THE SAIL FROM PHILIPPINES TO PALAU

(picture above: sunrise sailing)

After almost a year since we decided to sail to Palau, we have finally reached this beautiful place that has been ever-elusive to us. If you've been keeping up with my blog, you might remember that Ali and I left Palawan, Philippines in September, 2011 with the intention of sailing to the country of Palau in the Pacific Islands. But as circumstances had it, we got stranded, first in Boracay for 6 months, and then in Carmen, Cebu for 3 months, due to boat repairs and long-overdue maintenance. Now I'm happy to report that everything is well, the boat in fair working condition, and we finally touched down in Palau as of 7am on June 15, Friday...just two days ago.

Tim, an Australian friend that we had met in Boracay, flew to Cebu to join us on the sail. An hour after he had checked into the Philippines, he had to check out of the country again with us to prepare for the journey to Palau. We bought a year's worth of food - canned goods and sacks of rice – for storage, since we knew that goods would be much more expensive in Palau, as American dollars were the country's currency. After a week of final preparations, we said our goodbyes to good friends we had made in Cebu on June 6 and started our sail toward Siargao Island on the easternmost side of the Philippines – the last island we would be able to stop at before Palau.

We sailed all day for two days and took a rest each night by anchoring at islands along the way to Siargao. The first island we stopped at was a quiet, pretty little island with clear waters, rocks, and a lot of coconut trees. There were some residents on the island, but they lived on the other side of it from where we were anchored. It was a great feeling to be in a peaceful island again, after 3 months of town life in Cebu. I did love being around people and meeting new friends in Cebu, of course – especially meeting the young German couple circumnavigating the world, Martin and Corina...Corina becoming my best friend at the marina, whom I spent afternoons playing guitar and painting toenails with - but that time always comes for me when I just need to retreat once again from the busy world of people to the silent one of Nature. And so my little soul found rest at our first island stop.

(pictures above: our first island stop, south of Cebu)

In two days, we touched down in Siargao, an island best known as a surf destination. It wasn't hard to see why, as we were met by miles and miles of coral reef upon getting there...which makes for great surf waves but bad boat anchoring. It took us hours of tension-filled motoring across the reefs trying to get as close to shore as possible, hoping against hope that we wouldn't hear that dreaded SCRE-EEE as the bottom of the boat hits a reef. We did manage to find a spot without incident, but it wasn't close enough that a kayak ride to shore wouldn't take at least an hour. So we took the dinghy to reach land instead. More trouble came, with the dinghy engine refusing to start, which took another 2 hours; and then when it finally did start, we had to leave the dinghy about 10 minutes away from shore and walk the rest of the way in knee-deep, jellyfish-filled water, as we might have had trouble if the tide got even lower, leaving the dinghy stranded on sand. The dinghy is not a light boat. It takes at least four people to push it back into the water once it's on sand.

Our first stop at Siargao was Bayud Resort, a quiet, relaxed place, where my brother Johanne was staying for a week to facilitate a surf-yoga retreat. We got to meet the people participating in the retreat and were invited for a few spectacular vegetarian meals after that. Ali, Tim, and I borrowed Johanne's rented motorbike for the afternoon and checked out the sites around Siargao, all three of us scrunched together in one motorbike – Filipino-style. Siargao is a very laid-back island, with nothing more than resorts and restaurants as a sign of development. As I've mentioned, it's known as a surfing destination, so other than the locals, we saw nothing more than surfers upon entering a restaurant called Ocean 101 for dinner. On our way home, we found that our problem with the dinghy was just the opposite of what we were worried about earlier. The tide had gotten high, and the dinghy was now in deep water. Ali decided to swim to get the dinghy to shore and fetch us. It was already dark by that time, so he couldn't see his way very well and had to endure the harmless yet no-less-painful jellyfish stings...better one person get stung than all three of us anyway, was what we decided.

The next day, we invited Johanne's retreat group to come on the boat during their free time. They brought lunch for everyone, and we all had a generally nice time just hanging out on the boat, chatting, swimming, kayaking, and trying out the new paddle board that Ali had purchased online a few months back. There were many pretty islands around Siargao that we could've sailed to for the afternoon, but maneuvering around the reefs wasn't a feat that Ali was up to taking again. But despite that we stayed in one spot the whole afternoon, everyone enjoyed themselves immensely, just being surrounded by the ocean. In fact, when it was time to go, Johanne had a bit of a problem gathering everyone up, as the retreat people kept bargaining for a few more minutes on the boat. “It's turned into more of a vacation than a retreat, really,” Johanne joked.

(pictures above: my brother with the yoga-surf retreat group)

The next day, we decided to go for a bike ride around the island. We had sold our motorbike in Cebu and had purchased bicycles instead...much easier to get on shore than a motorbike. Tim had also purchased a bicycle for himself, which he could readily sell in Palau before he left. We had a drink at Ocean 101 and walked to the surf spot to check out the waves and surfers, and possibly do some surfing ourselves. Ali and Tim wanted to try out surfing; I, having been surfing a number of times in the past with my surf-enthusiast brothers, wasn't too excited for it anymore, as I knew all-too-well how much muscle-work and endurance it took to get past the waves and far enough out, just to get a few seconds' worth of riding the waves. I was open to the idea though, in case they decided for it, since I do recall the excitement I felt once I was out there. At the surf spot, a long boardwalk had to be crossed so that the surfers could be in deep enough water to avoid getting towed by the waves into the shallow reefs. It was mid-afternoon and extremely low tide, and we found no surfers around. We had to get back to the boat by late afternoon to start our sail to Palau, so we decided to abandon the surf idea and stick to our bike ride instead.

The roads around the island are mostly dirt roads along the coast, and we were having a pleasant time enjoying the quiet scenery of shores and little shops in the towns, when my one of my bike pedals broke off. We spent a good while trying to fix it, Ali and Tim coming up with all sorts of improvising, but nothing worked. In the end, Ali and I exchanged bikes, and he rode my bike on one pedal. He was not a happy camper by the time we got back to Bayud Resort, let's put it at that. Well, so much for China-made bikes. I'll just have to get a better one at some point.

Once at the resort, we found the dinghy now stranded on the shore due to extremely low tide. We waited for the tide to rise and relaxed at the nice resort. The tide didn't rise until 7 p.m. though, which meant that we could no longer start our sail to Palau that day. It would be too tricky getting past the reefs in the dark. So as always with life on a boat, a change of plans was necessary. We rose at 5 a.m. the next morning (okay, Ali and Tim rose at 5 a.m., and I rose at 6 a.m.) and set out for the 4-day/4-night nonstop sail to Palau. We decided that we would each take 4-hour shifts in watching the boat. I got first dibs in choosing my watches, so I chose the 6am-10am and 6pm-10pm shifts. That would give me a proper night's sleep, from 10pm-6am, which was my usual bedtime anyway. Ali chose the 2pm-6pm and 2am-6am shifts, so he could catch the sunrise and sunsets. That left Tim with 10am-2pm and 10pm-2am shifts, which he was happy to take, since he liked to go to bed late and sleep through the morning. So we were all content with our shifts.

(above: taking pictures at chilled out Bayud Resort while waiting for the tide to rise)

Except for hours of trying to maneuver around the reefs and out of Siargao, our first day was a clear, sunny, and relatively uneventful one. One of the boat engines did break, but there was enough wind for us to sail without engine. We just had to forgo the speed we originally intended to go. By my night shift at 6pm, Ali went to bed to get his rest before his early morning shift, while Tim accompanied me on my watch. Later in the night, a guy from a cargo ship in our vicinity came on the radio, greeting us in Filipino with “Kabayan...over” (“Fellow countryman...over”). We decided to have a bit of fun, so Tim radioed back, saying, “Magandang gabi” (“Good evening”). The guy greeted back, and then a guy from another boat joined in as well, saying something in Chinese. We decided to abandon the radio then.

Weather-wise, everything went lethargically the first day, but by my morning shift the next day, the winds got stronger due to some small storms lurking around. This was good news, as long as the storms didn't hit us directly. The winds got the boat sailing a little faster so that we were able to make up for lost time during the first day.

We had set up a couple of fishing rods at the back for trolling when we left Siargao, in hopes of catching some tuna, but had gotten nothing except false alarms so far. When Ali called us for about the tenth time in two days that he thought a fish had been hooked, Tim and I started joking about “the boy who cried wolf”. Wouldn't you know it. There on the hook when Ali reeled the line in, was a big, fat yellow fin tuna, about a foot-and-a-half in length; more than enough for the three of us to have a proper meal. Unfortunately, in our excitement to get the fish on the grill, none of us remembered to take a picture. So I'll just have to leave that to your imagination. We decided to stuff and grill the head part of the fish, and make sashimi out of the tail part. It was a glorious lunch that refueled our bodies and spirits for the arduous journey. By the second day, there were no longer any islands around us – just sea and sky – and we knew this would be a constant for us in the next few days. So we were grateful for the gift from the sea.

Maybe the fish meal was an advanced compensation for what was to come, because later in the afternoon, the radar broke, and Tim, having good background in electronics, had to try and fix it. Repairs being in vain, Ali resorted to climbing halfway up the mast to try and fix the sonar. That didn't work either, so we hoped for good weather at night, at least, since without the radar, we wouldn't be able to see the direction the storms were headed and would therefore not be able to avoid them in time if they came our way. And that night, starting on my shift again (I did think for awhile that it was some kind of joke being played on me that things should start happening on my shifts in particular), ominous clouds started looming overhead. That kept the boys up all night, while they allowed me to snooze through the rest of the night once my shift was over. I must have been very tired, since I slept soundly despite the hard rain and the waves rocking and banging violently at the boat.

(picture above: Ali climbing up the mast to fix the sonar)

The third morning awoke me to a very tired boat crew, but a bit of hope, with better weather and the exhilarating sight of ten or so dolphins feeding by the boat and swimming a bit of the way with us. Our third day, though wavy, proved to be all sunshine. We each got to rest well that night after our respective shifts, as the sky was clear and stars were fully out.

(pictures above: a relaxed third day at sea)

The fourth day brought an overcast sky, so we kept on our toes for possible storms. A few were brought our way, but thankfully, nothing more catastrophic than some large waves knocking kitchen stuff over, with a glass bottle breaking and spilling cooking oil all over the floor, while I held on tightly to the pan and kettle of water simmering over the stove, which had threatened to fall over too. What else could we do except finish cooking the dinner over slippery, oil-soaked floor filled with shard glass, while cleaning up the mess. The storm got worse at night, and again, Ali and Tim both stayed up all night, relieving each other of duty every 2 hours by turns. I left my shift half an hour earlier, got out of my rain-drenched clothes and into some dry ones, and went straight to bed at 9:30pm. I was thankful that Tim was with us, since of course he had far, far more strength and endurance than I did, which allowed me quite a bit of slack from the boys regarding my boat tasks.

(picture above: sailing past storms at 6 knots with the tiniest bit of sail ever!)

By 5 a.m. on the fifth day, we finally caught sight of the island of Palau. We were overjoyed by the sight of land. We could feel a proper rest getting closer and closer. Tim woke up still shivering from the night before, when hard rain unluckily fell for a very long time on his watch, but he was equally happy that we had finally reached our destination. It had been a long journey that had felt like weeks, with the boat continuously on the move day and night. Towards the end of the journey, we had started to ask why the sea was giving us such a hard time; there had been more storm than good weather. The answer, of course, is that the sea was simply doing its thing, as it always has, and we were the guests who had decided to brave its many moods; what right or power did we have to make it other than it was? The sea is what it is. A woman, they say, in many ways. One can never completely predict its moods, yet we love it anyway.

(picture above: WWII shipwreck at the reefs on entering Palau)

Palau's breathtaking beauty of rock islands scattered across still, green waters let us know that our journey had been well worth it. We passed through quarantine, and I held my breath in fervent hope that Customs would not confiscate my plants - two of which I had been taking care of for 2 years already. Ali saved my plants by telling Customs that I had painstakingly grown them from seed. So Customs ended up asking us to take the plants inside the boat, and took our fresh fruits and vegetables instead, which held the possibility of carrying insects and/or possible disease into the country, should we mistakenly bring the food to shore. And then finally, we were able to anchor at a peaceful, pretty lagoon, where other yachts were also anchored.

That night, the typhoon that the weather forecast had warned about prior to our sail finally hit Palau with a vengeance. It simply passed over during the night and headed toward the south of the Philippines - the course we had been on. So we suddenly realized just how lucky we actually were to have gotten to Palau in time. It wouldn't have been possible had it not been for the smaller storms that gave us good wind, and therefore speed, along the way. Our sailing troubles immediately turned into blessings that had spared us from the big typhoon. Nothing can convince me now that what we see as troubles are not actually blessings in disguise!

So here we are today, in Palau, after a very long and patient wait – 9 months, to be exact - sitting in an open Internet cafe called The Drop Off, in front of close-by islands with lush forests and a tranquil sea of green. As I write this blog, I'm enjoying a refreshing iced coffee and a burrito that I know I won't be able to finish. After a bit more rest, we will be ready to fully explore this wondrous country of outstandingly friendly Palauans and a maze of picturesque islands to get lost in. Our sailing adventure from the Philippines to Palau has now come to a close, and a new one is about to begin. And I will be back soon to tell you of it!

Climbing Mountains for the Afternoon

The boat is back in the water and we're now home-sweet-home again. We spent a couple of days getting everything tidy, and the boat's livable again now, but final repairs are still going on outside of it (I'll bet you're sick of hearing about the repairs. Trust me, so am I. But no worries, once the boat is all souped up, it'll be about another 5 years before we have to get stuck with maintenance again! Besides, it's aaaall a part of the boat life; love it or leave it).

I had planned to finally get back to work on my writing today, as I do have a deadline for my work, even if it's not a 9-5 job. But I woke up today to the usual scratching and hammering, which goes on from sunup to sundown these days. The construction noise was more than my ears could take after a couple of days of it, and especially after waking up from a nightmare I had about monsters invading my house - I wasn't in the best mood.

I had just finished reading a novel about a man who journeyed on foot across the U.S. after losing everything in his life; his business, his home, and his wife. Then, browsing through the Internet for awhile, I stumbled on an article about the numerous benefits of walking for 40 minutes a day or so; and then after some more browsing, found a sort of Astrological predictions video on this month apparently being a phase of the year where our need for physical activity is high and will gain us much-needed energy if we “heed the call”. So I took all these as signs that the Universe wanted me to get walking today. Ali thought it a welcome idea too.

When we were looking for a temporary apartment in Carmen a couple of months back, we accidentally stumbled onto some mountain trails and had planned on hiking them one day; so today, we decided to head back to that place.

Maybe it was because Survival Camp had trained our muscles and mentality for arduous trekking, but our hike up the mountains was a very pleasurable one, with just a few beads of sweat running down our backs from the heat, and a few pants now and then. Along the way, we were met by a variety of views: a hundred or so rubber trees scattered for miles; a bright, open field under the midday sun, filled with vegetation; and a cool, shady trail of forest dotted with ferns (which ferns we of course picked for food, just to re-live our glorious Survival Camp days).

Halfway up, we decided to stop and admire the view, which was now an expanse of mountains, fields, sea, and sky. We relished the silence for awhile under the shade of a big tree. Then looking up at the tree, I was pleasantly surprised to see that it was the kind that bore little tropical “berries” called Aratelis! Childhood memories suddenly flooded through me of jumping over a fence into someone's backyard with my brothers and friends, and quietly picking those sweet, succulent little fruits, while stuffing them into our folded shirts to collect. We would pick the fruits until the owner shouted at us to get off his property, and we would scramble away with our prized goodies; and then come back again the next day. I had been dreaming to taste these berries again ever since I'd gotten back from Canada...which was more than 15 years ago! So now I picked and picked, and ate and ate, to my heart's content. Ali looked at the berries skeptically at first, while I squeezed them and delightedly sucked their insides into my mouth. Then, after a taste, he decided that they were “Really quite good and very sweet.”

After our berry-fest, we continued our hike up the mountain, and were rewarded with a view that got even more breathtaking. There's something about being on top of a mountain that can instantly wash away all the day's worries. I suspect it's because when you're at that height, looking far down below at the crowd of houses and buildings gathered in the towns, you become literally, and then figuratively, above it all. And when everything below looks so small, you feel like your daily worries, which you had left down there in the city, are that small too. Miniscule, compared to the grandeur of the Universe. So we stood contentedly in the vastness.

It was late afternoon by the time we decided to call it a day. Walking back down, we did one more stop off the trail, at a grassy meadow, to take in the view, the peaceful silence, and the cooling breeze one last time, and I got to pick some more berries for a last fill of juicy sweetness.

On the way home, we passed by a sign that said “Mud Crabs for Sale” and another great idea struck us, so we motored back to the road where the sign had pointed to. We had been back on our vegetable diet for a few days now, so we figured it was time to get a good boost of protein again. We were able to purchase some large crabs at a local fishery, and finally went on home, eager for our special seafood dinner.

There was some rice left over from lunch, so I simply cooked some more, just to make sure we'd have enough to go with our crabs. Unfortunately, I burnt the rice because I got so engrossed with writing this blog; so I put some potatoes to bake in the oven instead, as an easy alternative.

I have to admit, I don't like putting live crabs into boiling water, especially while they fight for their life; I feel almost inhumane doing it. But I believe in the saying, “If you can't kill it, don't eat it.” So I stroked the crabs' heads to put them to sleep, and then with my eyes half-closed, popped them into the boiling water. A little mishap went on, as the legs of the largest and feistiest crab suddenly clung onto the side of the pot in an attempt to escape. I let out a little squeal as it frantically tried to get out, and I frantically tried to push it back in. Thankfully, the boiling water killed it in a matter of seconds. Well...cheers to supper! (And my deep apologies to the last crab. Next time, I'll be very sure to make it a quicker death for you guys.)

So my day didn't start off on the right foot; but I was able to end it with a big smile on my face and a satisfied tummy. My work awaits me tomorrow. I'll probably have to put in some extra time to make up for the lost one today. But sometimes, I guess you just have to put off your plans for the day, so the Universe could give you a better one.

Tropical Survival Camp!

There have been delays in boat repairs, so we've had to stay in Carmen, Cebu an extra month. We've been here for exactly 2 months now, which is frankly, more than enough time for my feet to start itching to land on some new sites again. Okay, maybe I have a bit of ADD there, but for as long as I can afford it, I'll take it. I'll worry about what to do when the time comes that I can no longer hop around from place to place. For now, what we did choose to do while waiting for repairs to finish, was to hop on a plane to Subic Bay, in northern Philippines. We decided it would be our only opportunity to experience the Survival Camp being offered there, and up our skills a bit in the Tarzan department.

Jungle Environmental Survival Training Camp (JEST Camp) offers a choice between a one-day seminar on survival and a 3-day boot camp, led by the Aetas (Philippine aborigines) – the same people who trained the U.S. Army and Navy for the Vietnam War for survival in the tropical jungles. Of course we chose the 3-day boot camp! What could be better than a simulation of what it's really like to survive in the jungles, right?

I packed a sweater, a couple of shirts, a pair of shorts and pants, some underwear and a toothbrush, insect repellent, a book to read, and a camera for pictures – oh, and some toilet paper, because I didn't like the idea of wiping my...you know...with leaves - and patted myself on the back for my ability to bring only the bare essentials. But when we got there, we were told that we couldn't bring anything at all, except the clothes on our back and a machete each, which the camp provided for us. “Realistically, when you're in a survival situation, you wouldn't exactly have toilet paper or a fresh change of underwear, now would you?” they annoyingly told us. So all that well-planned packing flew out the window...or rather, into the camp's cabinets.

I couldn't even bargain to bring my cigarettes, even though I reasoned that typically, in a survival situation, I bet I would have my cigarettes with me; so I filled my lungs instead, with as much nicotine as I could before we started off. I felt confident the first couple of hours into the jungle trek, that I could do without a smoke for the next 2 days; that I had the willpower. But as the day wore on, I started to feel the craving more and more; especially as tiredness and boredom started to set in.

There were 6 of us who signed up for the camp: Ali, my brother Joh and me, a Canadian guy named Chris, and an American guy named Bruno, with his Filipina partner, Gretchen. We hiked up and down the hills for hours, starting in the late morning, with none of us knowing when it would end, nor where the destination was. The guide gave us little treats of Yam leaves along the way though, and taught us how to use our machetes for cutting bamboos and vines that contained water (sometimes in droplets, sometimes in short gushes). “How hard is it to cut wood with a machete?” we all arrogantly assumed. We were wrong about that. While the guide expertly chopped bamboo in two or three strokes, we barely scratched it after a few hundred hammerings, and on finally breaking, the wood was a frayed mess under our panting, sweaty faces and sore arms. Apparently, using a machete required more technique than brawn...though of course, it did require a certain amount of endurance and blisters too.

(picture above: our survival instructor teaching us to climb the Yam tree for food)

Further on, the guide stopped in front of a particular cluster of bamboos and started chopping one of them up. There were bats the size of a man's thumb inside the hollow trunk. He said that the holes in the bamboo were signs of bats' homes, but warned us that they could also be snakes' homes. He pulled the bats out of the trunk one-by-one. “This is dinner,” he stated matter-of-factly. Right, of course. He gathered the bats carefully into another bamboo trunk, about a foot long, which he carried thereafter, to get the bats safely onto a plate later on. One bat got away, and in our hunger – we hadn't had anything except a quick breakfast before camp hours ago, and some leaves along the way, besides that we were tired and thirsty - we all admittedly felt our heart sink at one less piece of bat-be-cue (which we fondly started to call it).

(picture above: roasted bats for dinner!)

After even more grueling trekking, we eventually reached a stream, and got down to cutting our own pieces of bamboo for cups to fill with water. It was another challenge, as we tried to cut out bamboo cups without breaking them with the blows of our machetes. It took a good hour before we all finally found our techniques and gained our prized cups for the thirst-quenching water. Later on, after a painful hike upward (by this time, our bodies were weak from the nonstop trek and bamboo chopping, and absence of food) we reached the top of a large hill, sweaty and short of breath, but refreshed by the beautiful top view of the jungle at the edge of the cliff. We had a nice few minutes of picture-taking after catching our breath. Gretchen had snuck her camera along with her. “Damnit I knew I could've brought my cigarettes!” was what I said to that. After the short rest, we continued the trek again, and finally reached our campsite .

We just wanted to sit down and rest, but instead, were taught how to build forts, because we couldn't waste any time since signs of rain started to appear in the clouds. So we started to build our forts for the night, with everyone quietly cutting at bamboos and tying up ends together with vines that served as our ropes. The forts were elevated, because there was a bit of danger in sleeping on the ground, with scorpions and snakes and such. Giant leaves were used as well, for extra protection from the rain and “cushion” for our beds. It took a good afternoon of consistent tree and wood chopping before we finally finished. We were exhausted and dirty when we did finish, and dusk had come by then; but we did welcome the short rain shower that cooled us, and felt a nice little sense of achievement at having built our sturdy bamboo forts. Then, as if we hadn't just spent a whole day trekking and building houses, we had to march down the hill to another stream about 30 minutes away from camp, to gather water to take back with us, in long bamboo trunks (YES, it's all about bamboo) – and then took another (by this time, excruciatingly painful) 30-minute hike uphill back to camp.

The guide then taught us how to make fire, which I thought was the coolest part - no matches, no flints, just bamboo cuttings! - so we had a bonfire going for the rest of the night. I have to say that gas stoves, and even coal pits that employ matches, are decidedly magical, convenient tools, after trying to build a fire from just wood. It took at least more than 2 hours just to collect wood, get a fire going, and finish cooking. There was no such thing as 30-minute meals here, no matter how simple the meal; 30 minutes is only the time it takes to start a fire...and that's with an expert guide along too.

(picture above: instructions on building a fire with bamboo)

We cooked up a supper of bat-be-cue and steamed veggies in soup, using – guess what - the bamboo trunks for our pots. The guide had brought a bit of rice with him, as well as some onions and ginger to make our meal tastier, but none of us were about to complain that “typically, in a survival situation, you wouldn't have rice with you”. No. We kept our mouths shut. As it was, we were about to have a meal fit for 2-3 people, and there were 8 of us there; including the guide, and his handy-assistant son, who spent more time texting on his phone than assisting his dad, really. I don't know if it was because of complete hunger, but we got a bat each, and it tasted just like chicken! It took all of one bite to eat the tiny thing, but I decided to make mine last a little longer by finishing it in two bites. We also got a bit of a treat with some Banaba tree bark boiled for tea, and fallen beans we had gathered along the trails for coffee. With stomachs no longer growling – but not exactly satisfied, either - we sat by the fire quietly, preparing to relax for the night. But apparently, it wasn't time for bed yet.

Our leg muscles already sore and shaky, we once again set off down the hill for the stream; this time, to catch our meal for the next day in the critters that came out at dusk. The moon was full – and due to be the biggest one this year – so there were no frogs to be found. But we did manage to find a few crablets and shrimps, and one fish the size of a hotdog, after a couple of hours of hunting. On occasion, the guide told us, they caught a chicken or a wild boar, but none were found while we there. Later, the guide asked us why we didn't bring anything with us at all. We of course told him that we weren't permitted to. He then said that we were one of only a couple of groups in the history of the camp who hadn't insisted on bringing any of our stuff with us – people usually put up a fight just to bring their camping gear, including some canned goods, most probably with the simple statement: “Hey, we're paying for this!” So now he tells us.

Ali, being the only one among us wearing shorts, was attacked violently on his legs by mosquitoes, so he'd had to cut the sleeves off his sweater, to act as long socks for his exposed lower legs. That did the trick, but left him with a tattered, short-sleeved sweater. That practically-brand-new sweater sacrificed itself because we had no other belongings with us.

We groped our way back in the dark, armed with our next meal and a few more heavy, giant leaves that we could use for additional roofs, and which I at one point, wanted to throw away to make my hike back up the hill a little easier. Completely fatigued from the laborious day of lugging things back-and-forth and up-and-down, thirsty from having nothing but rationed water, hungry from lack of food, and attacked by hideous armies of giant mosquitoes, we finally got to lie in our forts to call it a night. But the ordeal was still far from over. The hard, uneven bamboo flooring made our muscles ache even more (the “cushion leaves” did nothing, except stain our clothes), and the mosquitoes buzzing relentlessly in our ears and biting every little inch of exposed skin on us led to sleeplessness. We all took short naps and got up restlessly by turns, cursing the hour we'd decided that signing up for the camp was a good idea. In the end, we hoped for daybreak to relieve us of having to sleep. It was the longest night of our pampered, cushion-hugging lives. Prior to this camp, I thought I'd already been living a fairly simple life by contenting myself with vegetable meals, some clothing, a low-paying job, and travel. Ha! Think again, Janis.

How we could then appreciate everything that we already had back home, I can't even describe! Even tiny grains of cooked rice that fell out of our plates during meals were hurriedly saved from the ground and popped into our mouths like the most precious commodity in the world. And they were, during those 3 days!

(pictures above: our much-awaited chow times)

We both wished for and dreaded the next day. We wished for it, so that we'd get closer to going home, and we dreaded it because we doubted we had any more strength to go through what we did a second time. We had no choice but to endure it though, and so we did. Gathering what reservoir of strength we had left, we all set off. A lot of silence took place during camp, because even talking took up too much needed energy. Believe me, we all wanted to chat, just to make time pass quicker and distract ourselves from the tiredness, especially while we did our hours of trekking...and we tried...but it only left us weaker and gasping for breath even more. But the next day turned out to be a little more pleasant than the first. We gathered some more edible leaves along the way for the next meal, and by late morning, ended up at the waterfalls. We were able to fill our parched mouths with the fresh water, and then started gathering wood for fire, and cooking our crabs and shrimps, veggies, and rice. We spread out some giant leaves and dumped all the food in the middle, and dug in hungrily. We were too tired to chop up another set of bamboo plates, so we all shared the food in the giant leaf-plate instead. After the meal, we jumped into the waterfalls, excited for our first bath. I could not, for the life of me, get the vine sap off my arms and fingernails, so they stayed. But even a soap-less bath felt like a luxury...even if we had to put the same dingy clothes back on after that. You'd be surprised though, that there is actually a bark of a particularly tree that produces fragrant suds of “soap”, which we also used the day before to wash our hands. But it involves a great deal of pounding with a big rock before you can use it, which is why we decided to do without it during our bath. Energy-saving became our objective.

We were afforded a noontime nap before we set off again. Ali and I rested on a bench, but a minute later had to move because the noontime sun was scorching us. Other benches around were already taken, so we took a bamboo bed a little up a hill that someone had made before. Just when we'd gotten ourselves comfortable, the bed broke and crashed onto the ground. I didn't know whether to laugh or cry, but I decided that the irony of it all did merit a good laugh, if nothing else.

On the next leg of the trek, still feeling weak but a little more refreshed, we passed through a fern valley, and instead of lying on the soft comfort of the grass, we picked handfuls of ferns for supper. If you're beginning to think that survival seems to consist quite a bit of finding food for our next meal and cooking it, you're right. We spend hours searching for food, and hours building the fire and cooking. Then again, we also spend hours hiking for a good campsite, and even more hours chopping wood for our forts and our fire. Then we sleep (or at least try to). On the way to our next camp destination, though, we were also taught which of the plants acted as medicine for both minor and major cuts. We used those leaves right away for nothing short of a good few scratches on our arms from branches and thorns.

The next site was a great relief to us, as it was right beside a river; no more long, arduous treks, gathering and carrying jugs of water back to camp, while we painstakingly balanced the open top-end of the bamboo to keep precious water from spilling out of it, while keeping an eye on our path because hidden vines on the leaf-covered jungle floor easily tripped us like sneaky rascals, and while evading the millions of branches that scraped our faces and threatened our water to spill along the way (Yes, even water was that hard to procure).

The scenery at the next camp site was quite breathtaking, with the mountains, the peaceful gush of the stream, the whistling birds, and the handsome, gigantic trees scattered everywhere. While I pondered on how to build my next fort the easiest possible way and the American-Filipino couple got to work on theirs, Ali, Chris, and my brother Joh had a long discussion about sleeping on leaves on the ground right by the fire, where no insects or mosquitoes would likely come close. There was a small bamboo bedding already available there from past groups, so I took that and started building a roof for it. Ali decided to join me, and we got to work chopping up the wood. Later on, I saw Joh and Chris come back to camp carrying ready-made bamboo mats, which they had found from an abandoned indigenous village nearby. “Work smart, not hard,” Joh said with a victorious smile. He and Chris spent the rest of the time lounging by the river, while the rest of us tried to finish our forts.

(picture above: hanging at our little abode)

That night, we had snails, vegetables, and the last bit of remaining rice for our meal. To our relief, there was to be no more trekking, so we sat by the river, and then by the campfire, eager to go home the next day. We talked mostly about what food we would eat, once we got back to civilization. In fact, most of our conversations during the whole camp revolved around food. It was another long night before dawn finally showed up again. But after the first night, I decided to willfully ignore my aching bones on the hard, bumpy bamboo, just to get some sleep. Once or twice, Ali woke me, saying, “It's almost morning,” only to crawl back into bed upon realizing that it was only the full moon brightening the sky to make it look like the first signs of dawn have appeared. Then, finally, dawn really arrived, and with a last burst of adrenaline, everyone got up quickly for the last long hike back home.

First thing I thought of on our trek back to society was the pack of cigarettes waiting for me. A victory smoke would definitely be in order! I did also congratulate myself for having endured 2 days without a cigarette. On the first night, I desperately stuffed a thin bamboo stalk with dried leaves and lit it with the fire, but the leaves just wouldn't keep burning; so I contented myself with pretending that the stick was an actual cigarette, and blew invisible puffs of smoke into the air. Halfway back to the camp office, we were picked up by an army truck - a rescue simulation - and we got to stand at the back of it, relishing the nice breeze that blew in our hot faces. If you'd have seen us, you would've thought we were a pathetic-looking bunch of refugees who had just won their ticket to freedom after years of war – and it felt that way too.

So we got to have our nice showers, soap and everything. We had chips, pasta, chicken, pizza, sausages, and everything else we could get our hands on. I had my victory smoke. And at night, we each slept soundly on our nice, cushioned beds. We had all the things that we so often took for granted, and we had them with a gratefulness that far exceeded any we'd ever felt before. But interestingly, jungle life took its place in our hearts too; and we spent some time sharing the experience with each other.

In the jungle, we discovered that just when we thought we had no more strength to give, we always did. We discovered that the power of the mind, when focused on the task at hand, was indeed what dictated what the body could yet do. We discovered that we could survive off very little, and that anything more than that was in fact, a luxury. We spent no time arguing or designating roles on tasks, because each of us simply did what we could for the good of all – no ego, no confusion...just results. Our energies and efforts were focused on getting the essentials of food, water and shelter, instead of wasted on trivial things like “How do I look?” or “How do I smell?” or “I'm tired/hungry, etc.”

A day in the jungle feels like a few days, and two days feels like a week, which is why, though fatigued, we gladly poured our efforts into work, to make the hours fly faster. At night, we had free time to kill because we knew that if we slept too early (around 9pm), we would surely be up even before dawn, from bed discomfort combined with just enough sleep to take the tired snoring away that we so badly wanted; so we sat watching the fire sizzle and listening to the peaceful croons of the jungle until full exhaustion could take over, enough for us to sleep through discomfort.

In the jungle, despite that life was hard, it was also simple and pure, and stripped of the confusion and trivialities of modern society. We bonded in the silence and we bonded through work and cooperation. We felt closer to one another in 3 days than people normally do in a month, because we shared the same experience of hunger and fatigue, and we bore it all together. We looked out for one another, and we boosted each others' morale so we could all keep going. This is what stayed with us.

(picture above: reward = food fest at the resto!)

Would I do it again if I could? Oh, hell no! It wasn't fun, it was a learning experience filled with bruises, blisters, and mosquito bites. But should a time come when we are stranded in a jungle setting, I have a very good idea what it will be like now, and I can say that we all walked out of that camp armed with more knowledge and confidence in our ability to survive. Some things in life aren't fun; but that doesn't mean they shouldn't be experienced. And let me end with a popular quote that couldn't be more perfect for the boot camp experience: “What doesn't kill us only makes us stronger.” I sure feel stronger. I have forfeited the right to complain that a walk to the corner store is too far, or that most of our things still don't come with a remote control. If anything, it's more fun to know “You can”...and even, “You can do without.”

(P.S. A big thank you to Gretchen for being the one behind the camera, supplying us with the memories!)

Fish Out Of Water

We've been here in Carmen, Cebu for the past 3 weeks now. We're currently at a marina, with the boat hauled out onto land at the yard for maintenance. It's been a busy time for us, finding an apartment to stay at temporarily, catching up on work, and running to and fro for boat stuff. Fortunately, things have settled down a bit now, and I can finally update my blog!

So what's been happening then...

Well, as I've mentioned, we had to look for an apartment in town, since the boat is currently situated on land for repairs. We initially hoped we could stay on the boat while the men did repairs outside of it, but remembered that we wouldn't have water and wouldn't be able to flush the toilet either, as these are all functions that need the boat to be on the sea (catch my drift about the toilet-flushing issue? ;)) 

So we set off to find a cheap place to stay for the whole month that we have to be here, and eventually found a 2-storey, 2-bedroom apartment in a nearby town at P6000/mth (roughly 140USD). Great find, really, especially considering its spaciousness, though it's very basic. The apartment came with a plastic table and chairs, some cabinets for furniture, and an air-conditioner (which we don't really use, since the place is already so nice and cool) so we just had to buy a handy stove for our meals and a mattress for our bedding; all-in-all, still far cheaper than having to rent a room at a resort and having to eat our meals outside. It's also relatively quiet at the place (no videoke's nearby!), and we don't mind the roosters around the area either, since they serve as our alarm clock in the morning, save for that one confused rooster who likes to cockle at 12 midnight.

Our unit is situated at the end of a row of apartment units, so that we get some nice greenery with a creek for a backyard, where neighbors also do their clothes-washing and kids swim or hunt around for forest critters. The neighbors like to play the radio all day, tuned in to a love song station, which I don't mind much either. At least it's not the usual loud, hammering music that Filipinos like to play, with the intention of serving as the neighborhood alarm clock, should roosters not do the trick; one of those good-hearted but misplaced intentions.

We usually spend our days at the marina, and only go home to the apartment at night for dinner and sleep. There's a nice resto-bar at the marina, which I find is very conducive to a relaxed working atmosphere, so we've set up a little office at one of the restaurant tables, comfortable and breezy and overlooking the sea. Gets the creative juices flowing, if I may say so.

The marina restaurant is the only one I've ever known that doesn't offer a food menu. They provide the ingredients, and you tell them how you want it done. On our first night, Sheila the cook asked us what we wanted, and since she said we could order anything we wanted, Ali asked for a duck roast, and I asked for Ox tongue. “No, we don't have those,” was the serious reply. So it was a fun game for awhile, trying to guess what food they actually had in store, and whether or not Sheila could cook it the way we wanted it done. We finally ended up ordering what the other table was having. Easier.

In the late afternoons to evenings, we sit at the bar to chat and watch TV with the staff and other boat owners staying there. Cable television is one of those little things I've come to appreciate much since I've lived on the boat, because we only really get to have it during the few times we're on land. I like it this way though, only having it occasionally, because I find that too much of it also makes me sluggish and dulls my senses quite abit; plus, I appreciate it much more exactly because I only get to have it sometimes.

The people who come into the restaurant, besides the staff, are boat-owners themselves, with most of them living on the boat, and some simply having a boat for leisure while they live in a house on land. Most of them are also older (anywhere from 40-60 years old), so most of our “boat pals” are around this age range. They're very amusing and interesting people to talk to, as they know so much, having lived twice as long as Ali and I have. They're rich with sailing experiences, adventure, and worldly knowledge to share; and they're always keen on sharing these with us 'younger ones'. But what I find the most fascinating about these sailors is their quirky characters.

There's Zeik, the owner of the marina, a scatter-brained man with whom Ali finds it abit frustrating to talk to, as he tends to forget things they just talked about 2 minutes before, regarding our boat repairs. Interestingly though, Zeik never forgets to do a single one of those boat tasks after the conversation. Actions speak louder than words? I guess you can put it that way too for his case. On some days, Zeik likes to have one-too-many drinks at the resto, and then turns the music on full-volume (much to the detriment of all our ears), and will accept a nice request from one of the customers to turn it down a little, only for him to turn it up again slowly as the night progresses...eventually managing to put the music back at full blast. Other than that, though, he's a nice, happy-go-lucky guy with a booming voice that can carry over the sea, and a strange, cackling laugh that by itself, gives me a good laugh too.

Then there's Chiquitta, a 40-something-year-old Aussie woman who comes into the resto almost every night for her shots of rum and a dose of television. A very nice and soft-spoken lady, who throws cup holders into the kitchen door to get the staff's attention when she wants something, or when she just wants to say Hi to them. She has a cast on one leg from dancing on the bar-top and falling off during her birthday celebration a few weeks back. Ali and I spend most nights watching TV with Chiquitta and the kitchen staff, making fun of characters on reality TV shows while having a few beers. We have yet to see Chiquitta's husband, who seems almost a ghost to us, as he never leaves their boat; so we've never really seen him. Lately, we've been suspicious about whether or not a husband really exists. But then again, the guy supposedly broke an arm from falling off his motorbike when some locals got him drunk off Red Horse beer. Yeah, well...that beer! So that's most likely why he's been keeping himself in their boat. Although a broken leg doesn't stop Chiquitta from visiting the resto nightly.

A couple of weeks back, we also met a young boat-owner, Clemens (about 30-something years old), a cheerful, boisterous German guy who likes to laugh and make jokes. He's a husband and father of 2 boys and a baby girl. All his kids were born and raised on their boat, so these kids have never known a life on land. They're home-schooled; and I have to say, they're some of the smartest kids I've ever met! I mean, I've personally never met a 6-year-old who was obsessed with Astro-physics (I know Astroboy, that's as far as I go with that); and while Ali and Clemens surmise about all things scientific, this kid supplies answers the 2 grown-ups beside him couldn't even come up with, with all their complex scientific facts. You gotta wonder sometimes if it's actually kids that have more sense than grown-ups, and not the other way around. Many times, kids' facts, although very simple, make astounding sense...so that we tend to feel stupid for not having come up with something so right-in-our-face. Now my partner's a really smart guy - IQ-wise and everything - and he isn't easily impressed by facts; but this time he couldn't help exclaiming, “This kid's smarter than me!” Guess he finally met his match in a 6-year-old.

We got to have a tour of Clemens' boat the night before they left, as they threw a going-away party. Their boat was actually a miniature ship, complete with an entertainment room, a massive kitchen and living area, a library for the kids to hang out in, crew bedrooms, storage rooms, and proper engine rooms. There are some crew members living on the boat temporarily; mostly travelers in their 20's, but a couple of them in their 40's or 50's as well. Clemens and his wife accept people to sail around with them, in exchange for being part of the boat crew, all-expense paid. Another requirement is to become part of the couple's work as environmental volunteers.

So these are just some of the people around the marina. It's a nice change of pace for us to be here too. For one thing, we're living on land, which is always a bit different after having lived on sea for awhile. The ground feels stable...sometimes too stable, it's eerie. When we go to bed, we almost expect the waves to rock us to sleep; but no waves, just hard, solid ground. It's also dustier, which unfortunately means I have to bathe more often. And space is a lot smaller here, since on a boat, you have the whole sea for your backyard and the sky for your ceiling, with only a few other boats to share your space with. But on land, you're also closely surrounded by people, and it reminds me of the days when I had neighbors and the sounds of daily human activities around me; vehicles passing by, women chatting while doing laundry, men hammering away, kids running around playing, and dogs barking. I can't help but smile at all these sounds that were once so familiar, and at times, annoying to me. In a way, the sounds lend an intimacy between me and the people around me; living to see another day together and being participants in life's daily little activities.

The land and its communities of people may only be my temporary home these days, but it always welcomes me warmly anyway when I do come. I guess this is why I love change as well. You get to appreciate things so much more than if you were constantly immersed in them. You especially learn to appreciate the little things that you once took for granted, just because they were always around. I know that when we go back to our boat, I'll get the same chance to appreciate my home on the sea all over again too. Changes are good. Changes offer a fresh perspective; even on things you thought you already knew so well.

Hidden Wonders of the Camotes Islands

It took a whole day of sailing for us to get to the Camotes group of islands, just East of mainland Cebu. We were amazed by the clarity of the blue waters as we anchored in a large bay at sunset. Even in the dark, we could clearly see the bottom at a 6-meter depth. I was feeling too cold to jump into the water and thought I would save my swim for the morning, but Ali jumped in and found a little sort of alien world down there, with large abandoned cages scattered across the reefs. He said it looked like an underwater city, with all the cages as buildings and the fish as residents. Later in the night though, we were asked to move our boat, as apparently, we had chosen to anchor in a marine sanctuary! Well, so much for that morning swim for me.

We decided to anchor at the next lagoon, which was mostly a wall of nice rocks, with houses perched on top of them and stairs that you could climb from the water to get on land. There was a shore at the other end of the lagoon, but it would be a longer kayak ride for us to get to the shore from the boat, so we opted for the staircases nearby. We parked the kayak by the staircase of a quaint little resort called Harbor View, and got their permission to leave it there. Then they offered us to rent a motorbike to get around the island, as the island was too large to be traveled on foot. We knew this to be true, based on some initial research about the place, so we agreed.

But first-things-first, we needed cash! There was no ATM at Malapascua Island, and on this one, there was only one machine, located at Poro town proper . The friendly, helpful people at the resort offered to take us on the motorbike so we could try to get some cash out, since we only had a total of P20 in our pockets. And to our dismay, when we did get to the ATM machine, it was offline...on a Monday! The locals informed us that the machine was out of cash, and that it had to be refilled by staff coming from the mainland; and that it was a common occurrence. However, there was an abundance of pawnshops, so an idea formed in my head...to ask the good ol' parents a favor! We managed to borrow some cash from my parents, and got it sent via Mluilhier Pawnshop, to be paid back as soon as we touch down to mainland Cebu in a couple of days...and so we began our explorations by motorbike.

The Camotes group of islands is segmented by many barangays. There are four islands in total, with two of them joined together by a small bridge. The conjoined islands of Poro and Pacijan were where we decided to explore and call them one island. There are schools and children everywhere, so it came to mind that education and making babies were the primary focus of the island. Other projects of importance are environmental in nature; from fisheries, to reforestation projects, to mangrove habitat protection. Each of the schools have their own plant nurseries as well, where the kids are taught at an early age to grow plants for livelihood. The island itself is rich in greenery, and I could sense the awareness in people of the importance of preserving the environment for their own benefit, as well as that of their future generations.

We had a nice drive along paved roads built mostly along the coast, where we could enjoy the view of both land and sea. We had a hard time finding restaurants to eat at though, so we mostly ended up eating at carinderias, with twice-reheated food in all its glory. It kept our tummies from growling, at least. But we were later informed of restaurants inside the few resorts located around the island, and a tiny cottage resto called Sea Breeze that wasn't part of any resort.

There were nice white-sand beaches, but they were mostly inhabited by villages and fishing boats. The island is definitely more rural than it is a tourist attraction. With all its abandoned buildings and sites, it looks to have been a place that was on its way to tourism development, which fortuitously came to an abrupt end. According to our research, there was supposed to be a nice restaurant at Lake Danao - a massive lake within the island - and the lake was a developed park. But when we got there, all we saw were a few tables and benches, a sari-sari store, and some kayaks for rent. At the other end of the lake, there was a tilapia fishery, so it satisfied us enough to see the fish ponds. 

We were getting discouraged at first, upon finding that it was looking to be a place abandoned by time. Little did we know that the best was yet to come. Camotes has its own charm and beautiful secret treasures, and they can only be found with some patience, perseverance and asking for directions. No signs were available as to the location of the sites. We made more than a handful of wrong turns to find the island's treasures, but when we found them, they made our journey very worthwhile indeed!

We found Bukilat Cave, a surprisingly stunning underground cave with picturesque rays of sun streaming in from the holes above-ground and lighting up the stalactites and stalagmites inside the cave. There was a natural pool inside the cave too, with crystal-clear waters that were just completely enticing me to jump in...so I did. The water was refreshingly cool, and it ran all the way into another small cave that birds had chosen for their habitat. I basked happily within the natural pool and cave walls all around me, relishing the fact that for that moment, the place was ours, and ours alone.

We next set out to find Panganuron falls, which proved to be another game of hide-and-seek. Deciding to ask the locals where the “waterfalls” were, we were pointed to one that they all knew instead. We assumed they would know the popular Panganuron falls, and they assumed we wanted to see their own Busay falls. I, in my ignorance of the Bisayan dialect, could only guess along with them what we were each trying to say. We mostly had to rely on which direction their fingers were pointing. So Busay falls it was! 

And what a magnificent accident that turned out to be, as their local gemstone of a hideaway was far better than what we expected waterfalls to be. The water fell both forcefully and serenely out through a cave and into a clear, baby-blue pool. The pool was surrounded by the walls of the mountain, the plants, and some tree vines, and ran off the side into a smaller waterfall below with another smaller pool; so there was the adult pool and the baby pool. We chose the 'adult pool' of course, the grown-ups that we were (although I did sneak into that peaceful little 'baby pool' a couple of times, hehe). That place became our very own natural playground for that moment, too.

We checked out a couple of other nice spots as well. Buho Rock Resort, though seemingly yet another abandoned or mismanaged resort, provided us rest, with a pretty view of the clear pools of water from terraces built over the rocks. A little maintenance through clearing out the fallen leaves and debris on top of the waters would have done well for an enticing swim and snorkel (which was originally the resort's idea), but the waters remain a clear, blue-green color that still offers a feast for the eyes anyway, and the gardens are pretty and well-maintained.

After a quick afternoon coffee at a cafe on top of a hill which we pleasantly stumbled on, called D'Island Shooting Range and Cafe (yes, they had a shooting range, but it was closed for the day, for the owner's own reasons...surprise, surprise) we headed toward the Arquis Viewing Deck to get a nice top-view of the island. We found the place along a long dirt road some locals had pointed us to, with the only landmark they could give us: a white gate. Had it not been for those simple words – “white gate” - we would have missed the viewing deck, as the gate didn't have any signs at all. Though the deck was yet another unfinished project, with a pretty hut bearing overturned chairs and couches and another ramshackle hut situated at the edge of the mountain, the place really did possess an outstanding view of the island, including Lake Danao (which we had visited earlier). So we ended the day with the memory of a full view of a quiet, picturesque island in the Camotes.

We were only able to see a few of the island's wonders, as we needed to get to Carmen, Cebu for the boat's yearly maintenance; but I'm sure there are more wonders hiding within that unassuming little place.

Do I regret hours under the sweltering heat of the sun, trying to find our destinations? Of course not. Part of the adventure of exploring is getting lost. And in the many wrong turns we made, we were able to find treasures that we would otherwise have missed. So I came out of the place fulfilled and deeply grateful for the experience. Secretly, I thanked destiny too, that this island did not find its way very well on the tourist map. It's beautiful, just as it is. And maybe the island's deepest message was exactly in its lack of road signs toward its beautiful sites. More than anything, what it told me was, “Explore me for yourself.”