I arrived in Puerto Galera as the sole westerner, but soon it was clear that there were more of my kind lingering around. I'll say 'my kind' loosely.
I disembarked to find myself on the pier in a smart little clean fishing town. The pier is detached from the main 'city' of 20 000, but still bustles as the centre of activity. I ignored the touts and aggressive tricycle drivers and sought refuge in the nearest pub, and open air joint run by the self proclaimed Santa Claus of Puerto Galera, Karl from Sweden. It was soon clear that all the expats here were over 50, semi-retired, and married to filipino girls. I'll stress girls again. Everyone is from somewhere, like Paul from Switzerland, Russ from Canada/UK, Tom from the US. I met a wide diversity of folks... Karl was very helpful and provided a tourist map of the area. I learned that Sabang beach, where I was initially headed, was only good for girls; 'if you want girls, go to Sabang.' I was convinced that White Beach, not far away to the west, was the place I ought to go. After two cold San Miguels I agreed to accompany one of the touts to his resort, provided he offer a discount and pay for the tricycle. A tough bargain, but he agreed. I think he was a she, or was she a he? Anyways, those sorts generally like me and I get good bargains by taking advantage of that.
The 6km ride was rough, if only because I was folded in half within the main compartment of the tricycle's sidecar. Finally, after a few big bumps, we were there. I was escorted down a sideroad, past some well-established resorts, and onto the beach. White beach here in Mindoro was the best beach I had seen in awhile, at least since Thailand, and it was a welcome sight
.
Since Per disappeared up north (a region where an epidemic of Meningococcemia is only just being brought under control), I had been a bit lonely. The hostel in Manila was filled with filipino men, mostly older, and they didn't tempt the invitation for a beer. With no one to travel with or talk to, I was hoping this here beach could solve that problem.

I checked into the bungalow, a nice one, but expensive at 600p, and stepped out into the sun and sand. A walk down the length of the beach revealed only a few other people; not quite what I expected as it is presumable high season here. High season should see floods of local and foreign tourists, and combined with the troubles in Thailand, it was expected that the Philippines be flooded with tourists who had reconsidered the western part of SE Asia. Not yet the case. At least not in Puerto Galera.

The first day in PG I mostly slept. I was not yet feeling 100%, and often the best thing to do is to sleep; I was also horrifically tired from lack of sleep the night before. While I was passed out on the double bed the sun did a wide arc across the sky. I woke up well after dark and convinced myself that I ought to go back to sleep. The next day I felt uneasy about the amount of money I was spending and so I checked out. After a quick nap on the white sandy beach I gathered my stuff and wandered up to the main road where I caught a Jeepney to the pier. These Jeepneys
are wild and each one is specially customized. each one has a different horn, different chrome decorations, different stickers, different themes. Converted from American Army Jeeps, they vary in length and comfort, but they are all CHEAP!
I paid the standard 15p fare and arrived back at the pier to find Karl, once again hosting the standard crowd of expats. I had a drink with them and soon was involved (somewhat) in a very interesting discussion about the locals and the foreigners here. It seems that last night, while I was sleeping, some locals took justice into their own hands and shot a German guy (dead?). This particular expat was unliked in the community and known to mistreat his wife and children. I think the wife's family finally grew tired of this guy and his BS. Everyone around the table figured this was justified and the matter was dropped. Hmm. Something wrong here?
Later found out a lot more dirt about some other locals. Discovered that a band of he-she's or lady boys, or whatever the PC term is, attacked an expat who was particularily nasty to them. What a sight that would have been! a lot of other disturbing dirt from PG. I had really learned a lot...
I headed up the street and into the town proper, where I found a small hotel, The Bahay and Filipino, which was letting rooms for only 300p. I checked into the relatively nice room and dropped my belongings. Wandering down the busy market place I found myself at another beach, this one a cobble beach littered with coconut husks and fishing net. I stood there for awhile, aware that I was being watched by several locals in the buildings around. It's a situation I often find myself in, though I am still not comfortable with it. I headed back to the road and discovered an aged British guy was waiting for me. He made like it wasn't planned, but I could see immediately that he wanted something. He began with a sob story about his pension cheque not arriving on time, and a(n admittedly ugly) wound on his foot from a recent tricycle accident. He needed to borrow 50p until tomorrow, when the cheque would arrive. This would apparently buy an end to his pain through either stitches or antibiotics. Sadly his story was poorly thought out and combined with the stench of liquor on his breath, I very regretfully declined money. My offers of disinfectant were brushed aside. He would have rather had 50p ($1CAD) to buy two beers than actual help... I left him by the ocean as I went back to my hotel.

While in PG, and out of contact with Per, I had entertained the thought of boarding a fishing boat to the western province on Mindoro. I figured this would be great fun, and a much cheaper way of getting there than the ferry. Unfortunately this fishing boat hadn't arrived in the past few days, though it was expected. I had planned to wait until it came. But then I heard from Per. He had resurfaced, unaffected by the disease up north. Lucky, because I was about to contact the Danish embassy to report his disappearance. I gather that the internet may not have reached the northern parts of Luzon...
Per was in Boracay, The Philippines answer to Ko Samui or Bali. AS I learned this I discarded any plans to head to the west and instead sought the fastest way to Borocay. I was sure (and am now positive) that there was an express boat from Batanges (the city from which I sailed to PG) to Caticlan, but the locals (mostly my friend Karl) were equally sure that there wasn't. The only was was to take a Jeepney to Calapan, then another to Roxas, then the ferry to Caticlan. This is just what I did. I checked out of my room in a hurry, careful to vacate before the posted check-out time. As the day was aging I needed to hurry to catch the next Jeepney. I wandered down the road, past the McRonalds
(trademark what?), until I found one - absolutely brimming full! They tried to fit me in a 'seat' on the back gateway, but decided the front seat would be better. With my legs folded to my chin, and my bag on the roof, we set off. I quickly wished that I was on the roof, too... The road to Calapan is VERY poor, winding into and out of the mountainside, up high above th sea, then suddenly almost touching the water. It was mostly dirt track, but some stretches were concrete, some asphalt. Some two hours later, after many stops to drop off and pick up, we were in the busy provincial capitol of Calapan. I was dropped in the middle of the city market and by the direction of passersby found a bus bound for Roxas.
I still hadn't eaten breakfast, and by this time it was well past 2pm.
This bus was also full to the brim, and shortly after I boarded it blared its horn until the crowd ahead cleared enough to pass by. Soon we were off, cruising at a comfortable 40km/h. Soon it was clear that the 120km journey would take longer than it should...
What an interesting experience to drive through the countryside. I can honestly say that I better understand the filipino lifestyle here in Mindoro just from watching attentively for so many hours. Watching vendors on the street interact with thier patrons. Children in schoolyards singing songs. Men sitting in a cockpit stadium near the road hollaring. Boys playing basketball. Babies playing in the driveways. Workers sweeping the dried rice in front of the Rice Mill. Later, when school got out, thousands of kids suddenly filled the roadside, and all the tricycles
that passed us, and all the jeepneys
that passed, were loaded to the hilt. Kids dangled from the roofs and filled the cabins. I swear that one motorcycle and sidecar carried a dozen kids. five inside, three on the motorcycle with the driver and four on the roof. The jeepney was the same story. It reminded me of the classic game to fit as many people as you can into a phone booth, or a VW Beetle. This is a daily reality here. I truly wanted to stop the bus (which stopped very regularily to let passengers on and off) and join on of the basketball matches on the roadside. My goal to reach Boracay was more important though.

As the sun dropped in the sky, it cast a fantastic sunset, perhaps the best I've ever seen. The golden pink sky reflected in the water filled rice fields. The palm trees silhouetted very beautifully against the sky. Very beautiful. For some reason dusk has been mostly absent from SE Asia, and I miss it. I figure it's because the tilt of the earth is felt less here than back home, but here in Mindoro, we had a great dusk.

I arrived at a junction near Roxas around 6pm, and a minibus was waiting to take me and two others to the ferry terminal, while the bus would continue to the downtown part of the city. Zipping along in the growing darkness we finally reached the port around 7pm.

I learned that there was a 10pm sailing that would arrive around 1am. I was encouraged to wait for the later early morning sailing of 2am, so that I could arrive at a more decent hour in Caticlan. Shortly after my 5am arrival there would be a ferry to Boracay. Done. now I just had to wait for 7 hours.
I quickly became friends with the employees at the port authority office. (in asia offices and shops employ a lot of people. They are not paid much, and I often think it is an effort to employ as many people as possible. It isn't uncommon to enter a 7-11 around 8pm and find about 8 uniformed employees milling about. Here at the port office, 5 people worked the night shift. I'm still not sure what the did...) After a meal at a nearby restaurant I rejoined the late-night crew and enjoyed a long discussion about Mindoro, Boracay, festivals in the Phils, life in the Phils...
Later a policeman, armed with a loosely slung AK-47 (i figure anyhow), appeared and sat himself down. It was clear that this man commanded a great deal of respect from everyone, and room was cleared for him without asking. Soon after his commander and another officer arrived and they were very interested in what I might have to say. Eventually the conversation grew a bit distasteful and my comfort levels dropped a bit. I realize that police in the Philippines are often corrupt, and they can surely do whatever they please. The commander kept referring to me as being rich, to which I was always quick to retort, no, but I couldn't help but feel a bit anxious. Not long after they slung their guns over their shoulders and invited me to join them in having some fun over by the karaoke bar, i lied and said I'd come over later. I was tired and so tried my darnest to sleep, but the cardboard matt on the cement floor wasn't that comfy, and the mosquitoes were bugging me anyways. For the next few hours I twiddled my thumbs while swatting at mossies. Finally midnight came and the ticket vendor began selling tickets for the 2am voyage. I was quick to buy my ticket and soon boarded. I found a spot in the back of the passenger deck (this was a car ferry) where a carpetted area invited me to sleep. There, in the corner, on a plush puffy bench, I slept.
I wasn't completely aware of anything as the other passengers boarded and soon filled the sleeping area. I woke up a few times only to turn over on the narrow bench.
Around 5:30am I woke up and discovered we were not far from land. The boat docked roughly in Caticlan and after a bit of fiddling with the car deck ramp, we were allowed to leave the ship.
I quickly found a desk to buy a ticket on the trimaran to Boracay and was soon cruising in a full ship to the nearby paradisical island.