Philippines: You've Slightly Redeemed Yourself

I badly needed a beach. A busy week of sightseeing, hiking, diving, and, most of all, being hassled by hookers, pimps, and hustlers in Manila, left me feeling tired and spent. Frankly, I would have settled for anything that could have blocked out the memories of Manila. My next destination, a tiny island called Boracay, did the job. It's situated right smack in the middle of the Philippines and would otherwise be unknown to the outside world if not for it's perfect white sand beaches and crystal clear water that's just the right temperature. The island is no more than 300 yards wide and five miles long, but it's home to three or four separate beaches that are just meant to be put on postcards. The main beach is called White Beach. It stretches almost four miles long and faces due west, which makes for some great sunsets. I was told, by my guide book and other travellers, that White Beach was the best beach in the Philippines and perhaps one of the best tropical beaches in the world. The former might be true, but the latter is certainly not. The natural beauty cannot be disputed. Painfully bright white sand, absolutely clear water, palms trees gently swaying in the wind - all of which is framed by a lush tropical jungle. But human development has not been kind; it has come roaring in and taken over this tiny island. Almost every inch of developable land has been put to use, and what hasn't been used up is currently being developed, so construction noise is omnipresent. The water is lined with boats taking people parasailing. Vendors selling anything and everything are a constant distraction. In fairness, the problem is not one of development per se, but of extremes. It's nice to have a selection of beachfront restaurants; to have ad hoc bars spring up on the sand and satiate my desire for a cold beer while watching the sunset; and to have a decent selection of hotels. Yet this has been taken too far at Boracay. It's the basic Goldilocks principle of life: not too much, not too little - you want it just right. A tad fewer bars, restaurants, and hotels would make it seem perfect. I spent nearly an hour when I first arrived on the sand looking for a space that was at least 50 yards from anyone else and out of earshot from the constant pounding of pop music. Fortunately, I found such a place and parked my butt there for several days. I thought I might try my hand at some of the activities being offered - snorkeling, hiking, etc. - but once I found my spot, I didn't do squat. There were even some spontaneous games of soccer, ultimate frisbee, and volleyball that got started in the afternoons near where I was laying out. I couldn't manage to get up for those, either. It was too nice doing nothing. For a period of 72 hours, I was about as unproductive as I can be. And I can be very unproductive. The daily schedule was something like: wake up, drink fruit shake, lay on beach, eat, lay on beach, go in water, lay on beach, drink fruit shake, lay on beach, go in water, drink beer, eat dinner, pass out. I'm not saying I was the most unproductive person on earth those 72 hours, but I was certainly in the running. The sun baked down on me; the gentle breeze cooled me; the beer southed my soul. And I'm thinking of going back to work... why?

Next stop: Dumaguete. It's a mid-sized city on the southern tip of the island of Negros, the largest "middle" island in the Philippine's archipelago. The city is small enough that it doesn't attract too many tourists (thereby keeping away the Filipino riff-raff). It's also a college town (30,000 of the 100,000 residents are students), so it has a young vibe with plenty of bars and decent nightlife. (But they don't do Halloween in the Philippines, which killed me. Not a single person was in costume or handing out candy. Very lame.) Dumaguete serves as a great hub for touring in the southern region of the country. The first item on my agenda was diving around tiny Apo Island. Just off the coast, it boasts some of the best coral in the Philippines and some really interesting sea life. (Ok, ok, I admit that I borrowed that picture of the reef. The picture of the turtle is real, albeit not mine. It came from the guide who showed us where to swim.) I went with a group of five people to explore what the island was hiding under it's coastline. I had to stick with snorkeling because I'm still not a certified diver, but it turned out to be a blessing in disguise. I saw a lot more animal life than the divers, and the coral was just as amazing at the depth of 10-15 feet as it was at 75 feet (so they told me). The coral came in every shape, color, and size you could imagine. There were all sorts of fish, from tiny little silver things that amassed in huge schools and glinted in the sun, to lots of types of clownfish (think: Finding Nemo), to giant triggerfish, which are very agressive and will bite if you get too close. Sea snakes, eels, and a host of things I couldn't even identify made cameo appearances. The best part, by far, was stumbling upon a group of sea turtles. Three or four of them were floating with the current about 10 feet below me. I dove to try to follow them and was within touching distance of one of them. It quickly swam away from me, but I was pleading with it - through my snorkel - to stay within eyesight. "No, don't go! I just want to be friends." At full speed I tried to follow it while he (or she - who knows?) was just gently strolling along with seemingly no effort whatsoever. After two or three minutes, I was dying from exhaustion, so I had to let it go. Afterwards, back on the boat, the five of us recapped what we had seen. We went out to dinner, drank beer, and said our goodbyes.

The following day I decided to explore the city and outlying area on my own. I rented a motobike and let things progress randomly. Doing this has become one of my favorite activities once I find myself outside the major cities. First, the driving is easier and safer around the small towns and on the back roads, and drivers are much more polite and easy going. Second, it's fun to put away the map for a day and just go whereever the wind blows. I drove up and down the coast, and when I got bored of that, I turned inland to explore the jungles. Of course, the flip side of driving a motobike in remote areas is that the roads suck, or, as is more often the case, are nonexistent. One second you'll be on a nicely paved path, then next second it's grass, rocks, puddles, mud, and tree branches. While I was travelling up a steep hill (for no reason whatsoever other than it was fun), I figured - quite stupidly - that the best way to manage the obstacles in front of me was to gun the engine and go as fast as possible so I wouldn't stall. Bad idea. You see, I'm a moron, and should probably come with a disclaimer like, "Government Warning: David Newman is a moron." I lost control of the bike, hit a large rock, and managed to swerve into a ditch. I survived unscathed, but the bike had some issues, the most pressing being that it was stuck. I couldn't get it out. After a long while of pacing around and wondering how I could be so stupid, a farmer came by, laughed, and then helped me pull the bike from the ditch. He didn't speak any English, but none was required. The situtation was ridiculous in any language.

The following day I did some hiking in the mountains around Dumaguete. The scenery was nice but nothing amazing - more of the same jungle I've been trekking in for the past six weeks. I came across this waterfall, called Cassaroro Falls, which was blissfully cool on a swelteringly hot day. I met some people at my hostel who thought the hiking trails I had travelled on were "amazing, dude!" I just didn't see it that way. In fact, I met several people at my hostel who were idiots. I think that's the flip side to what I wrote about in my last blog post. Some of the people I've met are pleasant and interesting and fun to be around. Others suck at life. At the hostel in Dumaguete, this one British guy sat down at my table while I was eating breakfast and began talking to me about some nonsense I can't remember. Then, knowing that I was American, he began this rant about American politics and the Iraq war and so on. In no mood to discuss these things, I did my best to change the subject or just give monosylabic answers. Then he started talking out of his ass about the lack of culture in our country. My good sense and patriotism couldn't be silenced any more, so I astutely observed that this dude was a) smoking Marlboros, b) drinking Coke, c) wearing Converse shoes, d) using an iPhone, and e) carrying Ray-Ban sunglasses. Could he be any less of a billboard for America? That's right about when the conversation ended. I should note that in the over three months I've been travelling, I have never - not once - heard a bad thing uttered about America from locals. As soon as they learn I'm from the US (it's one of the first questions they ask), it's always "I've always wanted to visit" or "I love your movies" or something about NBA players. The only badmouthing about America has come from two or three Europeans who were probably idiots to begin with. So, rest assured, our country is still held in high regard by the taxi drivers, waitresses, tour guides, boat drivers, hotel clerks - the everyday, regular folk - in this part of the world.

My time in the Philippines was almost complete, but I couldn't leave until I experienced a truly Filipino event: cockfighting. It became quickly apparent that there's no Humane Society or SPCA in this country because this "sport" probably defines animal cruelty. They keep these birds locked away in small cages for weeks, get them all pissed off, and then when the fight comes, it's a brutal, 'till the death fight. The whole thing is done with much of the "lead-up" similar to boxing matches in the US. Before the fight, people gather around the birds and try to decide who's the better fighter. Then each owner brings his bird into the "ring", prances the bird around, and then gets his bird riled up by shoving his bird's face into the other bird's face. Then there's one last step that I didn't know about before: each bird has a razor sharp, three inch blade attached to the back of its left foot right before the fight begins. I assumed that the fighting just involved pecking and biting, but the "better" birds use the blade by jumping over their opponent and kicking the blade into its back. It's pretty grueseome to watch since one bird always becomes that night's dinner. Twenty minutes after the first fight began, the place filled up completely. I'd estimate about 300 guys (and maybe 10 women) crammed into this tight space to watch two hours of cockfighting. Gambling, shouting, drinking, and shoving were the norm. And this was on a Tuesday. At 2:00 p.m. Yes, I found it to be gruesome, but, after I while, I was really getting into it. I know, I know - that probably makes me a monster. But it didn't ruffle my feathers. On the contrary, by the third or fourth fight, I was - at least in my head - rooting hard for certain birds and shouting at them as if they could understand anything I said: "Go for the body! Go for the body!!" (I would have gambled if anyone spoke English, but this wasn't a crowd that catered to tourists. Indeed, I was the only white guy in the entire place and constantly got the "what's the white guy doing here?" look.) The atmosphere was total machismo. Good times were had were had by all. Except the birds.

So that was it. Two weeks in the Philippines. It got better the further away from Manila I travelled. Had I not already booked my flight out of the country, I might have even stayed a while longer.
I'll end with two last thoughts, one positive, one negative. On the positive side is Red Horse. It's a national beer that's served in 500ml bottles. It's cheap - less than a buck - and potent. Alcohol content is over 7%. Two bottles and I was down for the count. That's worthy of my respect. On the negative side, I felt like the country went out of its way to nickel and dime tourists. Go to any port for a boat ride and you'll not only pay for your ticket, you'll have to go to another booth to pay a "terminal fee" and another booth to pay an "environmental fee." It's not a ton of money, but it just leaves a bad taste in your mouth. It's one thing to be overcharged as a tourist, but it's quite another to feel like you're being squeezed for every penny possible. Even at the main airport terminal in Manila, you have to pay a $20 "Airport User's Charge." Not cool, Philippines.

So that's it. Two weeks and I'm out. Not my favorite place, and I'm in no rush to go back. Hopefully Indonesia fares better...