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It seems like these days no blog entry can begin without a description of our painful journey from one destination to the next...I know I'm at risk of sounding like a broken record, but for better or worse, this entry shall be no different.
We left Boracay heading north for Puerto Galera, which is only one island and about a day's journey away...No problem for us being seasoned travelers and therefore desensitized to the agony of long, cramped hours spent in buses, mini vans and boats. The itinerary was to be:
Tricycle to the boat terminal- 15 min. Boat across to ferry terminal- 15 min.
Ferry to Roxas- 4 hrs
Minvan to Calapan- 3 hrs.
Jeepney to Puerto Galera town- 1.5 hrs.
Tricycle to Sabang Beach- 20 min.
Walk down beach to hotel- 20 min.
Too easy, right?
I started to worry slightly, however, the day before we left when nobody could tell us a precise ferry schedule. The best we could get was that they go frequently and that there might be one at "about 10". Well we got to the ferry terminal at about 10am and were told cheerfully that we'd missed the ferry by about 10 minutes, but not to worry as there was another one at 2pm. Perfect; the maximum amount of time to sit and rot in the terminal... which we did. Kill me now.
By the time 2pm came we were famished and slightly delirious from listening to 4 hours of the Filipino equivalent to a combo of American Idol and Who Wants To Be a Millionaire that blared from the TV in the waiting room. Once aboard the ferry things immediately began to look up: there was a snack bar and so we had a feast of Ritz and saltine crackers washed down with a Mountain Dew. As the boat pulled away from the terminal the TV announced the safety procedures of the vessel and then launched into a full fledged Catholic prayer to the Father, Son and Holy Ghost that asked for a safe crossing so that we could all "be with our families again". My mind flashed back, hadn't I seen a story on CNN about a ferry in the Philippines that sank not too long ago? I pushed it out of mind; such thoughts will get you nowhere in these situations. The ride was long and hot, the A/C was broken and the seas rough. One awesome thing was that they played a marathon of Schwazenegger films including Comando, a personal favorite. That is the extent of anything awesome about that trip.
It was dark already when we pulled into Roxas on the Southeast corner of Mindoro island, and to help matters more, it had started to rain, hard. We decided to save the rest of the 4+ hour journey for the morning and to lay over for the night there in Roxas.
Lonely Planet describes Roxas as "a dusty little town". We're coming to realize that Lonely Planet is incapable of calling a spade a spade and in attempts to maintain their eternal traveler optimism (and stay P.C.) they often resort to euphemistic word play. Luckily, I'm bound by no such restrictions and I'm here to tell you that Roxas is a s***hole.
We took a soggy tricycle ride into 'town' and checked into one of the few hotels. It left more than a little to be desired. It was dry and had beds and a lock on the door, but not much more. Oh yeah, except a cockroach. Yeah, I killed a huge roach within a few minutes of getting there. Sweet. Finally the rain stopped and we ventured out for some food as our full stomachs from the cracker feast on the boat had subsided and we were again famished. We asked the guy at the front desk where there was a restaurant, he mumbled something vague about a cafe and pointed vaguely in a direction up the street and so we wandered. We found several closed restaurants (cuz why would you be open at 7:30pm), a deserted church with neon lights flashing and music pumping, but nobody around, a guy selling popcorn from a popcorn maker attached to his bike (we bought some) and then finally, by the grace of God an establishment that looked to be open and sold food. Gina settled on the only vegetarian friendly option- white rice with a runny, sunnyside up fried egg. I got the same with a side plate of a pork curry concoction that looked to have (certainly had) been sitting out all day. We'll just say that we've had better meals on the trip.
In the morning we asked our Hotel owner for any information about buses to Calapan, our next stop. We got more vague answers about schedule and bus departure locations. Finally we hopped on a bicycle powered - tricycle and went to a bus terminal, but were told that the bus line was on strike and thus we ended up getting sucked in by a minivan company headed to Calapan. It wasn't so much that we selected and then voluntarily got into the minivan as normally happens when choosing transport, but rather... before we knew it our bags were in the van, we were assured (meaning: lied to) that there were NO buses and we were more or less pushed into the van...and off we sped.
I wrote a blog a while ago about our first minivan experience from Hua Hin to Bangkok in Thailand where I called our driver Mario Andretti due to his Formula One driving tactics. Well, sticking with the theme I'll go ahead and name this dude Dale Earnhardt Jr. of NASCAR fame. The ride was an action packed and white knuckle affair. At one point we moved back a row figuring that extra space between us and the windshield would be beneficial, at least slightly, when the seemingly inevitable head on crash occured. We stopped frequently along the way to pick up and drop off people. It was entertaining to watch the locals all pile in on top of each other and skillfully hop in and out of the van as Dale Jr. would slow the van down significantly but rarely actually stop completely. Nor did they flinch when we got gas but the vehicle was never turned off. A brief image of being trapped in the minivan as it exploded into a fiery inferno entered my mind. Thankfully we did not spontaneously combust at our pit stop and Dale Jr. was on his game that day and eventually we pulled into Calapan unscaved.
Dale Jr. actually stopped the van entirely while we jumped out and collected our bags and then with a vague point down a street he was off in a cloud of dust and smoking tires. We humped our packs in the mid day heat down the street he'd pointed out and eventually were pointed in the right direction by a kind local. We'd found the 'jeepney' parking lot and within a few minutes had found the next one going to Sabang Beach. Sweet, we were almost there.
What the hell is a jeepney, you ask? A jeepney is a type of open air bus with benches running parallel on the sides typically packed to 150% of what a westerner would consider to be full. They're noisy and polluting. Above all they are cheap and abundant, and they are the preferred form of transport for locals in the Philippines.
So we hopped in the back and slowly, but surely the thing started to fill up. And once it was full, another 4-5 people showed up and squeezed in. And so it went. Eventually we pulled out, G and I crammed into the front two positions, another 15 locals stacked in behind us on each side and 3 or 4 more hanging off the back.
20 minutes later we pulled into the dirt lot at Sabang Beach and peeled ourselves out, hoisted our packs and shlepped down the beach in search of Little Lalaguna beach and the Swengland hotel. And we arrived: bladders bursting, sweat pouring, nerves just about fried. It'd been 30 hours since we left Boracay: all we'd eaten was crackers, rice and runny eggs and we'd only had a few hours of sleep in a roach infested dump. The woman at the hotel saw the depraved look in our eyes and knew what was good for her, she forked over the keys without hesitation and at long last we dropped our bags and crumbled onto the bed...then promptly raced for the toilet.
We didn't have a whole lot planned for Puerto Galera. It's a diving hot spot, so we figured we'd do a day of diving and otherwise just chill out and get some operational stuff sorted out. We certainly didnt feel like much that afternoon so we got some food on the awesome balcony at Swengland and took it easy. For dinner that night we headed down the beach and I had a mediocre seafood buffet while G enjoyed some tomato soup and pizza.
The next morning we decided we needed some exercise and since all the trails around are apparently infested with leaches we decided instead to hike into Puerto Galera town; 7.5 km each way from our hotel. In town there is an awesome coffee shop and we had the best coffee in many weeks in the form of a Macchiatto. We wandered a little, then realized that there is zero to see/do in P.G. and so hoofed it back. After a session on the beach we retreated to the balcony for happy hour and cards. That evening we headed down the beach, walking along a string of dive shops, hotels, bars and restaurants and got fish tacos. On the way home we popped into a disco to grab a drink as it appeared the only happening place in town. Interesting, it's the only 'disco' I've been to that has a stage, 2 poles and scantily clad women dancing. Where we come from these places have different names!
In the morning we decided for another long walk into town for one more of those good coffees. Along the way we discussed itinerary options for the rest of the trip and by the time we got back had decided that we are heading to Central and South America in the spring instead of to Nepal. That evening we booked a plane ticket for me to join Gina at her friends Selma and Steve's wedding in Huatulco, Mexico. Exciting stuff!
We wrapped our last evening in Puerto the same as the others less the 'disco' excursion; cruising the strip looking for a good dinner and then settling on something decent, but far from spectacular. That night we had wood fired pizza which was actually p
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