Philippines – A Summary

So Long and Thanks for all the Fish

We are set to leave the Philippines via Manila by way of the once a week ferry. The ferry that has only bad reviews, is apparently notoriously late, can take 26-28 hours instead of 18, is often cancelled without notice, and has a disclaimer we find upon booking that the scheduled time of arrival can vary by five hours. The schedule says arrival is at noon, our flight is at 18:20. We’ve at least seen the ferry at the dock for the last few days, so it exists, that’s something! As we leave the Airbnb, the host explains that sometimes the boat just sits at the dock for hours waiting for the tide to roll in. “Good luck! ” she tells us. We check the tide times, 2am low tide, 5pm high tide. Surely 10 hours is enough time for the tide to have gotten high enough… As we swap our digital tickets for printed ones, we notice the time of arrival is no longer noon, but 3pm. We guess 10 hours isn’t enough.

The ferry has two open decks with rows upon rows of bunkbeds. There’s no storage, no privacy, and as we later find out, only a couple of toilets all these people have to share between them that results in queues and smells that I’m grateful to avoid.

Being an incredibly light sleeper at the best of times, we’ve ‘splashed’ out on getting an air-conditioned cabin for four. This contains the same bunkbeds, but we have our own private bathroom, we get sheets and a blanket, and breakfast and lunch (although oddly not dinner, despite out 5pm board time). Rather than having to listen to 60 Filipinos on their phones doomscrolling the same videos with the maniacal laughter that now haunts me, our roommates are an older Polish couple who are travelling the Philippines and Vietnam, and seem rather shell-shocked by the room. They demand of the staff that the aircon temp be raised from 17 degrees, with the staff eventually relentting and setting it to 20. When the Poles are wrapped up in scarves and hoodies, you know it’s cold. I’m just happy to not be sweating, and the aircon unit to no longer sound like a plane taking off.

The ride is smooth. I’m pretty exhausted and we’re in bed before our elder bunkmates. I thank the pharmaceutical gods for inventing antihistamines that quell the familiar stomach lurches with each wave roll and fall firmly to sleep. At 6am, an announcement over the tanoy suggests breakfast is served.

We then head back to bed until the staff come to now deliver our ‘lunch’, at 10am. A quick check of the map shows we’re already nearing Manila. Maybe we’ll arrive at noon after all!

We pack up and get ourselves ready.

Five hours later, we do in fact hit land at 3pm. There’s still time, but there isn’t money. We spent our last cash pesos on snacks, so our only means of getting to the airport is by ordering a cab on Grab (the equivalent of Uber). Except we’re clearly in tuk-tuk, not car, territory, and there’s not a Grab to be called (that doesn’t cancel once they see how far we’re going). Our buffer is now dwindling. Time ticks away, as security move us around as we desperately cling to the tiny bits of shade by the main gate, desperately hoping someone will accept the fare.

Eventually we get a message reassuring “I’m on my way”, and we’re back on track, making it to the airport, getting our first glimpses of Manila, as we get dropped back into the international terminal now, where there is an abundance of food we can buy on card. Phew. So, against all odds, we have made it, and saved a strong amount of money to boot!

The Roads Less Travelled

It was on our return trip from Ocam Ocam beach two days before, as I held on tight to the scooter under me, and James in front of me, watching the silhouette of our immediate surroundings whizz by, the setting sun transforming the sky around us, that I started to think back to our time in the Philippines, our first country in SE Asia.

Many blogs I read on this whole trip hark on about finding “undiscovered gems/beaches/restaurants/surroundings”, talking with disdain at having to share their experiences with other foreigners, constantly in search of that “authentic” experience of wherever they are. One of my takeaways from here has been how I really couldn’t care less about the first two (having accidentally gone to one such ‘up and coming undiscovered hideaway‘), but in this moment, I think I understand some of the latter desire.

As we buzzed through towns and fields where tourists don’t bother to stop, there are kids playing with sticks, with each other, with us by waving and yelling “Hi” like Navi in Zelda. Dogs fights over coconuts and their territory. Water buffalo munch away with their Egret bestie by their side. Adults chatter, eat, walk, scoot, doomscroll, harvest, work, and sell their wares. They live. Not for us. Not like in tourist hot-spots the world over we’ve been so lucky to pass through. Where lives revolve around selling tours, massages, meals, laundry, snacks, accommodations, animals, memories… you name it, to tourists. There is a verb in Spanish that comes to mind, “desvivir”, that more or less means ‘to devote yourself’, but Google also translates it to ‘to unlive’, and I see the simple but happy lives of the people here as we zoom by. Their lives aren’t ‘unlived‘ so they can serve and we can ‘live‘ ours. Peter, our host, tells us how land is burnt and stripped for agriculture, but also to be sold to the highest bidder, to build property, to sell memories to tourists. A practice happening even on our own soil in the UK. I take now that the “authentic” experience these bloggers seek is getting to know the local way of life, before tourists came and expected (or demanded) that they live their lives for us, instead of living for themselves.

As always, this desire of these “authentic” bloggers falls into the grey. Are the alternatives much better? At least in much of Latin America, and passing the many fields and tiny villages that tend to them suggest much of the same here, for many, the alternative is to toil the land, day in, day out, back-breaking work, no pension, no savings, hand-to-mouth until their bodies give up and they need their children to continue the chain. 18% of the population live in poverty here. I don’t expect their crops care about national holidays just as much as tourists don’t either, and so is it necessarily a bad thing that instead of back-breaking work, a local can sit behind a hotel desk, play with their kid, accompany tourists up a hill, onto a beach, into the water, take silly photos, pretend to be drones, or whatever else into old age? Is it not worse to demand people continue living in relative financial poverty, just so the wealthy foreigner can travel around and experience the “authentic” (and let’s be honest here, the bloggers nearly always mean “poorer”) local way of life? As with many things, I suspect the answer lies somewhere in the middle, where the culture remains in tact, but they have opportunity to earn a fair wage. I think we’ve yet to find this utopia, but at least in parts of Latin America there is a conscious effort to bring that culture back.

What I do know, is that I myself am grateful for the smooth tarmac roads, the toilet facilities, the toilet roll, the food that won’t send me back into the Bad Belly Club, the purifed water, the aircon, the broken English, the sim-card packages, the Google reviews, the tried-and-tested tours and routes that mean we can sit back, relax, and enjoy the ride/swim/sail/meal/dive. Give it all to me. I’ll leave the hard-earned hidden locations to those that have the energy for it. I’m happy sharing our amazing experiences with others (with maybe a few exceptions 😉). What a treat that is. I aim to remember this next time we’re at a site the same time as the cruise ship masses.

Hello Sir, Hello Ma-am

About the Philippines itself, whilst we’ve had a lot of fun exploring the beauty of the country, as with Costa Rica, we’ve certainly learnt nothing of the culture (except how important religion is!). This country of 7000 islands, of which we’ve only partly seen three, has shown us marine life we never knew existed. The land is lumpy, bumpy and jagged, covered in lush green, dry grass, nothing at all, rice fields, dead fields, burnt fields, sharp black limestone shards, homes, shacks, hotels, hostels and 5* resorts. A country of over 115 million people, of whom we’ve only crossed paths with a few handfuls. The people have almost all been incredibly smiley, helpful and polite, a few have looked at us with disdain and distrust. We’ve had a couple of taxis totally scam us, 5 stars my a*se. It’s been the first country I’ve not been able to communicate in the local language, and I feel immense gratitude to those that have helped us, despite our language barriers and miscommunications. It’s been our introduction to a whole new underwater world, and there’s still so much more to see and do here that I understand why so many rave about it, come here, and come back. We feel lucky to have had this taster, and I look forward to what lies ahead in Thailand!

Rule of Three

Highlights (Alex) – Feeling comfortable in water, whether that’s scuba diving, snorkelling, or just duck diving to see how far down I can go in one breath, what a shift from Nicaragua! Discovering underwater life in Moalboal, the fat starfish, the Nemos, guides like Jenny and Jan Jan being so excited to show us cool things and doing over-animated giggles to show appreciation. Being able to watch the world go by as James took responsibility for the scooting, forever grateful

Highlights (James) – Getting our PADI to unlock undersea adventures. Long drives on the moped exploring the islands. Siete Pecados best snorkelling I’ve ever done. Bonus: Red Horse beer, you’ll be missed..

Lowlights (Alex) – the staff at Victoria’s Beach House making me think we’d have to cancel our Port Barton dive and the whole stay here being a massive fail. Not sleeping due to either roosters or aircon. Buoyancy issues and feeling like I was being dragged up to the surface.

Lowlights (James) – The road to Port Barton there are better roads in Hell. The long journey to El Nido on the stopping bus. Roosters.

Takeaways (Alex) – I don’t care about being the first person to find the latest hot destination, I prefer amenities and ease of travel, maybe that’s because we’ve been going so long or maybe because I’m old lol. There’s this whole magical alien world in our waters, and yet we’re destroying it by trying to go into space. There’s loads less up-to-date info about backpacking SE Asia than there is Latin America, so many blogs are just money-farming.

Takeaways (James) – Stick to the plan. Diminishing returns. Time is running out.

Description (Alex) – Fragile, beautiful, vast

Description (James) – Friendly, cheap, stunning

Entertainment

TV & Film: Beef. Blown Away. A Haunting in Venice. The Platform. Moana. The Rat Catcher. How to Blow Up a Pipeline. Mr & Mrs Smith. Roadhouse

Books: Red Dragon. The Space Between Us. The Appointment by Jimothy Whollins. The Drawing of the Three. Silence of the Lambs

Where We Stayed

Cebu Airbnb: 3 ⭐️ creeky bunkbeds and noisy aircon but good enough for one night

Moalboal Airbnb: 4 ⭐️ very enjoyable hot tub, kitchen, free breakfast, but those damn roosters were enough to make us want to move (except everywhere seemed to have the same problem)

Constantino Guest House (Puerto Princesa): 4 ⭐️ puppies, pets, breakfast, and super helpful and friendly host

Victoria Beach House (San Vicente-ish): 3.5 ⭐️ the room we were moved to was much better, but technically would have cost more. Staff unhelpful whilst pretending to be helpful. Middle of nowhere.

Aquings (El Nido): 4 ⭐️ Really friendly receptionist. Great location. Cheap as chips

Ina Homestay (Coron): 4 ⭐️ Brilliant hosts, pool and outdoor areas, aircon was the noisiest so far (and that’s saying something). Neighbours also left a lot to be desired.

Cutting Room Floor

• Each island has a name, and on that island, there is a region with the same name of the island, and then within that region, you’ll also get a town of that name. So there’s Port Barton Town in the area of Port Barton, that’s in the region of San Vicente, that also has a village called San Vicente on the island collective of Palawan. On Cebu island there is the region of Cebu with the city of Cebu within. In Palawan, there is Coron Island, but Coron Town Proper is on the opposite island called Busuanga, but in the region of Coron, which has the airport and port that are called Busuanga, despite the Busuanga region being the northern half of the island. Moalboal is actually a town on Cebu island, and the main town of the area most people go to to dive and snorkel, which is actually called Basdiot, but no-one calls it this, they all call it Moalboal, the town half an hour away.
• Popcorn flavourings at the cinema, exciting at first but too much by the end
• James’ excitement as we hit our first 7 Eleven and he hoards half the store only to find out you can’t pay by card
• Almost everywhere in the domestic terminal of Manila airport only accepted cash, which of course we had none of.
• Our attempt back to not booking everything way in advance after the trials of Central America
• Realising this might work better when it’s not the Easter holidays and half of British holiday-makers are in El Nido
• The PADI training video feels like it was filmed twenty years ago, except they use tablets and there’s context that suggests it actually was only recently made. Nevertheless, we manage to make our way through it.
• The huge chimney coral we saw, and the huge fan coral at Neptune.
• The bus ride from San Vicente to El Nido, with just an open door for air conditioning, all our bags at our feet and on top of us, the people in the aisle who sat on or leant against my armrest/shoulder/knee, but being grateful we had a seat at all compared to the two gringas who got on at Tay Tay and had to stand in the aisle until a seat became available.
• That bus literally stopping every few metres in towns. At one point the woman being picked up was 10 metres in front of where we just picked someone else up. Not only was this annoying for how slow it made us, it meant the ‘aircon’ didn’t work.
• It’s impressive how our minds work. If someone had told us the bus would take four hours, I think we would have sustained it better. But because we expected it to only take two, it felt like each stop was a hit to our time and the seemingly never-ending journey.
• Jan Jan saying the four Russians in our group were French. I now wonder whether the times we’ve been told there are loads of French tourists aren’t just any non-English speaking tourists being clustered into “French”
• The young posh British girl who had gastro problems on the island hopping tour in El Nido, and the boat crew taking her and her friend back to shore whilst we had lunch. Nice thing to do, can’t imagine a worse place to feel poorly than on a little boat bopping about for hours.
• Realising I was literally twice their age.
• Spending the hour wait until the boat came back worrying about our stuff flying into the South China Sea as they didn’t tell us they were heading on this quick round-trip.
• Seeing everything nicely piled in a corner, everything fine. I wonder how much of my life I worry about things that have never happened.
• Seven Commandos Beach is named after the seven Japanese commandos who sought refuge on the island during World War II
• Sitting down for lunch on the island hopping tour with a big bowl of rice in front of us, but no cutlery, the older woman next to us saying “I guess we eat Malaysian style” as she jams her hand into the rice and takes a handful of it.
• Back towels, were these to keep people cool, or absorb the inevitable backsweats, or both?
• The dodgy guy who made conversation with James whilst we waited for any transport to El Nido telling me to be careful when out on my own. Yet another reminder of how lucky I am to be travelling with James this time and the blissful ignorance I have had so far in not feeling a target like a did in Latin America.
• Another reminder that privilege is something you don’t see until it’s gone, and why it’s so hard for many to understand how hard life can be when not afforded what we take for granted.
• Finding out about the animal dugong, another thing I didn’t know existed, but another thing you need a lot of money to experience.
• Having to decide whether or not to swim with whale sharks. Apparently the fisherfolk used to feed the whale sharks to stop them eating their catches. This then became a tourist attraction, and so now the whale sharks are fed specifically so that tourists can get to see them. Some studies apparently show this doesn’t have an effect on their migration patterns and habits and health, others seem to disagree. Either way, seeing the animals swimming freely in the reefs we’ve been so lucky to experience is the way we want to experience marine life.
• Maybe this is my equivalent of the “authentic” experience the bloggers talk about! I don’t want sea-life to unlive so I can see them.
• It’s in the marine-life book we are reminded that turtles are considered food in some cultures, and it makes me sad to think of these majestic, gliding creatures being literally cut down for food.
• I don’t really know why this is any different to eating lamb though, they’re pretty cute and I still eat them. Funny how our minds justify things eh!
• Jan Jan using taking a small shell from the bottom of Barracuda Lake and pretending to smoke from it
• The kids riding on the top of the fire truck that was trying to get through traffic outside the port.

Photos (in no proper order)