tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-72188639588849274562024-03-19T07:40:06.125+00:00Fergy's Rambles.One middle aged man's rambles around the world before he gets too old.Unknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger89125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7218863958884927456.post-62940017645618930812014-01-04T19:15:00.001+00:002014-01-04T19:21:41.807+00:00Hello again and goodbye!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Hello again to my few faithful readers, it has been a long time since I posted here and apologies for not keeping up the Malta blog as I should have done.<br />
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Allow me to explain the slightly odd title of this post which, I hasten to assure you, is nothing sinister. As you will know, I had been complaining about this particular site as I was having awful difficulty with it technically. I was looking around for a new one and a friend suggested Travelpod which is specifically designed for travel blogs and is apparently very user friendly. I had a look at it and liked the layout so I have decided to migrate there.<br />
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I have done this to coincide with my next big trip starting in early January 2014 to Ceylon and possibly a side trip to Southern India if I feel like it. If any of you dear people would care to migrate over with me then <a href="http://blog.travelpod.com/members/fergysrambles" target="_blank">here is a link. </a><br />
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Hope to see you soon.</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7218863958884927456.post-39461796690958418052013-02-16T15:44:00.001+00:002014-01-04T19:39:14.272+00:00This is what you should have seen.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Well, despite the systems best efforts th thwart me, it seems the last little paragraph did manage to make it's way into the ether and is there for all to see, so here is what you would have received from me had I been able to do so last night. It is a bit wordy I know, so I shall try to liven it up a little with a few images. Don't worry, I am sure that subsequent posts will be much more succinct but regular readers will know how verbose I can get when the muse is on me!<br />
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This is the post, at long last!<br />
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Hopefully my last proper post had not bored the backside off you and it appears you have stuck around long enough to hear about the trip itself for which I thank you. Oddly, I flew out of Heathrow and am returning to Gatwick but it really makes little difference to me as it takes about the same time to get to or from either. I made LHR in good order and headed to the check-in desk where I was the only passenger present. The friendly lady took one look at my six foot five frame and asked if I would like an exit seat. Would I ever! Air Malta appears to be adopting the appalling Ryanair / Sleazyjet model and charging for just about everything. Had I requested this seat online it would have cost me about €15 each way for the privelege. She gave me a window seat and a further joy was that the middle seat of the configuation of three was unoccupied. Oh happy day. Having loked at the first class accomodation whilst boarding, I genuinely reckon I had at least as much legroom as them, so thank you kind check-in lady.<br />
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As I was checking in, I happened to look at my kitbag and only then realised what an awful state it was in. It was only a cheapo, bought for about £15 in Whitechapel Market and it has served me very well but it really is getting tatty now and there are even rips in the bottom side of it by the wheels. I was genuinely worried that any sort of rough baggage handling would result in awful consequences and my personal effects scattered over a runway in Valetta. Still, nothing to be done about it. Memo to self: Buy new kitbag a.s.a.p.<br />
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The flight itself was unremarkable if comfy but it highlighted another practice that seems to have crept into airlines that really annoys me. The plane was loaded and ready to go on time but we didn't take off until 30 minutes afrter we should. The pilot announced the estimated flying time which, funnily enough, was about 30 minutes less than that advertised. I have no doubt this is done merely so airlines can crow about punctuality figures when all they are doing is misleading the passenger and I really wish they would discontiunue this nonsense immediately. In the absence of any entertainment I dozed a bit and then had a bit of a shufti at the inflight magazine which was actually dated that day, 13th February. Apologies for the image which was obviously taken on my knee on the 'plane. I might try to take a very arty one to replace this one later!<br />
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One of the major articles was about the wonderful Carneval that goes on immediately prior to Lent every year and I found out that the word Carneval actually comes from the Latin "carne vale" meaning "meat allowed" as the Lenten period required fasting by the faithful. As my late grandmother used to very sagely say, "It's a bad day when you don't learn something. How very true.<br />
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In another twist of synchronicity that seems to mark my travels I also managed a few pages of my current read "The Regiment, a history of the SAS" by the excellent Mike Asher. Have a look at <a href="http://www.eliteukforces.info/articles/michael-asher-q+a.php" target="_blank">this page.</a> Mike is an ex-SAS man himself, a great writer and true adventurer and a genuinely nice guy whom I have had the pleasure of meeting. Bizarrely, I cannot find his personal website although I have seen it but the attached link gives a good insight into his writing of the book I mentioned. On the plane I was reading about some of the early SAS "L" Detachment raids on Axis airfields in North Africa and many of these were designed to relieve the pressure on merchant ship convoys attempting to resupply the almost starving island of Malta. Some of the most daring raids were carried out by the late Blair "Paddy" Mayne, a legend in the SAS and a man from my neck of the woods. The fact that that I had, less than three months previously, been looking at some artefacts relating to Mayne in the Regimental Museum of the Royal Irish Regiment in Belfast only added to the feeling of all things being connected somehow.<br />
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The image below is of a lteer in that Museum from Bob Laycock, CO and the brains behind "Layforce" which did much of the groundwork for the formation of the SAS by David Stirling and is the man credited with coining the term "commando". I suppose he was entitled to as he had just about invented the concept.<br />
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Carneval in Malta is a big thing with many parties, masquerade balls and the like. My timing as usual was incredible. Incredibly bad that is, as the whole thing had finished the day before I left, that being Ash Wednesday. Ho hum. I am still intrigued as to why the magazine was promoting an attraction that was over but I am sure they had their reasons. In general though, it was very informative and much better than the general run of similar publications. I took them up on the offer to take my copy away and it is proving very useful. We descended into Luqa airport through low, bumpy cloud into a fairly dismal afternoon with rain looking imminent.<br />
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The formalities were quickly dealt with and I stepped out onto Maltese soil for the first time.<br />
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If I can avoid it, I do not use airport taxis as they generally prove to be a ripoff and there is almost always a viable public transport option available and this proved to be the case here although it proved a little trickier than anticipated. The bus stops are well signed as indeed was the self-service ticket machine.<br />
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This is where the problems began. The smallest note I had was a €10 and I had two choices of tickets, either a two hour ticket at €2:60 or my preferred seven day Rover ticket at a very reasonable €12. OK, can any of you mathematical geniuses (genii?) tell me how I can obtain either when the machine very helpfully informs me that the maximim change returned is €5? My admittedly limited maths left me without a solution so I thought that buying on the bus might be a plan. I spoke to the driver and explained the situation. No problem, and he took my €10 and disappeared into the terminal to get it changed. The dot matrix display had indicated that the bus was meant to leave in four minutes and about ten minutes later he sauntered out of the building, stopping on the way to chat to his mate. I smiled an apology to the only other passenger, a young female airline employee. She just smiled back sweetly. The driver then wandered over to another bus to chat to the driver there for a while before returning to the bus and giving me my change and a ticket which he said was valid until midnight. I still don't know how he worked that out but that is what he told me.<br />
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Eventually we set off towards Valetta. I knew I would have to change buses there but that was no problem as I had told the place I was staying I would not be there until at least six so there was plenty of time. The road from the airport into the capital is not exactly inspiring and appears to consist of derelict buildings, industrial units, scrubland and rather incongruously the horse racetrack. I consoled myself with the fact that roads from air and seaports are rarely showpieces. I quickly worked out where my connecting bus left from and that it was a very regular service although at about five in the evening the next one departing was packed to the gunwales with people going home from work. As I had the luggage, I didn't want to be banging into people and so I tohught I would go and have a quick beer until the crowds abated a bit. There was bound to be a bar near a bus station, wasn't there? Well, apparently not. There were several that appeared closed, possibly due to the religious holiday, I don't know. So I trudged along trailing the luggage behind me and the rain which had been merely spitting when I set off got heavier and heavier eventually settling on a ferocity that would have allowed it to hold it's head up in company with an Asian monsoon. <br />
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My first beer on any tip is a bit of an ritual,usually photographed and always of the local variety. Photgraphing a beer usually provokes some sort of response from the locals and it is a good ice-breaker. However, there was no ice going to be broken in Valetta that night. I must have walked two miles eventually navigating back to where I had started, got on the #12 bus and made my way to Sliema. The only problem was that I didn't have a map although I knew the address and Sliema seems about as devoid of street signs as the moon is of atmosphere. I was getting pretty well drenched now and still trailing the luggage behind which was to prove problematical. Malta is a hilly place and the streets were now turning into small torrents. Crossing them and unbeknownst to me, the bottom of the bag, where the rips are, was dragging in running water. Oops.<br />
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Anyway, I eventually located the hotel that runs the studios I was to stay in two doors along from it. I went to reception and booked in although I was rather surprised to have to settle the bill upfront. Not a major problem as it is an extremely inexpensive deal by European standards. The chap took me along to the apartment building and opened the door to #5, my allotted billet. One look at the place showed something was wrong as it obviously had not been made up. I blagged a quick photo whilst waiting.<br />
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Profuse apologies from the clerk and he scuttled off to get the key for #3. No luck there as it was full of builders tools and rubbish from the tradesmen retiling the bathroom floor. I don't worry about anything too much when I am on the road and just smiled and shrugged. He then decided the best thing would be to put me up in the hotel that night and offered me free breakfast the next morning by way of apology. I rarely eat breakfast but it was decent of him. He also said he was going to speak to the housekeeper the next morning and, if his mood was anything to go by, I would have liked to have been a fly on the wall for that conversation.<br />
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The room was OK with a lovely view of a building site and a little cold with a small electric heater trying it's best to battle the chill. Here it is.<br />
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I opened my kitbag to find some of my gear damp and the bag itself sodden. Not a great start. I hung up clothes, draped damp jeams over the chair etc., had a shower in a shower cubicle designed for a munchkin, got dressed and headed out into the Maltese night in search of that elusive first beer. My digs are on the front so I thought there would be some bars available but Sliema really does give off the air of a seasonal town and this just isn't the season. There were one or two places open but they looked of the "poncy wine bar" variety and not really my type of place at all. In time-honoured fashion, I took to the backstreets and, walking up a little hill with no more than a light drizzle and Force Four breeze doing their best to freeze me, came upon a bar called the "Hole in the Wall". <br />
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Here is that synchronicity thing again. When I lived in Portadown many years ago, my preferred bar was Bennett's which was run by the estimable and eponymous brothers Tony and Niall. I am glad to say they are still trading albeit in different premises but the original bar was known to all as "The Hole in the Wall". Prior to that my favourite watering hole when I lived in Armagh City also had the same name. This place was just calling to me. I wandered into what was a fairly old looking place undergoing some sort of refurb and with the most amazing thick old wooden doors at the entrance. It was empty which is never a good sign but I really wantd to try that first local beer. I engaged the young lady behind the bar in conversation and asked what the local brew was, receiving the answer Cisk (pronounced Chisk). One of those then, which came served in a can which I thought unusual but is not an uncommon practice hereabouts. It's not a bad brew actually. <br />
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Further conversation elicited the information that the young lady, Crystal by name, had only returned from living in London in search of work. I also learned that the Maltese alphabet had 30 characters, the pub was one of the oldest in Sliema and had formerly been a stable and that her Father had recently taken it over. She told me (dare I use the word synchronicity yet again?) that her boyfriend who had accompanied her back to her homeland was from about 12 miles from where my family live in Northern Ireland. We chatted about this and that and she even suggested I pick the music when the current CD finished. I have been in town about three hours and already I am DJing in a bar, it could only happen to me! <br />
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We were then joined at the bar by a Scotsman who proceeded to start knocking back large vodka and tonics and talk the most paranoid drivel I have ever heard, mostly concerning the internet although he didn't confine himself to that. If he used the phrase "the internet is a tool for fools" once he mut have used it one hundred times and that is not my normal lyrical exaggeration. I just couldn't resist and started to make a few smart comments to him but he was so fully fixed in diatribe mode that he didn't even notice. I very rarely get wound up by drunks in bars, Heaven knows I meet enough of them, but this guy really did get on my wick and I was very glad when he decided to ramble off shortly after. Don't get me wrong, I know many Scots people and by and large love them. It was nothing to do with nationality, this guy was just a complete pain irrespective of whether he had been born in Edinburgh or East of Eden. By this time Crystal had gone off to be replaced by her Father, a delightful man who insisted on showing me the renovations he was undertaking in the premises.<br />
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The rain had abated somewhat and so I decided I should have a look at some of the other places in town. and off I set. As you can see, however, from this image, the runoff water was still causing rivers to run down small backstreets.<br />
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Somewhat like the weather, that proved to be a complete washout and a walk along the front revealed neither bar nor eating house open. I was a bit hungry by now having only eaten Air Malta's pretty paltry fare some hours earlier. Well, no problem, it is not the first time I have gone to bed hungry on my travels. I did hit a bit of luck then and found a little kebab place near my digs which duly served up a great kebab which was just what was needed.<br />
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Fed, watered and just a little tired, I retired to my bed for a good nights sleep.<br />
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As I say, I do know this has gone on a bit so I'll cut it off here and resume in another post if I can get the damned blog to work next time I try!<br />
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Stay tuned.</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7218863958884927456.post-55602268155026715972013-02-16T13:21:00.001+00:002013-02-16T15:56:29.831+00:00How much do I hate computers?<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
The very fact that I am posting this (I hope I am not prejudging the issue as I haven't done it yet and anything may happen) is something of a minor miracle. I was going to post last night but the arcane workings of this awful blog site frustrated me for well over an hour last night until I gave up completely. This is totally ludicrous as I had posted the previous evening with no problems. I was using the same passwords and account details obviously and was prompted to do all sorts of recovery things. What a palaver. Anyway, hopefully, this will publish. In fact, I shall try to post this now, as is, just to see if it works as there are all sorts of eror messages poppoing up. I really do need a better blog¬</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7218863958884927456.post-44486908532613053092013-02-14T16:29:00.001+00:002013-02-14T16:34:24.098+00:00To blog or not to blog.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
So, where to begin?<br />
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I had debated whether or not even to restart this blog as my current little jaunt is more by way of a fairly standard European off-season holiday rather than some of my more exotic ramblings in Asia. I was, however, persuaded by my own argument which I use frequently on the Virtual Tourist website which may possibly be how you have come upon this page. The argument briefly runs thus. Many members on that excellent site read wonderful pages by people like my mates <a href="http://members.virtualtourist.com/m/36ade/" target="_blank">Claus (VT name cachaseiro)</a>, <a href="http://members.virtualtourist.com/m/30b4a/" target="_blank">DAO (real name somewhat of a mystery)</a> and <a href="http://members.virtualtourist.com/m/4b5ab/" target="_blank">Chris (travelinxs)</a> as well as many others who really are intrepid travellers and do things that are truly adventurous. These members think therefore that they have nothing to contibute to the site as they do not undertake such journeys but this is frankly wrong. I have a bit of a saying that everywhere is exotic to somebody else and so I decided to re-open the blog for my current trip to Malta.<br />
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There is also the matter of time. For various reasons, I am only going to be here for just shy of a month rather than the usual multi-month trips I undertake in search of the sun in the Southern hemisphere at this time of year. With any luck I shall be able to have another run somewhere before the alleged British summer fails to appear yet again but that is yet to be decided. For better or worse, it looks like the "One middle aged man's rambles around the world before he gets too old", as I have styled this blog, is going to get another airing. For my handful of regular readers, welcome back and for those who may have stumbled upon this page by some karmic disaster, (you must have done something really bad in a past life) welcome. I do hope you find something to interest, inform or possibly amuse you in the following entries. Please do feel free to contact me even if it is merely to suggest that I don't pursue travel writing as a full-time career! Obviusly, the image is merely a "holding" one until I find something more exciting to put here.<br />
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Well, here I am, less than 24 hours after arriving on the historic island of Malta, a place I had long wanted to visit but must confess I came to at this time somewhat by default. Planning my "winter warmer" trip n January 2013 I had already scuppered a couple of trips which I hope to undertake sometime in the future. If you have been here before, you will know that I spent a most wonderful six months in the Philippines last year and fell completely in love with that wonderful country and it's people. It really ranks as one of my best trips ever and I do hope to return there some day. I had come up with a bit of a madcap plan, which I shall explain, inspired by some of the veteran travellers mentioned above and also numerous other travel writers, both amateur and professional, whose work I have enjoyed over the years. For those of you who have not read back and like to look at pictures rather than read my ravings (most of you, I suspect), here are is a lovely image of that most wonderful trip.<br />
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This one features DAO, as mentioned above, second from right.<br />
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I have become increasingly fed up of air travel in recent years with it's decreasing standards, increasing prices and ludicrous regulation and have come to the conclusion that the only saving grace it has for most people is speed. A businessman from London isn't going to want to spend six or seven days on a cruise liner to New York, lovely as that may be, for a one day meeting and then do the same on the return. It is simply not practical and air travel is definitely the way for them to go both literally and figuratively. In my very fortunate position time is about the one thing I have on my side so that is not a problem. The madcap plan I mentioned was to get back to the Philippines without using an aircraft and so I set about consulting maps, the news and the FCO (Foriegn and Commonwealth Office) website with a will. This is what I found.<br />
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The "middle East", nebulous as that concept is, is apparently constantly at war with itself and others. Recent events in places like Syria and the Lebanon, both of which are on my travel wish list incidentally along with Jordan, Iraq, Iran et al were just ruled out on grounds of security. I had debated a route going to Turkey and then straight into Iraq but it looked a little dicey in terms of border crossings. Even had I managed to do that, I was still faced with traversing Pakistan and some of that would not have been entirely safe for a lone Westerner. Travellers and geographers amongst you or even anyone with access to a world map will point out no doubt that there is a perfectly feasible route through China and down into SE Asia and this is true. I don't want to go into the whys and wherefores but I have promised myself never to set foot in China whilst certain circumstances still obtain. They don't look like changing any time soon, so I suppose the Great Wall and I are going to remain strangers. <br />
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Having put the great Philippines overland trek on hold I was casting about for other things to do, again trying to avoid flying if I could. I thought that North Africa looked good post "Arab Spring" and that things were relatively quiet there now. I thought it would be a good time to visit as it would be off-season and still relatively untouristed so the plan was hatched to go via train South through Europe, stopping off perhaps in a few places on the way, then get to Algericas and the ferry to Tangier in Morocco. The excellent "man in seat 61" website was of great assistance here and I really do recommend it as a web resource. If you haven't seen it, it is a website that will tell you everything you need to know about train travel across the globe. For the armchair traveller is is a great read and for the actual traveller wishing to ride the rails it is absolutely invaluable.<br />
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Once in the region, I had thought to roam around Morocco on the pretty comprehensive rail system including Marrakech for no better reason than it and the train features in the wonderful Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young song (their first single) called Marrakesh Express. Yes, I really do plan trips on such whims which may sound ludicrous to some but it works for me. After that I was going to get back to the coast and travel East through Algeria, Tunisia and Libya at which point the plan became a bit nebulous. I might have suffered a flight home or retraced my steps to get a boat, possibly from Tunis to Europe. I had decided to stick to the coast as a) it offered better trasnsport opportunities and b) I was aware that the South of some of these huge countries was prone to attacks by Moslem funtamentalists which is not good for a British citizen. I had read the FCO advice and judged the coastal route to be feasible even if certain visas might be a little difficult to obtain.<br />
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There was the addidional lure of some amazing ancient sites, especially Roman, and also a huge amount of history dating from much more recently in the second World War. Previous readers may know that I am fascinated by history, especially military history, and the potential here was great.<br />
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You may wonder why I would not consider carrying on into Egypt but to be perfectly honest, it is a place I have never had the slightest inclination to visit. Don't ask me why as I am fully aware they are one of the oldest civilisations on the planet, there is so much to see there, brilliant diving which I love doing and so on. The thing is, it just doesn't interest me as a country and there are so many other places that do interest me that I will concentrate on them.<br />
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Events however, as events tend to do, overtook me very rapidly. Literally as I was planning this trip, checking various websites for visa information etc., there came news that the Islamic fundamentalists mentioned above had seized a gas-plant in the area and subsequently a number of Westerners including Britons, had been killed. Not good and so I watched the situation and the next news, a few days later, was that all British citizens in particular areas had been told to leave a.s.a.p. as there was a "credible threat" against them. Well, that decided it. The Philippino trip was gone and the North Africa one looked like a non-starter as well. <br />
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I was starting to get a little depressed by all this. British winters tend to depress me at the best of times and three funerals in a month, all of them in absolutely foul weather, were doing nothing to lighten my mood. Something was called for, preferably South and warmer than the appallingly and unseasonably cold London I was sitting in. Whilst the snow had afforded a brilliant days photography in Abney Park cemetery, it wasn't really what I needed at that point. I could easily have jumped a plane to somewhere in the Southern hemisphere but I decided to try something new and for some reason the idea of Malta came back into my mind, verypossibly inspired by a recent visit to the fascinating Order of St. John Order's Museum and Church in Clerkenwell in London. So here I am sitting in a lovely little bar in St. Julian with a beer, and "trapped in the indecision of another fine menu" as my mate Fish would have it with just under a month to get to grips with this place and see what I can find out about it.<br />
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Here are a couple of images to give you an idea of what it was I needed to leave behind in search or being on the road again.<br />
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This is my local overland mainline station wearing it's covering of snow.<br />
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This is Abney Park as I mentioned and whilst it is definitely atmospheric and beautifully desolate it is not really what I need at this time of year <br />
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I am well aware that people like bite sized chunks of things and so I shall leave this chapter here and continue in another entry. I promise there will be more images as I have been on a bit of a shutter frenzy already and there is undoubtedly much to see and do here. Stay tuned.</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7218863958884927456.post-7792380941819306112012-07-20T19:10:00.000+01:002012-07-20T19:10:19.807+01:00Apologies and explanations.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
OK, I know it has been a while, I sort of dropped off the radar. There is a reason for this as I hope to explain here. <br />
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Shortly after my last posting I had a little bit of a tumble off the motorbike which left me in hospital for a few days. Don't panic, it was nothing serious, just a fes stitches in my right clavicle, a couple more in my face and some bruising and tenderness. Do not ask me what happened as I have absolutely no recollection, even now. As best I can piece it together I managed to put the bike into a telgraph pole which was guaranteed to do it or me not too much good. The police officer who attended decided that my friend and I were in no condition to wait for an ambulance and ferried us to Hioly Child Hospital in Dumaguete City. I spent that night either unconscious or sedated, I still don't know which, and woke up the next morning feeling a bit sore and not in much position to go anywhere.<br />
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I spent five days in hospital and then discharged myself to go back to the wonderful La Fiesta where I was staying and recuperate. The reason I did not post anything here was that I wanted to return to UK and speak to friends and family to explain first, I did not want to worry anyone unecessarily. As I write this, I still have a bit of tenderness in my right shoulder and a very slight loss of sensation in the right hand side of my face but I really am fine, so don't panic. My friend had a bump on the head, a black eye and a sprained wrist but similarly is well-recovered now thankfully. I don't mind bashing myself up but I would hate to hurt anyone else.<br />
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The accident showed me the best and worst of the Philippines, reinforcing many of the views I had previously held of the place and shattering some myths as well. At some point when I was unconscious, someone stole my camera. No, I didn't lose it as it was in a zipped pocket. It must have been either a bystander, the police officer or someone at the hospital. To my absolute horror, I also lost my plectrum pendant from round my neck although this may have been either ripped off in the crash or cut off by the medical staff to get at the wound in my neck. <br />
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Strangely, I had been having a conversation a few days previously about the appalling state of some Philippino hospitals but I have to say the staff at Holy Child were superb, they treated me really well. Certainly, they are working probably without the most up to date equipment but they gave me a CAT scan, ultrasound scan, and generally kept me extremely comfortable. I had a nurse round every two hours taking temprerature and blood pressure, a doctor round every afternoon to examine me and speak to me in perfect English, the private side ward I was in was kept spotless and I have no complaint whatsoever about my treatment in what is, effectively, a third world hospital.. I'd also like to say a huge thank you here to Weng Weng, a teenage lad that my friend sent to look after me. I'd met him before and he is a great kid. Bless him, he sat there for the whole time I was in, sleeping on the couch provided for family (a common thing here) and obviously just happy to eat the three or four meals a day they brought me which I just couldn't face. <br />
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Even the meals were interesting. In a country where so much of the cuisine is rice, they obviously have a "long-nose" alternative. Meals come on sectioned trays and where the rice should have been, there was small diced boiled potato with every meal. The food looked perfectly OK and Weng Weng seemed to enjoy them. Another great positive from the whole sorry affair was the number of people that came to visit me, mostly expats but a few Philippino friends as well. I am not sure if they were sedating me through my drip but I seemed to sleep a lot in there and every time I woke up there was another longnose sitting at the bedside, mostly, fairly hairy a***d biker types wearing their colours. I have no idea what the staff must have made of it. Mac, Hawk and a few of the staff from where I was staying also pitched up as, indeed, did some of the staff from various places I ate or drank in town. The bush telegraph is extremely efficient in Dumaguete. I thank each and every one of you, it really did mean a lot.<br />
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After I discharged myself (I really did need a cigarette by that stage!), I went home by trike although still feeling pretty beaten about, and the kindnesses just went on and on. I was effectively bedbound for a few more days and the girls insisted on bringing food to my cabin rather than having me going to the bar for it. As always, it was gorgeous and after a few days of not eating just what was required. The morning after I got back, little Lisa asked if I wanted a shower. I must admit I was pretty ripe but my right arm just wasn't obeying commands. Two of the girls basically supported me and walked me the few yards to the wetroom shower. Lisa sat me down on the toilet and proceeded to scrub me all over. Now, I want you all to put your smutty minds away here, there was nothing at all improper and I was wearing my swimming trunks. It was just another example of how wonderfully caring Filpino people can be.<br />
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I spent a couple of weeks not doing much except recuperating at La Fiesta which proved to be an excellent place to do it. I really cannot stress how much I did enjoy that place. I bought what was left the bike off Mac, sold it to another English friend called Danny, and he has done it up and it is riding again. I could have done it myself but I really didn't have the heart for it. <br />
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The rest of my time was spent in Dumaguete, getting back in the social swing as it were, but my plans to ride round the island were a bit scuppered, and there is not a whole lot more to report from my time there then. I had vaguely planned to go overland up through Cebu, possibly Coron, back to Luzon and up to Manila for my flight home but in the end I opted for a Cebu Pacific flight to Manila, a couple of days there and then flying home. After the carnage that constitutes NAIA (Manila's airport) my Emirates flight home was long but uneventful and I eventually arrived back at Gatwick to the cold, grey drizzle that has marked this years so-called summer in UK.<br />
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I will write a further post here about my overall impressions of a country I have very quickly come to love and may well settle in, but I thought you might have been interested in why I have not posted for such a long time.<br />
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Stay tuned.</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7218863958884927456.post-18945260295771820752012-06-01T11:31:00.001+01:002012-06-01T11:31:45.521+01:00You are being spoiled.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Dear reader, whoever and wherever you may be, as the title suggests I am spoiling you but I have a bit of time on my hands these days so I might as well try and catch up here.<br />
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Firstly, to rectify an omission. I had intended to include this image and accompanying text in the previous post but I forgot, so here it is.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfTyxtgPHmUr9pCcj38TGQft3rvrwNQsTj8czklR7L8iN5Vw8EvoR_-h08lwLG4npTa1wVxVB5T-cPQATogOzHhG2ZHAPoe9OnqWR6wYwtR8QZSOgI18W5xQWirAprhM13vRtaf8-yn4Y/s1600/IMG_2348.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfTyxtgPHmUr9pCcj38TGQft3rvrwNQsTj8czklR7L8iN5Vw8EvoR_-h08lwLG4npTa1wVxVB5T-cPQATogOzHhG2ZHAPoe9OnqWR6wYwtR8QZSOgI18W5xQWirAprhM13vRtaf8-yn4Y/s320/IMG_2348.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Guess what this is.</td></tr>
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No prizes for guessing that this is something medical, actually I would suggest quasi-medical as it doesn't actually promote health. This, believe it or not, is a skin whitening treatement and costs a small fortune out here which I find pretty obscene in a country where, as I mentioned before, children regularly die for want of a few pesos worth of medicine. I'll not bore you with the story of how I came to see this, it would make your hair curl, yet many Filipinas use this rubbish to try and look white.<br />
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It has always struck me as slightly odd that white Westerners do everything they can including sunbeds and fake tan to get as brown as they can, whilst in Asia it seems to be a sign of poverty and to be avoided at all costs. I believe the reasoning runs along the lines that if you are dark-skinned you must work in the fields and are therefore a peasant. Why are people never happy with their lot? Is it just something inherent in the human condition? I really don't know.<br />
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I must say I am completely happy with my lot here and some of that is to do with the fact that I finally got to Apo Island. If you don't know about Apo, look it up on the internet. It is regarded as being one of the jewels in the Philippine crown not to mention a world renowned diving location. I had been rattling on about it for a while and everyone said I really sohuld go for the day sometime as it was magnificent so that is what I determined to do. Anna, the part time barmaid and coconut tree climber immortalised in this blog recently said she would go with me on her day off and show me round. In truth, I think she wanted to go anyway as she told me she had not been there since she was at school. Whatever the reason, it's always good to have a local on hand so I readily accepted.<br />
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A 15 minute ride on Suzi the Suzuki brought us to Malatapay the place of the weekly market I wrote about before. As it wasn't Wednesday the place was a complete ghost town and I had no problem parking at the boat station. If there is a demand, a "public" boat costing 200 pesos per person runs in the morning and returns in the afternoon. I have noted before, however, that the tourist business here this season has been particularly bad and we had to take a private pumpboat which costs 2000 pesos for up to four passengers. If you have a larger party a boat for up to eight costs 3000 which would work out pretty cheap.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The good ship Emerson.</td></tr>
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The boats are assigned on a rota basis and we were assigned the good ship Emerson, named like many of them, for the captain. And here she is.<br />
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In fairness, I mentioned the 2000 peso fare which is a little over £30 but to put it in perspective there is a crew of three and they take you over and then wait for you to return. It is not as if they are plying back and forth all day so it is probably not too bad. They were super friendly and it was a wonderful crossing so money well spent I think.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgieaFQMCndoJcs98wtvOsPd0GVtcK2ZEk-3BB0bdBhmAvWzTsSWTmk2bRRgtl6CwoTJ-xHB-3Q0lMYgsP7GZW5SVrdGXQCIq3hmYrfda7gZoRbvcU633Dx5KqJk43Hgia05uVHOulNqBw/s1600/IMG_2386.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgieaFQMCndoJcs98wtvOsPd0GVtcK2ZEk-3BB0bdBhmAvWzTsSWTmk2bRRgtl6CwoTJ-xHB-3Q0lMYgsP7GZW5SVrdGXQCIq3hmYrfda7gZoRbvcU633Dx5KqJk43Hgia05uVHOulNqBw/s320/IMG_2386.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lookout in the bow.</td></tr>
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I have developed a great love for these outrigger boats which I suppose haven't changed in design much for millenia. If you close your ears to the fairly noisy engine you could imagine being here a very long time ago.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-EFDUvMhw_Kt_sf4v8KmzXhHxjwTGGGM_ksJBZ0Y366a_VwWiATVdhm5GxTrVBGJmY3BKvuCgl3mcXwhQXGTowdVnJa6_Hu-yvw0WhtMnX0FVDpiOQG-puoLZBTWazBEzr1t_dqJmiIQ/s1600/IMG_2390.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-EFDUvMhw_Kt_sf4v8KmzXhHxjwTGGGM_ksJBZ0Y366a_VwWiATVdhm5GxTrVBGJmY3BKvuCgl3mcXwhQXGTowdVnJa6_Hu-yvw0WhtMnX0FVDpiOQG-puoLZBTWazBEzr1t_dqJmiIQ/s320/IMG_2390.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Apo Island approaching.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I had seen Apo many times whilst travelling along the coast and knew it's outline pretty well but I must admit to having been pretty excited as it got ever closer. The journey is only about half an hour and on a sunny day it was delightful. Eventually we moored a few yards offshore and waded up to the beach. There is always something appealing about wading ashore on a "desert island". This is where we eventually made landfall.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKIsZTGOIHeFh4O83VlE_8uJmG5wzpDIQZzH46GnyBB4dO3VFDxZRgX1Up4Kh_y-FuT-NTPb7WzwBMKB_ZjiFMYmhbz10zl8CToPuX9xcpCY4U-jYeB1zoepW1Egbi3IUiGiCknbhciOA/s1600/IMG_2396.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKIsZTGOIHeFh4O83VlE_8uJmG5wzpDIQZzH46GnyBB4dO3VFDxZRgX1Up4Kh_y-FuT-NTPb7WzwBMKB_ZjiFMYmhbz10zl8CToPuX9xcpCY4U-jYeB1zoepW1Egbi3IUiGiCknbhciOA/s320/IMG_2396.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pretty, isn't it?</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
There was a small habitation seeming to consist of little but eateries and souvenir shops but first, as with everythng in the Philippines, there are "taxes" to be paid. Off to the office where I paid 100 pesos and Anna 25, they really do like to sting foreigners here.<br />
<br />
After that we started walking along the beach and then my guide took to the water. Well, that is OK, I know ladies like a paddle now and again but it turned out there was method in her madness as it was the only way to get to the next bay because the tide was in. There is no path. A few yards on we reached a delightful secluded little beach wth a small resort and diveshop there so that was it then. Beer o'clock and what a simply wonderful setting to have one in, Apo really is the textbook idea of a tropical island paradise. The original plan was to carry on up the path to the lighthouse on top of the island but the path had been closed for some reason so we were sort of marooned there. Still, worse places to be.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLofKtaK9jxOTJKiKN1o0JgcyZXl6FwjB9DkW_nL7xac14tMgJjIgPzWBIPo3QuHzZcfd4XEGyBqOuzc9uRyjltd8c3BD8N0fya6-xxRc_BpNZs7t_lJOhRsWyd0877DRrOzLMdbIJP-I/s1600/IMG_2433.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLofKtaK9jxOTJKiKN1o0JgcyZXl6FwjB9DkW_nL7xac14tMgJjIgPzWBIPo3QuHzZcfd4XEGyBqOuzc9uRyjltd8c3BD8N0fya6-xxRc_BpNZs7t_lJOhRsWyd0877DRrOzLMdbIJP-I/s320/IMG_2433.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Philippino sea monster.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I had seen several snorkellers in the water and debated the idea but for reasons far too boring to go into, my foot was slightly swollen so I didn't reckon I could manage fins. No problem, a swim would suffice and it turned out to be incredible. Even without gear, I swam out a bit in some of the clearest water I have ever seen and half-submerged myself sitting on a rock whilst the most amazing fish were swimming round my feet. It really was quite magical.<br />
<br />
There were a few local guys around, I believe associated with the resort and it seemed they had other ideas for the piscine life in the area than marvelling at it's beauty.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaaihw3Yqqdl4_eNQwTOAfPNTRtx91EdNh8riyhe_co39CDdKv_n0rczhMKBKHL6ELPwyyCP_3BhsSWdOh_lLyqOv_7qhplPQUvzTJ4TKVwV3CX0S1xmWFHwz3Jk4EJvqcTpzonFqJIas/s1600/IMG_2406.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaaihw3Yqqdl4_eNQwTOAfPNTRtx91EdNh8riyhe_co39CDdKv_n0rczhMKBKHL6ELPwyyCP_3BhsSWdOh_lLyqOv_7qhplPQUvzTJ4TKVwV3CX0S1xmWFHwz3Jk4EJvqcTpzonFqJIas/s320/IMG_2406.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Local fisherman.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Three of them set off and literally went no more than 50 yards offshore paying a net out the back. No more than half an hour later they were back and this was the result.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiy0YgdXvM5I19NUzcoL4B920QSiAbuEpEwyiHR3FLj1dCPGpcJ-5zbtO-tL064Db9MqpRWlcrtdsIbKhF9Sb7xuriOopUNCn2TczjDFft6mxZduMl8rmnEAhp_oZdQOM3ZgLIRH4o8JwY/s1600/IMG_2418.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiy0YgdXvM5I19NUzcoL4B920QSiAbuEpEwyiHR3FLj1dCPGpcJ-5zbtO-tL064Db9MqpRWlcrtdsIbKhF9Sb7xuriOopUNCn2TczjDFft6mxZduMl8rmnEAhp_oZdQOM3ZgLIRH4o8JwY/s320/IMG_2418.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Catch of the day.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Obviously these were destined for the plate but I reckon if they had a way of exporting these they could make far more money selling them to tropical fish places in Europe.<br />
<br />
I was cajoled into posing here as if I had had something to do with the day's fishing. Other than the fact that I had been in the water and possibly induced some sort of suicidal tendencies amongst the creatures causing them to deliberately seek out the net, I can claim no credit whatsoever.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimF2VswLuwI1PFJCXEtfqYr-0mHdH91wOXk5xXPY-DPKJ0XG8SiB5RMxvMeuOeYja6ebDagpkok9KFZAuv8LD7qim7VQv8BIwE0lim9lfILHqYM-ImLt59ft7_XbirP6zA0qi3_cId-5A/s1600/IMG_2419.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimF2VswLuwI1PFJCXEtfqYr-0mHdH91wOXk5xXPY-DPKJ0XG8SiB5RMxvMeuOeYja6ebDagpkok9KFZAuv8LD7qim7VQv8BIwE0lim9lfILHqYM-ImLt59ft7_XbirP6zA0qi3_cId-5A/s320/IMG_2419.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">What a poser!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Having done my best to break the lens on my camera by posing half-naked I retired for another beer to see what would happen next. I didn't have to wait long.<br />
<br />Anna was right in amongst the locals and there was a flurry of activity on the beach so I went to investigate. Anna and the ladies had gathered some bits and pieces off the beach and were preaparing a fire whilst the guys set about preparing the fish. I swear Aldo Zilli would have had a kitten watching how they did it. I did not see a knife or other proper utensil appear until well on in the piece. The fish were descaled using a small pice of shell as you can see here.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgb5rJvO5yFb3OZJ8DUPQh80jo0w5E99g-fqmh66mUJ5n6UHV3WV8QFAnMe51373zI2YgcAC8191yIeuKbATiVqRLO_ayQcPRSNY0gwMv_WM5V9dzlxY2QYoLEtBR2PQyUHYHX28xcGXUs/s1600/IMG_2422.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgb5rJvO5yFb3OZJ8DUPQh80jo0w5E99g-fqmh66mUJ5n6UHV3WV8QFAnMe51373zI2YgcAC8191yIeuKbATiVqRLO_ayQcPRSNY0gwMv_WM5V9dzlxY2QYoLEtBR2PQyUHYHX28xcGXUs/s320/IMG_2422.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Who needs a Sabatier knife?</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Gutting was achieved by poking the thumb into the belly cavity of the fish and scooping out the innards. Hi-tech food preparation it was not. Eventually, all was ready, the fire was going and dinner was about to be cooked.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgP8jTw2Q0NmM555zPnPsn3OhxBe9YaEv1sqEbaSltSOUIl1TW0r6U20QSf3O_UAPWAwF9NHgBfTu9aKwc8SCVeSxyvo5MlTk4f7MdJVupxL2kcDkfUzEZi9r2vYMUpcWnE2To85TQsp4/s1600/IMG_2427.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgP8jTw2Q0NmM555zPnPsn3OhxBe9YaEv1sqEbaSltSOUIl1TW0r6U20QSf3O_UAPWAwF9NHgBfTu9aKwc8SCVeSxyvo5MlTk4f7MdJVupxL2kcDkfUzEZi9r2vYMUpcWnE2To85TQsp4/s320/IMG_2427.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Real wild cooking.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
There is nothng sophisticated about this cooking technique and I saw neither oil nor seasoning used. The girls literally put the fish on a wire rack the provenence of which totally escapes me and cooked over the coals. Let me tell you now it was some of the most gorgeous fish I have ever eaten.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZrAFJjmjR5L2dcPjEoB_JAhx58Yn-ckNNyfVYj0q4hkpbLpmDwfWzd-_ZST7XvGZsl-1IUKZUWNC_qBDYxk05KZLH9kCARsGkjkZ8KVITnC2QqpQLFUltNQMBN7FMat9VwKNnFARlofA/s1600/IMG_2430.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZrAFJjmjR5L2dcPjEoB_JAhx58Yn-ckNNyfVYj0q4hkpbLpmDwfWzd-_ZST7XvGZsl-1IUKZUWNC_qBDYxk05KZLH9kCARsGkjkZ8KVITnC2QqpQLFUltNQMBN7FMat9VwKNnFARlofA/s320/IMG_2430.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Use what you have.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
There was one further culinary treat in store as you can see pictured above. There is a Philippino fish dish called Kinilaw which is basically raw marinated fish. Although the knife had made an appearance by this point, the concept of using the boat oar as a chopping board whist sitting on the beach was to me the ultmate in authentic cooking. Brilliant, absolutely brilliant.<br />
<br />
Anther swim, a bit of an explore round the rocks in the bay and a quick walk through the "village" and all too soon it was time to get on the banqua back to the mainland. Although I very rarely bother wearing sunglasses, I am seen here doing another bit of a pose on the boat.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihTNukL-d7rYfHo9sqytz1F9TK_JWEdItNX3dc_CbfWa2OpXm0cr1K68Mu20VyjCXpk2rCWDDjOP1aAAXHUTT_DxN3h37od1Z8j7WDW8SDCKBJxDv6OG14jDihzNMwBDpm3fJJgfjCfxI/s1600/IMG_2449.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihTNukL-d7rYfHo9sqytz1F9TK_JWEdItNX3dc_CbfWa2OpXm0cr1K68Mu20VyjCXpk2rCWDDjOP1aAAXHUTT_DxN3h37od1Z8j7WDW8SDCKBJxDv6OG14jDihzNMwBDpm3fJJgfjCfxI/s320/IMG_2449.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Goodbye Apo, for now.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Let's look at the thing logically here. I spent a day on a small Asian island, well I've done that before. The weather was nice, I went for a swim and saw some tropical fish, no surpirse there. I was invited to share freshly caught fish cooked over a fire on a beach. Not a thing I do every day but still not the first time, yet somehow it was just a completely wonderful outing and one that will live in my memory for a very long time. You really should have been there, dear reader.<br />
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Stay tuned.</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7218863958884927456.post-69808558827069331712012-05-31T17:08:00.003+01:002012-05-31T17:08:51.648+01:00<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Right, pay attention you lovely people.<br />
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This is going to be a slightly odd post. It was not deliberately intended to be thus but, as you know, I like to do things chronologically and these are just the way things appeared in my photo files.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTmF_JerT1z64HqZ7JrvBjBEQnizlj5WCa4-Gzu-kiOJQ87hs-GfkX43fTNz_ltTurtO9_ebIAwSL04lM3BL0_IEYAyB9wic0Q3ie88ouVjN9T3N9f0A5lZ_37A8LNDZ4aQo_Fi3ErSJA/s1600/IMG_2343.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTmF_JerT1z64HqZ7JrvBjBEQnizlj5WCa4-Gzu-kiOJQ87hs-GfkX43fTNz_ltTurtO9_ebIAwSL04lM3BL0_IEYAyB9wic0Q3ie88ouVjN9T3N9f0A5lZ_37A8LNDZ4aQo_Fi3ErSJA/s320/IMG_2343.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mac suffering.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I shall warn you in advance this post will feature me having my fingernail (singular) painted with nail varnish, my beard straightened by a long-haired bloke dressed as a woman and several other photos of blokes dressed as women. This I assure you is all purely coincidental, I am still the same guy that left UK what seems like a very long time ago now and by way of balance I shall also include a very pretty young lady (a real one) whch is posted purely to make a valid point about labour intensive industry in the Philippines, honestly.<br />
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To the begnning then and just to put you right off your dinner, here is my mate Mac grimacing as he tries one of his firecrackers, which I described before. I don't know how he survives here as he breaks into a sweat eating a digestive biscuit and chillies are way, way out of his comfort zone.<br />
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Now to the slightly unusual things mentioned, firstly the nail-painting. This actually is not a new thing for me despite what you may think, namely that I have gone completely native and perhaps marginally insane here.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirjQXmIppntdi24QabmsjGfZXTSid6E945QafNZvT0Y9_ovr-JBApXul7g0DayXav-Th1IyESB8Du2tZiRPYQSnuiLHPcHllQ_6VUMEF3Sw6JNNs4VIWhPmw4nDULZQtEueRQDm6vX5us/s1600/IMG_2347.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirjQXmIppntdi24QabmsjGfZXTSid6E945QafNZvT0Y9_ovr-JBApXul7g0DayXav-Th1IyESB8Du2tZiRPYQSnuiLHPcHllQ_6VUMEF3Sw6JNNs4VIWhPmw4nDULZQtEueRQDm6vX5us/s320/IMG_2347.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Fergy's mini-manicure.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I first noticed this type of thing in Cyprus and Greece some years ago. I keep the nails on my right hand pretty long for the occasional finger-picking I do on the guitar. However, I noticed in the Eastern Med that men who wouldn't know a fretboard from a fuschia tended to grow the little fingernail on the right hand long and often painted it. Never one to miss an idiotic thing to do, I followed suit on an occasional basis and indeed spent most of last summer raiding the nail varnish supply of the young lady I was house-sitting for with mixed results, it has to be said. I think the glitter purple was perhaps a step too far.<br />
<br />
Anyway, I have settled on plain black for this trip and I actually quite like the look. I must be the only man in the Philippines whose bar bill includes 9 pesos (about 13 pence) for nail varnish! The girls who work here actually quite seem to like doing it. I suppose it is not every day they get a chance to test their beautician skills on such an unusual subject.<br />
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Father, if you are reading this, don't panic, whatever you do and it is only going to get worse!<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIfeAsoOacfnPrOaoqV6iI_hP_sWOXb6JwPTf-FbPE92cnu99McExc1e33L2S28tF4MkAkV1wLnEStLLps7zi0LYVNtjloobeeUVIp9gFO1YEyx5QTADhu5AxH9AyTYZUS9LqoR3TUAuc/s1600/IMG_2349.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIfeAsoOacfnPrOaoqV6iI_hP_sWOXb6JwPTf-FbPE92cnu99McExc1e33L2S28tF4MkAkV1wLnEStLLps7zi0LYVNtjloobeeUVIp9gFO1YEyx5QTADhu5AxH9AyTYZUS9LqoR3TUAuc/s320/IMG_2349.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Yes, it's a bloke.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
And worse it gets. Don't ask me how I get myself into these situations but it seems to happen to me. A byot (homosexual / transvestite / transexual) friend of MacMac's (whom you have already seen in an earlier post) pitched up one night and proceeded to strighten his / her hair in the middle of the bar wthout the slightest trace of self-consciousness. Imagine that in a bar in the UK where hair styling s deemed to be some sort of arcane art akin to alchemy and no "female" (I use the word loosely here) would be seen dead doing it in public. Of course the jokes started going round and next thing I was sitting having my beard, which is getting delightfully out of control I must say, mangled by 220 volts and Heaven knows how many degrees Farenheit. What can you do only grin and bear it?<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEic6JrLTnMsgcQwUxaT5IgO9XB3SUPY0g5hXWx45FoLwrUn9yFqmOq-pfcsheBg37ckzYGN-gdIackCrn0MkfNnkx0kK0WdvtFOSy4lsJSjVxYACBTvY0JDc9psx0KF0YZ9jWSZNH4WiD0/s1600/IMG_2351.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEic6JrLTnMsgcQwUxaT5IgO9XB3SUPY0g5hXWx45FoLwrUn9yFqmOq-pfcsheBg37ckzYGN-gdIackCrn0MkfNnkx0kK0WdvtFOSy4lsJSjVxYACBTvY0JDc9psx0KF0YZ9jWSZNH4WiD0/s320/IMG_2351.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A close up of the evil deed.</td></tr>
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Although it smelt like my face was the subject of a major conflagration it was actually entirely painless and provided no end of amusement for the assembled masses in Pirate's Bay. I have to say that when (s)he was finished, my beard looked the smartest it has for a long time.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuwGu1-k_1jLzg5g3DomOzAvDt7w8fIzYWVK2CUeTYl7rU4ouhyphenhyphenmn1bMLLpZn_d-g1b-KR844GBYkMqzrQ-ZklCs_MD3ReiBURuq8b4P9RKhvI5Ad7sBfxCMmW9wL1oUtwLegYnszkozI/s1600/IMG_2353.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuwGu1-k_1jLzg5g3DomOzAvDt7w8fIzYWVK2CUeTYl7rU4ouhyphenhyphenmn1bMLLpZn_d-g1b-KR844GBYkMqzrQ-ZklCs_MD3ReiBURuq8b4P9RKhvI5Ad7sBfxCMmW9wL1oUtwLegYnszkozI/s320/IMG_2353.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Get to work wnd don't burn my chin!</td></tr>
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I do like to provide a little comic value when I can, normally immediately after I pick up my guitar or worse, someone elses that is detuned to DADGAD or something even more incomprehensible.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTTaj_nuyhon0cAxvyEdfvXiQ9beuupC4R130VlNpCZ7nKMYCyn0B1BciR3hTfDAQRyatp7qd98oQM9zj_OCkIymzIq_LMUtU0-CFWRExsD7l74RQVqNPI3t0iTSIZjD1cnZh_i-W7P60/s1600/IMG_2365.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTTaj_nuyhon0cAxvyEdfvXiQ9beuupC4R130VlNpCZ7nKMYCyn0B1BciR3hTfDAQRyatp7qd98oQM9zj_OCkIymzIq_LMUtU0-CFWRExsD7l74RQVqNPI3t0iTSIZjD1cnZh_i-W7P60/s320/IMG_2365.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Jade with the broom.</td></tr>
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Here is the not entirely gratuitoous photo of a delightful young lady wielding a broom in order to make a point, and the point is this. Labour is cheap, very cheap here. The lawns, and this is just outside my cabin, grow luxuriantly given the rain and sun. Ronnie slogs round it about once a week or more with a petrol mower but rather than buy a grassbox for it, it is cheaper to get the staff in their downtime to sweep up the grass into piles. The cut grass is then given to the people next door to fed the carabou (buffalo) on. This may or may not be a commercial arrangement, I really don't know. As I said before, nothing is wasted here, the West probably has much to learn about recycling from a place like this.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHVGvpYibdlsGE3GK31bRohSzuwfCqxGnZnuxEWk1RuxyDH0eqRHg78TBLiITKj_hUOpdMiH1b27thf1zDgY6xcNXLuEBc57EFIuXUO4kRYv7tNdCzw6YsN8BbuP8N8Nth5-ybnXulx3o/s1600/IMG_2374.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHVGvpYibdlsGE3GK31bRohSzuwfCqxGnZnuxEWk1RuxyDH0eqRHg78TBLiITKj_hUOpdMiH1b27thf1zDgY6xcNXLuEBc57EFIuXUO4kRYv7tNdCzw6YsN8BbuP8N8Nth5-ybnXulx3o/s320/IMG_2374.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Motong Maniacs.</td></tr>
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And finally, as promised, yet another photo of (amongst other things) a bloke dressed as a girl. This was taken in a place outside Dumaguete where I have somewhat inexplicably become something of a minor celebrity, probably because I am the only person in the establshment who can sing Western songs reasonably credibly. Slightly embarassing when the punters applaud you before you have sung a note, so no pressure then! I don't even get to choose what I sing any more as Wangbo, the operator (extreme right of picture) seems to have taken it upon himself to know what I want to sing and actually gets it right most of the time.<br />
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Left to right Kimmy (whose child's party it was at the great beard pulling of a previous post), Chirlie An, your humble narrator, Fay aka Fernando and a slightly worse for wear Wangbo.<br />
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Yes, I am being slightly flippant here as is my wont but in all seriousness, these people have been so nice to me, extended me so many small kindnesses and generally been very good friends, it will be yet another thing that saddens me when I move on from Negros soon. People at home will know my views on karaoke but it is inescapable here so you might as well go with the flow and, if I do say so myself, Chirlie An (formerly a singer in a name band in the Phils before she started a family) and I do a fairly passable duet version of the Scorpions "Wind of Change". Whilst I would much rather be playing live with a band, the enthusiasm and reception from the Philippino audience is quite something to see, it really does knock me back a bit sometimes.<br />
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This seems like a fairly logical place to break now, let my Father and sundry others catch a breath about the sort of company I seem to have fallen in with not to mention my cosmetic adornments. Believe me folks, not only am I as happy as a sandboy but I have been doing a lot of serious thinking about my future of which more in future posts and no, it doesn't involve a Philippino bride of whatever origin although a return trip here is most definitely on the cards.<br />
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Before I sign off, people know I have travelled a little and the most common question I am asked is, "What is your favourite country?" Although not a parent, I suppose it is like asking a Father, "who is your favourite child?" Until a few months ago, and with a gun at my head, I would have probably been forced to a decision between Nepal and Burma but now I'm not so sure. Certainly, being here currently will cloud my judgemement and I'll wait until the dust has settled a bit before I would venture a further opinion but I do rather like the Philippines.<br />
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Stay tuned.</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7218863958884927456.post-74129066024488546172012-05-30T05:17:00.001+01:002012-05-30T05:17:59.400+01:00Problem sorted (hopefully).<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I have been bemoaning the appalling state of the internet connection here recently, and it really has been bad but it appears it was not so much to do with the connection as a matter of simple theft. Someone locally (I have my suspicions who) has basically been downloading huge amounts of data by piggy-backing off the connection here and effectively stealing the bandwidth. I have seen the printout and it is horrendous but hpefully sorted now with a change of password and so forth.<br />
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Last time I spoke of the fairly ubiquitous skill of scaling a 30 or 40 foot coconut tree in about three seconds flat to harvest buko. This post deals with a much less common skill which is even more impressive.<br />
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I have mentioned paraws and banquas before which are two different styles of outrigger boats common all round the Pacific and constructed, to a great extent, of wood and bamboo. The outriggers are basically held onto the hull by long pieces of bamboo which appaear, against all the laws of nature, to have 90 degree bends in them. I had wondered how this was achieved and now I know. Let me enlighten you.<br />
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My mate, Canadian Mike, was having a small banqua constructed and asked me one day if I fancied going a short way down the road to the barangay (district) of Sacsac to see how his bamboo outrigger poles were coming along. Naturally, I agreed in a heartbeat.<br />
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After yet another bit of offroading on sand (I hate riding on sand) we were down by the ocean and greeted with this sight. We had timed it nicely as there is a lot of sitting around waiting in this profession and we had caught the old guy actually bending the bamboo.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAMxrFx4FT1To8-RK95ezadTHXb64MRXuYmDQfonpuaIrZYEtUBQuMC7HHOaAh_mUnPm7zVgJGFATg4lk0q75F0_8QpbkCkfq6dFJrIUqTB0FpYuSd-oiNivawqeOBdHZMol32MDhGiLk/s1600/IMG_2313.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAMxrFx4FT1To8-RK95ezadTHXb64MRXuYmDQfonpuaIrZYEtUBQuMC7HHOaAh_mUnPm7zVgJGFATg4lk0q75F0_8QpbkCkfq6dFJrIUqTB0FpYuSd-oiNivawqeOBdHZMol32MDhGiLk/s320/IMG_2313.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bamboo bending, Negros.</td></tr>
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The "old guy", who was probably a lot younger than me, was as tough as nails with not a pick of fat on him. He was terribly friendly though and didn't seem put off by me sticking my camera all over the place, I think he found it quite amusing.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1SgGGZhUYo160J4aZyGXY9lIuih7euaOwBgq0oWp8EsTLD5jkqQOugOgdVZ-_GOw2I9jgilwnGKb1Kh7RNKpRv4WYiYQab3r78BX9LeA-yqqwgQClXHKHVoWGKKQbuUFioqhj48ZGz2I/s1600/IMG_2314.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1SgGGZhUYo160J4aZyGXY9lIuih7euaOwBgq0oWp8EsTLD5jkqQOugOgdVZ-_GOw2I9jgilwnGKb1Kh7RNKpRv4WYiYQab3r78BX9LeA-yqqwgQClXHKHVoWGKKQbuUFioqhj48ZGz2I/s320/IMG_2314.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Weighting system.</td></tr>
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The first image here shows the general principle. The bamboo is bent using a pretty basic set of weights (rocks) and then burnt along the bend using a torch composed of dried leaves soaked in kerosene. I thought they would have burnt out in seconds but they seemed to last pretty well. One end of the bamboo pole is wedged in a hole dug at the base of the tree as you can see. It is all very simple and has no doubt been done like this for years, but it does seem to work.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhd9LU9cjfs3xDirtjspd6yht3qcv5bYC0bBnqHUbwz4r3mJ-J8xje0Myh8BEJGGlpLCYF0N6VUD-a4uMntDiNGqbFlF2PeS8_3CSjE3VcKFPFd60eLkYGxHShe92M1oW6hLQBXcTrBKWg/s1600/IMG_2315.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhd9LU9cjfs3xDirtjspd6yht3qcv5bYC0bBnqHUbwz4r3mJ-J8xje0Myh8BEJGGlpLCYF0N6VUD-a4uMntDiNGqbFlF2PeS8_3CSjE3VcKFPFd60eLkYGxHShe92M1oW6hLQBXcTrBKWg/s320/IMG_2315.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dousing the flames.</td></tr>
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When the craftsman has decided enough fire has been applied and after adjusting the weights, he takes to it with a water soaked rag on a pole as you can see in this image.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjz7F1Yfbr-QcPIhRp7Za4586duStdm795-bfFYEEbSDxrV-vYPU_c6XHn2Vu_LJGVdcwfayaMC3gcOgCJD1mVXyrdMQQmH7kqig0MLYZx7_3fDe5kv53xJ8rbqHqzBfKfaHZBMinNxhjQ/s1600/IMG_2320.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjz7F1Yfbr-QcPIhRp7Za4586duStdm795-bfFYEEbSDxrV-vYPU_c6XHn2Vu_LJGVdcwfayaMC3gcOgCJD1mVXyrdMQQmH7kqig0MLYZx7_3fDe5kv53xJ8rbqHqzBfKfaHZBMinNxhjQ/s320/IMG_2320.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Shaving the bamboo.</td></tr>
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When the bamboo has hung long enough to take the bend intitially, it is then moved to a wooden frame from where the young assistant takes to it and "peels" it with a very simple spokeshave type device. It is all very labour intensive but fascinating to watch.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4BLiG_0UD_EzaDETWRRcArEhhqKxV16Ridd2lDUr9XTrRwt73Q9jr2DbRsK-9R6kAMQHPrBcuYSfejvN0pDCqVGPlcUh7Fs25lJP0HwpREadKrxom8lpqLSmrx5rrHPUD7sEFkeYIL_o/s1600/IMG_2319.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4BLiG_0UD_EzaDETWRRcArEhhqKxV16Ridd2lDUr9XTrRwt73Q9jr2DbRsK-9R6kAMQHPrBcuYSfejvN0pDCqVGPlcUh7Fs25lJP0HwpREadKrxom8lpqLSmrx5rrHPUD7sEFkeYIL_o/s320/IMG_2319.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bamboo drying and forming.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
After being "shaved" or "peeled" (I have heard both terms used), the bamboo is then left on another frame to take on the shape permanently. I really have no idea how long this takes. These are the four poles that will attach the outriggers to Mike's banqua and, as you can see, they are a lot smaller than the ones being worked on in the previous images.<br />
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The guys actually took these off as I watched and walked them up to the main road where Mike lashed them to the top of a trike and took them to his boatbuilder up near Dumaguete although why they didn't use this magnificent wheelbarrow is a mystery to me!<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgL7ZeofhtpZSke36VOan8m_ZNOgosP0dh_QSrZPmYJF14n0oWNGi4l6W3kQwsefuMlXlj-b2IZq2Xs4efQ8iQuxIcCE8RdisJ7HS9lPpmZ3DsQ_jWs0RuCPLNBMt8JLXL7QjiXUuoe1Do/s1600/IMG_2325.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgL7ZeofhtpZSke36VOan8m_ZNOgosP0dh_QSrZPmYJF14n0oWNGi4l6W3kQwsefuMlXlj-b2IZq2Xs4efQ8iQuxIcCE8RdisJ7HS9lPpmZ3DsQ_jWs0RuCPLNBMt8JLXL7QjiXUuoe1Do/s320/IMG_2325.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Wheelbarrow, Negros, Philippines.</td></tr>
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I just could not resist taking a photo of this, it was so unusual and serves to show how absolutely nothing is wasted here.<br />
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I was so glad I got to see this process as I suppose it is a thing not many casual tourists get to see and I love observing old skills like this. No doubt there is a machine that will do this in about half the time and far cheaper but I do like the idea of traditional crafts being kept alive either at home or overseas.<br />
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I have to dash now but as it appears the internet is sorted hopefuly I can add more posts later today.<br />
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Stay tuned.</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7218863958884927456.post-61308785174767581102012-05-24T07:16:00.000+01:002012-05-30T04:19:11.217+01:00A couple of local skills.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Ah, it never ends. A quick look shows I am over a month behind with the blog again, so time for a little catch up, I feel. This post is dedicated to a two local skills I have seen recently, one much more common than the other but both equally fascinating in their way.<br />
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The first is a thing I have seen often all over Asia and yet it still never cesases to amaze me although the reader may find it pretty mundane. It is climbing coconut trees either to harvest or merely as a safety precaution. Did you know that more people are killed annually by falling coconuts than by shark attack? It's true, approximately 150 people per year die from being hit on the head by coconuts. If you have ever felt the weight of one and imagine it coming down from perhaps 30 feet, it does not seem so surprising really.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhresv-loYACyYHHX2BkDnK2DLloMYChw0iaoOAPsSAzDTyGoLAX67Ex-_Dc880t5gCYxb5f02XOC6-XvqvlYljCeK5Y3mnn6D8YKFbDFHLtldR8pq2paF_7s79jslVeLedQRCnkKOqW-0/s1600/IMG_2304.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhresv-loYACyYHHX2BkDnK2DLloMYChw0iaoOAPsSAzDTyGoLAX67Ex-_Dc880t5gCYxb5f02XOC6-XvqvlYljCeK5Y3mnn6D8YKFbDFHLtldR8pq2paF_7s79jslVeLedQRCnkKOqW-0/s320/IMG_2304.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Anna up the coconut tree.</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
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Here we see Anna, an occasional barmaid in Mac's, demonstrating the skill. We had been teasing her for ages about this and one day she was suitably attired so we dared her to go up the tree. When I say suitably attired, let's be honest, you wouldn't want to do this in a skirt, would you? So how exactly does she do it? From a distance you would swear she was literally just shinning up the tree but a closer inspection reveals the trick.<br />
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Someone takes a bolo (machete) and makes a small notch in the trunk, perhaps two inches deep. You don't want to cut too deep as it affects the tree's growth. Standing one footed on that "step" they then cut another one on the other side slightly higher up and so on until they have a sort of ladder all the way to the top.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwU0iLFV0wU6UJ0G84voRT7u-wTPPnoVQuDh-D_AV4Icgz0Kr5C9pd_Mv-93iR1rnwcXj7-7DXqaq2YSkLO3vyGGSNCYdZcriwZLOhW4DwDx1rHVoL_NnRph0yQu18KOahJnKxOSvZ93k/s1600/IMG_2310.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwU0iLFV0wU6UJ0G84voRT7u-wTPPnoVQuDh-D_AV4Icgz0Kr5C9pd_Mv-93iR1rnwcXj7-7DXqaq2YSkLO3vyGGSNCYdZcriwZLOhW4DwDx1rHVoL_NnRph0yQu18KOahJnKxOSvZ93k/s320/IMG_2310.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Clearing the deadwood.</td></tr>
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Honestly, to watch people flying up these things is an education. I tried a couple of steps and nearly cut the feet off myself, it is really painful. Coconut farmers must have feet like leather. In this image you can just see the tip of the bolo by Anna's left knee which means she is holding herself up there effectively by her left foot and a hand holding a machete and all this about 30 feet off the ground. With her "free" hand, she is clearing the dead leaves prior to hacking off a few buko (unripe coconuts) for us.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhX4RjVaXoPA7jcArkTF1wxLOejrlrPWzQ-sDuW5NMCJs7bFZ03UuUF7P0VC5NfIBoOhhT78FT4TKNA_qjORZH7_ylTIMLdPHx4R8_lIuQgWmtIW9hfGqb5n2u2QkCWUJly6m6tflGJ5vI/s1600/IMG_2307.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhX4RjVaXoPA7jcArkTF1wxLOejrlrPWzQ-sDuW5NMCJs7bFZ03UuUF7P0VC5NfIBoOhhT78FT4TKNA_qjORZH7_ylTIMLdPHx4R8_lIuQgWmtIW9hfGqb5n2u2QkCWUJly6m6tflGJ5vI/s320/IMG_2307.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Crack that buko.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Once back on the ground and with several buko harvested, Anna proceeded to give us a demonstration of machete work that would have done credit to the most crazed axe-murderer in the world. About three swipes and she had the top off it and we were drinking fresh buko juice, which is absolutely gorgeous. For those of you reading in the West, this is not the thick white stuff that is marketed in tins as coconut milk, that is a different product. Buko milk looks like water and tastes beautiful, very refreshing. Chilled down in a glass as shown below, it really is a treat.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsZYdp6B2JAw7ZzHGU9XYiMq_U3kELNj5UG4waF49rmQbv3vY8DY_CAiwtWorU5mcFdCwJktcbKCjyfJF6QbG26ULmjNSEl9um7V8n7uOryaRq3lqtluVDFCzwplCmdId1mVttebZN-2M/s1600/IMG_2312.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsZYdp6B2JAw7ZzHGU9XYiMq_U3kELNj5UG4waF49rmQbv3vY8DY_CAiwtWorU5mcFdCwJktcbKCjyfJF6QbG26ULmjNSEl9um7V8n7uOryaRq3lqtluVDFCzwplCmdId1mVttebZN-2M/s320/IMG_2312.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Buko juice.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I did hear a story although like many of these things, I have no idea how true it is. It is said that during the Second World War, if American / Philippino medics ran out os saline solution to put in drips for wounded men, they just put buko juice straight into the IV. Not only does it have nutrients but it is apparently completely sterile when it comes out of the shell. I am not sure I wiuld want it done on me but it sounds feasible at least.<br />
<br />
I know this is going to sound a bit like a broken record but yet again this website / internet connection has failed me miserably so I will post this and tell you about the other wonderfully interesting skill later.<br />
<br />
Stay tuned.</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7218863958884927456.post-62511416819617933852012-05-03T11:41:00.001+01:002012-05-03T11:41:05.991+01:00<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Right, here we are again, hopefully with this appalling site working. I really am going to get a new blog site next trip.<br />
<br />
I'll repost the image from the last effort.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiGUsamjoV5s5QWyBAkNi_5n8dOfbU7Y7hDs5jy2NIHet58jlzf43INdjgTQmIFtgbUcZNRREAvngObT92FYsIPwaWf6iZHZXiZ7_80zBIHriicelqaAyMM7AgxLw_BVK3N3XjqeM4M0o/s1600/IMG_2284.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiGUsamjoV5s5QWyBAkNi_5n8dOfbU7Y7hDs5jy2NIHet58jlzf43INdjgTQmIFtgbUcZNRREAvngObT92FYsIPwaWf6iZHZXiZ7_80zBIHriicelqaAyMM7AgxLw_BVK3N3XjqeM4M0o/s320/IMG_2284.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We're back to Genghis.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I'll once again let my <a href="http://members.virtualtourist.com/m/8c781/" target="_blank">Virtual Tourist</a> page serve here.<br />
<br />
"At time of writing (mid April 2012) I have been hanging around Dumaguete
City for about two and a half months and thought I knew the place
pretty well. I am always banging on here about taking advice from locals
and the advice in this case came from an expat of long-standing if not
actually a Filipino. Whilst discussing restaurant options in town, he
seemed genuinely surprised when I said I had not eaten in Kri restaurant
or indeed even heard of it. Armed with good directions, I set out last
night to remedy the deficiency in my gastronomic repertoire and was
hugely pleased with the results. I suppose this vindicates my theory
about local knowledge even as it blows my belief in finding the best
places clean out of the water.<br /><br />I was greeted immediately and
courteously at the door by a young waitress who was later to serve me
and thought the place looked a bit empty. It was only later whilst using
the facilities that I dscovered there is a much larger dining area to
the rear of the premises. I was very happy with the modern, fairly
minimalist surroundings where I was.<br /><br />It was obvious from the off
that this was a "classy" joint by local standards. The glass of iced
water produced immediately and the frosted glass for the beer whilst
perusing the menu reinforced this impression. The crudites (pictured)
certainly got the digestive juices flowing. Be aware though that they
are fairly liberally laced with chilli, just the way I like it but not
perhaps to everyone's taste. I did look at the wine list (I am not
really a wine drinker) and it looked quite extensve by local standards,
including Spanish bottles at about 1250 pesos.<br /><br />I had been
recommended the blue cheese and truffle (yes, you read that right)
burger with what are apparently excellent French fries but my eye was
caught by the Genghis Khan beef. I enquired of the waitress what that
might be. Pieces of tenderloin served in a slightly spicy sauce. That
sounded OK up to a point so I enquired would it be possible to have it
served really spicy, along with the usual SE Asian pantomime of telling
her that she wasn't going to kill me and no, I wasn't going to sue them
if they burnt my mouth off. Really, I know people mean well but it is
very difficult to get really spicy food in a restaurant in this area as a
Westerner unless you insist and make a point of it.<br /><br />A wait just
long enough to indicate the dish was freshly prepared but not long
enough to be a cause for complaint brought the absolute delight you can
see pictrured and chef (of which more later) had produced exactly what I
wanted. The beef was tender to a fault and the sauce was obviously
ramped up a notch or two as they would probably not have served it this
hot normally. Whilst it carried the heat I was lookng for, it did not
overpower the other tastes of the sauce (I am guessing soy, honey,
chilli here). The plain rice served as part of the dish was ample,
although they have various other rices (garlic etc.) should you wish.<br /><br />A
little internet research shws that the chef patron here is a guy called
Ritchie Armogenia, and I know his family is responsible for the Azalea
resort on the road up to Twin Lakes as well. Chef, I was informed, was
in Cebu on business but I would like to meet the guy some day and shake
his hand. Whlst going to the spotless, if slightly distant, facilities I
had a chance to scan the open kitchen, always a good sign in my book.
None of the staff looked over about 22 years of age and if Mr. Armogenia
has them this well trained, he gets my vote.<br /><br />I realise that it
is ridiculous to make such comparisons but I would happily have paid
three times the paltry 250 or so pesos I paid for this meal. In an ideal
and imaginary world, I would love to drop a Michelin Guide inspector
here with the windows blacked out so he didn't know where he was. Food,
service and ambience would gain it, if not a star, at least some sort of
honourable mention. I know this all sounds like hyperbole, it is not.
This place really is on the money."<br />
<br />
So now you know. Think I might head back there tonight if it doesn't hack it down with rain.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBgIgj1T5EeOdYmJ_yw-Hdp8EGFyUtTDjyHSiWo3SP1s4DWEvNScvEz8w0Rn5cjJF_3WYZTgabKMTF41V-8GApaBPmGQUR9EQCpyHldXWpXs1rrPFPX_BfZiTlU1tG2862E-fGPaqtNSQ/s1600/IMG_2287.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBgIgj1T5EeOdYmJ_yw-Hdp8EGFyUtTDjyHSiWo3SP1s4DWEvNScvEz8w0Rn5cjJF_3WYZTgabKMTF41V-8GApaBPmGQUR9EQCpyHldXWpXs1rrPFPX_BfZiTlU1tG2862E-fGPaqtNSQ/s320/IMG_2287.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">It doesn't look like much now.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
This is an incredible place. A guy I know and have incidentally just been chatting to is an American called Gary from Oregon. He is some sort of preacher, I am not sure what particular branch of Christianity he subscribes to but he is a nice guy and his Filipina wife of 27 years is delightful. After yet another pretty hairy off-road ride we arrived at what can only be described as a compound. It is certainly nowhere nearly finished but it is the basis of some sort of eco-farm place. He has over 4 hectares there. Don't ask me what that is in proper measurements but having had a guided tour it is an impressive spread. <br />
<br />
Gary has large stands of bamboo, various hardwoods, three tilapia (fish) ponds at various stages of maturity, a byre for beasts, carabou (buffalo), raised vegetable gardens, a pretty scary guard dog and the best treehouse I have ever seen.<br />
<br />
What he also has and you see above, is the beginnings of what is going to be a Church / community Hall for the local barangay (district). It is very impressive and I have promised to go and give him a hand sorting out his PA.<br />
<br />
I do have serious reservations about missionary work, probably best not gone into here.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrgYQCAbNswwP7XQxglPnos1hHB1qWOWvjkd5zBeMTIj0O5vbxM-ZpO0DkRVKKGDssU_Ru0xZfdmMXQ5tNKWntbTgq-aqsxMKl33-5id-YID8aoymw-v31_ERkcyBLd1BX_iDpYxvwYac/s1600/IMG_2288.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrgYQCAbNswwP7XQxglPnos1hHB1qWOWvjkd5zBeMTIj0O5vbxM-ZpO0DkRVKKGDssU_Ru0xZfdmMXQ5tNKWntbTgq-aqsxMKl33-5id-YID8aoymw-v31_ERkcyBLd1BX_iDpYxvwYac/s320/IMG_2288.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The stage.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
It is going to be a very impressive place when it is finished. It is absolutely huge, I reckon it will seat about 500 when it eventually opens.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhB0AUN6ljGHsEix8AiDmtl-mIjiz0v2oGSqYzpKt5dTWRbxRGEqccktn71XZmQBvylE3neobUmPq2fU1POT_zcAq9vPQzJH9kEZWP7tj3JDBsFUAm7oBxu8FhnfdbjcGRfX2rrqW5jIeo/s1600/IMG_2289.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhB0AUN6ljGHsEix8AiDmtl-mIjiz0v2oGSqYzpKt5dTWRbxRGEqccktn71XZmQBvylE3neobUmPq2fU1POT_zcAq9vPQzJH9kEZWP7tj3JDBsFUAm7oBxu8FhnfdbjcGRfX2rrqW5jIeo/s320/IMG_2289.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">View from the prospective soundbox.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
The motorbikes give you a sense of perspective here. I can tell you I have played in pubs that were smaller than this stage. I'm not joking! Anyone remember the Greenwich Inn in London?<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7YuNR0tRGDD6AYebN9vNl9A4PuSwa6IC3v1PgDDTHjhNE5jAmY8JbvCQXQ0r6J8f975Rl1vGNaCPXdtbOwQ_ol3upBcppsnZ6ny5Oj3jQ3WF-INQwhpA4TtfcucVTx2HjtjTvAeeZl7E/s1600/IMG_2295.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7YuNR0tRGDD6AYebN9vNl9A4PuSwa6IC3v1PgDDTHjhNE5jAmY8JbvCQXQ0r6J8f975Rl1vGNaCPXdtbOwQ_ol3upBcppsnZ6ny5Oj3jQ3WF-INQwhpA4TtfcucVTx2HjtjTvAeeZl7E/s320/IMG_2295.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Gary amongst the flowers.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
Here is Gary standing amongst some flowers which frankly don't look like a whole lot. Apparently when night falls they come to life, look a whole lot better and give off the most beautiful scent. I am seriously not going to ride that road in the dark so I'll have to take his word for it.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivlMqGsqKgJfnSuPJMcnQVj4Qsj7jYTfuJkF700pG93CVkQC9U-wjSaCsX_81xoVr7FzL26s1O9iFIzhm_rokZIxSBacRFaWHg0NDHW4s8MQsfBaB9AfaFOkcp34SG8sRo72FjnYwYOcU/s1600/IMG_2299.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivlMqGsqKgJfnSuPJMcnQVj4Qsj7jYTfuJkF700pG93CVkQC9U-wjSaCsX_81xoVr7FzL26s1O9iFIzhm_rokZIxSBacRFaWHg0NDHW4s8MQsfBaB9AfaFOkcp34SG8sRo72FjnYwYOcU/s320/IMG_2299.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The treehouse.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
As I mentioned, Gary lives in a treehouse, yes really, and this is it, quite one of the most impressive structures I have ever seen. Obviously the outside needs a bit of finishing but it really is the most incredible structure inside with three floors, three bedrooms and two bathrooms and all topped off with a crow's nest some 40 odd feet above the ground offering the most wonderful views one way over Siquijor and Apo and inland over Mt. Talinis the other. And yes, the tree really does run up through the middle of it, I have never seen the like of it, it is something an interior designer could not even dream of.<br />
<br />
I know I promised you a few other little things but time has yet again caught up with me, so they will have to wait for next time.<br />
<br />
Stay tuned.</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7218863958884927456.post-57284564847026853982012-05-03T10:11:00.000+01:002012-05-03T10:11:18.446+01:00<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Well, I promised you a few titbits last time so now, yet again waiting for the inevitable rain to tip down (it has been really sticky today and thunder already) I had better just sit here and give you a few more musings about life in the tropics.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBSRpYbsXWMXYbDwJjlYd_MFn_axqTEXTCZMsquzwqpqAnGuZsvDX9J5lVtnJjqFV8__9fMK1njMVMAL_2QvRStIUAQNiLTXwq75y2ZCp7L9gLGc85zU6bilfHpi0sl3RaQdBM-E-wXDg/s1600/IMG_2279.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBSRpYbsXWMXYbDwJjlYd_MFn_axqTEXTCZMsquzwqpqAnGuZsvDX9J5lVtnJjqFV8__9fMK1njMVMAL_2QvRStIUAQNiLTXwq75y2ZCp7L9gLGc85zU6bilfHpi0sl3RaQdBM-E-wXDg/s320/IMG_2279.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Perhaps I have been here too long.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I arose one day to go for morning coffee and catch up on the internet ,as is my wont and I found myself confronted with this. Mac had decided to designate my own chair for reasons best known to himself. I suspect a little too much St. George whisky might have had some bearing on the matter. The relevance of the handcuffs is as yet unclear to me and Mac, even in his moments of lucidity, has yet to offer a reasonable explanation. We'll let it pass but this was here for a couple of weeks. Well, it meant I always had a seat.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnPqjLhqSi7kKI6a2vEabF-1rgOc5ml_IA3Dyk9d0FIVzWvr1n7xvHpWFzB0f2h26fAZZfcxO3yKZDIunsm6RVuJS36ERzRoJ8NbSLoYko8ONR4uF5E3tO3C0FU_xkWqdo9PFu-6B3juI/s1600/IMG_2277.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnPqjLhqSi7kKI6a2vEabF-1rgOc5ml_IA3Dyk9d0FIVzWvr1n7xvHpWFzB0f2h26fAZZfcxO3yKZDIunsm6RVuJS36ERzRoJ8NbSLoYko8ONR4uF5E3tO3C0FU_xkWqdo9PFu-6B3juI/s320/IMG_2277.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The mighty calamansi.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
A total digression here. Apart from the weather (temporarily suspended), scenery, culture, people, food and lots of other things my favourite thing in the Philippines is this little beauty. It is called a calamansi and is very, very popular here. It forms a part of the sauces that you make yourself in restaurants with varying combinations of chilli vinegar, soy sauce, sesame oil, hot sauce and calamansi. It is also used to squeeze over the various barbecued meats and just cuts through the slightly fatty content beautifully. <br />
<br />
So what is is? Well, most people describe it as a small lime and lacking a better description that is not a bad way to put it. The flavour is not as sharp as a lime as we would know it in UK. I would say it was somewhere between a lime and a lemon. I love the things. I have saved it's best use for last, though. In the same way as Mexicans put a slice of lime into the neck of a Sol or Corona beer bottle, so the inclusion of a piece of calamansi into a bottle of San Miguel Light improves it's flavour dramatically. Lets' be honest, it is lager which I wouldn't countenance drinking in UK so anything would be an improvement.<br />
<br />
I really wish there was some way of bringing a calamansi tree back to UK, I could make a fortune at it.<br />
<br />
Here is another random image for you, again food related and yet again I have to report that this damned site is messing me about so anything could happen here. Damn this site to Hell, I am going to have to publish this as is and continue it immediately. Sprry folks, stay tuned.<br />
<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiGUsamjoV5s5QWyBAkNi_5n8dOfbU7Y7hDs5jy2NIHet58jlzf43INdjgTQmIFtgbUcZNRREAvngObT92FYsIPwaWf6iZHZXiZ7_80zBIHriicelqaAyMM7AgxLw_BVK3N3XjqeM4M0o/s1600/IMG_2284.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiGUsamjoV5s5QWyBAkNi_5n8dOfbU7Y7hDs5jy2NIHet58jlzf43INdjgTQmIFtgbUcZNRREAvngObT92FYsIPwaWf6iZHZXiZ7_80zBIHriicelqaAyMM7AgxLw_BVK3N3XjqeM4M0o/s320/IMG_2284.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Genghis would be proud.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7218863958884927456.post-80515945029202111342012-05-02T13:25:00.002+01:002012-05-02T13:25:38.246+01:00<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Despite my best efforts to kee this strictly chronological, I am going to have to regress a day or two here to include some images I want to share with you.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjECGuywSIrFgEFh3db5JsG6vM0-Erh2fNd6qs0BhVvhzAEK2XSJdNV3DH3Nncj5vwb-kWBCWCjZ-Xj5TysWu6Csvd4OGpIlUHU_SBYbGPgg1CEFqnkoISew_YkbLPqCFrw-xYpHSMO00/s1600/IMG_2221.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjECGuywSIrFgEFh3db5JsG6vM0-Erh2fNd6qs0BhVvhzAEK2XSJdNV3DH3Nncj5vwb-kWBCWCjZ-Xj5TysWu6Csvd4OGpIlUHU_SBYbGPgg1CEFqnkoISew_YkbLPqCFrw-xYpHSMO00/s320/IMG_2221.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This was a bridge once.</td></tr>
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I have mentioned before about the complete havoc that Typhoon Sendong wrought here. It is almost impossible to ride in the interior without having to detour, ford rivers or simply turn back. I know good efforts are being made in some places, usually with an economic imperative llike the geothermal power station. In this part of the world Bob Dylan's excellent old lyric, "Money doesn't talk, it swears" rings truer than ever. Frankly, the poor can go to Hell as far as the authorities are concerned. As long as the important commercial interests are met, that is all that matters, and the whole thing lubricated by bribes and expensive lunches in Casablanca. I am in imminent danger of becoming a Socialist here which is definitely not my political stance at all.<br />
<br />
Look at this image, taken from where one of the bridges up past Valencia had been wiped out. I saw the remnants of it lying some distance down the river. It is not obvious here but it was about a 10 feet drop to the river. So, I have two options, I can either turn back or I can assess the situation. This is now like one of those initiative tests they give to Army officer recruits. What do you do, dear reader? Time is not an issue here, you have at least two hours befo9re nightfall.<br />
<br />
I'll tell you what I did. Firstly, I watched. I watched until three different riders had forded the river taking a line I really would not have picked, it looked to be the fastest flowig part. <br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgin6__u4LYR7yaFAWYnyOrfFVWUtUfqZniydbPiEbQK3k4gbqRnMTMiz07OTC526vvUyoCtVOqmOYcqkONRqP3tOW56UrPCZh_zaTRvdwMCUrT_l-HfEQd15oTvXSlojH9JVtYRhnbyYo/s1600/IMG_2222.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgin6__u4LYR7yaFAWYnyOrfFVWUtUfqZniydbPiEbQK3k4gbqRnMTMiz07OTC526vvUyoCtVOqmOYcqkONRqP3tOW56UrPCZh_zaTRvdwMCUrT_l-HfEQd15oTvXSlojH9JVtYRhnbyYo/s320/IMG_2222.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Good way to wash a bike.</td></tr>
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Secondly, speaking not a word of Visayan and using only sign language I contacted the group of young men on the opposite remnant of the bridge. They indicated the exact route as taken by the riders I had watched and indicated it safe. Incidentally, if you are wondering about the bike in the background and the small portion of front wheel you can see on the extreme upper right, the locals come here to wash their bikes. Simple.<br />
<br />
OK, I retraced my route a little from the vantage point I had, took a deep breath and drove in to the general encouragement and directional assistance of the locals. I am sure they wanted to see me going base over apex but they didn't send me into what were obviously more tricky waters. I was revving like Hell in first to keep the water out of the exhaust which is fatal. Bless her, Suzi never faltered although I did give her a fairly rough old ride through there. Suzi, as I mentioned, is a very faithful friend and never lets me down. I hammered up the far side with wet legs and a great sense of achievement, waved my thanks to the smiling locals, checked my brakes and made my way on quite happily.<br />
<br />
I know this is hardly Ewan McGregor and Charlie Boorman "Long Way Round" stuff, but it made me feel good and I didn't have the backng of a large and well-funded UK film crew. Just another little victory and further evidence of a couple of theories of mine that I have probably bored you with before. Trust locals, they are generally on your side and secondly, don't be worried about having a go at something. OK, don't be stupid but if you think you have the necessary skills, give it a run. It makes you feel really good, believe me.<br />
<br />
I know this is a small aside but I just fancied posting this. In the next episodes we'll have coconut harvesting by the positively simian WokWok, a halfbuilt Church halfway to nowhere, some more balot action and your humble narrator not only gets his fingernail (singular) painted but his beard straightened. I'm sure you can't wait!<br />
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Stay tuned.<br />
<br />
<br /></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7218863958884927456.post-71842632227860288862012-05-02T08:45:00.001+01:002012-05-02T12:31:37.522+01:00<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I had promised you the day out to Tambobo Bay and here it is. A few of my friends had decided that we should all head up there one day and invited me to join them. Big John and his girlfriend Jurri, Dave and his wife, Canadian Mike and myself all paraded fairly early in Mac's one gloriously sunny morning for the ride. OK, this is not big bike stuff, the largest bike was 200cc and I was on the smallest, the wonderfully faithful Suzi at 125. She was also the only road bike but I was confident in her ability to negotiate the off road I had been promised. I had had her in a few rough places before and knew she would be sound. Suzi has never let me down yet!<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRlaFe8pxCjl6IrjbXkMaNNuOF0MjNz_MXIt7RRwO6h6P09Rv73Z-wmuft3Z7GzfklqYrMatTfpiuQpU2DPY8jYsyYbp8RMjTfDTUVPe4xt51-umwQ7mqA1SHUxXfMbAaWjo-i4HTrlHY/s1600/IMG_2226.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRlaFe8pxCjl6IrjbXkMaNNuOF0MjNz_MXIt7RRwO6h6P09Rv73Z-wmuft3Z7GzfklqYrMatTfpiuQpU2DPY8jYsyYbp8RMjTfDTUVPe4xt51-umwQ7mqA1SHUxXfMbAaWjo-i4HTrlHY/s320/IMG_2226.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Suzi in the sunshine.</td></tr>
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This was a picture taken earlier and I am not sure if I have previously posted it. If so, I apologise but I really am rather attached to Suzi after all this time.<br />
<br />
Anyway, off we took in convoy, nice and steady. I know this is going to sound faintly ridiculous but there is something hugely satisfying about riding in a group, albeit on silly little bikes, with the wind in your hair in blazing sunshine. Yes, I know a helmet is a good idea but it just doesn't happen here. It took me back to my days as a much younger man when I used to ride with the long defunct Eagle MCC in Belfast. At least the weather here is a damn sight better.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhD3w28Xe-XlvA2Cz13x5xqyJi9EMAKcFw51F3e9x1ImFq2BFpvCbDGAj1-qw3lpgXzJshWaXMtjmIvqOaUmTBU5WgNQpahnrTB8ItVP6pIkXJm_kWdX1Izsif13ACzEkqbWqLU3aJYAJ4/s1600/IMG_2242.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhD3w28Xe-XlvA2Cz13x5xqyJi9EMAKcFw51F3e9x1ImFq2BFpvCbDGAj1-qw3lpgXzJshWaXMtjmIvqOaUmTBU5WgNQpahnrTB8ItVP6pIkXJm_kWdX1Izsif13ACzEkqbWqLU3aJYAJ4/s320/IMG_2242.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Baboy's Bad Boys MC.</td></tr>
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After an uneventful and pleasant cruise along the National Highway, we took offroad a bit. Here we are stopping to get bearings. Interesting thing to note here is Dave's wife with the towel over her head, this is common practice here. In the same way as tourists come here hell-bent on getting brown, Philippinos seem equally determined to stay out of the sun. I have noticed this all over Asia. For example in Burma people, especially women, apply a white paste to their exposed skin. It is made form a tree bark and acts like about a factor 40 sunblock. This is not all so daft as it sounds, like most things in Asia.<br />
<br />
The logic runs thus. If you are dark-skinned, it means you are always out in the sun, ergo a peasant and of percieved lower social standing because the chances are that you are poor and have to work in the fields. You will regularly see Asians covering their head with a newspaper, magazine or whatever is to hand. This is all well and good but when you see a scooter coming towards you at whatever speed it can muster (nobody drives slowly here) with the rider controlling the machine one-handed and using the other to cover their head with a handbag, book or whatever else, it is time to sound the alarm. Another frequent practice is for the backrider to have an open umbrella covering both rider's heads. A European traffic cop would have a field day here. I swear I am not making this up, let's be honest, you couldn't.<br />
<br />
Along we went and eventually got our first glimpse of Tambobo Bay which was every bit as beautiful as I had been led to believe. There are a number of sailboats anchored in there and it provides one of very few anchoraqges in the region that offers decent protection from the regular typhoons. It used to be a favourite haunt of pirates and it doesn't take too much imagination to see the odd plunder-laden galleon riding a storm out at anchor here.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBLu4xZJVR3EXtzT_0eqr7FjpHR-OqwCqUGu0jLOw1f09ZDQM9-k_VrJ6JKItRYc4y90Wupkfbngh6v_J1OmGVCmmjrZJLB-I6dfG07MlOcRsMcgffh4TVyNyeBGZOrIwzCE7OoDC5sZI/s1600/IMG_2244.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBLu4xZJVR3EXtzT_0eqr7FjpHR-OqwCqUGu0jLOw1f09ZDQM9-k_VrJ6JKItRYc4y90Wupkfbngh6v_J1OmGVCmmjrZJLB-I6dfG07MlOcRsMcgffh4TVyNyeBGZOrIwzCE7OoDC5sZI/s320/IMG_2244.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tambobo Bay, Negros Oriental.</td></tr>
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We still had a little further to go, however, along a pretty treacherous road until we got to our destination, which does have a proper name (Tongo Sail Club if you want to Google it) but is locally known as Nigel's place.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3cU1rOfI8nFhOFKWk102rPpRyd6VhgGNyyC78cumPUzDxHkdlXKgfjVY1_bj-LiYdGvf9y2yLvwkTjNgMnGgs9LFdKPxum9ub_3ogN6ebiTJvha2hXE3bd1iGLmvmov2HqVDcX4LD3lc/s1600/IMG_2250.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3cU1rOfI8nFhOFKWk102rPpRyd6VhgGNyyC78cumPUzDxHkdlXKgfjVY1_bj-LiYdGvf9y2yLvwkTjNgMnGgs9LFdKPxum9ub_3ogN6ebiTJvha2hXE3bd1iGLmvmov2HqVDcX4LD3lc/s320/IMG_2250.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Nigel's place, Tambobo Bay.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Nigel is an Australian, a boatbuilder by trade who has found himself somewhat washed ashore here with his Filipina wife and has started this place as well as his nearby boatyard. Apart from the obvious natural attraction of the place, which has "tropical paradise" written all over it, it is a really quirky sort of an operation and the kind of place I could see myself hanging out. If you can find a member of staff, and there are one or two about, they will serve you your first drink but after that it is an honour bar system and you just write your own bill and settle up at the end. Here are the boys enjoying a beer.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsVg8gRHmyCCvdiLakhOny1rIZnqCitHEK9StbvsgVEpgguHPTRnS0DwADpacrKRJC0r3lvTpJsxX3nwqnZCyC8oxOaAdy0ui8uHPgPIXqodBp8U5cMpI9LMQBaeXfV5M1WHkL7e13cmU/s1600/IMG_2249.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsVg8gRHmyCCvdiLakhOny1rIZnqCitHEK9StbvsgVEpgguHPTRnS0DwADpacrKRJC0r3lvTpJsxX3nwqnZCyC8oxOaAdy0ui8uHPgPIXqodBp8U5cMpI9LMQBaeXfV5M1WHkL7e13cmU/s320/IMG_2249.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The sadly demised Naiche.</td></tr>
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Obviusly, we couldn't drink much, having to ride home, so we contented ourselves with the view and the weather. The centrepiece, if you could call it that, is Naiche which is registered in Fremantle, Western Australia and which he sailed here. It has seen much better days and frankly I wouldn't fancy it's chances in the Serpentine on a flat calm August day now, it is rotted beyond redemption. Shame really.<br />
<br />
Should you fancy it, there is also a wonderful treehouse to chill out in.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg31hl2URs6ndSHsu76E5rIsBO3mszGD69CyJaV2wx6mOgltMC2Ao4Xa6hWyZorLt7D8dgg15zp0uK7Lj5F6ET9q3h79r5eZxCMepTz6hIJpkWsroCmpAsJcc9hEzoReh4rAI5bsatUc04/s1600/IMG_2258.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg31hl2URs6ndSHsu76E5rIsBO3mszGD69CyJaV2wx6mOgltMC2Ao4Xa6hWyZorLt7D8dgg15zp0uK7Lj5F6ET9q3h79r5eZxCMepTz6hIJpkWsroCmpAsJcc9hEzoReh4rAI5bsatUc04/s320/IMG_2258.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Nigel's treehouse.</td></tr>
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Go on admit it, I am making you jealous, aren't I?<br />
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I am not a great fan of sea aswimming but the lure of this place got the better of me and so, begging the ladies permission and lacking proper trunks, I just stripped off to my underwear and waded in. It was beautifull and I sort of basked like some sort of very white sealion on the small breakwater that protects the beach here. Quite utterly perfect.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuq5a2SdXAgX9xfn4kkbwKZtYJ4GlZytTRjRJ94qjMkvp0tQ89CBGtq6EPiXJQg29D_wuGYUfSL5ZpDgIFpGX09Gbx3sRiIGaq2M25upyZOuir-3OXFHMvHL2C6FckHRIhfTWm7fSYu5E/s1600/IMG_2261.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuq5a2SdXAgX9xfn4kkbwKZtYJ4GlZytTRjRJ94qjMkvp0tQ89CBGtq6EPiXJQg29D_wuGYUfSL5ZpDgIFpGX09Gbx3sRiIGaq2M25upyZOuir-3OXFHMvHL2C6FckHRIhfTWm7fSYu5E/s320/IMG_2261.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Big John, Mike and Dave enjoying a beer.</td></tr>
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Nigel's place hides a little secret, however. Apart from being the idyllic place that it is, he is also putting something back and funds a local volunteer unit of the Coastguard. In a nation comprising over 7,000 islands, the Coastguard is a hugely important organisation and has many volunteer stations.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZ3G7A4QtDAW91rWD4fiRXe1jZ4-DPJjrRCifKOU4lbSXpl7pbpTy0pyu4oNLDRyVm3hUFHQSuf8Kr8gqFYCNKDzgJpQVpWOdL9Xe-XtwmcaQf5tnU_taAE9IpC19095k-pZkJ5wppX9Q/s1600/IMG_2257.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZ3G7A4QtDAW91rWD4fiRXe1jZ4-DPJjrRCifKOU4lbSXpl7pbpTy0pyu4oNLDRyVm3hUFHQSuf8Kr8gqFYCNKDzgJpQVpWOdL9Xe-XtwmcaQf5tnU_taAE9IpC19095k-pZkJ5wppX9Q/s320/IMG_2257.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Home of the 204th "A" Squadron.</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Nigel's wife is actually the station commander. I am not sure how many vessels they command, I certainly didn't see any, they may have been moored in the bay, but I have seen quite a few volunteer Coastguard in uniform around Dumaguete.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJWa9SBLsTzEjlWgb_6lqC21K45wcttKUVf_SoXeUrhi0xUfxuq8FPJWVR6yVi8sqwMK3nY4JGpQg6l02teYWSsHm7Kgz1GkbogZHswG7cOMO6K7FShN7B71ShizBAABuSZuU8ZcexlLk/s1600/IMG_2272.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJWa9SBLsTzEjlWgb_6lqC21K45wcttKUVf_SoXeUrhi0xUfxuq8FPJWVR6yVi8sqwMK3nY4JGpQg6l02teYWSsHm7Kgz1GkbogZHswG7cOMO6K7FShN7B71ShizBAABuSZuU8ZcexlLk/s320/IMG_2272.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Big John checks the machines.</td></tr>
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Eventually it was time to regretfully leave such a wonderful place as we didn't fancy the road back in the dark. Canadian Mike had already left as he had things to attend to, being in the process of buildng a bamboo house and being completely dependent on local craftsmen who, whilst excellent at what they do, are not renowned for delivering on time. Everything seems to be a problem and he got a call so he had to run. <br />
<br />
John and Dave both knew the route and I had made a point of remembering it. It was a shame actually as we decided to go back the same way we had come and I had really looked forward to riding the delightfully named Old Spanish Road. I just thought that was a terribly atmospheric name. It is probably just a crappy unpaved Pinoy road but it sounded nice and was another thing to see. Not to worry, I am going on the road again soon and will maybe run down it. We had a quick pitstop at a lovely beach to stretch the legs and here is where we stopped.<br />
<br />
We all made it back in good order and it was a great day out which I won't forget in a long time. OK, proper bikers will laugh at this but leave us alone, will you? We had a lovely day out on little runaround bikes in glorious weather at a place I think you will agree is beautiful and we all came home happy. In fairness, the proper big bikers here are, as I have mentioned, a very generous bunch and would have appreciated the ride. Hopefully we might all get it together again, I believe the sandbar near Bais City has been mentioned for a run.<br />
<br />
Seems like an appropriate place to break here, so I will.<br />
<br />
Stay tuned.</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7218863958884927456.post-82826451067126427302012-05-01T16:04:00.002+01:002012-05-01T16:04:32.167+01:00<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Well folks, looks like you are stuck with some more of my inane drivel, rain havng very much stopped play here. It is not so much raining cats and dogs as chucking a complete bloody menagerie from the Heavens. I'll swear I just saw an armadillo bounce off the concrete but it was immediately washed away by the floodwater that now seems to be engulfing Negros. When I'm in Europe, I always seem to forget just how hard it can rain in the tropics and we are being "treated" to an absolutely prime example here tonight. Best, I think, if I duck down here and try to gainfully employ myself by boring you.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7EFRhPZ2inqxo0kYqFMexMQPo2cI8-9TpA1fHrYfLVSlGxVGMj-gW68GHSuWTNwTh7BJARJuKdiy8W1iL88Pb3OPIG3eMx52ND82pSn3HYaZDpzo1tHuWlvNjD6YSQY-rjbzVVTT7gFo/s1600/IMG_2215.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7EFRhPZ2inqxo0kYqFMexMQPo2cI8-9TpA1fHrYfLVSlGxVGMj-gW68GHSuWTNwTh7BJARJuKdiy8W1iL88Pb3OPIG3eMx52ND82pSn3HYaZDpzo1tHuWlvNjD6YSQY-rjbzVVTT7gFo/s320/IMG_2215.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The ice-cream man.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Let's start with a completely random image here. This poor little sod pedals his bike up and down the National Hghway every day in punishing heat playing probably the most irritating two bar jingle I have ever heard. I am quite convinced that continuous playing of that to prisoners of war would be contrary to the Geneva Convention. In fairness to him, he does have some very tasty ice cream.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOuNjiekues_4Z9C14-i-MBPo92-7yKljbRPAkP03SztzQNton8n2slYONW1COoCM7S0jtt5j5xCfG_h4yYptDyfEA_PgQWu7I5K_Fu7SLn9cFO5Q_VZ4Teb6fpi9RIICPB1ncLP3VuB0/s1600/IMG_2216.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOuNjiekues_4Z9C14-i-MBPo92-7yKljbRPAkP03SztzQNton8n2slYONW1COoCM7S0jtt5j5xCfG_h4yYptDyfEA_PgQWu7I5K_Fu7SLn9cFO5Q_VZ4Teb6fpi9RIICPB1ncLP3VuB0/s320/IMG_2216.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The masses at prayer,</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
In my attempt to keep things chronological and not miss anything, we have come now to Holy Week, or Semana Santa as it is known here, another nod to the Spanish colonial influence. As in the Orthodox Church, Easter is a much bigger deal than Christmas and it is absolutely huge here in the Philippines where the Roman Catholic Church claims more than 80% of the population. Most of the remaining 20% are Muslims, mostly centred in Mindanao just South of here. I have met guys who have travelled there and tell me it is possibly the most beautiful place on Earth but it is also a place of kidnappings and bombings. I lived in Belfast in the 1970's and have had more than my fair share of bombs, so I'll give it a miss for now, much as I would love to go. Abu Sayyaf will just have to wait.<br />
<br />
Now I have more reason than most to dislike religious intolerance and I would never tell anyone how to worship but I saw an interesting thing on CNN here today which is featuring the Philippines for a week. Immediately after intervieweing a young woman who had just gven birth to her ninth child in what can only be described as very primitive hospital conditions, we had the thoughts of a senior member of the CBC (Catholic Bishops Conference). Interviewed in his lavishly decorated Church he was equating contraception to abortion and assuring us that the introduction of the controversial RH (Reproductive Health) Bill would lead to the moral bankruptcy of the country. Basically the RH Bill, which is effectively dead in the water anyway due to Church influence, wants to make contraception widely avilable in a country with about 100 million people and one of the highest birthrates in Asia. Of course, contraception is available if you can afford it so the rich are OK but what of the poor? Well, they just go to Church and pay the priest to baptise the umpteenth unwanted child. Such is life here. I shall let the reader decide where the morality lies.<br />
<br />
The image above is of the masses wrshipping on Easter Sunday in Valencia. There were so many people that they were standing in the street listening to the service relayed on loudspeakers.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVpaBQjDKrhd9DgnHi_NGmDuDRroImfVO7TTGIhR409jsjZ0rPwzqtnn8zSC9XmMn2a8MxvXisOzUbsqEa8PUqliYqRn6_uK9TRTGtSRlGY__NjPQ3FP-m645mZo3-NTiaNhiv7TSnW0Y/s1600/IMG_2219.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVpaBQjDKrhd9DgnHi_NGmDuDRroImfVO7TTGIhR409jsjZ0rPwzqtnn8zSC9XmMn2a8MxvXisOzUbsqEa8PUqliYqRn6_uK9TRTGtSRlGY__NjPQ3FP-m645mZo3-NTiaNhiv7TSnW0Y/s320/IMG_2219.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Stations of the Cross.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Not wishing to hang about and intrude, I took off to the country and was struck by the number of things like this that I saw. Basically every village and hamlet erects the stations of the cross around the place and the people walk around them making their religious devotions. <br />Some are quite simple like this and others very ornate. It is an interesting thing to see.<br />
<br />
I think I will leave it here as I want to make a seperate post about the wonderful day we had out in Tambobo Bay.<br />
<br />
Stay tuned.</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7218863958884927456.post-39484428366955760792012-04-29T16:33:00.000+01:002012-04-29T16:33:30.895+01:00<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Whilst sitting here half watching Chelsea taking QPR apart (6-1 as we speak), I will take this opportunity to post up a few more images with a small accompanying text. You are being spoiled today, dear reader.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhluF_pXlyX2A7Fq4O5Tq9KQWhcSFCSRL9yR8eENf3w-Xcgoiuhdy8p9_T9sjbRbs2jGBMacaPKxMOOcjEDgQtjyw9jW4xzBncGVigR63huoh-jmP-tjlTeVe9JgZyjYEFouAkUD8sLHbE/s1600/IMG_2203.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhluF_pXlyX2A7Fq4O5Tq9KQWhcSFCSRL9yR8eENf3w-Xcgoiuhdy8p9_T9sjbRbs2jGBMacaPKxMOOcjEDgQtjyw9jW4xzBncGVigR63huoh-jmP-tjlTeVe9JgZyjYEFouAkUD8sLHbE/s320/IMG_2203.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Big bike.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I have mentioned many times earlier about hanging out with bikers here, and they tend to favour the place I live as a place to party. This leads to some pretty interesting nights, as you can imagine.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBOSbAMwEcxbmOtZWRBV3ZCLl-56EPx-CfkU9_zXKmsmJCk0V6kml4dRFDhuFLcDkQaPxx6pSWrmcAycXCogNjmJvVDXh2DjpvY-tv2rFkiA2cnXNvRLXp5aE70uRi3u0Kyjzt9kdg49g/s1600/IMG_2206.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBOSbAMwEcxbmOtZWRBV3ZCLl-56EPx-CfkU9_zXKmsmJCk0V6kml4dRFDhuFLcDkQaPxx6pSWrmcAycXCogNjmJvVDXh2DjpvY-tv2rFkiA2cnXNvRLXp5aE70uRi3u0Kyjzt9kdg49g/s320/IMG_2206.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Another big bike.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I don't know if you have read in an earlier post about my mate Bjorn who was one of the bikers injured quite badly by the killer trike on the big Bayawan charity run. If not, I'll recap briefly. Bjorn, one of the outsiders M.C. Dumaguete chapter was taken out by a rider from another club whilst sitting at the side of the road about to attend to a sick bike. He is a really nice guy and ended up flying to Europe the next day with 59 stitches in his leg to pick up a ship where he is a senior officer. I had advised him against it but he said he had to and off he went.<br />
<br />
The story, however, does not end there and only serves to show that when your luck is out, it is really out.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEVfzoVH2OgfIe-nifTpk91Zo_MJ_Q7xmkkzXGHwfEJPR9WEMP-FNHs9TVGzlyjy4UEOphySA6NuJs73hDPrQxKGjSyaFNg64ni2R6hE7bGP_TpWogFnJKTrUcg_w78V4oswlzi_iIstA/s1600/IMG_2207.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEVfzoVH2OgfIe-nifTpk91Zo_MJ_Q7xmkkzXGHwfEJPR9WEMP-FNHs9TVGzlyjy4UEOphySA6NuJs73hDPrQxKGjSyaFNg64ni2R6hE7bGP_TpWogFnJKTrUcg_w78V4oswlzi_iIstA/s320/IMG_2207.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">And another.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Bjorn made his ship and was working on the principle that he didn't have to be too mobile as there are lifts (elevators) between all the decks, so how is this for a piece of bad luck? Whilst climbing out of his bunk in the middle of the Atlantic, the ship caught a completely freak wave which threw him across the cabin breaking off a small portion of a vertebra at the top of his spine. Cue helicopter medevac to Oslo, couple of weeks in hospital and back here to the Phils without too much permanent damage hopefully. All this in a few weeks, how's your luck? I am reminded of an old blues song I heard from Cream (although it is older) with the line, "If it wasn't for bad luck, I wouldn't have no luck at all."<br />
<br />
Bjorn decided some sort of "glad to still be alive" party might be in order and it was arranged for a Sunday afternoon in my place. No expense was spared.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisINQHnqNJMb79SK71yonnlMOiUYi0UO_z7KGoAD6lS3Ac3XkWWfmdEvmwUWX1LK0mdkOulRj828GgS5MFeMB-32ztk5orKqck7kTVsvcaVfwedUvY3TRYnXHImthYYxgvJTRDGlLTNKs/s1600/IMG_2236.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisINQHnqNJMb79SK71yonnlMOiUYi0UO_z7KGoAD6lS3Ac3XkWWfmdEvmwUWX1LK0mdkOulRj828GgS5MFeMB-32ztk5orKqck7kTVsvcaVfwedUvY3TRYnXHImthYYxgvJTRDGlLTNKs/s320/IMG_2236.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Just look at this beauty.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Alan, the non-patched guy I mentioned earlier with whom I had been riding on the fateful day, has a farm and associated catering business. His dear Filipina wife is an outstanding cook as well as being a lovely lady. Al will barbecue a lechon as it is called here, to your specifications (plain, spicy, barbecue, whatever) and bring all the associated trimmngs as you can see in the next image.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2ZC1Pcern4IH83adNFsanRKHFxYl-i8Aw38odBTd1qOeItNfnfc5A05fsdQLee7VPKRLF5xAzUgjdX_wqJcAoLYGHmffNxVGDUclJ6PpR8aeQ-wQy-C-u8f10Iv7bnSoznzNV7rsjuOU/s1600/IMG_2238.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2ZC1Pcern4IH83adNFsanRKHFxYl-i8Aw38odBTd1qOeItNfnfc5A05fsdQLee7VPKRLF5xAzUgjdX_wqJcAoLYGHmffNxVGDUclJ6PpR8aeQ-wQy-C-u8f10Iv7bnSoznzNV7rsjuOU/s320/IMG_2238.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Get stuck in, boys.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Actually, the image does not show all the food but it gives a pretty good idea. Here you see my mates Gerry and Roar (yes, that is his real name, he's Norwegian) getting ready to tuck in. Yet again it was a great day, there were members of several clubs there with no animosity at all and I was made to feel most welcome. The bikers here are a very sociable bunch and I feel totally at home with them.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLPVokkbfNS6EE-FQ1ti7Z13fyq1j0AXCmAD1148sOCkWcvuwzMK0zv6KvnT4D1NwBdQDVyActDAtoShggwBX0AAHLkGrh4J_1UWrJx41_d4VcRg6kP1c96HXMSB4AeUDSLmPxGruNut8/s1600/IMG_2237.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLPVokkbfNS6EE-FQ1ti7Z13fyq1j0AXCmAD1148sOCkWcvuwzMK0zv6KvnT4D1NwBdQDVyActDAtoShggwBX0AAHLkGrh4J_1UWrJx41_d4VcRg6kP1c96HXMSB4AeUDSLmPxGruNut8/s320/IMG_2237.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My new Filipina girlfriend!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
It was a great day out as indeed every day seems to be here. I'll finish you off here with a little something that wasn't actually on the menu that day but which Al makes on contract for Mac. In fairness, his good lady wife makes them but you know what I mean. These little beauties are called firecrackers and they certainly live up to their name.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSP9ViRHIrQtJu3XKQS2pVuU9ZYTDqvbqqUzJHcmNdRRIrpxjTIwelkFYOvd3YhyecsEQ47Wtw3CssBMCpB6ad_xxSQ1g_AzXTfcl9pUqwp_0OHWA9-5ywU83nb07s_pRtVsCPzb3K8SM/s1600/IMG_2194.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSP9ViRHIrQtJu3XKQS2pVuU9ZYTDqvbqqUzJHcmNdRRIrpxjTIwelkFYOvd3YhyecsEQ47Wtw3CssBMCpB6ad_xxSQ1g_AzXTfcl9pUqwp_0OHWA9-5ywU83nb07s_pRtVsCPzb3K8SM/s320/IMG_2194.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Philippino firecrackers.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Firecrackers are whole (unseeded) chillies wrapped in filo pastry with a few other bits and bobs inside and then fried. They are very popular here. I have mentioned that I have a fairly asbestos mouth and the constitution of a horse and I don't actually find them that hot, although every so often you will get a rogue one that is rather more nuclear than the rest. I have seen men breaking into a sweat at the first mouthful. Mac has an interesting way of eating these. He removes the chilli and eats the outside shell which I think defeats the purpose somewhat. I normally find myself hoovering up the discarded chillies which is quite fun. The general consensus here is that I am quite mad, can't imagine why.<br />
<br />
Got to go now, time for town, so I'll try to post again a little later.<br />
<br />
Stay tuned.</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7218863958884927456.post-28723215880656743582012-04-29T10:59:00.001+01:002012-04-29T10:59:59.362+01:00The steaming road.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I promised you a steaming road and here it is. As you are probably tired of reading now, I am a great believer in using local knowledge and after having left the hugely interesting Malatapay Market (see previous post) I decided to head back up the mountain and look for a place up behind Valencia that a long-term expat friend of mine had told me about. It is s place where there is a geothermal power station which provides the residents of Valencia with very cheap electricity. I have told you about the earthquake already and there is a volcano not 10 miles from here which is overdue another eruption. It is a fairly unstable region in that respect.<br />
<br />
Back to the start however. Whilst riding up to Tierra Alta previously with Hawk I had noticed the most obscure set of roadsigns I have ever seen. They have the design features of proper roadsigns but are actually some sort of poem.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiodBvBiTKk2122_oH0zsNb4jG2yEiDe4gGY7ZcJLSaAkLgHLHRvJ9rgluSzLQHbKWRX5pJq_BhTV1y5SISGG4NaKNzmBGIVbaUfIRTNxdIXCPsptQ2jEsIiH-S4hFkW6Q793jOIdinoAk/s1600/IMG_2169.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiodBvBiTKk2122_oH0zsNb4jG2yEiDe4gGY7ZcJLSaAkLgHLHRvJ9rgluSzLQHbKWRX5pJq_BhTV1y5SISGG4NaKNzmBGIVbaUfIRTNxdIXCPsptQ2jEsIiH-S4hFkW6Q793jOIdinoAk/s320/IMG_2169.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Road sign poem.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
If you read the things in sequence, they do form a fairly small, free verse sort of thing about a tree, if I have read it correctly. Here is another offering.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4D0Enoi_gb_VS6KDh-jN0npPO8cYFD6mHojR5wjZsf4QYbq1Xwit0Kg5ZCpoz2RHwWLB-pFp9fYid2f4HrsOn6Cbor5J7IDdRRVZtuG2vtPzFR9w4WHfUObxoTJp2b-sMBOcJid-wV8w/s1600/IMG_2170.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4D0Enoi_gb_VS6KDh-jN0npPO8cYFD6mHojR5wjZsf4QYbq1Xwit0Kg5ZCpoz2RHwWLB-pFp9fYid2f4HrsOn6Cbor5J7IDdRRVZtuG2vtPzFR9w4WHfUObxoTJp2b-sMBOcJid-wV8w/s320/IMG_2170.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lovely but dangerous.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Now here is the problem. I have described to you the sheer suicidal nature of riding on a Philippino road, so the last thing you want to be doing is taking your eyes off the road for a second. Not perhaps then a great idea to be inviting you to read roadside poetry.<br />
<br />
Having survived the potential fatality of the Philippino Wordsworth, I carried on into what can only be described as a moonscape. I had seen a few washed out bridges and things from Typhoon Sendong and the resulting floods but I really couldn't beleive what I was seeing. I have been told that this river valley used to be, until a few months ago, one of the most beautiful and verdant places on Negros. Now it looks like some gargantuan alien earthmover had just gouged the face of the Earth out. I really coudn't believe it. I'll let the images speak for themselves.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhL5TgaFNKerd-gBb0sr18-YVGR989-vEyigia9hO3rv4PgJYgzpNKLGJabgT84C70Pep0xJhXXuQX0dZ9Gj2T7TF9Y-6ua5HaUqDrXPLS376feNzq0TfHdn_OkPberUCkOHui-bzeT1Yw/s1600/IMG_2171.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhL5TgaFNKerd-gBb0sr18-YVGR989-vEyigia9hO3rv4PgJYgzpNKLGJabgT84C70Pep0xJhXXuQX0dZ9Gj2T7TF9Y-6ua5HaUqDrXPLS376feNzq0TfHdn_OkPberUCkOHui-bzeT1Yw/s320/IMG_2171.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A river ran here.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
The sheer power of this almost defies comprehension. This was the course of a small river which has now had it's course totally altered (causing all sorts of problems). I saw boulders, not yet overgrown and literally the size of lorries, sittin perched up hillsides where they had obviously been recently deposited. The word breathtaking is ften overused but this truly was.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTz0VCsB4CKrblWLJYYABrPsBkoXLb8hqz5HRBwVvIIwfTyNX1_9EvSsrkhp5GL_sElGUDkG1Bk3Ewxk-sa3RzdrhyphenhyphenGP-5yAAkgtsdD4A-NcPawbk8Z2gjb7ACgpJF1gwdf2137z-vanc/s1600/IMG_2173.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTz0VCsB4CKrblWLJYYABrPsBkoXLb8hqz5HRBwVvIIwfTyNX1_9EvSsrkhp5GL_sElGUDkG1Bk3Ewxk-sa3RzdrhyphenhyphenGP-5yAAkgtsdD4A-NcPawbk8Z2gjb7ACgpJF1gwdf2137z-vanc/s320/IMG_2173.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Building remains.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Naturally, anything man-made has no chance in the face of such an onslaught and I saw this building just about wiped out. I have no idea what it's original purpose was but it looked like a bomb had hit it. Take a look at the reasonably sized bulldozer sitting outside, it was completely trashed and had obviously been left there to rot.<br />
<br />
After a sobering and quite challenging ride up what was left of a road, I came upon this sign. Now there's a thing you don't see every day.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEin_WiB8OJ9goX39eq5Id82qEHKQC830xLyEwz12NqpaDKHQZzw-_GvFq3kAL-PD41rQeOAvgrUr69HU4aEP-fGkiq6Ko9iIPcEyKHDE5NuCybaTyUC8_XZ8ScB0HHAzBxuY_CEZQlf-bI/s1600/IMG_2177.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEin_WiB8OJ9goX39eq5Id82qEHKQC830xLyEwz12NqpaDKHQZzw-_GvFq3kAL-PD41rQeOAvgrUr69HU4aEP-fGkiq6Ko9iIPcEyKHDE5NuCybaTyUC8_XZ8ScB0HHAzBxuY_CEZQlf-bI/s320/IMG_2177.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Crazy road sign.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
They weren't joking, as you can see here.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBJZsrB2Ef69OsEdmJmXqbxYaE33x_gxCIP9LxQKjnyTgwXXLSon6NU1usM_qjdjkXzn8S-170C2y9gkFOJH_m0bwCW06adk5ViXNjywF_r7BYKP5c4AXpZSwWQtMXpGeASjpcOVsToZY/s1600/IMG_2179.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBJZsrB2Ef69OsEdmJmXqbxYaE33x_gxCIP9LxQKjnyTgwXXLSon6NU1usM_qjdjkXzn8S-170C2y9gkFOJH_m0bwCW06adk5ViXNjywF_r7BYKP5c4AXpZSwWQtMXpGeASjpcOVsToZY/s320/IMG_2179.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The hills are alive!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Like other such place I have been, the stench or sulphur is noticeable but not overpowering here as it is in, say, Rotorua in New Zealand.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJQ2sCA0obcKKprdCZWjJfezfGOjOHJAq1rHsRx9ywX2apT7OTAkngSqGMtWKHW5RpDMDaciFeGSKzP-xBLr2tY7Ia4KXNrGSUVoODtyNnv6hwztycvYJnbrKPWT9HgzxTnMBFiiExE3I/s1600/IMG_2180.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJQ2sCA0obcKKprdCZWjJfezfGOjOHJAq1rHsRx9ywX2apT7OTAkngSqGMtWKHW5RpDMDaciFeGSKzP-xBLr2tY7Ia4KXNrGSUVoODtyNnv6hwztycvYJnbrKPWT9HgzxTnMBFiiExE3I/s320/IMG_2180.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sulphur spring.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Hot water bubbles and hisses literally out of the very Earth and it is frightening to think of the power miles below that can cause this.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglzizOmm__sYB6THobElT0tyRFWMHvSSGBsgL6jp3e_76n95HhtT77yFI1xSkfQ4hzyWPMkk9u2Qq-Nq0-s7vS6Aqitwdu3u2v27hwISPYtP64CTZVyJqz69qSvgd5FN6SMVfXjXtvUVs/s1600/IMG_2186.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglzizOmm__sYB6THobElT0tyRFWMHvSSGBsgL6jp3e_76n95HhtT77yFI1xSkfQ4hzyWPMkk9u2Qq-Nq0-s7vS6Aqitwdu3u2v27hwISPYtP64CTZVyJqz69qSvgd5FN6SMVfXjXtvUVs/s320/IMG_2186.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hot rock.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I carried on after this to the small and fairly uninteresting village where the road effectively ends. It does go on to the power station and I believe you can arrange a tour there but I did not have the requisite permist and so turned around and headed back, going the other way back towards Sibulan.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTir5GJixVp1TvdPrQibngEm7nXhuESQDrHjtws-weNawkwj_9R4eXPLNJMPPUhrjsAHhhoLUU9Z-FDbrl0CFMn4DmrL5NJsoMXZUhk7yLP_2pKn9yA0B1wYt3DFb9sQOLmbWry3KYmSk/s1600/IMG_2190.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTir5GJixVp1TvdPrQibngEm7nXhuESQDrHjtws-weNawkwj_9R4eXPLNJMPPUhrjsAHhhoLUU9Z-FDbrl0CFMn4DmrL5NJsoMXZUhk7yLP_2pKn9yA0B1wYt3DFb9sQOLmbWry3KYmSk/s320/IMG_2190.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Look at that view.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Going back the other road was no hardship at all, as the image above tells you, I was more or less alone, beautiful vistas although again attention to the road was required, it is not that good.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsI-_SJy8aF0BKZP4XO45Ova8dtOsUYr4DVW2CcyQA1fdGpjW-2uquXYQiT0zHTGZI1Y1OgCU9dYKC2zUJa67Z3JUHeSDF8sI6TLhS2Cfku-KA-ojTgyPG3a7tWwczzZxGTRRf4r4rbvA/s1600/IMG_2192.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsI-_SJy8aF0BKZP4XO45Ova8dtOsUYr4DVW2CcyQA1fdGpjW-2uquXYQiT0zHTGZI1Y1OgCU9dYKC2zUJa67Z3JUHeSDF8sI6TLhS2Cfku-KA-ojTgyPG3a7tWwczzZxGTRRf4r4rbvA/s320/IMG_2192.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The road goes on forever.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Eventually, the road became civilised and I made good time back to Dumaguete City. I do love riding here and I reckon you could have a simply wonderful time on something like a 350 / 400 dirt bike. Well, that is my plan anyway!<br />
<br />
Another great day out, another reason to love the Philippines and best of all I'm still here.<br />
<br />
I am still nowhere up to date but I am geting closer and this has been a productive day on the blog front. I think I shall go for my daily siesta now, it is a thing of the heat an my increasing age. </div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7218863958884927456.post-25069491508991118302012-04-29T09:41:00.000+01:002012-04-29T09:41:12.203+01:00Things you don't see every day.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I am on a bit of an enforced roll now. I had planned a ride up the coast today but Mac has disappeared with Hazel on the bike so I am a bit stranded here. Well, might as well make the most of it.<br />
<br />
I had heard about a crazy market in a place called Malatapay, a few miles distant along the National Highway, so I decided to take a ride out and have a look. This only happens on a Wednesday and starts really early. I don't start early, but when I got here about 1100 hours it was still going on pretty actively.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtAyH5SOVfHcsoulx6RZBop_KoAraIn5Beqd1W7ajo7PdarxG4MrNbtM-fnMjpyspvNFaewJxm5NVsaaGzkIARAmQWMMetRH2laWgk9JBt_QnYMm1Ey5WGwtBoAGXdC9Jz65FkXp6Mz1Y/s1600/IMG_2136.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtAyH5SOVfHcsoulx6RZBop_KoAraIn5Beqd1W7ajo7PdarxG4MrNbtM-fnMjpyspvNFaewJxm5NVsaaGzkIARAmQWMMetRH2laWgk9JBt_QnYMm1Ey5WGwtBoAGXdC9Jz65FkXp6Mz1Y/s320/IMG_2136.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Malatapay market, livestock section.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Most markets in the Philippines are fairly regulated and normally housed in municipal buildings with defined units but this is what I imagine markets must have been like here in centuries past, without the vehicles obviously. Again, I will let a tip from my <a href="http://members.virtualtourist.com/m/p/m/21eb1d/" target="_blank">VT page </a>explain the thing.<br />
<br />
"I had visited this place on anther day of the week and thought it was
some sort of ghost village but it was just all the stalls lying unused
for six days a week. People come from miles around to patronise this
place as the traffic congestion and general mayhem on the National
Highway attests and you can literally buy anything here from a safety
pin to a water buffalo, if that is what you need.<br />
<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizJ3TdUlCpdm2OfI6yGA30vXPJePzFJRA9boVeWDX3snMGSYe_vB7nZJtZpPcGzvZ1geJZoTdUVI4HBbx9F5B4hb5GwiGKIqZCpeN1iZih2p71GsEL3lX5TYx1AsEeoeIzGzZpB3faiDA/s1600/IMG_2137.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizJ3TdUlCpdm2OfI6yGA30vXPJePzFJRA9boVeWDX3snMGSYe_vB7nZJtZpPcGzvZ1geJZoTdUVI4HBbx9F5B4hb5GwiGKIqZCpeN1iZih2p71GsEL3lX5TYx1AsEeoeIzGzZpB3faiDA/s320/IMG_2137.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Look at this beauty.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Whilst it looks
fairly anarchic on first sight, it is actually very well ordered. The
livestock section is in one place (to the right half way down from the
highway), all the cutlers are in one place, all the clothes vendors
lumped together etc. It vaguely reminded me of the old medieaval
European system where this was practiced and now is commemorated in
street names.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8CaujfUg1Ta76sik8TZpVE8LeQ5iBNUleNPmq1cRImT0pYamwn5-F0PueVHe-f6hWJZWNj4SDkXbMoHr8bvXe_5grkE4CLm4XuFnXew3GUt3AteSENOgLtMS3Q0o5bG1uTap5j2HlfoM/s1600/IMG_2138.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8CaujfUg1Ta76sik8TZpVE8LeQ5iBNUleNPmq1cRImT0pYamwn5-F0PueVHe-f6hWJZWNj4SDkXbMoHr8bvXe_5grkE4CLm4XuFnXew3GUt3AteSENOgLtMS3Q0o5bG1uTap5j2HlfoM/s320/IMG_2138.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Local livestock transport.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
In relation to the image above, I have to say that some of the transportation conditions of the livestock bought are possibly offensive to some of the more delicate visitors but that is the way it is.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjV3ZdF1Hna0cXl5Q7CXJBoxTWvS91NE7Ywm1k9JhTNouuR7XW_wIrRe9-kvqP2PA3km_DypRjlGuDh-kvdCNAIr_jzs9gYUt7gnCG5hFvoIjw6sFk9egkDl5aO736_2QDTJVRCfmjIyEQ/s1600/IMG_2144.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjV3ZdF1Hna0cXl5Q7CXJBoxTWvS91NE7Ywm1k9JhTNouuR7XW_wIrRe9-kvqP2PA3km_DypRjlGuDh-kvdCNAIr_jzs9gYUt7gnCG5hFvoIjw6sFk9egkDl5aO736_2QDTJVRCfmjIyEQ/s320/IMG_2144.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Smaller scale local livestock transport.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I did meet a few other Westerners but not many and
you really do get a good flavour of local life here, it is such good
fun. You do need to get there pretty early as it is winding down by
about midday. I believe it starts around sunrise.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFAez-5gyU06l5_Y9jf1fY47SV9c_PFinmSnd_btUjDM9qv5iyAtU960ECkVjFoRiTNi-Lwxo-tvUydD_aFI5YYS1hZdXj__65BgnUZIGf5Li4VgWG5YMZ8sXi8h0Zs6q2kkKrhXy3HbA/s1600/IMG_2143.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFAez-5gyU06l5_Y9jf1fY47SV9c_PFinmSnd_btUjDM9qv5iyAtU960ECkVjFoRiTNi-Lwxo-tvUydD_aFI5YYS1hZdXj__65BgnUZIGf5Li4VgWG5YMZ8sXi8h0Zs6q2kkKrhXy3HbA/s320/IMG_2143.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pots and pans stall.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Beng Asia, you
will never go hungry and there are numerous food stalls, although I didn't eat there myself."<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiH-W6YXfk0Ay2BkjCW-PibdtQ2t8ss84tFmaIer_A9xOOiRj1hgsp3KeASODQoR2oGBCILC3lZn4ecf-MxKRViNLWWI7nvn1GuxP86oVfPLGI80FzlMJTaYJnQlCZQGqcSB2rNMrGXFuQ/s1600/IMG_2145.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiH-W6YXfk0Ay2BkjCW-PibdtQ2t8ss84tFmaIer_A9xOOiRj1hgsp3KeASODQoR2oGBCILC3lZn4ecf-MxKRViNLWWI7nvn1GuxP86oVfPLGI80FzlMJTaYJnQlCZQGqcSB2rNMrGXFuQ/s320/IMG_2145.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">As many knives as you will ever need.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Obviously, I have interspersed a few other comments into my narrative here, if you have checked my VT page. <br />
<br />
It was just another great day out. I seem to have so many of them here. This was only the start of it so it seems like an appropriate place to break, I went on to see some more amazing places. I know people have complained to me before that I write huge long posts that they have to wade through, so I'll try to make them more manageable. You have got a steaming road to come!<br />
<br />
Stay tuned.</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7218863958884927456.post-1746496194717069242012-04-29T09:00:00.001+01:002012-04-29T09:00:44.638+01:00Parental guidance still advised<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
OK, I know, yesterday's post was a bit brief even by my standards and, no, the parental guidance title wasn't just a teaser, it still stands if I can get a paragraph or two knocked off here. All this is dependent on me not getting an invitation to some social gathering which seems to happen increasingly frequently here, it really is a very sociable town.<br />
<br />
I'll start you off today wth an amusing little sign I saw down in San Miguel one day. I simply had to take a photo. If you are unaware a Lapida Maker is what we would refer to as a monumental sculptor, he makes headstones and the like.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzslbPr9wtJmzZPAV2vgszFBeFMfyE_BC6ZKSvPiPdbyioCweqvg7rYCcrw93xKu8qWA-pe9G2HcvodKCfKtSXkJaR6RHacrVFMWC9AVH-2UaJPkm9nv5LAGuLUWOyYfdvC_KwdNgqJKY/s1600/IMG_2059.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzslbPr9wtJmzZPAV2vgszFBeFMfyE_BC6ZKSvPiPdbyioCweqvg7rYCcrw93xKu8qWA-pe9G2HcvodKCfKtSXkJaR6RHacrVFMWC9AVH-2UaJPkm9nv5LAGuLUWOyYfdvC_KwdNgqJKY/s320/IMG_2059.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I'll bear it in mind.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
The guy here was doing some very good work but it was the tomb remodelling thing that caught my eye. Next time I need a tomb remodelled, I'll bear him in mind. It is just one of those quirky little things you see round here.<br />
<br />
I shall lure you into a further false sense of security with this image of yet more delicious food.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcgbWZD3YHQJ7BvFZ6KUS2MWmycyxGUCnWDcCAn3Bp1vgMGEPIKXIyMo3POkLiw6wWp5K6Spe1FXu-99U-ftox60h_rkkMMyRr5j1_5OjPWZOVVKjeMHZQzNGy2u4OrzI6gE-g5jVDNAQ/s1600/IMG_2065.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcgbWZD3YHQJ7BvFZ6KUS2MWmycyxGUCnWDcCAn3Bp1vgMGEPIKXIyMo3POkLiw6wWp5K6Spe1FXu-99U-ftox60h_rkkMMyRr5j1_5OjPWZOVVKjeMHZQzNGy2u4OrzI6gE-g5jVDNAQ/s320/IMG_2065.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Manok and Chorizo.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I really am becoming quite addicted to this barbecued food with rice, it really is delicious. The round things on skewers are called chorizo, obviously a relic of the Spanish colonial times. It is very slightly spicy, not hot at all, and is wonderfully tasty.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifr0OXI9IBArzCTW-aLhBgfWV_t9fyho5GzdhWQL4x9mjCAGjFkB2Ee0gXa1YXkooXagDTHdGC-XavkhzmV7gIHhJ-M5mrniXZ03xfQm6WhJ7nRJkiEydcGwX-eJnRrUCPYd8kcoGC7fY/s1600/IMG_2089.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifr0OXI9IBArzCTW-aLhBgfWV_t9fyho5GzdhWQL4x9mjCAGjFkB2Ee0gXa1YXkooXagDTHdGC-XavkhzmV7gIHhJ-M5mrniXZ03xfQm6WhJ7nRJkiEydcGwX-eJnRrUCPYd8kcoGC7fY/s320/IMG_2089.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Some of the Baboy's crew.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
For a man who didn't even want to run a bar, my mate Mac seems to be doing rather well in spite of himself. Sundays can be quite a big day, especially if there is Formula One racing being shown and a lot of the expats tend to gather here. We have been fortunate at the minute as the races have all been in places where the time difference is not too bad. It is going to change now when it goes to Europe and the races will be late at night here. To the left side of the bar you see some members of the Roadrunners M.C., Dumaguete Chapter, who I hang out with. They really are nice guys.<br />
<br />
So this is where it starts to get messy. You may wish to avert the kid's eyes here. My mate Mac, who will never be described as an Adonis, at least not outside a "Home for the Bewildered" had one night let out his own cabin to one of the bikers who was slightly the worse for wear and had to bunk down on the floor of the bar. The guy certainly knows how to make a peso or two! I returned home not knowing this and wanderd round the back of the bar to get my nightly bottle of water and this is the sight that greeted me.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNgYmNODI370XymU_u-5gVQJKC3XVyTZxJmWCyi-u4YDYbwKUWnK6K0WlVztjsCziCFrDMWq2atMn8yYTG_svXjB8nn57QOOgyrWZjISD9c7zQ5UCa4QHxY8Pyhk2MoZqhHCHlLOeffSM/s1600/IMG_2093.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNgYmNODI370XymU_u-5gVQJKC3XVyTZxJmWCyi-u4YDYbwKUWnK6K0WlVztjsCziCFrDMWq2atMn8yYTG_svXjB8nn57QOOgyrWZjISD9c7zQ5UCa4QHxY8Pyhk2MoZqhHCHlLOeffSM/s320/IMG_2093.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Oh dear, oh dear!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I promise you that I did not pose this in any way. Do you think I would want to touch that? This is exactly what I was confronted with and I retired swiftly to bed for a fairly fitful night's sleep. I am sure I have been scarred for life!<br />
<br />
And the horror does not end there. There is a culinary "delicacy" which I believe is specific to the Philippines called balot which is a semi-fertilised egg boiled and eaten usually with chilli vinegar. I had actually arranged a balot eating competition on Boracay with my crazy mate <a href="http://members.virtualtourist.com/m/36ade/" target="_blank">Claus </a>who is up for just about anything. Sadly we never got round to it, maybe next time amigo.<br />
<br />
I think I have mentioned Claus on this trip's blog and certainly on the previous trip where he and I painted Phnom Penh various shades of crimson one night. Just a quick recap here to save you scrolling back for pages. Claus styles himself the Biking Viking and is a proper traveller in every sense of the word. Just a couple of his exploits were cycling from Alaska to Mexico and my favourite when he cycled from his "home" city of Copenhagen to Tirana in Albania to watch a football match. When I say "home" it isn't really as he has one small room in his father's place and is rarely there. <br />
<br />
Claus has what I think is the absolutely ideal lifestyle. He works about half the year as a freelance tour guide (normally top end assignments for Danes) and saves his money so he can travel himself the other half of the year. He has been doing this for a long time and I do envy him both the lifestyle and the sheer volume of travel experience he has. I am glad to count him a friend.<br />
<br />
Back, however, to the balot. These things come in various degrees of maturity. Thus far I have only tried the 16 day version. I believe they also come in 17, 18 and even 21 for the real hardcore afficionado. That is where you have to spit out bits of beak and claw. Sorry, did I put you off breakfast? Anyway, here is a 16 day example.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhE4W0S_x7GSXikvdiitONXnYgfxd09Chh6Ac0lkMZb9a668vLUuoprZz611AbSI1NHDtdrTNlhYtAX-rn_r2ckqltQnNXKFhWuicigBcJ3XdvXl7sQzSo3ldZc2Cka0lLNzRkQynPV4QM/s1600/IMG_2115.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhE4W0S_x7GSXikvdiitONXnYgfxd09Chh6Ac0lkMZb9a668vLUuoprZz611AbSI1NHDtdrTNlhYtAX-rn_r2ckqltQnNXKFhWuicigBcJ3XdvXl7sQzSo3ldZc2Cka0lLNzRkQynPV4QM/s320/IMG_2115.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">16 day balot.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
What I am about to say is not intended to sound macho or anything else. I genuinely like this stuff. Here's a tip if you want to try it. You need to get a good dose of the chilli vinegar on it. The guy on the bicycle that plies the road between Bacong and Dauin has some of the most potent chilli vinegar I have yet had, it is pretty lively. OK, anyone can take a photo of someone else's balot (if you'll pardon the expression) so here is the proof of me doing it.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhD8hb2q5bhSW2MAZNaFk-0opsljbeLVPCO0xrUOOdU7b71SKVlgNvgRd4kMAZgQ6zKDaFUxna1JukMGiCQ9aPRDxHMoihHwW_SA8w2wasQn-hCTgYZIJqxVd29wcJQxDyRSV7BMPPdIAg/s1600/IMG_2120.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhD8hb2q5bhSW2MAZNaFk-0opsljbeLVPCO0xrUOOdU7b71SKVlgNvgRd4kMAZgQ6zKDaFUxna1JukMGiCQ9aPRDxHMoihHwW_SA8w2wasQn-hCTgYZIJqxVd29wcJQxDyRSV7BMPPdIAg/s320/IMG_2120.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Yum yum.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Perhaps I should start the first balot franchise in Europe. No, cancel that, there must be at least 30 EU regulations in force to ban it. I am taking great delight in sitting here and watching the EU / € falling to pieces in what I am decreasingly thinking of as home. Long may it continue. I am actually looking into the regulations now and the possibility that if my next trip lasts a certain period of time, I don't even have to pay tax in UK. Happy days.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguZdmbc3bqxBlRIeo5_NmtksnSVf1tSErnSGH07-stER6YJvpyA0vLZhq6fTVzKsx4s2OVSeXu6TMqXkuc3CSZsXqhHSzy7TLGLvCWHzRQFvjwZjjO05vZh7y_iVrIj99ZV8QHTqQGk2c/s1600/IMG_2133.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguZdmbc3bqxBlRIeo5_NmtksnSVf1tSErnSGH07-stER6YJvpyA0vLZhq6fTVzKsx4s2OVSeXu6TMqXkuc3CSZsXqhHSzy7TLGLvCWHzRQFvjwZjjO05vZh7y_iVrIj99ZV8QHTqQGk2c/s320/IMG_2133.JPG" width="320" /> </a></td><td style="text-align: center;"> </td><td style="text-align: center;"> </td><td style="text-align: center;"></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Standard late night snack.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
From the pretty exotic to the still delicious but slightly more mainstream. Late night eating options here are limited to say the least. You have a choice of two bakeshops in Bacong, both of which are excellent. There is a huge selection of breads, bscuits and cakes and for some obscure reason all the bakeshops here sell peanut butter which is much sweeter than the European version and goes really well wth just about anything. I actually know the lady that made this in her home next door, so how is that for local produce? This is just a small selection of some of the things on offer and it is unfailingly tasty and cheap as chips. If you disregard the peanut butter which is the most expensive thing in the shop, the rest of the items on the plate would come to about 30 pence (50 cents US or thereabouts). I love this stuff.<br />
<br />
I'll finish you off with another awwwwwwww moment. I don't think you have seen this one yet. It's a long story why a small rabbit was in a bar that evening and my suggestion of a stew was shot down in flames. Hell, it was owned by a Korean and they eat dogs, don't they?<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgD935dLlpAkJoYS7xRLuzXvDmjdyO9G59IJvxswFhFwLTCZCR5JaqWj9ARWHBD7UWKxwAm9TMkhqfwLK0XB-PE8jxnQfCNYNNmHB4fRujptL01h53642PcJ6a0YfAphrKUn1ZSeqqVrmo/s1600/IMG_2107.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgD935dLlpAkJoYS7xRLuzXvDmjdyO9G59IJvxswFhFwLTCZCR5JaqWj9ARWHBD7UWKxwAm9TMkhqfwLK0XB-PE8jxnQfCNYNNmHB4fRujptL01h53642PcJ6a0YfAphrKUn1ZSeqqVrmo/s320/IMG_2107.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Awwwww.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
It seems like an appropriate time to break here, I'll take you on a trip to a most remarkable market and some other places shortly.<br />
<br />
Stay tuned.</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7218863958884927456.post-16218118019616651962012-04-28T12:19:00.002+01:002012-04-28T12:19:58.098+01:00Here we go again - parental guidance advised.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I have to warn you now that this post, or maybe the next depending on how much I write here, is going to contain images you may find offensive, hence the title. One is a culinary thing that I have seen people being physically ill watching and the other, well, I'll let you judge for yourself. Put the children to bed, make sure you are not about to eat dinner and away we go.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCiULlS4_84QRtdrK_hoeqZlSQRoIdKFFdR59PLsiAR7krBN7-0vk9XTDQFBZy6fk1QlRzeGWT1ca_ro3Kthcy-gBYSnZOrNDHkBvtUiAq5e0kX6x7g89QgdxepXTcG5wTApuie-xNlRI/s1600/IMG_2048.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCiULlS4_84QRtdrK_hoeqZlSQRoIdKFFdR59PLsiAR7krBN7-0vk9XTDQFBZy6fk1QlRzeGWT1ca_ro3Kthcy-gBYSnZOrNDHkBvtUiAq5e0kX6x7g89QgdxepXTcG5wTApuie-xNlRI/s320/IMG_2048.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Delightful fish steak.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I'll start you off easy. I know people like to know what I am up to in a culinary sense, so here is an image that I hope will please you. I mentioned the wonderful Atong Kamalig restaurant where I dine often and they will sometimes have fish like this. I love the idea that the fish on offer is what they have on sale in the market that day. I know for a fact that they have several ladies whose sole function is to visit the markets for the best possible produce. They come in at about 1800 hours with their purchases, one lady with the fish, one with meat and one with veggies. If you want this particular fish (I genuinely don't know if it is tuna or marlin) you just have to pick the right night. This is not on the menu as they don't know when they will have it, it is simply a matter of point and smile which is one of my favourite dining options. I love to eat things when I don't actually know what they are. The first bite can be quite incredible!<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPM_BINJhWRBzK3WN5Z8G0nISj96c9kLldwY1Oelb6fNmaT8H7GdmRQvdafpXuxA5JVH87S86lT2kQ3jkRPiu00CQivcD-JKieG_1JIXZoLR_Sz-7u5PZYYjq-ybW6TJam1dR8JwXAMV8/s1600/IMG_2050.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPM_BINJhWRBzK3WN5Z8G0nISj96c9kLldwY1Oelb6fNmaT8H7GdmRQvdafpXuxA5JVH87S86lT2kQ3jkRPiu00CQivcD-JKieG_1JIXZoLR_Sz-7u5PZYYjq-ybW6TJam1dR8JwXAMV8/s320/IMG_2050.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Moving spiral staircase.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
This is a slightly odd image, I understand. One day my mate Gerry ran into the place where I stay and demanded that we all head out to the road. Why? Sounded like a bit of an oddrequest to me. Apparently the spiral staircase for his treehouse was finished and coming down the road and he wanted us to see it. OK, he is a good guy, so I humoured him. I have not yet seen his treehouse although I have been invited and I believe that it is really something to behold. He has a treehouse about twice the size of my flat in London as well as his main house on the beach. I'll bring you full details when I visit.<br />
<br />
For now, I appreciate this is a very short post but I have got to go and do things, such is my life now. <br />
<br />
In a rare window of opportunity on the internet, which is sketchy here to say the least, I have uploaded quite a few images to this site and have lots to tell you so stay tuned.<br />
<br />
The parental advisory, as the Americans put it, is still in place for the next post. I still have the images!</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7218863958884927456.post-38837735340647552252012-04-21T11:09:00.001+01:002012-04-21T11:09:59.379+01:00Of rain and other things.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
If things go on as they are, there is an imminent danger that I may catch up with myself. Well, that'll be a first. I shan't write a whole pile here as I have been invited to a birthday party on the beach today, some random Swiss guy I bumped into a couple of days ago. It looks like a lot of my mates from here are going and it is nearby so it should be a fun day.<br />
<br />
Unfortunately, he has seen my guitar tattoo and iknows that I play, so there is a threat of a guitar being produced for me. Oh dear, the good denizens of Negros Oriental are liable to be mentally scarred and put off live music for life.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiS8mf_A_sNDmeR0YXNeHsnmiBg6QxCEnRUbV6NaMxOqlhRRjtvPC38YLUk7zEGGlEFeGJ-uXtJVjNBjdka5-ZOHm_lImZPOHvHAEvLSsW6VUP_Ce_pELStNOWhSyIBREoRcr3BglJx1HQ/s1600/IMG_2005.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiS8mf_A_sNDmeR0YXNeHsnmiBg6QxCEnRUbV6NaMxOqlhRRjtvPC38YLUk7zEGGlEFeGJ-uXtJVjNBjdka5-ZOHm_lImZPOHvHAEvLSsW6VUP_Ce_pELStNOWhSyIBREoRcr3BglJx1HQ/s320/IMG_2005.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Silliman University, Dumaguete.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
It's not all fun and games here, you know. I decided one day that I would make the effort to do something a bit cultural and headed off to Silliman University, the most prestigious of the four in Dumaguete where all the rich kids go, which was supposed to have an ethnological museum. Silliman was founded in the very early 20th century by a retired American businessman. It was subsequently granted University status in 1938, although I am somewhat dubious about the educational standards. The general consensus here is that as long as you pay your fees, you pass. I know of a young lady studying nursing, a very popular choice here as it means you can leave the country. Look at the number of Filipina nurses in the UK.<br />
<br />
I will digress here slightly to explain about Philippinos moving overseas, and there are a lot of them. It is unlike European countries insofar as you need a visa to leave if you are a citizen. These visas are like gold dust. Like everything else here, you need to be connected or be able to pay. I am not making any moral judgement on this system, it is just the way it is here. Probably the second most popular qualification is "care giver" for which there is again a huge demand overseas. I genuinely think that the Philippino authorities are terrified of half the population looking outward and wanting a better life elsewhere, I can think of no other explanation.<br />
<br />
The young lady I mentioned studying Nursing at Silliman recently sat some exam or another. The "lecturer" or whatever announced that everyone had passed. She asked about a score or grade for her paper and was told, "Everybody passed." DEnd of story. Hmmm.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYWwl-Mgqv_bgnXA5lo7vOrj4k48VUVJrfZyA30aPeAMuqHrxcoxbkvssH8I72eq40ypZKBuV6rsW-z2eZyKP_Xe2WOCaLUSLQwELQKVMJ26MKowZfLcLgbU8W2rxJpjWwDWiMYIMK8aI/s1600/IMG_2004.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYWwl-Mgqv_bgnXA5lo7vOrj4k48VUVJrfZyA30aPeAMuqHrxcoxbkvssH8I72eq40ypZKBuV6rsW-z2eZyKP_Xe2WOCaLUSLQwELQKVMJ26MKowZfLcLgbU8W2rxJpjWwDWiMYIMK8aI/s320/IMG_2004.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Look closely.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Back to the museum whch was frankly a huge disappointment although worth the small admission fee for the air-con on a stinking hot day. I thought their struggles to find worthy exhibits were summed up by the presence of a commemorative spoon from the marriage of HRH Prince William and Kate Middleton. That had to be at least eight months old. A museum? There are millions of them remaindered in tat shops in UK.<br />
<br />
Now, I am sure that many of you are becoming jealous listening to me rattling on about sun and heat when you are languishing in the midst of a Northern hemisphere winter, so I shall attempt to make you feel better.<br />
<br />
It rains here and when it rains it really rains. Honestly, if you have never experienced Asian rain, you have never seen precipitation at it's height. Here are a few images to make you feel better.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqWHhztTbBAfWPP9fV5iKL3BDDaBp5c5Iz83wb8hHrvtDWo9XyUI6n-s5RHRHK1o4wgsI5OCR3ajiVd9l4aj5eyvZ5WqNM1z41oDsUYJYZA60T3LiiLPy1pJF0qd3vcjI16-xU1ifIcCU/s1600/IMG_2097.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqWHhztTbBAfWPP9fV5iKL3BDDaBp5c5Iz83wb8hHrvtDWo9XyUI6n-s5RHRHK1o4wgsI5OCR3ajiVd9l4aj5eyvZ5WqNM1z41oDsUYJYZA60T3LiiLPy1pJF0qd3vcjI16-xU1ifIcCU/s320/IMG_2097.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Wet.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
This was one afternoon when the Heavens just opened. Normally the rain happens at night so it is difficult to get images but this particular day it just started mid-afternoon and it did not let up for a couple of hours.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiR9-xrHqH7auhV1q7NYqjtmN4F_fiXh61eW6H2Syn0G9aRUdRmVFNkdAfW1H6XtsY6Dk1BqNXfDpSMoMboJK64AayiA7O-yIJbu4DGQc62A_naGAAmpV4niAvrhCOyDcXgoITwYp3TTf4/s1600/IMG_2100.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiR9-xrHqH7auhV1q7NYqjtmN4F_fiXh61eW6H2Syn0G9aRUdRmVFNkdAfW1H6XtsY6Dk1BqNXfDpSMoMboJK64AayiA7O-yIJbu4DGQc62A_naGAAmpV4niAvrhCOyDcXgoITwYp3TTf4/s320/IMG_2100.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My little home in the rain.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
And here is poor little Suzi getting a good wash. Well, she probably needed it, she was getting a bit mucky.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNvezS35C-4E7h_5FHQ2QAiyCvuhOQS4G-6RDqEKxWBG7XD29qgIXKP_t6I7XZnoYwd0b_je5UDepuRs0C6xQFuqkkMKFld8klxxCJvwtGaXijtn00p9kN9YwFD7d0J_fajrUumF2wql8/s1600/IMG_2098.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNvezS35C-4E7h_5FHQ2QAiyCvuhOQS4G-6RDqEKxWBG7XD29qgIXKP_t6I7XZnoYwd0b_je5UDepuRs0C6xQFuqkkMKFld8klxxCJvwtGaXijtn00p9kN9YwFD7d0J_fajrUumF2wql8/s320/IMG_2098.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Suzi in the rain.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Locals tell me that this amount of rain is unusual at this time of year which seems to mirror my belief that the climate generally is changing. What the cause of this is I really don't know, the alleged "evidence" being so conflicting. I just know from personal experience that seasons are changing all over the world.<br />
<br />
I actually managed to achieve a small life ambition one night when it decided to absolutely chuck it down. I hadn't had a shower and needed one as it had been so sticky hot all day. You are probably ahead of me here. To the amusement of the few others similarly sheltering from the weather, I armed myself with the handwash from the bar, wandered out into the middle of the car park in my swimming trunks and proceeded to shower in the full force of the torrent, for such it must be described. In deference to the ladies present, I did go out the back for the more intimate of the ablutions but I have to tell you it was possibly the most refreshing shower I have ever had. It certainly beats the life out of some of the B&B's I have suffered (and I use the word advisedly) in the UK, great fun and if I can get my mate Mac to email me the photographic evidence, I'll share it with you if you think your constitution can stand it.<br />
<br />
I am going to give you a few random observations now, prompted by the way I write this. The only way I can keep up is to upload my photos chronologically so I don't miss anything. Hence I seem to be jumping from subject to subject. Bill Bryson, you have nothing to fear from me, mate.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbBQkvPMkZe62Us7_zbH40mzHzMTTHYOM6WMGLNhtbBx6J92Y-jjgl0pCYOe_veCCRkcAVCmhI08cQWPDf-zr1pQAh-M2y2fw1WFu8u5y8tpLTjutP0zoEzxRzc_VAvaKcOgbAlehoCRY/s1600/IMG_2036.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbBQkvPMkZe62Us7_zbH40mzHzMTTHYOM6WMGLNhtbBx6J92Y-jjgl0pCYOe_veCCRkcAVCmhI08cQWPDf-zr1pQAh-M2y2fw1WFu8u5y8tpLTjutP0zoEzxRzc_VAvaKcOgbAlehoCRY/s320/IMG_2036.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sendong aftermath.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I have mentioned several times about typhoon Sendong which just about decimated this place a month before I arrived. The good people of Negros Oriental really have no luck, do they? First a catastrophic typhoon, massive flooding, then an earthquake and now me. And they still believe in God? I had seen this hulk lying a few yards offshore in Dumaguete and had been told that it had gone down in Sendong trying to shelter but frankly there is little shelter to be had here and she would have been too big to get into Tambobo Bay. I wasn't too bothered, apparently there was no loss of life (they could have waded ashore) and no doubt it was insured. I later heard that she was laden with a cargo of San Miguel beer from Cebu and that did sadden me greatly. I believe the locals were swimming out to salvage cargo and the entire population of Calindagan, the local barangay, were blind drunk for a fortnight. Shades of that old Whiskey Galore film.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzSLFumVTZovwglSCboOK1mW4M5UFe0AIPWgHSYvurA7l2OGR-o3TAWRoTG7jkIilJhoBMjV_AORRLIkk0xhNwl7f7oGKlS-efl7R2h_IoHEvnEA_wP14yfQ3z8l82LFV3C63Rbk6-k2E/s1600/IMG_2051.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzSLFumVTZovwglSCboOK1mW4M5UFe0AIPWgHSYvurA7l2OGR-o3TAWRoTG7jkIilJhoBMjV_AORRLIkk0xhNwl7f7oGKlS-efl7R2h_IoHEvnEA_wP14yfQ3z8l82LFV3C63Rbk6-k2E/s320/IMG_2051.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Enough said.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I have mentioned Mac aka Baboy (the Visayan word for pig) before, although I cannot for the life of me imagine why he has attracted that soubriquet. Judge for yourselves. They awere going to call this place Baboy's place but due to some quirk of the frankly incomprehensible Philippino legal system they couldn't as there is some chain of bottom end lechon (roast pork) places with the same name. It is almost as ridiculous as the British Olympic mafia managing to copyright the term 2012. How bloody stupid and who gets rich? Damned lawyers as always. Anyway, we have reverted here to La Fiesta restobar and even that was subject to legal challenge.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoAFyxvJ3CWcbPeshf3PbfQnR7rJ2MYuOukAXTQQ485BA2W8H6pithQLRy8IxelTQTjhYZVCKtSLSEXEBf0bPt6S8q4t1hyphenhyphen267kHI8OORgENH_senpl-zd7HT2lbGIkuINSgSyOQXulFU/s1600/IMG_2045.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoAFyxvJ3CWcbPeshf3PbfQnR7rJ2MYuOukAXTQQ485BA2W8H6pithQLRy8IxelTQTjhYZVCKtSLSEXEBf0bPt6S8q4t1hyphenhyphen267kHI8OORgENH_senpl-zd7HT2lbGIkuINSgSyOQXulFU/s320/IMG_2045.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">How did it ever move?</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
A fellow resident here is an American guy called John and one day I was treated to this for an image. John was backriding Mac into town to collect something. Shall we say they are not small men and it must say someting about the durability of local motorcycles that they made it there and back in one piece. I really fear for that back tyre (Americans, note the correct spelling of tyre!)<br />
<br />
I mentioned earlier that I have hooked up with some bikers here and a lot of them use the place I live as a pitstop o runs up and down to Siaton or Bayawan. Here are a few images of some of the lovely machines that turn up here.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBoRolC74ekpQH3oBUR7TixvjoeoZ9iRFpNOzQ2KRb_JVWxMbq4Rrk9XWN6hZp3Kf9gNll31Qln2f_cYiFZ6Gwry1pFeOKknWo4Prmi6P_pWk_NZAOhmsg-_DVHCQG9NbW7NXNSfSYCM8/s1600/IMG_2052.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBoRolC74ekpQH3oBUR7TixvjoeoZ9iRFpNOzQ2KRb_JVWxMbq4Rrk9XWN6hZp3Kf9gNll31Qln2f_cYiFZ6Gwry1pFeOKknWo4Prmi6P_pWk_NZAOhmsg-_DVHCQG9NbW7NXNSfSYCM8/s320/IMG_2052.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The boys are back in town.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
This one belongs to a mate of mine, well they all do actually.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1sMKgN5DKi3sL2rct864Rp3MFPAoQvJChweFycbC6Nvtc5jAI__Tx6Rwtt7N3-FafAtgEEzXKlRkrcLbVNxjIuR2-jDbyOxbSbF57qA6MTU6SU4pUiiCx5SljEpAaYko5n0yaBre_Gts/s1600/IMG_2055.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1sMKgN5DKi3sL2rct864Rp3MFPAoQvJChweFycbC6Nvtc5jAI__Tx6Rwtt7N3-FafAtgEEzXKlRkrcLbVNxjIuR2-jDbyOxbSbF57qA6MTU6SU4pUiiCx5SljEpAaYko5n0yaBre_Gts/s320/IMG_2055.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Isn't she a beauty?</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
There seem to be a lot of very nice bikes in this part of the world. Here is one of them.<br />
<br />
And here are a few more.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyHUvpP9-NJkPmTAGXxV15tumk5jNm2SSEE6-tHR2HVZycLMrM1PQrKhh1kXxSqyPn69qXg2DE-Ur2wgYJBKGPFwuVeKKr9pdMFvQ2u9Lka2bF0QdjvuemIF38g0M82notFR-Bu92gUHI/s1600/IMG_2056.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyHUvpP9-NJkPmTAGXxV15tumk5jNm2SSEE6-tHR2HVZycLMrM1PQrKhh1kXxSqyPn69qXg2DE-Ur2wgYJBKGPFwuVeKKr9pdMFvQ2u9Lka2bF0QdjvuemIF38g0M82notFR-Bu92gUHI/s320/IMG_2056.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A few more million pesos worth of machinery.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
However, one of my favourite bikes hereabouts is a mere 150cc. My mate Gerry, who I think I mentioned before, is a complete petrolhead is forever chopping bikes and you can always tell his work because he invariably resprays his machines in red and black.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJUXkxgbQUC6LW5LTh_1Z-FVbyi2WPb8bl4b0v7sGIHL1-5kfXPHI7a7tFlh7wMJTlmrkgGtGtk4uZMGGYyftUEoUcE6N0K0kVu6hvIFF_kUMtRdN8I8-dF36ooCxxJU00EU4doDLnr-c/s1600/IMG_2084.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJUXkxgbQUC6LW5LTh_1Z-FVbyi2WPb8bl4b0v7sGIHL1-5kfXPHI7a7tFlh7wMJTlmrkgGtGtk4uZMGGYyftUEoUcE6N0K0kVu6hvIFF_kUMtRdN8I8-dF36ooCxxJU00EU4doDLnr-c/s320/IMG_2084.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is what it can look like.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I mentioned in the last post about the revolution of the Rusi 150cc bikes here. OK, you don't remember the bike but you probably remember Edsal draping herself all over it. Let's be honest, it is a cheap nasty Chinese import that shakes itself apart over 60kph but with a bit of imagination and a decent paintshop you can actually make it look like something. There will be more about this particular model later in a somewhat different livery but again you will have to wait.<br />
<br />
Well, it is getting dark now, which is my time to play, so best I go and sluice my stinking bones before heading off to this party, wherever it might be. I tell you, it is hard work here!<br />
<br />
<br /></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7218863958884927456.post-73423310632968297972012-04-20T10:42:00.001+01:002012-04-20T10:44:13.901+01:00Bits & Bobs, bikes, birds, beards and beer.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
After the slight fiasco of the bike run, the Sunday was a fairly muted affair. We all gathered for a few speeches, said farewells to bikers departing for other islands, had a couple of beers and chilled out on the Boulevard. I was told by members of several clubs that I would be welcome to hang out with them on other islands if I was moving around. I really can't stress these guys hospitality enough. Did I mention it was a really hard life here?<br />
<br />
I was glad to see Bjorn and Petter both up and about, although both obviously in some discomfort. Bjorn had a real problem. With 59 stitches in his leg and obviously pumped up on painkillers, he had to leave that day for Europe. In his "day job" he is a senior officer on a very technical ship which, I believe, does either surveying or cable laying. His mission, if you can believe this, is to keep a ship within one metre of a defined course no matter what the swell, current or wind is doing at the time and he does this in the Atlantic, North Sea or wherever. Rather him than me. He had something like a 20 hour journey to Belgium to pick up his ship and I really didn't envy him that in the condition he was in. He did make it, although the story doesn't end there but that is for another post. All in good time, dear reader.<br />
<br />
The days rolled on and I was settling into a little routine round and about Dumaguete so I'll just show you a few little bits and pieces here.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXCC1m-Vuf7kiYMzAKM7rYO-ZFX74zGpE8pSlTgQCnQl3k4k8690b85RY1Ti4pEN5ttq5Zd09u0MPw1EoIl55PmY7YKxY9L1BpR2b2B9ZaT_00V6TEbHMa7UXGZkjVpWoRsQ7So0Zrn4U/s1600/IMG_2019.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXCC1m-Vuf7kiYMzAKM7rYO-ZFX74zGpE8pSlTgQCnQl3k4k8690b85RY1Ti4pEN5ttq5Zd09u0MPw1EoIl55PmY7YKxY9L1BpR2b2B9ZaT_00V6TEbHMa7UXGZkjVpWoRsQ7So0Zrn4U/s320/IMG_2019.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Concentrate on the bike!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Well, you could describe Edsal as a bit or even a piece but I include this photo for the bike. Honestly!<br />
<br />
There has been nothing short of a revolution bikewise in Negros since I have been here. Basically, you have two generic types of bikes here, scooters (fully auto and semi-auto) and dirtbikes or quasi dirtbikes, rarely more than 200cc. I would have to be different naturally and am riding a 125 roadbike as described before. The Honda 200 is very popular amongst expats. There is a company here called RUSI, which is a Chinese / Philippino outfit who import bikes manufactured in China and they have just come out with a new model, the 150cc machine you see so delightfully modelled here. They have caused an absolute storm. The initial consignment of 200 was sold out before the ship had even docked and apparently there were near riots in the local dealerships to buy them. An expat friend of mine has five of them (more of which later) and the reason for the popularity is simple. They are cheap, and I mean ridiculously cheap. They are marked at 49,000 pesos but you can deal cash for 47 with a few bits and pieces thrown in. To make it easy for you that equates to £685.339 or $1,103.97US for other readers. It is completely nuts and is going to kill the second hand market in Hondas etc. You can buy three of these for the price of a new XR200, so flog two of them into the ground and keep the third for cannibalising. Absolutely everyone here wants one.<br />
<br />
Like most things in life, you get what you pay for, and friends have told me (I have not ridden one yet although I have been offered a run on one) that they are geared wrong and rattle like anything over about 60kph. My mate John had one and the back brake seized after three days, they are basically "cheap and cheerful". Just a piece of technical advice here from those who know. If you do buy one, change the rear wheel from the 14" supplied to a 17" and change the sprocket, it is like adding another gear. Just thought you'd like to know.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYs1VY5FtC8AogAjzdYwF9qQlgs2E1NVS5mHeG11-oTdo4vdh8kIEI3Nl1tBZJSUZhyphenhyphenFi4IkiDNjNIlFTAiCZ4VrcwuwPX9B9rYNtzVYvSDHJGDrTCbcb6-DtZ8ZX00jZ-jGF6LUUM6jc/s1600/IMG_2023.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYs1VY5FtC8AogAjzdYwF9qQlgs2E1NVS5mHeG11-oTdo4vdh8kIEI3Nl1tBZJSUZhyphenhyphenFi4IkiDNjNIlFTAiCZ4VrcwuwPX9B9rYNtzVYvSDHJGDrTCbcb6-DtZ8ZX00jZ-jGF6LUUM6jc/s320/IMG_2023.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Race day, Bacong.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
This next little piece is about bikes as well. This blog is in danger of becoming Motorcycle News soon. I appreciate this is not a great photo but the text, taken from my Virtual Tourist page explains why.<br />
<br />
"I shall write at greater length about the simply abysmal driving
conditions in the Philippines in a general Philippines tip at a later
date, assuming I survive the roads that long, but this is a tip specific
to Bacong / Dauin and the National Highway there.<br />
<br />
The local
youth have a practice of racing small but very souped-up motorbikes
along a particular stretch of this road. They race from Dauin towards
Bacong and the finish line is the tree at the disused filling station
opposite La Fiesta (Baboy's Place). You would think that two small bikes
would not present much of a hazard but some of these things are capable
of 140kph. There is some serious betting involved and preofessional
riders, extremely light guys drive these things like complete maniacs. I
have seen it myself and it is frightening, they will happily take both
sides of the road approaching the finish. Remember this is a very busy
Highway with trucks, buses and all sorts on it. there is considerable
anecdotal evidence that most of the riders are on shebu
(methamphetimine, a powerful and illegal drug) which gives them the
courage to drive in such a fashion.<br />
<br />
Everything appears to be
organised on mobile (cell) phones and lookouts are posted against the
occasional visit of the local police when they scatter in every
direction, it is something to watch. Sunday afternoon is the normal time
for this madness and crowds of literally hundreds turn up to line the
"track", although I have seen occasional night races which are doubly
dangerous. They are not common, thankfully. <br />
<br />
Apologies for the
photo which was taken surreptitiously and at a distance. An American guy
I know was physically threatened by a group of Philippinos for taking
photos. As it happens, he is just a bike buff and wanted some action
shots but the locals didn't seem to appreciate that.<br />
<br />
I am told there is another stretch of road near Siaton that is similarly used but I have not seen that myself.<br />
<br />
Drivng
this road at any time in any conditions is dangerous enough but when
these drug-addled idiots are flying at such speeds it is a potential
deathtrap. Be warned."<br />
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<br />
Read more: <a href="http://members.virtualtourist.com/m/p/m/21df7c/#ixzz1sZ05MnVo" style="color: #003399;">http://members.virtualtourist.com/m/p/m/21df7c/#ixzz1sZ05MnVo</a></div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="background-color: white; border: medium none; color: black; overflow: hidden; text-align: left; text-decoration: none;">
To add to the above, I witnessed a couple of night races last night which were terrifying. To meet two of these guys in the dark is to look into the jaws of Hell. Really.</div>
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<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4HcHzDQecskzDYi_i8oE6XfWy0XKzKXLw_9zIpHZ0AXE8kB3YXpioSrIAsCXpaCy6J-jam8GEhzfiL-PSt579aL8uU5ZfTWEnjII1-RNyI8OnR0SYM3xEhSxhX6X6V8FTqO3JIPK747o/s1600/IMG_2022.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4HcHzDQecskzDYi_i8oE6XfWy0XKzKXLw_9zIpHZ0AXE8kB3YXpioSrIAsCXpaCy6J-jam8GEhzfiL-PSt579aL8uU5ZfTWEnjII1-RNyI8OnR0SYM3xEhSxhX6X6V8FTqO3JIPK747o/s320/IMG_2022.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Awwwwwwwwwwwww.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="background-color: white; border: medium none; color: black; overflow: hidden; text-align: left; text-decoration: none;">
I stuck this photo in to show you that it is not all beer, birds and bikes. I met this adorable little chap at my mate Louis's house one Sunday afternoon where I had been invited for beer and videoke. OK, so maybe it is about beer etc. after all. He took a real shine to me and was as cute as anything, as you can see. I couldn't resist getting my mate Tom to take this photo. Actually, apart from Mr. Cute here, whose proper name I have forgotten, it was yet another wonderful day and glimpse into the lives of ordinary Philippinos.</div>
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I can't remember if I have posted before about the obsession, and I use the word advisedly, with videoke (karaoke) in the Philippines. Indeed, it sems rampant all over SE Asia. I remember once in Cambodia (or was it Lao?) watching a group of uniformed policemen sitting outside the station in full unform with the rifles propped against the table in the middle of the day belting out totally tuneless renditions of soft rock ballads. The Philippinos are, if anything, even more ardent users of the medium.</div>
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Here are a few things you should know if you are tempted to indulge.</div>
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1. Whilst the standard of Philippino professioal musicianship is excellent the standard of videoke singing, generally speaking, is somewhere between abysmal and criminaly liable under Human Rights legislation.</div>
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2. The volume of any videoke singer is in inverse proportion to his / her musical ability.</div>
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3. All songs are pitched to suit Asian voices which are usually higher than Western but they can be changed. If you do not want to wreck your throat singing like some Italian castrato, tell the operator to put the pitch down at least two tones.</div>
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4. Bass is everything here and much overused. Consequently, the bass cab just about anywhere is shot and rattles like a jackhammer.</div>
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5. Nobody here can sing a song here unless the reverb on the mike is set to at least 11 (remeber Spinal Tap anyone?). It is like singing in an echo chamber. I like to play a game where I set the mic on the bartop and do nothing only tap the lead and listen to the resultant booming chaos that ensues. The late John Martyn, in his early experimental phase would have approved, I am sure.</div>
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6. The belief of the average videoke singer here in his / her place as the reincarnation of Jim Morrison / Janis Joplin is in direct proportion to the amount of Red Horse / Tanduay consumed.</div>
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7. Everybody sings the same 10 songs. Early Bon Jovi, Celine Dion, the Corrs etc. all feature heavily. Journey (remember them?) are huge as they have a Philippino singer now.</div>
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I am sure there are some other things I have omitted, so I'll add them as I go along.</div>
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Potential deafness and the destruction of any musical sensibilities are not, however, the only potential dangers involved in videoke bars. When I got here first I had a habit of dropping into a local place. Again, I will let my VT tip speak for itself, so please ignore the slightly odd phraseology.</div>
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"This may well be one of the strangest tips I have ever written on VT as
it is a warning / danger tip on a place I love and where I have many
friends. However, I do try to be fair and objective in my writing so I
will present the facts and let travellers make their own decisions.<br />
<br />
There
are certainly no shortage of videoke (karaoke) bars along National
Highway South and the imaginatively named 11km (it is at the 11km post)
is merely one of them. I had been visiting here for a couple of weeks
quite happily and got on well with the staff and the locals. However,
when I mentioned the place to an expat who has lived here a while, he
told me to take care and that he wouldn't go there. He told me that
there had been a serious stabbing about six months before and a fatal
shooting sometime before that. Apparently, the local police chief had
told him to steer clear.<br />
<br />
By this time I had, as I say, got
friendly with the locals and staff there and was loath to just abandon
the place. I know the place is under new ownership, I know the owner who
owns another place in Dumaguete that I also visit and he is a lovely
guy. I asked the staff and they told me quite candidly that they cannot
even recruit a new waitress because no-one around will work there. <br />
<br />
Speaking
for myself, I feel the place is suffering from a bad reputation
previously earned. I have certainly been in there nights when the Red
Horse (strong beer) and Tanduay (local gutrot rum) have been flowing
freely and have only had one very slight problem when a guy started
saying something to me in what was evidently not a very friendly tone.
Before i would have been required to do anything his friends had removed
hm and were making very apologetic gestures to me.<br />
<br />
As you can
see from the images, I reckon the biggest danger in here is the gents,
which is ropey to say the least but not untypical here or perhaps having
your hair and beard plaited by the girls when it is a quiet night!</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPiNzeQ6pWdeDTqNK9AXUs4zeD0WP1HWq_wGaIKekKweTNdAujVMUpqXHjKJzZTe57KqWSrO220XA3z6p4VFlR0WjV0MuMWtfWXGAcJEr2fmhn5l_VD0OZ4DCAKUl0gKY1MTnuoEjNkD4/s1600/IMG_2028.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPiNzeQ6pWdeDTqNK9AXUs4zeD0WP1HWq_wGaIKekKweTNdAujVMUpqXHjKJzZTe57KqWSrO220XA3z6p4VFlR0WjV0MuMWtfWXGAcJEr2fmhn5l_VD0OZ4DCAKUl0gKY1MTnuoEjNkD4/s320/IMG_2028.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Not a good look.</td></tr>
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I trust, as always, that I have presented the facts impartially and trust similarly to the reader to use their judgement.
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Read more: <a href="http://members.virtualtourist.com/m/p/m/21cf75/#ixzz1sZKMUgPb" style="color: #003399;">http://members.virtualtourist.com/m/p/m/21cf75/#ixzz1sZKMUgPb</a></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOR4mLYuVZ-He_xp3filj2Qwz9afduNU1NYULgKz5HtvA3EbQRV3GRyd_QfdmqpFTsK-Q_r_vkBq0Iw9Fdetf3w3wOHDKelCgtAndD5CW5Ul5GFht_CdVTALtNFjgwtC4T2i_6RdPdB1U/s1600/IMG_2029.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOR4mLYuVZ-He_xp3filj2Qwz9afduNU1NYULgKz5HtvA3EbQRV3GRyd_QfdmqpFTsK-Q_r_vkBq0Iw9Fdetf3w3wOHDKelCgtAndD5CW5Ul5GFht_CdVTALtNFjgwtC4T2i_6RdPdB1U/s320/IMG_2029.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Definitely a bad hair day.</td></tr>
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In fairness, I should point out that something very similar happened t me in my local bar in London before so maybe it is not merely a Philippino thing. If you are confused about the reference in the text to the gents loo, I really couldn't bring myself to inflict it on you. If you don't mind losing you last meal or have the constitution of a horse, look at the VT link provided.</div>
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This seems like an appropriate place to break, so I'll do that and try to brave the cyber suicide associated with uploading images here to bring you the next instalment.</div>
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Stay tuned.</div>
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</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7218863958884927456.post-55247949519804466132012-04-19T16:44:00.002+01:002012-04-19T16:45:42.920+01:00The nearly bike run.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Quote of the day, before we start again. My mate Mac, the owner of the place I stay has just come out with a classic during one of our evening chats at the bar.<br />
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"I have only three brain cells and they aren't getting along." It may lose a little in translation here but we found it funny, in fact we had a right belly laugh at it. <br />
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I bleieve I have mentioned before that I had somewhat inadvertently fallen into company with a bunch of bikers here in Negros. I like motorbikes and used to ride them when I was a whole lot younger but I would never describe myself as being a biker. I enjoy poodling about on my little 125 Suzuki here which is good for about 100km. tops and is a pleasant little ride but I was a little surprised when I was invited to join in an annual charity run with a load of big bikes going up to Bayawan about 100km. distant.<br />
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The object of the exercise, apart from a lot of bikers getting together for a run, was to distribute charitable donations to underpriveleged children. This year, there was a truckload of slippers (local term, we would say flipflops or thongs) but previously they have built a new schoolroom, given out school supplies etc. I know bikers all over the world do similar things, Christmas runs and so on. I told the guys who invited me, members of the <a href="http://www.outsider-mc.com/" target="_blank">Outsiders M.C.</a> originally based in Austria and now worldwide that I only had a hired 125 but that was deemed to be no problem. If I could
keep up an average of about 80kph I was fine. I knew I could do that
on what I had previously ridden a little and knew was a decent road. These guys describe themselves as 1% which designtates them as proper hardcore bikers, yet I have found them to be really decent blokes.<br />
<br />
The whole thing started on the Friday night with registration at the <a href="http://www.honeycombtouristinn.com/" target="_blank">Honeycomb Inn</a> which is down on the Boulevard in Dumaguete. I turned up, ordered a beer and sat down to see what would happen. There were various tables of the different clubs, which would be unheard of in Europe where there would have been riot, battle and sudden death if two differnet clubs had turned up in the same location by accident. Not so here.<br />
<br />
I was sitting taking in the scene and wondering where I had to register when Don, whom I had met before, caught my eye and called me over to the Outsiders table. Bid welcome, I sat down with them and another beer was called for. I was told it was all paid for and not to put my hand in my pocket. I like to pay my way and get embarrassed otherwise but I really wasn't going to argue.<br />
<br />
I know it will sound odd to people who have never been around bikers but, whilst I have no doubt they can look after themselves, if you observe a few rules of basic etiquette they are good people to be around and very peacable. I was told, not asked, that I was riding with them on the morrow and filled my details on their sheet. So that was decided, I was an official guest. I did tell you, strange things happen to me.<br />
<br />
There was live entertainment provided and as various other clubs turned up off ferries, the numbers swelled until a decent sized crowd was assembled. Don had somehow or another found out that I had some small musical talent and insisted that I provide some alternative to the Pinoy pop stuff being provided. However technically correct it was, Jessie G's Price Tag wasn't really doing it. Again, arguing wasn't going to be an option although I really didn't fancy my chances. Arrangements were made with the guitarist and I was ushered onstage.<br />
<br />
OK, picture the scene here. You will have to picture it as I really had more things on my mind than taking photos. I have maybe 150 fully patched bikers, their girls and assorted others in front of me. Unbeknownst to me, I also had the local Governor (a right big cheese politically, for UK readers think between MP and Cabinet Minister) and the Mayor sitting in the audience as well. I just launched into Whisky in the Jar which Don had requested and prayed that the band would follow me. I think I have mentioned before how good Pinoy musicians are and they dropped in almost immediately. I doubt if any of them have even heard of Thin Lizzy, never mind the myriad other trad. musos that had done it before them. Got through that one and tried to make some sort of dignified exit but it wasn't happening. It was "suggested" I play another one, so I did. I genuinely cannot remember what it was but my previous suggests it may have been Sweet Home Alabama by Lynyrd Skynyrd. That is about par for the course in such circumstances, always a safe bet, three chord riff and good for bikers as well.<br />
<br />
Beyond all expectations, I received a generous round of applause and was hustled offstage by some guy (they were probably glad to get rid of me) to meet the aforementioned dignitaries. A short and courteous introduction followed which they undoubtedly don't remember but at least my face is known here now which actually means a bit in these parts. Not obviously, that I intend to do anything contentious.<br />
<br />
The only vaguely sour note was an African American (I believe that is the current PC phrase) who turned up on the biggest trike I have ever seen with three young Filipinas on the back and seemed Hellbent on impressing them. I will not name his club as I do not want to cause any bad feeling here but he struck me as being the only person in the company I would not have wanted to have a beer with. He will figure later in the story.<br />
<br />
I took a fairly early night as it was a 0800 meet the next day for the ride. Up on time and back to the meet, I parked little Suzi round the corner. Well, I didn't want her getting an inferiority complex. There were some absolutely fantastic bikes on display. Have a look.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUaJR7qTfNF2e3S0c_uIKDC-RK7SR1Q5o4WjbDFpyCLCzBfaEA40GHbjil1o3S2x0AyoPGfm76H0N204KlZUouDRHTKUQG86AAY9dV52B83u9W1zxExaxB7ltlTKfijSWt-UjIgg9Z4UQ/s1600/IMG_1939.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUaJR7qTfNF2e3S0c_uIKDC-RK7SR1Q5o4WjbDFpyCLCzBfaEA40GHbjil1o3S2x0AyoPGfm76H0N204KlZUouDRHTKUQG86AAY9dV52B83u9W1zxExaxB7ltlTKfijSWt-UjIgg9Z4UQ/s320/IMG_1939.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Look at this beauty.</td></tr>
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I had arrived pretty early and was enjoying my coffee when the Outsiders turned up. Again, I was invited to their table, told who the road captain was, where the pitstop was (Siaton, if you are want to look it up on Google Maps) and where the final meet was if anyone got seperated.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtSx8RNrHpeZi9UbNE00DKwfeMcImdPi0VxFxi9HHf1tKizuxMRS8UAw6S8xRjiLwJ4GFUAhc0oBrSsRCjPH3fFJgUmqseaqkewLrRPtv1rU3LrHFdJ8xBCXw14fZQSgVC0uv7B-iy-CY/s1600/IMG_1942.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtSx8RNrHpeZi9UbNE00DKwfeMcImdPi0VxFxi9HHf1tKizuxMRS8UAw6S8xRjiLwJ4GFUAhc0oBrSsRCjPH3fFJgUmqseaqkewLrRPtv1rU3LrHFdJ8xBCXw14fZQSgVC0uv7B-iy-CY/s320/IMG_1942.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The guys assemble.</td></tr>
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Eventually, the time came for the off and everybody mounted up. I slid round the corner to add my paltry 10 decibels to the most unbelievable noise that was generated. Most of the bikes here have specialist pipes and the general throat was really something to hear, it was magnificent. The whole thing was so well organised and I was surprised to see a public works truck from Bayawan with it's crew of about six uniformed guys, orange lights and everything getting ready to join as support. Some of the clubs also brought pickup trucks for the supporters that weren't two-up on bikes and to recover bikes etc. <br />
<br />
For obvious reasons, I had decided to stick near the rear and took up position. Due to the political influence of the people organising, not least a bloke called General Tiboy (phonetic) whose history I am not even going to go into here but believe me is a serious, card-carrying hardman and a lovely bloke, the route out of town was easy. There were police on every junction, stopping the traffic and allowing us passage. I had a couple of the support wagons behind me and thought that if I could at least outrun them, I wouldn't disgrace myself. I was told that the previous year there had been about 400 bikes. This was nothing on that scale for reasons I won't go into but there were the guts of 100 big bikes at least and the odd idiot like me.<br />
<br />
Leaving town and opening the throttle a bit was such a wonderful experience. OK, we weren't riding really hard, that wasn't the idea. Suzi was obviously not in the same league but at about the 80kph promised she was well able to cope without flogging her. We didn't have closed roads so there was the occasional redline moment trying to pass a cane truck or Ceres Liner bus. For once, I think they were afraid of us!<br />
<br />
For those of you who have never been involved with bikes, and I have only been to the smallest degree, it is hard to explain the unmitigated joy of riding in a pack in glorious sunshine on a decent road amongst people you count friends. Certainly on Negros, it is not the hardman, "pick a fight if someone looks at me" attitude that bikers elsewhere sometimes adopt. Everyone was hugely courteous as regards riding and if we had a holdup Don or one of the other guys on larger bikes would take to the offside and wave us through if the visibility along the road was not good. We held together well with the support trucks behind us wailing sirens and basically warning anyone that they didn't want to pass perhaps a miles worth of large motorcycles.<br />
<br />
About four or five km. short of Siaton, the pitstop , and havng negotiated a lovely set of bends, I entered a straight and everything seemed to slow down. OK, so what was the problem? Lots of bikes riding really slowly and obviously a problem. A lot of the guys rode on slowly and some stopped. I saw a scene on the nearside I can only describe as carnage. Two guys lying at the side of the road, two beautiful bikes being picked up by friendly riders and the previously mentioned American on the trike only seemingly concerned about the damage to his machine and apparently oblivious to the injuries to his fellow riders which he had inflicted. The two downed riders were Bjorn and Petter, a couple of the Outsiders I was riding with. I have a little medical training although I had no kit, and it seemed both were in a bit of trouble. They were being tended apparently competently by others so I did the sensible and stayed out of the way.<br />
<br />
Later on, I was able to piece together what had happened. Bjorn's bike had been playing up and so he pulled up well onto the hard shoulder. Petter, being his mate, pulled up in front to assist. The trike driver, who I subsequently discovered had had three major smashes on big runs either could not control his machine or was not paying attention (remember the three girls on the back?) and ploughed into them. He had to leave the road to do this.<br />
<br />
A quick triage look from the outside showed that Bjorn was by far the worse injured. He had a huge gash down the inside of his calf which later required 59 stitches. You could actually see the white bone of the back of his shin through the wound. We got him onto the back of the recovery truck, which was far quicker than waiting for a local ambulance and off he went to Silliman Medical Centre back in Dumaguete. I had a bit of a look at Petter who had an ankle that swole up to the size of a balloon when he took his boot off. He had done that before I got there or I would have advised against but it was done. He insisted on riding back to Duma after one of the guys had test ridden his bike up the road a bit and it turned out the ankle was actually broken although not, thankfully, a major break.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibVFX3kZvOKJJmX4Wqr0-M-PRAEn16ja3cPJENJFFAUksvUyf9kTIkcwsuAHA1xe6fG2pFPRPz-yYImaAv3cvEOFq88jQyFDghXHKsz5OjNhgzrW45xfEe1vnVTFB_BsiWhEd02pmUciY/s1600/IMG_1943.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibVFX3kZvOKJJmX4Wqr0-M-PRAEn16ja3cPJENJFFAUksvUyf9kTIkcwsuAHA1xe6fG2pFPRPz-yYImaAv3cvEOFq88jQyFDghXHKsz5OjNhgzrW45xfEe1vnVTFB_BsiWhEd02pmUciY/s320/IMG_1943.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Remnants of a dangerous machine.</td></tr>
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Here is the machine that caused all the trouble although it is unfair to blame it on the trike. The owner took off to the nearest town to get a new wheel, taking two of his "girls" and leaving the other one to mind the machine at the side of the road. If I ever see this machine again, it will be too soon.<br />
<br />
So what to do? Don and a few of the guys said I should ride on and catch up the pack but I decided to stay with them. I didn't know too many of the other riders, I was a guest on a ridiculously small machine and besides I was a with them, wasn't I? Loyalty must still count for something. Whilst waiting for the recovery truck, Alan (not a fully patched member) and myself were dispatched to get some supplies from Siaton. That is our job as non-patched members / hangarounds / random acquaintances. Trust us to get stuck on the only piece of road in the Philippines wthout a sari-sari (small store).<br />
<br />
We went and got the necessaries and sat down to wait, as you can see.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGOU5WhRa0KMV7uLsXq-bNtsHB6qvqiPdZmNgMeIwf4D3QKn_oT31Vy838iZ3Y_vr21USIpce5tr3cm0P9htjf3Fiqjwx8B5Z8EwC0TWDkvyVJpUQhyWBwtA3Kwb4r95HWaC2dyrgPRV0/s1600/IMG_1945.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGOU5WhRa0KMV7uLsXq-bNtsHB6qvqiPdZmNgMeIwf4D3QKn_oT31Vy838iZ3Y_vr21USIpce5tr3cm0P9htjf3Fiqjwx8B5Z8EwC0TWDkvyVJpUQhyWBwtA3Kwb4r95HWaC2dyrgPRV0/s320/IMG_1945.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Outsiders waiting outside.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
From left to right here, Don (who is coincidentally the Secretary for all the Asian branches of the Outsiders, Ralf, Lee, Al and Uwe. These are all really nice gentlemen and I use the word in the proper sense, I meet them frequently and we always have a good time. What was that about judging books by covers? I know the expresiion about not bringing your maiden aunts springs to mind here but I tell you, your maiden aunts would be hosted by some properly decent guys. I hope I haven't shot their reputation here. Sorry.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFo4D05tqmKJfOrRgKAwpTUNS42D-sBwwh4uGVWDIKAPDotRda63KLgBXOCkHWKz0Cpz877LZgy6sBy4peaN54kPUFb4fALiTWHDhN9g_x6ayCWLU8N2dEHfzXNIu1ciuDzqBYmfj-yhY/s1600/IMG_1949.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFo4D05tqmKJfOrRgKAwpTUNS42D-sBwwh4uGVWDIKAPDotRda63KLgBXOCkHWKz0Cpz877LZgy6sBy4peaN54kPUFb4fALiTWHDhN9g_x6ayCWLU8N2dEHfzXNIu1ciuDzqBYmfj-yhY/s320/IMG_1949.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A sick bike getting loaded on.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
The truck duly turned up, we loaded Bjorn's bike on and had a bit of a confab. We could have ridden on to Bayawan where we would have arrived just about in time to turn round and come home and obviously I would have struggled to keep up although that was never a consideration. The guys turned around and rode back to Duma to check on the two injured riders and I made the best speed I could, eventually catching up with them just coming out from the Medical Centre with a report that Bjorn had had the serious number of stitches I mentioned above. I could not believe he was not going to be kept overnight at least but in a country where everything costs and medical facilities are sketchy at best, it was his choice.<br />
<br />
The evening do that night, complete with (free) buffet and (free) drink was a slightly subdued affair for obvious reasons and there was a bit of tension in the air between some of the clubs despite the generally cordial relations. I was ordered onstage on the basis of my musical noodlings the previous night and had the singular pleasure of playing Steppenwolf's "Born to be Wild" for a huge bunch of bikers. Strangely, given the wonderful standard of local musicianship, they didn't seem to be able to get round a fairly standard 12 bar in E but we muddled through, relying (in my case) rather more on volume than talent. Then again, I have been doing that for years.<br />
<br />
So that was the bike ride I never quite completed, a really good day out as long as it lasted and a memory that will last wth me for a very long time. I am sorry I didn't get to the main event in Bayawan but perhaps next time.<br />
<br />
This makes for a piece in itself, so I'll finish and publish this now and then start a new chapter.<br />
<br />
Stay tuned.</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7218863958884927456.post-41713519966118059952012-04-19T10:07:00.005+01:002012-04-19T10:43:14.391+01:00I finally made the lakes.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Writing this blog is becoming a bit like painting the Forth Bridge. No matter how much I write, I never seem to be able to get more than about a month behind. I have just checked the dates of the last lot of photos I posted and this is the case yet again. Ah well, press on I suppose.<br />
<br />
I had left you with my abortive attempt to reach the Twin Lakes and my slight diversion to the place of "miracles", which was certainly interesting in itself. The next day, better prepared and considerably earlier, I set off for another crack at it. To listen to me you would think I was doing Ewan McGregor and Charlie Brman's "Long Way Round". I was actually attempting about a 40 mile round trip to a famous tourist attraction. Hardly something to excite Ranulph Fiennes although it did turn into a bit of an adventure, it usually does with me.<br />
<br />
The road starts off from the National Highway in not too bad a shape, as you can see, except for the odd road hazard. It appears the fauna of the Philippines have no road sense whatsoever. Cattle, goats, chickens, dogs and who knows what else will be sleeping, grazing, walking, fornicating (yes, you read that right and it was something to come across in the dead of night on a supposed main road) or just doing a very good job of being roadkill. You really need your wits about you here.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyDZMFTCnFAxTQcrIXyeMYBNptQX6OXhcNZVRyldR7MOh1h6c_l4uKYThkNsk-B4I843G9lbklx-puO9TL5k6KRdEYOuJNSwdsaaroZX1xvOM6lJU5gJO63k2KS9xH8s5t8g4uIJT_S7E/s1600/IMG_1890.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyDZMFTCnFAxTQcrIXyeMYBNptQX6OXhcNZVRyldR7MOh1h6c_l4uKYThkNsk-B4I843G9lbklx-puO9TL5k6KRdEYOuJNSwdsaaroZX1xvOM6lJU5gJO63k2KS9xH8s5t8g4uIJT_S7E/s320/IMG_1890.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A Class road to the Lakes.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
You rise pretty steeply on a nearly deserted road and you can steal the odd glance out over the neighbouring island of Cebu or inland to the lush, cloud-capped mountains of the Valencia watershed. It is a delight to ride.<br />
<br />
Naturally, it was never going to last.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhENRXOnbn8HNOzaK8M7LeIg-As6XSfmIbpOvivFdC3DsR2GBx4SLqIxTZtpb9-nVOPHVY7WJ5B6VrST6YPCxmFR2cSjW9SaZwxU_bk6ASh53pG-j44J-y0yM7BtTayn9ysgQPTZ_ePrBg/s1600/IMG_1896.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhENRXOnbn8HNOzaK8M7LeIg-As6XSfmIbpOvivFdC3DsR2GBx4SLqIxTZtpb9-nVOPHVY7WJ5B6VrST6YPCxmFR2cSjW9SaZwxU_bk6ASh53pG-j44J-y0yM7BtTayn9ysgQPTZ_ePrBg/s320/IMG_1896.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">B Class road to the lakes.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Onwards an upwards, the views getting more spectacular and the road getting more treacherous. Still OK at this point, although I was beginning to pine for a dirt bike again as I had done on Siquijor and much as I have become attached to Suzi the Suzuki who has been a good friend. I shall miss her when (if I ever) I move on.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZImW35l9IShXdk-BtF3Y_AY508S3rq0mhcNSIBELQYDY0bBhYORV1yN7zCp-hvEKgSgvVwTr10PYyX98zoIDGvznZHaSO4i10CejPtvteJKJU7RRjj9sBgV6dfchXhA8yvp3FLMhR9Xs/s1600/IMG_1898.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZImW35l9IShXdk-BtF3Y_AY508S3rq0mhcNSIBELQYDY0bBhYORV1yN7zCp-hvEKgSgvVwTr10PYyX98zoIDGvznZHaSO4i10CejPtvteJKJU7RRjj9sBgV6dfchXhA8yvp3FLMhR9Xs/s320/IMG_1898.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ryanair class road to the lakes.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
The road actually did degenerate further and got steeper but I didn't really fancy stopping the bike and trying a hillstart on the very loose shale that constituted the surface just to tke a photo. The surface was only the start of the difficulties. I came upon this sign which did give me pause for thought. About 50 yards further on I saw the evidence of it, a huge bite shaped chunk out of the unfenced road leading to a sheer drop of about three or four hundred feet. The Sendong typhoon and subsequent catastrophic floods of a couple of months ago really has wreaked havoc here.<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeLTDX19mQxybl9HnIpxHH8nZDNs9-1wG6MV61Tzzyi10ZWiPHLd7ctUGIRl3l0DKA0ZlNCUmg-Y5d151leVLWb8PoEKamknFdjyqIkuP4n7P36vQsKIg-nn___8ir110KV9ZIzMrsEXw/s1600/IMG_1900.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeLTDX19mQxybl9HnIpxHH8nZDNs9-1wG6MV61Tzzyi10ZWiPHLd7ctUGIRl3l0DKA0ZlNCUmg-Y5d151leVLWb8PoEKamknFdjyqIkuP4n7P36vQsKIg-nn___8ir110KV9ZIzMrsEXw/s320/IMG_1900.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">You have been warned.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
OK, I can live with that, the drop is on the left and the cliff on the right, so stay well to the right, right? Wrong. Another 50 yards on I saw this.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7U7hvzKcJNdfTENICsCRKE7ccsEwce78HEvo-PP73R_27hMnw07kOZsXjuRoregXEIRahRaxXl699YM4SdVJ6i1RHJCeSIlojVTjunU9kDsmsKhGDHOtLKr68KRrRwsbhbbceiyst3z8/s1600/IMG_1904.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7U7hvzKcJNdfTENICsCRKE7ccsEwce78HEvo-PP73R_27hMnw07kOZsXjuRoregXEIRahRaxXl699YM4SdVJ6i1RHJCeSIlojVTjunU9kDsmsKhGDHOtLKr68KRrRwsbhbbceiyst3z8/s320/IMG_1904.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">You really have been warned.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
So now I have an option. Either drive on the left and risk falling off the edge of the world or ride on the right and risk having a large chunk of Philippines National Park land on me. Ride in the middle and hope that no psychotic Philippino driver (there is no other sort) comes careering down the other way.<br />
<br />
Having survived plumetting death and limestone cranial surgery, with cramping hands (you really need to hang on here) and a sore a***, I got to where I was going to find a nipa roofed hut with two delightful ladies inside. The tariff is typically Philippino in that foreigners pay about ten times more for admittance. That's OK. it is their country. What irks me slightly is that it is 100 pesos for me, 10 pesos for the bike and then another two pesos to park it. Who thinks this nonsense up? Two pesos is less than one penny sterling. The smallest note is a 20 and people very rarely have coins. As usual, they didn't have change, nobody ever does, so it gets rounded up. I wonder what proportion of the Philippine economy is driven from "no change". Interesting idea.<br />
<br />
As I was signing the register, I saw the name before mine was a Miss XXXXXX, a Southern Asian name giving her address as a large city in the Midlands of the UK. She might be interesting to meet then. I haven't named her as I didn't discuss it with her and I like to be polite about these things.<br />
<br />
I saw a lake at the entrance and whilst it was pleasant it was nothing to write home about. As usual, I had got it wrong, it was just a little teaser. The main lakes are a little further on. I drove the bike up and decided a cold drink was in order so I went into the restaurant which, as you can see, has a simply stunning view. Certainly one of the more pleasant places I have sipped a beer.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaC1fSidAVRl6X2vpUltr3bczjxlPN2lp2nIbbaq2FUq1BQ7cX0-lnLpgHTh72T5ZqZIZp36r1JjQ_GAcQE_Ghb3EVnhgP4fwXeoVQRpN3y3FM6rThfsTZT9hcsb3ZJHx4a7osrRhJFHM/s1600/IMG_1916.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaC1fSidAVRl6X2vpUltr3bczjxlPN2lp2nIbbaq2FUq1BQ7cX0-lnLpgHTh72T5ZqZIZp36r1JjQ_GAcQE_Ghb3EVnhgP4fwXeoVQRpN3y3FM6rThfsTZT9hcsb3ZJHx4a7osrRhJFHM/s320/IMG_1916.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Twin Lakes, Negros Oriental.</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiH25KrgGFDqPi4sO3qIr4QG2_zMjZfJdAAU383GZbIucibHpo0EWviz-IS3Xc7z2GkG5M73yhUbTzvAPhhAiR7fJQW8DKeD2rerCaVJ_zYegKs9ocmCjVPKPAoH0AGlDI7avp7oD-8w-0/s1600/IMG_1922.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiH25KrgGFDqPi4sO3qIr4QG2_zMjZfJdAAU383GZbIucibHpo0EWviz-IS3Xc7z2GkG5M73yhUbTzvAPhhAiR7fJQW8DKeD2rerCaVJ_zYegKs9ocmCjVPKPAoH0AGlDI7avp7oD-8w-0/s320/IMG_1922.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A closer view of the lakes.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
A walk down a slightly treacherous set of steps brought me up close and personal with the lake. I would have loved to have had the time to take one of the boats on offer and go and explore the lake or better still hired a kayak and done it myself but time was against me and I really didn't fancy that road in the dark. A few photos with and of the lovely boat people there and then back to the carpark, started up and girded my loins (very necessary with that saddle) for the return.<br />
<br />
I still hadn't met Miss XXXXXX but it was a big place so I wasn't overly surprised. A few hundred yards down the track again I saw a lady with a decent sized daypack, sturdy walking boots and a purposeful stride making good progress. Her appearance indicated that she might have been the aforesaid young lady and, on a whim, I decided to be a bit flash. Pulling up, I greeted her with a cheery, "Ah, you'll be Miss XXXXXX then?" Remember this is halfway up a mountain in the middle of nowhere. The look on her face was priceless but in fairness she recovered fairly smarttly and said, "Ah, you saw my name in the register then, did you?" Switched on young lady I see. She told me that she had walked up from the roadhead, thinking she could get one of the hire motorcycles back down. That was just not going to happen and without a ride she was never going to get down before dark, not a good situation.<br />
<br />
Dropping immediately into knight in shining armour mode (well, shorts, flip flops and T-shirt mode actually) and with Suzi the faithful 125cc Suzuki taking the role of trusty steed, the damsel in distress threw her leg over (if you'll pardon the expression) and off we set. In hindsight, it was probably a bit mad given the journey up but, bizarrely, it seemed to be easier on the way down. Whether it was that I knew the road a little, had a little more weight on the back (not that the young lady was at all overweight) or it was just going downhill, I have no idea but we made the road and then Dumaguete in good order.<br />
<br />
On the way, we had a conversation, well rude not to I suppose. I found out that she had arrived on Negros off an overnight ferry at about 0600, checked into her hostel and dumped her kit, grabbed a jeepney to the entrance to the lakes and humped up that 13km. track in the blazing midday sun. My hat is certainly off to you, girl. It transpires she is a scientist in the laboratory of a major Midlands hospital, travels when she can and boy does she travel. She enquired about what there was to see locally and I told her not a lot due to the effect of the typhoon (places like Casaroro Falls being closed) so she decided she would jump on a ferry to the next island the next mornng. Well, that is what I call a whirlwind tour of Negros.<br />
<br />
My new friend also transpired to be a vegetarian and wondered if I knew a place to eat that would suit her. Of course I did, and duly took her to Atong Kamalig, a great favourite of mine in town with a large menu including some veggie options. She pronounced herself well happy with the veg lumpia (effectively spring rolls) and then took her leave wanting an early night. It was just one of those slightly surreal moments on the road. We didn't swap details or anything and I don't even have a photo, but she was a very charming travel companion for a couple of hours and I hope we meet on the road again somewhere. Ridiculous as that sounds, experience tells me that it may well happen. As Terry Pratchett so wonderfully puts it, "Million to one chances happen nine times out of ten."<br />
<br />
I'll post this now as it forms a chapter in itself and try to post another one today, the tale of the bike rally that didn't really happen for us!<br />
<br />
Stay tuned.</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7218863958884927456.post-60912267462803489542012-04-10T16:31:00.000+01:002012-04-10T16:40:19.197+01:00I am ready to kill a web designer.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Read the title, they are all spotty little boys that spent too much time in their rooms in the dark when they should have been doing things outside. Not too difficult to do away with and probably legitimately described as a mercy killing. If you have read any of my previous posts, you will know how appalling this site is, having just now completely invented a mind of it's own that shows no regard for the user. I have no idea what is going to happen here as hope I haven't wasted a few minutes of my life completely re-booting the system which seems to be the only way to tame the loathed thing. I really wish I had invested in a decent blog like <a href="http://www.crazyguyonabike.com/doc/?o=1&doc_id=5575&v=ap" target="_blank">Chris Black's</a> that I mentioned earlier. I have been reading a few more pages of it while waiting for this system to upload a few images and it truly is the best travel read I have ever had.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9LAK1O_qtHeVOgxjvWx-NqbOcM23AFedZLRNadvm-Cw8E9TvDe85UV_F873KGPGzAX3ikV55rIwB0GCln6YhxnQqcW3D6bgoMSDHK_lW59umPULr_4sFhaBC82zu0gGolo2PabvD_NUc/s1600/IMG_1820.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9LAK1O_qtHeVOgxjvWx-NqbOcM23AFedZLRNadvm-Cw8E9TvDe85UV_F873KGPGzAX3ikV55rIwB0GCln6YhxnQqcW3D6bgoMSDHK_lW59umPULr_4sFhaBC82zu0gGolo2PabvD_NUc/s320/IMG_1820.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Some extremely good tuna.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
However, back to my travels, yet again and much distracted. After the Hell journey back from Siquijor, I decided a decent meal was called for and I had heard about a good Japanese restaurant called Mifune in Dumaguete. I have since met the owenr a couple of times and he is a really nice guy but I didn't know that then. I know little or nothing about Japanese cuisine except Tesco's Finest pre-packed sushi and so I ordered tuna tappanyaki on the principle I at least knew what tuna was. I tell you, I don't think I have ever eaten fish like it and I have eaten some damn good fish round the world. Eating a properly prepared tuna steak like this explains why they use the word steak. It is so firm, it is like eating meat rather than the flakier fish we are used to in UK. It was absolutely gorgeous and a fraction of the price I would have been charged at somewhere like Nobu in London.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgD1dKBVzDs_x4jKWkN5JwicCMWOEHEfthBdHRW0NJP4Ao9qTQ1nqpN1wno8xoTjwzq2Jt3cJe6QHLTtqlxImQST5-HHtBXWxzjMDnfA3TCEVTA6oW2AnXj_V46dp3WT4UiSL-nlsWnTIc/s1600/IMG_1824.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgD1dKBVzDs_x4jKWkN5JwicCMWOEHEfthBdHRW0NJP4Ao9qTQ1nqpN1wno8xoTjwzq2Jt3cJe6QHLTtqlxImQST5-HHtBXWxzjMDnfA3TCEVTA6oW2AnXj_V46dp3WT4UiSL-nlsWnTIc/s320/IMG_1824.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Joey, Michelle and Fergy.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Stuffed to the gills (no pun intended) I finished the evening by popping into the Roadhouse (a local bikers haunt) which just happens to be on my way home. I bumped into Joey, an ex-US Special Forces type and all round good guy and his lovely wife Michelle. God, we make a lovely couple - Joey and I that is, although Michelle is pretty attractive as well. Things could have become messy but I did the sensible and headed off in good order.<br />
<br />
I had a bit of a restful day the next day but the day after that I decided to go and explore Sibulan and surrounding area. Sibulan is the main jumping off point for the larger Cebu island and was an important place in it's own right but is now little more than a suburb of Duma. There are a few things to see about there, however, so I set about seeing them.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBkfYRZ6iIQipwMiOddq_xalxVOk_xI7st_8Ma1xIcxBnFJ1jpMIqaAUnTGZY0rc8YKIZ0wXAAjrlDWngD8ENeCsFfkyEM6X2aUreskruSJC0QwLwQTr7l9VWVnklwGf2PShT1i0YOfZ0/s1600/IMG_1830.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBkfYRZ6iIQipwMiOddq_xalxVOk_xI7st_8Ma1xIcxBnFJ1jpMIqaAUnTGZY0rc8YKIZ0wXAAjrlDWngD8ENeCsFfkyEM6X2aUreskruSJC0QwLwQTr7l9VWVnklwGf2PShT1i0YOfZ0/s320/IMG_1830.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mia's pool.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
A quick stop off in Mia's, another bikers haunt, for a bite to eat and I headed off down the back road along the coast. A look at the place pictured below shows exactly the problem here. This is a big resort and it was completely deserted. I looked at the cabins which were in immaculatey manicured gardens with a lagoon and wonderful views over Cebu and it was perfectly obvious that not only were none of the occupied but they didn't appear to have been for some time.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-AUhOzBCxBWOzF1iNxk_askA4Gcoj70xaZpHe1qrQcdb1SHNJvPfP6wTfT-wD92vwZUDmw5c66TrFeeScjuWWl_G7WtIN1TnlhctmU2bvZF52C5YH1-5blUnZQ3TGnwav8220uhPoO1s/s1600/IMG_1837.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-AUhOzBCxBWOzF1iNxk_askA4Gcoj70xaZpHe1qrQcdb1SHNJvPfP6wTfT-wD92vwZUDmw5c66TrFeeScjuWWl_G7WtIN1TnlhctmU2bvZF52C5YH1-5blUnZQ3TGnwav8220uhPoO1s/s320/IMG_1837.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">St. Moritz resort, Sibulan.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I have seen a nmber of resorts for sale here and talking to expats locally I could buy a small resort here for what I could get for my rabbit hutch flat in London. Thankfully, I am not that mad yet. Undoubtedly, if someone had money to invest and was prepared to play the long game, they will win eventually but just now in the short and medium term it is a no-hope bet. The other major thing to remember is that no non-Filipino can own land in this country. This came in under Cory Aquino's "Filipinas for the Filipnos" regime and whilst it may prima facie seem a laudable concept it is strangling growth in what should be a very vibrant economy. Well, vibrant if they ever get rid of the corruption. I apologise to any of my many dear Filipino friends who may read this but you know it is true. Why would any foreign firm or entrepreneur invest here if it or he cannot own what they are investing in. I am no economist but this seems pretty easily worked out to me.<br />
<br />
Slightly depressed, I carried on out the road towards San Juan and Tandujay that I had last ridden on the day of the earthquake. I had heard about the twin lakes just before San Juan but hadn't really researched them much, I was just out for a day's bimble about and that was really for another day but I decided to venture up the road a little anyway.<br />
<br />
I will let my VT page on the subject serve here as, and I have said this before, I see no point in the duplication of effort even if in this case the first paragraph seems a bit repetitive.<br />
<br />
"In my travels, such as they have been and so much more still to do, it
never ceases to amaze me the things you can find in the unlikliest
places, often by pure chance and this is the case here. <br />
<br />
I had
enquired around Dumaguete from both locals and long-term expats as to
what I should see snd do on my visit and was told that a visit to the
Twin Lakes was an absolute must and so I decided to take the motorbike
up there one day. Things had conspired a little against me and I was
quite late in the afternoon and I eventually decided against the lakes
this particular afternoon after taking advice from a local man. I did
visit later and they were spectacular but that is a seperate tip.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyXe2nF7a-GJlxphzaBHCf0V2j2FBzA4M67gH4yQISbHx5hdI4EsYBU6GEfTb-9mKWorA2axOYfcs0IN16t2MffEZz-_i1eBGprvaZ3hAMKiQBaejeoJmfLOT1tdi3JGN39EVUfiVn-Ts/s1600/IMG_1855.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyXe2nF7a-GJlxphzaBHCf0V2j2FBzA4M67gH4yQISbHx5hdI4EsYBU6GEfTb-9mKWorA2axOYfcs0IN16t2MffEZz-_i1eBGprvaZ3hAMKiQBaejeoJmfLOT1tdi3JGN39EVUfiVn-Ts/s320/IMG_1855.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Church with shrine, Sibulan.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
I
had almost ridden past the church you see depicted and almost
disregarded it but my natural curiosity got the better of me and I
decided to look in. There was one workman asleep on a table in a little
shelter beside the church but it was a warm afternoon and he had
probably had a hard day. Letting sleeping workmen lie, as it were, I had
a bit of a look round. The first thing I noticed was something that
could only hapen in Asia. The front "door" to the church was actually a
wrought iron gate and secured with a stout padlock as you can possibly
see in the image. OK, I can understand that. What completely
baffled me however was the fact that the rear of the building was
completely open to afford a view of the shrine, as you can see, thereby
rendering the rendering the padlock about as much use as a lawnmower on a
submarine.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjA0H7sJxpc0lWtVU9HLz_7_0WmvTu2FNdKCpwQxxsZZP7vBf5BVuZFGvarxKwedKPQwzECPRE3TVXwkSZZTpKzLmc7KiHMRcpeFgxphS3DVLj2F5HapAZ3y3JC6_c_kvjGggSEHC8CTqE/s1600/IMG_1857.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjA0H7sJxpc0lWtVU9HLz_7_0WmvTu2FNdKCpwQxxsZZP7vBf5BVuZFGvarxKwedKPQwzECPRE3TVXwkSZZTpKzLmc7KiHMRcpeFgxphS3DVLj2F5HapAZ3y3JC6_c_kvjGggSEHC8CTqE/s320/IMG_1857.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Church with shrine, Sibulan.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I had a look round the church and shrine / grotto and
was about to leave when, on a whim, I had a look inside the shelter of
the now semi-conscious labourer. I was absolutely astounded at what I
saw. Alongside a few old and very faded photographs was a complete story
painted onto the whitewash and describing an alleged miracle that
happened on this very spot on the 4th March, 1994. The story goes as
follows.<br />
<br />
A medical team accompanied by an Army security detail
was in the area attendingt to the medical needs of the fairly por rural
community in this barangay of Cambaloctot. All of a sudden, all those
present apparently witnessed the sun advancing and receding, dancing in
the sky and appearing as if in a prism. This was apparently witnessed by
a number of the group including some of the soldiers, not normally
noted for being overly superstitious. I am not a religious man, nor do I
believe in miracles, but it seems hard to explain so many people having
the same experience.<br />
<div style="background-color: white; border: medium none; color: black; overflow: hidden; text-align: left; text-decoration: none;">
<br />
Read more: <a href="http://members.virtualtourist.com/m/p/m/21dabd/#ixzz1reRbwJU2" style="color: #003399;">http://members.virtualtourist.com/m/p/m/21dabd/#ixzz1reRbwJU2</a></div>
<div style="background-color: white; border: medium none; color: black; overflow: hidden; text-align: left; text-decoration: none;">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6E6CpjXOgmJoNKG6XA5ZtUYktQ_QREdEPfPOqngVUs0Ut6yxOKuKmbqK1v01RzH2LLXWSgcc6wZ4KSLocOyf_iI8OKlQzuNJsg-ZryigEVY1ZYDlNpxlTFyzpFZkt1Oxc6jOt29uUW9o/s1600/IMG_1861.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6E6CpjXOgmJoNKG6XA5ZtUYktQ_QREdEPfPOqngVUs0Ut6yxOKuKmbqK1v01RzH2LLXWSgcc6wZ4KSLocOyf_iI8OKlQzuNJsg-ZryigEVY1ZYDlNpxlTFyzpFZkt1Oxc6jOt29uUW9o/s320/IMG_1861.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">View from a shrine.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="background-color: white; border: medium none; color: black; overflow: hidden; text-align: left; text-decoration: none;">
As stated above, I am not a religious man and I have no intention of changing my religious beliefs or lack of them on the basis of visiting this place but it was a very interesting experience, made all the moreso by being completely unexpected.</div>
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<br /></div>
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I suppose I should sign off now, it has been a pretty productive day despite the best efforts of this website to stymie me, and I am getting up at the ridiculously early hour of 0800 as a few of the guys are riding up to Tambobo Bay tomorrow to meet an apparently insane Australian boatbuilder called Nigel. Should be quite a day and I'll report on it in due course.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="background-color: white; border: medium none; color: black; overflow: hidden; text-align: left; text-decoration: none;">
Stay tuned.</div>
</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7218863958884927456.post-60066736275976428142012-04-10T15:15:00.001+01:002012-04-10T15:15:15.386+01:00<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
Well, this is your (un)lucky day, isn't it, all three readers of mine. The unseasonable weather has closed in again and riding to town is not really an option unless I want to turn this headcold into full-on bloody pneumonia so it is time for a few more lines. Honestly, even in the heat of this place, and I am writing in a pair of shorts and nothing else, a wet Tshirt, so undoubtedly attracftive on certain young ladies, is a positive health hazard for middle aged men. I'm sure this is what got me sniffling like this in the first place.<br />
<br />
I was going to tell you about the hell journey back from Siquijor but I really don't have the heart for it. It was just more bureaucracy, legalised theft, annoyance, delay, diesel fumes and the incessant tinny soft rock power ballads. I swear, I used to like the Scorpions! You would really think the Philippines didn't want to encourage tourism. Actually they do, just so long as everyone is getting their cut, right up to the top. I'll discuss that particular matter later.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTobEq_d7qzKsbRsav_7CZRCE0jzyXjULHI5sfrn-XGD2LuHZKe4ApLzsoF-UaUMAoDbafRDKvNd8q3yMhiDaQcMljpSsYc3sxGvtZLYddbm-D0hRVtzVHQJM5gLDD4kk1i2_gUoEAnqg/s1600/IMG_1796.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTobEq_d7qzKsbRsav_7CZRCE0jzyXjULHI5sfrn-XGD2LuHZKe4ApLzsoF-UaUMAoDbafRDKvNd8q3yMhiDaQcMljpSsYc3sxGvtZLYddbm-D0hRVtzVHQJM5gLDD4kk1i2_gUoEAnqg/s320/IMG_1796.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Parting view of Siquijor.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
OK, the journey was a hassle and a ripoff but it was well worth it. I would definitely ride round Siquijor again although I would probably have to do it on a scooter that couldn't take me to some of the wonderful places I saw. The picture above was actually taken from the jetty waiting for the ferry and was one of the prettiest views I saw. It really is a magical place with or without witches. Once again this bloody appalling site has ruined me ambition to do something vaguely creative. It really has a mind of it's own regarding alignment, font size etc. May the web designers of this piece of crap be shot with a blunderbuss full of their own excrement.I am definitely changing sites next trip.<br />
<br />
The last image shows little Suzi tied up on the return journey which was far less choppy and quicker than the outbound. I shall resume this shortly as it seems the only way to make this Hell-cursed piece of technology work. Sorry, but it really is making me a very unhappy bunny.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUL2itlXQUv28fM0QGiaabQ03WAblTkxNWEctVOBw8TE8FI6Ghr6YbSs299pLQ82JCGhrP_FoZRW0eg_7EaiiyDXVCwXW3nV31vKJpd7CP2WBv9tRCuzdok1XyGNOsCEZQCQoYY3sdm_0/s1600/IMG_1810.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUL2itlXQUv28fM0QGiaabQ03WAblTkxNWEctVOBw8TE8FI6Ghr6YbSs299pLQ82JCGhrP_FoZRW0eg_7EaiiyDXVCwXW3nV31vKJpd7CP2WBv9tRCuzdok1XyGNOsCEZQCQoYY3sdm_0/s320/IMG_1810.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Suzi in bondage.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0