The Filipino hammock life

Getting from Vietnam to the Philippines was quite a process. We left Siagon at 1 am, transferred planes in Manila, and landed in Cebu City early in the morning. We took a taxi from the airport to the bus station, a minibus to Maya, and a bangka to tiny Malapascua Island. I could write again about the insane drivers, the being completely squished in the backseat, the winding mountain roads, the carsickness, the unbelievable jagged hillsides, the beautiful beaches, the endless blue ocean. But every journey on this trip seemed to be full of these amazing extremes.

In Malapascua, we walked down the beach to Mike and Diose's, where we booked a bright, breezy room in a guesthouse right on the beach. We napped, swam in the ocean, gorged on adobo chicken for dinner, and finished the night with beer, rum, and card games on the beach. Rum really is cheaper than water in the Philippines.

Mike and Diose's

I woke up early the following morning to a jumble of sounds: roosters crowing, sawing and hammering, and pop music playing from every nearby house (everyone sings along, loudly). I lounged on the coral sand to watch men fixing and painting their boats, fishermen pushing off for the day, and women mending soft, white nets that looked like clouds fallen from the sky to land all over the beach.

The beautiful Malapascuan waterfront

Breakfast every day was Dosie's banana and mango pancakes (I'm still craving those), coffee, orange juice, and fresh mangos at a shady picnic table on the beach. I read Gulliver's Travels (one of the few books I could find in English) and enjoyed swinging in a hammock, laying on the beach, and swimming in the warm, clear water. In the afternoon, we walked through town to explore the island by foot. Motorbikes are the only transportation; there are no cars or paved roads. Most homes are floorless, and built haphazardly with plywood and aluminum siding. The sandy alleyways and paths of the neighborhood crisscrossed and curved; you could be lost in an instant.

I learned later from Mike (German expat, husband of Diose, and co-owner of the guest houses), that frequent typhoons discourage Malapascua's residents from building larger, more expensive homes. If your home only cost $100 and 5 hours to construct, who cares if it blows away every other year? Mike told a particularly colorful story about the latest typhoon, which had him, Diose, and the kids crouching in the center of their home while piece of flying coral pierced through the doors and walls. Evidence of the typhoons was everywhere: washed out portions of beach, palm trees growing nearly parallel to the ground, stumps and brush piled around town.

Sideways palm trees

Dinner the second night was chicken curry, thai fish patties, and filipino seafood and noodles at an outdoor bar, and more cheap rum on the beach, this time with a fellow traveler visiting the Philippines from San Francisco for scuba diving. After dinner, we found an amazing bakery for dessert. At first it seemed just like another plywood house along a random sand pathway, but the front window was piled with pastries and brownies and cookies (4 for $0.50). We basically bought the place out, and I nearly cried when I dropped my brownie right in the sand.

We rented kayaks to explore further around the island. On the north side, we found deserted beach coves only accessible by boat, abandoned buildings, rocky cliffs, stormy seas, and a lot more typhoon damage. We also hired one of Mike's friends to take us out on his balangay for a snorkeling tour of the island. We swam through perfectly clear, warm water to sunken Japanese warships and amazing coral reefs. As I paddled lazily around a reef, I was suddenly surrounded by flashing silver lights. An enormous school of tiny silver fish had encircled me. I circled and dove and spun and swam and they perfectly mimicked my every movement. But try as I might, I could not touch them. At first, I was scared. Does this indicate the presence of a predator? SHARKS?! Maybe I was the predator? Or maybe they were planning to eat me? After a while it just became magical, straight out of Planet Earth. And suddenly, they were gone.

So many beaches!

The last night in Malapascua was one of the most fun of the whole trip. We started out with beers at The Other Place, a fun, outdoor bar. We had lagers with ice cubes. Apparently it's common in the Philippines to put ice in your beer. It keeps the beer cold and simultaneously waters it down, so you can drink more! And pee more! And (kinda) stay hydrated! We played pool with some local Malapascuans, at which point they invited us to a festival in the village at the other end of the island. We hopped a ride with Daniel (one of the moped drivers) for an insane (three people on one moto!) ride across the island in the dark. We zoomed through deep sand, over tree roots, along narrow and winding paths, past people walking in the dark, around blind turns, and up and down steep hills that dropped off on both sides. I was terrified, but it was worth it when we arrived at the street festival!

Beer with ice cubes!

We bought beers from someone's cooler, ate chicken foot off a stick, watched people gambling over dice games and cock fights, and then paid 50 pesos to enter the dance floor, which was an outdoor basketball court in front of the church. I felt awkward dancing with the Virgin Mary serenely watching over me from a mural on the wall. However, probably due to the strict Catholic culture in the Philippines, this rockin' dance party consisted of mostly salsa dancing with NO touching between guys and girls. It was generally girls dancing with other girls, and no booty shaking despite the loud American hip-hop music. It was quite nice actually! We just danced around barefoot with our barkada, drank beer and sodas, and chatted around a fire in the street. By the end of the night, we were intensely discussing Jean-Claude van Damme and Steven Seagal.

And the very next day, after some time exploring the streets of Cebu City, it was back to Singapore. We ate cheap hawker center dinner, and I took Pete to one of the swanky rooftop bars overlooking downtown for a dose of culture shock. After traveling the rest of South East Asia, Singpore really does stick out like a sore thumb. We lamented how expensive everything was and how grungy we felt in comparison. At the bar, we talked to a group of businessmen in the country for work. They were loving the city and so excited to hit up Geylang for some 'hookers and blow.' Ugh, I was ready to get out of there! After some obligatory pictures of Marina Bay Sands, the merlion, and Clarke Quay, it was back on a plane for the long, overnight trip home to Denver.

Saying goodbye to Singapore

Thirty-six hours in Saigon

The minibus screeched to a halt, tossed us out onto the side of the dirt road, pulled a quick three point turn, and sped off towards Kratie, leaving us in disconcerting silence. The border was completely empty. No hawkers, no tourists, no houses, no motos. A guard swung lazily in a hammock under a nearby tree. We cautiously approached the border window, and had our passports silently stamped to exit Cambodia. 

The walk along the five hundred yard no-man's-land between Cambodia and Vietnam under a blazing sun seemed to take a lifetime. We trudged in silence thinking, ‘Where are all the people?? How are we supposed to get to the nearest town?' When we finally reached the other side, my footsteps echoed loudly in the empty marble entryway. A sleepy Vietnamese border guard asked my date of birth and what I did for work, then stamped me into the country. Pete and I walked slowly out of the customs office, very aware of how alone we were. I stood on the steps of the customs building, looking out onto an silent road and empty fields for miles, contemplating how far we could walk before dark and how much longer we could go without water. 

But of course (in true South East Asian fashion) the action picked up, fast. My eyes spotted motion behind a clump of trees, and an old man appeared out of nowhere, simultaneously pulling up his pants and sprinting away into the bushes. I thought briefly of yelling out, or running after him, but decided against leaving Pete in the bathroom alone and sprinting off into the jungle after some half-naked man.

I had just decided to beg to the border guard to call a taxi, when who comes flying back into view? The pantless man of course! He sped right up on his moto and tossed me a bright pink bike helmet. Once his friend arrived with a second moto, we zoomed at a dizzying pace into the nearest town, about 20 km away. I clung to the back of the moto and closed my eyes as we dodged potholes and fallen trees. With my eyes shut, I could actually smell the rice in the surrounding fields. 

Our day went from panicked, to scary, to downright serendipitous when we learned that a direct bus to Saigon would be arriving in five minutes. We had just enough time to chug some water before it pulled up and we hopped in for the journey south. 

The bus was crowded, sweaty, and full of old men ogling my scratched, bare thighs (I should have put on my long skirt). I fell asleep on Pete's shoulder with my mouth hanging open and didn't jolt awake until we entered the outskirts of Ho Chi Min City. 

Food was first - banh mi sandwiches and pho! Vietnamese street food at it's absolute finest. A $0.50 beer and a $1 sandwich while sitting on a cheap, plastic stool on the crowded sidewalk of a hectic, noisy road. This might be what I miss most about South East Asia. We found a cheap hostel downtown and spent the night sipping rice whiskey (disgusting, no offense Pete) at a rooftop bar.

Delicious!

Pete and I decided to take our first and only group tours of the trip. I was incredibly wary of the decision and did not hold high hopes for the day. But we did the math, and taking a tour was by far the cheapest and fastest way to see an interesting sight around Saigon. Pete decided to check out the Ci Chi Tunnels, part of the Ho Chi Min Trail. I wish I had joined on this trip. He crawled in the claustrophobic tunnels, witnessed a Cao Dai ceremony, shot M4s mounted on military jeeps, and watched authentic North Vietnamese propaganda films from the 1960s.

I thought it would be fun to see life on the Mekong Delta. Really I just wanted to be out in a boat on the water for the day. I was expecting picturesque canals, floating markets, and small rowboats winding among palm fringed islands. Instead I got a bizarre tour guide wearing three types of plaid and repeating herself incessantly, a five minute ride in a rowboat (wearing a fake, plastic Vietnamese hat) after which the rower asked for more money, and an awkward serenade of "traditional Vietnamese music" while eating tiny pieces of fruit and getting swarmed by bees.

Some of the many small rivers along the Mekong delta

By the end, everyone on the tour was glancing at each other and cracking up. But it wasn't all bad. I held an enormous python, tasted local lychee honey tea, learned how to make coconut candy, and took a self-guided bike tour of a beautiful, remote island. I also learned the Vietnamese translation of the Mekong is 'dragon of nine heads' river. The river delta is filled with many islands with English names like Unicorn Island and Turtle Island, which symbolize beauty and long life, etc.

Yikes!

Transport on Unicorn Island

Above ground graveyard

Cooling off

Some of the many fishing boats along the Mekong

Dinner was beers and ice cream while we wandered Saigon, swapped stories of our days, and waited to head to the airport for a crazy overnight flight to the Philippines...

Yes, let's!