Katy and I, having taken the night bus back to Manila from Banaue, arrive at the crack of dawn and set off to find internet or an airline kiosk in the hopes of sorting out 1) if Manila's domestic and international airports are the same thing and 2) how to get flights to Puerto Princesa, Palawan. We are unsuccessful and resign ourselves to McDonalds breakfast as we wait for it to become a more reasonable hour. Lo and behold, McDonalds comes through with free wireless. Turns out that domestic and international are the same airport, just different terminals, for your information. We head for the light rail only to discover that it is now 8:00 am and that means RUSH HOUR. Like, whoa. This is not Tokyo. There is no polite queuing and nary a white gloved "pusher" to be seen. We set up by the door to a woman-only car. 20 minutes and 10 trains later... nothing. How women are getting on and off these trains is a mystery, and it is obvious that Katy and I with our backpacks are not getting on any time soon. We give up and go sit by the wall hoping that rush hour will end in the foreseeable future. Some time later, we see that the next car over, for PWDs (means Persons With Disabilities in the Philippines) is nearly empty. We figure that two foreigners with bags have got to count. No, apparently not. But two women who have been watching us since the beginning (they also haven't managed to get on a train) usher us into their line and show us how it's done. They shuffle/shove us to the front and wait for the next train. They almost send my bag off without me on the first train that comes by. We are more successful with the second one, and though I never would have believed it would work, we are squashed through the doors with not a millimeter to spare. The train pulls out, and we reshuffle... a little. After a taxi ride from the end of the light rail line to the airport, we arrive, get our tickets, and are soon on our way to Puerto Princesa. Puerto Princesa turns out to be small, dirty and have the least appealing beach you could imagine on a tropical island. Thank goodness we checked before booking that hotel room. Our tricycle driver takes us back to the bus station where we get on a bus headed north in an attempt to get to a reasonable beach. We miss our stop and are dropped off instead at Puerto Beach, a resort that seemed to have seen it's best days awhile ago. But, we have a beach hut, hot showers, and room service, so although this beach is pretty much non-existent (beach fail #2) due to a retaining wall built out nearly to the water during low-tide, we settle in for the night.
Day 7 - Thursday, August 11th
We wake up, get breakfast and go stand by the road waiting for a bus to take us back to Salvacion where we can catch a bus across the island to Sabang, home of the underground river and, supposedly, beach. We get to Salvacion without hassle but are then talked into taking a van across the island instead of the bus for more money than it should have been. To his credit, sort of, the driver got us there in record speed, slowing more for chickens in the road than children. We arrive, get our tickets to the river, and find another beach hut to stay in next to a super swanky resort. To get to the river you have to hire a boat, but you can share to make it cheaper. A man managing a group of Koreans attempts to overcharge us but when we question his logic stalks off. We are rescued from having to hire our own boat by a group of 4 impossibly slender and stylish gay French men and their lovely English-speaking, resort-provided guide who began describing his previous job with, "Have you seen Fast and Furious: Tokyo Drift?" Underground river is interesting, full of birds rather than bats, and smells extraordinarily bad. We return and take advantage of the happy hour and beach lounge chairs at the Frenchmen's swanky resort and make friends with the staff who seem to like us more after we confess that we are actually staying in the shacks next door.
basketball is basically the national sport of the Philippines; our French companions - we chose blue hats because it went with the vests; the mouth of the river; Japan moment; finally... a proper beach moment; Katy's nontraditional beach read
Day 8 - Friday, August 12th
We wake up early to catch a jeepney back to Salvacion where we will catch a bus to El Nido, a supposed beach town on the northern tip of the island. We are smarter now and better prepared. We even checked with the Tourist Police about how much each leg of the bus trip should cost us. Though we do not take their advice on the local delicacy (live woodworm anyone?), after two hours crammed in a jeepney with school children hanging off it, a chicken on the lap of a elderly man up front, and a stop made to load 4 gigantic and impossible heavy containers of fish, we arrive at Salvacion and give the conductor our 100 pesos each. It's 150 pesos. No, it's 100. He stalks off to the American guy a few steps away. 150 pesos. Okay. Only a difference of a dollar, but it still pays to ask the tourist police. We wait for the El Nido bus, doing our best to ignore the guy who talked us into the van yesterday. We succeed and eventually get on the public bus. Imagine a school bus, but somewhat shorter. It is packed. PACKED. The conductor puts two wooden squares across the aisles in the two back rows for us to sit on. I do not fit. Not even close. I might fit if the older woman next to the window would put her bag in her lap or at her feet like everyone else, but she does not. I manage to wedge one of my sitting bones on to the wood and then, with my knee caps propped on the wooden "bench" in front of me, I manage to balance. The pain is not immediate, but it is soon unbearable. I try shifting my weight, but there is no where to shift. I brace myself with my hands over bumps, but eventually I give up and stand with my head bowed instead. Luckily, we make a stop to load a living room set of wicker furniture on the roof and have a bit of a break. When we reboard the bus, I score 3/4 of a seat next to a French guy working in Manila. Though my legs don't fit in the space between rows, I am luckier than the German tourist next to me sitting facing backwards on a block of wood in the aisle with a mattress resting against his shoulders and his legs going in different directions: one in and around bags and legs in the aisle, the other propped on his girlfriend's seat next to him. Finally, someone climbs out the driver's side window at a stop and his girlfriend climbs over a mattress and into their seat in the front, so he gets a seat for a few hours. The ride is about 7 hours. The last bit is over gravel roads and feels like it lasts my entire life. We arrive in El Nido, discover that the buildings have been built to within 4 meters of low-tide. Seriously, for a nation of tropical islands, the Philippines really needs to get on this beach issue. Find somewhere to stay, book an island-hopping tour for tomorrow, shower the many layers of bus off, run into the French guy on the beach and get dinner on the sand. He lives in Manila, so we order his recommendation and beers all around. Sisig. It's delicious. It's also, as explained by our new friend, "pig face"... Yum.
Sports Day in the Philippines; loading the bus, El Nido's cove
Day 9 - Saturday, August 13th
We get on a boat in the morning with four very loud Chinese tourists and our Philippino entourage and go island hopping. It is not the relaxing beach day we had been imaging, but we snorkel, swim, climb into a cave, eat lunch of grilled fish and delicious Philippine eggplant salad, and finally find the beach vacation we were hoping for on the last glorious white beach. We stop for an hour and a half during which time we end up napping on the beach while Jimmy (the official guide) climbs a coconut tree and hacks the tops open with a machete, one for each of us. We get back to El Nido, get a massage and then dinner on the beach with an American girl we also met on the bus.
Jimmy pointing something out to Katy; lunch, laying on the final island beach
Day 10 - Sunday, August 14th
We wake up early to take an 8 hour ferry to the island of Coron. It is beautiful, but lonnnnnng. Coron is a ramshackle town built straight out onto the water, but not in a picturesque way. It makes El Nido look exceptionally charming. We are pretty exhausted but determined to find a reasonably priced room. We wander around town looking at room after room and eventually end up back at the hotel our ferry docked at. We get dinner in their open air restaurant and get some sleep. Tomorrow we leave for Manila to catch our respective flights on Tuesday, Katy to the States, me to Thailand and then overland to Cambodia. Whew!
goodbye El Nido; hello Coron
Day 11 - Monday, August 15th
In an effort to get the cheapest tickets possible, Katy and I decide we will buy them at the airport instead of through a travel agent. We did it in Manila, and it was one of the easiest things we did in the Philippines. Not so in Coron. We arrive at the airport and go to the counter to ask about tickets. Instead of the internet quoted price of about $60, they give us a price closer to $160... This is not good, but Katy has a morning flight from Manila and has to get there back tonight. Do you take credit cards? No. Oh. Okay. Interesting. And they only accept U.S. dollars or pesos, but Katy has yen, and even combined we don't have enough of the acceptable currencies to get a single ticket. We have just settled on staying another night in Coron, calling Katy's airlines and explaining that we are stuck on a tropical island and can she please please please rebook her flights. I have recent experience in this particular area, and we are already coming up with family emergencies and planning to get her mom on the phone to someone in the States saying, "My daughter lives in Japan, and she is coming home, but now she's stuck in the Philippines, and I just need to get her home." As soon as this plan had formulated, we realized how ridiculous it was that, even though Katy had a credit card and was willing to pay the ridiculous price, they still couldn't get her on the plane. So we march back inside determined to get her on the plane even if we have to call Manila with her credit card number ourselves. We talk to the guys, explain that she needs to be on this plane, some tears are nearly shed, and that's when the ball finally starts rolling. Calls are made to Manila. We wait. The man comes over and says that he is going to try to find someone he knows on the flight who will lend Katy the money, and then she can pay them back when they arrive in Manila. Yeah, that's how it work on tiny tropical islands. Apparently no friends show up because he comes back and is going to call the headquarters in Manila. Why that was not his first move, we may never know. Anyway, it works. Katy gets on the plane, and I head back into Coron for the night. There are no more rooms where we stayed the night before, so the hotel driver takes me to a tiny guesthouse with two rooms that is basically two girls living there and renting out spare bedrooms. It is $2 with a bucket shower. I take it and make friends with a bunch of Cebu Pacific flight attendants also staying. I hear about a full moon party with legit tribal drumming from the guy running the internet cafe where I buy my ticket for tomorrow online. His wife brags that he is part of the drum ensemble, and it's all you can eat. I'm in. I go wander the town first and find out that it is the start of the two week town festival and that means basketball tournaments. I watch. I cheer. I get funny looks. I go to the full moon buffet, eat, enjoy the drumming, consider buying a cd but remember that I have no cash until I get back to Manila. A singer comes on to jam with the drummers. He usually sings on Boracay (the super touristy island that Katy and I avoided... whether or not that was a good choice is up for debate) but comes up to jam with these guys on occasion. He busts out everything from "Breakfast at Tiffany's" to Shakira. The flight attendants are there. I sit down and have a few drinks with them and the singer under the full moon before we all head back to bed.
the walkway to our room; Katy gets to go home!; teenage basketball - the yellow team schooled evveryone
Day 12 - Tuesday, August 16th
I wake up early to go to the internet cafe again and book a ticket to India for the beginning of September as my "proof of onward transit" for the Thai immigration officials. Card denied. Mom gets a call from someone, presumably in Bombay. Apparently my local Minnesota credit union does not believe that I am actually in the Philippines trying to book airline tickets. Considering how well they know my family, this should not surprise them. Eventually Mom books a hostel for me in Cambodia as proof of onward transit and plans to call the credit union in 8 hours when they open. I go back to the guesthouse and have misunderstood the time my airport shuttle was going to pick me up. I missed it. There are no taxis. I have visions of being stuck on this island forever. The neighbor lady calls her brother to take me to the airport for about 5 times the price of the airport shuttle. Whatever. We arrive in plenty of time for my flight. I arrive in Manila and check in for my flight to Bangkok. They have a 15 kg weight limit. My backpack is 20 kg. I don't have enough dollars or pesos to pay the fee, and (of course) my card still isn't working. I go to change the New Zealand and Canadian dollars that I have. It is still not enough for the fee. I have enough in yen, but it is in coins. And no one will take coins. I run from the exchange place to the bank downstairs and back up the check-in counter. It is getting dangerously close to my flight. I figure that I will just go back and put on 5 kilos worth of hiking boots and clothing, no big deal. Except they have already sent my bag through. I am nearing tears and in an airport for the 3rd time in 3 weeks. They confer. They decide. They waive the fee and rush me through immigration. During this process I lose my passport bag. Don't panic. My passport was safely in my purse, but I really like that bag. I am so done with the Philippines. The flight lands in Bangkok, and I realize that my "proof of onward transit" (the hostel booking in Cambodia) was also in that bag. Thai immigration does not care. 2nd time in 3 weeks I have gone through a lot of hassle for a piece of paper that no one cared about. While on the airport train in Bangkok some menacing clouds roll in. They are terrifying. Just as I head out to walk the 15 minutes from the station to my hostel, they burst. I arrive soaked, broke, and exhausted. I am met by the cleanest, most organized hostel I have ever seen. I take my first hot shower in days, put on clean clothes and head to the nearest sidewalk stall. My only goal: something hot in a big bowl. I smile at the woman and hold up my index finger. She gestures to my noodle options. I point again. She brings over the best bowl of steaming noodle soup I have ever eaten. My nose runs, my forehead sweats, my lips tingle. The woman smiles and brings me ice water and tissues. It costs less than a dollar. And all is well in the world again.
plane from Coron to Manila, old Japanese buses at Manila airport - I wasn't sure what country I was in for a minute, goodbye Philippines
