe in idols, however flowers on the altar instead according to one taxi driver. What's more, there seems to be a remarkable level of harmony between Catholic and Protestant, something that a few other countries could learn from I'm sure.

 

The Redemptorist Church however, was Catholic, part of an international sect of the church that has a particular missionary zeal. At the service we attended there were priests from Vietnam, the UK, Indonesia, Malaysia, Eire, and the USA, as well as the native fathers. The service we listened to was good though not the most inspiring I'd ever heard. Still beggars can't be choosers and I suppose we were lucky enough to have just found one in English.

 

Leaving the church to the strains of Handel's Joy to the World and the sight of fireworks exploding everywhere, we decided to head out for a drink or two, before returning to the hotel, so we made our way back to the Austrian restaurant and headed into the adjacent bar.

 

The low lights, smooth music and bikini-clad girl dancing on stage soon made it clear that this was no normal bar. We settled down for a drink and were joined by two young girls, who informed us that they were eighteen, but looked considerably younger. We had chanced upon a hostess bar it seems.

 

The girls that we talked to may not have been ugly, but the problem was they were definitely boring. The idea of hostess bars is for the hostesses to talk to guys, but these two had nothing to say and in fact looked decidedly miserable. It soon became clear that they were from the poorest parts of the city and had left school at the earliest age possible. The whole place was sleazy and when they asked us if we'd like to take them home, we realised that this was not really the place for us, so after one drink each, (and buying the girls the obligatory beverage), we left and caught a cab home, stopping off at a petrol station for some ale.

 

Thus we spent a quiet Christmas Eve in the hotel, drinking beers and phoning loved ones at home As a climax to the day we decided to crack open the tuba, Bohol's native brew. It was vile, and smelt disgusting, and in the end we had to mix it with a lot of coke just to get it down. Unsurprisingly, both of us had a cold for the next few days, we did not doubt what caused it.

 

 

On Christmas Day 2001, we arose late and after a lazy meal in the hotel restaurant, we headed into Cebu to see the sights. Our first port of call was the San Pedro Fort, the smallest yet oldest Spanish fortification in the country. The fort was almost complete and was a peaceful haven of tranquillity away from the bustle of the city. One of the guards kindly opened up a room of artefacts found by a recent French team of divers on the wreck of a nearby galleon. It was fascinating to see the old coins, cannons, astrolabes, pottery and other such stuff that had lain at the bottom of the sea for so long. The exhibition also contained a scale model of the ship and it's history in English. We were not disappointed, the guard was though, I am not the type to tip unless I have to.

 

Next we went to Magellan's Cross by the Santo Nino Basilica, the cross where legend tells us the first Mass in the Philippines was said. How true that was we know not, but next door a Mass was definitely going on. Thousands were gathered in the courtyard in front of the church listening to the Christmas message. Unable to understand the local dialect of Cebuano-Visayan ourselves, we passed through the throngs of worshippers and took a look at the nearby Cathedral, a classical building and far less inspiring than the baroque Santo Nino. The cathedral too however was crammed with the faithful, so we decided to take a trip out of town to the Taoist Temple on the hills above the city.

 

Nothing illustrated the inequalities of Filipino society better than the taxi ride that followed. The Taoist Temple is situated in an area of town called 'Beverley Hills', a fenced off community for Cebu's rich and famous. All around were appalling shanty-towns, yet once through the perimeter gate we were in a land of spacious gardens, well manicured lawns and large houses complete with a swimming pool.

 

The temple itself was the crowning glory, a brightly-coloured pagoda rising up from the millionnaire's mansions. Beautifully carved wooden lions and dragons, and even a replica of the Great Wall firmly stamped the Chinese cultural mark on Cebu's map and showed us who holds the money there. Everything was immaculate, including the dress of the worshippers.

 

I went inside, and lit some sticks of incense for the Gods before asking heir advice in the traditional manner. I'm not quite sure about the answer that I received mind, do they answer truthfully to non-believers?

 

We viewed the stunning panorama of the city that the temple provided and took some pretty cheesy photos of us playing ukuleles in front of dragons and other oriental beasts, before heading back down in the dwindling light and taking a jeepney into town where we dined at Jolibee, the Filipino burger chain, where they sell rather tasty chicken with gravy.

 

The King of Balls, monarch of a Cebu shopping centre

 

On our final day in the locality we both decided that we couldn't really be bothered going into Cebu City again, especially since we'd probably seen all that there was to see, so instead we hired a taxi to take us around the island of Maktan itself, after all it is one of the most popular tourists destinations in the Philippines so it must have something to offer.

 

Surprisingly though it didn't. Despite the fact that our driver took us most of the way around the small isle, there was really nothing that stirred our fancy. The places was flat and really quite boring. The only things to see there were beach resorts, so in the end we went to one of those, but even that was not particularly impressive at all, far inferior to the one that we later visited in Ilocos Norte.  Very soon we tired of the meaningless driving about, so we asked our driver to stop somewhere for a drink. He pulled up in the next village but again we were unimpressed. The place was overpriced and full of swarthy Filipino men who wished to take us out on a boat trip for some exorbitant fee. Despite the fact that the alternative was stopping in the hotel, we had no hesitation in declining and climbing back inside the taxi; we simply weren't in the mood. To be fair though, it wasn't just the drive around Maktan that had put us in bad humour. That morning we'd paid our hotel expenses and had been horrified when presented with a bill for just over 10,000 pesos (just over a hundred quid), for the six phonecalls we'd made on Christmas Day. That the rates were exorbitant was bad enough but on top of that, they also charged about a pound for each call that didn't connect. We were far from impressed, and vowed there and then not to bother returning to Days Hotel, Cebu on our next trip.

 

 

We boarded the towering mass of the WG&A Superferry 12 already in a nautical mood, after having taken the ferry across to Cebu from Lapu Lapu. Although I've not sailed as much as I would have liked to, I must profess to being a lover of journeys by sea. Cars I dislike most, cramped in a small space and without the opportunity to meet new people, though aeroplanes come a close second, (again the space, but more the fact that I'm missing out on all the interesting places that are passing me by below). Trains are of course my favourite, but ships and boats come a close second and I for one was eagerly looking forward to the coming trip.

 

Our cabin was accommodated a total of four, each passenger being allocated a small bed and a locker for their baggage. My only gripe was that the bed, being designed for Filipinos, was too short. But one shouldn't complain, on the last long sea voyage that I'd undertaken, I didn't even get a bed, only a seat, so this was high class as far as I was concerned.

 

I set off to explore the craft and found it containing far more amenities than I'd expected. Not only was there a bar, a restaurant, a disco and a shop, but there was also a swimming pool at the stern (filled with sea water), and the only onboard chapel that I've ever come across. I settled down on deck and continued reading Viajero (from which I was learning all about the history of the Philippines), and observed the process of the ship's departure from Cebu.

 

As the light dwindled we made our way into the restaurant, where we met with a middle-aged white guy seated at the bar, nursing a San Miguel. He turned out to be John, originally from Australia, but now living in the Philippines for around twenty years as the boss of a construction company. "It's not a bad place" he confided, "I stay here for two reasons mainly, this [the San Miguel], and the women. Can't beat the women, I should know, I'm married to one."

"What was that like?" I asked.

"The thing is, if you marry a Filipina, you're not just marrying her, you're marrying the whole damn family. Everything's the family here. But they're a nice lot, her family are, and I've got no reason to go back to Oz, after all me kids there are grown up now."

"What are the Filipino's like to work with then?"

"Ok, lazy bastards sometimes, but who isn't, eh? The only thing is, you think they speak English, right. Well they do, but they don't understand you. For example, when I was working in Indonesia, you give a guy instructions in English, you know the bastard hasn't understood ya. But here, I tell them, and it's 'Yes John, no problem' but does it get done? Does it hell, the guy never understood ya in the first place!"

"What about the politics?"

"Politics! What a bunch of corrupt bastards they are! All as bad as each other, best one was Marcos probably. Thing is, the Philippines is a rich country, I'm not kiddin' ya. Loadsa money, but there's only a few bastards that have got any. Thing is, there's not middle classes here, just very rich and very poor. When the poor guy gets power, he doesn't know what to do with all the money, it just goes to his head, look at that bastard Estrada, the money he spent on homes for al his mistresses and stuff. Yeah, an' like all good Filipinos, he was at church every Sunday with his missus. No, the politicians here, Jesus! Nothing get done. Like that railway that they're planning, Manila to Mindanao. Bloody pipe dream mate!"

 

We later left John to eat our tea which was included in the ticket cost. When we returned to the bar he wasn't there, so I got talking to the barmaid instead. She told me all about working on the boats, how it was good work since you got good money and degree of freedom from your family.

"Don't you have a boyfriend?" I asked her. She was after all, quite a bonnie lass.

"Boyfriend, yes I had one. I loved him so much, you know, but obviously he didn't feel the same for me, he left me for another girl, they're married now." Her sing-song voice lamented the traditional lament of love lost, timeless over centuries and as heart-rending each time. It was only stopped when the band started up, singing covers of famous Western hits. I requested Angelina before retiring to the disco, which was virtually empty. Soon bored with that, I went up on deck, watching the waves roll past and feeling like an extra on Titanic. However, no Kate Winslet's appeared on the deck above for me, so I turned in for the night and fell sound asleep on my bed for the vertically-challenged.

 

The arrival of morning was heralded by the playing of eighties hits over the tannoys. I lay in bed reading and listening to Human League classic before rising and showering to '99 Red Balloons' (in German). When the time for 'Video Killed the Radio Star' came I climbed up on deck, where I read more and later lazily took a dip in the pool. The day whiled away and in what seemed like no time at all the soaring towers of Metro Manila could be seen on the skyline, so below deck I went and prepared for disembarkation. The trip had been enjoyable and relaxing and the only regret is that it wasn't longer. Still, refreshed and invigourated after our time at sea, we were both now ready to face the smog and traffic of Manila our bid to journey ever northwards, towards Ilocos Norte.

 

On board Superferry 12

 

Next part: Vigan, Badoc and Batac



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Hong Kong and the Philippines Part 2: Manila and Lapu Lapu

Greetings!

Another week has passed us by and here is another installment of my Philippines travelogue, this time talking about how Ryan and I found Manila. Incidentally, real life seems to reflect blog life at the moment, for I had a visit this weekend from an old friend that I drank with whilst in Asia and we had a drink with a Filipina and her husband. It was great to see David, the former leader of the International Cathedral Choir Saigon and I just hope that one day I get around to writing an article about my times singing under his instruction in front of a thousand people or so in Ho Chi Minh City's Notre Dame Cathedral.

If I do, it shall be published here first of course!

Keep travelling!

Uncle Travelling Matt

Links to all the parts of this travelogue:

Part 1: Hong Kong

Part 2: Manila and Lapu Lapu

Part 3: Cebu and Bohol

Part 4: Vigan, Badoc and Batac

Part 5: Bagiou, Montalban and Manila

 

 

Going through Aquino Airport in Manila, we thought that we'd perhaps arrived on the same plane as some local celebrity. A band was playing and TV cameras filmed the arriving passengers. Who was it? Film star, TV star, rock star, model, politician..? None we later learnt, the whole show was put on for the benefit of incoming Filipinos who toil abroad and were returning home for the festive period. Overseas workers in the Philippines hold an exalted place it seems.

 

My first impressions of the Philippines bustling capital city, Manila, were not the most favourable. Admittedly they were probably not enhanced by the fact that I kept drifting off to sleep due to lack of time in bed the previous night, but nonetheless monotonous grey concrete buildings, heavy traffic and even heavier smog are pretty uninspiring whatever one's state of consciousness may be. No, I was far from impressed and I wondered seriously whether I would actually enjoy my time in this country. Somehow, and sometime my opinion of the dirt-choked Manila did change. I didn't like it at the offset it's true, but by the time we were leaving I'd actually fallen in love with the place, the hustle and bustle, the noise and the chaotic if aromatic streets. When and why this reversal of opinion came about is a mystery to me. I don't know, Manila's charms sort of gradually crept up on me, rather like those of a hypnotist; you don't realise that you're being hypnotised until the process is complete.

 

One negative impression that did not go away however was the smog. Manila has to be the dirtiest city that I have ever come across. Tokyo is infamous for it's air pollution and Ho Chi Minh City hardly smells of roses. Ryan reckoned that London was none too pleasant in the air quality department too, (I never found it that bad), but Manila is simply a league apart. Put it like this, where I live in Japan, most people wear those surgical-type masks over their faces, (you know the ones, like your dentist and his cute assistant wear when they cause great pain in your mouth), whenever the slightest suspicion of a cold or pollution appear. Sensible and responsible this precautionary measure may be, but I'm sorry to say that it really annoys me. I don't know, just one of those irrational hatreds I suppose, but they look so damn stupid and you can't hear people talk through them. Perhaps it's because they're a symbol, like twenty miles an hour speed limits, of the Japanese taking ridiculously over elaborate precautions for the most minimal of dangers. But Manila's heavy air, laden down with jeepney fuel and other unpalatable odours, well, put it like this,

 

I would have given anything for one of those masks.

 

Our pre-booked hotel in the Ermita district was named the Lotus Garden, (formerly 'Royal Palm' according to the soap in the bathroom). To tell the truth, I'm not a big fan of pre-booking, I prefer to just turn up and see what happens, but this time I was glad of it, being too tired to be bothered to organise anything at all. The taxi driver told us that it was expensive, (probably because it wasn't the one that he was commissioned to take people to), but at four quid fifty a night, I wasn't complaining. What's more, it was actually quite nice, so happily I climbed into bed, (yes, bed, the first time since August), and fell fast asleep.

 

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Late in the afternoon we woke up and showered, ready to met our first two Filipino contacts. Number one was Cris Corpuz, the older brother of Arlene. Cris seemed a nice guy though unlike his sister, rather quiet. We dropped off the gifts that we'd carried with us from Japan and then organised our trip to his family home in Ilocos Norte, which would occur later in the holiday. Just before Cris departed for the long journey north to his family, number two contact arrived, our guide to Manila, Randy Aquino.

 

Randy was the brother of Richelle, another of the Filipinas working for SMK in Yatsuo. That was a little problematic since I didn't have the foggiest idea which one she was. I guess that I'd probably met her several times and even held conversations with the girl, but try as I might I have a serious problem when it comes to remembering names. In fact of all the Filipinas in Yatsuo, there was only three or four where I could put a name to the face. That was perhaps a slightly better record than with the Vietnamese last year, but at least with them I had the excuse that even if I remembered how to write the name, I would never be able to pronounce it anyway, so what's the point? (how do you pronounce 'Thiu'? Yes, that's right, it's 'Twee', obviously). But names like Sheila, Mildred and Randy are hardly that foreign to the English ear.

 

Randy turned out to be a jovial, outgoing fellow who was the ideal guide to Manila since he actually knew about his own city, (it's surprising how many people don't you know). What's more, within a few minutes of talking he revealed his interests to be politics and economics. That suited me down to the ground!

 

Leaving the hotel we took a jeepney to Luneta Park, the expanse of green in the heart of Manila. Before I talk about that however, I should perhaps mention what a jeepney is....

 

Once upon a time, the Philippines was ruled by a foreign king. Except that he wasn't a king, but in fact an uncle and his name was Sam. Uncle Sam did not actually live in the Philippines however, instead the boss of one of his armies, General Douglas MacArthur, (let's call him Doug for short), ruled in his place. One day, naughty Japanese soldiers attacked the islands and though Doug and his friends fought bravely, the Japanese managed to conquer the Philippines. Before leaving, Doug promised to come back one day, and several years later he did just that, bringing with him lots of men, tanks, planes, jeeps and other things needed for fighting the pesky Japanese. And fight the Japanese he did and very soon it was their turn to leave with their tails between their legs. Shortly afterwards, Doug left once more, this time not promising to come back, which was good because come back he didn't. Whilst our hero had left however, all the things that he had brought with him for fighting the Japanese he left behind, not having any use for them in his job as a peaceful man. Unfortunately, the Filipinos had no use for them either, since they too had decided to be peaceful. Some of the tanks and planes they stuck on plinths outside important places to remind them of Doug and his friends, but the rest they melted down to turn into new and more useful metal things. One clever Filipino however had the bright idea that instead of melting the jeeps down to turn into cutlery and washing machines, he could instead convert them into small minibus-type vehicles, to ferry people around the busy city streets. He called his new bus the jeepney. Other Filipinos saw what a clever idea this was and so they did the same. Thus today, jeepneys throng the streets of every town in the Philippines, alleviating the country's traffic needs and contributing to it's air pollution.

 

Today a lot of the jeepneys still date from World War II, but many have been manufactured since. What's more, today's jeepneys are not painted in the austere military green that was the fashion during wartime. Instead it's all the colours of the rainbow over-laden with lots of chrome and topped off with religious slogans. I thought at first that they'd perhaps have the destination painted on the front, but the first one that I came across said 'Nazareth', perhaps a little too far from Metro Manila! Common phrases were 'Praise the Lord', 'Christ is Lord', 'Christ is King', 'Hail Maria', 'Ave Maria' and even the mouthful, 'Pray the Rosary everyday, (it takes less than fifteen minutes)!'

 

Luneta Park may be the city's green lung but it was far from pretty and peaceful that night. That was largely due to the fact that half of it was occupied by a huge open air party thrown for the employees of the Ministry of Tourism with disco music blaring, and the other half by the homeless who also seemed to like loud music. In fact, it may be said that all Filipinos seem to have a thing is for loud, cheesy music, at strange times, most notably early in the morning. On board the Superferry, in the hotel and in Filipino homes we were repeatedly woken up early by the strains of Aquaesque pop. The one song that seemed to be doing the rounds in particular that Christmas was the catchy Angelina (you're my sweet senorina), the latest offering by German cheese master, Lou Bega. And yes, before you ask, of course I bought a copy.

 

Luneta Park with Randy Aquino

 

Walking through the park, we then stopped at the war memorial before heading to the waterfront to gaze out over Manila Bay. Randy then suggested that we retire to a disco, a suggestion heartily approved, so we took a taxi to Malate and entered The Arts Venue nightclub.

 

I must admit here and now, that I like nightclubs in South East Asia, and before you say it, it's not just the pretty women. I am not a nightclub person as a general rule, and in the UK I try to avoid them as much as I can, but when in Asia's south-east, it's the opposite. The reason is simple, people in Europe take their music far too seriously. Every nightclub these days either seems to play tunes that you can either only appreciate if high as a kite, or they are the domain of some extreme alternative group of society that berates everyone else's taste in music. But in Asia no way! It's Lou Bega, Aqua, Vengaboys and Britney all the way! What's more, the Arts Venue was better than most since it was a live music venue. No groups of drug-addled youths proving their creativity here though, no instead groups that sang cheesy music exactly like the original though with the added attraction of gyrating dancing girls supporting the main man or woman. The recital of Tom Jones' 'Sex Bomb' was most memorable. What was also memorable was the fact that beer was served by the barrel at only 500 pesos a time (seven quid). Perhaps not that cheap by Filipino standards by put it like this, it Japan you get two small glasses for the same price.

 

So we whiled the night away, watching virile student Filipinas dancing below and talking to Randy about everything from the state of Filipino politics, the mysteries of Filipino women, the effects of communism in Vietnam and China, the national characteristics of the Japanese to the planned construction of a railway line between Manila and Mindanao.

 

Part way through the evening Ryan disappearing to use the sanitary facilities, only to return with a huge grin on his face. "What's up with you?" I asked. "I just got the best massage ever!" he replied. Needless to say, when nature called I headed over to the little boys room and after shaking hands with the unemployed I was approached by a strange man who grabbed my shoulders. Normally this is something that I would find disturbing in a public toilet, but I let him carry on and for only twenty pesos he did a most excellent massage, which left me all the more relaxed and ready to go out and face the beer once more.

 

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We awoke around nineish and headed down for breakfast. The dining room was full but the maid asked if we did not mind being seated on the same table as an elderly gentleman. Mind we did not, and thus that is how we met Jonnie. He, it turned out was of Filipino descent but was in fact a 100% American, residing in California. He asked Ryan where he was from but when he heard the reply, he admitted never going there. All Filipinos and Americans asked my comrade the same question and each time elicited the same response, so I actually felt quite sorry for the guy, as I now suspect that his family, and funny writer Bill Bryson, are the only people that have been to Iowa, let alone live there. Jonnie also turned out to be a bit of a dodgy geezer who had similarly dodgy business interests in several equally dodgy South American states, as well as in the Philippines, (a country hardly renowned for being undodgy), in particular a bottled water company, ("not that I'd drink my own water here" he added). His main profession however was as an immigration lawyer for the Filipinos who want to emigrate to that big country to the east where the grass is always greener.

 

Immigrants, according to our jolly breakfast companion, is big business in the Philippines. There are around 10 million Filipinos working abroad, 1.8 million of those in the States. Hong Kong however is the biggest receiver, just under 2 million there, though there are also around 100,000 in Saudi Arabia, and large communities in Singapore, Bahrain, the UK, Germany, UAE, Kuwait and elsewhere. Japan has over 30,000 making the Filipinos the second biggest group of foreigners there after the British, (all these figures may not be accurate I must add, since my source of data is the fat bloke that we shared breakfast with and not an academic report, but you get the idea). Indeed, I myself have come across many Filipino ex-pats on my travels; there's the ones in Japan of course, and also the thousands that we saw in Hong Kong. It doesn't stop there though, when I returned home last summer, I surprised to learn that our local hospital has over three hundred Filipino nurses and when I worked in Israel, there were Filipino carers looking after the elderly and infirm on the kibbutz. And here's another interesting anecdote. What was the first plane to arrive in Kuwait after the Gulf War? Was it full of diplomats? Nope. Businessmen and Aid Workers? Not one bit. It was a charter from Manila filled with 'entertainers'; that's one sector of the economy which according to our rotund font of information, Filipinas excel in. Yes, ex-pats are big business indeed in the Philippines, the money that they generate accounts for 55% of the wealth of the nation. No wonder they got a fanfare at the airport!

 

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Randy agreed to meet us at twelve which gave me enough time to disappear for an hour or two, so off I toddled to the Manila LRT, (Light Rapid Transit), which I'd spied the previous day. Now, sad as this might be, I have a thing for railway trains. I will maintain my claim to anyone that in sex appeal alone, a train beats a motor car hands down, let alone it's other attributes, (speed, environmental impact, the fact that if you know how to, you can scam free rides on a train). Anyway, whatever. I had decided to check out some trains of the Philippines, so that explains why that morning I decided to visit the main railway station at Tayuman in Manila. It also explains my preferred method of getting to that station, the LRT.

 

Manila's LRT is simple. There is one line that is elevated along the main street, Taft Avenue, from North to South. There is one flat fare ticket of 12 pesos for any single journey. Even President Bush could work that one out I'm sure. The trains are actually trams, (similar to those in Manchester), but only some are air-conditioned. Not only did I make the mistake of getting onto one that was not, but it was also packed and going in the wrong direction. It's bad enough the Americans insisting on driving on the wrong side of the road, but passing the mistake onto their colonies is simply too much. Needless to say, wrong-hand drive was not a problem that we'd encountered in Hong Kong. Anyway, 12 pesos worse off, I managed to get another another train, this time going in the right direction, (though on the wrong track), and even air-conditioned. It was still packed however, but I later learnt that there isn't a train on the LRT that isn't.

I got off at the Tayuman stop and walked to where Lonely Planet told me the railway station was. Tayuman railway station is surrounded by some of Manila's worst slums and walking through the litter-strewn streets and broken-down shacks was certainly an experience, even if it did put me on edge. Yet even here, people spoke English. Locals yelled 'Hello!' or 'Merry Christmas!' to me as I walked through their neighbourhood. With the kids you could even tell who'd taught them. One street was populated by youths who obviously had a teacher who was into US gang culture films. 'Whassup dog!' they hollered at me as I passed. The next street however was a quite different affair. 'Good Morrow!' shouted all and sundry. A Shakespearian scholar at the local school perhaps?

 

Tayuman Railway Station was a disappointment however. The only trains on display were three rusting hulks located on plinths outside the main entrance. All around was overgrown grass and the a scrapyard of old buses. Inside however, the building was immaculately clean, yet deserted. The platforms were empty except for a couple or old carriages that didn't look like they could go anywhere even if trains were scheduled. Back inside I found a man sweeping the floor and a security guard. I asked the guard when the next train would be.

"Here?" he replied. "I don't know, not today. Maybe next week, maybe next month, who knows? You'd be better trying the next station up the track." So, there wasn't much chance of spying some Filipino trains here. I thanked the guard and left the abandoned station, taking a tricycle back to the LRT.

 

Why the floor needed sweeping I never learnt.

 

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That afternoon Randy had planned to take us to Intramuros, (the old Spanish walled city), and Nayong Pilipino, a village of reconstructed traditional Filipino houses. However, as soon as we left the jeepney near Intramuros, we hit a snag. We had left the jeepney, but Ryan's wallet had not. Or at least Ryan's wallet was not in his pocket where it had been told to stay. To be quite frank we had been warned by the girls beforehand that the Philippines is pick-pocket packed, and due to that both of us carried very little money around in our wallets, but his cards had been there too, and they needed cancelling. We soon found out that cancelling a credit card was easier said than done, especially when the international phonecard that we bought was found out to be no use for international calls, so Ryan and Randy headed off to our host's abode in Pasay City to sort it out from there, leaving me in the SM shopping centre and telling me that they'd see me once more in an hour. To pass the time I went into the National Book Store and purchased Viajero by F. Sionil Jose, the Philippines most famous writer, and 101 Myths and Legends of the Philippines. I then retired to the coffee shop, and sat down to read.

 

Two hours later, despite learning that the first coconut was formed from the decapitated head of a star-crossed lover, then man and woman were created by the earth goddess who split a bamboo stick and that rumblings of the volcano, Mayon, were actually the roars of a giant sealed forever inside a cave in the mountain, there was no sign of Ryan and Randy. Not being a man to sit around, I upped and left and visited Intramuros by myself.

 

Intramuros, (literally 'City within walls'), is not actually that impressive. It probably was once, but due to the antics of the pesky Japanese and Doug during World War II (see earlier), there's not that much of it left now. One thing still worth seeing however, is the Santo Agustin Church which dates from 1599. Not that I saw it however, there was a wedding on at the time, but that was interesting to watch nonetheless, and the museum was good too. I then went to the cathedral, rebuilt after the war, but again I was thwarted in my sight-seeing mission by the marital brigade, so I beat a retreat by taking a cyclo back to the SM Shopping Centre which now came complete with Ryan and Randy. After much trouble, credit card cancellation woes had now been relieved, and we were ready to board the LRT south for Nayong Pilipino.

 

I've developed quite a thing for those reconstruction village places, having visited examples in the UK, Spain, Romania, Japan and the Netherlands now. I know they're not the real thing, but in my mind they're a great way to get an overview of the country. Nayong Pilipino was no exception, looking at the different styles of houses was interesting, and later on in the holiday, I managed to recognise the differences in architecture in Bohol, Ilocos Norte and Baguio from what I'd learnt at there. It was also an ideal place to buy gifts, the only problem was that by the time we got there it was going dark and since many of the shops had no electricity, we had to negotiate one by candlelight. Nayong Pilipino is also next to the airport and across the runway we could see a huge construction taking place. "What's that?" I asked Randy.

"It's the new airport terminal that they're building, it's going to be the biggest in Asia." Strange I thought, Manila is hardly a major hub, since it is a bit out of the way. Why was such a big terminal needed, I questioned Randy?

"For the overseas workers. It's the gift of the Filipino Government to them, since they bring in so much money."

 

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We arose late the next day and leisurely caught a taxi to the airport from whence we would fly to Cebu. Inside the Domestic Terminal it was crowded and chaotic. Christmas is the most important festival of the year, and the time when the airlines are at their busiest, with everyone going home to their families. Nonetheless, we caught the plane in good time and after a short and uneventful flight, we landed in Cebu's airport on the isle of Maktan, which lies adjacent to the larger island which also bears the name of it's major city, Cebu. We were rather surprised that our pre-booked Cebu hotel was actually around the corner from the airport on Maktan island, but it was pleasant nonetheless, and again, at four pounds a night, one can hardly complain.

 

That afternoon we decided to go into Cebu City for we had business to conclude. We were travelling back from Cebu, not by plane, but by Superferry, as recommended by the ladies at SMK. Having reserved our places via the internet, we now had to collect our tickets, (that day being the deadline), from the offices of the WG&A Shipping Company in Cebu City. Simple enough, so we caught a taxi to the nearby town of Lapu Lapu from whence the small ferry across the water to Cebu leaves.

 

Lapu Lapu is worthy of note, for it is named after the famous Filipino chieftain who slew the even more famous Spanish explorer, Magellan, in 1521 at the spot where the town now stands. Magellan is of course renowned as being the first person to sail around the world. An impressive feat except that Magellan never did sail around the world at all. He wanted to, but his exploratory ambitions were put a stop to by the aforementioned Lapu Lapu. His ship did however, but even if he had not been killed by the warlike tribal guy, he would still have not been the first man to traverse the globe. That honour falls to a fellow named Enrique, who was in fact Filipino. He came from an island near to Cebu, and was captured by Muslim pirates who took him to Malaysia. There he was sold to the Spanish, who took him back to Spain via the Indian and Atlantic Oceans. The esteemed Magellan, who was planning his jaunt around the globe reckoned that having a native of the Philippines Isles might just be a good idea, since he was planning to stop there awhile and the inhabitants were not yet fluent in Spanish. Thus, Enrique accompanied Magellan, and therefore, when the Philippines was touched, he became the first man to traverse the globe. Personally I think that the fact that it was a Filipino is quite fitting, since nowadays Filipinos, despite their lowly incomes are some of the biggest globe-trotters to be found, whilst the Spanish don't seem to venture far at all. Sadly, our Enrique was not so useful when it came to parleying with the locals, who it seems preferred to fight than talk, as Magellan soon found out, to his eternal cost.  The ferry journey was nice, and made all the more interesting by the fact that Ryan's seating companion was a chicken and the omnipresent 'Angelina' was blaring over the tannoys at a rather loud level. However, once in Cebu, the joy vanished. The shipping offices, whom we had phoned earlier and whom had told us that they were open, were closed. "Go to the SM Mall" said the security guard. So go to SM we did but again the office had that none too inspiring 'Closed' sign on the door. "Go to the Ayala Centre" suggested the girl at the desk, after she realised that it would take more than a 'Closed' sign to make us leave her domain. Going to the Ayala Centre however was easier said than done, especially at rush hour. Anyway, in about an hour or so, we covered the three miles in a taxi and joined the lengthy queue at the desk there, which thankfully was still open. About an hour or so later, we achieved our purpose, armed not only with our Superferry tickets, but also tickets for the Supercat to Bohol the following day; we were off to see the Chocolate Hills!

 

 

Next part: Cebu and Bohol

 



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