Still, I always thought that my tendency to put things off was a school-related one, brought on by my unfortunate proclivity for perfectionism. However, eight months out of college, I find that I continue to put things off--not just things that I am supposed to do, like the homework assignments I still feel I should be completing on a daily basis, but things I actually want to do, things I enjoy doing, like writing this blog. This is the best explanation I can offer for why, exactly one month after I rung in the new year in the Philippines, I am finally writing about it.
My trip to the Philippines was an almost impromptu one, brought on by unforeseen circumstances in the country in which I had planned to spend my winter vacation: Thailand. You see, just as my friends and I were preparing to buy our tickets to Thailand, a bit of a commotion broke out at the Bangkok airport when it was seized by protestors, leaving hordes of people stuck. Much like Willy Wonka's chocolate factory, no one could go in, and no one could go out. Not exactly thrilled by the prospect of planning a visit to a place in a declared "State of Emergency," we had to improvise and choose another destination quickly.
When Angela suggested the Philippines, I said, "Sure, why not?" I knew very little about the Philippines (it hadn't even been on my list of places I wanted to visit while here) except that it was warm there, which, in the frigid winter of South Korea, was good enough for me. And so, with another friend we met here in SoKo, we flew off to a country made up of 7,107 islands in the middle of the Pacific Ocean.
At the time, Korea and I had been having some problems. The honeymoon was over, and we were having issues. Neither of us was communicating well. We were frustrated with each other. We needed a break. So, it was a stroke of luck that the Philippines happened to be everything that South Korea was not: warm, friendly, vibrant, beautiful . . . well, most of The Philippines anyway. In order to get to our intended destination, an island called Puerto Galera, we first had to fly into Manila, the capital city. I make this next statement with no remorse: Manila is the worst big city that I have ever been to. They should have ominous warnings before entering that festering mess of a metropolis, like they do right before you plunge down the waterfall on Splash Mountain: "Turn back before it is too late!" "Do not enter this place!" Preferably delivered by mechanical vultures. To reach any of the other glorious destinations in The Philippines, you may just be forced to go there, but I beg of you--don't linger.
So, before we could enter the utopia of island life in The Philippines, we first had to experience the dark side of the country: the sex tourism industry. Looking for something to do that first night, Angela, Dawn, and I wandered the sewer-like streets of the city until we found a bar that had somehow landed a place on the pages of our Lonely Planet guidebook. A pox on you, Lonely Planet, for leading us so astray. Upon entering the perhaps aptly named "L.A. Cafe," we bore witness to a peculiar scene. At each table in the bar sat exactly one grizzled, middle-age white man surrounded by young, young Filipino girls. We were, in fact, the only patrons of the bar that did not fit one of those two descriptions. Feeling awkward, but with nothing else to do but sit in the room at our hostel, we sat down for a drink, which only increased our feeling of unease. Filipino girls would walk by and smile at us, but we sensed that we were unwelcome. Dawn, who knows quite a lot about The Philippines, mentioned that most of these girls were probably hoping that one of these men would decide to take them back to their own country with them. It's a poor country, and Manila isn't a home I would wish upon anyone, but I can't imagine ever being that desperate to leave a place. If I'd managed to snap a picture of any of these men, you'd see why.
The one delight I found in Manila was the ubiquitous presence of the jeepney. Much of my vacation felt like a tour of the various kinds of transportation available in the world, and this was one of my favorites. The jeepney essentially looks like a bunch of scrap metal pounded together and painted with bright colors, and they seem to happily celebrate their gaudy appearance while toting passengers through the disorderly traffic of the city. They're tricky little buggers to capture on film, but here is my best attempt:
Anywho, the next day, what I like to call "The Great Escape from Manila" began. We had to take a several hour bus ride to the city of Batangas, where we were ushered onto a ferry that looked like an enormous version of a water bug and felt like a theme park ride on steroids. After a few more hours, we reached Puerto Galera, so-called after the Spanish Galleons that took refuge there long ago. To get to our resort, we took yet another fun Filipino form of transportation: the tricycle, which sounds like it should be used by a child, but looks like this:
These would be our main mode of transport on the island, and if you ever get a chance to ride in one, I highly recommend it. Makes you feel like a superhero's sidekick.
When we finally arrived at The Encenada, our little resort, the whole arduous journey seemed worthwhile. The place really was paradise: a flowing gradient of ocean greens and blues, white sand, throngs of palm trees, thatch-roofed bungalows . . . the fracas that is Manila instantly melted away. The staff greeted us like family, which is how they treated us for the remainder of our stay. And by God, everyone in The Philippines spoke English! Everyone! It was such a sharp contrast from what can feel like the reserved, constricting culture of Korea. I felt my creativity return on that island, something I'd felt I'd lost touch with in Bucheon.
One of my favorite things about traveling is the people you meet. Travel offers what I consider to be an almost perfect sort of friendship: people are usually elated to be in a new place, and thus always in a good mood. At the very least, you have one thing in common with them--experiencing a new, mysterious place for the first time (or maybe even the second or third time). With no emotional baggage to the relationship, and probably no future to speak of, you live in the moment with the people you meet, and part ways feeling more enriched to have met them.
I bring this up because the three of us befriended a woman named Sandy and her dog, Babe, who had arrived on the same ferry as us with her (ironically) Korean student, Oon-dae, in order to do an intensive study of English for two months. They remained our constant companions for the entirety of our stay, and our trip was that much better because of them.
Joey, an employee of the resort with a laugh like a shot from a cannon, took all of us out the next day along with a German couple on their honeymoon to tour the island. We drove to the top of a mountain where there was a view of all of Puerto Galera. As the clouds and rain cleared off, everything looked rather like that scene in A Land Before Time when the sun sweeps over the Great Valley and everything begins to glisten.
We went to several beaches as well, which were all very lovely and arcadia-like, but the most amazing place Joey led us to was an indigenous village, which we never would have been able to find on our own. It was like being transported into the past, with houses built on stilts and people roaming about the forest. I felt at once like the rich tourist flaunting my wealth in front of the natives and a National Geographic photographer. I probably came off more like the former. The villagers rushed to lay out their handmade baskets, and Joey encouraged us to barter with them, though I felt compelled to pay the asking price.
The rest of the trip mostly consisted of eating amazing food, exploring the nearby towns, and building sand castles with Filipino children, though there were two other notable events to mention (bear with me, I know this seems like a too-long love letter to The Philippines but . . . well, no. That's exactly what it is).
First, we went snorkeling! Which is something I have never done, but always wanted to do, so I suppose I can check that one off my bucket list now. The Philippines is supposed to be one of the best places in the world for scuba diving and snorkeling, and since I am not a licensed diver, we opted to snap on those funny looking masks, bind our feet in flippers, and commune with the underwater life while breathing through tubes. It was akin to starring in "Finding Nemo" as a giant fish that all the other fish are afraid of. So many tropical fish, such amazing plant life clinging to massive underwater rocks . . . if I hadn't made the poor decision to go down the slide on a floating bar and get ten tons of salt water up my nose I could have kept it up all day.
Finally, our last evening at the resort happened to be New Year's Eve, and The Encenada held a spectacular party with food, live music, and fireworks at midnight. The guitarist for the band, Jun Lopito, is apparently one of the most acclaimed guitarists in the country, and we somehow had the luck to have him playing at our humble little resort that night. The guests and the staff all felt like family by that point, so it hardly mattered to me that I effectively set my foot on fire for a moment with a dangerous Filipino sparkler. Don't try that at home. Overall, best New Year's I've ever had.
It felt like a shame to return to work and cold, cold Korea, but the trip really energized me, and I think it helped me work out some of my friction with the country.
Wow. This is quite a long post. And this is really the abridged version of what I planned to write about The Philippines. So. Just IMAGINE everything that I'm leaving out. Next in the series we are now calling "Journeys of a Traveling Waegook" is Tokyo! Watch out. It's gonna be like ten godzillas just stepped on your brain.
1 comment:
this makes me want to go to the phillipines. want to meet up in India late april-ish?
also, those mechanical vultures still haunt my dreams.
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