Traveling alone makes you alert at all times. You try to get all the details and follow procedures just to make sure that you can get to your destination unscathed. A moment that your focus slips, your trip might then be jeopardized. But what if something happened and you can’t put the blame on anybody?
So there I was in Tuguegarao airport waiting for my ride home. I was one of the earliest passengers and I got the chance to settle in a nice spot in the waiting lounge. As my departure time neared, more passengers started streaming inside the lounge. There was even a famous actor-singer who sat near me. He was quite small (sorry, I’m not really into Tagalog showbiz, and I don’t know how to describe them showbiz guys). As the lounge was filled up with some of the passengers having no choice but to stand in waiting, it started to rain. Was it a portent of my immediate future? Then several airport utility guys shouted, “O, yung galing sa Basco!” (Literal translation: ‘The one/s that came from Basco!’). Basco is the capital town of the province of Batanes and a small plane (the fokker) serviced its Basco-Tuguegarao-Manila route. Several people walked towards the plane while some Philippine Airlines personnel handed out huge umbrellas. After some minutes, there were still many of us left. A bigger airplane heading for Manila was still parked on the tarmac. When the flight number of this plane is called out, the waiting lounge would then be empty of people. It had been around ten minutes and the shouting guys came back uttering the same line. They stood for about a minute. It appeared that they were waiting for the remaining passengers for the fokker plane. One ran towards the plane and returned. I heard him told his colleagues to go look for the missing passenger in the comfort room. Zero. ‘Go to the canteen!’ Zilch. Then, as if by a stroke of genius, the guy that ran towards the plane asked all of us waiting passengers in a loud voice, “Who holds an orange-colored boarding pass?” I looked at my hand and there it was, an orange piece of paper. The other passengers near me were also looking at my ticket! I immediately stood up and the guy hustled me to the plane under the rain and without an umbrella! Then there she was, a pretty stewardess, with her wide smile and greeted me with arms wide open (if only I could read her mind). And as if on cue, all the other passengers stared at me while I walked towards the only remaining seat at the end of the plane. The stewardess approached me and told me that they were so kind that they did not leave me behind. I tried to explain everything to her. But before I could open my mouth, she made a fast turn around leaving me with my mouth wide open. If only she heard my story. I tried to tell her that I was waiting for the flight number to be announced. And that I did not come from Basco.
Wednesday, June 28, 2006
The First and Second Bus Rides
The official start of my nomadic existence was way back in my college days. I was an ordinary poor lad then performing magical feats to make my meager allowance last till the next, uhm, alms (okay, allowance). But that situation did not stop me from having fun! No, sir! I was at the prime of my life and I would not kill myself drooling at my friends having fun spending their parents’ hard-earned money. A crucial time came when my school org., the Society for Tourism Advancement and Growth (STAG) scheduled an outing to Cuenca, Batangas. I scrimped and saved enough money so I can join the trip. But fate of fates, I was left behind. The next logical thing was to follow them, no matter what it took, as long as my total expense didn’t go beyond one hundred pesos. Unfortunately for me, the end destination was not Cuenca but another municipality called Lemery. I did not know where the heck was Cuenca, I asked around and the best information that I got was there would be a bridge and some zigzag roads. If I made the mistake of alighting at the wrong point, I may have to walk numerous kilometers or admit defeat and catch another bus back to Manila.
Fast forward. I found the bus terminal (its BLTB along EDSA in Pasay) and the right bus going through Cuenca. It was not leaving until after an hour so I had the chance to observe what was happening around in the terminal. It was sort of chaotic. Hundreds of people were in the terminal. A lot of them were passengers like me waiting for or looking for the right bus. Luckily, a Lemery-bound bus departs every one and a half hours and one immediately takes its place as soon as the last bus departs. I got a nice, window seat at near the end of the bus. It was almost noon when the bus started to depart.
I thought all buses operate the same way like the way done in the buses plying the EDSA route. The bus conductor comes near you, asks for your destination, you give the money and he gives you the ticket. Well, it’s quite different in provincial buses.
I went to the ticket window and the officer told me that I could pay for my fare to the conductor. So I just readied my money. The first time the conductor got near me, I immediately readied to hand him my precious one hundred pesos. He ignored my money and just asked me my direction. The second time he came near me, he gave me my bus ticket. Again, the money remained in my hand. It was only on the third visit that he took my payment. Such protocol!
The bus was quite full with some children stationed about three seat rows in front of me. The fresh, noon winds caressed my oily face as the bus shot through the south expressway. I kept thinking about the zigzag road and the bridge as if the words became my mantra. The kids and their parents kept eating and throwing plastics out of the bus window. That entire scene and my long mantra took about thirty minutes without interruption.
Then one of the kids put his head way out of the window, and he started…. right, …. puking! I couldn’t curse him, he was just a kid! I had to keep my cool even if I was only three rows behind him; and his by-products, powered by strong winds, would surely hit me. So I just closed my window and watched the poor kid take out everything. I mean, everything including what seemed like his green-colored stomach fluids.
It took about 20 minutes of hell for the kid while I tried to keep my focus on the road and watched out for the zigzag road and the bridge… the zigzag road and the bridge….
Although the exhausted kid stopped doing his thing after some long minutes, I kept my window shuttered. Never mind the breeze. And I was glad I made the right decision! One lady who was two seats to my front was eating a green mango with bagoong. The wind blew away her bagoong and some bits got plastered on my window. Phew!
The bus zigged and zagged and finally crossed a long bridge. My heart leaped and I asked my seatmate the name of the town we were in. He answered “Cuenca,” and that became the start of my nomadic life.
The second bus ride was less adventurous. I was scheduled to go to Legaspi City in Albay for a mountaineering activity on Mayon Volcano. I was still new at the Department of Tourism and it was going to be my first very long bus ride of about 12 hours.
I did everything according to the books. I bought a ticket in advance and went to the improvised bus station in Ermita, Manila.
There were about eight of us passengers waiting at the ticketing station. At 15 minutes before 7:00 P.M., the guard told us that the bus had arrived. So off we went to the bus parked in a dark corner of the streets. There were about three buses parked in the area and I took the nearest one. Each ticket had a corresponding seat number and I dutifully took my numbered seat. I was carrying a huge backpack and everybody was staring at me (I think I was only paranoid then). Every seat was filled in no time and the bus prepared for the departure. The conductor started inspecting the tickets making sure that everybody was in his right seat. When he came to me, I gave him my ticket. I was very confident I was in the right seat. But with a startled face, the conductor immediately told me that I was in the wrong bus! I could not believe it! Did he mean that there were actually a lot of bus companies using the same terminal? All the three buses were about to leave and I grabbed my ticket and ran the entire length of the bus. Never mind the snickering people as long as I get on my right bus!
There are actually a lot of adventures that can happen on a long bus trip. Unlucky are the unprepared and the naïve; their adventures may actually become misadventures. So let my tips (taken from actual experiences) prepare you for your long bus trips.
· Bags placed overhead are potential projectiles. Check the ones placed on your top and have a sound sleep
· Do not place your bag on the floor! Somebody might be silently puking while the bus travels
· At a stop-over, always remember your bus number and do not take more than 15 minutes to get back to your bus
· For the guys, some buses are equipped with a comfort room. As much as possible, do not use it while the bus is running, especially if you’re traveling on a zigzag road. For the
ladies, as much as possible, do not touch any surface inside the comfort room.
· In the hot noon hours, the bus air condition would be short of a glorified abaniko; but in the evening, just when you would want to be sound asleep inspite of the bumps, engine
noise and the snoring seatmate, that same air con would really freeze the butt of anybody
unprepared for the cold. So, bring a jacket or even a blanket.
Fast forward. I found the bus terminal (its BLTB along EDSA in Pasay) and the right bus going through Cuenca. It was not leaving until after an hour so I had the chance to observe what was happening around in the terminal. It was sort of chaotic. Hundreds of people were in the terminal. A lot of them were passengers like me waiting for or looking for the right bus. Luckily, a Lemery-bound bus departs every one and a half hours and one immediately takes its place as soon as the last bus departs. I got a nice, window seat at near the end of the bus. It was almost noon when the bus started to depart.
I thought all buses operate the same way like the way done in the buses plying the EDSA route. The bus conductor comes near you, asks for your destination, you give the money and he gives you the ticket. Well, it’s quite different in provincial buses.
I went to the ticket window and the officer told me that I could pay for my fare to the conductor. So I just readied my money. The first time the conductor got near me, I immediately readied to hand him my precious one hundred pesos. He ignored my money and just asked me my direction. The second time he came near me, he gave me my bus ticket. Again, the money remained in my hand. It was only on the third visit that he took my payment. Such protocol!
The bus was quite full with some children stationed about three seat rows in front of me. The fresh, noon winds caressed my oily face as the bus shot through the south expressway. I kept thinking about the zigzag road and the bridge as if the words became my mantra. The kids and their parents kept eating and throwing plastics out of the bus window. That entire scene and my long mantra took about thirty minutes without interruption.
Then one of the kids put his head way out of the window, and he started…. right, …. puking! I couldn’t curse him, he was just a kid! I had to keep my cool even if I was only three rows behind him; and his by-products, powered by strong winds, would surely hit me. So I just closed my window and watched the poor kid take out everything. I mean, everything including what seemed like his green-colored stomach fluids.
It took about 20 minutes of hell for the kid while I tried to keep my focus on the road and watched out for the zigzag road and the bridge… the zigzag road and the bridge….
Although the exhausted kid stopped doing his thing after some long minutes, I kept my window shuttered. Never mind the breeze. And I was glad I made the right decision! One lady who was two seats to my front was eating a green mango with bagoong. The wind blew away her bagoong and some bits got plastered on my window. Phew!
The bus zigged and zagged and finally crossed a long bridge. My heart leaped and I asked my seatmate the name of the town we were in. He answered “Cuenca,” and that became the start of my nomadic life.
The second bus ride was less adventurous. I was scheduled to go to Legaspi City in Albay for a mountaineering activity on Mayon Volcano. I was still new at the Department of Tourism and it was going to be my first very long bus ride of about 12 hours.
I did everything according to the books. I bought a ticket in advance and went to the improvised bus station in Ermita, Manila.
There were about eight of us passengers waiting at the ticketing station. At 15 minutes before 7:00 P.M., the guard told us that the bus had arrived. So off we went to the bus parked in a dark corner of the streets. There were about three buses parked in the area and I took the nearest one. Each ticket had a corresponding seat number and I dutifully took my numbered seat. I was carrying a huge backpack and everybody was staring at me (I think I was only paranoid then). Every seat was filled in no time and the bus prepared for the departure. The conductor started inspecting the tickets making sure that everybody was in his right seat. When he came to me, I gave him my ticket. I was very confident I was in the right seat. But with a startled face, the conductor immediately told me that I was in the wrong bus! I could not believe it! Did he mean that there were actually a lot of bus companies using the same terminal? All the three buses were about to leave and I grabbed my ticket and ran the entire length of the bus. Never mind the snickering people as long as I get on my right bus!
There are actually a lot of adventures that can happen on a long bus trip. Unlucky are the unprepared and the naïve; their adventures may actually become misadventures. So let my tips (taken from actual experiences) prepare you for your long bus trips.
· Bags placed overhead are potential projectiles. Check the ones placed on your top and have a sound sleep
· Do not place your bag on the floor! Somebody might be silently puking while the bus travels
· At a stop-over, always remember your bus number and do not take more than 15 minutes to get back to your bus
· For the guys, some buses are equipped with a comfort room. As much as possible, do not use it while the bus is running, especially if you’re traveling on a zigzag road. For the
ladies, as much as possible, do not touch any surface inside the comfort room.
· In the hot noon hours, the bus air condition would be short of a glorified abaniko; but in the evening, just when you would want to be sound asleep inspite of the bumps, engine
noise and the snoring seatmate, that same air con would really freeze the butt of anybody
unprepared for the cold. So, bring a jacket or even a blanket.
Stranded in Paradise
I stayed in a hideaway where the rainforest embraced the sea and the limestone cliffs shaped by millions of raindrops tower over the green canopy. White sand beaches, clear waters, and the soft pounding of the waves made me think that I was in the island of Robinson Crusoe.
I was the audience to two birds, one brown and the other white,
playing and chasing each other, and making loops and turns just above the water. I marked my time with the chirping of green parrots, the locals called them Pikoys, as they nibbled on berries near my cottage window.
By the beach, I watched with interest a brown leaf that gracefully floated and swayed with every gentle wave. I dipped my hand into the water to get the leaf, but it moved away! The “leaf” turned out to be a fish. It was a good time to be amazed by nature.
A walk along the coast, through the forest and over wooden board walks through a limestone forest brought me to a cave half filled with water. I had to ride a small banca to enter the cave and to witness the wonders created by God but seen only by few people. I heard the silent drops of water from the ceiling while thousands of bats and birds flew about and squeaked as they tried to find their way in the darkness. Only the thudding sounds of oars dominated our silent intrusion into the heart of the cave. "Look at that!" the boatman said as he pointed at the portion called the Cathedral, a huge pillar and limestone formation resembling the interior of a huge church. The stalactites seemed to grab me as our boat passed beneath them.
All these happened when I got stranded in St. Paul Subterranean River National Park in Palawan. It was that time when I had to take a two-hour jeepney ride, then another three-hour (now only 15 minutes) boat ride to reach the park. The boat I took could only return on the third day and all I had for company during those three days were the park rangers and the crew of Jacques Cousteau who were then making a documentary of the cave. Most of the time, I had the park, the beaches, and the forest all by myself and I kept thinking that God really made a very beautiful world.
Having no food for two extra days, the park rangers invited me to eat with them. Afterwards, we talked and told stories about life, the park, the cave, how they
take care of the place and what they feel about their forest home.
One night, one of the rangers invited me to catch some seafood in the shallow part of the sea. Night had settled in. There were only three of us in the place: I carried the lamp, Jessie took the bucket, and Mang Rudy brought a bolo. I never imagined one could catch fish using a bolo!
I then realized how it was like living near the bounty of the sea. When some fishes got attracted to the light, Mang Rudy hacked them with his bolo. We also picked up some seashells. I clearly remember when we saw a small octopus. Mang Rudy grabbed it and to my surprise, he placed it over his mouth with the eight tentacles smothering his face, then he bit the mouth of the octopus! "To make it weak and immobile," he said to me as he pulled off the octopus with its one wriggling tentacle broken off and still attached to his cheek. I was the one who was weakened by the sight. It had become very dark and were about 200 meters from the shore. The only thing that eased me was the tiny speck of the light coming from the lamp placed along the beach.
For three days I was stranded with barely enough food but I survived, thanks to the hospitality of the park rangers. Even for a while I found a refuge that thrived on simple living and very far from the complication of urban life. And with conviction, I can call it my little piece of paradise.
I was the audience to two birds, one brown and the other white,
playing and chasing each other, and making loops and turns just above the water. I marked my time with the chirping of green parrots, the locals called them Pikoys, as they nibbled on berries near my cottage window.By the beach, I watched with interest a brown leaf that gracefully floated and swayed with every gentle wave. I dipped my hand into the water to get the leaf, but it moved away! The “leaf” turned out to be a fish. It was a good time to be amazed by nature.
A walk along the coast, through the forest and over wooden board walks through a limestone forest brought me to a cave half filled with water. I had to ride a small banca to enter the cave and to witness the wonders created by God but seen only by few people. I heard the silent drops of water from the ceiling while thousands of bats and birds flew about and squeaked as they tried to find their way in the darkness. Only the thudding sounds of oars dominated our silent intrusion into the heart of the cave. "Look at that!" the boatman said as he pointed at the portion called the Cathedral, a huge pillar and limestone formation resembling the interior of a huge church. The stalactites seemed to grab me as our boat passed beneath them.
All these happened when I got stranded in St. Paul Subterranean River National Park in Palawan. It was that time when I had to take a two-hour jeepney ride, then another three-hour (now only 15 minutes) boat ride to reach the park. The boat I took could only return on the third day and all I had for company during those three days were the park rangers and the crew of Jacques Cousteau who were then making a documentary of the cave. Most of the time, I had the park, the beaches, and the forest all by myself and I kept thinking that God really made a very beautiful world.
Having no food for two extra days, the park rangers invited me to eat with them. Afterwards, we talked and told stories about life, the park, the cave, how they
take care of the place and what they feel about their forest home.
One night, one of the rangers invited me to catch some seafood in the shallow part of the sea. Night had settled in. There were only three of us in the place: I carried the lamp, Jessie took the bucket, and Mang Rudy brought a bolo. I never imagined one could catch fish using a bolo!
I then realized how it was like living near the bounty of the sea. When some fishes got attracted to the light, Mang Rudy hacked them with his bolo. We also picked up some seashells. I clearly remember when we saw a small octopus. Mang Rudy grabbed it and to my surprise, he placed it over his mouth with the eight tentacles smothering his face, then he bit the mouth of the octopus! "To make it weak and immobile," he said to me as he pulled off the octopus with its one wriggling tentacle broken off and still attached to his cheek. I was the one who was weakened by the sight. It had become very dark and were about 200 meters from the shore. The only thing that eased me was the tiny speck of the light coming from the lamp placed along the beach.
For three days I was stranded with barely enough food but I survived, thanks to the hospitality of the park rangers. Even for a while I found a refuge that thrived on simple living and very far from the complication of urban life. And with conviction, I can call it my little piece of paradise.
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