Philippines 2025

Doha To Manila: From The Pearl To The Grit

It’s around 5am each day that the mosque closest to our hotel commences the day’s first call to prayer, the deep baritone of “our” muezzin chanting gently through the darkness, joined within seconds by several – possibly dozens – more, as the haunting pre-dawn chorus drifts through the high rise buildings and echoes off stark stone walls

On our final morning in Doha, an early onward flight means that we are up, showered and fastening the clasps on our backpacks as the call commences, as evocative as ever. Outside in the chill air, there is little in the way of other sound at this hour; Doha is for the most part yet to start its Sunday.

An 8-hour flight coupled with a 5-hour time difference means that we “lose” the whole day and it’s just before midnight local time that we settle in to our next home, deep in the heart of the Philippines capital of Manila. Even at this late hour the air is sultry and heavy, the night thick with humidity. Gaudy neon, lively bars and a busy red light district pass by the taxi window. In the course of those hours we have been transported to a different world; Doha and Manila are at very different points on the spectrum.

Manila is the 18th largest city in the world in terms of population with nearly 15 million inhabitants: by way of comparison London weighs in at number 38. We have a bit of admin to do first – as Brits we are visa exempt here, but we need special permission to stay longer than 30 days. Obtaining that permission at the Bureau of Immigration, a frantically busy office where there is no sign of a computer system and several million pieces of paper being conveyed from point to point and back again by manic staff, takes just a little under three hours. But it’s done, and now we’re free to explore this new country until late March.

It’s clear very quickly that Manila has the grittiness of big cities around the world, the pristine and calm feel of Doha replaced by an altogether different kind of stark reality. The walk from our base in the Malate district to the original centre, Intramuros, takes us through some of the ripped backsides of the city – congested streets rammed with tuk-tuks, tricycle taxis, cars and buses, sidewalks filled with street food vendors, hawkers, beggars, sleepers and maingy dogs, the whole city sweating in the sultry heat. 

Intramuros, which translates literally as “within the walls”, is precisely that, the old city bounded by the well preserved dark stone walling. Well, the stone is dark now, but so are the exteriors of the churches and cathedrals which show white in old photographs, nowadays almost black beneath the city grime of decades. As you would expect though, the interior of these places of worship is absolutely splendid in every case. Beautiful, peaceful, cavernous churches.

Once inside those walls, Intramuros is well worth wiling away some time, with several places of interest as well as the two major churches. An ethnological museum, the appealing Casa Manila with its lovely facade, a number of attractive older buildings and a traditional restaurant, Barbara’s, which is something of a time honoured Manila institution, where it’s worth a look around the interior even if you don’t eat there – staff are happy enough to grant you a look inside. Intramuros is also home to an excellent craft shop with work created by the different people around the islands. For the Manila visitor, Intramuros is where to aim for – a very welcome oasis in this sometimes challenging city.

Fort Santiago stands in its own grounds within Intramuros, having been a military base at different times for Spain, Britain, USA and, during WW2, Japan. This is the site of one of Asia’s most terrible World War 2 stories. During Japanese occupation 1942-45, many alleged dissidents were imprisoned, tortured and slaughtered on this very spot. When Manila was liberated by the Allied forces in 1945, over 600 rotting corpses were found in the dungeons, all ordinary civilians. But there was worse – as liberation came closer and the Japanese realised in February 1945 that their days of occupation were numbered, they went on a rampage which became known as the Manila Massacre, slaughtering more than 100,000 civilians as they tore through the city in four weeks of unfathomable depravity. It doesn’t matter how many times we visit places like this, we will never understand how war can bring humanity to sink so low.

If you’re thinking of spending time in Manila, lower your expectations a little before you come. This is an earthy, gritty city where the humid atmosphere and the overcrowding make it a fairly oppressive place, with precious few places worthy of sightseeing outside of Intramuros. As we have now discovered, Manila is more than the 18th largest city in the world, the centre is in fact the number one, by some measures, for population density, with almost 120,000 people per square mile. It is, though, a “proper” city, know what we mean? There’s no escaping its dark sides, and there are many….errrr….unpleasant corners, but here’s the thing – its absolute saving grace is its courteous, polite people, always helpful and always ready with a smile. It may be gritty and earthy, but even in its darkest backstreets it doesn’t really feel threatening or unsafe. There always seems to be a kind person when you need one.

The most amusing and unique sight of Manila is the unusual vehicles known as jeepneys. More or less the equivalent of the collectivo in Mexico or the dolmus in Turkey, these jeepneys look terrific and are full of character. They are obviously a big part of society here too, being extensively used by the city dwellers who cram into the seats as their preferred mode of transport – but to visitors like us these buses have an exciting look about them. How could you not love something that looks like this….

The Philippines was a Spanish colony for over 300 years until the late 19th century and, even though it’s now more than 125 years since the end of that period, there remains obvious elements of Spanish influence. Place names, street names and architecture bear the hallmarks, and maybe surprisingly the locally brewed and dominant beer is still San Miguel all these years later – equally, there’s no mistaking the remnants of Spanish influence in the cuisine. After the Spanish, the USA held colonial control over the islands until WW2, and their influence is visible too, not least in the startling number of American fast food outlets – Manila must score very high on the McDonalds-per-square-mile register. (Other fast food chains are also readily available).

And then there’s China, with whom the Philippines has shared a close tie for 50 years. Binondo, Manila’s Chinatown, is reputed to be the oldest Chinatown in the World and, as it happens, we are here for the Chinese New Year celebrations. For that day, Wednesday 29th, Binondo is utterly rammed for the afternoon procession and there is much animated excitement on its streets. We join the huge crowd and wait to see the traditional dragon costumes snaking through the throng – but, as it happens, we are to be disappointed in that respect. There are none, even though we’ve seen impromptu performances elsewhere in the city this week.

Instead, the procession is a succession of truck mounted floats from which the occupants throw handfuls of sweets, biscuits and T-shirts into the crowd, which triggers a remarkable scramble. Grown men and women push, shove and baulk each other to grab a couple of sweets; people hold open pillow cases to catch as many freebies as they can. We can only think there is some belief that good fortune is attached to being a recipient, otherwise why the unseemly bundle for something of such little value? It’s all a bit hilarious. Michaela emerges from the scrum with pocketfuls of sweets and 2 T-shirts. She’s irrepressible sometimes.

We think it’s fair to say that Manila is never going to win any beauty contests for cities. The more we wander around, the more we find ourselves in downtrodden areas with dodgy corners. With a world high population density, it’s perhaps no wonder that it feels the way it does. Michaela has probably found the right terminology, when she says that this isn’t a city you would easily fall in love with…..but it is a “real” city, and spending time here is a “real” experience. If you like. 

We should of course add that, with a city of this size, it’s only possible to see a small proportion of the whole – it’s entirely possible that me have missed some other good bits!

Then again, in the words of Alan – you’ll meet him in our next post – when asking if we were enjoying his city, said, “Well, you know for the visitor, Manila is really just Intramuros plus shopping malls”. 

Horse’s mouth.

Unwrapping The Philippines, Where Spain Meets The Orient

Our first week in the Philippines has given us an introduction to the customs and culture of the country and, whilst we have been surprised by the huge volume of American food outlets here (never mind the ubiquitous McDonalds, Starbucks, KFC etc, there’s even Denny’s and Dairy Queen), there’s one clash of cultures which is really piquing our interest: the fusion of Spanish and Chinese – or should we say Oriental. Unlikely as it seems, these two wholly disparate cultures are melded together here in ways which are surprising and unmissable.

Tagalog, the most widely spoken language of the Philippines, is laced with Spanish words, both written and spoken. “Parar” shout bus passengers as they approach their stop, “hola!” shout friends across the street. There exists such a thing as Filipino tapas, paella is regularly on the menu next to indigenous foods such as sisig and tocino, but the whole thing goes to another level when I order for lunch…..wait for it……noodles with chorizo and olives. And all this is before we hit Barbara’s. More of Barbara’s in a minute. Before Barbara, there’s Allan, our driver and guide for our first trip out of metro Manila.

Allan is driving us out of the city towards today’s destination, the renowned Taal volcano, in the darkness of the early hours – we leave at 5:30am but the notorious Manila traffic is already starting to clog the streets. We have to leave early, Allan explains, otherwise it will take hours to be free of the city. The sheer size and density of Manila becomes more and more evident as we make our way out, independently named cities forming part of the overall metropolis.

San Sebastian church built entirely from steel

As we drive Allan imparts interesting detail about his city. Manila people have a difficult choice, he says, in terms of choosing where to live: pay higher rent to live in the polluted air of the city, or pay significantly less to be on the fringes but face a minimum 2-hour commute in and out, every day. What’s more, the city’s working hours have become pretty much 24/7, a result of a number of major global call centres relocating to here from India and working American or European office hours.

When we make our first stop, at a roadside Starbucks for morning coffee, it becomes obvious just how poor the quality of the air inside the city is – it feels measurably more breathable already, like we’ve emerged from a dirty cloud. Maybe it’s helped by the light but refreshing rain which is drifting across the parking lot in feathery drops. Some time later we pull into the town of Tagaytay, high on a hillside overlooking the lake which is home to the Taal volcano – an island volcano which sits menacingly out in the middle.

Taal is a moody one. Some tour websites will tell you that can take a boat out to the island, and even hike to the main crater once there, but in reality it is not currently possible to do any of this, volcanic activity of recent times having rendered the situation far too dangerous and volatile to allow anyone to enter the exclusion zone. Some of Taal’s statistics make for startling reading: 38 known eruptions causing over 6,000 deaths; 49 active craters on the small island; major eruptions and earthquakes in the last few years since 2020 making Taal one of the most active volcanoes on Earth.

Ash falls from recent eruptions have coated Manila and brought life to a virtual standstill; the major 2022 eruption left a knee-deep ash fall across the lakeside towns and, according to Allan as he points across the lush terrain, absolutely nothing green was visible from this Tagaytay vantage point, everything buried under a sea of volcanic ash. The most recent, though not major, eruption, was on December 3rd, just eight weeks ago. Taal is one serious beast and one which both means business and demands respect.

Incredibly, the island has a population of farming and fishing families, who return home to the volcano whenever permission is granted by Government. These families are currently operating on a strict curfew and with a licence, only able to visit their farms during daylight hours whilst volcanic activity is monitored on a daily basis. It’s a pretty volatile place to live, to say the least.

As if the volcanoes of the Philippines aren’t enough – there are, by the way, over 300 altogether, 24 of which are active – these islands are hit regularly by earthquakes and typhoons. As we walk along the lake shore at Ambulong just outside the current exclusion zone, the lake wall and walkway lay battered and broken by a particularly strong typhoon which hit just a few weeks ago, generating enough power to the lake’s waters to smash the concrete and send flood water into the village. As for the earthquakes, Allan reckons they are so commonplace that “when the house starts to shake, we just carry on drinking coffee”. 

From Tagaytay and Ambulong we head to the riverside town of Pagsanjan and take a ride in a manned canoe through the lush gorge on the Bumbungan River. Our two boatmen, Gregory and Ferdinand, manfully row the boat upstream against the strong current, through white water and, occasionally, haul the boat by hand up over the most difficult rocks. With us in it. It’s tough, energy sapping work: work which Gregory has been doing since he was 18. He’s 60 this year.

Journey through the gorge

To end this unusual journey we are invited to climb on to a bamboo raft and get hauled across the river until we’re directly underneath one of the crashing waterfalls way up the gorge. We’re soaked. We’re laughing. It’s fun. The journey back downstream is easier on the two guys, but by the time we’re back, they are shattered, and grateful for the tip which we feel they definitely deserve.

Bamboo raft to the waterfall

On most evenings here we have ventured down to the restaurants around Remedios Circle for our evening meal, a walk which is a bit of an assault course of street hawkers, broken pavements, the stench of stale urine, and, hardest of all, the many outstretched hands of skinny street kids. We’ve discovered at least three pleasing restaurants at Remedios, one of which (see earlier notes) is a tapas bar serving decent Tempranillo. But, on Friday night, instead of Remedios, we head to Barbara’s in Intramuros.

Barbara’s promotional blurb informs us that it is a “Manila institution which has been serving and entertaining locals and visitors alike since 1982”. What it actually is though is your typical tourist evening of buffet food, dancers in traditional costume and local musicians playing Filipino folk songs. For all its unashamed touristic nature, it’s good: the food is varied and tasty and the floor show is entertaining. But…..

But. If we were already a bit stunned by the Spanish/Oriental thing, the crossover of influences comes pouring out here at Barbara’s. Traditional Filipino costumes bear more than a passing resemblance to flamenco dresses; dancers flick Chinese style fans while their colleagues stamp flamenco style on the floorboards – then the zhongquin (Chinese glockenspiel) and banjo-like Chinese string instruments, making archetypal Chinese music, are suddenly accompanied by…..castanets. 

And so we near the end of our time in Manila. For one reason and another we didn’t get to ride a jeepney, unfortunately, but that’s not to say we didn’t make some unusual moves around the city. We’ve ridden the city’s metro trains. We’ve been carried by tuktuk and by an electric version of the same which is half tuktuk half golf trolley – but the most ridiculous, most bone shaking and probably the most dangerous of all is the motorbike sidecar. We must have been a sight, the two of us squashed inside a little aluminium cage being whisked along next to a clapped out old motorbike steered by a guy who thinks traffic rules don’t apply to him, only to others.

Stylish Manila transport

The thing is though – these journeys are not just cheap, they’re a lot quicker than being in a conventional taxi stuck in the relentless traffic jams of the city, so you just have to get over it, drop any fear and join in the fun. And get there quicker and cheaper.

Manila may not go into our all time top ten of destinations, but it’s certainly given us some experiences. Northwards next.

Northwards To The Heritage City Of Vigan

A bit of geographical perspective first. The Philippines is made up of no less than 7,641 islands, about 2,000 of which are inhabited. The island of Luzon, where we have started our Philippines tour, is home to both the capital city Manila and just over half of the population of the country as a whole. Luzon is the Philippines’ largest island, roughly half the size of Great Britain. From Manila we have headed to the north of Luzon, to the region of Ilocos Sur, bound for the town of Vigan.

The short domestic flight lands at Laoag, from where it’s just under two hours by road to our instantly appealing destination, through the gates of the town and into the UNESCO World Heritage centre. It’s more than a little confusing though to pass through rice fields and lush green terrain so reminiscent of Vietnam, then turn into a town centre which instantly puts us in mind of Latin America. That Spanish colonial influence again, of course.

Vigan has a wonderfully long and absorbing history, one which is far too much of a story to do full justice to in a blog post, but we’ll give it a go. Let’s start in recent times. In 1999, the heritage centre of Vigan was inscribed on to the UNESCO World Heritage list, but moreover was also named as one of the New7Wonders Cities in 2015. Incidentally, one of the other six is Doha, meaning we’ve visited two “new wonder cities” in the space of a couple of weeks, without knowing it beforehand.

The magnificent buildings of the heritage city came close to disaster just a short time ago in July 2022 when a 7.0 magnitude earthquake struck the island of Luzon. Many of the unique colonial buildings were damaged, as well as the cathedral and the iconic tower at Bantay on the edge of town. Damage to many houses is still visible, ancient brickwork exposed where the rendering fell away, scaffolding supporting precarious structures. Plenty of unique beauty remains though – said by UNESCO to be the best example of the mix of the Chinese and Spanish colonial styles which is peculiar to the Philippines.

When the Spanish pioneer Juan de Salcedo landed here in 1572, he found the region then called Ylocos to be an already prosperous area thanks to the existence of well used trade routes with China and Japan, going on to make the already thriving city of Vigan the Spanish base in Ylocos and renaming it San Fernandina de Vigan. 

Ylocos continued to thrive despite being punctuated by regular revolts against colonisation and forced labour. Fast forward now to the 20th century and the period of brutal dictatorship which was the Marcos era. (Note: the current President is also a member of the Marcos family, not to be confused with the era of dictatorship and martial law). The main cobbled street in the heritage city is Calle Crisologo, named after a regional Governor who was initially favoured by Marcos and granted autonomous power and wealth in northern Luzon.

Ilocos Sur though had a strong resistance movement to the dictatorship known as saca-saca, within which Crisologo’s son Vincent was believed to be influential. When this son was arrested by Marcos after the Bantay Incident of 1970, the elder Crisalogo threatened Marcos that unless his son was released, he would expose Marcos’s involvement in embezzlement of profits from the lucrative tobacco trade. Crisalogo was to pay for this disloyalty to Marcos with his life just a few days later – not just murdered, but shot in the back whilst kneeling in prayer in Vigan cathedral.

Nowadays Vigan is a delightful little town to explore, the heritage centre really living up to its title with large quantities of beautiful old buildings in this unique style, centred on the atmospheric Calle Crisologo. Two connected plazas form the heartbeat of the city, the first, Plaza Burgos fairly plain but bordered by the sizeable cathedral, the second, Plaza Salcedo, full of life and penned in by grand metropolitan buildings – town hall, law courts etc.

In the centre of Plaza Salcedo sits a water feature with multiple fountains. On our first night here, temporary spectator stands are being built – something must be happening later, we conclude. Sure enough, with that glorious serendipity which seems happily to be a regular feature of our travels, it’s the first night of a dancing fountain display, where fountains, spotlights, lasers and music combine to create a rather wonderful half hour spectacle.

Out at Bantay where the ancient church of San Augustin has workmen repairing giant cracks in the walls, the adjacent bell tower is out of bounds now and we can only admire it from a distance of 50 yards or so, the 2022 earthquake having caused enough damage to render it teetering on the brink of collapse. “Next time”, says the security guard sadly, “it will probably be destroyed”. 

Vigan is known to have existed since before Salcedo’s arrival in the 16th century. These days, with those UNESCO and “7 wonders” accolades to its name, it is undoubtedly something of a tourist destination, as evidenced by the souvenir shops in Calle Crisologo, but its nod to tourism remains nicely understated and the whole of the town is a cool place to wander.

And wander we do – through two of its interesting museums which do their best to sidestep the dictatorship era, around the heritage city, along the food and handicraft stalls across the river, and, as if drawn by a magnet, back each time to the two plazas and Calle Crisologo. Vigan proudly boasts some regional food specialities, including longganitza, but we’re going to have to cover that in a future post – Filipino food has some seriously different attributes and has definitely got us interested. 

Vigan is really lovely, our time here has been special, but it’s time to move on again, and we need to catch the bus to our next destination.

“Bus is broken”, says the man in the office, “next bus in three hours”. 

Time for another Filipino coffee then. 

Baguio, City Of Pines

Slowly, slowly the bus hauls up the mountain road, climbing ever higher above the pine clad slopes and dramatic valleys, dragging round sharp hairpins until eventually we’re even above the clouds which cover the mountainsides in a giant cotton wool coat. It’s an incredible view from the bus window even before the setting sun sends unlikely shades on to the rolling clouds below, casting the pine forests into a ghostly golden twilight. This spectacular is, remarkably, to be outdone by the skies of the following evening….but of course we don’t know that yet…

We hadn’t been sure about the bus, in terms of how we would get a seat. You can’t buy tickets in advance, Vigan isn’t the start point of the journey, and we’re told that you can only pay on the bus. So how do you know you’ve secured a seat? The answer to that question is a funny one: when we arrive at the bus station and tell them we’re travelling to Baguio, we’re handed the tiniest of Post-It notes which we are to hand over on the bus as proof that we’ve secured seats, a minuscule scrap which reads “Baguio 1-2”. Funny it may be, but the system works and roughly six and a half hours later we’re off the bus and hailing a taxi in downtown Baguio.

Baguio has a number of reputations. Formerly known as the “summer capital of the Philippines” due to its cooler climate and mountain location, it is also nicknamed the “City Of Pines”, no prizes for guessing why, and is a major centre for growing strawberries (“the best in Asia”), green beans and salad vegetables. 

At just under 1500 metres above sea level the air here is significantly fresher – still warm during the day but with much lower humidity and a very pleasant cooling breeze. After sundown the unmistakable chill of mountain air descends and has the citizens of Baguio reaching for their jeans and hoodies before they head downtown. The air here is clear and fresh, the clean scent of mountain freshness dashed with a hint of pine: there’s something immediately refreshing about this city. (Note: Since writing this, we’ve read that Baguio has a history of pollution and poor air quality. Either they’ve cleaned it up or we got lucky!). 

Goodness knows how they judge the “1500 metres above sea level” thing, because Baguio stands at so many different levels, an endlessly undulating city where nothing seems to be on a flat level – wherever we head turns out to be a succession of climbs and descents.

As we venture out on our first morning in Baguio, our minds are cast back to childhood in the English Midlands, back in the 60s when everybody spoke to everyone. As we head out, every single person we pass greets us with a cheery “good morning” and a broad smile, some stopping to ask where we’re from, some asking if we need help finding our way around. By the time we reach the coffee bar no more than five minutes from our apartment, we have a significant feelgood factor. What a lovely, almost forgotten, feeling this is. Friendliness rules.

No matter where you walk in Baguio, it’s an up and down trail. No wonder the approach on the bus was so spectacular, no wonder the clouds wrap around the contours of the land, this whole city is improbably built on a series of dramatic hills. The main street, the intriguingly named Session Road, sits way below other parts of the city. Standout buildings top the various hills: the Cathedral Of Our Lady Of Atonement tops one, and, much more dominant yet much more mundane, a giant shopping mall tops another.

Several of the steepest hillsides have over the years become heavily populated and less privileged neighbourhoods similar to the favelas of Brazil, with terribly cramped conditions where houses appear to be stacked up above each other. One such, christened Stobosa, a combination of the three neighbourhoods of Stonehill, Botiwtiw and Sadjap, now gives Baguio another renowned feature: The Valley Of Colours.

Stobosa the Valley Of Colours is a stone’s throw outside Baguio in the adjoining town of La Trinidad. Originally conceived by the leading proponents of a local artists’ group and completed in 2016, this major project, inspired indeed by those favelas of Brazil, involved the training of over 500 residents to complete the work. The completed works certainly bring colour and interest to a deprived area. Sunflowers and strawberries, both abundant in the local area, feature prominently on the multi coloured hillside.

Inside the Valley of Colours

With such intensely hilly terrain, viewpoints and vantage points abound, though probably none better than at Mines View Park. In the valleys below, mines operated by the Benguet Corporation produced over 200 tonnes of gold until its official closure in 1990 – “official” because some illegal mining is reported to still persist. We can’t make out any evidence of mines from the viewpoint but the panoramic vistas across the pine clad mountains are absolutely magnificent. This is big country.

On the Thursday night, the Baguio sky provides an even bigger treat which outdoes even the spectacular effect seen on our arrival. Tonight, with a deliciously slow paced drama, a fabulously vivid sunset casts deep hues across the mountains and the attendant clouds. We watch in awe from our apartment balcony as the scene unfolds, it really is a stunning show, as these photographs demonstrate…

Friday dawns and we have an unexpected invite as our host Raquel and her husband Edison suggest we meet for dinner in town. It’s a really lovely evening and we spend a thoroughly enjoyable few hours in good company with good food, with the added entertainment provided by Zera, their delightful live wire 4-year old daughter. 

We head now a long way from Baguio, taking on a long drive in our newly acquired rental car towards more remote parts of Luzon island. Next stop Sagada.

Sagada: Hanging Coffins, Lemon Pie And The Paytokan Trail

Sagada, say the travel websites, is not an easy place to get to, but is without doubt worth the effort. Let’s deal with the first half of that sentence: it’s a ridiculously long drive to this remote location no matter where you start from. Look at the basic mathematics: a drive of just 143 kilometres (89 miles) takes 6 hours – yep, SIX HOURS ! – so it’s pretty obvious that this is no ordinary journey. There is, of course, no highway, the whole route is a narrow, twisting mountain road of steep inclines, dramatic descents and tight hairpin bends.

Add to that trucks struggling up the mountains, long trails of slow traffic, sudden unattended piles of rubble necessitating one way traffic only, villages where the road is both thronged and narrow, and everything adds up to very slow progress. The scenery is more than spectacular though, the soaring mountains have a drama all of their own, borne out of irregular shapes and foreboding ridges. Spectacular that is, until it disappears – several times we climb so high on the mountain road that we are driving inside the cloud, precipitation soaking the villages and visibility akin to a dense winter fog. A few days ago in Vigan it was 34 degrees, now there are road workers in oilskins.

Along the route, near the small town of Atok, there’s suddenly a gathering of people and vehicles – when we stop to see what the attraction is, we find we are at the highest point of all of the roads in the Philippines. Up here in the howling wind we are 2,323 metres above sea level. It feels like it too. Spectacular. Cold. Windy.

Precisely six hours after leaving Baguio we finally creep into the narrow main street of Sagada, a small town with unique points of interest for the inquisitive traveller. This little mountain town straddles two deep gorges where attractive buildings hang precipitously from the hillside, and sharply weathered stacks of rock point to the sky. We learn pretty quickly that you need to wear layers in Sagada: the evening wind blows decidedly cold mountain air down the street, clouds drift through town carrying a damp mist as they go. Don’t underestimate the drop in temperature after dark: this is proper mountain country with warm days but chilly nights. And clouds are still wet even in the dry season, you know.

Sagada feels every inch the isolated community, cut off by that 6-hour drive and the mountainous terrain on all sides. And yet it is thriving, one of those small destination towns where there are as many tour guides as cars and multiple activity options for the many visitors who make the long journey here. Most of those visitors are, it appears, holidaying or weekending Filipinos, everybody eager to get out and explore.

Our time here begins with a little quirk of the legal variety: every visitor to Sagada must register with the Tourist Office, pay a small fee, and receive a receipt which doubles as an entry pass to sites and trails alike. Failure to do so not only breaks local laws but also hamstrings your stay here – without that pass you pretty much can’t do anything. So we pay our fee, obtain our pass and hitch up with Thomas, our guide – a guide is also obligatory, partly because, again, it’s forbidden to enter the sites alone, and partly because frankly you’d never find the trails without one. It’s not like there’s signs to help you.

With Thomas and three of those holidaying Filipinos we tackle the Paytokan Trail, which turns out to be immeasurably better than we anticipated, not to mention notably more challenging. Beyond St Mary’s Church, built by the Americans and bearing a distinct resemblance to Mission houses, we descend into the valley where we can see the first of the hanging coffins. Yep, hanging coffins.

Somewhere around 250 years ago, elders of the Kankanaey mountain people sought a way to make the passage to the afterlife an easier journey by making their final resting place a little closer to the heavens. How that transpired into getting their loved ones to scale a sheer cliff, fix a support structure way above the ground and then haul the coffin and body up by ropes, is open to conjecture. Yet here they all are, sealed coffins complete with remains, improbably suspended from a sheer cliff. Even after death there is social standing: the more influential and important the deceased was, the higher up the cliff is their coffin.

How did they do it? According to today’s village elders the cliffs were once covered in vines which have long since died away but once provided the mechanism for scaling the impossible heights and hanging the coffin. I don’t know about you but it still doesn’t sound too easy to us! No surprise perhaps that the most recent coffin to be hung was in 2010, families now deciding that burial in the churchyard is a darn sight easier.

The Paytokan Trail continues past the coffins, down steep and difficult descents to the bottom of Echo Valley where gaping cave entrances yawn beneath colossal and spectacular rock formations. We soon come alongside the chattering river racing through the rocks and dense tropical vegetation. From here the trail becomes even more fun, even more adventurous.

What we didn’t know at the outset is that the next section, the Matangkib cave and Latang underground river, involves clambering over and down sizeable rocks over and over again, and then a long section hiking through a dark cave where we follow the watercourse beneath the ground for a considerable distance, making multiple river crossings on slippery stepping stones in the process. In the dark. Yes we get wet feet – of course we do – but the trail is a super combination of enormous fun, beautiful scenery and the thrill of hiking underground. Eventually we emerge from the far end of the cave and out into the daylight where our next treat is the Bokong Falls tumbling over rocks into a deep natural pool. The Paytokan Trail has been three hours of serious joy, even if it has been a little testing on our not-so-young joints. 

Lush vegetation fills the valley and the town itself – we’re no experts but growing wild here are many plants which we recognise from a million indoor plant pots back home: spider plants, cheeseplants, mother-in-law’s tongue. There’s coffee plants too, and hikers on the Paytokan Trail are at one point treated to a cup of the Baw-eng coffee farm’s finest, a stupendous drink where the bean’s journey from plant to cup is no more than fifty feet. The caffeine hit is immense.

Back to the village. The cosy little eateries of Sagada are welcoming places after a strenuous day and, equally, good places to escape that chilly evening wind which sporadically carries cold rain. Our food experience is more than good too, flavours here having been tweaked since our earlier calls on this journey – we really must do a first Filipino food post soon – but there are some unexpectedly delicious dishes to be enjoyed in these tight corners of Sagada. Does chicken steak in honey and garlic sound good? Believe us, it’s good.

We sleep well…

Our second day in Sagada features a shorter hike, again with Thomas who, it has to be said, is not the chattiest or most informative guide we’ve ever encountered, effectively imparting information on an “I’ll tell you if you ask me” basis. Today’s hike, after a bumpy ride in the back of a truck, is directly uphill, a steep 45-minute climb to an area known locally as the “blue soil”. Here, limestone rocks have been permeated by copper sulphate which turns a blue colour when it comes into contact with oxygen in the air. It’s an odd sight, and one which, judging by the groups trudging up the narrow trail, is a popular hiking choice among visitors. Blue soil, blue rocks. It’s getting more weird by the minute. 

And then there’s lemon pie. Before we move on from here, we better mention the lemon pie. Strange as it may seem, it really is a Sagada speciality adored by the locals and available in cafes, shops and even as street food. Intrigued, we try a slice each – and it is precisely what we back in England would call lemon meringue pie, though it’s melt-in-the-mouth and as light as air. There are, if you’re wondering, lemon farms not too far away. Lemon meringue pie as street food? Seriously? It’s getting more weird by the minute…

Well, what can we say. Hanging coffins, underground rivers, adventurous hikes, lemon pie, chicken cooked in honey and garlic, rocks turned blue and the coldest evenings of the trip so far. Like the websites said, Sagada may not be the easiest to get to, but it’s sure as hell worth it.

Next stop….rice terraces.

The Rice Terraces Of Banaue: A Stay Of Two Halves

Our stay in Banaue took something of a different turn as a proper deterioration in the weather took hold. The Philippines has this week been hit by a weather front known as a “shear line” – no, we hadn’t heard of it either – which has brought torrential rain to several islands. South of here the damage has been much worse with devastating flooding, here in northern Luzon it was less damaging but still pretty extreme. Our perseverance in getting out to the rice terraces on the wet day was rewarded by some better weather on Day 2. This is how it went… 

The thing which draws visitors to the mountain village of Banaue is a spectacle which can only be seen in a handful of locations around the world – the layered vibrant green of rice terraces. It’s what we’re here for too, to view those spectacular scenes from across the mountain valleys. However, as we make the drive over from Sagada, our spirits start to sink as we get nearer to our destination.

Rain pours down, water flows from hillsides and turns roads into rapids, piles of earth sit where mudslides are creeping across the road, impromptu waterfalls spurt from hillsides. Nearing our destination, everywhere is shrouded in mountain cloud and the visibility is akin to that of a winter fog. A few kilometres short of Banaue we pass the first of the renowned viewpoints for the rice terraces, and we can see absolutely nothing except the whiteout of cloying cloud. If it stays like this we won’t get to see much of those amazing views.

“How long has the weather been like this?”, asks Michaela as we check in to our room.

“Seven days now”, says Irene, our new host. Ugh. 

This is completely unexpected, not least because February is slap bang in the middle of the four month dry season here, there’s only meant to be occasional showers, not a full week of downpour. Our accommodation is a couple of kilometres outside of the village, so we trudge down on our first afternoon, rain gear on, splashing through puddles and staring at the nothingness which is the cloud fog and the falling rain. It’s a bit grim. Grim is also the word for some of the housing here too, dilapidated and squalid looking apartment blocks which just seem so out of place up here in mountain country, like inner city monsters in a green valley.

Shelving our original plan to hike from Banaue to Batad to get the best of the views – the trails will be quagmires – we instead arrange to be taken tomorrow by “tri cab” (motorbike and sidecar) to several of the best vantage points in the hope that the weather clears and we see the sights which brought us to Banaue in the first place. Fingers crossed.

Wednesday arrives and day breaks to the sound of crowing cockerels and….. pouring rain. Not a good start. Even our tri cab driver and our tiny guide Conchita – yes, four of us on the little contraption – look dubious. There are a few quizzical looks around the quartet but in the end we decide to give it a go. It sort of pays off, in as much as at least we do get to see the marvel (and UNESCO World Heritage site) which is the rice terraces, as the dense cloud drifts in and out and gives occasional fleeting glimpses of the beauty below. 

The rain though is less compliant and infinitely more stubborn, its only two speeds today being “torrential” and “ridiculous”. Hunched inside a tri cab which gives little protection from the rain we make our way out to a series of vantage points where, whenever the fog drifts away, the scenery is breathtaking. 

Ok, let’s fast forward to evening. An hour before sunset, as if by magic, the weather bomb which has blighted Banaue for a week suddenly passes and the clouds part just in time to reveal a setting sun. When the following day our breakfast omelette is accompanied by even brighter sunshine, we decide to revisit those viewpoints and take in a few more, this time driving ourselves in the rental car rather than cramming into another tri cab. Now, this time, the views are truly amazing. We have our reward.

These rice terraces are estimated by some historians to be around 3,500 years old, and, wonderfully, they are mostly still used for that original purpose today. Constructed by the Ifugao mountain people, these ingenious designs enable natural irrigation by the tumbling mountaintop water while at the same time avoiding both excess water on any one terrace, and any collapse of the dividing walls. As a result, the whole construction looks now exactly as it did centuries ago. 

Of course the entire terrace development, which altogether covers an incredible 4,000 square miles of the Ifugao region, was built entirely by hand – there was no helpful machinery back then. Incredibly though, due in no small part to the remote and difficult location, farming methods today have barely changed in all that time – rice is still sown, and harvested, by hand. Counter intuitively, modern day farming methods would not speed up the processes: the mountains are too steep and the terraces too narrow for machinery to be practical.

Whilst here, we can see workers down in the fields, sometimes wading knee deep in the thick mud, sometimes crouching or kneeling in the water sowing seedlings one by one. Or walking on narrow slippery walls half way up the oh so steep terraces, where every day one false footstep could be their last. It’s back breaking, slow paced work, often in extreme weather, torrential rain like today or oppressive humid heat. So remote are the homesteads, so difficult the terrain, that food is conveyed to the village, and rice crop brought back up, by a mechanism like this:

Back to the rainy day. The climb down to the vantage point at Batad is nothing short of treacherous, feeling our way down steep steps and slopes, on stone which is soaked by rain and dotted with algae, which is a lethal slip hazard combination. We survive it with just one fall, Michaela slips over and draws blood from her ankle – Conchita leaps into action with a natural remedy, picking a leaf from a nearby plant, rolling it in her fingers then rubbing the resultant pulp on to the wound. It stings then numbs, just like an antiseptic cream would.

Our precarious trail towards the terraces takes us through some of the rudimentary and primitive homes of the mountain dwellers, littered with the hand tools of the rice farming trade and populated by dozens of chickens. Labour in the rice fields is wet, hard, backbreaking work, home life is devoid of any modern comforts. Children have to climb a mountain daily to attend school. To call this a tough life is a big understatement. At least, these days, there’s a bit of tourist dollar to perhaps ease the strain a little.

Moving on in our tin can sidecar, other viewpoints provide amazing moments, though of course all are tempered by the cloud and the incessant rain. By the time we clamber out of the cramped sidecar for the last time, our wet clothes are finally making us shiver and our bones have had enough of the shaking. But in spite of the weather’s attempts to thwart us, we’ve seen something which is truly one of the world’s most incredible sights, a result of incredible human ingenuity and endeavour. Not for the first time on our travels we are in awe at the mental strength of people with tough lives.

Next day, with the clouds gone and the skies clear, our second day feels like total vindication and reward for getting soaked on the first foray. We have seen the rice terraces – which by the way are dubbed the “Eighth Wonder Of The World” – and the magnificent, unique scenery, but have also had a glimpse of the mountain climate which makes life so, so hard for these people.

Earlier on in this Philippines journey, particularly in Vigan, the Spanish colonial influence was so evident that we were constantly reminded of Latin America. That’s changed. Here in Banaue this is every inch Asia, there’s no mistaking that now.

Well, we got rewarded for our efforts in tackling the weather bomb, by way of good luck on Day 2. Just how lucky becomes evident later. As our last evening, the end of the better day, draws in, there is a reversal of yesterday: the clouds roll relentlessly back in, the sun is again defeated and, just around the time of yesterday’s sunset, torrential rain once again swamps Banaue. The respite, it seems, was temporary.

Flooded roads, mudslides, displaced boulders, blockages just the other side of hairpin bends. Tomorrow’s long drive back to Baguio could be an interesting one.

Impressions And Opinions: The Philippines So Far

We’ve been in the Philippines three weeks now so it’s perhaps a good time to reflect on our early impressions. One thing’s for sure, it’s been a very varied three weeks, with a mammoth city, an active volcano, a town of Spanish heritage and a two-centre excursion into the mountains all forming part of the experience. Sunshine, humidity, cool mountain air, torrential rain. So here’s some impressions after those three weeks…

People

It will probably sound a little crass to put into print just how lovely everybody has been so far. Filipinos have shown themselves to be extremely kind, ultra friendly and considerate, but, in addition, honest. Not one tuk-tuk, tri cab or taxi driver has attempted a rip off, no unofficial guides have pestered us, shopkeepers always give correct change. The arm of genuine friendship extended by Raquel and Edison in Baguio was so kind, yet completely indicative of the Filipino character – courteous, amiable and helpful. Oh, and they sing a lot. It’s very common to hear people singing without inhibition while working – “sing like no one is listening” could be a Filipino motto.

When a Filipino smiles at you – and they do that a lot – they smile with their whole face, their eyes shining an alluring friendliness. We are so impressed by these lovely people so far. 

Food

If you like to be surprised by your food, then any outsider will enjoy the Philippines: it is definitely surprising. In the Manila region, the inclusion of sugar in everything – EVERYTHING – is the first surprise. There will be sugar on your bacon, sugar in the savoury sauces on your pork and chicken, even sugar in the bread mix. Not one dish tastes genuinely savoury. It’s startling at first but worryingly easy to get used to. As we moved north, the sweetness became modified, the Filipino staple of longganisa turning to soy and garlic, so becoming noticeably more salt than sweet. The constant so far is meat, which is king everywhere. Back in Manila, Allan joked that the most popular vegetarian option on menus is caesar salad with chicken – yes, a joke, but with a point. 

We should also say that in meat dishes, particularly pork, there is no distinction between lean and fat, usually half of your meat portion, diced or otherwise, will be entirely fatty. If you can get over any inhibition you have on that score, the fat is as tasty and texturally satisfying as the lean. (Though perhaps not as good for your arteries).

One other thing. Maybe take note, Sarah and Chris. Some dishes contain the ingredient “fermented shrimp paste” which is in our humble opinion one of the most disgusting tastes we’ve ever encountered!

It’s been good to find regional variety and regional specialities. The lemon pie of Sagada, the garlic longganisa of Vigan, the Bicol Express (coconut curry) and the Spanish/Filipino tapas of Manila….all fun and all with that element of surprise which we both so enjoy.

Beer? Well it’s pretty much all bottles and cans and no draught, and, so far anyway, all four we’ve found are from the San Miguel brewery. None of them are anything special, but for me Red Horse is a nose ahead. (Pun intended).

Driving

Allow a lot more time than the mileage suggests, wherever it is that you’re going. The larger cities are utterly gridlocked with traffic which is why tuk-tuks and tricycles are better options than taxis. Away from the cities the terrain has been fabulously mountainous, making progress extremely slow: allow 15 miles per hour as your average speed and you’ll give yourself an achievable ETA. There are, of course, some highway exceptions further south, but the rural driving in the north is definitely slow.

For all that, it’s been 100% enjoyable. The courtesy of the Filipino character is reflected in their driving, we have never felt under pressure or tense. Michaela shared the drive back to Baguio and felt completely calm throughout. That all said, this is the 28th country in which I’ve driven – it probably wouldn’t be so enjoyable if you weren’t so experienced in different driving cultures.

Money

It’s advisable to keep visiting ATMs whenever you can and keeping your supply of cash healthy. The larger towns and cities have plentiful ATMs but once you move to more remote locations, there’s either none, or just the one which is empty more often than not. Payment by card in restaurants is not guaranteed, even in the cities many establishments are cash only; gas stations are often also the same. Keep topping up, is our advice. The Bank named BDO is recommended: their ATMs have an English language option and are easy to use. Yes they charge a fee but it’s not overly punitive. 

Your money will go a long way here: our evening meals, with a couple of beers, are rarely as much as £20 for two all in; our rental car was £225 for 7 days including insurance, and gas for our whole week driving was just over £40. Accommodation of course varies with quality but again is usually good value.

Climate

It’s been hot, sunny, rainy – sultry sweaty cities to cool, refreshing mountain air. But the coolness is deceptive, because no matter what the temperature, the humidity stays high, as evidenced by the fact that our clothes are becoming more and more damp as the days unfold. Chilly nights where you wake up sweating. Work that one out!

What You See

What a fantastically spectacular country. Nuff said!

Wrap

Well, those are some of our opinions after three weeks – but then again we’ve only experienced the northern half of just one of the many islands and, as it’s already been enjoyably variable, who knows what lies ahead.

Moving South: Guinobatan And Its Mighty Neighbour

Accommodation in the two mountain towns has been a little on the rustic side, without AC and with no storage facility for clothing. Living out of the backpacks for a week in that level of humidity has left everything feeling damp: our clothes, our toiletries, even the bags themselves are wet to the touch. Back for one night in Baguio as we start the journey south, it’s a big relief to be in a dry environment with cool AC and a hot shower, but there’s definitely going to be a need for a laundry session soon. Nothing feels clean and fresh now……but then travelling through humid climates ever was thus….

For the most part the drive from Banaue to Baguio is quite different from last week’s long drive in the opposite direction from Baguio to Sagada, the roads wider and better, the towns and villages more regular. There’s still a fun hour of hairpins and hills towards the end, but it’s mostly an uneventful journey – well, uneventful apart from the incredible scenery which fills each of those hours.

By late afternoon we’re back in the familiar territory of Baguio from where we start a 2-day journey south to the Bicol Peninsula, with a bus back to metro Manila and then a flight to Legazpi. Central Baguio is rammed with people tonight, oppressively so, so busy in fact that we don’t walk anywhere, we just shuffle. Queues for restaurants are mammoth and untenable, maybe because it’s Valentine’s Day – there’s certainly an abundance of flower sellers pushing bouquets under our disinterested noses and lots of oversized red hearts surrounding numerous doorways. Valentine’s Day is obviously big here, much bigger than at home. 

With large reclining seats, ample leg room, a clean toilet and an attendant busying herself with various duties, including cleaning said toilet regularly, the Victory Liner bus from Baguio to Pasay provides an enjoyable 5-hour trip as the evolving scenery rolls by, changing from mountains to flat rice fields and eventually to the gigantic sprawl which is metro Manila. Much of the journey is on a straight dual carriageway, the first time we’ve seen a “big road” since leaving Manila two weeks ago.

Next day, the domestic terminal at Manila airport is another busy place, but among the thousands of people, one guy  – we christen him Red Man – makes us chuckle. He is dressed, absolutely totally, in red. His T shirt, shorts, crocs, hand luggage, baseball cap, headphones, mobile phone and even his spectacles are red. We board our flight and, I don’t believe it, Red Man sits in the seat next to me. Of all the thousands of people in the terminal, of all the dozens of flights departing, the one person in the whole place who we had singled out turns out to be my next door neighbour. What are the chances!?

It is but a short flight which brings us to the Bicol Peninsula, on the southern half of Luzon island (note: flight time 45 minutes, same journey by road 12 hours). As soon as we leave the small airport in our second rental car, the peninsula’s most famous feature dominates the skyline: the gigantic and perfectly shaped Mayon volcano, impressive and imposing in its conical majesty. Vapour creeps from its peak: Mayon is in a permanent state of “degassing”, emitting some 140 tonnes of sulphur dioxide per day. It’s currently on Alert Level 1, the lowest level, but there’s nonetheless a six kilometre exclusion zone around its 80-mile circumference. (That’s not a misprint….80 miles!).

We can’t quite put our finger on why, but we always like it when we end up in an “ordinary” town on our travels, an unassuming town going about its everyday business where it’s fun to settle in and get our bearings. And if that town has a specific feature, then all the better. Consequently we are very happy to find ourselves in the small town of Guinobatan, in the province of Albay on the Bicol peninsula. And it certainly does have that specific feature.

When in desert towns, the sand finds every corner, gathering in mini drifts against walls and kerbstones, blowing down streets in wisps. Here in Guinobatan, it’s not sand, it’s the black dust of volcanic ash. Sidewalks carry a dark coat, buildings are stained into dark shades, the vivid greens of tropical plants shine against the black earth from which they grow. Black dust collects in the gutters and in gateways, deep dark piles glinting in specks as the sunlight catches the minuscule quartz crystals hidden in the ash.

All down, of course, to Mayon, the mighty monster which dominates every aspect, its classic conical shape tracing the landscape of every imagined volcano. Its perfect, slightly cratered, peak hides much of the time behind cloud – also a classic scene – then will suddenly reveal itself in all its glory as its covering drifts away and for a few short minutes Mayon looks proudly, and menacingly, down on the world below. It’s so imposing that it’s hard to look away. It has a mesmeric quality.

The river splits as it enters Guinobatan, parting into two separate channels which run parallel through town either side of the main street. In between the two, a lively market does brisk business, tricycles and jeepneys fill every street, each movement accompanied by the wispy black dust which funnels into the slipstream. Every few yards, somebody speaks, either to ask where we’re from or simply to welcome us to their town. They smile their beaming Filipino smiles as they do so.

Tucked beside the modest plaza is an even more modest museum, where the staff are so pleased to welcome us that not only does the curator insist on walking us through his domain and explaining every exhibit, but, before we leave, gathering all staff together for a team photo. The museum is entirely dedicated to national hero Simeon Arboleda Ola, born in this town, who was apparently the last Filipino general to surrender to the American invasion in the 1890s, using the locals’ knowledge of the forest to win unlikely victories for bamboo spears and sabres against rifles and gunfire. At least, that’s the story the curator tells. Wikipedia has a different take on it.

Guinobatan itself is not the tourist spot, it’s the mighty Mayon which is the attraction. Twenty minutes drive from town are the Cagsawa ruins, a renowned spot for a great volcano viewing point and consequently a go-to place for bus loads of visitors around which a quasi village of tat shops, cafes and ATV tour agents have gathered. I buy a volcano T shirt because yay it means that I now have one dry one! The ruins are what remains of a church built in 1587 but destroyed by Mayon in the eruption of February 1814. It’s an attractive place despite its popularity.

Not only did I buy a T shirt, but we also ate an ice cream. Some may remember that ice cream is one of the very few foods which Michaela and I dislike (I know, go on say it, we’re weird), but this is one which even we couldn’t resist. This peninsula is famed for growing hot chillies and yes, you’ve guessed it, they do chilli ice cream, including one in a red tub marked “extreme”. As it happens, it’s delicious even if it does momentarily scorch your epiglottis.

We gaze up again at the mighty Mayon, then retire to our cosy riverside lodge at Casa Basilita. Next morning, coffee in hand, we stand on our veranda watching the young river sparkle in the rising sun as swallows dart past, taking breakfast on the wing. As we watch, there’s a flash of vivid electric blue as a kingfisher flies by, U turns in front of us and heads back downstream. I think we’re going to like Guinobatan.

Days In Guinobatan…..This Is Dry Season?!?

Having chosen this time of year because all of the guide books and websites call it the dry season, the continuing downpours have surprised us a bit – we expected tropical showers but what happened in Guinobatan was something else. First came rain, then some sunshine, and then…..wow. Picture those TV images of monsoon rains, then imagine 48 hours without the smallest pause. Our tiny river became a torrent, streets became flooded…..all ending with crazy scenes at an airport. It unfolded like this….

The heavy rain which blighted Banaue has followed us here, hammering down through the firsr night and into Tuesday morning, swelling the river and delaying our start to the day. True to tropical form though, once it clears it clears and the afternoon is a searing combination of upper 30s and rampant humidity. Unfortunately though, this won’t by any means be the last time we see the rain here, not by a long chalk. Something seems to be brewing. But before then we continue our explorations of areas around Guinobatan.

Daraga church, an enjoyable half hour drive from “home”, is testament to the battle between mankind and the elements in this volatile natural environment. Like so much of the surrounding area, the original church was destroyed by one of mighty Mayon’s bad moods – although it was also bombed by the Americans in WW2 – but now stands proud once again, having been reconstructed entirely from the lava which destroyed it in the first place. Is that neat or what?

A few miles from Daraga in the direction of Legazpi, the slightly unusual “agritourism” destination of Farmplate is home to, amongst other things, the smallest chapel in the whole of the Philippines, seating a maximum congregation of just 12. It’s cute, but Farmplate is an eclectic mixture of oddities, with, as well as the diddy chapel, a handful of cafes, a campsite, lanterns strung from trees and an American cowboy theme. And perhaps most bizarre of all, a pet cemetery where as we walk through to the cafe gravediggers are busy creating a new pit for somebody’s recently lost companion.

But a third destination awaits, and today we have saved the best till last. Having noticed on our first two days that the clearest view of mighty Mayon comes when the clouds clear at around 4pm, we head for a vantage point which is in itself a remarkable natural setting known as the Quitinday Green Hills. This strange landscape with its oddly isolated rounded hills, caused by tectonic movement millennia ago, is not just a beautiful and peaceful place in its own right but quite possibly the best vantage point for gazing at Mayon that we’ve come across so far. Once again we are mesmerised. 

We climb each of the two accessible green hills in turn. Will the clouds disperse? Will Mayon show itself?….

Up here we’re above the humidity, up where instead of the cloying heat a hot yet refreshing breeze blows across the hilltop. There’s just the two of us here, not another soul around. Palm trees, coconut and banana, fill the whole scene with lush greenery stretching as far as the eye can see, yet our eyes are continually drawn to the might of Mayon, towering above the verdant terrain with its proud, perfect shape. As the clouds move away, the now familiar wisp of vapour drifts from the peak on the prevailing wind, and Mayon is once again clear in all its majestic glory. Between our transfixed eyes and the volcano, the peculiar green hills of Quitinday dot the land like oversized burial mounds. We can’t tear ourselves away from this amazing view, as unique as it is beautiful. I motion to speak, but when I catch Michaela’s eye, she’s clearly thinking the same, and there’s no need for words. This is magical. Moments, and places, like this…. are precious.

It’s been a highly stimulating day in a place we are fast coming to love. As we drift off to sleep, images of Mayon float in and out of our minds. We don’t know yet that tomorrow will be just as good, if not even a little bit better….

“It’s a beautiful disaster”, he says, gazing upwards. A beautiful disaster. What an extraordinary phrase. The young lad is gazing upwards at Mayon, the volcano which dominates every view and dictates every life here, with a look in his eye that only those who live close to natural extremes can carry. By “beautiful disaster” he means, of course, Mayon’s eruptions. Beautiful to watch, devastating in their effect. How can those of us who live cosseted, safe lives possibly understand what it is really like to live with a constant threat to our very existence?

We’re standing on the black chunks of the 2006 eruption, looking at the dark pathway down Mayon’s right flank which is its most recent creation, the lava flow of 2023. Pitched a few yards away is an unassuming blue post: unassuming but significant, marking as it does the edge of the six kilometre exclusion zone around the giant volcano. We, like everybody else, can venture no closer to the beast which rules. 

Getting to this point, this edge of the safe area, has been by some considerable distance our best and most challenging ATV (or quad bike) drive ever, over rough black bouldered terrain, across dry river beds, through waterways and even through a quarry. From beginning to end our drive is close to three hours, including a short hike to the lava field, and is exhilarating beyond words. Adrenaline flows, the heart, at times, races. All the time, above us, mighty Mayon looks down, goading us that quad biking isn’t dangerous, not compared to “his” power. But wow this has been beyond terrific, a fabulously exciting experience. Best of its type. So far.

Walking from our digs into town this evening, we feel as if we’re walking like cowboys: three hours in the ATV saddle has taken its toll and our legs just won’t bend like they’re supposed to, but there’s some housekeeping to do, meaning calls at the pharmacy and the 7-Eleven. I need to sit down, my legs have had enough. Hiding behind the market and the tricycles and the mopeds and the jeepneys is a red neon sign reading “Top View”, perched quietly above a scruffy store. After three hours in the saddle, the plastic chair and the San Mig beer are both little pieces of heaven – plus, no surprise, the name of the bar is appropriate, this is the one place in Guinobatan where you can drink beer, listen to music, and gaze at mighty Mayon looming over the town.

Four San Migs in, dinner back at the ranch suddenly seems like it would be a cop out, so it’s street food tonight, plastic chairs, rustic food, free soup, and all. Nothing is too much trouble for the cafe owners who make us feel like honoured guests as they attend to our every need, beaming huge smiles of joy when it becomes obvious that we like their food. We are in this moment reminded of something somebody said to us, way back in our early days in the Philippines….

“It’s not a real Philippines restaurant if they don’t give you free soup”. 

Well. This is real then. Free soup, plastic chairs in the street, good food for not many pesos. If we didn’t already love Guinobatan, this would have sealed the deal. As it happens, we do already love it. It’s got “Phil & Michaela” written all over it. 

Free soup and everything

Apart, that is, from this bloody rain. We got lucky on our ATV day, the rains holding off until literally ten minutes after we’d finished, then coming down in torrents as we supped iced tea. It stopped again before we ventured out for our evening. Through the night and into Thursday it’s a different story and this time it really means business: heavy, heavy rain and talk of flood warnings in the coming hours. 

Trying to pretend it’s going to clear up soon, we at last get to do a jeepney ride – well two jeepney rides in truth – back and forth from Guinobatan to Legazpi City, though the day, and the rain, turn out to have a different plan, one which definitely does not involve clearing up soon. By the time we’ve reached Legazpi, it’s become completely unreal, so much so that we’re beginning to debate whether we have ever seen rain like it – as heavy as this for as long as this, with no pause? – we think possibly not.

We take refuge in a coffee bar, watching the streets flood and the city disappear under the deluge, and then, with no realistic option, wait under a shelter for a jeepney back. So much for exploring Legazpi. By the time we get home to Guinobatan everything is flooded: streets, plazas, our own courtyard, all under water. The river out back is at least twice the size it was when we arrived and is flowing at least twice as fast. It’s just unbelievable, an incredible quantity of rain simply emptying from the skies. Non stop torrential rain for about 17 hours now. As it turns out, 17 hours isn’t even the half of it.

This is not normal.

Throughout the night the roar of the river is relentless, by morning it’s raging through, filling the channel from bank to bank, totally unrecognisable from the narrow flow which was ambling past when we arrived. Even loading the backpacks into the car is an exercise in disaster avoidance. We’re moving on now, not just from Guinobatan but from Luzon island completely. As we drive to the airport visibility is down to a few yards, so heavy is the rain – I gratefully and slowly follow a large truck for most of the drive.

As flight time approaches we are surprised that there is no talk of delay, and in fact we actually commence boarding early…and then come the unique scenes. You can’t help but laugh when things get this extreme. We’ve all got to walk across the tarmac to the little prop plane – but the rain and the wind are as intense as ever, giving us deep puddles to trudge through and horizontal lashing rain to battle with. As if everything is normal, the airline, Cebu Pacific, has an umbrella system – as we leave the cover of the walkway we are each handed a bright yellow umbrella which we then hand back as we mount the steps the aircraft. Well, that’s a first!

In truth the brolly is of limited use. Every passenger is soaked, the aisle is awash with rainwater dripping from clothing. There is, of course, a communal sense of amusement. Humour in adversity is alive and well!

And we’re off, up into the storm in our little prop plane. Next stop Cebu island.

Moalboal: Bustling Bars And Barbecued Bananas

The prop plane bounces through the storm and touches down safely in Cebu City where we spend a night at an airport hotel doing our best to dry out both the backpacks and those items which got wet in the onslaught. We did of course give the bags every practical protection, but rain as heavy as that is going to find a way in somewhere somehow, and it has. The damage isn’t too bad but judging by the uneven soaking it looks like the baggage handlers stood Michaela’s backpack in a puddle at some point. Thanks for that guys, nice touch.

Having snaffled a car and driver at the airport next morning, the journey across Cebu Island will, we’re told, take three hours. True to Philippines form it takes four. In the last half hour yet more torrential storms make us fear the worst, but by the time we hit our destination of Moalboal it’s made its way up country and only the puddles tell of its recent passage. 

As an amusing little fact, Moalboal is pronounced (kind of) Mwaalbwaal, and is said by some to have derived its name from the sound of water bubbling from the hot springs nearby. It doesn’t matter whether that’s true or not, it’s funny and we’ll take it as gospel. What definitely is true is that Moalboal is instantly appealing. Touted as a destination for PADI divers, there’s no missing that fact once you’re here, everything in this little village centres around diving trips. 

But what a great little village it is, especially the section right on the shoreline known as Panagsama. Rustic ramshackle travellers’ territory, hostel land as well as PADI land, loads of places to eat today’s fresh catch and multiple rickety wooden jetty bars in which to sip cheap cocktails and watch the sunsets. Everything is about the visitor market so call it touristy if you like (and of course it is in a way) but it’s got that laid back nowhere-near-five-star backyard feel which reminds us of Cirali in Turkey or the Caribbean coast of Costa Rica. Tuk tuks everywhere, diving and snorkelling gear everywhere, cocktails cheaper than beer. The sunsets come free.

Girls in tiny skirts hand out happy hour vouchers, laughter peals from bars and by 8pm the live bands are playing and the PADI fraternity are diving into cocktails instead of the ocean. Looking around, it’s a fair bet that we are just a little bit above the average age of visitors here. Maybe just forty years or so.

Michaela suffers an equipment malfunction so unfortunately she has no record to show you of her fantastic snorkelling through gigantic sardine shoals which twist and turn like murmurations before her very eyes. She comes back excited and animated, thrilled by an hour or so only a short distance offshore. Why only Michaela? Man, despite multiple attempts, I just haven’t managed to master the breathing techniques needed for snorkelling, which sounds really stupid but when you consider that I’ve never really grasped how to drink through a straw without getting in a mess, it puts it in perspective.

Out at Kawasan Falls a few miles from Moalboal, the water is an unreal shade of blue, from the falls themselves, through the pool at the foot of the falls and along the river to the sea. It’s a fun hour or so swimming into the strong current and being carried – life jacket mandatory – across the blue pool. And then, just down from the falls, we stumble upon the barbecued banana.

Sometimes in life you come across a food which is so much better than the component parts would suggest that it should be. Put two stumpy bananas on a wooden skewer, cook it over coals, brush it with margarine (yep, really cheap tacky stuff) and then roll it in sugar. The melted margarine and the sugar combine to give a toffee flavour, the banana tastes of barbecue smoke and has softened through heating. Honestly, it is so much better than it sounds! 

Still the dry season continues to confound and the rain remains stubborn. With considerable good fortune we catch the only decent spell of sunshine and blue sky on our one and only visit to White Beach, otherwise the weather has been as unreliable as a bus timetable in the UK. Each time we think it’s going to improve, down comes the rain; the sun casts only occasional and brief shadows and then darts back behind cloud; our views of the next island and its Kanlaon volcano have become a vague outline in the several shades of grey. Every time the rain comes, it properly means business, too. Sure knows how to rain here. Even the locals are starting to comment….”the sun is late this year”….”this rain should be gone by now”… “maybe tomorrow…..”

James the tuk tuk man asks us….”when is your dry season in England?”. We have no idea how to answer that question. Where would we start?

Here’s the thing though. You know, sometimes persistent rain can spoil your opinion of a place, but somehow the great feel of Moalboal has risen above all that and its character has proved to be the absolute winner. Any negative impact is just not happening here, we really like Moalboal despite the weather we’ve had, though there’s no doubt we would love to see it at its best too. Such is its vibe that each time the heavens open, the streets quickly empty and the bars fill up and everyone stays chilled. As in…who cares?

We’re based a short tuk-tuk ride from Panagsama, out on the coast half way to White Beach. Each evening as we climb out of our ride and walk towards the centre the ambience of Moalboal/Panagsama makes us smile, it’s just the kind of place that makes you feel relaxed and ready for your evening. Lively yet chilled, fun yet calm, driven yet rustic. 

You don’t need to be a PADI to dive into Moalboal.

Here’s two more reasons to love it. One, the Smooth Cafe has what is not only the first draught beer of this whole trip, but is also a beer brewed locally on Cebu island. Tick. Two, there’s a rustic little place down the dead end of the seafront, well away from the centre, with a charcoal grill where they cook fresh fish. When we ask what’s on tonight’s menu, she says she doesn’t know until her husband comes home and she sees what he’s caught. No catch, no menu. Now THAT is our kind of place.

The fish which we share is fantastic, but the bad boy prawns….oh my God I don’t even have any words…are there any words to describe food so good that it makes you swoon?

Little bit sad to leave Moalboal. Could easily chill here for another week. 

James the tuk tuk man asks, “why are you leaving? I can tell you love it here”.

That’s the second time he’s asked a question we can’t answer.

Car To Carcar, Boat To Bohol, Pigs In Between

Our driver is here early and we’re off, leaving Moalboal behind feeling like it’s a little too soon to be making our way back across Cebu Island to our next destination, Carcar. As we drive away from our digs, the driver heads towards White Beach, which we know is a dead end road on a peninsula. He must know a cut through. His Google Maps satnav keeps telling him to do a U-turn, he ignores it every time. He must know a cut through. Eventually when he stops and asks directions, the guys at the roadside point back the way we’ve come.

“Oh”, he chuckles, “wrong way!”. So, it seems we’ve entrusted our trip across the island to a driver who doesn’t know the way out of his own village. You have to laugh. After that false start and a couple more heavy showers we make it to the unusually named city of Carcar. 

Carcar is a 2-night stop en route to our next island, Bohol, and has attracted us because of its two very different claims to fame. One is its unique Spanish colonial architecture, obvious from the moment we walk along the main street; the other is lechon, whole roast suckling pig served in a particular way. Before we even leave our own street we are staring up at the captivating architecture. The pigs can wait.

Like Vigan back on Luzon island, Carcar has a wealth of unusual buildings which have survived since the Spanish colonial era, but these are very different from those of Vigan. They are sumptuously designed, ornately decorated and striking in their size and prominence. There is real individuality too – no two houses are the same. It’s noticeable as well that a good number of these fabulous buildings are still private houses, seemingly occupied by the families of Carcar.

Our base here is in a small family hotel built in the gardens of one of those terrific colonial houses, Casa Catalina. The family proudly tell us that this is more than just a home: ancestors of this family built the original house in 1859 and the family have owned and occupied it right up to this day – in 166 years there has never been a change of ownership. Inside the property, the courtyard garden with its beautiful flowers attracts many colourful birds, though the crowing of cockerels and the wor-kack wor-kack machine-like grating of the resident guinea fowl tend to dominate the bird noise scene, usually at a time of day when we don’t need it.

On to the second claim to fame: lechon. Boy do they love their pork in this town. Lechoneries are everywhere, in fact there’s even a specialist lechon market. Those not in favour of meat consumption would probably disapprove of the displays and the method of serving, which works like this. The complete suckling pig lays on the counter having been slow roasted and glazed; as customers arrive, the process of chopping up the meat begins from the rear end and works up towards the head. You order by the kilo (or part kilo) whether you’re eating in or taking your piggy meat home, and get handed your lumps of meat in a plastic bag. With a generous spoonful of the roasting juices tipped in.

Now for the taste. Having been slow roasted, the flesh is succulent and tender, the crackling mostly crisp and juicy, but we can only wonder at how much salt is used in preparation: lechon is unbelievably, incredibly salty, in fact our comment is that it’s more salty than sea water. We try it twice, once in the lechon market and once at Bebie’s, winners of the Cebu Lechonerie Of The Year Award in 2024, and of the two, we can see why they won it.

A half hour tuk tuk ride out of Carcar in the neighbouring town of Simala, is one of the most surprising Roman Catholic sites we’ve encountered on all of our travels, albeit that this is not an ancient site. The Monastery Of The Holy Eucharist, built only recently in 1998, is a gigantic complex more reminiscent in some ways of a temple from other divinities rather than a Catholic monastery. Its sheer size (it’s currently being extended, by the way) and the colours of the statues, the opulent interior and the rolling gardens are…….well, they’re just spellbinding.

This is a pilgrimage destination for Roman Catholics, housing as it does an image of the Virgin Mary which is said to weep tears in times of trouble, most recently in 2016. The image, originally assigned as Our Lady Of Fatima, arrived here from Pampanga on Luzon shortly before the Cebu dengue fever epidemic of 1998 began to wane, its arrival being credited with bringing an end to the outbreak. Now dedicated to “Mama Mary”, the monastery is more widely known as the Simala Shrine, one of a number around the world hosting a similarly weeping image of the Madonna.

Warning: the next paragraph contains some gender stereotyping. I make no apology.

With a trip from Carcar to the ferry point at Cebu City which can take over 2 hours in the heavy traffic, it’s imperative that we find a reliable driver to be at Casa Catalina at 7:30am. The guy we meet in town agrees to pick us up next morning but how can we rely on him…..we have our doubts. Out of nowhere his wife appears, takes over both the conversation and the price negotiation and then says something to him in local tongue, and suddenly my doubts have been dispelled. Now that there’s a woman involved, particularly a wife, I have absolute 100% confidence that he will turn up. And he does. At precisely 7:30.

He gets to the ferry point early enough for us to grab a late breakfast of hot dog and coffee, after which the Supercat catamaran ploughs its way noisily and with the smell of diesel across to the island of Bohol. As it happens we’re not actually staying on Bohol, we’re on the smaller island of Panglao at the foot of, and linked by a short road bridge to, Bohol itself.

The sun comes out. It’s hot. The sea is calling. So is the Max Cow bar with a live band and too many cocktails. Funny how some places immediately make you feel like you’re on holiday. Much black coffee needed next morning.

Alona Gain, Naturally 

Well, it’s fair to say that after our gratifyingly varied journey through the Philippines we’ve definitely arrived in the holiday market tourist bit. Down at the bottom of the island of Bohol lies the small island of Panglao, and down at the bottom of Panglao lies the village of Alona, where it’s impossible to walk any distance without enjoying exchanges with tour operators, tat jewellery sellers, hair braiders, boat owners and boys selling fresh mango. Nobody’s pushy but everybody wants business and there seems to be plenty to go around.

It looks like Alona is booming too. Construction sites are a major feature, whether a new chunky hotel, spaces between bars being filled with…well, more bars…or ramshackle buildings receiving makeovers to bring them into a more lucrative era. Things are moving at a pace and the sounds of welders, hammers and excavators are almost as commonplace as the sound of music from the bars. Somebody somewhere is seizing an opportunity. Was that Chinese or Japanese writing we spotted?

(By the way, we reckon there is some sort of Law in Asia that states that every band playing live in any venue anywhere, must by decree play “Zombie” at least once during every set. Vietnam, Cambodia, Singapore…and now Philippines. What is it about THAT song?!)

Of course, the presence of tourism and tour operators means there’s plenty to do here, so we naturally take advantage and join in, and there are without doubt some very rewarding experiences in the mix. Leading the way is our visit to the tarsier sanctuary, where this tiny and endangered species is being carefully and sensitively nurtured in a natural environment.

The second smallest primate on Earth, these little tree dwelling creatures only grow to a maximum of 15 centimetres, head and body length, but with disproportionately extended hind legs and tail. Tarsiers move little during the day, hunting their insect prey by night. With eyes which are fixed and immobile and larger in size than their brain, they carry a permanently startled look as if caught in a moment of fear, using instead of eye movement the ability to turn the head through 180 degrees in each direction. They’re also very cute. 

The Bohol sanctuary is both ethically sound and uniquely successful in both the study and the conservation of this unusual little animal. 

Away from the land and on a boat trip to the remote circular island of Balicasag, a school of dolphins give a commendable display of acrobatics, although we’re a little bit uncertain about the manner in which the flotilla of tourist laden boats pursue them through the waves. Our boat captain informs us that the reason it was necessary to set sail at 6:30am is that the dolphins have departed for elsewhere by mid morning – well, we can probably work out why.

Just off the shore of Balicasag, the coral reef teems with fish and turtles, giving thrills to snorkellers and PADI divers alike, and even to non-snorkelling me armed with mask and held breath. Huge shoals of colourful fish light up the underwater world – not quite as spectacular as Lake Malawi but pretty damned wonderful all the same.

Back across the road bridge from Panglao and towards the centre of Bohol lies another set of strange hills, created by the same tectonic movement as the Green Hills of Quitinday which we visited a couple of weeks ago – but these don’t carry the title “green”. These are in fact the Chocolate Hills of Bohol, from which you can guess the normal colour. During the dry season, the hills’ covering of plants and grasses dies off to leave these strangely shaped, individually isolated mounds an inviting shade of milk chocolate brown. The late end to the rain this year means that unfortunately we catch them still mostly green – it would be good to see them living up to their name but they’re a pretty spectacular sight regardless.

Talking of the rain, we are yet to see anything approaching a wholly cloudless day and each day continues to have a shower or two, variable in magnitude. Our last afternoon here produces the heaviest and most persistent of those and empties the beaches as manic swimwear-clad figures quickly gather up belongings and head for the shelter of the coconut palms in a comically choreographed routine.

Alona is, as we’ve said, very much a holiday destination, but it does it well and we have enjoyed our time here. For now at least the resort vibe is at a more than acceptable level, and the beachfront restaurants beneath the palms are relaxing places to enjoy an evening meal by the gently breaking waves. It would be interesting to see how it’s been affected by the extra development in a couple of years time. 

Time to move on again now, another island beckons, with maybe a hint of adventure along the way. It’s a seven stage journey from Alona to Boracay, some with very real time dependency, so punctuality will be of the essence. It’ll be another early start as we put the pieces of our one-day travel jigsaw together. 

FOOTNOTE: By a string of coincidences we were able to meet up with Sarah (Travel with me) and Chris in Alona. Only in December over a London beer did we discover that we each had plans to visit the Philippines – if that wasn’t coincidence enough, the fact that we ended up without any further consultation in the same town on the same island on the same day…..

FOOTNOTE #2: Anyone remember the 1970s clearly enough to get the pun in the title of this post?

Moving Through The Islands: Bohol-Boracay-Palawan

It so often seems to be like this, both in travel and in life itself. The things you think might go wrong, don’t – and the things you think will be smooth, aren’t. Even before we start, our journey from Alona to Boracay doesn’t look straightforward, what with seven separate segments through the day. What kind of things might go wrong? Well, what if the 6:30am taxi is late? It’s not. What if the ferry is delayed, or affected by bad weather? It’s neither. What if it’s hard to find a taxi from Cebu ferry port to airport? It’s easy.

So we’re at Cebu airport maybe an hour earlier than we need to be, with over three hours to kill….and get greeted by the news that our short flight is seriously delayed. We now have seven – yep, SEVEN – hours at Cebu Airport. This wasn’t the bit which we thought might go wrong. Seven hours. Michaela buys a dress. I find a bar with draught beer. Michaela prepares a blog post, I put the music and the headphones on. The airline buys us a Jollibee meal. Well, there are much worse things which can happen than being delayed while you’re living the dream, aren’t there. Seven hours ain’t so bad.

Our ultimate destination today is the island of Boracay, but the airport at which we land is on the neighbouring island of Panay, so we’re not sure of how the transfer system will work now that we’re late and it’s dark. As it turns out, of course, just about everyone who flies in to Caticlan is heading to Boracay, so there is a well practiced system which tonight is in overdrive. Like everyone else we are whisked on to a shuttle bus (cash) which hurries to the ferry point.

From here it’s a form of high speed ushering, to the kiosks where we pay the port fee (cash), then the Boracay environmental fee (cash) and eventually the ferry fare (cash). The “ferry”, actually a bit of kit similar to a pod from a cruise ship, reaches Boracay in fifteen minutes, where everyone is shepherded on to one of the many shuttle buses (cash) which are all heading to the village. It’s kind of like a travel whirlwind on steroids and caffeine and we’ve got from an airport on one island to a hotel on another in what feels like the blink of an eye. Breathless. Brilliant. Slightly mad.

“Boracay is beautiful, but it’s very commercial”, a couple of people had said earlier on the trip. Commercial, they had both said. Commercial rather than touristy. It doesn’t take long to see that their descriptions are accurate, on both counts. It is indeed commercial, but wow is it beautiful. We’ve said it many times before, but you know, there’s a reason places become popular, and it’s never because they’re ugly, boring or dull. Is it.

This is the very definition of the paradise beach. Palm trees lean over the sand, bowing towards the sea with its multiple blue and turquoise shades, fronds rustling in the breeze. Sun worshippers laze on the sand or in the shade of the palms, paddle boarders drift silently across the calm water, gentle hawkers approach and quietly offer tours. Men sell buco juice, women offer massages.

Bars along the back of the beach sit modestly, low rise, dwarfed by the towering palms which turn their oversized fingers into skeletons against the sky. Music carries across the sand, gentle in daylight hours and only a couple of notches up the scale after dark, then silenced early enough for those who aren’t up for all nighters, silenced to let the lapping waves and whispering breeze hold sway. It’s a long stretch of stimulating ambience and laid back vibe, running along a long stretch of paradise beach. This is just the perfect place for a bit of R&R with atmosphere.

Just before 6pm each night there is a migration of people on to the beach as sundown approaches – so thrilling are the sunsets that everyone wants to be here, either on the sand with phones and cameras ready or boarding yachts for a sunset cruise. Either are worth it, these are special sunsets. The sky moves from pastels to riches, gentle hues to deep glows and eventually to clouds of fiery orange. 

Darkness descends quickly, bars and restaurants fill, music volume creeps up the scale little by little. The paradise island holiday vibe drifts from every bar, whispers through every palm, caresses the sand with every gentle wave. We came here knowing of Boracay’s “commercial” reputation but wanting to see it for ourselves: we are so pleased that we have done so, it’s a beautiful place, a corner of paradise, little wonder it’s become a destination. 

Our aim in coming here was to hit the pause button after more than six weeks of travelling, and it’s proved to be the perfect place to do exactly that.

Two days of pause button over, we’re back on the move again with another journey of multiple stages, retracing our steps through tuk tuk, pod ferry and minibus back to Caticlan airport, where the woefully inadequate terminal building simply isn’t coping with the numbers of travellers. With our flight delayed and the passengers of later flights needing space in the terminal, their solution is to put us on a stationary bus – where we wait for an hour until the plane is ready.

From there on it’s pleasingly straightforward, a quick connection in Cebu on to a second flight which brings us to our next island, Palawan, on which our first base is the island’s capital, the cutely named Puerto Princesa. 

Our accommodation with its peaceful gardens and thatched roof buildings is so appealing that we get drawn in to a couple of relaxing cocktails with homemade rum and then dinner in the gardens. In this hugely welcoming environment, we laze into basketwork garden chairs and let the balmy air of evening caress our skin as the crickets chirp and the geckos call out in search of a mate. Just as I’m thinking how lovely it all is, a mosquito whines straight into my left ear, as if to remind us that there’s always some kind of price to pay.

Sod off, mozzie, this is us time.

Too tempting

Puerto Princesa And Another Of The World’s Seven Wonders

Tempted fate now, haven’t I? I really should have known better than to instigate a conversation about the fact that the Philippines has been kind to our tummies with not a hint of an upset in over six weeks. Michaela wakes up in Puerto Princesa with all of the warning signs; by breakfast she can only manage half of her omelette and by lunchtime her body has gone into that “I am going to force you to lay down and sleep while I work on curing this problem” mode which we all know from travel.

But she’s blessed with what we in football circles call bouncebackability and by Monday we’re off on a trip to a truly amazing place, one which is both a UNESCO World Heritage Site and one of the 7 New Natural Wonders of the World. We keep bumping into 7 Wonders places almost without trying, we must get round to checking our “score” someday. This one is the Puerto Princesa Underground River, and it really is an incredible place.

For starters, it’s the World’s longest stretch of navigable underground river at 4.3 kilometres, though for reasons of safety and preservation the public boat tours only explore the first 1.5 of those. The fact that the mouth of the cave opens out within yards of the sea also means that the underground river is both tidal and brackish, which, combined with the mix of minerals in the rocks, creates an ecosystem unique to the world.

Boat journeys into the cave are seriously environmentally conscious: rowing boats only with strictly no motors, minimal lighting by boatman’s torch only and therefore no permanent lighting, strict instructions to refrain from touching the rock or even making unnecessary noise. The ecosystem is not just unique but also intensely fragile, just a small amount of the chemicals on the human skin can cause lasting damage to the rock surface; light or sound can distress those creatures which occupy such dark places.

Hundreds maybe thousands of bats hang from the rocks while some circle above us, a venomous snake lays coiled in a hollow, but without doubt the stars of the show are the incredible rock formations. Dozens of different hues form a hundred different shapes, incredible natural sculptures of improbable design, just leaving us gasping at the creativity of nature. The recorded voice in our earpiece (the boatman, like us, is barred from speaking out loud) points out artistic interpretations of the amazing shapes, everything from the Virgin Mary and a nativity scene to a corn husk and a mushroom. Even, apparently, Sharon Stone, though that one was lost on me.

I don’t really know the right word, so hard is it to believe that these fantastic, colourful creations are the product purely of water, stone and nature, and, of course, time. There is so much more than stalactites and stalagmites, so many moulds, curves and shapes that we are endlessly asking ourselves….how? Just, how? So unique is this place that bat species, insects, fish and even minerals are endemic here, unique to this individualised creation of geology and ecology.

At one point the boatman switches off his torch in order to demonstrate just how pitch dark it is in the deepest part of the cave, although this is hardly surprising given that we are 1.5 kilometres into a winding underground waterway. More prosaic is the audio commentary which, when explaining how it has taken hundreds of millions of years for the cave to form what we see today, states “fortunately for us, nature is a patient artist”. Nice turn of phrase.

From the incredible underground river to the tidal waters amongst the trees; a second, serene boat trip through the mangroves reveals venomous snakes and monitor lizards and later, after dark, a third river journey through a stretch of the waterway loved by fireflies provides a spectacular display as the tiny light emitting creatures, each the size of a grain of rice, bring natural fairy lights to the riverbank foliage. It’s the males which are airborne, the females cling to the mangrove flowers waiting to be chosen. They will need to be quick: after two years as a grub, the firefly lives for just four weeks or so and has to cram perpetuation of the species into that restricted time frame.

Three memorable boat trips: the amazing underground river, the peaceful mangroves, the domain of the fireflies. Great trips out from this pleasing little town. Puerto Princesa is for us probably the most accommodating Filipino town so far – it’s not that it is particularly spectacular, nor that it is filled with amazing sights or buildings – but it is so much slower paced and spacious than all other towns and cities we’ve seen so far on this journey. Thoroughfares are wider, the karma is calmer, the smiles seem even broader. Appealing garden cafes abound, green by day, subtly lit by night. From what we can gather, there are both American and Australian expat communities here, and it’s easy to see the attraction of settling in this functional yet attractively peaceful town for a while.

Now that we’re on the island of Palawan, the numbers of westerners has increased significantly, a mix of holidaymakers, backpackers and expats. No doubt their presence is the reason there are so many attractive cafes, bars and eateries but without any noteworthy hike in prices. We find a cool bar not far from home called Guni Guni, popular with outsiders like us. If you think Guni Guni is an unusual name, how about one of the bars we visited in Boracay, which was called Nigi Nigi Nu Noos e Nu Nu Noos. Proof is below, if you need it.

Wednesday morning, time to move on. We’re crossing Palawan now, from Puerto Princesa to El Nido, a beach town firmly on the gap year map nestled in a west facing cove where karst islands cast looming dark shapes against the horizon.

As we head across the island, we know we’re in serious need of laundry. Laundering quality has been decidedly two star so far and T shirts are already at the worn multiple times stage. As we board the minibus for the 5-hour journey across to El Nido, we’re a little worried that we may not smell too fresh to our fellow passengers and might make their journey more unpleasant. However, as the much younger, vest top clad brigade fill the other ten places, it quickly dawns on us that we needn’t have worried. These guys are in a much worse place than us when it comes to fragrance.

Five hours of inhaling ten different body odours later, we pull in to the bus station at El Nido, grateful for a gulp of the stifling humid air of the outdoors. Five hours for less than £10, got to be well worth the nostril test.

Hello El Nido with your lofty karst islands and sweeping bay, you look interestingly ramshackle. Let’s see what you can offer.

El Nido: Paradise Lost, Then Paradise Regained

There are bars in El Nido with bean bags. There’s a point in life when, and for me it was probably around ten years ago, bean bags become a no go area, impossible to get down to, impossible to get up from, impossible to enjoy beer in whilst perched there like a sleeping dog in a favourite basket. The fact there are bean bags here should be a warning: El Nido is a young person’s place.

Both Boracay and El Nido describe themselves as paradise locations – maybe somebody somewhere would attach that particular moniker to the town of El Nido but, as we saunter through the streets here, it’s quickly obvious that there must be at least two types of paradise. Whilst not in the same wild bracket as the likes of Falaraki or Agia Napa, El Nido is a destination for hedonistic young things seeking to sleep all day and party till 4am at venues where the bass line of techno music throbs its way through town and out to sea.

During the day it’s a reasonably pleasurable if ramshackle town with cafes, souvenir shops and beach life; after dark it assumes much more of a party vibe in which the bean bag brigade, all mermaid hair, tattoos and enviously slender bodies, emerge from wherever they’ve been sleeping all day in order to enjoy another night of revelry and indulgence. It’s like we’re no longer in the Philippines: El Nido could be a party town in any of several dozen countries, so much so that pasta has replaced rice as the staple starch, unthinkable elsewhere in the Philippines.

The sumptuous natural bay sweeping in front of El Nido is so totally rammed with tour boats that it resembles a kind of waterborne Sainsbury’s car park. Around half of these boats disappear for a chunk of the day for island tours on which those young things who choose not to sleep all day will be doing something more worthwhile. These tours are the main reason we’re here too, the karst limestone island scenery promises to be a real spectacle.

Friday brings our first such boat tour, and, as you might expect in a town so dominated by the tourist market, it’s well organised and well patronised. In fact, the 9am scene on El Nido beach is highly amusing. No matter where you buy your trip – there are four trip routes labelled A to D – you assemble on the beach as instructed, ready to board your particular boat. There are, literally, hundreds of us waiting for the next instruction, so concentrated on one section of sand that the beach looks like a concert or sports crowd just before the gates open. Nattily T-shirted controllers bring order to chaos and pretty quickly everybody is on the correct boat, although not before everyone has had to wade waist deep to reach whichever boat they’ve been allocated – the look on the faces of those who have arrived ill prepared in the wardrobe department is priceless. And with that, several dozen boats head off in each of the four directions.

Remote island beaches and deep swimming coves follow, plus an opportunity to kayak through the waves into the “Big Lagoon”, an exercise which by itself is worth the fee paid for the day (which incidentally is incredibly reasonable). It is so enjoyable, paddling peacefully across the lagoon surrounded by amazing scenery, occasionally leaving the kayak to wade in warm water and gaze at stunning rock formations. Paddling back to the boat against the incoming waves is a bit of a tester for those of us not as young as the bean baggers, but still scores high on the fun-o-meter.

The limestone karst islands are majestic and magnificent, a little reminiscent of Ha Long Bay, soaring more or less vertically from the sea, ridged and painted by erosion. Weaving between these isolated towering rocks it becomes very easy to understand that the Philippines is made up of over 7,000 islands, just in this one area off Palawan there are too many to count, every one of them a stunning sight.

As if kayaking through choppy seas and then later swimming against the incoming tide to get back to the boat isn’t exercise enough, we then get taken to our final call of the tour, the Secret Lagoon. No surprise it’s called secret, the only way in is to clamber up and over large rugged rocks in the water and squeeze through a gap so tiny that either knee or head  – or both – can get gouged. And then you have to find a way to drop into the waist deep water on the other side without drawing blood as you skid down the rock.

At this rate, with all this abnormal exercise and testing of usually dormant muscles, I’m going to be able to clamber in and out of a bean bag tonight. No, maybe not ready for that.

What we really are ready for after our day is a couple of cold beers, some of which we enjoy as the sun drops behind the islands, some with a Polish couple we met on the boat, as around us the trendy bars once again ramp up the volume of the techno music and another El Nido night begins. As we head for our midnight bed, the bright young things from Planet Gap Year head out to where the beat thumps loudest.

We’ve rapidly reached the conclusion that while the karst island scenery is fantastic and absolutely everything we wanted it to be, El Nido itself is not our idea of paradise and not quite the beautiful coastal scene for which Palawan is renowned. Then, just as we think our conclusions are final, paradise is regained simply by taking a 15-minute tuk-tuk ride to Lio Beach.

Until fairly recently we wouldn’t have called ourselves big beach people, but over the last couple of years we’ve come to appreciate the value of the occasional rest period within longer term travel. And, honestly, it would be hard to picture anywhere better than Lio Beach. A huge perfect crescent of a bay, sea which is flat calm, crystal clear and as warm as bath water, bars, restaurants and lodgings all hidden in the trees just behind the beach – and all just a little bit, but not too much, upscale.

We vow here and now that if we ever hit a point where we just want two weeks of idyll without moving too far from our base, it will be to Lio Beach that we head. It is just simply beautiful. Funny how in a town which we were just feeling was over touristed, we find the absolutely perfect retreat just a stone’s throw away. You never know what may just lay down the next road or round the next corner.

So, we came to Palawan having been told it is the best of the Philippines and therefore having high expectations. We loved Puerto Princesa, love the karst limestone islands, can take or leave El Nido, but now at Lio Beach we have found exactly what it is that gives Palawan its exotic reputation. Or to put it another way….

Love Princesa, so love Lio

But there ain’t no way we’ll ever love El Nido..

Now don’t be sad

‘Cos two out o’ three ain’t bad….

More Glimpses Of Paradise: From Palawan To Coron

As we have done every evening in El Nido, we fall asleep to the sound of waves breaking just beneath our balcony almost but not quite drowning out the throbbing beat of club music. The terrific position of our room right on the seafront comes with a disproportionate price premium, these are by far the most expensive digs of our entire trip yet are a long way from being the best, in serious need of some of that premium being spent on a bit of TLC. Cracking view though.

A second boat trip – Tour C this time as opposed to our earlier sortie on Tour A – and a second visit to the beautiful Lio Beach complete our time at El Nido, both excellent days despite their similarity to earlier days. In fact I think we could spend quite a few days at Lio Beach without tiring of it. 

The Philippines is spilt into 82 provinces across its many islands, but the one doesn’t necessarily correspond to the other, with the result that you can get a boundary between provinces across the middle of an island, and you can also get islands which are some distance apart yet are in the same province. So, we’ve now moved from El Nido to Coron, meaning we’ve left Palawan the island but we’re still in Palawan the province. What’s more, Coron the town is not on the island called Coron, which is a short ride away across the water. No, it’s on the island of Busuanga. So we’re in Coron but we’re not on Coron. And we’re not on Palawan but we’re still in Palawan.

The address of our new home is Governor’s Road, Coron, Palawan – but it’s not on either Coron or Palawan. The airport is called Busuanga-Coron even though it’s not on Coron island and is half of Busuanga away from Coron town. Not confusing in the slightest, is it.

And so we’re in Coron town, wandering into its very appealing centre with its network of twisting and bumpy roads, past Sabor where we ate last night, past the craft brewery bar and down to the rather nondescript waterfront where we spend a fruitless quarter hour with a boatman trying to negotiate a private tour. Fruitless because he stubbornly won’t bring his price down far enough.

Thwarted on the private tour front, we pop instead into a more conventional operator and book the last two boat trips of our Philippines journey in this, our last destination. Moments after we’ve done so, the boatman bowls up on his moped – he’s riding round town looking for us – to offer a bigger discount. Too late mate, had your chance, muffed it. He is, however, to crop up again later.

Maquinit is the only salt water hot springs location in the Philippines and one of only a handful in the world, a strange combination of natural phenomena which sees a subterranean volcano force a mixture of fresh water and sea water up to the surface. Locals here have built circular pools to hold the hot salty water as it passes through to the ocean, pools which have long since gained a reputation for healing qualities. 

That water is definitely hot, ranging from upper 30s centigrade to 41C in the hottest of the pools. Rules abound: don’t get in too quickly, lower yourself gently into the water, stay in no more than ten minutes and then take a five minute break before returning. If you start to feel lightheaded, get out of the water immediately. We are told that to maximise impact you should avoid visiting in the heat of the day, but as it happens we’re here on a dull day when the temperature is lower, and so are able to enjoy to the full. The hot water is very, very soothing – the arthritis in my joints loves it.

Just as in El Nido, the boat trips from Coron are outstandingly good, taking us to wonderful places for modest outlay. They have better names in Coron too; instead of Tours A to D, we have options such as The Super Ultimate and The Escapade. In fact those are indeed the two which we take. We swim over the amazing Coral Garden and above a shipwreck, visit lagoons and swim in deep island lakes, but the stars of the show are the remote island beaches which simply ooze the classic paradise island look. Even within these amazing locations, one stands out – the small island of Malcapuya where everybody’s mental image of the perfect paradise island is a reality, here before our eyes. Uninhabited, protected, isolated and beautiful.

In a way, these tour guys here are lucky, in that there are multiple mindblowingly beautiful places all around; they have plenty to choose from, but we have to say they make a very good job of it. Tours are well run, length of time spent at each place perfectly allocated, they’re easy and efficient with absolutely nothing exploitative about pricing. Above all, the guys on the boats work with what seems genuine joy – they laugh together, talk to visitors, and love to show off their beautiful homeland. They behave like they love their work, which for us adds an extra level of enjoyment.

And so to our very last day in this corner of paradise, and, ever since that first morning, we have felt a pang of guilt about the boatman with whom we didn’t do a deal. Maybe we drove too hard a bargain. Heading down to the waterfront once more, we find him here again today, sitting in hope of finding a client, chatting with another captain, smiling a friendly smile as he spots us approaching.

“It’s our last day in the Philippines and we want to see one more beautiful beach. Where can you take us?”

“Dinanglet”, he beams, and shows us a picture.

We haggle a little bit, not too much, and spend a couple of hours enjoying another serene location. He and his mate clean the boat while we have fun, waiting patiently while we indulge in our last day, then bring us back across the waves for our last evening in Coron. The tip we give him is twice the amount which we haggled off his price. He is extremely happy, and we are, after all, edified. As our friend Edison back in Baguio was prone to say……everything happens for a reason.

As we head back, the sunshine vanishes behind jet black clouds and the rain begins to fall, first pockmarking the surface then falling with definite intent. After all of the rain back in the early weeks of this trip, followed by the glorious days on paradise islands, it’s somehow fitting that the rain makes a reappearance on this, our very last Philippines boat journey.

Coron’s potholed streets are full of puddles, cafes buzz with chatter, umbrellas defend against raindrops rather than sunburn. Island life goes on, and will do so long after we’ve bid our farewells tomorrow.

ONE MORE TALE: Rather than bring her own, Michaela bought a cheap snorkel and mask back in Moalboal. Now, on our last day, we were hoping to find some local children to hand it to, as we don’t need to take it home, but unfortunately, with the afternoon rain now falling heavily, none of them are around at the waterfront. After a sandwich and coffee, we hail a tricycle tuk-tuk to return to base. Riding sidesaddle on the motor bike is a boy aged about seven – he’s the driver’s nephew, having to ride shotgun all day because it’s Sunday, his Mum is at work and he’s too young to stay home alone. Out of nowhere we suddenly have an opportunity to make a gift of the snorkel. As Michaela hands it over, the little lad absolutely beams, takes Michaela’s hand and touches it against his forehead. Next he catches my eye and I don’t know if I have ever seen such unbridled joy on a child’s face – he is unable to contain his delight. I’m not ashamed to say that his little face is so full of happiness that it makes both of us well up.

It’s so incredibly fitting that one of our last exchanges in a country where its beautiful people have made us so welcome, is to give back some real joy, even if just to one child.

With that our Philippines tour is all but over. The long journey home begins.