After our weekend party in Cagayan de Oro, we decided to move north and visit the island of Camiguin, just off the northern coast of Mindanao. Because it is technically part of Mindanao, tourists tend to stay away because of the dangers associated with that island. We considered this a plus. We took a couple of typically slow buses, getting to the port just in time for the last boat of the day.
The boat was large with an open-air deck, preferable to the AC cabins in Malaysia. The boat didn’t take too long, in fact we could actually see the island from the port. As we stepped off the boat, we were swarmed with hustlers trying to offer us hotels, transport, tours, etc. We were surprised there was so much attention, as it didn’t seem that this place would be very touristy. Our boat was filled with Filipinos (unsure if they were tourists or local) and a couple other backpackers (just about the only backpackers we would catch a glimpse of in the whole country). We knew where we wanted to go, but getting the right price, was proving difficult, so we just walked out to the road and decided we would wave down the next jeepney. One man in an empty jeepney offered us a price just above the correct price, but his vehicle was empty. He said he would take us both for about $.30 more than the right price. This didn’t make sense, since he had no other passengers, so we just kept walking. This basically shot us in the foot, though, because the passing jeepneys had only left when they were full, so they wouldn’t stop for us, and once they had moved everyone from our boat, there was nobody else to take. We went back to the guy and agreed to his price, still unsure of how he could make the 17 km trip for about a dollar. We found out later that he was just going home, and figured he would try to get a little from us. He wasn’t being greedy at all, and we felt bad for being so mistrustful. That would be a recurring feeling throughout the Philippines.
Mambajao, the capitol of Camiguin Island, did not represent anything close to a tropical island paradise. In fact, I couldn’t imagine a smaller town that still seemed sketchy at night. We found a public “tricycle” (think locally made tuk-tuk or autorickshaw) going to one of the outlying beach villages where we would look for a place to stay.
Supposedly, according to our guidebook, we would be able to find a beachside bungalow for around $10. After going from place to place in a few villages and talking to various locals, the best we could come up with was $20. It was especially surprising because they all looked pretty desperate for business. We had no choice but to go back to Mambajao, the gritty town, and find something we could afford. It was disappointing as we were hoping for something like we had had in Malaysia: a basic bungalow on the beach for $10, but it wasn’t meant to be. This would just mean our time in Camiguin would be quite different from most tourists, though still enjoyable.
We found what people had told us was the cheapest place. It was a tall, modern looking place that surprised me with their low prices. We asked to see the room, but they said no. I seemed like a joke. The receptionist said that after 5:00 it is not permitted to show the rooms. Now it seemed that the only reason they would do this was because something was wrong with the room. We checked in anyway, and when we got in, sure enough, the fan and outlets did not work. Apparently this was not the plan, though, and they switched us to a different room immediately. We later concluded that their weird policy about showing rooms after 5 had to do with security reasons. This city seemed nervous for a small town. Two grocery stores were open 24-hours, but after dark they closed the store, and did business through a front counter. There was a warning about thieves posted at our hotel, with a photo of two local men considered to be armed and dangerous. Some holiday.
So that night we went on a stroll through town to see what was going on. We thought we might find an interesting local bar or some good street food. By the time we were on the street it was 10:00 PM and the food options were looking grim. A few local watering holes or simply curbsides displayed drunken middle-aged men beckoning us to come drink with them. Alone, I might have gone and had a sip or two, but we were new to town and the men seemed a little too aggressive.
Not far from our hotel we came upon a karaoke bar that, while lacking anything resembling class, it looked like the least intimidating establishment we had passed. It was terrifyingly hot inside, especially since we didn’t get the lone table targeted by the single fan in the joint. Even here, people were a little too friendly. It was a little too male-dominated (expected) and everyone seemed a little too serious about their karaoke and their drinking. We were the only table drinking beer, while the rest of the people had bottles of Tanduay Rum (the ubiquitous drink in the Philippines available for about $2 for a big bottle) mixed with an iced powdered drink mix. Our nightlife in Mambajao was looking depressing at this point in time, so it didn’t take long before we decided to go get some sleep after our long day of transit.
As usual, we were slow-moving the next morning. We move along casually, our route dictated primarily by what is least touristy, most practical or cheapest. Other travelers in the Philippines (or anywhere) are driven by hobbies, whether that is diving, hiking, prostitution, partying, etc. We just move with an open mind, waiting to see what we find. It is always unexpected, but it also doesn’t pull us out of bed so swiftly in the morning. There were plenty of things to do on the island, but many of them are aimed at a specific type of tourists; a mold that we don’t really fit into. Lise is not certified to dive, and I have never been wealthy enough to pay for diving. Climbing one of the islands many volcanoes apparently requires a guide, an expense we weren’t prepared to fork over. Some points of interest required private transport which is out of our budget. So our first day on the island completely lacked ambition. But then again, there is no problem with that because there is nothing wrong with having little ambition while trying to get into the mindset of island life. We would spend most of our day lounging around the beach near the bungalows that we had checked out the night before.
Surprisingly the beaches were deserted, even near the hotels. It seemed that even the tourists and backpackers had little interest in what were pretty relaxing beaches. A little swimming, a little sunning, and we felt a need to explore a bit. A short walk down the beach revealed breathtaking views of the volcanoes that sprung up from the islands interiors. Apparently there are more volcanoes (over 20) than towns on the island. We walked past fishing villages that fronted gorgeous beaches. We came to realize why many of the tourists had little interest in the beaches here: they weren’t very “private”. Village life carried on a little too close to the hotels, making the tourists too uncomfortable to do their beach thing freely. We later noticed the term “privacy” was frequently used in the Lonely Planet to gauge a beaches value. I was a little surprised, though admittedly naive, that people would be so offended by being close to the local life. For us we found being around the fishermen and the kids coming home from school more fun and interesting than a boring day laying in the sun. Of course, yes, we felt a little awkward doing the western-style beach thing of getting a tan in our scantily-clads and frolicking about in the water.
As we sat watching the village life go by on the beach, we noticed a gaggle of children making their way towards us. They eagerly sat beside us, and started asking a few questions, casually. Some of them spoke good English, while the others lost interest and just played games in our vicinity, partly to entertain themselves, but also to entertain us. They started by doing various acrobatics, and eventually switched to digging holes. Then they climbed the trees around us. Then they buried each other. And yes, it did entertain us. One of the young kids had to be repeatedly stopped from eating the sand. Eventually they started to yell out “Slipper box! Slipper box!” or something like that. They started playing some sort of game with their flip-flops (slippers). Half the kids were in the middle of a circle of the other half. It took a while for us to get a basic understanding of how this game worked, but when we did, we joined in. Basically the group in the middle had the task of stacking all the slippers in a pile in the middle, while the people on the outside would throw a slipper at people in the middle. Like dodgeball, if you were hit with the slipper you were out. When the team in the middle stacked all the sandals, that was a point (though I don’t think anyone was keeping track) and the whole stack would be thrown in the air and the stacking would start over. Of course, it was a lot of fun and the kids were really sweet.
Back in town, we had to find some dinner. Everything was either expensive or just uninteresting. The Philippines has some really great food, but in this town the typical eateries always had the worst-looking food. One night we went into a place that was a little more modern and hip, catering to the upper class young crowd. We wanted to try the Filipino version of spaghetti. The sauce contained sweetened condensed milk and sliced hot dogs. It was interesting and I appreciated their bizarre twist on the dish. We followed it with the notorious Filipino desert Halo-Halo. It is similar to the Malaysian shaved ice “ABC”, but even crazier. It was served in a huge bowl and contained crushed ice, purple ice cream, purple cake, about eight different kinds of jellies (cubed, little strands, assorted colors, etc.), condensed milk, sweet corn, beans, preserved fruit and a few things that remained a mystery. This night, however, we wanted something different, and we scored. One of the most ubiquitous Filipino foods is Lechon Manok, or rotisserie chicken. We found a place that served a quarter chicken with rice for less than a dollar. We were not very optimistic about it because, I mean, it’s just chicken and rice. I don’t even feel like describing it. I think you just need to get out of your seat and go to the Philippines right now and order an entire roast chicken and see for yourself. We ate at the same place for about half our meals during our stay in Camiguin, washing it down with a cold Mountain Dew. Yes, another reason that the Philippines is amazing: ubiquitous Mountain Dew, so that eventually replaced instant coffee as our primary source of caffeine.
It was our second night on the island, and we wanted to see if we could find something a little more interesting than the night before. Well, we couldn’t so we ended up back at the same karaoke bar as the night before. This time, though, the atmosphere was far more friendly, and there were actually quite a few women there too. We went with the trend and ordered a small bottle of rum with a jug of what was basically a local version of tang. People were a lot more friendly this night and some of the karaoke singers were actually very impressive. One man, who had a unique look and spoke very good English started a conversation with us. He seemed genuine for a while until he mentioned casually that he was a guide (and that his father, who he has never met, was from Italy, apparently expecting to garner a bit of western street cred with us). When he realized we would not be needing any of his services, he eventually lost interest and went back to his table, where he got exceedingly drunk. Occasionally he would come back, sit down, exchange a few greetings and then leave again.
The best conversation of the night, though, was with a drunken old man who had invited himself to our table. This guy had just a couple teeth and the most infectious laugh I have ever heard. Basically our conversation would go like this: Question, response, repeat response, lots of laughter.
“Which country?”
“America”
“America!?”
“AHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!”
He was slapping knees, and almost falling out of his chair. This went on for a while until he started repeating questions. Then I switched it around, and by this point, the whole bar seemed to be paying more attention to our aimless conversation than the screeching karaoke.
“What do you do for a living?”
“I’m a fisherman”
“You’re a fisherman?!”
“AHAHAHAHAHAHAH!!!!”
Perfect bar conversation. Then the man disappeared to some corner, and Lise and I were invited to share drinks with some guys at a different table. We got into our respective conversations while the men kept topping off our glasses. Everyone else seemed too drunk to finish theirs, so it just kept getting funneled into ours. The large young man next to me started out friendly enough, until he asked why I had not visited the tourist office when I got to town. He works there and said that it is really important to always go to the tourists office. He seemed to take his job pretty seriously and I didn’t really have a very good explanation that would satisfy him. Basically, I went into some rhetorical babble about travel philosophy which he couldn’t have cared less about even if it had made sense. He went on and on criticizing tourists, probably because nobody took his tourist office very seriously. The last ten minutes of our conversation was basically him making me promise that I would come to the tourist office the next day, and then I would have to promise, and repeat back to him his name and the location of the tourist office. I am not proud to say it, but no, we never did make it to the tourist office. It was pretty much a boldfaced lie.
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