Sunday April 3, 2011 12:30 a.m.

Jasmin by the Sea

Camiguin, Philippines

I was interrupted yesterday with the arrival of my dinner. I also had gotten up to take a picture of the hammock with the golden light of sunset on it. I was just thinking to myself that photographers call that the “magic hour” – the hour around dusk and dawn when the light is just perfect. As I was thinking that, a young woman at a nearby table said to me, “The magic hour.”

I told her I was surprised that she knew that phrase, and she admitted that she made part of her income as a professional photographer. I invited myself over to her table and ended up having a great conversation. Her name was Maya. She is from the Philippines and was on Camiguin for a short holiday. She was very pretty and had a wonderful smile and laugh.

Maya is from Cebu, and her family has a business there, and she works for them sometimes. She is soon to go to Taiwan with her father on business as his assistant. They are going to a convention to see what they can import from Taiwan. She speaks very good English and loves to tell jokes and laugh. She signed up with an online organization called Couch Surfers. Couch Surfers connects travellers with people who can put them up in different cities and countries around the world. Through Couch Surfers, she has met lots of foreigners.

Her most recent guest was a 23-year-old German fellow named Jess. They had been travelling together around the Philippines for a while. When I was speaking with her, Jess was sleeping in the hammock that I had vacated earlier. Jess woke up after a while and joined us. I was busy the whole time trying to gauge if I was intruding on them in any way. As far as I could tell, I wasn’t.

As you do in these backpacking places, the three of us made plans to do some things the next day – today in fact. There are two islands off Camiguin. One, called White Island, is actually a large sand dune that rises out of the ocean. We went to White Island this morning and I have just come back. It was a very successful trip, and I’m glad to say that I managed to help out with all the arrangements. On my walk yesterday, I had stopped in at a place called Villa Forte. I found out that they had a very nice bungalow with an outdoor shower, and that they could arrange boat trips to White Island for 400 pesos per boat. It didn’t matter how many people you put in the boat. Maya’s idea was to go to the expensive resort, Paras, and take a boat from there. My place was much closer, and I thought it would be more personal to get a boat from there than from the big resort.

We met for breakfast this morning, and then we walked to the main road and waved down a tricycle. Since Maya spoke the local language, the driver talked with her a lot and tried to get some advantage out of having foreigners in his tricycle. He wanted to drive us all the way to Villa Forte, and then he could ask for a commission. Maya argued with him loudly and told him that wasn’t his job. His job was to drive us down the road and drop us off. He asked her why she was trying to stop him from making money. But Maya stood her ground. She has grown up here and is very good at bargaining. I find bargaining exhausting. I tend to ask for the price and then leave if I don’t like it. I’ll ask another person until I get the right price. It’s one of the reasons I like to cycle. Then I don’t have to constantly haggle with taxi and tricycle drivers.

Things got more and more complicated with our tricycle driver. He had another passenger with him and he turned left up a side road to drop him off. Then he returned by a roundabout way and I lost track of where I was on the road. I wasn’t sure if we had passed Villa Forte or not. Maya thought the tricycle driver was trying to take advantage of us in some way. He also kept pressuring her to allow him to drive us all the way to the resort. She said no.

I had taken the lead on our little expedition by suggesting Villa Forte, and I was eager that it would work out. And it did. I didn’t know it at the time, but there is a regular system in place where one pays 400 pesos per boat trip to White Island. This money has to be paid at some office or desk somewhere and then the boat is dispatched. It is all done with a system of coupons and tickets so that everyone is checking up on everyone else. I found out from Maya, by the way, that when the men were getting on and off the bus and doing all the fancy business with the tickets, it was a system to prevent corruption. I suspected that had to be what it was and Maya confirmed it. We had a wide-ranging discussion late last night about NGOs, development work, and corruption and Maya had a lot of interesting insight to offer on life in the Philippines.

We walked into Villa Forte and Maya spoke to the man at the counter of the restaurant and then to a woman. The woman seemed to be in charge of arrangements. She sent a young boy off to pay for a boat and to tell the boat man to come get us at Villa Forte. I’m sure somehow some of that money ended up at Villa Forte, but I’m not sure how much or how it was arranged. While we waited, Maya and Jess checked out the bungalow that I had seen the previous day – the one with the nice outdoor shower. It appeared to be much nicer than our bungalows at Jasmin, and, with Maya’s bargaining skills, ended up 200 pesos per night cheaper than the rate I was quoted. She even got them to agree to come pick them up at Jasmin by the Sea and drive them over with all their luggage.

Maya suggested that I move to Villa Forte with them. There was another bungalow that cost 1,000 pesos a night, and she said that all three of us could stay there together. However, I was quite content at Jasmin and didn’t want to move. I liked the people there, and I liked the restaurant and the setting. Villa Forte was nicer in a postcard kind of way, but it was much more like a resort. It was less personal. Jasmin by the Sea began as a house that Melinda and her husband had built. That house still stands to the right of the bungalows and the restaurant. Her extended family lives there and it bustles all day long. I’ve gotten to know the names of the people at Jasmin.

It wasn’t long before our boat showed up. It was a typical pumpboat, as they call them. It is a narrow boat, like a large canoe, with outriggers on each side, a tiller attached to a long piece of wood and an engine mounted on a heavy rod with a propeller at the end of the rod. One of the many problems with these boats is that the engine is completely open and exposed. It’s very loud and when they open up the throttle, it is impossible to speak. That is a problem for long journeys, but for the short hop to White Island, it was fine.

I was in a near-ecstatic mood as we departed. The sun was out, the sky was pure blue with dazzling white clouds, we were in a pumpboat and heading toward a crescent of brilliant white sand in the middle of a blue sea. Behind us, the volcanoes of Camiguin rose and rose until they took over the entire horizon. I don’t know that I’ve seen anything as picturesque. It was simply stunning.

A number of pumpboats were already pulled up on White Island. Most were the brightly colored pumpboats from the big resort – Paras. They were filled to capacity with Filipino tourists. I haven’t mentioned them as yet, which probably has given the impression that tourism here is only about big dumb white guys from Canada and Germany. However, I think if you add them up, you’d find there are far more tourists from the Philippines than foreign tourists. The tourists from the Philippines come in very large groups and stay in large rooms and fill entire boats and jam underneath single umbrellas. This makes it affordable for them, and they go about their tourism in a very distinct and different way from the foreign tourists.

I scanned White island when we arrived, and I don’t think I saw any other foreign tourists. There were, however, a couple dozen Filipinos in large clumps here and there. Maya and Jess put on their snorkeling gear right away and went into the water. I had my camera out, of course, and I set off to walk around White Island and take some pictures. The island (sand dune really) is so small that one could walk around it completely in just a few minutes. From tip to curved tip, it is probably half a kilometer long and from side to side at its widest point about forty feet. It’s so narrow, that as you walk around the side, you can’t help but run into the other people out enjoying the view and the water. Everyone wanted to talk to me and they peppered me with the usual questions. Every group asked me if I was single, and twice I was given a half-sincere marriage proposal. I was asked to pose with the two women in question. This group had their own cameras, and they took pictures of me with the women. The photographer didn’t seem too happy with the results, and they encouraged me to put my arm around the woman’s shoulders. I was uncomfortable, and I didn’t do it. The woman herself seemed very embarrassed about the whole thing, and that made me self-conscious. Besides, she was so tiny. The top of her head came part-way up my ribcage. From my vantage point looking down, she seemed the tiniest child, a person I could pick up and put in my pocket.

On previous trips to the Philippines, I’ve come across older men that were married to younger Filipinas. I remember writing about it and not really disapproving of it. It all made a kind of sense and didn’t seem as creepy as one might think. I remember an American on Palawan and his marriage seemed a very good thing. He was happy. She was happy. They had had two children. And the woman’s whole extended family seemed very happy because this American man was able to help all of them set themselves up in small businesses of one sort or other. They were emotionally involved and it was a good economic match. The American was having the time of his life. In America, he couldn’t afford to start up even the smallest business. Here, he was financing all kinds of endeavors and enjoying it immensely.

I can’t say that I’ve felt quite as positive about it here on Camiguin. The age differences here seem much greater. The men tend to be German, in their sixties, bald, and sometimes extremely overweight. Yet, they are sitting with these tiny Filipinas who look to me to be in their twenties. One shouldn’t judge without knowing the true state of affairs, but it certainly doesn’t look right. People here rather than disliking such matches seem to desire them. I suppose that comes with a much more practical approach to life. Romance is all well and good (and they are very romantic people – as far as music goes, there are love songs and nothing else), but economics is important, too. So as I walked around White Island and replied to their query that I was single, it caused quite a sensation and there I was posing for pictures with the eligible women of the various family groups.

I keep thinking that if they knew everything about me that I wouldn’t be as popular a choice. After all, it’s not like I have any money. But I guess that is relative, as well. I found out the other day that the Swiss fellow who spends six months a year here and six months in Switzerland, is no business tycoon either. He finances this life of adventure and leisure as a housepainter. He doesn’t even have his own business. He goes back to Switzerland for the summer and works for his friend painting houses. Then he returns to the Philippines for the winter.

After I walked around the island taking pictures, I put away my camera and went snorkeling. The snorkeling was not very good, unfortunately. Most of the coral around the island had been destroyed in way or another, and there were few fish around. However, it was still a great experience. To the north of White Island, there were waves breaking. These waves were breaking right in the middle of the ocean with no shore in sight. I swam out there to investigate and found another large sand dune rising to just within a foot or two or the surface of the water. It’s quite something to be able to swim out into the ocean, miles in fact from the shore, and then simply stand up and gaze about you. White Island itself from that point of view is quite a miracle. That it exists at all is a miracle and that it continues to exist even more so. It is simply a sand dune that happens to rise above the surface. You’d think a single storm could wash the whole thing away. Storms probably do wash it away, but then it would rise up again. It’s even more of a miracle when you consider how much it is worth financially to a place like Camiguin. Type Camiguin into Google’s image search, and 90% of the pictures you will see will be of White Island and the view of the shore. Yet, that is almost the only white sandy beach on the whole island. Without it, tourism here would probably be a tenth of what it is, if it existed at all. The island has a lot to offer beyond White Island, but that perfect crescent of sand is a postcard, a visual hook that gets people to come here. I made that joke myself as I was taking pictures – that these pictures of White Island are of the perfect “make my friends jealous” type. Everyone tries to take that picture – sitting in a hammock and sipping a cocktail out of a tall glass for example – that captures paradise, and look, I’m in it.

The weather could not have been more perfect for taking pictures and for taking in the beauty of the place. However, there is one thing lacking on sand dunes – shade. With the sun beating down, the heat and light was almost unbearable. It was difficult to keep your eyes open as you looked around, and I soon got out my sunglasses. We stayed there about an hour and a half. With the poor snorkeling and the intense heat, there wasn’t much reason to stay longer than that.

When we returned to shore, we pooled our money and I gave the 400 pesos to the boatman, as he told us we were supposed to do. When we got to Villa Forte, however, we were told we had made a mistake. Villa Forte had already paid the 400 pesos to the boat organization on our behalf. The boatman would have known that, they said, so they don’t know why he told us otherwise. They said it was no problem, though. They knew everyone, including the boatman, and they would track him down and get their money back.

Maya and Jess packed up and moved out of Jasmin after we returned, and we arranged that they would come back at about 3 for our second adventure of the day – a trip to Mantigue Island. Mantigue Island is a small (real) island off the southeast coast of Camiguin. It is supposed to have good snorkeling and diving, and it has been turned into something of a nature preserve.

I felt that we were going there too late in the day, but I figured we’d have an adventure no matter what. We did have an adventure, but it may not have been the adventure I wanted. The problem, as always, was one of transportation. That seems to be the key problem area. Whatever else I’m left with after this trip, I will certainly have confidence that cycling is the way to go for future trips. I knew that the boat trips out to Mantigue Island were organized, just as the trips to White Island were organized. Some might say too organized. In the past, one simply went to a nearby port and hired a local fisherman to drive you over to the island. As tourism developed, systems were put in place, and now there was no way to get there except through an official boat. You made your way to a village called Mahinog and went to the shore where there is a little hut where you buy your boat ticket for 550 pesos. This is a boat fee, not per person. So you can put as many people into the boat as you like, keeping within safety limits. You also had to pay a 20-peso entrance fee and then a 50-peso snorkeling fee if you wanted to go into what they called the Marine Sanctuary.

That is all simple enough, and what it may lack in adventure it makes up for in efficiency. However, you still had to “make your way” to Mahinog, and that isn’t so easy. To start, we had to take a tricycle or multi-cab to the big town of Mambajao. That wasn’t that complicated. A lot of tricycles pass by on the main road heading in that direction. It’s only four or five kilometers away and the cost is the standard 8 pesos per person. The only problem is the crowding. There is always room for two more in these tricycles, and it isn’t a comfortable ride.

Once we got to Mambajao, things got a big more complicated. Mahinog is quite a bit farther away. It is right beside the port of Benoni where my ferry had docked. I’d guess it is about 20 kilometers. It was Sunday, and that means there was less transport than there might otherwise have been. With Maya in the lead, we started asking around about our options and they seemed to be few and far between. There is also that air of confusion. You never know if you can trust anyone about anything. Even Maya doesn’t know everything. She is just as much a stranger on Camiguin as we are. And if a local man tells her that there are no jeepneys going to Mahinog, then she has no choice but to believe him or to keep asking more and more people until she gets some kind of consensus. We were directed to the “terminal.” The terminal turned out to be two vans parked under a shade tree. I went up to the vans while Maya and Jess went in search of some food. I had made sure to eat lunch before this trip, but they hadn’t. The men in the van were playing cards. I assumed they were sitting there waiting to fill up with passengers. I asked them if they were going to Mahinog, and they said no and that was that. However, Maya asked them later on and suddenly everything changed. They could go to Mahinog and they suggested some prices. Most of them were fine with me. I’m on a 10-day holiday, so budget isn’t such a big concern. Jess, however, was on a tighter budget. And Maya liked to bargain on principle. I never did get a clear idea of what was going on, but Maya rejected all the options as too expensive and we walked away to ask around amongst a big group of tricycles. Jess walked ahead of us quickly and disappeared. Then one of the men behind us ran after us and agreed to one of Maya’s prices. This wasn’t for a van, however, but for a tricycle. The price seemed far too low to me, but what do I know? The deal was that he would take all three of us to Mahinog, wait for us while we went to the island, and then drive us back again for 300 pesos. That didn’t make sense to me, but he was willing to do it, and I’m sure he wouldn’t do it if he couldn’t make money at it. So off we went.

It was a fun trip. I was following the same route that I’d taken in the mini-van from the port, but this time I could sort of see out of the side. It was a long trip, but we got to the port in Mahinog soon enough. Jess went off in search of beer and Maya and I paid our 550 pesos for the boat. It was low tide, and getting to our pump boat involved walking over exposed rocks and then wading through knee-deep water for quite a while.

Mantigue Island was a very standard and regular sort of island from a distance. It presented a nice rounded shape with a perfect sandy beach on the edge and a rising jungle in the middle. The island was more organized than I expected, and there was another big desk there where we had to pay our various fees. A soldier was there in full uniform with a very large automatic rifle. Not sure what he was protecting.

It was a very beautiful island, and if the weather is nice one day, I will go back. We didn’t have nearly enough time to enjoy it. One big problem was the low tide. We went snorkeling in the marine sanctuary, but to get out into the deeper water was very hard. The water was only a foot or two deep and there were sea urchins everywhere. It took a lot of energy and nerve to skim along and get over that part. I was very disappointed at first, but then when I got to the edge of the sanctuary (marked by a set of buoys connected by rope) there was a sudden drop-off into the deep ocean and there was a line of fantastic coral. I saw all kinds of beautiful and fantastic creatures, including lion fish, clown fish, puffer fish, long needle fish, and at one point I was in the middle of a school of thousands of fish. I don’t know what they were, but it was great fun to be swimming with them.

It was already too dark to see clearly, though, and I swam to shore to give Maya my snorkeling gear so she would have a chance. We agreed that it made no sense for her to pay the 150 pesos to rent snorkeling gear for such a short time. I warned her about the shallow water and how difficult it was, but I guess she didn’t take me too seriously. I knew something was wrong when she went only a short distance and her feet were pounding the water in a panic. She was flailing her arms and then I heard her voice kind of screaming and gurgling. Luckily, Jess was out there nearby and he could help if needed. There was no real problem. She was in only a foot or two of water, but she had panicked with the nearness of the sea urchins and lost her sense of direction and was going in circles. She wanted to go back to shore, but was so frightened at this point, she couldn’t really do anything but flail about. Eventually, she found a safe place to put her feet and she stood up. Then she slowly walked to shore. She never did make it out to the coral.

So snorkeling didn’t really work out, but we had a great time. We stayed on the beach talking and playing in the sand until sunset. The sunset was beautiful over the volcanoes of Camiguin, and as it began to get dark, we returned to our boat.

This whole time, I was a little worried about our tricycle driver. He had agreed to wait for us, and he had to wait in order to get paid, but I couldn’t imagine he was enjoying just sitting there and doing nothing for so long. Maya, however, wasn’t worried about it and I figured she would know.

It was quite dark by the time our boat was out in the ocean and heading for shore. They had had trouble starting the engine and it took a long time. I had to smile when I noticed that the boat had no running lights at all. We were totally dark in a dark ocean and just racing along. That’s the Philippines.

On shore, they were waiting for us, and two men with powerful lights signalled where to come ashore. The tide was still out, and there was only area where it could be done. We waded ashore and walked to the tricycle. I heard Maya say something about the driver being a bit tired. We drove back to Mambajao in contented silence.

When we got to Mambajao, we had to pay our guy the 300 pesos we had agreed on. Now, predictably, he was demanding more. Maya told him an emphatic no. He got very upset. They argued back and forth, but Maya wouldn’t budge. On my own, I would have happily tipped the guy at least another 100 pesos and probably much more just for waiting for us for that long. It had been an incredible day, and I was glowing with it all. Tipping the driver extravagantly would have been a way to share that happiness. But Maya was firm, and I had to bow to her knowledge of life there.

Well, the guy didn’t see it her way. He let fly with lots of foul language and cursed and swore at us. He found an empty pop bottle that Jess had left in the tricycle, and he smashed it against the ground. Broken glass flew everywhere. He was very angry. I was on his side, but there was nothing I could do without betraying Maya. And at the same time, even then I couldn’t be sure. People tell us out and out lies all the time. They will give us outrageous prices knowing that they are ten or twenty or thirty times higher than the real prices. They know that as foreign tourists we don’t know the real prices and they try to take advantage of that. Witness my taxi driver in Cagayan de Oro lying to me and telling me that there was a strike and there were no buses running at all. All’s fair in business for these guys. And so, if Maya got the better of this guy in a bargain, that’s just the way it was. He was in the wrong to swear at us and smash bottles in anger. Maya, though, grew up here and has a thick skin. I have a very thin skin, and I felt bad about all of this.

Tags: Camiguin Trip, Villa Forte, White Island