Wanderlust Heaven!

I set off at 10 a.m., as planned, for the 4-5 hour ride to Sipalay, a remote place on the southwest Negros coast with supposedly good diving. Full tank of gas, ratty helmet, sunny day. As I rode through villages (barangays) the kids yelled and waved at me. I was the only rider around with a helmet, and that coupled with my large Jewish nose signaled my presence immediately. I could ride by someone at top speed (alright, just about 70 kph) and they could perceive my otherness in a heartbeat. I guess that’s a human sense we all have.

Came up behind a wreck of a trike (motorcycle with sidecarriage). The guy had a Ferrari license plate on the rear. I love it.

After 45 minutes it started to rain. At first I rode on, enjoying the warm drops on my face. I had an umbrella and a rain poncho in my pack, but didn’t want to bother with them. Then the rain became a solid tropical storm – rainy season was here – and the rain came in sideways, getting behind my shades and making visibility close to zero. Saw a shelter and pulled over to it. A fellow was lounging inside – he smiled at me as I entered, a freak with a helmet, shades, running sneaks, and sweat pants. Suffice it to say he was attired otherwise. I sat there, read the paper, and waited for the rain to end. There were a few near-finishes, but my time in Asia has taught me that storms here like to tease us. Finally, I felt the rain was about over and I got back on my bike.

There was one more burst of rain, a few minutes later, and I again found shelter, this time in what looked like a deserted building. Over the course of the week, I was to be randomly besieged by rains that would come and go. And the poncho would prove to be invaluable – more on that later.

Stopped for gas in Bayawan town – no more, really, than an intersection with a hodgepodge of the usual stores. The usual stores out here, being, of course, an animal feed outlet, a heavy equipment store/service center, a tire vulcanizing/welding shop, and a few other old faves. Managed to find a food place that had – you guessed it – lechon manok (BBQ’ed chicken) and rice. Wolfed down a half chicken, rice, and a Coke. Resigned myself to a thickening midsection for the duration of my time in the RP. As long as I work it off before my upcoming 40th birthday – that gives me about a month…

Rode on. The views were sensational – you’re never far on the National Highway (a narrow 2-way coastal road) from both the ocean and the mountains. This, here, was the classic tropical vista, and it was exhilarating to be out there on a sturdy little bike, racing down the road.

After about 3 hours, started to wonder when I’d reach the border – it wasn’t clearly marked on my map. By the way, I was glad I had bought a detailed map of Negros Island in a bookstore – the Lonely Planet version was just too high-level. But wanted to get the border over with. I’d heard from Mike in Dumaguete that there were border cops/guards, and they’d probably be looking for a bribe. I had stuffed a few bills in different pockets, memorized their respective locations, and considered a rudimentary bribe schedule. I certainly wasn’t starting with the high bid. I didn’t know quite what ‘offense’ they’d come up with, probably something around taking a rented vehicle across provincial lines. I imagined them even calling Liling, the rental guy, and my trip being aborted. But here, a few pesos goes a long way, so I wasn’t really afraid of the ‘nuclear option.’

Finally got to the border. There was a sign a few km before arriving there, and a small guardpost at the actual frontier. But no guards. Goody – I didn’t wait and look around for ‘em. Sped off and kept my money. I was now in the province of Negros Occidental. I didn’t feel any different…and the villagers along the border seemed about the same. But…the asphalt paving ended abruptly, right after the border. I was now on a crappy dirt road, which had probably been ‘scored’ (flattened, with large rocks pulverized), but which was a hell of a lot bumpier than the Negros Oriental side had been. Oh well.

I later asked why the paving ended right at the border, and heard the theory that the border was still in question, and that the respective barangay (villages) on either side, and perhaps the provincial governments as well, didn’t want to pay for the paving until the border was settled. That made sense, and was consistent with the political infighting so common here.

My ass was now sore, after having been on the bike for about 4 hours. The bumpier road didn’t help. Over the course of the week I’d find that my backside is good for about 4 hours in the saddle (no snide jokes, please) – after that, I feel the pain. But didn’t have too much further to ride, I thought – Sipalay must be close at hand. I was thankful that I’d been ruthless in packing – the daypack was not heavy, and I was able to rest it on the seat behind me by loosening the arm-straps. No issue there.

The outskirts of Sipalay were confusing. Signs announcing Sipalay came up, but where was the town? I rode through a few barangays, got concerned that I had missed the place, and finally asked a bus driver. I wanted Sugar Beach, and he pointed me straight ahead. Cool. Soon more signs of life appeared, and I followed a sign into Sipalay’s Poblacion Beach, where I hoped to find a small river that I’d need to ford using a small boat. Drove around Poblacion, couldn’t determine where to go (and the locals didn’t have a clue), so I went to the Tourism Office right nearby and the fellow there set me straight. Drove for another 20 minutes, past a public market, over a narrow bridge above a swamp, and finally got to a narrow river. I had been told by the hotel to park my bike at ‘Otay’s house,’ Otay being a boatman for the hotel. Found the man, parked the bike, and he got me across the river and over to Sugar Beach.

As we headed to Sugar Beach, the clouds gathered and darkened, and I feared more rain. We sped up and got to shore before it got ugly. Reminded me of the time I was about 15 years old, on Lake Sunapee in New Hampshire. I was in my friend Todd’s tiny speedboat, coming back from the harbor to our condominium complex’s beach, and we saw a storm brewing just behind us. We gunned that little 6-hp engine for all it was worth (about 10 mph – not helpful) and made it to our dock just as it started to pour. Funny how we often look to form analogies – I suppose that pattern recognition is one of the more useful skills we develop over time. The best consultants and businesspeople certainly know how to maximize that capability.

I was spending that night, and the next, in the amazingly crazy Takatuka Lodge & Dive Resort. I’d read about this place online, and Mike in Dumaguete knew the co-owner – had gone through Dive Instructor Class with him in Dauin. Takatuka’s about 5 years old, right on the lovely Sugar Beach, which is about a half-mile long and nearly deserted – there are a couple other small resorts there but that’s it. Boracay must have been like this in the 1960s. Here’s the beach:

Takatuka is owned and operated by two Swiss brothers (Marc and Kalle Kalitta) and their wives (Rose and Cathy). Their innate design skills are something else – particularly if they’re ‘all-natural’ and not enhanced by the use of mind-altering substances. The rooms have bizarre and wonderful touches like staplers for light fixtures (you press the stapler and the light goes on), oil cans (turn the lid and the light goes on), etc. The beds have mosquito nets…there are shells and carved fish hanging on the walls…and the exterior design is similarly appealing. The playfulness, flair, and superb design sense of the owners is apparent at all times. Here are a few photos to show what I’m getting at…very playful!

They obviously spent a lot of time thinking about how they want their rooms, and the overall lodge, to look and feel, and they hit a home run in my opinion.

That was cool, and a nice change from the comfortable-yet-basic places I’ve stayed recently. But even more pleasant was the level of warmth and hospitality at Takatuka. I didn’t hear a single “no” or “can’t” during my stay – rare in the RP. I arrived, I inquired about diving the next morning – yes, Marc was going out at 8 a.m. They weren’t out of stock on menu items…the beer was cold. You get the drift. Here’s a shot of the gang milling about:

Sugar Beach is an excellent location. I mentioned the seclusion of the place…it’s also close to numerous dive sites and a few wrecks. On Friday morning I went out with Marc and a couple Swiss guests, one of whom dove with us. He hadn’t been in the water for a year or so, so we did a couple mellow dives, which were quite nice. Marc is a good dive leader – empathetic and prepared. He had drawn our two dive maps/profiles back on shore, at the lodge’s dive center, and the dives went according to plan. We didn’t go below 18 meters either dive, and the current wasn’t strong, so we stayed under for a long time – over 70 minutes per dive. Much longer than I usually last – felt a bit dehydrated later in the day.

Got back around 1:30 p.m., had a good lunch at the little restaurant. The food at Takatuka is very random and very good – the previous night I’d had a plate of (authentic) chorizo, cheese, and crackers, with a well-mixed caipirinha, and for lunch on this day I had some beef with Japanese spices. Fun reading the menu – the dishes are from all over and of much better quality than the usual RP meal. Would be worth coming over the river from Sipalay proper just to eat there. I was looking forward to heading to Bacolod city for the weekend and trying the two Japanese restaurants there, but was more than content with Takatuka’s offerings. Sugar Beach doesn’t have nightlife beyond the hotels, but the Kalittas are excellent hosts/hostesses and I enjoyed chatting with them during my two days there. They’ve got a great little gig with Takatuka and seem happy there.

During lunch I read a recent issue of Outside magazine. The cover story was about ’37 dream jobs,’ and I wondered what they’d highlight. Not that I’m seeking work, by any means, but the topic intrigues me. I wasn’t expecting any practical advice, and didn’t get any. ‘Dream jobs’ in their estimation include whitewater salvage diver, mountain town mayor, wildlife biologist, yogi to the Hollywood stars, and surf-yacht captain. Not really jobs that are workable mid-career – most require years of academic and/or job experience. They’re exciting and unusual, certainly, but none of the 37 really grabbed me as something I’d die to do for the long-term. I wouldn’t mind being mayor for a month, or diving for salvage now and then, but that’s it.

Of much more interest – and a good laugh – was the list of jobs that sound wonderful, and are, but only for about a minute. These included:

-ski coach – are you on the mountain? Yes. Are you skiing? No.
-guidebook writer – cover the nice places, stay in the grotty ones
-massage therapist – everyone has a happy ending but you

I liked that list and thought it effectively exploded the allure of some crappy jobs that try to look sexy. The entire article made me think more about work and what motivates me, though. And I realized, not for the first time, that any activity that becomes work – from the start or even with time – quickly becomes a chore for me. I recall having to read Grapes of Wrath in high school, and procrastinating mightily, despite my love of reading and my interest in the book. I couldn’t be bothered to pick up the book – until I had failed a couple pop quizzes. My teacher was puzzled, and so was I, until I reflected on this point. If something’s assigned to me, it’s difficult for me to enjoy it. I’ll usually take care of it – I learned my lesson from that high school experience – but won’t be motivated by it. So…I’m constantly hearing that people who would be happy should make their passion their work – but I don’t know how to apply that to my case. Further reflection obviously required…one of these days.

Outside magazine had a few good factoids as well. One: carrots aren’t effective in improving eyesight. This myth was probably invented by the British government during WW2 – British bombers were highly accurate in hitting German targets and the Brits wanted to hide their use of radar, so they came up with the carrot story. Hard to believe that working, but maybe it did. Carrots are high in Vitamin A, helpful to vision, but you only benefit from eating carrots if you’re severely lacking in Vitamin A intake. Most of us aren’t.

Factoid two: all the gold ever mined would fit into twenty large concrete mixers. That’s interesting. I believe it, but just barely.

After reading the mag and having lunch, took a nice nap. Was tired from the previous day’s ride and from the morning dives. And there was no newspaper around, and email didn’t feel like a priority. While I tend to read and email every day, with those things at hand, I’m happy to blow them off too. Even I need a holiday from my holiday, it appears…

Back to Takatuka – this would be a terrific place to spend a month or so. I would love to hang out there and get my Divemaster certificate, and perhaps the Instructor level as well. Takatuka’s got a great dive center, and Marc’s a good guy to have as your teacher. I intend to stay in touch with the gang there and return one of these days.

Discerning readers will note that I rarely write such glowing accolades. I’m a cynical guy by nature – although early retirement has brightened me – and I rarely fall in love with a place (or person). But Takatuka is a fine exception.

On Saturday morning I got up, crossed the river (Cathy and one of the two hotel dogs saw me off), and rode up to Bacolod. This is the capital of the province and the island’s largest city. Bacolod and surrounding areas used to be massive sugar-producing lands…and still are, but the world price for sugar collapsed in the 80s and Negros is still trying to recover. That’s the problem with a monocrop economy. Saw fields of cane as I rode, so they’re still growing it everywhere, but I suspect they’re trying other crops now too. Didn’t see any funny weeds growing around, but those are probably back from the roads…

Sunny skies as I rode north. A few unmanned Philippine National Police checkpoints – clear sailing. My butt was still a bit sore, and it got worse after a few hours, but I ignored the pain and continued on. Took a few photos at a scenic ridge overlooking the ocean. Wondered at the tendency of vehicles to pull over to the right before turning left – still trying to figure that out. Mike had warned me about this, and about the huge Ceres lines and sugar trucks too, but I had to see for myself. Traffic wasn’t bad, but the trucks and buses were occasionally annoying.

Drove through a barangay that announced itself to be a ‘torture-free zone.’ I guess I wouldn’t ever need my 9-peso knife in that town.

Got to Bacolod after about 5 hours. Enjoyed the ride…but I’m still a bourgeois Jew and was very happy to get into town and stretch my legs, with an eye toward a shower and nap. Drove to Pension Bacolod, where I’d booked a room. They showed me a couple crappy rooms, I didn’t like ‘em at all – depressing little beds with shoddy mattresses, and the rooms were like prison cells. Checked my guidebook, drove a few minutes uptown to the Royal Am Rei, which was far better. Got a nice aircon room there and settled in.

Was hoping to make lunch at Inaka, the top Japanese place in Bacolod, but they close at 2 p.m. and I missed the bell. So went to Robinsons Mall, had some KFC, and did some errands there. Malls do have their purpose – I did 5 things in an hour or so. Checked email too, after a couple days away – had 75+, including a slew from fraternity brothers regarding finally fixing up our old house at Tufts. We’ll see where that goes…

Got and read the paper. Senate winners becoming clear – and it seems all the actor/actress candidates lost. Good. Seems the country’s becoming a bit more sophisticated politically. Richard Gomez, Cesar Montano, all these hacks – electing them would mire the country for years. The likely winners seem OK – mostly Opposition candidates, meaning a repudiation of President Arroyo. But she’s around till 2010 and that’s unlikely to change. Time to move on and minimize the infighting. Yeah, right.

Took a 3-hour nap – man, these motorbike rides are harder than they look. Got up, went for a run, then went to Inaka for a Japanese feast. I told you my diet has been lousy and I need better food. Payback time was nigh.

I gorged on pretty much everything I wanted, and the tab came to under US$20. Incredible. The food was very good – not perfect, but close enough. Sake was a bit weak, but can’t complain about much else (oh yeah, they didn’t have Japanese beer – wonder why). This was a nice preview of my upcoming July trip to Japan – I can’t wait for some feasting there with friends.

As I stuffed maki and temaki into my gullet, I briefly recalled the story of a despised ex-colleague from Tokyo. Watanabe-san had told me that he once nearly died from eating sushi in the RP. I imagine it was an a hotel buffet (gotta watch those), and not at a place like Inaka. Still, it gave me pause…but I soldiered on. I couldn’t stand Watanabe-san, after all, and he was probably lying to me.

Looked around for a few nightspots after that. My guidebook had mentioned a few, but they didn’t seem to be there any longer…or had changed names. Also, university was still out and this was a uni district. Oh well. Drove across town (having that bike is so damn useful) over to the Goldenfields Commercial Complex, where a few dodgy little bars and restaurants are gathered. Had a couple beers there – not much going on – then back to the hotel for some reading and sleep.

On Sunday I had a few matters to attend to. Drove over to the pier to buy a ferry ticket for my overnight trip to Iloilo City in Panay. Found out I could bring my bike with me, for an additional cargo fee. Cool. They asked me if I had the bike’s paperwork, and I said yes, in the storage compartment. That was that. Then rode to the mall again, to work on a short document at the Internet café. First Powerpoint usage in 18 months. Kept it pretty simple – as these documents should be. Sent it off. Had lunch at the other notable Japanese restaurant in town, Kaisei. A large place, also with fine vittles. They had okonomiyaki, a Japanese style omelette. Again gorged myself. No guilt whatsoever.

Saw Pirates of the Caribbean III. OK movie – might have enjoyed it more had I seen the previous two. Went back to the hotel, there was a newspaper at the front desk so sat and read that. When I finished, I went to replace it at the desk – but the guard’s semi-automatic rifle was lying right there. You know how Jews and guns are – and I certainly didn’t want the guard to think I was grabbing his piece – so I just handed the paper to the desk clerk and walked upstairs to my room. Random.

The weeklong ride around Negros was going well, and I was having fun. But a week’s pretty short, at least to me these days, and it felt like it was flying by – already half over.

Had dinner that night at Inaka, once again. And had a couple beers around town, once again. And that was that.

Next morning, Monday, I had a few hours before my ferry to Iloilo City (that’s pronounced Ilo-Ilo). Went for a ride around the capitol – fairly nice, Filipinos do nice capitol buildings. Of course, around the back, across the street, was a rubble-strewn wasteland that did not reflect well on the nearby seat of government. Went to the Negros Museum, which had some wonderful old photos that reinforced my feeling that life in the early 20th century was in some ways better than it is today. Classic architecture…fewer people…less garbage…more civilized behavior. At least the aesthetics were probably more pleasant back then. Of course, when you have most of the world’s sugar and prices are high, you can dress up and pretend to be nobility. Back then, Negros was world-famous and a hangout center for many Euro artists and dignitaries. Today, the island is barely known and looks like much of the rest of the RP. Doesn’t feel like progress, sadly. I should not over-romanticize the past – when polio and TB were rampant, for instance – but sometimes can’t help myself.

Learned a lot at the museum, particularly about the short-lived Philippines independence after the Spanish-American War. Negros had been a hotbed of rebellion, and the locals beat the Spanish on the island and proclaimed a very short-lived Negros Republic. Generals Lacson and Araneta led the way – and Bacolod streets today bear their names, and those of other luminaries. The independence lasted only days/weeks, as the Americans ignored the locals’ desires and invaded soon enough.

Then went over to the ‘Bio-Diversity Center,’ a small enclosed park featuring indigenous fauna like spotted deer. Negros only has 4% of its original forest cover – a shockingly low figure – and this center is intended to highlight that and to preserve endangered species. Here’s hoping it succeeds.

Got on the ferry to Iloilo at 12:30. Bike went right one, and off we were. One-hour trip, then into Iloilo. Paid the porters 100 pesos to offload the bike, then rode off. Got lost immediately. Confusing place – with some one-way streets mixed in. Finally got to my hotel, the Residence Hotel, and checked in. Decent place, fine for a night. Wasn’t quite sure why I had come to Iloilo, except that it had a reputation as second only to Cebu in the Visayas region of the RP for food and nightlife. And in general, I am intrigued by what different cities look and feel like – I can read the guidebook like anyone else, but that’s not enough, and if I can go and see a place, I usually will.

Was starting to run low on clothes. Noticed that some ink from a New Yorker issue got on my white t-shirt, so handwashed that and a few other items and hung them to dry. Went out to have a late lunch at Al Dente, an Italian joint run by a local who had lived in NYC. Best Italian I’ve had in months – which isn’t saying much, but it was very good. Had 3 courses, and two glasses of house red, all for US$13. Reason enough to visit Iloilo…

Speaking of prices: noticed a factoid somewhere that one US dollar goes five times as far in China and India than it does in the West. Interesting, and far from surprising, but…not meaningful in many instances. If you want to stay in a nice hotel in Shanghai or Delhi, you’ll pay US$150-$250 or even more. And flights can be semi-pricey as well. You can certainly eat for cheap, but at the same time you won’t find it hard to spend money.

Readers will notice that I write a fair deal about eating and drinking. Those passages may be less gripping than others, and I acknowledge that. But it does occur to me that my entire journey may simply be a reaction to having had so many rushed lunches and dinners at my desk over the years. At least that’s a plausible excuse and I’m going with it…

Went back to take another nap. Got up and went for a run – Iloilo has a river and some bridges over it, which make for a decent run. Locals stared at me like I was mad. Got back, showered, intending to go out to a string of seafood joints a few km away in the area of Arevelo. But a huge storm intervened and I was pinned down. Sat back on the bed and gave my sister Bonnie a call – it was her birthday. Got her on her mobile, she and her family were in New Hampshire and we had a good chat. Will see them in 6 or so weeks, and will take in a Red Sox baseball game with them.

Storm finally abated…it was already 9:30 p.m., decided to blow off Arevelo and drive instead to the ‘Smallville Complex’ which had the usual slew of bars and restaurants. Had some mediocre Thai food, then a couple beers at some of the bars in the complex. Nothing special…town might be more interesting when school’s in session, but tonight it was pretty mellow. And wet. So decided to take it easy and went back to the hotel around midnight, with an eye toward catching the 11 a.m. ferry back to Bacolod/Negros.

Got that ferry…had the usual back-and-forths regarding taking the bike on board, but that worked fine. Got to Bacolod at noon or so, went for one more meal at Inaka. Grand. Then drove north to the town of Silay, my next stop.

Silay was truly the epicenter of the sugar trade from roughly 1850 until not long ago. The town was rolling in money and prosperity, and local merchants built stunning houses, 30+ of which still stand, and 3 of which are museums. Visited two of them, which were in near-original condition, complete with furniture, utensils, and great photos. I love those old wooden houses, with their long verandahs – perfect places to sit and catch a breeze, read a book, chat with family/friends. I like to believe that all I need is a small, clean room with bathroom and aircon (and a solid doorknob too), but perhaps I’m fooling myself. That said, I wouldn’t want to take care of one of these houses, they must be a nightmare to keep up.

Here’s a shot of the coolest house – called Bala Negrense, built by the first European sugar baron in Silay around 1854 or so. Very well-preserved. And a view from the 2nd floor verandah of the church and town:

Wanted to see the third house as well, but the owner lives there still, and gives tours himself. His name is Ramon Hofilena and apparently is a real character. But he was traveling so couldn’t meet him or see his house. Bummer.

Stayed in a decent pension, and got a feel for the town quickly. Good for a night, not much longer. Not much in way of restaurants and bars – mostly BBQ places right on the main drag, servicing bus passengers and trike drivers. My guidebook says Silay has 100K+ population, but it felt more like 10K. And there’s no Jollibee, which is generally the mark of a large-ish town/city in the RP. Went to the only ‘normal’ bar I could see, Barcode, on the main drag, which was a dark upstairs place with videoke. Some locals were singing, not too well – and every single video featured babes in bikinis, with virtually no connection between song and video. That’s alright – I wasn’t too fussed. And I wonder now – is this the very first mention of the modest bar Barcode on the Web? Just checked and I believe it is…

Next morning, had to consider my route back to the east coast. This was my final full day of riding, and I wanted to make the most of it. I could go fully around the north coast – a lengthy ride. I could head back south, well south of Bacolod, and take a cross-island route through the town of Mabinay, which friends had done and said was good. Or I could take a more northerly cross-island route, and have less backtracking and more novel ground. I leaned toward the last approach, but wanted a second opinion, so asked the hotel desk clerk, and also went to the Tourist Office to get their input. They said my route was fine – not sure about the road condition, but should be OK. I was checking with them partly to make sure I wasn’t heading into the heart of any NPA (National People’s Army) rebel strongholds. Once that was nixed, I was decided and set off.

I still had to go back through Bacolod, but not much farther past. As I set off I thought about something I’d read about the growth of Chinese tourism abroad. And I thought that this was a fine time to be seeing the world – once a half-billion Chinese tourists get going, it’ll be hard to find a room on the fly. Capacity will of course grow, but I kind of like the status quo, when I can drop into town and get a room right away. So go and see the Sistine Chapel, friends, before it’s too late in the game…

My final destination was Bais City, just 40 km north of Dumaguete, my starting and finishing point. Bais has dolphin and whale-watching, and is supposed to be a relaxed place. And I wanted to stay in the well-known La Planta hotel, which my guidebook called ‘one of Negros’s finest hotels.’ More on that later.

Traffic was slow through Bacolod. Briefly considered delaying my ride till I could have another meal at one of the Japanese places…but that would have been a long wait and way too gluttonous even more me. So rode on. When I was on the verge of breaking out of Bacolod, my bike felt unstable and the ride got rocky. I was pulling over to check the tires, at the same time a jeepney passenger said something about my tire. Sure enough, it was down – not flat, but pretty low. A local saw me inspecting the tire, and pointed me toward a nearby tire vulcanizing shop. I love that word….makes me think of childhood Greek myths of Vulcan (or was that Hephaestus?) hammering away making swords for epic battles.

The fellow at RCA Tire (fronted by a tire with a piece cut out of it – good ad) took care of me quickly. He took out the inner tube of the tire – the outer tire was fine – and patched it with a piece of rubber. Entire operation took 25 minutes. Johnny, the fellow, told me the tire was good for the rest of my long journey that day. And he only asked me for 30 pesos. I gave him 100, and would have been happy to pay more. Talk about a buck going 5 times as far…here’s Johnny hard at work, and his makeshift storefront ad:

After 45 minutes, got to San Enrique, where I’d turn inland and head across the island. No problem there. Pulled over to let my spine decompress and take a few photos – some pretty nice views – here’s one, and a shot of my bike with ‘vulcanized’ rear tire:

Drove another 40 minutes and reached La Carlota, a reasonably sizeable town/city, where I stopped for a) petrol and b) lunch at Jollibee. Needed a fried chicken fix and wasn’t too sure what the ensuing towns would offer. So far, so good.

Got directions to La Castellana at the petrol station, and after lunch set off for that town, the next way-station on my journey across Negros to the east coast. But a few minutes en route, a giant storm broke out. I got out my seldom-used poncho, which was last used during Fuji Rock Music Festival in Japan last July. But the storm got so bad that I had to pull over and wait under a bush shelter with some kids. Waited and waited…storm had several sturm-und-drangs, finally died down sufficiently for me to ride.

The road was not good – you’ve never seen so many potholes – and the rain filled each of ‘em with sludge. My feet were covered in grime within minutes. And I wasn’t paying close attention, apparently, because next thing I knew (30 minutes later) I was lost, in some town, not La Castellana. I was so lost that I thought I was potentially in the next way-station, Canlaon City – because I had seen a shelter with that marking not long before. But I was nowhere near Canlaon City, nor even La Castellana.

Asked a gaggle of trike drivers for assistance, they told me I was in the town of Isabela. Got out my map, located Isabela, saw I had inadvertently gone south instead of east. Torture. They told me not to go all the way back up to La Castellana – which I couldn’t recall even seeing – and instead bear right/east toward Moises Padilla. That name rung a bell – he was a political candidate who challenged a powerful incumbent family and got murdered for his troubles. Ramon Magsaysay, who later became a beloved President, went to get Padilla’s body and bring it back to his family.

Got to Moises Padilla – asked for directions to Canlaon City – and was told it was another hour. Ugh. I was already 4 hours deep into my ride, albeit with a half hour knocked off for tire repair, a half hour for lunch/petrol, and a half hour for rain delay. I had hoped to reach Bais City by 2-3 p.m., having set off at 8:30 a.m., but that was now not looking doable.

Motored on. Didn’t see much in the way of great vistas, due to clouds. Oh well – I had hoped to see Mt. Canlaon, a volcano, and some other significant mountains, but by this point I was too far along to meander. After all, my ass was getting sore.

Continued to find signs/borders confusing. And had to pass a brutal stretch of unpaved, unscored road. When it started I came around a corner, in a township, and the bike sat right down on a large rock. Didn’t like the sound of that ding. The road had some huge stones and the downhill parts were very much touch-and-go. Not particularly enjoyable. And not only was my ass getting even more sore, my nuts were complaining. Knew I should have worn my briefs that day…

Finally got to Canlaon City. Fueled up, was told the coast (Vallehermosa) was just a half hour away. Was skeptical, but rode on. Was at elevation, so ride to coast was mostly downhill, with some nice hairpins and the occasional race around slow-poke trucks. Some great views of the coast emerging between the mountains:

Then I was finally at the coast, on level ground. It was already close to 3 p.m., and Bais was still some ways off.

Took me another 2.5 hours to reach Bais. Some good views en route, and I especially liked the little town of Guihulngan (no idea how to pronounce that). This town had a nice promenade, a la Dumaguete, but much smaller and less crapped-up. Very few trikes milling about. On and off rain caused me to put on my poncho, then take it off – repeatedly. Weird weather. When I had the poncho on and was riding fast, it streamed behind me and I suspected I looked like some sort of green superhero (or superloser) to the locals, all staring away unabashedly.

Was greatly pleased to reach Bais, albeit at 5:30 p.m. and not at 3 p.m. At least it was still daylight. Fueled up, largely to ask where I could find La Planta Hotel. Went there, checked in, and took a wonderful warm shower. Dirt was streaming off me for 15 minutes. Before showering, took a photo of myself – this photo doesn’t truly show how spent I looked after the daylong ride, but see for yourself:

Checked out the hotel for a bit after that. Could hardly sit down – but you know that already. La Planta is a lovely old building, with a large hangar-like restaurant next door. Classic look and feel, pretty well kept-up. Still, I was somewhat disappointed, perhaps because I decided to stop in Bais to stay at this place and probably expected too much. Why was I let down? A few reasons. First, it was empty – at dinner that night, I was the only guest. Felt a bit sad and spooky. Second, there was a slight Bates Motel-like atmosphere – the clerk was a bit prescriptive about what was and wasn’t OK, and I felt like I was being observed when outside my room. Third, there were some internal inconsistencies, at least in my opinion – La Planta is supposedly upscale, and rates are in line with that – but the restaurant offers a Spam sandwich and that turned me off. Fourth, I was spent when I arrived, and when I closed my hotel door I noticed not only an ordinary gold cross on the door, but a full-scale gold cross replete with Jesus on it – a bit much for me, I’m afraid. Here’s the welcoming cross:

Still, it’s a beautiful old place, I was comfortable enough (although after my 8:30 a.m.-5:30 p.m. ride, I’d have been comfy in a prison) and I’d probably stay there again. Of course, the next morning there was a problem with the water and I couldn’t take a shower before leaving. Wasn’t thrilled about that.

A couple days before, I had read my weekly horoscope in the paper. Usually these things are 1) idiotic and generic, and 2) ignored by me completely, to the point of leafing past the page altogether. But I read this one, and it warned of a bad week, with dangers and accidents. I had thought ahead to my upcoming long ride, and told myself to take it easy. Didn’t really do that, of course, but got to Bais safe and sound and now recalled the horoscope. Guess it was baseless, I thought.

Bais City isn’t half-bad. It’s spacious, well laid-out, and relatively clean. Must have/have had a good mayor who took care of the place. Not much to actually do or see there – I had dinner and beers at the hotel restaurant, and afterward went to the only Internet café I could find. Then went back to read and relax. Fell asleep around midnight, New Yorker atop me, and slept like a corpse till 8 a.m.

Rode over to a pier to see if I could get a glimpse of any dolphins or whales – not likely, but gave it a shot. There were impressive views across to the Cebu mountains, but it was rainy (again) and I had no luck with marine sightings. I tend to have bad luck with these matters – in Byron Bay years ago, my girlfriend and I went on a kayak with the dolphins trip – no dolphins. And you may recall that in Malapascua not long ago, I saw zero thresher sharks. I did see some far-off whale spouts in Hermanus, South Africa in 1998, but that’s about it. So don’t take me along to your next whale-watching trip, OK?

Rode back to Dumaguete – uneventful. Saw the Mabinay road, which was one of my options when I left Silay the morning before. Wondered how that was, must try it one day. Checked back into Plaza Maria Luisa Hotel, saw the same faces as a week before. Needed to give them some laundry ASAP, as my plan was to leave the next afternoon (for good) for Cebu. I had the hotel store my large pack when I had left, and got it back now. Problem. They told me that the rains had caused some leaks in the hotel, and my bag got wet. They had put it in the sun to dry it off – but my laptop was stored inside. Problem.

Took the bag upstairs, opened it (I had padlocked it), and quickly saw that it had gotten very wet. Tried to turn laptop on – no dice, with and without being plugged in. Problem. Clothes were very wet – not a real issue, just added them to my laundry to be done. Other electronics and thingies seemed OK – because, as a plastics fiend, I had put most in baggies, and I had brought camera etc. with me on my bike trip. So it seemed the laptop was the real casualty – and, of course, my most expensive possession. Torture.

Staff and manager seemed empathetic – and they should have been. They called a computer repair store, a fellow came and we went to the store together. He found some ‘burns’ as a result of the water, only to the power unit – hard drive is probably OK. He’s working on it tonight and we’ll see if he can save it by tomorrow. My fingers are crossed very tightly – I’ve grown used to having that laptop with me and didn’t expect to replace it just yet. Most of the files are backed up, but of course the most recent stuff isn’t. Anyway, even if it’s a complete loss I’ll bite my tongue and suck it up (not the tongue).

I kept my cool, despite being very pissed-off. What could I do? I wish I had wrapped the laptop in plastic, but I thought the case was waterproof (label says it is). Lesson learned – from now on, I’m using a garbage bag to wrap the thing whenever it leaves my sight. The thing that irks me is that despite wanting to believe in the competence of others, and not wanting to do everything myself, at the end of the day I usually tend to feel that I need to handle everything. There’s this laptop situation, the one last year when Boots ‘n’ All lost a few of my blog entries, and so on. I suppose I shouldn’t try to be a corporate manager and try to delegate things – anyway, those days seem over.

Anyway, dear friends, that’s why this blog entry has no photos. If the laptop is saved and I can use it on Friday or so, I’ll try to add the photos – there are some good ones and I’d like to share ‘em with you. But for now, at least, you’re stuck with the text. I hope it was entertaining – it was certainly long, almost certainly my longest entry yet. Now I’ve got to get up because my ass is sore. Over and out.