On January 9th, Wilson, his brother, and his sister-in-law picked me up around 5:30am (ouch!) and we were off in the predawn traffic, heading south.
Shortly after leaving the Manila International Youth Hostel (recommended for a stay in the city, cheap, clean, "free" internet, television, 40P breakfast) we paid a toll and entered the Expressway. Shortly thereafter the toll expressway ended. What just happened? Did we just experience the world's shortest Toll highway? On the way to the world's smallest volcano? Hmm.
Through the cities of Cavite, then some others of no consequence, we drove, dodging tricycles and jeepneys which pull onto and off of the road (no longer a highway even) erratically.
I was feeling a little nauseous, suspecting the fastfood pizza (Greenwich!!! %$#$^) I had the night before was to blame, I hunched over in the back seat trying to catch some sleep. Once before in asia I had this problem. Suddenly your stomach clamps shut and won't let anything past, and everything you've eaten just sits there grumbling. I suppressed the urge to empty my stomach and accepted it.
Eventually, just as the sun had fully finished brightening the sky, we pulled into Tagaytay and arrived at the Peoples Public Park, a picnic ground overlooking the lake and the volcano. The air was crisp (!) from the relatively high elevation, and the early time, and everyone was scrambling to put on extra layers; as usual, I put on my 'dress' shirt - the only long sleeved garment I own. A view from the park
. We piddled around the park for a bit before deciding to try and hire a boat to the island volcano, perhaps to do some hiking ("trekking" as Wilson would describe it!).

As we got closer and closer to the waterfront, winding our way down the steep slope lining the lake, the boat prices decreased, though I was not still not satisfied with the final price that Wilson agreed upon. Just as the morning sun began to warm our backs, we walked along a rickety plankway and boarded the trimaran craft to take us to the island volcano of Taal; the world's smallest volcano.
I don't know if it is indeed possible to have a World's Smallest Volcano, as is seems there can always be one smaller, nevertheless the hill in the lake near Tagaytay claims this fame. Taal Volcano is one of perhaps many dozen craters in the area, and is one of the few active volcanoes nearby. As the boat cruised clumsily across the lake, it was clear we were not going to the main crater visible from the road. Instead the boat aimed more eastwards and finally landed in a storybook village where children ran around naked amongst chickens, women washed laundry on the shore, young men were busy building more of the stone huts that populated the town. Our guide, a toothless filipino with a hippy-ish shirt and loose flip-flops, tried to convince us to ride horses up to the rim of the crater; I convinced my companions that walking would be *cheaper*. My stomach gurgled as we climbed through the palm and pine forest, up the dusty track, past pack horses and working men. After only fifteen minutes the final stretch of the track became visible, not too much further now. The steep grade phased us a bit, but we managed to climb to the rim without too much trouble. It was clear that the lack of exercise was taking it's toll on my friends, and I, too was exhausted (more from lack of rest, though). The view from the top
was not too spectacular, but what can you expect from the World's Smallest Volcano?

Wilson and I left the others while we trekked along the ridgeline to see some red dirt and a bit of steam rising; I failed to see the significance and wasn't very excited. I guess our guide was just trying to guide us a bit, especially since the trail was VERY well established and guides were not needed. I am certain that guiding is one of the few sources of income for these people, though.

On our way back to the boat, I noticed these boys playing very happily in the water.

After returning to the shore and driving back up the windy road to the town of Tagaytay, I was to be dropped off at the bus depot. Something happened here, though, and I'm not sure what. I think that Wilson coudn't find it, so we just kept driving and driving. I wasn't going to argue, but I was a bit confused. Eventually, an hour later, we were in the port city of Batanges - where I needed to be. We all got my baggage and wandered through the thick crowds of tricycle drivers, port workers, and other free-lance filipinos who want you to buy something from them, or at least tip them for their advice. I bought a ticket on the next vessel to Puerto Galera. With great appreciation I thanked Wilson and his family and I set off behind the security of the Departure lounge.
Shortly afterwards our boat, a wide, shallow bamboo trimaran, set off to the port city on the northern tip of Mindoro, visible in the distance.