A walk back in time

Wellington

It's funny now, looking back on it, what it is I actually remember from various trips. In a more profound sense, it is what I choose to remember that stays with me today.  Memories fade into the distance, new ones replace old ones, and eventually we're left with a patchwork of our lives. We look back on certain times fondly, wondering and remembering how we could have ever be like that, and maybe, if we'll ever be like that again.

It's been six months since I left the Philippines. To quickly catch up - after Batad, we backtracked through Sagada and Bagauio, and spent half a day in sleazy Angeles. Angeles is the sex capital of the Philippines. It's the kind of place men with bright orange t-shirts and socks pulled half way up their shins spend their Navy pensions on hot young Filipinos. Not exactly the place we wanted to spend a lot of time in! We boarded a plane to Malaysia. After a week in Malaysia, we flew to Thailand, where more memorable experiences ensued. I flew home after that; Swags spent a couple more weeks overseas before returning to New Zealand. So that's that. Our trip passed from experience into memory, and as of today, that is all we hold. For those we met along the way, what we have is a bond of the places, people and experiences we shared, each in their own, and each with one another.

I came back to Wellington, spent five months hibernating due to exam and professional commitments, and emerged from my cave to make up for lost time. Only now do I have the time and inclination to reflect on what our trip meant.

As I looked back on the trip, I started going back further, and seeing what else I remembered. I looked at old photos. I got in touch with old friends. What I found was memories that weren't just something I looked back on every so often, but small pieces of fabric that attached themselves to me, and made me into the person I am today.

It has been about five years since my very first overseas trip. I left with Ved, a friend from Tawa, to go to Thailand, Vietnam and Cambodia. We found ourselves on Phi Phi Island with two amazing Spaniards and an Argentine.

I also remember meeting two lovely English girls - Janine and Sarah - who adopted us rookie travellers as though we were their own, and with whom we got a long so well. I love how chance encounters can lead to those long-term relationships, even though we are on opposite sides of the world, and see each other once in a blue moon. How powerful those experiences must be to still be in touch after all these years. We share these moments in life, and although they are but tiny specks in the tapestry of our lives, they are so important, and so essential for living the good life. Their smiles can light up the whole world.

I remember being so pasty on that trip, so green, so white, so worried about how this or that would work out. As I reread my dairy from that time, I see a shy, introverted guy really coming out of his shell, and embracing people as though they were long time friends. You don't need a lifetime of experience to bond with someone; you need the here and now. And what wonderful people they were. No backgrounds, no agendas, no code, just 'you&me' and the place we're in.

We left that island full of confidence, and upbeat about our newfound skills as travellers. I know for certain the people we met brought that out in us.

Ved and I flew to Phuket, not pasty anymore, but red, and met a lovely French girl named Sophie, who took us to Muay Thai classes, buried me in the sand and sold me for ten Baht, and shared the beautiful Andaman sunset with us.

I know some of this sounds corny; I don't care. I want to open myself up to being stupid, to wearing my heart on my sleeve, to giving something of myself to those who gave something of themselves.

Sophie was not the only person we met in Phuket. We met John and his wife in a small bar at the southern tip of the island. John ran a pub for his friends, and found solace in the simple lifestyle he led. He could make a difference here. He found his place in the world, no matter how small, and made the most of it. If one could be as happy as John, he wouldn't be doing bad at all.

What trip to Phuket would be complete without a new suit, and we befriended a portly man who became not only our tailor, but also our friend. He took us to watch football with his friends, discussed his gambling problems with us, and showed us kindness and generosity.

We flew to Cambodia. Of all the beautiful and terrifying and astonishing things we saw in Cambodia, what I remember most is the few days with Adrian & Co - our new French friends. Adrian worked as a journalist in Phnom Penh. We hitched a ride with him and became friends immediately. We spent the next few days together, touring the temples, sharing food and drink, and discussing the wonders of life whilst lying under the night stars.

And when all this was over - after we spent weeks in Vietnam, flew back to Singapore, and finally got home to Wellington, there was Ved, right by my side, the man who did it all with me.

When I came back from that trip, I worked for 60 weeks straight in my graduate job, spent three weeks touring the South Island on a motorcycle, worked another eleven months straight, and set out on the next adventure - seven weeks in Thailand, Singapore, Laos, Vietnam and Cambodia.

So why back to the same place? Well, the first time I went I was very green, and I felt that whilst I got a lot done, I hadn't done everything I wanted. I also subscribe to the theory that, whilst living in New Zealand, S.E. Asia is the best place to travel because it is close, relatively cheap, and a world away culture wise from New Zealand.

And who would I chose to go with? Or perhaps, who would put up with going with me?

That man would be Cooper, or to use his formal name, Mathew J. Cooper. Cooper and I have been friends since he moved up from Christchurch. We got drunk for the first time together, discovered girls together (truth be told, he discovered them a lot sooner than me), and went through those awkward fugly ball photos together.

I think most people would agree that the bonds with people of our own blood are the strongest. Nothing breaks those. But there are people with whom we feel an equally similar bond, to whom we are not blood related. Cooper is one of those people to me. Whatever happens, I'll have his back. And goodness knows he has taught me some humility.

He's also blessed with, as my Dad says, a "great personality" and you'll see that in the photos that are to follow.

I wasn't so green this time, but I was still pretty white. By the time we crossed the border (on foot) from Thailand into Laos, found a hotel and had a meal, we slept for fifteen hours straight.

The next day, Cooper found his place in the world.

I loved our time in Laos. We spent a lot of time on bikes, eating food, drinking beer, and chatting about the world. We explored the capital, Vientiane, tubed down the land of the lost boys in Vang Vien, dipped in the cave pools, and swam in waterfalls in Luang Prabang.

We flew to Hanoi, absorbed all the craziness of that city, and went on a boat cruise in Halong Bay. From there we bussed to Hue, where we met more travellers like ourselves. There were two standout days in Hue, two days that I will remember forever. One was Christmas day, and an eleven-a-side football match against a Vietnamese team, with bats fluttering above the dusty pitch as the night grew dark. The other was when we found ourselves alone at a deserted beach, and met a group of students enjoying the day together. We joined them.

It was amazing how easy the day was. We knew nothing of each other, couldn't exchange words through language barriers, yet understood each other as though we'd known each other a lifetime.

 

Yeah, we had our corny tourist hats. Yeah, we bought a few snacks from the beach vendor, and yeah, we stayed at a backpackers with a bunch of other bus toting tourists, but that's all part of it too. That day on the beach, it felt genuine, real. It felt like two worlds intersecting for a single day and getting the most out of it we possibly could.

And what I thought too, was that these kids' parents had seen the Vietnam war. Who knows whose father, mother, brother was still alive. We didn't know what pain they felt, but we knew they felt some. At one stage, when a broken, scarred women wandered across the beach like a ghost, it bought home to me the reality of things. Life isn't always a day at the beach. When we do get those days, we have to make the most of it.

From Hue we left for Danang, and spent a bit of time in that city. I felt we were really getting our confidence as travellers, and travel companions.

We spent a day going up Marble mountain, meeting a profane Canadian named Kevin.

There were a lot of highlights during our time in Vietnam. We spent some time in Hoi An getting suits made, honing around on scooters, drinking beer at the driving range, and dining with friends we met along the way.

We crossed the border into Cambodia, met up with our friend Andrew and his two mates, the Josh's. The Josh's were some savage boys, and Andrew was along for the ride. Boys being boys, we didn't want to pay for a tuk tuk, so we hired some bikes and spent the day touring the temples, and getting really hot and sweaty.

Cooper took a great photo of me and AB - which, if you look closely - in part reflects the deep seriousness held within us, one often hidden from the outside world.

After Cambodia we spent some time in Thailand, where among many highlights, we did something life changing. One morning, in a dingy café somewhere on Phi Phi island, we somehow decided that we needed to enrol in university - two years after leaving - to get the requisite papers to become Chartered Accountants. I worked at ANZ at the time, and Cooper at the Animal Health Board. We talked about what else we would like to do, but by the end of the day we were enrolled in University and somehow optimistic as to how things would turn out.

A few months after I returned to New Zealand, I left the bank for a big four accounting firm, and the rest is history. It seems so easy now, to have so effortlessly fell into place, but deep down I know that wasn't the case. If we hadn't have been on that island, talking about what we wanted to do, if we hadn't of decided that, yes, we do want to enrol in MGMT 101 and spend another year of University whilst working full time, things would have turned out differently, and probably for the worse.

And if we hadn't of looked at each other and said, 'this is the right thing to do', I think I would have always cheated myself.

For that Cooper, I'll always be grateful. Thanks heaps man.

Fast forward to December 2013 and we arrive at the Philippines. Or to state it more accurately, we arrive at the last few days before my departure.

I went with John, who you'll hear a lot about later, and who assumed the name "Swags." He is a terrific travel companion, if a little hard to haul to flights on time!

Before I left I wrote a few blog posts, one of which I called "So We Understand Each Other." Reading over it again, I see how much of what I wrote was idealistic, but I also see that it accurately capture the spirit and emotion of the time. Sometimes, if we allow ourselves to float away and be guided by these romantic notions, they can actually come true, and we find places in our minds we didn't know existed. I think I am fundamentally shaped by the belief that death, yes, death, could strike at anytime, so it's monumental to make the most of your time on earth, and not just pay lip service to it. So when it comes down to it, sometimes it's okay to suspend your grip on reality, and let your mind wander a little.

I wrote about boundaries, and that we can go through life "without actually experiencing what it means to be alive." I wrote that "reward and punishment" await when we test those boundaries, and that before we resolve the inner conflicts that reside within all of us, "there is a time for discovery."

I also wrote, somewhat idealistically, "my wanderings in the past have changed me; released me, endeared me, perhaps, hardened me, to the experience of fellow man." When I look back on those first tentative steps travelling for the first time, I was a lot different from what I am now. And I don't just see this as part of the natural ageing process. I see it as an acceleration of development, and a renewed awareness, caused by experiences outside of everyday life.

I also wrote "I am no longer who I once was." I would like to think that is true. And I should like to think that this will be true 5 years, 20 years, and 50 years from today.

We reached the grime of Manila after 40 hours of straight travelling. A couple of days later flew out to Palawan - one hour from Manila - and drove a further six hours to El Nido. There, we discovered our paradise.

We were also fortunate enough to meet Derek and Josie, who became our instant friends. I warm inside whenever I think of the both of them. Their kindness and generosity was a much a part of our stay as the limestone cliffs, emerald waters, and San Miguels. They were perfectly chilled out, and were happy just to relax and ponder the world, and find amusement at our many exploits on the island.

We spend days swimming, fishing, snorkelling, and exploring the nearby islands.

We also met (more like, saw) some French girls, which reaffirmed my belief that they are the prettiest in the world. N'importe francais? The French are also great travellers.

From Palawan we flew to Boracay, which wasn't so good because life was suddenly very touristy, and the island was simply a western town transported to the Philippines. The highlight was meeting three Norwegians, in particular, my friend Dan, who inspired me to write my first ever song, which he played on his Ukulele. If you ever read this Dan, get in touch.

I was too ashamed at the time to reproduce the song in full, but now, I don't care so much. Here it is:

Passing my way on these shores

Wind in the trees

On this night full of light

Crashing hard on the shore

Baring my soul to the sky

You will forget me again

Far away from this place

Your hands in the air

Your eyes likes a dream

Scent like a rose and a

Touch from a bird

I can't hear you no more

Chorus

I will forgive you my lady

You will forget me my girl

I will forgive you my lady

You will forget me again

Tell me more bout this life you now live

City doors and silly locks

Dark tunnels of hope

Office towers of gold

Dinner of love

Drink with a man

I can't hear you no more

Chorus

One more time on this night shore

A moment in time alone in the sky

Burning softly through the night

Please lady give me a sign

I can't forgive you this time.

Chorus x 2

You will forget me again x2

You will forget me x 2

(Please don't forget me)

With the melody of that song still in my head, we partied the night away with about 10,000 other people and three fireworks displays on the beach. What a magical time it was. The next morning, we just about missed our flight. John was in such a state, he fell asleep in the terminal (you can tell by the size of his grin what type of night he had). What a champ.

We flew to Cebu City on New Years day, spending much of the time resting, shopping and exploring the city sights.

Travel fatigue occurs on any holiday, and you can tell from the photo above that we looked a bit worse for wear, and needed some down time. Cebu provided that for us. It was so important for the rest of the trip, and nice to be relieved from the pressure of always needing to do something.

We did however, have one very special day.

Big G, (real name "Guillermo Munro Colosio") our friend and brother, deserves a whole blog for himself, such was the heart of the man. Not only is he a uniquely talented artist, he is blessed with an infectious passion for life, a love of people, and a desire to change the world for the better, even in the smallest of ways. He is also great fun to be with.

We only spent one day together, but we formed a bond to last a lifetime. Funnily enough, we met in the 'business class' lounge of a ferry terminal, waiting for a boat to take us across to Bohol to see the chocolate hills, tarsiers, scenery and churches. And any day where the driver hands 80c beer through the window of a van has got to be a good one!

I loved our day. It was a testament to us, I think, that we had come this far, and possessed the initiative and drive to get there.

It all seemed so easy, so effortless, so serene. In one day also, we hatched a plan to do something to change the world. It's a tiny thing, but we don't care, as long as it's something. Watch this space.

We spent a great night with Big G's friends, eating Lechun (pig, all of it, ALL), and drinking and talking into the small hours of the morning.

Big G, thanks brother. So happy to have met you.

We shipped out of Cebu City and into Legaspi. Legaspi is famous for the (live) 2,463m Mayon Volcano on the outer edges of town. It is also special for the young man we met there, Rainer, and his brother, both of whom were superstar American karaoke legends. With beers costing 80c and packs of smokes costing $2, it was a very fun night We also met two English gents, Huey and Johnny, who introduced us to some of the finer points in life.

The highlight was, undoubtedly, our climb up Mt Mayon, and probably one of the closest near death experiences I've had. Tragically, nine people died on there just months after our ascent.

After we reached the top, we sat freezing, eating the greatest bacon and egg sandwiches ever. The rain got heavier and heavier, and water started gushing from the top. We were in danger of flash flooding, not to mention the treacherous downhill ascent down the narrow ravine from which lava had flowed for hundreds of years. We made it down, but not without our share of scares, slips, and falls. To top things of, once we reached the jungle we encountered a poisonous snake called a "black mamba." Even the guide was scared. We carefully approached, then dashed past as fast as we could.

I'm not sure, but maybe I owe my life to those guides. Not only did he catch me when I slipped and accelerated down the mountain (broken tailbone in the Philippines? No thanks!), he also spotted and guided us through the "black mamba." Either way, he was a bargain.

We also ventured out on 'motorcycles' to a place called Donsol. In a classic Kiwi stroke of luck, we encountered the only whale shark to be seen that week, and swam for a eight seconds with a whale shark. The feeling of being down there, with a whale shark just metres below you, is very profound, and when you emerge from the water, you see things a little differently.

We returned to Manila, and headed to the mountainous northern region of the Philippines. At the time, I titled it the "Northern Chapter" because I felt that, although it was only five days, it was a whole experience in itself. One picture captured it all.

Our guide chewed root, and spat out a thick red liquid every thirty seconds. She told us stories of how her and her friends studied things like computer science, criminology, sociology and other such subjects, yet were working as tour guides and tricycle drivers. That has stayed with me since.

We had beer bellies by the time we left the Philippines. They grew larger in Malaysia, as we found ourselves in Kuala Lumpar and Penang with little to do but hang out and eat. We decided to eat four massive meals a day, and go for a run each morning to try get back in shape. As you can imagine, we weren't successful - at exercising.

We left Malaysia and spent ten days in Thailand. In Thailand we did all the usual activities that tourists do. I found myself suddenly back in a world that I felt wasn't really me any more. I didn't want to be constantly pestered to buy suits and shirts and watches. I didn't want to get drunk every night and listen to rubbish music. I wanted to be with the stars, or with people who cared about being people, not selling something or trying to scam you.  

Still, every self respecting tourist has to do Khao San Road, and if you recognise it for what it is, it's not all that bad. Bangkok as a city is great - but you need to spend the time there to appreciate it, and find the spot, and activities, that are right for you.

 

Me, I preferred Chang Mai. The city is much more relaxed, charming, and you can find just what you want - without having it shoved in your face.

I flew out of Bangkok, stopped in Singapore, and eventually made it home to Wellington.

 

So that's about it. When I look back on it, this post reads a bit like a 'greatest hits', with all the best moments shoved into one. It reads too, like a litany, or a reflection on the past five years. I have no doubt, no doubt, that the next chapter will in large part will be shaped by the previous chapter. There is a reason for most things, and although we are not often aware of what those reasons are, they are there.

 

This post is as much as about what I didn't say as opposed to what I did; there are always events missed out, people I didn't mention that made a profound impact on me, places I enjoyed, and all those tiny and significant moments that are just too many too remember.

 

I want to end with two brief points.

 

One - when I look back on trips, it is the people and experiences we shared together that I remember, not the food, the monument, or whatever else filled the days. It is the people I remember. The same goes for life too. When you look back, you'll remember those that you shared it with, and everything else just kind of 'falls away'. And if you can find something that you love to do - like solving a problem, building a model, or a house, creating a work of art, or going on holiday - with people that you love doing it with, you will be happy.

 

The second point is about myself. I left New Zealand a green, textbook orientated kid, and I came back a slightly less green, slightly less textbook orientated kid. But as the years went by and the experiences piled up, I slowly, gradually began to change. Change is for the better, I think. I have much more experiences to come, but I take comfort in the fact that I have made the most of these past five years, and that if the kid from back then looked at the young man of today, he would have reason to smile.

 

So, in the next five years, maybe more, maybe less, I hope I can look back and say, with equal satisfaction...

 

"I am no longer who I once was... I am someone better"

 

 

 

~

 

 

 

My words abandon me

Batad

My diary entry for our few days deep in the northern mountains of the Philippines, to this day, remains blank. Although feeling and sensation ripped through me, almost continuously, I couldn't find a word, or a sentence, to describe where I was and what I was doing. So instead of the usual spiel, I will let the photos do the writing (and let's be honest, the only people who read my blog are my Ma and Pa :)

 

 

Sagada's finest

Sagada

 

I have a long journal entry about Sagada; I talk about the chaotic ascent into this mythical mountain-top town, the people we met, the night we spent drinking beers and smoking cigars, googling at young men with large bags of Marijuana as casual as a set of keys; I talk of the famous Filipino's who filled our night with acoustic epic's such as  'Hey Jude', 'Knocking on Heaven's Door," and many more, and the time we spent wandering among the hills and through the caves with our new friends.

 

But for now I am done reporting. I have had enough of hazy eyed accounts of our travels. Something much deeper began stirring in those mountains, something lurking around with the fog that dripped into the inns, taverns and barely lit porches, and it was enough to settle my words for once.  

 

One of the men from the town told us the coffins hanging on the side of cliff faces' had been there for a hundred years; and they feared that if they were buried, the dead would not rise to the heavens, instead they would remain trapped, forever wandering the tall pine trees and rock faces of the town, bringing with them the chill of dawn and fog so thick it covered everything. He appeared to us as the town drunk, this man, barely sitting against a pillar on a cobbled floor, telling the stories that his forebears had told him. When we tried to find him the next morning, and even that night, he was gone.

 

Sagada...

 

 

Fuckin oats' Ernie

Baguio City

 

My enduring memory of our night in Baguio is of Swags (by now, commonly referring to himself as "Taylor") on the dance floor of a local club, with a stage full of Filipino's, smiling and dancing away - topless - with a lady-boy. The events leading up to this 'coming of age' are unique in themselves, and perhaps after all it really was the air in Baguio City, but as always, we must start with the beginning.

 

***

Party by night

Study by day

The mountain air hits you first; cool and unbelievably fresh, cleansing your soul from the smog of Manila and the sterile air conditioning of the bus. The number of people hits you second - but, not solely the number of people, but the number of young people - this was student town. Settled up in the hills, with trees all around and a main street similar to Courtenay place, it reminded me of home.

 

Within an hour of settling in to our hotel we were down the road at the local pub, which was a curious blend of the common wooden floors of an Irish pub, the moody lighting of a Chinese opium den, and the sturdy atmosphere of intellectual thought. The usual cast of characters were there - the young Thai gentleman who carried a hunting knife for protection, the boys in skirts giving you intoxicating looks, the singing labourers of the day, and the guys in the corner who don't seem that loud, but just might end up being your best friends; and of course, the young Kiwi adventurers.

 

I got talking to a chap who looked a little over 30 - Brian, I think his name was - who then introduced to his very drunk friend - Ernie. Ernie looked like the guy you never want to get stuck in a lift with. Soon enough, they were familiar with Kiwi lingo, and over a dozen or so SMB's and a round of Chivas Regal whiskey, Ernie learnt - and became infatuated with the term - Fuckin Oats'. Cheers boys - fuckin oats! And all glasses lifted.

 

Fuckin oats' Ernie led us to the next pub, an intimate downstairs affair of lazy haze and modern romance. Two live musicians played (Philippines is full of talented musicians) while the four of us drank more SMB's and ate our habitual pig face. The musician's raspy voices and stark chords softened the atmosphere of the room. They asked us where we were from. New Zealand, we said. Sure enough - along came Katchafire, Kora, and other homespun tunes. How proud we were.

 

By this time Fuckin oats' Ernie kept falling to the floor and taking out a swath of chairs and tables, stumbling around and yelling Fuckin oats! all to uproarious laughter on the floor. Crash to the floor - hilarious. What entertainment our new friend was proving to be.

 

Mind you, he possessed a perceptive mind, none to aware of the nuances of travellers in a foreign country. And, for that matter, he was the head physio at the local university - not a bad gig by any stretch.

 

We tag teamed very drunk Fuckin oats' Ernie and Brian for Archie, 26, and Simeon, 24. I learned later that Simeon is very fond of posting pictures of his finely tuned torso on the internet, and not shy of showing some skin. Archie and Simeon were brothers from up north, and seemed to find a new gear for their new Kiwi friends, who they knew were in for all sorts of trouble. Like us, they knew how to have a good time. Soon, the four of us sat in a taxi heading for a Filipino disco.

 

There were 200 people in there, and we were the only white guys. The tallest too. The signer delighted in pointing out the 'foreign guests' in the room, while we secured a VIP booth, smoked cigarillo's and drunk beer.

 

The place was a big American line dancing hall crossed with a high school disco. A ten-piece band played up front, while the plastic chairs and tables scraped across the floor on the numerous migrations to and from the dance floor. How we were in our element!

 

Archie and Simeon introduced to their friends - and one very cute Hazel - and together we partied the night away. No pretence. No agenda. No motive. Just drink, dance, smoke, and talk. As the night charged on we were feeling rather drunk, especially Simeon, who routinely declared "I'm so drunk" then wobbled around and dropped his head smack bang on the table. Hey, I guess young men everywhere like to get drunk and meet girls.

 

So, the story of Swags. As we danced, Swags caught the eye of a beautiful young lady. How smooth her skin was! How defined her figure! He shot his usual 'blue steel' look, and soon this young lady was all over him. And boy, was she aggressive. Swags could hardly get a word in. He put his arm around her, and flashed a smile.

 

When a stranger kindly whispered in his ear the orientation of the one he danced with, he high-tailed it out of there and drank a beer in three seconds.

 

Somehow, we made it back to our hotel, passing up the prospect of a visit to the seedier clubs around town. Swags was lucky, he narrowly escaped what all young men, I'm afraid, must all fall into at some point during their South East Asian travels.

 

For me, I lost myself in the pleasure of the night, and knew for a fact, that somehow, my association with Baguio would be a  long one.

 

Bustling Baguio - I will return

 

 





A momentary pause

Interlude

 

I look back over the past two weeks. Where have we come from and what have we done? Who have me met? How have we changed in these last two weeks - if at all?

 

I think back to our first day in Manila - clean shaven, pale, clean - and all that downtown grit that seeped into our skin in the first few minutes. I think of our days in Palawan, of Derek, Josie, Dan, Diego, even of Mad Mike. I think of our 36 hour bender in Boracay and our Norwegian friends. I think of Big G in Cebu and all his wonderful friends; I think of Rainer.

 

I see the beaches, the banana trees, the cliffs and sparkling seas of Palawan, I see the beach  - the pollution - of Boracay. I see the chocolate hills of Bohol, Mount Mayon, and the whale sharks of Donsol.

 

I feel the sweat of the Manila streets, the cool water in El Nido, the heat of the sun in Boracay; I feel the freshness of Bohol, the grandeur of Mayon, and the power of the whale sharks.

 

We have changed; at least, I have changed. But as yet, I don't know how, in what way, to whom. The outward manifestation of changes eludes me. All is know is that, as we leave Legaspi to return to Manila, and unknown change is stirring. It is a feeling for now, a tickle of emotion, a pent-up spring, one that that will take us well beyond the congested streets we are about to inhibit.

 

And so begins the Northern Chapter.

 

The power of eight seconds

Donsol

 

Part I

 

A dozen beers each wasn't enough to stop us waking at 6:30 to begin our journey to Donsol. Our chosen method of transportation: motorcycles.

 

Rainer, who had the bike keys for us, was a pathetic excuse for a human being in the morning, and kept us waiting, leaving us sitting on the front porch starting at the pouring rain.

 

Neither the rain nor Rainer's lateness - not our hangovers (which, as a matter of fact, were virtually non-existent in the Philippines) - would deter us from our mission. What might have was the total number of whale shark sightings - yes, sightings, not swims - over the past four days. Total sum - zero.

 

World famous Donsol, home of whale sharks, and close encounters of the underworld kind, devoid of all sea life, and left as another tired, seaside town.

 

We set off. Swags was utterly fearless for his first time on a motorbike.

 

Me, as the leader, got us promptly lost. Though I like to say, I didn't lead us astray, I led us to the district of Albany - the 'upscale' part of Legaspi. At 10:30am we found ourselves in the busy, congested, noisy part of town. We stopped in at the local Jollibee to get our bearings. We got bewildered looks from the staff as we treaded water through their restaurant - such was the state of our soaking wet good-for-nothing selves. It had poured with rain for the entire time we'd been on the bikes.

 

As it turns out, all we really needed to do was follow the same road right by our accommodation all 46km to Donsol. A downtown detour wasn't necessary, but it was fun. And there is something about the Philippines. You're meant to go right, you accidently turn left and end up in all kinds of situations - usually for the better.

 

As the city faded in the distance and the rain continued to pour down, our road narrowed, and we cruised through the lush countryside, sweeping through small villages (and waving) every so often, the locals getting only a glimpse of the famous Kiwi adventurers.

 

The countryside of Donsol

By the time we had reached Donsol - stopping numerous times to 'look' at the rice paddies and tropical jungles of the countryside - we saw the tiny 'tourist office' (shack) was closed. Our appetite for adventured hadn't waned, so we continued on driving, bravely going where no tourist - let alone white man - had gone before.

 

 

It's here where I sit back and reflect for a moment; what we did was something special.

 

The road narrowed and narrowed, until it was the width of a single footpath. The countryside was long and dense, thick with jungles and stretched with rice paddies. The villages - no electricity had seen these parts - yet schools, medical clinics, housing, all of it, were functioning as normal. These parts hadn't seen the modern world, and no Westerner had seen these parts.

 

Towards the 'Compound'

Or so I thought.

 

At the end of the road, after hours of driving, after sitting in tranquil villages and smelling charcoaled chicken and fish, after communicating without speaking - for one boy, who alone we stared at each other for over five minutes - after visiting life that wasn't touched by consumerism, or modernisation, or even, for that matter, the 20th century, we found a white man.  

 

We caught only a glimpse of him. Old, perhaps 60, slow, shirtless, tanned, walking back into his house in the dense jungle, walking as though life had been hard on him, miles from civilisation, here was a man living among the people. Children outside his house stared at the two Westerners on bikes, a man chopped bamboo with a machete, making speed bumps for the local road, a lone woman looked on in solitary silence. And all the while, the man inside brooded, breathed, lived. This was his place.

 

The ghost of Colonel Kurtz, the mysterious compound at the end of the river, echoed powerfully though my soul.

 

The road back to Donsol wasn't quite the same.

 

Swags and his bikes

 

Me on the other side

 

Part II

 

It was 2pm by the time we reached Donsol, our mission to swim with the whale sharks set back slightly by a drive for adventure - and of course, the Englishman at the end of the road.

 

In another stroke of good fortune - call it Kiwi luck - the last and final boat was called back just as it was sailing out. There were no people on it. We would be the last, and only boat on the water.

 

Last boat - we caught it just in time

As Derek would have said "You two jokers will land on your feet."

 

I don't know what Heaven, or the afterlife is like, but if it is anything like the flat, grey sea, the light, white sky, and the panoramic of ocean light, it can't be that bad.

 

We sailed for two and a half hours, our hopes fading by the minute. Swags spent half the time admiring his new 'leather' jacket. I stared at the ocean, sombre. Perhaps our luck had finally run out. There would be no whale sharks for us. The spotter on the end of the boat stared vacantly into space - he was already looking forward to a beer.

 

The Sea Pirates - about time for a beer?

And then it came.

 

I often think about interceptions in life, in chance encounters that somehow seem as though they were designed by a higher power, like the chance and fateful meeting of a friend, a wife, an employer. What was 'our' whale shark doing the previous night while we were eating curried chicken, drinking beer and smoking cigars? Would it know - could it - that for a few brief seconds our paths would cross, and us, two kiwi adventurers far from home, would come across this giant of the ocean and forever reinforce the power of the natural world?

 

The sea pirates reacted.

 

"Aye! Aye!" he screamed. The motor cut off. He reached for us. Fins on, snorkel fitted, let's go!! Follow me! We jumped. Swim. Swim. The water was cold. No time to feel it. Heart pumping. Lungs pounding. Eyes frantic.

 

And then, for 8 seconds, nothing.

 

The whale shark swam below me, slow and steady, silently drifting along just metres from my outstretched hand. My breathing shut out from around me, the splashing of fins and cries of the pirate, all faded away. Everything and everyone drew one last breath, one last connection to the living world.

 

Silence.

 

And then it was gone.

 

Magic moments happen infrequently in life. When they happen, we often wonder 'could I have done differently? Could I have changed something to make it better. Did I do enough?'

 

I don't know, but what I do know is this. When I rose out of the water, the ocean, the sky, the landscape, weren't the same to me. They possessed a presence - so still, so subtle - yet earth shatteringly powerful. I would never see nature the same way again. Never after witnessing the power.

 

The power of 8 seconds.

Part III 

The ride home was much like the ride there; wet, cold and uneventful. Why is it always like that? Is it just me, or is it the country; why do adventures seem to follow me around like a dark rain cloud?

 

We were used to being soaking wet by now, and we enjoyed riding for about half an hour while we still had light.

 

The darkness came. And the fog. And the rain. And the traffic.

 

I gripped the handlebars as hard as I could, peering through the handlebars as hard as my fading eyes would let me. Trucks and busses stormed past me; motorcycles zoomed ahead, while I just stuck to my Grandma's pace.

 

We eventually made it back, well into the night, but not before I had taken a wrong turn down a busy one way street, narrowly missed being smashed to smithereens, and handily rescued by the ever reliable Swags. We made it home, happy to see our friendly little tourist inn.

 

I slept with the whales that night, those silent and powerful creatures of the sea. What a deep sleep I had.

 

The whale sharks of Donsol (somewhere down there...)

 

Hey, Jonny! (and close-talking global superstars)

Legaspi

 

Two days would merge into one. Or was it one day, starting late and ending late, daylight merely a passage between nightly pursuits?

 

Our night started as it always did - with a beer.

 

We met Huey and Johnny in the lobby of the Legaspi Tourist Inn. Both were English, and both had worked in the mines of Western Australia for 9 months, built up a 'war chest' and come to the Philipines to compensate for their sabbatical in the desert. For what it's worth, 'war chests' go a long way in the Philippines.

 

Over about 6 cold beers each (conveniently available from the Hotel front desk, just metres away from our plush surroundings) we got the serious part of the evening out of the way - the benefits, and drawbacks of working in the mines, the money, living in England, and various other topics of interest. Needless to say, it's always interesting to meet people from the other side of the world and get their perspective on things. I hope they thought the same of us.

 

Dinner, and a few more beers later, we found ourselves - I won't lie - in a Filipino strip club. When I say, 'found ourselves'... well, you can use your imagination.

 

Picture a school hall located in an industrial wasteland, with a makeshift stage and plastic chairs, about thirty particularly seedy, yet placid males, and there you have it. Each of the four of us had a lady 'assigned' to us, whose primary role was to encourage the consumption of over-priced drinks, and perhaps keep us from wandering too far.

 

I'm sure they were successful, as my memory has a blank spot in it till about 6pm the next day...

 

View from the window of the Legaspi Tourist Inn... the next day

 

The next day, once I had my bearings again, and had done a few chores, we met our Filipino friend Rainer and his brother. Rainer worked in the adventure shop below us, and was an intense sort of chap. He faced directly into you as he spoke, and did so with a piercing gaze and wide teeth. He spoke about 10cm from your face, a 'close-talker', one would say.

 

Well, he showed us a good time, strip club memories aside.

 

Hey, check that out!

First, we dined on some fine Philippine cuisine, and made our way to an empty Karaoke bar, again filled with small plastic chairs. Swags bought along his 'girlfriend' that he had met the previous night at Dinner, a delightful 20-year old named Connie. For those wanting to know, John is nearly 28. That's an 8 year gap. Also, by now it should be clear, Swags fell in love nearly every day - waiters, barmaids, shopkeepers, janitors, chemist assistants, checkout operators, hooke... you get the picture.

 

Back to Rainer and his mysterious brother.

 

As it turned out, Rainer had a soulful voice with a talent for wispy American rock ballads. Immediately his accent and stilted speech would switch off, and he would become a full-throated, full-blooded American. Give him Bon Jovi, he could blow it away any day of the week. Rainer's brother joined in as well. Boy, did they have some talent. There we were - two Kiwi idiots, sitting like stunned mullets from the previous nights experience, eating Silsig (pig face), and jamming with two global superstars.

 

As the beers piled up on the table, my instincts couldn't help but kick in - this is going to be expensive. But hey, 13 beers, a pack of Marlborough Lights (I'd momentarily taken up smoking), some pig face, all for $15 wasn't a bad deal!

 

I got better and better at singing as the night wore on, my raspy, passion-soaked voice piercing the still night (I'm a Guns N Roses, Pearl Jam kinda guy). By the time Rainer has almost past out, his brother was fast asleep head down in his plate, and Swags and I were just warming up, the early morning hours wore thin, and we were home to bed.



Looming My Mayon... what trouble would find us in Legaspi...