Manila, 15/06/2007

These were heady days in Legazpi. Let me explain: streets were being built to the most remote barangays. Alright, elections were about to happen and it looked as if streets were being built. But I am getting ahead of myself (hits rewind button).

The weekend in Legaspi and Donsol had started well. Fireflies had been watched at night, whalesharks had been oggled and photographed. What else is there to do? Mt. Mayon was not about to break out, but it was hot anyway.

It was the second day and we felt adventurous. We had plans to go to a place known as the Boiling Lake. Now for your cantakerous Anglo-German, volcanoes and geological phenomena are what makes living on this planet interesting. Well, it makes living on Earth more interesting than living on Mars, which, as my sources at NASA tell me, has bigger mountains than Nepal, but less geological activity than Greenland. The Boiling Lake promised some sulfur, some vapour, some very hot bubbles and, perhaps, landscapes unknown to a Philippines newbie.

Ann and I are rather organized people. There is no business about ignoring local advice on buses, jeepneys and local food. We went looking for the Legaspi tourist office. We looked. And looked. And looked. Suddenly Mars looked like a good option. After looking for about half an hour, we realized that there were no street signs pointing out the location of the tourist office. We knew that it wasn't that far from Astrodome, which despite its name was a rather large square, not a space port.

We asked some people. We went back. We went forth. We went inside a few places. And we managed to find tourist information. I am not going to tell you where it is. By the end of this entry you will understand why.

Four rather busy looking ladies looked astonished at that crazy couple coming through the door. I look Caucasian (duh), she looks Chinese and she also speaks Tagalog, darnit. Well, that's how they might have viewed us. In any case, we proceeded to ask questions about Boiling Lake. We were duly informed that it would take little more than an hour to reach a medium-sized village via jeepney and a little while longer on a tricycle should convey your intrepid couple to the desired location.

The Legaspi Tourist Office still looked very empty, although one lady managed to type away busily and another kept looking at a whiteboard showing various birthdays and festivals. Being a foreigner on, err, "holidays" in the Philippines, I was unable to keep track of the 4th lady.

We were presented with a pretty leaflet and sent on our way to the other side of the Gulf of Albay.

We managed to find a jeepney not too far away that was preparing to leave to the appointed destination. Sitting down in front, we waited for departure. After an hour we got hungry. And thirsty. The best girlfriend of them all decided to replenish our supplies with various goodies and baddies. Or was that snacks? In any case, the smell of food seemed to attract our driver, who, being a rather charming individual, decided to turn the key in the ignition in a most promising manner. A few more minutes and the jeepney was on its noisy way.

A note to the concerned reader: waiting is an exercise that I have a lot of experience with. I waited for a bus in the West of China once and was not unduly vexed, when it took two days to turn up. After all, we got to spend two days in a place we were not supposed to be at. Since little is forbidden in the Philippines, though, and visiting a remote place is usually allowed in this enlightened place, the wait wasn't as interesting and couldnt be spent enjoying looking at, say, soldiers of a supposedly "Red" Army eyeing us with interest.

So. We were driving along country roads. The heat was considerable, but the wind made it bearable. And then it began to dawn on me, that I was going to get an education. First of all, the naive Anglo-German, i.e. me, realized that the Gulf of Albay was astonishingly beautiful. Azure seas, empty mountains, and, err, hold on, where do the people live again?

I saw a lot of shacks. Houses did appear as well. Some were palatial. And there was a surprising amount of material that seemed to suggest the desirability of certain political personnages. Err. It was election time. And that was when I realized that although I had spent almost 4 months in the Philippines, I knew less than nothing. I could not understand that I was living in a country in which large sums of money were spent on election propaganda materials, but sleeping by the roadside or on front porches was a necessity for many.

This might seem like a ghastly, even ill-intentioned observation. But. This is a situation where the rituals of democracy seem somewhat less than appropriate. Although, admittedly, democracy's efficiency would be very desirable.

More villages were flying past and one name seemed to occur on electioneering literature pasted to various walls. A certain Mr. Arroyo, whose personal acquaintance I had not made so far, seemed to be some kind of local hero. Or rather, senatorial candidate. There was one stretch of road, extending for about 150 yards, whose improvement seemed to be due to his unceasing efforts in the glorious capital of the Philippines. I found him admirable, since several 100 yard stretches of this read were being improved, and again, solely due to his unceasing efforts. Honny soit qui mal y pense. (Look it up, buster).

The drive extended a shade more than one hour. That is to say and the most precise girlfriend of them all just reminded me, it took us two hours. The Legaspi tourist office certainly had had its reasons to indicate a lesser period of time, since they almost certainly did assume that such earthly vehicles like jeepneys were below the dignity of the average tourist. I am almost certain that small planes and helicopters could have crossed the Gulf of Albay in 1 hour. Unfortunately, the good ladies at the Tourist Office must have forgotten that some of us still use such contraptions that rely on wheels, not wings.

We were somewhat shaken when we arrived in Manito. Not stirred, to be sure. Still, we were full of hope and devoid of any liquid which had been boiled away long since. We managed to find some liquid in the form of Coke and Pepsi (neither is paying for this blog entry) and were rather blithely informed by our jeepney driver, who suddenly had appeared out of nowhere on a new shiny motobike, our way back was barred by events beyond his or anyone else's control.

Although we were still en route to Boiling Lake and by then we were about 1.5 hours late, we were somewhat distraught by the news that there might not be any transport back. There was, it it happened. Still, intrepid tourists that we were, we pressed on. A pedicab driver appeared and promised us transport to our final destination. He seemed sceptical of our assumption that we would reach it in another 20 minutes. We did not want to make further assumptions that would reveal our ignorance or our ill-advised reliance on the ladies in the tourist office in Legaspi. After all, the people in Manito might be part of a very large conspiracy to keep everyone who visited the TI in Legaspi away....Ok, my fantasy life took a very bad turn here...

The pedicab driver became my personal hero over the next hour and ten minutes. The road, not to put too find a point on it, was gruesome. We shook. Our backs were jarred. Our pedicab driver laboured for a long time. Pot holes seemed to open without warning. And, dear reader, our friend, the senatorial candidate Arroyo made another appearance: he led another road improvement effort, but despite my efforts to shake his hand, he was not there in person. Maybe he was taking lunch by the roadside, while capitalist roaders like us sallied forth to our self-serving goals.

But the road improvement effort, to tar the road for another 150 yards, let to a little problem: the road was closed.

Our pedicab driver found another way around the road improvement efforts. We shook and shuddered our way towards the desired goal. The road was steep and the driver decided it was a good idea to walk the last 500 yards. We made it. A little pond appeared, not bubbling too much, but smelling of sulfur. We had arrived, 3.5 hours after we had began our journey.

We stayed for a little while. The boiling lake would have covered roughly half an acre of farmland outside Manila. But the sea was right next to it, only 1 minute on foot. It is an interesting question as to how this lake seemingly stays as sulfurous and hot, while leaking to the Bay of Albay. Not a soul in sight for miles, except for the occasional beach party arriving from the big city.

We went back, too. It took another 3.5 hours. At one stage our pedicab driver's pedicab seemed less than able to climb the steep road. We descended from the pedicab and I, sporting tourist I am, helped push the pedicab up the hill. After some haggling I settled for 10 pesos. Our pedicab driver and the best girlfriend of them all found it funny.

And all this thanks to Mr. Arroyo.