Palm Trees for Eyelashes…
Welcome to posting #50. I’m coming up on a year of these entries (one a week, do the math) and want more feedback if you’re willing to provide it. Not puff pieces, though – real feedback. That said, I have carefully observed the ability of the Bush Administration to blow off any and all advice it has received – e.g., the Iraqi Study Group (do you think James Baker III feels used?) – and I reserve the right to ignore advice too.
Had a busy week. Finished things up in Cebu, at least for this time round. Finally made it over to Casa Gorordo, one of the city’s few sightseeing options. This place is a 150+ year old house once inhabited by the Filipino Archbishop of Cebu, and is quite a manor house. People in those days knew how to deal with their environment and the elements – nice long sweeping porches to catch the breeze, kitchen separate from the main house to contain fires, etc. And the huge poster beds with mosquito nets should be an inspiration to all the cheapie hotels I’ve frequented over the past year. Worth an hour poking around. Check it out:
Wandered around the Ayala Center shopping mall, to take care of a few errands. I think I need a manservant to help me with these matters – they do tend to take up much of my time. Friend Paul has offered his services in the event that his real estate shenanigans go bust. But some things can’t be handed off. Your health, for one. My back was bothering me, and I had pretty much resigned myself to dealing with it through a) yoga and b) lying down reading and listening to music for hours. But in Ayala Center I came across a chiropractor’s office, right in the mall. Walked in, and found quite happily enough that the doc’s from Montana (I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone from that state) who’s lived in Cebu for ages and knows what he’s doing. I had dreaded a local practitioner with deviant methodologies, but this fellow (Dr. James Pardis) took care of me – gave me a cross-body block that would have taken out an NFL fullback. The sound of the adjustment resonated out to the receptionist’s desk – and I probably winced audibly too. Felt better afterward, and am glad to know that the doctor is in – in Cebu.
That night (Wednesday) went over to one of my favorite spots in Cebu, Our Place. I wrote fairly extensively last year about this bar – a classic old place where foreigners (and some locals) hang out and shoot the shit over cheap beer, and decent food. When I went upstairs this time, there were a couple familiar faces – guys teaching English to Asian students in Cebu, where the prices are cheaper than in Korea, Japan, etc.
Heard about a fellow I had met last year, Thomas from Sweden. I had gotten to know him and his Filipina fiancée a bit from earlier visits. They were getting married in September 2006, after I left the country, and I believe I even emailed Thomas a congratulatory email. No reply. No big deal. But was half-expecting to see them this time, and I asked about them tonight. Got some laughs, then an update. John from Ontario, whom I didn’t meet last year, told me that Thomas went back to Sweden in August 2006, ostensibly to take care of some business, and never returned. The wedding never came off and his fiancée was understandably devastated – no one saw her for a while after that.
What really happened? Appears that the fiancée was pushing for a relatively expensive wedding, with all the trimmings – 300,000 pesos. That’s only about US$6K, but Thomas isn’t wealthy and isn’t in a position to retire, even in the RP. Word has it that he was put off by the prospect of spending even this modest sum – and that explains why he never returned to Cebu. No one knows where he is now – probably kicking around Indonesia or Thailand, for all we know – but he’s known in Our Place as ‘the man who never returned.’ John, the Ontarian, started to sing that old Boston classic ‘The Man Who Never Returned,’ mangled the words, and I rescued him as best I could. After all, I am from Boston and have heard the song a thousand times, albeit not in years. Here goes:
- Did he ever return,
- No he never returned
- And his fate is still unlearn’d
- He may ride forever
- ‘neath the streets of Boston
- He’s the man who never returned.
The man in the song was known as Charlie and he rode the T (subway) forever – I can’t remember why, I think it’s because he lost his fare/ticket. I hope that some Bostonians out there can help me out here. Anyway, the current T card is called the ‘Charlie Card,’ referring to the old classic.
John proved to be a funny character – with a checkered past. I’d heard rumors of a boat years ago that plied a Mombasa-Karachi-Bombay route, but never met anyone till John who actually took it. ‘It was only $100,’ he explained. Yeah – but most people would demand a fee for visiting those cities, particularly the first two, which vie for the Cesspool of the Planet award. Very impressive, John.
Chatted with Michael, an American who teaches English there. We had met in 2006. Nice guy. Didn’t see Duncan, the hilarious Scot who was so entertaining last year. I recall that he comes to Our Place on Friday evenings and I’ll go there tomorrow, when back in Cebu, to hang out with him and catch up.
Heading back to my hotel that night, I leafed through a copy of the local Cebu tourist magazine, which comes out monthly. Started laughing – saw a couple prominent ads for the girlie bars in there. Brazen. Or perhaps not…in Western tourist mags you probably wouldn’t see these, although I do recall reading the Sydney city version (there are several, actually) and seeing small ads for the city’s ‘massage parlours’ (aka brothels). But here in Cebu, the go-go bars are all over the mags – no big deal, but I can imagine an unknowing tourist taking his family out for dinner at one of these advertised places (the Silver Dollar; Dimples; etc.) and getting quite a shock. Would love to see a ‘candid camera’ piece for that…
My cabbie spoke poor English, but managed to tell me that the previous day he had a cabfull of Iranians who were telling him that they need nuclear energy and that the USA was keeping them down. The cabbie asked me what I thought. OK…I told him. I told him that I didn’t have a problem with ‘normal’ countries possessing nuclear plants for energy. I told him that Iran isn’t ‘normal’ – its President is insane, he’s threatened to wipe Israel off the map, the government (or factions of it, anyway) funds terrorist groups with its oil money, and in general it can’t be trusted. I felt like I was conducting grassroots diplomacy – very much at the single blade of grass level. This is a feeling I have fairly often – and to beat an old drum, we need more gringos out here to help. Not too sure the cabbie understood my argument, but I took pains to spell everything out and my sense, from his questions/reactions, is that he got it.
There isn’t really a dearth of Americans in the RP. The thing is that a lot of them are freaks. I don’t count myself in that cohort, at least not yet. At Our Place, that very night, I was standing at the rectangular bar (ingenious – you have 4-5 people on either side, and counterparts on the other – great for fostering a broad conversation) next to a Texan named Steve, a Harly enthusiast who mostly works in the Middle East, but maintains a residence in Cebu. This guy was out there – couldn’t get him off his twin themes of USA ruination, which are:
1. O.J. Simpson’s acquittal signaled a complete breakdown of law and order in the States – who knows what’s next? and
2. Bill Clinton was getting blowjobs from Monica Lewinsky while Al-Qaeda plotted 9-11…so it’s his fault, not Bush’s.
My previous postings have made reference to the fact that a huge proportion of the US population (75-85%) lack passports, and that these are Bush’s people (my hypothesis, not anything I’ve read). And my ensuing hypothesis – perhaps unfair – is that many of these people are relatively unsophisticated ‘ugly Americans.’ The converse, obviously enough, is that Americans who hold passports and travel abroad tend to be more educated/wordly. That thinking may be more of a mirror (e.g., Mike is a cosmopolitan elite) than a window to reality. When I meet people like Steve, my viewpoint shifts in that direction. There are plenty of ugly Americans over here, and we really don’t want them conducting grassroots diplomacy, because it will explode in our faces. ‘Nuff said, at least for now. Comments?
Next day caught a bus to Maya, the northeasternmost town on Cebu Island, with my eventual destination being the tiny island of Malapascua. The public bus was perfectly fine – took 4 hours to reach Maya and only cost 60 pesos. Damn good value. Noticed a couple McD’s on the way – and a Mormon church – these establishments seem to find a root everywhere, even in small-to-medium-sized Filipino towns. Talk about grassroots diplomacy. Halfway through a local woman got on the bus and sat next to me. Nice woman – gave me a few pointers on catching the boat to Malapascua. And told me that her husband’s working with the UN in Kinshasa, Congo. Whew. That city’s not on my itinerary. Remembered reading a New Yorker article years ago on the crazed nature of Kinshasa. The correspondent was sitting at some sort of outdoor café, eating dinner, while armless clowns wandered through the streets, attempting to perform and earn a few miserable coins. Anyway, the woman’s husband is getting US$3K/month and that’s pretty solid coin for living in Cebu, methinks.
Finally got to the far north end of the island. Passed a huge slaughterhouse in the town of Bogo – decided not to go in and have a look. Got to Maya, which turned out (surprise) to be a tiny, decrepit set of rocks where boats to Malapascua (and fishing boats) dock. I was starving – good thing I had had a huge breakfast in Cebu. The eating options were close to zero in Maya – my lunch consisted of a bag of tortilla chips, a beer, a piece of sweetened bread, and a bottle of water. De-lish. Vowed to have a feast on Malapascua.
I had to wait in Maya, I had discovered when I arrived. The boats go when there’s a minyan (Hebrew word – means ‘sufficient group’), which can take hours. Of course, various fellows offered to take me over in a private boat for 20 times the public boat fare. No thanks – I wanted to get to Malapascua but wasn’t in a desperate hurry. So I ate chips, drank beer, and waited. Thankfully, within an hour or so a boat started accepting passengers, then about 40 piled on, with luggage, and we set off. The boat also carried much of the island’s basic needs – huge blocks of ice, drinks, etc. You could really see how small islands with no industry get their materials supplied. Here’s a shot of the boat and ice – yes, that is a slab of ice on the boat floor there:
Got to the island. Here are a couple shots of Bounty Beach, coming in by boat and from the island itself:
Quite an idyllic little place. After landing, walked over to Thresher Shark Divers, the shop I was using. Met Andrea, the proprietor – she sorted me out and sent me over to the hotel, Kuan Ba Resort, to check in. Kuan Ba is ‘an inexpensive option’ – $20/night, fan (not aircon) room, situated smack in the middle of a real Filipino village, with all its noises and smells. Malapascua has limited juice – except for a handful of (pricey) resorts, power is only available from 4 p.m. through 8 a.m. Enough to keep the fan going while you sleep, but when the power’s off you don’t want to sit there sweating in your room. Diving is a nice way out of the mess.
Malapascua is famous for its thresher sharks – harmless yet imposing beasties who feed near Monad Shoals near the island. It’s claimed that you see the sharks 6 out of 10 days – but I went down (at 6 a.m.!) 3 different days and saw none. You could claim that my experience could fall within the ‘6 out of 10 days’ range, but I often dove with a British electrician/dive instructor named Mark – very solid fellow – who went down 6 days straight and didn’t see a shark either. Oh well.
Walked back to the diveshop, got my equipment in order, and noticed on the chalkboard that a night dive was leaving in 10 minutes. Got myself on that and out we went. My most recent dive was a week or so previously, in Boracay, at the dramatic Yakap site. You take a boat out there, in choppy seas, and roll backward into the water. You then kick hard and equalize your ears fast and race down to the bottom, as the currents are murder there. It’s all very dramatic – you’re at the bottom, approx. 30 meters down, in a matter of a minute or so. And because it’s do deep, you can’t stay down that long – only 15 minutes or so. But the reef and wall are very cool and you see some good wildlife. I think when I surfaced my entire dive time was only 19 minutes. One of my shortest yet best dives.
This time, our night dive went out to the Lighthouse. Good dive – Tata was the guide, Mark was along, as well as a couple Israelis, and we saw mating seahorses (tails entwined – certainly not frenetic sex), some crabs, huge blue starfish, and finally, little dancing snake-like thingies performing for us in our flashlight beams. Uncanny. On the boat ride home, I looked at the sky and was amazed at the clarity of stars – had been some time since I’d bothered to observe the heavens. Discussed politics with the Israelis – good talk, but didn’t manage to solve the world’s problems.
At Kuan Ba during dinner that night, thought I recognized a familiar face. And it was so. Andy, a Brit who co-owns Asia Divers in Puerto Galera, was on Malapascua helping Thresher Shark Divers fix their equipment. I didn’t get to know him while in PG, but had briefly spoken with him. Over the next couple days we dove and had a few beers together. As I’ve mentioned several times in this slog, you do come across familiar faces during your travels – right now, on Bantayan Island, I’m staying in a hut right next door to a British couple who were on the Boracay Island tour boat with me a couple weeks back. Also met a young fellow who owns the Kiwi Lodge (hotel) in Cebu – bought it from his folks recently. I’ve considered staying there before, but it’s a bit out of the way. Now that I know Ken, the owner, that might sway me.
Dinner at Kuan Ba was OK. They were (surprise) out of most of the fish specials, so just had chicken adobo – a decent yet uninspired dish. But I was starving – my chips/bread lunch had left me wanting. The closest I got to fish that night was my beer – the huggie around the bottle stank of fish and it wasn’t pleasant – I transferred my beer to a glass and got the huggie out of nose’s reach.
Staying at Kuan Ba, in the village, was an adventure. You’ve gotta be in the mood for randomness if you stay in a place like this. During the night the videoke (karaoke) machines are usually blasting away – till 2 a.m. oftentimes. The roosters tend to shut up when it’s dark, but there are stray retarded ones who let loose at various evening hours. And, as you might expect, in a village there’s not much to do, especially if the power isn’t going – so lots of sex and associated moans. Videoke, sex, and roosters – not my favorite sounds, if I’m not involved. Please disregard the roosters in that categorization.
So I lay there trying to ignore the sounds…and I had to get up in a few hours (at 5 a.m.) to go diving with the sharks. Does that sound like a complaint? If so, I hope it’s at least unusual and entertaining…
Had a 10-dive package with the shop. As I mentioned, didn’t see any threshers the entire time, which was a disappointment. But in general the diving was good, with a variety of sites. Did manage to see a manta before it took off quickly. That was the only manta I saw, despite an afternoon dive one day expressly designed to see these creatures. I was zero-for-two that day – no sharks on a.m. dive, no mantas on p.m. dive. That fact that it was Friday the 13th might have figured in. Of course, that didn’t explain our non-sighting the other days – on Sunday we chalked up the lack of sharks due to their need to attend church…
The information flow on the island is nearly non-existent. Newspapers can really only be had from people coming in that day. There is a small Internet café, with connection speeds that approach those from 1995. I actually had better luck using my Treo for short emails. But you know what? I’m an info junkie who reads newspapers and emails every day, sometimes for hours…but if they’re not available, or if it’s too painful, I can live without. I have some sort of threshold – difficult to quantify, but real – and can’t be bothered with crossing it.
The splashiest resort on the main beach, Bounty Beach, is Sunsplash. This place has a prominent bar, which sponsors drinking contests – you have to down 15 shots of various potions, then walk around without dropping. ’15 and still standing’ read the t-shirts. Often there are competitions between nations – one night Denmark vanquished Germany. Pretty entertaining. I was on the Danish team as a ringer and did well…nearly booted afterward but a piece of bread settled me. Sunsplash is a good place to leech off – good facilities, including a pool table, and a good restaurant – which serves very nice baguette sandwiches, believe it or not. They also have a floating bar – these things seem to be all over the country and they’re a great place to watch the sun set. Here’s a shot:
My second day on Malapascua, I overslept and missed the 6 a.m. shark dive. Oh well…guess I needed the sleep (it was the morning after the shots competition – think that played a role?). Went on a double-dive ride out to Gato Island, which is 45 minutes from Malapascua. Gato is a circular island that reminded me of Pescador off Moalboal – the island plunges down and has fantastic walls, reefs, and a few caves that riddle the island, above and below the waterline. Lots to see around Gato, including:
-Beds of weird pink broccoli-looking plant life – when you touch the stuff it feels like hearts of palm, or perhaps raw chicken
-Bivalves that slam shut when you draw near – was like something out of a Jim Henson/Muppets episode, ‘crazy clamfest’
-Small bamboo shark hiding under a reef – not easy to see
-Impressive lionfish
-Nudibranch eggs – these look like a red tablecloth folded up – Mark told me these are nudibranch eggs, which is somewhat hard to believe – anyway, I’ve mentioned these before in an entry and here’s what they may be
-Beautiful soft coral beds
Sorry I don’t have underwater photos, I need a camera casing and will start hunting for one of those. I should show you what I’m talking about.
At the start of the dive, two British guys (besides Mark, who was my sidekick on Malapascua) joined us. Here’s the gang, and the island close-up:
When we submerged one of them stayed at the top. The guide, Botchoy, went back to check on him, and the diver ended up returning to the boat. Later on, when we all surfaced, he told us that he had suffered a panic attack. Seems some time ago he was diving in the Caribbean, and a fellow diver had been swept away by a current. Didn’t perish, but it was dramatic. So this British fellow had a flashback, panicked, hyperventilated, vomited, and was out of commission for this dive. He thought he’d be able to sort out his head and join us on ensuing dives, but as it turned out he was basically done but didn’t yet know it. Whenever he dove in the next couple days, he just hung out on the anchor line and sat there like an idiot. His mate wasn’t much better. Certainly not a natural diver – almost kicked my mask off a few times, and kept bumping into others. He at least managed to get to the bottom, but during one shark dive he turned around the started back to the top, pursued by an instructor. ‘I was having a bad dive,’ he later said. Sounds like these two need a refresher course, and perhaps more…
You do have time to think underwater, particularly during moments when you’re not staring at something bizarre. This time I thought a bit about the centrality of the breath – not basic breathing to live, per se, but the how of the breath, the varied nature of different breathing techniques. A lot like yoga – for years I thought I understood the pranayama, and dutifully did my ujayi breathing coupled with the asanas. But it wasn’t till earlier this year, when I had a deep tissue massage near Boston, that the masseur/therapist, a friend of my sister’s, taught me how to really breath deeply, into the diaphragm (no, this isn’t a Steve Martin joke), and send the breath and ensuing benefits into the deeper recesses of the body. No, I’m not suffering from nitrogen narcosis. Learn how to breath into/from your diaphragm and you can truly feel some ossified parts of your body respond. Am happy to teach you how when our paths cross…
Had an interesting dive at North Point with Botchoy the local guide – just he and I. Saw a huge green frogfish – not sure I’d ever seen one of those before. Also saw a couple piefish coming up from holes they dig in the bottom – weird creatures. And a school of small, colorful catfish, looking for food in the sand. Tough current during this dive – I was using a lot of air, and kept Botchoy abreast of when I was halfway done, etc. I let him know that I was nearly out when we were making our safety stop, and he passed me his ‘octopus’ (backup regulator) and I took a few breaths from that before ascending to the surface. Had only done that once before, it’s a bit dramatic but good practice for rough dives, I suppose.
Finished the day with a dive with Tata, another guide, at Bantigue – again, just he and I. Mellow dive – just down to 13 meters – but no current and had the chance to investigate the corals and bottom thoroughly. Saw 3 weird nudibranches – black, blue, gold colors – a moray eel, 2 big sea snakes hanging out on the bottom, and some crabs crawling around underneath corals. At the end, on our way up, spent a few minutes in a superb soft coral field at 4-6 meters – spectacular colors and shapes all round.
After that, swam out with Mark to the floating bar, where we took advantage of the happy hour for 2-for-1 cocktails. Had quite a few. The sun went down on us, we took a few swims between drinks, and flirted with cute Lucille, the bartender. I had come by the Sunplash bar on the beach the previous couple nights, and had chanced upon Lucille having her dinner. She had looked up at me, smiled, and from then on we had a private joke around me watching her eat. Very good-natured chick – always singing and laughing.
Just had one dive left – my final shark dive. Again, no luck. But we did see a huge mantis shrimp come up from a hole (a well, really) that it built in the bottom. These things are largish – about the size of your fist – and apparently they ‘punch’ their prey with impressive force, knocking them out. Much like boxers. Anyway, that was pretty much all we saw, then we went back up.
After breakfast I took a walk around the entire island. Not as simple as I had hoped – you can’t do a literal perimeter walk, as there are rocky headlands between the beaches. The first one, I walked in the ocean around it, but it was touch and go. After that, I either had to find a path over the headland – not always there – or go inland and skirt a village. Anyway, I soon got my rhythm and made good progress. Walking through the villages was funny – the kids would come out, yell ‘hello’, and follow me for a few minutes. Seem like the happiest kids in the world – they spend much of their time in the ocean playing. Not a bad way to spend the day.
Was very hot – stopped at a newish resort, Bantigue Cove, for a beer and a rest. Lovely views from their, with a little quietish beach – see here:
Continued on. Stopped every half hour or so to take a dip on a secluded beach. On the north side of the island there are a few lovely little beaches with no tourists, and few locals. Well worth the walk over there. Saw a few resorts in the more secluded areas of the island. Would be good for honeymooners, methinks. Came to a part of the island, coming back to the south side, with paved paths, for walking and motorbikes. Had offers for rides, but wanted to complete my circuit. One motorbike had a klaxon (horn) that sounded like a rooster crowing – great, another loud rooster. I can’t imagine the horn works well – if I were riding another bike I wouldn’t turn my head at that sound…
Finally, came upon Poblacion Beach, where the excellent La Dolce Vita Italian restaurant sits on the beach. Had gone there on Saturday night with Mark for a feast – didn’t exactly remember walking home that night. Today, decided to have a nice lunch and walked in. Had a half-carafe of white, a tuna and bean salad that tasted like beach air, just perfect, and then some veal in lemon garlic sauce. Waddled out of there for final 15 minute walk home. Entire walk plus lunch took 3 or so hours – a bit longer than I had reckoned. Here’s La Dolce Vita, inside and out – they did a nice job of designing it:
And a few others from the walk around the island:
Took it easy the rest of that day. Paid the diveshop and hotel tab. Caught up on my reading – now on Iron Council by China Mieville, the third in his Bas-Lag trilogy. More on this next week, but I have to say that Mieville is a literary genius and I highly recommend reading his stuff. Enjoyed it as much as I did Cloud Atlas by David Mitchell (which I read in Manila), and almost as much as my long-standing favorite, The Adventures & Misadventures of Maqroll by Alvaro Mutis. Read, ingest, and think.
After dark some of the roosters in the village are kept on perches. These are apparently the roosters being trained for cockfights. Strange to walk by them sleeping upright on these perches. You get the feeling they might wake up and give you a good scratching if you’re not careful.
Went to the Internet café to squeeze out a few emails. Saw Mark there, struggling away. We gave up after a few minutes and walked over to La Isla Bonita for some fish. Nice outdoors place. Had a good meal, then a few drinks at the Sunsplash Bar. Had convivial arguments with a couple British divers about the quality of diving in Boracay – they swore it was great, I thought just decent except for Yapak which was excellent. These guys told me about a Japanese diver who had first traveled to Boracay in 1964, stayed in a fisherman’s hut on the beach, and helped pioneer diving there. Hard to imagine Boracay as a deserted place, but it was back then. Had a few beers, then called it a night. Had to get up fairly early next day to travel to Bantayan Island, back through Cebu Island.
Thoroughly enjoyed Malapascua. Andy from PG told me that PG was like Malapascua 20 years ago, when he first went to PG. And the British Boracay pair said pretty much the same thing re Boracay. Hard to imagine Malapascua lined with establishments, but that’s what may well happen in the next 10-15 years.
Bantayan Island, to the west, is more of a population center. About 70,000 people live there, as opposed to a few thou on Malapascua. Bantayan is famed for its beaches in the town of Santa Fe. But the island is not tiny and actually appears on maps. Since I was in the vicinity, I wanted to check it out for a few days. So I went.
Got up early on Tuesday, walked to the boat staging area, and hopped on. 40 pesos to Cebu Island, then caught a bus and trike to the ferry town of Hagnaya, where boats to Bantayan depart. About 150 pesos to Bantayan, a one-hour trip. Could have spent 2-3K pesos for a special boat from Malapascua straight to Bantayan, but I wasn’t in a hurry, and I am cheap in situations like these. So I went economy, and while it took a few hours it also cost only about US$5.
While waiting for the Bantayan ferry in Hagnaya, I had 90 minutes layover (one boat was cancelled), so parked myself at one of the many BBQ joints and had a bite. Edna’s BBQ did me right – a few skewers of pork, a couple chicken, a beer and a water. Edna was trying to set me up with her helper, who was sweet but homely. Played dumb (not difficult for me) and ate. I felt like a celebrity for an hour, particularly when I spoke a few words of Tagalog and they were amazed. They kept asking me where my Filipina wife was. I told them I forgot to get married and they thought that was pretty funny. Go figure.
Not much to do in Bantayan – thankfully. My brain was waterlogged from the diving in Malapascua, so was looking for a respite here. Took a pedicab from ferry to hotel, a little place called Budyong in the town of Santa Fe, right on the beach. On the bus from Maya to Hagnaya a local woman had told me that Bantayan was better than Malapascua. Why? Because Malapascua was only for divers, and Bantayan had better beaches. Well, Bantayan does have great beaches, and I sat there on the beach in front of Budyong for a couple hours, reading, then swimming, then reading again. Here’s what I’m talking about:
That night, walked a few blocks (declining multiple offers of rides from pedicabbies) to the Santa Fe ‘town center’ which is just a few blocks of establishments…really, just one main drag 50 meters long. Had dinner at the Blue Ice Bear Bar, owned by a burly Scandinavian fellow who kept giving his friends at the bar free drinks, and because I was sitting there, I got a few freebies too. Drank so much I got hungry again…ordered more food and chatted with the cute waitstaff. The owner cued up some eclectic songs – Tangled Up in Blue, the Cars, etc. – and I admitted to myself late in the evening that one of my guilty secrets is Toto.
Rented a motorbike the next day and rode around the island for a few hours. Got 2 liters of gas from a roadside shack selling the stuff in Coke bottles. Yet another reason to avoid Coke.
Nice bucolic scenery…little villages…small beaches here and there…inland lakes and farmers’ plots. Rode to Bantayan Town – the main commercial area – and saw the famous Peter and Paul Church, where every Holy Week thousands of visitors come and generally overwhelm the entire island. Have you ever seen a photo of a church before? If not, this one should overwhelm you…
Saw a truck full of headless mannequins – didn’t stick around to see where it was headed. Children yelled their ‘hellos’ to me as I rode past. I rode fast and felt the heat and peace all around me.
Returning to Santa Fe, stopped at the well-known bistro White Sands to have lunch. Good idea. White Sands is owned by a Euro who whips up some amazing fare – you can get pretty much anything you want there, including good wines, although a bit pricey by local standards. Go figure. I had very nice calamares, lightly fried, with lots of sauces on offer, and then a skewer of fish kebab. I felt fine as I got up and back on the bike to return it.
Rode by a bizarrely named establishment called El Paso Cocktail Bar. Bizarre because the sub-heading was ‘German and Thai Food.’ Go figure. Returned the bike, walked over to the Internet café to check emails. Very good connection speed – and only 30 pesos/hour. Noticed an email from Reunion.com, the high school website. Someone had checked my profile. Weird – who could it be? I thought I knew. Logged on the site, and saw that it was the same person who checked it a few months ago (mentioned in a posting), the chick whom I took to my high school junior prom. Still cyber-stalking me, in a gentle fashion. Creepy. Should I call her out? What do you think? I’m standing by, lines are open – please phone in your orders.
Tags: Travel
mbsloney
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