Tourist bit
I'd forgotten about the death-rides. It's been a while since I've taken one of those long, freezing, terrifying bus journeys through Asia. But on Friday afternoon - a particularly rainy, trafficy, one- I got on a bus headed for Pagsanjan.
The first thing you notice when you get on, is the icy temperature. For some reason buses always always seem to have the aircon on too high and being used to walking round in the swampy heat of the tropics all day, you are never never prepared. (I'm sure it is the weakened resistance of those enduring hours of this freezing ordeal which is allowing the spread of swine flu from city to city rather than anything else.)
But the cold is a minor inconvenience - what is really troubling about your journey is the manic lurching in and out of traffic, overtaking on blind corners and suddenly slamming on of breaks, so that you imagine, should you go to the front of the bus, to find not an ordinary driver, but Hine Nui Te Po, or some other demonic scion of death standing at the wheel enthusiastically honking the horn, as she endeavors at breakneck speed to deliver you into the open mouth of hell. Traveling at night through a strange country, all is blackness out the window and you really could be speeding through some parched and fiery Dante landscape.
I don't know whether it's worse during the day when you can see the oncoming traffic of the “invisible third lane” (apt description from lonely planet), but it definitely seems worse for lone passengers disembarking at empty stops, when made bold by daylight, the driver doesn't see the need to come to a full stop and the passenger must leap from a still moving bus. - I saw a women roll head over heels onto the side of the motor-way today as the bus suddenly lurched just as she was stepping off.
In several countries more relaxed (about certain things) than my own there is always the option of over the counter opiates, but then again it's often more preferable to stay alert for wallet snatchers, to avoid missing your stop and to be ready for the afore mentioned leap from the bus.
When you arrive at your terminal in the dark, you could be anywhere and you just have to hope that you are in the right spot.
When I arrived at the last stop on Friday night however, I had no need for concern... On hearing of my planned solo trip my colleagues at the Police Press Corps, who to be fair do report on crime all the time, were so concerned that they made a phone call to the Police Chief in Pagsanjan asking him to take care of me.
For pretty much the whole weekend I had a police escort. Ed thought this hilarious when I told him. “The Pagsanjan Police received a special mission from HQ, forget about bandits and murderers, this weekend they have to concentrate on protecting you,” he splutters with laughter.
Four uniformed cops meet me at the terminal, one carrying an assault rifle, and we all barrel into the police car, while Simon and Garfunckle sing on the radio. It's like we're teenagers packed into a car, driving off to a party. I lean back against the seat letting the police drive me where they will and the feeling returns to me, the loss of which I had been lamenting only that morning, that the world is a strange, mad, beautiful, free-floating place.
The feeling abated somewhat when we pulled up at hotel and spa Thai Touch and they asked if I wanted dinner or to go straight to my room and told me the room-price. There was that terrible moment of awkwardness ( I think instilled in me from Japan) where I worried about offending these people who had so kindly bought me here and don't really understand what it means to be a backpacker, coupled with worries that maybe there were other factors involved such as the police getting a cut from my fee or forcing the owner to give me a lower than fair price because they were police and can do such things in the Philippines. I made some noises about being a student and being on a budget and ordered dinner and then as I am learning to do from Filipinos - left it up to destiny.
Meanwhile Police Captain Louis talked to the owner of the hotel and, being the off season, she came back with a drastically reduced price.
Thai Touch ended up being pretty fun, staffed by sweet young girls who held dance practice with the waiters in their massage pajamas in the dining room at night and coerced me into joining them.
“Morning Ma'am” they greet me in their singsong voices.
Arriving at night, you could be in a hotel room anywhere, but in the morning I look out the window to discover the town is on the banks of a river surrounded by misty, bejungled hills.
The main attraction in Pagsanjan is taking a boat ride up the river to get splashed under the falls and then riding the current back down. It’s a really pretty ride through steep sided jungle and was used in the river scenes in Apocalypse Now. Sitting in the boat trying not to unbalance it while keeping my camera dry it reminded me of canoeing down the Whanganui river with Alicia - A trail of chocolates and letters in our wake for Nick to follow, like a trail of breadcrumbs for orphaned children leading to the gingerbread house.
What is really impressive about the trip is the skill of the boatmen taking the craft up river. When paddling isn't enough to get through the rapids, they take to leaping from side to side in the boat using one foot to push off from rocks and stepping back to heave the boat forward then jumping back to the helm to start pushing again. It's hard, impressive work and they really do deserve the tip they ask for. Unfortunately as a solo passenger I've just paid almost double the price of a shared ride and when I tell the boatman this he tries asking for my cell phone number instead. On my refusal he goes back asking for his tip. I wish I could have given more, because of the large fee I paid I'm sure he only got a small portion.
According to the Lonely Planet boatmen used to stop midstream and demand exhorbitant fees before moving the boat on again, until it got so bad that the tourism police stepped in and syndicated the whole act. Thus in the middle of the river there is now a police booth and medical centre.
Did I mention that the police dropped me off and picked me up from this excursion and when I returned from a walk on my own, the hotel owner told me they had been texting like crazy to find out where I was and an officer came into the garden bar I was in to tell me that if I wished to go anywhere, they would escort me.
They were taking their responsibilities as my guardians very seriously. Here are some of the texts I receive from Capt Louis.
“Gudmorning Sister, how are you now. pls wait my police woman name Yvette to assist you at Paete area.”
“Welcome and takecare, text me anytime f you have a problem or inform me f ever.”
In response to my thanking him and saying I'd got home safely - “Its little things. Yes thankyou lord. Anytime your welcome in my place, I miss u.”
But this is just how they text and speak round here. I met some communication students one time at work and now one sends me inspirational texts most nights from the bible or texts about an angel laying its wing over me. They are some of the nicest texts I've ever received and I take them in the totally sweet unself-conscious spirit they are given.
While I'm trying to read my book and drink a mango shake at the garden bar, I'm befriended by two women. They have left the kids with their grandparents and want me to drink beer and party with them. Party girl (27, three kids) starts teaching me Tagalog (Filipino) with great primary school-teacher gusto and asks if we have house parties in NZ, like on American Pie. She really wants to go to a house party “but it's impossible here”.
Her sister in-law (22, two kids) is more circumspect and sits quietly flicking her cigarette and pouting like a bored teenager.
Like many Filipinos I've met Party girl wants me to gain a “good impression” of the friendliness and great beauty of her tourist-destination country, but she also can't avoid the national preoccupation of discussing poverty and too many hungry children; “some people they just have labour, labour, labour (indicating a pregnant stomach) and never think how they can afford more and more children.”
The government is trying to educate the populace on family planning, but in the provinces they are up against Catholicism, poverty, and lack of education. However Ed says that family size is decreasing slowly pointing out that while his Mother had 17 brothers and sisters, he only has 12 and the biggest family out of his siblings only has seven kids. He doesn't hold out much hope for the uneducated poor though.
The next day three police officers drive me to Paete, a small craft town famous for carving and paper machete. At one shop you can buy coke bottles of petrol, carvings of animals, saints, Santa Claus, and Buddha, and a selection of gizzards and chicken claws on sticks. One of the officers is looking to buy a life size saint and both tell me this is the first time they've been here. The annoyingness of not being able to wander aimlessly stopping for coffee at the galleries as I choose is tempered by the sense that we are all on a fun tourist trip together. We all splash out on cheap souvenirs: fridge magnets for them and a Jesus bracelet for me.
When I am dropped back at the bus station at the end of my trip, Officer Yvette gave me three santol fruit and says shyly “I love you”
