Here's a great idea for curing a hangover.
Wait until the hottest part of the day - 11.30am should do nicely. Pile into a rickety mini-van, get out the travel-scrabble, and ask the driver to stick only to the roughest dirt track roads he can find.
Sit sweating and dehydrated for a minimum of six hours, then - just when you think things can't get any worse - allow a muppet like Mintowt to win the game with the last tile available.
Complete and utter humiliation. I will never, ever let this happen again.
Tuesday, January 02, 2007
Day 79. Port Barton, Philippines. Happy New Year.
New Year's eve, and knowing we'd be necking a few thousand liquid calories later, we decided to try and burn a few by taking a 3 hour hike to the nearest big waterfall.
We soon discovered 2 things:
i) Not taking a map, or having the sense to ask a local where the sodding waterfall is will quickly add an hour or two to any walk.
ii) Walking in 100% humidity is a bit tougher than the hiker-friendly temperate New Zealand climate. Roughly 27 times tougher.
We made it though, and the swim in the plunge pool put a ridiculous smile on all our faces.
In the afternoon we took a couple of small boats out the nearby mangroves to see if we could see some of the highly venomous snakes we'd been hearing about.
Spotted 3 of them lying coiled (and thankfully torpid) in the hot sunshine. Our guide told us "they kill very quick", so we refrained from throwing stones to get a reaction. Took some good photographs but unfortunately the camera gave up the ghost in quite spectacular fashion self-destructing and deleting every picture we've taken since landing in the Philippines.
Very, very bloody annoying.
We've been staying at a lush place called El Dorado while in Port Barton. Only 6 quid a room and right on the best bit of beach in town. Lucy, the lovely lady who runs the joint had promised a big new year's feast, and boy did she deliver. A whole pig was spit-roasted for her dozen guests (slaughtered on the premises at lunchtime much to Wend's distress) and 2 trestle tables were loaded with every kind of Philippino scoff imaginable.
It was great.
There's a small but lively crowd staying at the hotel, and we had a right giggle with the assorted Canadians, Swiss, Japanese and Aussies. Dancing badly to what passes for disco music out here, drinking tankards of cocktails and setting off rockets on the beach at midnight - no firework code here by the way, the closer one's head can get to the exploding gunpowder, the better.
As is normally the case on such occasions it was only the real desperados left at the end proceedings: John and Sean, a couple of Rig workers based off Thailand, Akimoto, a jovial son of Tokyo, who didn't say a word all night, but laughed continually. And of course, us lot.
A memorable way to see in the new year. Here's to 2007.
We soon discovered 2 things:
i) Not taking a map, or having the sense to ask a local where the sodding waterfall is will quickly add an hour or two to any walk.
ii) Walking in 100% humidity is a bit tougher than the hiker-friendly temperate New Zealand climate. Roughly 27 times tougher.
We made it though, and the swim in the plunge pool put a ridiculous smile on all our faces.
In the afternoon we took a couple of small boats out the nearby mangroves to see if we could see some of the highly venomous snakes we'd been hearing about.
Spotted 3 of them lying coiled (and thankfully torpid) in the hot sunshine. Our guide told us "they kill very quick", so we refrained from throwing stones to get a reaction. Took some good photographs but unfortunately the camera gave up the ghost in quite spectacular fashion self-destructing and deleting every picture we've taken since landing in the Philippines.
Very, very bloody annoying.
We've been staying at a lush place called El Dorado while in Port Barton. Only 6 quid a room and right on the best bit of beach in town. Lucy, the lovely lady who runs the joint had promised a big new year's feast, and boy did she deliver. A whole pig was spit-roasted for her dozen guests (slaughtered on the premises at lunchtime much to Wend's distress) and 2 trestle tables were loaded with every kind of Philippino scoff imaginable.
It was great.
There's a small but lively crowd staying at the hotel, and we had a right giggle with the assorted Canadians, Swiss, Japanese and Aussies. Dancing badly to what passes for disco music out here, drinking tankards of cocktails and setting off rockets on the beach at midnight - no firework code here by the way, the closer one's head can get to the exploding gunpowder, the better.
As is normally the case on such occasions it was only the real desperados left at the end proceedings: John and Sean, a couple of Rig workers based off Thailand, Akimoto, a jovial son of Tokyo, who didn't say a word all night, but laughed continually. And of course, us lot.
A memorable way to see in the new year. Here's to 2007.
Day 78. Port Barton, Philippines. Going for Gold.
Chartered a boat today for 1000 pesos to do some island hopping.
The more remote beaches here are terrific but somewhat lacking in facilities. This isn't a problem if you've a good book on the go, but fearing for the low-brows in our party, I decided to organise the inaugural Philippino beach Olympics.
Based loosely on the tournament held each year at Caz and Hoady's summer BBQ, this comprised five keenly contested events including long-jump, sprint and coconut discus.
It was a close run spectacle. Or at least pretty tight between me, Wend and Marlou. But Jan's efforts were frankly embarrassing. The bloke's had a personal trainer on his case for the last 3 months so he'd look toned on the beach - and to be fair, he scrubs up ok for a codger his age. Sadly for him, he throws like a girl, jumps like an elephant and runs like ice-cold treacle.
In a field of four he finished well out of the medals.
The more remote beaches here are terrific but somewhat lacking in facilities. This isn't a problem if you've a good book on the go, but fearing for the low-brows in our party, I decided to organise the inaugural Philippino beach Olympics.
Based loosely on the tournament held each year at Caz and Hoady's summer BBQ, this comprised five keenly contested events including long-jump, sprint and coconut discus.
It was a close run spectacle. Or at least pretty tight between me, Wend and Marlou. But Jan's efforts were frankly embarrassing. The bloke's had a personal trainer on his case for the last 3 months so he'd look toned on the beach - and to be fair, he scrubs up ok for a codger his age. Sadly for him, he throws like a girl, jumps like an elephant and runs like ice-cold treacle.
In a field of four he finished well out of the medals.
Day 77. Port Barton, Philippines. Warrenville.
An hour on Philippines Air from Cebu City and we were landing at Porto Princessa, capital City of Palawan Island. In terms of scenery, Palawan is supposed to be the most dramatic in the country, and if it wasn't for a couple of drawbacks, the place would almost strike tourist gold.
Firstly, there's quite a problem with Muslim nutters at the Southern end of the Island. Anywhere 100km or so south of the capital is deemed dodgy for westerners and there's even talk of an Al Queida presence.
Then there's the weather. For 6 months of the year it gets battered with typhoons, hurricanes and every other severe weather pattern known to mankind.
Luckily we were headed 200km north of Porto Princessa and the rainy season ended 6 weeks ago.
Port Barton was named in the mid-nineties in honour of Warren Barton, stalwart of the mighty Newcastle United team of that era and all-round good bloke.
His portrait smiles down from all the civic buildings, small children sing his name from street corners and old ladies lie prostrate in front his solid gold statue in the town square worshipping at his shiny adidas predators.
Or at least that's what we expected to find here. Sadly though, it's basketball that floats the locals' boat in these parts. Perverse, given that the average Philippino stands 5'3" in his platform sneakers.
Nevertheless, we enjoyed watching the Barton Giants take on the next village in the big local derby.
They lost. Badly
Firstly, there's quite a problem with Muslim nutters at the Southern end of the Island. Anywhere 100km or so south of the capital is deemed dodgy for westerners and there's even talk of an Al Queida presence.
Then there's the weather. For 6 months of the year it gets battered with typhoons, hurricanes and every other severe weather pattern known to mankind.
Luckily we were headed 200km north of Porto Princessa and the rainy season ended 6 weeks ago.
Port Barton was named in the mid-nineties in honour of Warren Barton, stalwart of the mighty Newcastle United team of that era and all-round good bloke.
His portrait smiles down from all the civic buildings, small children sing his name from street corners and old ladies lie prostrate in front his solid gold statue in the town square worshipping at his shiny adidas predators.
Or at least that's what we expected to find here. Sadly though, it's basketball that floats the locals' boat in these parts. Perverse, given that the average Philippino stands 5'3" in his platform sneakers.
Nevertheless, we enjoyed watching the Barton Giants take on the next village in the big local derby.
They lost. Badly
Day 76. Cebu City. Rough seas and Red tape.
A busy day began with a choppy crossing back to Cebu Island. It was low tide so we had to transfer to a flotilla of small boats punted ashore by a ragbag collection of salty seadogs. A difficult task in a 5ft swell, and to a man we ended up with soggy backsides. Poor Marlou received the biggest drenching as she was unlucky enough to be allocated the one-armed punter.
We had to extend our visitors' visas once we reached Cebu City, a task that had plenty of potential to be both time-consuming and extremely dull.
Fortunately we'd had the foresight to put on our best clobber before entering the immigration office, so were cherry-picked from the crowd of fractious tourists and shown to the air conditioned office of the head honcho.
This was like something straight out of a Graham Greene novel.
No ceiling fan, fat cigar or cockroach running up the wall, but he had all the other trappings - the ancient typewriter, the dog-eared calendar and the grubby portrait of Holy Mary behind his desk.
We knew what was coming - an audacious demand for greenbacks to oil the creaking cogs of Philippino bureaucracy - but before the slimeball cut to the chase, we had to endure a protracted and well rehearsed monologue.
But enough about Jan.
The gist of what el supremo had to say was that normally he was involved in the war against terror, and that only last week he'd personally apprehended a deadly mob of muslim extremists at the airport. But today was his day off, so he was processing tourists' visas.
Yeah, right.
Eventually, and believe me this took an age, he informed us that the necessary paperwork usually took 5 hours to complete, but if we were prepared to press 3000 pesos into his greasy palm, things could be hurried along significantly.
To put this into some perspective, the average weekly wage here is about 7000 pesos - or about 18 quid - so he had quite a profitable little day at the office.
Walking back from a restaurant in the evening I couldn't resist a ramshackle barber shop. This time cockroaches were running up the wall, but for my 50p I received a top-notch cut and the guy threw in a complimentary backrub for good measure.
What a place this is. We love it already.
Day 75. Malapascua Island, Philippines. Arise Sir Jan.
Last day on Malapascua was one of packing and planning.
Quite a chortle on the beach in the afternoon when one of the local masseurs, who had the unenviable job of pummeling the rolls of fat on Jan's back referred to him as "Sir Jan".
He joined in with the laughter, but I suspect his elevation to the ranks of the blue-bloods is fully justified.
Quite a chortle on the beach in the afternoon when one of the local masseurs, who had the unenviable job of pummeling the rolls of fat on Jan's back referred to him as "Sir Jan".
He joined in with the laughter, but I suspect his elevation to the ranks of the blue-bloods is fully justified.
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