Other posts with the tag: Philippines
Philippines trip photos
E Mall, Taoist Temple and monks
The trip is about to end and as much as I hated the heat, I’m going to miss the place.
The last 2 days are spent meeting some old friends, checking out the Taoist Temple (that some would say is like a peculiar style of Chinese architecture with a hundred million stairs) and taking advantage of those cheap drinks.
I decided to meet up with Hannah yesterday, who I met way back when I was first learned Aikido. She’s lives in Dubai now, so we both had a bit of nostalgia for the good old days of Aikido.
I meet up with her at E Mall (nothing illegal is sold there… well, maybe the bins full of pirated DVD’s and CD’s) and we head out to the dojo. We arrive to the general area of where it should be, except, it’s not there.
We spend the next 30 minutes bumming around a side street cafe while Hannah calls people to find out exactly where it was. During this time, I notice an whiteguy, running around the place (even though Cebu is home to a lot of expats, this was surely a place where any expat, or tourist for that matter didn’t belong).
There are a lot of Chinese temples in Cebu, which reflects the huge influx of Chinese immigrants.
Then I heard him speak in the vernacular language(Cebuano) with spot on accuracy on the accent. Before I could find out what his story was, someone who recognized Hannah came from one of the alleys (that we didn’t even notice earlier) and directed us to the dojo.
We finally find the dojo deep in the bowels of high rise apartments and alleys, packed with sweaty practitioners. Our old Sensei and some of his students treat us to a dinner over some street side BBQ’s. Unfortunately, I still don’t have the stomach for chicken feet, or chicken intestines. I’ll stick to the regular and some San Miguel please!
Leyte, spits, and kamikaze passengers
We took it easy today since we’re taking a 6 hour red eye ferry ride to Leyte. It’s one of those boat rides where you think you’d get enough sleep, but as soon as you’re in the middle of a dream, you’re there at your destination… at 3 in the morning. But I’m getting ahead of myself.
David and Roxanne head out to do their own stint while I meet up with some old family friends. They take me out to dinner at a traditional Filipino restaurant. For dessert they recommend I try the green mango shake. Being the guest, I oblige, not knowing what I was in for. It’s what a shake should be. This would officially begin my mango shake obsession.
They were nice enough to drop me off at the seaport, while I wait for David, Roxanne and my mom to arrive. Leyte was were my mom grew up, and we were going to join her big family reunion happening over the weekend.
The way seaports in Cebu work are also interesting, as much as custom officers are at the airport.
The ships are anchored about a half mile away from the main port entrance. To save you from having to walk this long, danky, dark and seedy road, they have these jeepneys that ferry you from the port entrance to the ship. They only arrive every 15 minutes, and as the night progresses, it seems that more people arrive waiting for jeepneys.
Nabbing a seat in these jeepneys in a mad rush like this is dicey in as much as getting something horrible from a used needle off the side of a street, in Bangkok (haha, sorry. Didn’t mean to get carried away with the metaphors). We quickly tell David to quickly dash inside of one the next time the jeepneys come around. And I tell him for once you are allowed TO push people.
The next one arrives, and we’re all ready for this mad kamikaze. Except David. In the amount of time it takes for him to realize we’ve all gotten seats, placed luggage on the roof, and crammed 25 people into a 15 seater vehicle, he’s still standing, outside of the vehicle, pushed out by the other kamikaze-hazed passengers with ridiculously over sized luggages on their laps. One man had an unwrapped microwave with him. I end up giving him my seat while I ride outside hanging off of the jeepney. Yes, it’s possible… frighteningly possible. This is about the time I’m telling my fingers, “DO NOT fail me!!!” while the jeepney races along the dark, danky, seedy and pot-hole ridden road.
Does Leyte sound familiar to you? No? Well, that's where the US Army landed to liberate the country from Japan during World War 2.
We managed to arrive shortly after 3 a.m. in Ormoc, Leyte, after that harrowing ride. I didn’t realize this then, but we had another 2 hour car ride to the small town of Carigara. We finally arrive just as dawn begins to break, and a lot of roosters crowing. A pleasant sound to listen to, unless when you’re trying to go to sleep.
I wake up several hours later that morning to the smell of something burning. I stumble outside of our rooms to find a makeshift spit. Except, whoever prepared it, drenched it completely with gasoline. So not only is it smelling like burning wood, but also of burning fuel.
What’s a spit doing right next to the room I was in, you ask. It’s for the pig that they’re going to kill later on. It’s for the big family reunion. How big you ask? I was about to find out.
Later that day, we finally get to see the pig getting killed. David, having never seen this done, is mortified at the squeals it was making. Fortunately for the rest of the guests the next day, they get to enjoy pork. Unfortunately for me, David and Roxanne, we get to smell the burning flames for the next 12 hours. Who knew it took that long to cook something over a spit.
After the huge weekend party of over 200 people (I think there were more non relatives than relatives at that place), we decide to head out for some sight seeing, if only to escape the unbearable heat wave that beset that town for that weekend. Ironically, we were literally only several yards away from the ocean at all times.
We went to a WW2 memorial site (the US’ liberation of the country from Japanese occupation) landing site while I ponder whether we were going to get some of the rain that was looming above us.
Resort
After the previous day’s unlucky stint, we decide to go to a local resort and pay money to use… the beach. Such a strange idea. Beaches are a commodity and if that commodity includes white sand-blue water clichés, people are willing to pay $200-$300 to stay at that place. But we didn’t. We paid $4 dollars. Sweet!
I practically spent the entire day soaking in the sun, drinking some of the best mango shakes in the world and deciding whether their $50 dollar fresh lobsters at the restaurant were a rip off. It definitely was.
Later that night, we head back to my dad’s place. David’s never ridden a motorcycle, and my dad practically was born in one (I remember riding in his motorbikes growing up). David decides to ride one into the night never to be seen again. Just kidding… really.
Beaches are such a commodity, that you practically have to pay for the right to go to the beach. At least for a nice one.
Birds, high tide and white sands
After several days of being bed ridden, I begin to feel alive. My dad, who’s currently living in Cebu, pays us a visit at the hotel. He’s taking us on an island trip. David’s never been to the Philippines, and he wants to see the blue water-white sand cliché (this particular trip ended up being a wash, but was funny to look at in retrospect) and some wild life bird watching.
We board this 45 minute ferry ride to Olango Wildlife Sanctuary, located in Olango island. We pay the entrance fee of a few dollars equivalent, and the staff give us weird looks. It wasn’t until later we realize that 99% of the birds who normally would be all over the island have returned to their home habitats (this was April, on the cusp of spring). I don’t have the patience to wait to watch birds in scorching 1 p.m. sunny weather. Neither does David, or Roxanne. Granted the place itself is wonderful, it felt too deserted without the birds.
We head back to the island of Lapu-Lapu to formulate another short stint: to check out outlying islets in the Hilutungan channel.
Before venturing out, please consult your local low/high tide calendar.
Given this was a short notice impulse, we manage, or rather, my dad manages to charter a small, wooden, outrigger canoe. The locals affectionately call it “pump-boat” and not for their grace on the water or their elegance when the winds conjure giants waves against its battered sides, but because the engine used is typically from a recycled car engine minus its muffler.
After some price haggling, I am sitting next to this behemoth of an engine who could scream no less bloody murder and the sea air blowing mists on my face. I swear, Ithink my ears are still ringing after several days.
We arrive at the channel of an atol; with two islets on each side and I notice one thing wrong immediately… The water looks like about 5-6 feet deep. Perfect depth if you want to quickly get from one islet to another, but not good when the boat you’re on is too big.The boat driver forgot that it was low tide.We resort to an island away from the channel after this mishap.
David doesn’t get his white sand cliché. This island only has rocks. Lots of jagged prickly rocks.
