I'll start off this post by saying something I didn't think I'd ever have to say: I'm getting pretty darn tired of being propositioned by transvestite prostitutes. Seriously. It always catches me off guard. One minute I'm looking for a place to buy a bottle of water, and the next minute a very mannish looking woman says "Do you want company, sir". NO. I want a bottle of water! I don't want company from a normal prostitute, let alone one that doesn't have a definitive gender. I'll get to the details of when and where that happened a little later.
I left Iba! Wahoo! And boy am I glad I did. The place was...mediocre. I had went there first off because I thought I could do some hikes in the area. Then I found out the hikes were way too long and realized that I didn't want to be doing them alone. I stayed in Iba anyway for the cheap accommodation, but finally had to leave as it was getting tired. My next stop was Alaminos, the gateway to 100 Islands National Park. After arriving at the bus terminal, several tricycle drivers boxed me in before I could even plant a food on the ground. I kindly told them that my first order of business was to visit the CR (comfort room, which means the bathroom). After using the CR, three of them continued yelling and gesturing over each other. They knew exactly where I was going and why. The only reason any white person ever comes to Alaminos is to get to Lucap, 10 km down the road, which is where the dock is to get to the islands. I finally told all the drivers to stop with the racket, and I pointed to the closest one and said "you". We zipped off down the road, and a few minutes later arrived at the Department of Tourism building in Lucap. Here's where the real craziness began. Apparently they don't get a lot of white people at the Department of Tourism building in Lucap. That's the only explanation I can think of for why as soon as I stepped foot off the tricycle, every person within a 500 meter radius flocked around to watch me interact with the tourism guy. Seriously. It was suffocating. I'm talking to Celoy the tourism guy, who seems like a nice man and has very good English, and 50 other people are standing there staring and trying to butt into the conversation with broken English about what I should also do or also see (read: spend more money on). The prices for the islands were a little more than I thought they'd be, so I said I'd think about it. Then I made the mistake of asking where I can buy water. Five people tried to lead me in opposite directions so they could sell me THEIR water. After hemming and hawing for a while (and trying to block out all the people staring at me), I said I would go for it. Celoy had me fill out some paperwork and I paid the park entrance fee. A woman who seemed like she was Celoy's sidekick but wasn't wearing a uniform then led me hurriedly to where I could rent a tent and buy water. It was at this point that the lady-boy came out of nowhere. It's not like these transvestites are off by themselves and then just come up and approach me. No, they're milling around, conversing, working with everyone else. Why they need to ask me if I need company on the island is beyond me. Perhaps there have been white men who have traveled alone in the Philippines and have been known to engage the, uh, "services" of these trannies. Maybe that's why they see me and say "white male traveling alone! He probably wants some man/woman company!". Sorry, not into it.
After dodging the tranny, getting a tent, and going through the excruciating task of buying a simple bottle of water, a little boy led me down to the dock where I could catch a boat for the islands. It turns out the little boy was the son of the man who was to drive me in his banka. A banka is a homemade boat, resembling a canoe with outriggers on each side, powered by a motor that's ready to kick the bucket at any moment. As the banka driver and his son got the boat ready, a group of small children surrounded me. This is where I got creaped out. These children couldn't have been any older than seven, and they were obviously very poor. And they all had voices like they've been chain-smoking for 50 years. One of them, in broken English, kept saying something about a "coin in the ocean". Huh? She kept talking like those little alien toys in the claw machine from Toy Story. Then, for no apparent reason, as if they all coalesced themselves into one organism, they started singing Christmas songs together on queue. WHAT? Five children with chain-smoker's voices stumbling around me singing "We wish you a merry Christmas'' in perfect English. While all that was going on, a man approached trying to sell me a machete, a pack of gum, or some pork-rinds. This man had all you could ever want. I declined his offer and was glad when the boat driver's son told me to board. We got under way and headed to the islands.
When I had decided to visit 100 Islands National Park I was expecting quiet solitude on a beach. I imagined myself reading, snorkeling, listening to the waves lap up onto the shore, etc, etc. An error in my planning, however, brought me to the islands on a weekend. When the banka pulled up onto the shore of Quezon Island, where I'd be staying, it was crawling with Filipino families and Taiwanese tourists. Damn, I should have stayed in Iba a couple more days. Or left Iba a couple days sooner. Well, whatever, I thought, I'm here and better make the best of it. I plopped down on the shore and pulled out my book. After a while, two guys approached me and tried to strike up a conversation. I was skeptical. Did they want to offer me prostitutes, or do they want to steal my stuff. Either way, neither is happening. They said they were teachers. Hah, likely story. If you ask a thief what they do for a living, they sure won't say "I'm a thief". I shined them on for a while, answering their questions and reading my book when they weren't talking. After a while they left, which was fine by me. The rest of the day I spent snorkeling a little (I kept an eye on my stuff from the water), staying out of the sun, and trying to concentrate on my book with the drunk Taiwanese tourists playing water-volleyball nearby.
A little brochure I was given about the National Park stated that tents could not be set up before 6pm, so as not to crowd the beach. Well, at 5:59 I pulled out the poles and started assembling. Immediately I encountered a major problem. The wind. I couldn't hold the tent down in order to slide the poles in properly. After several frustrating minutes, a small-statured man came running up offering help. I trained an eye on him so I could see if he swiped anything of mine. Then another man in camo pants ran up to help. Now I was getting nervous that maybe the tent would get set up, but my stuff could get stolen by these two so-called "helpers". After everything was assembled, the two guys introduced themselves as Comote, the park ranger, and Ted, the park security. Really? They kindly said that if I needed anything, don't hesitate to ask and they'd help me out. "Huh", I said to myself as I scratched my head. I sat down and sheepishly realized how uptight I was being about my bags. Nobody's out to get me. Even if someone did steal my stuff, where were they going to go? The island is just a few acres in area. I felt like an ass. Here these two very nice people were genuinely trying to help and right off the bat I had assumed they were going to hurt me. This big realization helped me relax and enjoy being in this tranquil place. Comote came by later that evening to chat (he was a wee bit tipsy). I asked him about his family, we talked about WWII, and he said he loves Americans for liberating the Philippines from the Japanese. Later on, the original two guys came back, this time with another man and a woman. Turns out they are teachers after all. A bunch of them came to the island for a work retreat. Wow. All that time I was just being paranoid about people being out to get me.
In the morning I was eating eggs and rice at the little cafe on the island and an older women approached me and said "You must be Patrick". I said yes, wondering what this was about. She said her name was Gloria and she lives in Washington DC. She's with the teacher group and invited me to come over and hang out with them. I spent the rest of the morning eating food they offered me, taking pictures with everyone, and speaking with Gloria a great deal about her family and the Philippines. She told me her father had served in the Philippine Army with the US in WWII and was given US citizenship after the war. Because of some mix-up, he wasn't aware of his US citizenship until years later, when Gloria was in high school. Upon learning the news, the whole family packed up and landed in San Diego. Gloria met and married a Navy man, and they've been in the DC area for about 30 years now. The whole teachers group was great. Everyone had to get a picture with me, and we swapped facebook info before saying goodbye. I was very glad that I got to meet them, and even more thankful that I had been able to chill out the day before.
After the banka ride back to the mainland and a quick dash to a tricycle (I wanted to avoid any machete hawkers, singing children, and transvestites) I was whisked away to the bus terminal where I boarded a bus to Baguio (bah-gee-oh).
Baguio is a welcome change from the heat of the lowlands. The city is at an altitude of about 5,000 feet and dotted with pine forests. There are no tricycles here belching out their two-stroke engine smoke because they can't make it up the hills around the city. Baguio was originally built by the Americans as an R&R village for US troops. During the Japanese occupation in WWII it became the headquarters for the Japanese generals. I'm looking forward to spending a couple of days here.
That's all for now. I hope everyone is doing well in other parts of the world. Take care.
Pat
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