Philippines

The Zimdians had warned me that travelling in the Phillipines was hard work. In my head, I was a little bit dismissive, thinking "yeah yeah, how hard can it be? Probably no worse than travelling on buses in Zim." I now know to mostly heed the words of the well-travelled.

Check-in time approached for my domestic flight from Manila to Cebu city, after 24hours of no sleep, 2 very long airport waits, and a taxi driver who lost his perfect English, come payment time and my discovery that he hadn't actually turned the meter on as we'd agreed. I sidled hopefully over to the check-in desk, keen to dump my backpack and clear security to get something to eat. "Ma'am the check-in limit is 10kgs." Discussion about the absence of this information when I bought my ticket and about my teeny tiny carry on bag was met with polite firmness. So, along with half the other passengers in the airport, I set about re-packing. In logic which escaped me, there seemed to be no weight or piece limit on what you could carry on. Maybe not so different from an Air Zim flight.


When I made it through security, a Filipina looked at me, did a double-take, turned to her family. Stolen glances, chatter, and suppressed laughter until I shrugged and laughed with them with shared understanding at what was so funny. My daypack looked like a chicken bus: seams and zips straining, shoes in tatty plastic bags squashed into every side pocket and a packet of incense protruding. Only a trussed rooster missing. Dearie me. And then the flight was delayed.

It was in Cebu city that I not only became an expert in ferry travel to Leyte island, but also came to the conclusion that the universe was testing me. After a good sleep I walked the traffic-choked streets of the city, making my way to a big mall to find an agent to sell me a ferry ticket for that night to get to Maasin, Leyte island. This was my hopping off point for Sogod Bay - place of whale sharks and wall dives. There are massive ship-like ferries which ply this route. Plenty of room. Nah. Sold out!!!! Whaaat? I hadn't accounted for Friday night, school holidays and local fiestas (big religious parties that happen to a timetable too complicated perhaps for my guidebook to even mention). So off to pier 3 to get a ticket direct, from another ferry company to a different place on the island: Hilongos, which would involve a punishingly expensive transfer. Success after 2hours. Back to pier 1 to get the return ticket from Maasin. Sent to head office, pier 4. Closed. Distress! How could I be so stupid as to find myself in docklands in a foreign country at dusk? Never mind: 5 helpful and concerned staff and security folk were at hand to give travel advice. Don't walk back to guesthouse - very dangerous. Taxis (cheap in Cebu) all full? Ok take this number jeepney to here, then that number jeepney to there. I eventually walked some, taxied some and with migraine pending wrote off the 9pm ferry ride and checked back into bed.

Things always look brighter in the morning, so at 8.30 I was queuing for another ferry ticket next to Christopher who made sure I was in the right place. An hour later, as I shifted up to second in line, ticket systems went down. Sorry, we're offline. Advice: go to our office on pier 4. Shit. The communal decision of the queue was that Pier 4 was a better bet than waiting for the system to come online. So we all piled into jeepney no. 7. Price? Otto pesos. Christopher made sure I got local price and the right change. The upside of all of this was that - out of pure boredom - I read the small print and realised that despite having already missed my boat, I could "re-validate" my ticket for a small admin fee, instead of buying a new one. Happy days. If only Easyjet and Ryanair were this easy. Mad dash across town and back to collect luggage with a brief stop to buy crackers and a couple of green mangos for the ride. I hadn't time-accounted for the departure being from a completely different pier to check-in, but a student next to me reassured me that we'd make it: ferries run to "Filipino time". Ah, like Africa time. This concept I know and put into practice myself. My relief as the ferry shuttle bus pulled up was short-lived as I suddenly realised that I'd left a very expensive and patchily-insured piece of technology in the guesthouse safe. Universe definitely testing me. Should I turn back? No way. The obstacles only made me more determined. I was getting on that ferry to Leyte dead or alive. Ok that's exaggerating...web-connected or unconnected.

So Leyte it was. I was staying near Padre Burgos a small village in the south of Leyte. There are a few dive "resorts" which milk you for money if you dive with them and milk you for much more if you don't. I found one which had cheap dorm beds, and, as it turned out, the best pork adobo I ate in the Philippines (mmm).

I arrived late at night, knackerooned, and opened an external door for air, to find that my room had a balcony with sea view and a lullaby of waves a-lapping - niiice!

There was only one other guest there - a german guy (A) I got on really well with, who'd been working in the Philippines for 4 years. Although there were too few of us to do a whale shark trip, we did some absolutely incredible dives in the marine protected areas of Sogod Bay with names like "Max Climax" (are men naming these sites?). Drift dives, where you let the current take you along steep walls of stunning, vibrant coral, with abundant fish hovering stationary against the current. The walls go so deep that you can't see the bottom of the ocean - exhilarating! I only have 17dives under my increasingly heavy weight belt (good food, man) but those were the best, and I fear I will struggle to match them - unless I win the lottery soon.

Following an incident on our last dive, involving strong-ish current, the loss of our Divemaster, and a distinct lack of botheredness on his part when we surfaced okay thanks to A and his dive computer, I spent my last couple of days walking and snorkelling. And watching the final of American Idol with the restaurant staff, who, along with the rest of the country were supporting half-Filipino Jessica Sanchez (in my expert opinion she should have won).

The snorkelling was great. First time in, my heart sank when I spotted a bright purplish-blue object. Ugh, a plastic crisp packet, but no, it was one of many lovely starfish. And in the late afternoons, lionfish at 4metres, and...a turtle. Slowly, silently sculling it's way down to the seabed to graze on seagrass, then up to the surface for a few sips of air. What a treat!

In general, I was a bit of a novelty to Filipinos, who found it surprising that I was a female travelling alone. After the usual questions "where are you from? how old are you?" came "are you alone? aren't you scared?!" In Padre Burgos this was magnified x20. But, as elsewhere in the Philippines, people were super-helpful, and genuinely friendly. Which made for many great conversations, the occasional crowd of curious kids, and acts of kindness. Like the time I was unable to find "load" (top up credit) for my Filipino sim card. I asked a group of young folk where I could buy some. Easy. One of them put me on the back of his motorbike and zipped me around the village until we found load.

Pics of sleepy Padre Burgos below.

 

The return journey on the overnight ferry was great: comfy bunks and a little cafe for my morning coffee. I thought I'd escaped the roosters for a night (cock-fighting is big in the Philippines) but no my friends. As surely as the clock strikes 4.20am there was a rooster on that boat and it crowed. Tunefully at least, which is not always the case.

Ferry arrival Filipino time still allowed me to collect my technology and catch my flight to Palawan island. A brief stop in Puerto Princessa to work out another ATM-less budget and then onwards to El Nido in a speedy minivan. Small bangka (boat) trips out of El Nido are the best way to see the islands of the Bacuit archipelago. Dramatic limekarst scenery, secret lagoons (accessed by climbing or swimming through holes/passages in the rocks) and such white sand and clear blue water that your brain struggles to process the beauty. A day on a boat is spent island hopping, snorkelling and lagoon exploring, with one of the boat guys to check wave safety and guide your clamber/swim through the sharp rocks. Interrupted only by a couple of hours on a beach (first pic below) for freshly BBQ'd fish with rice and fresh salad, mmm. And all waste and equipment is taken there and away at the end - even the table.







(Last pic above: coconut crafty - how to park your bike in the sand)

I had a bit of bad luck with the weather in El Nido: torrential rain for several days which, at the start, had restaurant staff muttering "typhoon?" (it wasn't). But I caught the live drama of impeachment proceedings in the Senate against the Chief Justice on corruption charges, for failure to declare something like US$5million of...uhhh... earnings in his statement of assets and liabilities. It bumped the coverage of Jessica Sanchez's every blink off the news and was an all day affair with Senate members making long speeches as they cast their votes. The score? 20 votes for impeachment; 3 against. I reckon every TV in town was on that channel - well, between powercuts. It's good news for the President's anti-corruption mission, amidst fears (so my Filipina friends told me a few days before the result) that the Senate will not give him the support he needs to succeed.

With a raging cold from the damp and cold showers (my delicate constitution not used to temperatures below 30degrees!) I was glad to get back to Puerto Princessa sunshine and dry air.

(Pics above: tailor shop; street food - "lechon", Puerto Princessa)

My route out of the Philippines involved two challenges: to find a non-sex-tourist hotel in Angeles city (near Clark airport) for less than $30, and to avoid the notorious taxi mafia at Clark. There were some tense moments when I couldn't find my pre-arranged taxi dude, the airport had closed and I was the only passenger left at 9.30pm, resisting the circling taxi sharks. But it all worked out. The bitter taste this left was completely abolished in the morning when wonderful, chatty, helpful hotel staff came with me down to the jeepney terminal and helped me to sort out a jeepney back to the airport.

The Philippines were brilliant. Time and time again, I was struck by how genuinely friendly people were, and how often they would go out of their way to help. Oh and, I know it may be weird to mention, but the loos everywhere, euphemistically called "Comfort Rooms" or "CRs" (don't look for the international "WC"), were unfailingly clean. The travel planning was sometimes tough and time-consuming, but the beauty of the places I visited were worth every minute of frustration and there was always a mate to be made whilst queuing. So, 2 Filipino islands down. Only 7105 now on my "to travel to" list.

Posted: 26 June 2012 (I think - criss-crossing time zones at the moment)

 

Philippines or not?

Myanmar - Philippines - Myanmar - Philippines? This was my ponder point as I splashed and squelched my way through heavy rain in Chiang Mai under my bright yellow $3 7Eleven umbrella. I'd met many people mesmerised by Myanmar, including a French girl who was pining for the place even though she'd spent 2 out of 4 weeks there with serious food poisoning from a veggie samoosa, compounded by ineptly prescribed drugs. Several days of rain gave me an excuse to sleep, read, think.

And the Philippines it was. The deciding factor? Sogod Bay, a place of magical wall dives according to the folk at Coral Cay Conservation, an NGO I'd considered volunteering with. So I booked the guilt-laced gazillion flights I needed to get me there and on to Indonesia, trying to refrain from panicked calculations and recalculations of how big a hole it was blowing in my optimistic budget (worked out at a time when super budget fares were still available). And I extended my return ticket to London while I was at it. On what planet does anyone need more than a couple of days to re-acclimatise to UK summer-suspense, driving rain, sharp elbowed commuters and economic gloom?


Chiang Mai should have, but hasn't got, its own proper post. This is because, although 3 days drifted into 9, my time there was spent doing v. little apart from communing with Mr Air Asia, the friendly fruit shake lady and the hippy sandal makers down the road from my hostel (who also provided a dreadlock-grooming/creation service....); taking one cookery course; and doing some zipwiring. The latter was a much-needed adrenalin shot which jolted me out of my lazing around. I am slightly ashamed to admit that I only made it to one temple, but two Sunday markets.


After Chiang Mai, a brief stop in Bangkok had me singing in my head (or, who knows, maybe it was really out loud) "oh I love love LOVE Bangkok". Not infatuation but love. I saw completely different parts of it this time. A visit to the Vimamek Palace (interesting but short, as I overlapped with several large, guided tour groups with culturally different volume control and spatial comfort zones) took me through drab concrete areas where noisy schoolkids were queuing for lunch: boys at the makeshift stalls selling deep-fried stuff and girls...at the fruit cart. Food politics is global and rapidly becoming age-unlimited! A 3hour hospital visit (the ENT specialist poured BETADINE!!!! into my ears and then- ow ow- used a needle to prise something off my eardrum, with stern warnings not to move; I'm hoping it wasn't my tympanic membrane he removed) took me through a part hosting wealthy Middle Eastern tourists. A part where the fruit vendors sell special watermelon - costing not 10, but 50baht a portion. Feeling poor after the hospital bill, I made my way back to cheaper suburbs and my original green chilli-challenge street cafe where I had a spicy fresh squid salad and a portion of sun-dried sugar-glazed pork for supper. Greedy huh? I tell myself its gotta be done when you're travelling solo otherwise you miss out.

Then onwards to Kuala Lumpur for an overnight airport kip...or in my case, a mildly paranoid eyelid propper-opener. The paranoia was unwarranted, as, after the length of time I'd been travelling, no-one would have risked coming within a mile of my feet, let alone braving the innards of my bags. And then a flight to Clark, Philippines. I learnt just in time for workable ticket-stacking that Clark is an airfield rather than an airport (picture Harare International after most of the world's airlines stopped landing there) and is three hours out of Manila. Makes European budget airline city descriptors look accurate. I came to know Clark well. Jeez I'm waffling on and even boring myself. I'm procrastinating with the upload of Philippines pictures which will take around 6hours. So, this post can mark Thailand round #2 but as I mainly slept and ate, there are only some lazy gratuitous pictures of Chiang Mai (below: the Organic Farm (cookery course), zipwiring, markets). As you may have gathered, I have a soft spot for markets. I'll post on the Philippines separately.


Posted: 24 June 2012

 

Laos - Land of Lychees, Lergies and Pink-bellied Buffalo

 

The 20-hour ride from Hanoi to Vientiane - which has earned the name-badge "the bus from hell" on travellers' fora - was pretty comfy, apart from the border wait where the bus toilet next to me started to brim with, let's say, morning business (I have seen worse at music festivals). Clearly Virak Buntham bus has made me strong!

After Vietnam, it was a pleasure to cycle on roads where the traffic seemed to be following some rules (e.g. red light means stop). But Vientiane had little of interest apart from a fierce dust-storm which whipped its way up into town from the vast, dry Mekong riverbed and ferocious heat that caused my cigarette lighter to explode.

So, onwards to Vang Vieng, a bizarre place: a whole town of backpacker cafes, playing episodes of Friends or South Park. Backpackers float on tubes (inner tubes of tractor tyres) down the river, stopping at bars along the way to drink promotional (free) rice-whisky bucket-cocktails and then return to town, to recover in the cafes before hitting the vomit-pit night spots on "party island" in the middle of the river. "Happy" cuisine is openly advertised: menus kept in the back of these cafes list shakes and meals with various concoctions of opium, ganja, mushrooms etc as well as listing the joint/gram price. And with roughly 2 twits meeting their maker in VV annually, popular tshirt slogans include "I survived Vang Vieng" with suitably tasteless (and admittedly quite funny) pictures.







It's well known that this is what VV is about, and many avoid it. But it was strangely compelling to watch all the shenanigans, even if it made me cringe and sigh a little internally at what Laos people have let in and now have to put up with. No wonder they seemed a bit tourist-fatigued. The sign (above) outside the ATM sums up polite official exasperation towards the saturated hordes. I think the bank must have gone to the same sign-writers as these guys (right):

I went for the scenery of course...seriously. Absolutely stunning lime karst scenery, which makes the place worth stopping in. Armed with a kilo of lychees in case I starved on the way (no, not really - they cost $1 and I was being monumentally greedy), I cycled out to a place called the Organic Farm, hoping for some good food and a tour, to learn about the work on the farm and its community projects. Unfortunately for it, the farm is right next to the tubing drop off. At midday, the music was ok, but by 2pm, the volume had been cranked up and there were 3 river bars playing clashing soundtracks in a cacaphony which is unlikely to do much good for the Organic Farm's accommodation/restaurant business. Which is a pity because they made the best fresh spring rolls I've eaten so far. In a brave attempt to "join 'em", the farm has set up a mojito bar near the tubing drop off point, selling the usual cocktails alongside mulberry mojitos and mulberry wine, wine with signs advertising their volunteer teaching programme. Admirable optimism.

Then on to Luang Prabang, a laid-back place on the confluence of the Mekong and Khan rivers, where my first night was pretty dramatic. Lightening hit a pylon down the road and it burst into an electric firework display in the heavy rain, filling the street with smoke. I went down with the guesthouse owner and a group of pyjama-ed locals to check it out and was pretty impressed when the electricty board dudes zooted around the corner in a new yellow jeep 5mins later. This is not to say that such a car means a speedier fix-it rate than ZESA. Oh but I'm just being mean. They were still working hard - abseiling amongst a frightening tangle of wires - the next afternoon and in the end, it only took about a day to fix.

Next morning, I kitted myself out with a lovely purple bike to zip around temples (LP has dozens with active monasteries). But alas, my stomach proved not to be cast iron after all and a few days were spent prone and cursing the all-you-can-eat-for-about-$1 vegetarian buffet. Proof that 2 chopstick-loads of cold greens and noodles (all I could eat in the end -perhaps the sign was a wicked joke and not a generous dinner offer?) can poison you if they've been sitting around long enough. Although the laap - a deliciously addictive Laos dish of minced chicken or pork or whatever-you-want mixed with fresh herbs (coriander, mint) - was not kind to me either. I met a couple living in Thailand who said they get sick every time they go to Laos, so maybe it's just the bugs living there. When I got around to seeing some temples, I was heartened and tickled to see that the monks struggle with street food too (temple sign, right).

Any trip to LP has to include a visit to the Kuang Si Waterfall - where the waterpools are an acquamarine colour which I just wasn't able to capture in photos. The expressions on the faces of the monk novices (below) may be a better reflection of how lovely it is. Equipped with cameras, phones and an iPad, they were ooohing at and snapping the main waterfall. This has a pool below it signposted "Not for swimming area". I asked myself, "what would my friend HH do?" and that settled it for me - in such a beautiful spot, this sign is a taunt, not a deterrent. It was chilly, but definitely the best place along the river to take the plunge.



My favourite part of Laos was the trip out, and not just because I was escaping the food bugs. I had an alarming reflection-flash as I was leaving that I may just love the moving-on part of travelling a little too much for a settled life (eeek! Nicky, maybe you were right about the impossibility of curing itchy feet). Anyway, I caught a couple of slow boats up the Mekong river, overnighting in Pakbeng. From afar - and just at the point in the journey when you can't feel your backside and are beginning to notice how loud the boat engine is - Pakbeng appears as a welcoming hill-tumble of buildings on a picturesque bend in the river, and to its credit, a glimpse of the morning alms ceremony here felt like less of a photo-circus than in Luang Prabang.

But bottom line? Dire place when you actually climb that hill to those buildings. Surely the armpit of the world? There's a funny traveller account here which captures the feel of the place. I managed to avoid the traveller hordes (by travelling upstream) and the rats.

Anyway, back to the river. What a wonderful way to travel, catching glimpses of the way people live in remote areas and interact with the river - which is so big it has its own beaches and makes the Thames look like a spit dribble. It was low water, so there were a few rapids to negotiate, which our captain did skilfully, guided by plastic bottles bobbing in the water to indicate where the jaggedy underwater rocks were. We stopped to drop people off at villages along the way - at least once attracting a crowd of excited, kamikaze kids who sped down the sand dunes (pausing halfway to whip off their clothes) and then somersaulted into the shallows. We passed fisherman; gold panners; pink-bellied buffalo; monks on temple laundry rota with orange buckets and robes scattered along the shoreline; kids playing on tractor tyres; teenage girls having their evening river-shower; a long boat crammed with people, one guy precariously strumming a guitar; and, as we neared Huay Xai (possibly the other armpit of the world), a riot of wealthier weekenders with barbeques, cars blaring music, and large bright inflatable floatables. There was so much to see I hardly touched my book.



It was a magical way to spend 2 days, and I'd go back to do just that trip again - even with Pakbeng and its 50min cold fried rice included in the deal. It made me think that this is one country where I really should have travelled a long way off the beaten track. Maybe later.

Posted: 1 June 2012