Monday, February 14, 2011
Feb 13 Ramble
Sure has been a while since the last Ramble. Cold, drizzly England and splitting fingers after just two days.
Etihad Air was a very pleasant airline to fly. Not overly long to Abu Dhabi where we spent a couple of hours in transit area which was just one big, overpriced duty-free mall. Can’t say as I expected anything else, and it’s not a fair descriptor of the country. Don’t expect that I’ll ever see more.
Manila has grown in every direction. 1964 and the last-lunch-before-flying-to-college memories I have seem so faraway. Hell, it’s only been forty-seven years. In 2003 I took Dylan to the Manila hotel, hoping that we could sit on the same terrace facing the bay and have a Tom Collins or G&T, as I did way back when, but it was not to be. The terrace was no more and the whole thing was being renovated. Anywayyy, after clearing Immigration and Customs…
We packed ourselves into Russ Woods’ Pajero and headed for his apartment in Pasig, where a very much welcomed San Miguel was presented to me. The next few days were spent going to various governmental agencies, from the Barangay (neighborhood) Headquarters, Pasig City Hall, Bureau of Foreign Affairs and to the U.S. embassy. The least pleasant and efficient was the latter. I arrived at 0730 for a 0745 appointment and watched as late-comers for 0730 appointments were called, processed and sent away; all this starting after 0830. The office I was to see closes at 1000, and I was finally called at 0930. Could the complaints to senators, congressmen and the head of DHS have slowed things down? Does the Black List contain my name? Is that why the black helicopters are seen over Pasig City so frequently of late?
After the requisite shopping, money-changing, shopping, relative-meeting, (did I mention shopping?) and restaurant-trying, we flew to Dumaguete on the 5th. Geneva welcomed us (me with the by-now-requisite
San Miguel) and fed us before we crashed for a “granny-nap”. While there’s no jet-lag incurred between Manila and Dgte., we were overcome by sleep-deprivation, run-arounditis and lack of meaningful exercise. I MISS MY BIKE!!!!
One of our main reasons for staying in Negros Oriental so long was to get an idea of what Valencia is like. We had hoped to find a rental near where Is wants to build and stay for the majority of the time. No such thing exists, or is easy to find (within our need parameters). We’re extremely fortunate that Geneva has, and offered, her spare room and hospitality. Her house is not that far from Tierra Alta, but is quite a bit lower, therefore not of the same micro-climate, but we can get a good idea of what to expect. We made a couple of trips to the site during mid-day and found it to be hot and blistering hot. Maybe we should check it out in early morning or night for a complete picture.
Siquijor was our next destination. It is an island to the east of Dgte, Southeast of Cebu, south of Bohol and north of Mindanao. We could see all of the other islands during our various circuits for sight-seeing. It’s quite an island, providing white sand beaches, mangrove swamps, diving reefs, foreign-owned luxury resorts, lookout peaks and a relatively quiet, slower-paced atmosphere. Geneva was responsible for our invitation to stay at a beach house owned by one of Dad’s (therefore my distant) cousins. She provided liaison and tutelage to the caretaker staff. We found, during our frequent visits to the markets, that the fish here are quite a different assortment than those around Dgte., even though you can see it across the straits. Frequent visits were necessary due to the threat of brown-outs, and the possibility that refrigerators would cease to do so. One resort served warm San Miguel, which I preferred to that served with ice.
Took a lot of interesting photos which I will try to upload via Geneva’s not-quite-so-fast internet connection. She operates on broadband, which has to be reloaded with a sort of pay-as-you-go card through some sort of wireless dongle. It’s pretty reliable and all beyond me.
Our return trip was one for the books. Let me start by describing the boat. It was an enclosed craft, sort of like an airplane fuselage grafted to an approximately 80’ diesel-powered hull. Seating is eight abreast separated by an aisle. Eight rows forward and below deck level, five amidships level with the deck-aft of the pilot house and eight more rows in the stern. There are large laminated glass windows lengthwise for all cabins, but none of them open (for good reason) and most are opaque or semi-transparent due to weathering, age and grime. There is one escape hatch in each of the fore and aft cabins and two amidships, into the upper cabin. The hatches are equipped with turnbuckle-sort-of latches, but are left open a crack for ventilation to supplement the questionable air conditioning. All luggage is carried into the cabins and held in one’s lap or stowed under seats, in the few vacant seats, in the aisles (?!?) or in front of the escape hatches-what the *@#$%&?!!!!!
Picture this: There are 60 passengers and one crew (hatch-opener) in the forward compartment. We are in row 6, five back from the hatch which has luggage piled around and in front of it. Something happens and everybody grabs their life vest and baggage then heads for the hatch. Soon it is piled high with writhing bodies and baggage trying to get out against the flow of incoming seawater. How about this? A fire erupts and everybody rushes to one side to escape it, and the boat capsizes while the hatches are still bolted, but ajar. These scenarios played in my mind like an in-flight movie on the trip over, thankfully across smooth seas.
The return trip was different. A cool breeze which had been welcomed on the Lazi side of the island was a stiff wind on the windward Siquijor side; driving up four-foot seas. We were fortunate to be in the aft cabin, in the next to the last row. The proximity of the hatch outweighed the spray breaking over our fantail and penetrating to the luggage piled in front of it. The first third of the trip was spent wallowing in a following sea and the rest was spent rolling and pitching through a quartering sea off the starboard bow. Two minutes away from the pier, the crew started handing out barf bags, several of which were used during the hour-long thrash across the Cebu Strait. Four seats away was an approximately three-year-old boy who started wailing hysterically and didn’t stop till we landed in Dumaguete. In the upper cabin was an American (I could tell by the accent) who was in irons and guarded by three Philippine National Police officers. He kept up a tirade of threats and belligerent trash-talk that would have caused me to break out the duct tape early in the trip. I admire the patience and professionalism the officers displayed. At first I thought he was drunk, but after listening for about 30 minutes I decided that he must have spent too much time in the sun. All through this, I breathed through my mouth to try and minimize the stench. I couldn’t wait to hit dry land pay homage to San Miguel.
Etihad Air was a very pleasant airline to fly. Not overly long to Abu Dhabi where we spent a couple of hours in transit area which was just one big, overpriced duty-free mall. Can’t say as I expected anything else, and it’s not a fair descriptor of the country. Don’t expect that I’ll ever see more.
Manila has grown in every direction. 1964 and the last-lunch-before-flying-to-college memories I have seem so faraway. Hell, it’s only been forty-seven years. In 2003 I took Dylan to the Manila hotel, hoping that we could sit on the same terrace facing the bay and have a Tom Collins or G&T, as I did way back when, but it was not to be. The terrace was no more and the whole thing was being renovated. Anywayyy, after clearing Immigration and Customs…
We packed ourselves into Russ Woods’ Pajero and headed for his apartment in Pasig, where a very much welcomed San Miguel was presented to me. The next few days were spent going to various governmental agencies, from the Barangay (neighborhood) Headquarters, Pasig City Hall, Bureau of Foreign Affairs and to the U.S. embassy. The least pleasant and efficient was the latter. I arrived at 0730 for a 0745 appointment and watched as late-comers for 0730 appointments were called, processed and sent away; all this starting after 0830. The office I was to see closes at 1000, and I was finally called at 0930. Could the complaints to senators, congressmen and the head of DHS have slowed things down? Does the Black List contain my name? Is that why the black helicopters are seen over Pasig City so frequently of late?
After the requisite shopping, money-changing, shopping, relative-meeting, (did I mention shopping?) and restaurant-trying, we flew to Dumaguete on the 5th. Geneva welcomed us (me with the by-now-requisite
San Miguel) and fed us before we crashed for a “granny-nap”. While there’s no jet-lag incurred between Manila and Dgte., we were overcome by sleep-deprivation, run-arounditis and lack of meaningful exercise. I MISS MY BIKE!!!!
One of our main reasons for staying in Negros Oriental so long was to get an idea of what Valencia is like. We had hoped to find a rental near where Is wants to build and stay for the majority of the time. No such thing exists, or is easy to find (within our need parameters). We’re extremely fortunate that Geneva has, and offered, her spare room and hospitality. Her house is not that far from Tierra Alta, but is quite a bit lower, therefore not of the same micro-climate, but we can get a good idea of what to expect. We made a couple of trips to the site during mid-day and found it to be hot and blistering hot. Maybe we should check it out in early morning or night for a complete picture.
Siquijor was our next destination. It is an island to the east of Dgte, Southeast of Cebu, south of Bohol and north of Mindanao. We could see all of the other islands during our various circuits for sight-seeing. It’s quite an island, providing white sand beaches, mangrove swamps, diving reefs, foreign-owned luxury resorts, lookout peaks and a relatively quiet, slower-paced atmosphere. Geneva was responsible for our invitation to stay at a beach house owned by one of Dad’s (therefore my distant) cousins. She provided liaison and tutelage to the caretaker staff. We found, during our frequent visits to the markets, that the fish here are quite a different assortment than those around Dgte., even though you can see it across the straits. Frequent visits were necessary due to the threat of brown-outs, and the possibility that refrigerators would cease to do so. One resort served warm San Miguel, which I preferred to that served with ice.
Took a lot of interesting photos which I will try to upload via Geneva’s not-quite-so-fast internet connection. She operates on broadband, which has to be reloaded with a sort of pay-as-you-go card through some sort of wireless dongle. It’s pretty reliable and all beyond me.
Our return trip was one for the books. Let me start by describing the boat. It was an enclosed craft, sort of like an airplane fuselage grafted to an approximately 80’ diesel-powered hull. Seating is eight abreast separated by an aisle. Eight rows forward and below deck level, five amidships level with the deck-aft of the pilot house and eight more rows in the stern. There are large laminated glass windows lengthwise for all cabins, but none of them open (for good reason) and most are opaque or semi-transparent due to weathering, age and grime. There is one escape hatch in each of the fore and aft cabins and two amidships, into the upper cabin. The hatches are equipped with turnbuckle-sort-of latches, but are left open a crack for ventilation to supplement the questionable air conditioning. All luggage is carried into the cabins and held in one’s lap or stowed under seats, in the few vacant seats, in the aisles (?!?) or in front of the escape hatches-what the *@#$%&?!!!!!
Picture this: There are 60 passengers and one crew (hatch-opener) in the forward compartment. We are in row 6, five back from the hatch which has luggage piled around and in front of it. Something happens and everybody grabs their life vest and baggage then heads for the hatch. Soon it is piled high with writhing bodies and baggage trying to get out against the flow of incoming seawater. How about this? A fire erupts and everybody rushes to one side to escape it, and the boat capsizes while the hatches are still bolted, but ajar. These scenarios played in my mind like an in-flight movie on the trip over, thankfully across smooth seas.
The return trip was different. A cool breeze which had been welcomed on the Lazi side of the island was a stiff wind on the windward Siquijor side; driving up four-foot seas. We were fortunate to be in the aft cabin, in the next to the last row. The proximity of the hatch outweighed the spray breaking over our fantail and penetrating to the luggage piled in front of it. The first third of the trip was spent wallowing in a following sea and the rest was spent rolling and pitching through a quartering sea off the starboard bow. Two minutes away from the pier, the crew started handing out barf bags, several of which were used during the hour-long thrash across the Cebu Strait. Four seats away was an approximately three-year-old boy who started wailing hysterically and didn’t stop till we landed in Dumaguete. In the upper cabin was an American (I could tell by the accent) who was in irons and guarded by three Philippine National Police officers. He kept up a tirade of threats and belligerent trash-talk that would have caused me to break out the duct tape early in the trip. I admire the patience and professionalism the officers displayed. At first I thought he was drunk, but after listening for about 30 minutes I decided that he must have spent too much time in the sun. All through this, I breathed through my mouth to try and minimize the stench. I couldn’t wait to hit dry land pay homage to San Miguel.
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