I didn’t have a chance to see my hostess from the hotel of videoke horror before I left. As I went downstairs to take a shower in the common bathroom and such things, I had to pass the kitchen, and though many people said good morning to me, it seemed that my hostess was avoiding me. I couldn’t really blame her. In the cold light of day, I had begun to feel silly about how I’d felt the night before. But that is the nature of feelings, isn’t it? They just are and they don’t generally make a lot of sense. After eight hours of non-stop videoke pouring directly into my brain, I started to go a bit nuts. As who wouldn’t? With the videoke horror over and a few hours of sleep under my belt, I started to wonder what all the fuss was about.

I took my time getting ready as I didn’t have a tremendous distance to cover to get to the town of Guiuan. I calculated it at 34 kilometers and it turned out to be closer to 40. Even with a possibly bum knee, there was no need to get on the road at the crack of dawn. I had three buns in my room and they stood in for breakfast along with a cup of coffee. The balcony of my room with its little sink came in handy for boiling water in my Trangia and making coffee.

Carrying my bags down the narrow stairs was not an easy feat, but I got it done and the bike loaded up with minimal trouble. There happened to be a pitcher of ice water sitting on the counter and I helped myself to six glorious cups of ice cold water to fortify myself for the day. Cold water is much easier to drink than warm water. I wonder why that is.

The rice harvesting was continuing, and it was wonderful to cycle down the road between the vast fields of rice ready for the thresher. Lots of people were in the fields and at the side of the road working, and everyone waved to me and called out greetings.

The turn-off to the Guiuan peninsula was about four kilometers from Quinapondan, and the quality of the road surface fell dramatically when I made the turn. The road suddenly became relatively rough with stretches of chewed up pavement and large, dangerous potholes. This made no negative difference to me, of course. I maintained the same speed on the bike, it being an easy matter to plot a course down the smoothest stretches. I only had to keep a sharp eye out for potholes hiding in the dappled patches of shade. These were sometimes hard to spot, and a moment of distraction could end in a serious accident with damage to me and the bike. Overall, the rough road was a benefit to me as it kept the small amount of traffic moving at a slower speed. I pointed out before that the main road around southern Samar was somewhat free of traffic compared to the route I’d followed down western Samar and Leyte. That made all the difference to my mood. And now this spur road heading into the somewhat remote peninsula was even more quiet and empty. Add to that the slowness of that traffic, and the cycling was pure pleasure.

The one fly in the ointment of my cycling happiness was the pain in my right knee that developed at the 10-kilometer. The pain was so severe that it would be better termed the June Bug in my ointment. It hurt like a bastard, and I seriously began to worry that I’d really damaged my knee’s inner workings. I know I hadn’t done anything in particular to it. I can’t claim, as many athletes do, that I had “blown out” my knee. Nothing so dramatic as that had happened. I hadn’t made a sudden dodge to the right avoiding a hard tackle and straining my knee. I hadn’t lunged across the tennis court to return a cross-court shot. No, I had simply gotten on my bike in Tacloban and started to ride. Then the pain started. I suppose if a cause must be isolated, the finger should be pointed at the 50 years of time that have passed to get me to where I am now. Perhaps my previous cycling contributed to the current damage. I remember having a lot of trouble with my knees while cycling across Canada. At the time, I blamed it on the freezing temperatures of the Maritime provinces. I felt that I had frozen my knees as I rode. And I remember that when I got to Ethiopia, I found myself unable to walk down mountains. I could walk up them just fine, but it was next to impossible to turn around and walk down the slopes. Tremendous pain hit and it felt like my knees would buckle with every step. The pain I feel now is similar. My knee hurts on both the down and up stroke, but it is mainly the loose up stroke that is the problem. I noted this when I came to a very long and steady climb on my route. I ended up climbing for three kilometers. Maybe just two. It was nowhere near as steep as the climbs I’d faced elsewhere in the Philippines (the roads in Eastern Samar have had very gentle inclines so far). However, it was too steep for only my left leg to handle it and I had to use both my legs. With experimentation, I found that the pain lessened somewhat when I put full pressure on my right knee. As long as I pedaled hard and pushed with most of my strength with both legs, the pain in my right knee was bearable. It was when I eased off and coasted that the pain surged and cycling became very difficult. The strange result was that I cycled much faster and harder than I normally do. I generally take it easy on the bike, but now I was faced with the odd situation that the harder I pedaled, the less pain I experienced. So I raced along.

The houses tended toward traditional construction of thatch and wood, and I enjoyed the scenery around me. The land was less densely populated than other areas. I attributed this to it being sandier and less fertile. There were thick growths of trees on both sides of the road, but less plots of farmland than I was used to seeing. I even encountered short stretches of road when I saw no houses or people at all – a rare experience in the Philippines, where every piece of land seems occupied in some way.

One big disappointment was the absence of ocean views. The peninsula narrowed a great deal and since I had climbed quite high, I was looking forward to the reward of wonderful views of the ocean. Unfortunately, these never came. The road had high land on both sides that obstructed any possible views, as did the thick growths of trees.

I stopped in the small town of Salcedo for a snack. I did not find an eatery there, so I had to settle for one of the Big Mak hamburger stands. I wouldn’t want to live on those hamburgers, but they make a nice occasional change from regular meals of rice and Bicol Express. I had been curious about what the people who work in those stands make and I asked this woman about her salary. She said that she was paid by commission. That made a lot of sense when I thought about it. I imagine it works out more in favor of the company than the employees, though.

Guiuan was something of a disappointment when I first arrived. For some reason, I had built it up in my mind into a green oasis of oceanside splendor. I realize looking back that all the references to beautiful Guiuan that I read were referring to the peninsula and the offshore islands in general, not to the town itself. The town had the appearance of all the towns of this approximate size and importance. It’s a regional center and all the larger businesses and offices are centered here, so the main drags are somewhat busy and noisy. There are some pedicabs but they don’t dominate the roads as they did in Naval. Motorized transport rules here and pedestrians are an endangered species.

More disturbing was the utter lack of ocean views. From looking at my maps, I understood that Guiuan was right on the ocean, and I looked forward to the beauty of an oceanside town. I rode into town down the main road and then I turned left down another main road. I was just trying to get the lay of the land, and I was wondering if I was even in Guiuan proper. Where was the ocean? Then on my right, there was a narrow gap between the row of buildings and through the gap, I saw the ocean. It was right there just on the other side of the row of buildings. A couple hundred meters down this road, I came to the bizarrely named Hollywood Jetty. This was a narrow strip of land sticking far out into the ocean. I thought from there I could get a full view of the area and get my bearings. Yet, even though I cycled all the way to the tip of the jetty, I never got a clear view of anything. Rough housing lined both sides of the jetty and blocked all views of the water. I was on a narrow strip of land in the middle of the ocean and yet I might as well have been right in the middle of downtown of a landlocked city. After some more exploring of Guiuan both on my bike and on foot, I realized what had happened. Poor people, unable to purchase land, had started to built houses on stilts out over the water. I had a conversation with a retired school teacher (now running a shop) who explained the process. She said that these people do not have to pay rent of any kind. They simply had to build the house over the water and then move in. It was far cheaper than paying rent somewhere else or buying land, and it gave them a prime location within walking distance of all the downtown shops. That’s not to say that they were living in luxury or anything like that. This was packed and crowded slum housing with no privacy, few if any comforts, and no running water, sitting precariously over filthy sewage-filled ocean and exposed to the full fury of every typhoon that passed by. Still, considering the alternatives, it’s rather clever. The unintended result, however, is to completely cut off any and all views of the ocean. Thinking like a North American, I see ocean views as being the ultimate in privilege and luxury and beauty. Any town or city of any size in North America that has views over water be it a lake, river, or ocean, takes full advantage of that. Parks are built there and the land otherwise developed to make the town as attractive as possible for tourism and for people to come and live there and start businesses. The nicest areas of waterfront are bought up by the rich and huge houses are built to take advantage of the view. But in the Philippines, you find places like Guiuan – a town sitting right on the ocean with many kilometers of waterfront, and the water and waves are completely hidden by ramshackle shacks.

This fact was driven home when I rode my bike down by the “terminal”. I was told that this is where one got boats out to Homonhon island. I found a big area filled with buses and jeepneys and lots of shops and stalls. However, I saw no boats at all. In fact, there was no ocean and I guessed that I had misunderstood my informants. I went back to my informants and asked them about the missing boats, and they said that they were there. Had I seen the long row of barbecue restaurants? Yes, I had. Well, the ocean was on the other side of those restaurants. I went back, and sure enough, there was the ocean. But to get to it, I had to make my way through a narrow gap between the many barbecue stands. Then I found myself standing on a cement wall above the beautiful ocean. These barbecue restaurants all commanding a view that people around the world would kill for had completely blocked those views. The restaurants had tables and chairs and a big opening on one side, but that opening faced the parking lot full of exhaust-belching buses and jeepneys. The poor ocean on the other side of the makeshift walls of tarp and scrap tin was completely ignored.

While I was wandered around this area taking pictures, a rain storm moved in and I got at least a plausible reason for why these restaurants were built with their backs to the ocean. Perhaps it was to protect them from the wind and rain coming off the ocean – particularly the seasonal typhoons. This rainstorm had come out of nowhere, and it hit with fury. I had to take shelter inside one of these barbecue restaurants while the owners scrambled to take down awnings and remove delicate electronics and reinforce weak areas of the roof. I was forced to move from chair to chair as new leaks formed in the tattered roof above me and water poured onto my head. A young boy was more practical, and he stood under these leaks enjoying a free shower of fresh water.

I was pleased, however, to find that though Guiuan did not offer any pleasant ocean views, it did at least offer reasonable places to stay. I saw several pension houses and one hotel as I cycled around the town. I dropped in at a pension house inside an imposing green structure and looked at a small, dirty, and depressing room (more closet than room) for 200 pesos a night. The price was right at least, and I thought it would make an acceptable home. Whatever the inconveniences and discomforts, at least I could comfort myself with the relatively cheap price. The room came with a fan of sorts, which started up when you kicked it and poked it and moved it around. And there was a dirty and broken down bathroom at the end of the hall. They did have rooms with air conditioning, but I didn’t bother to check them out since they came with the price tag of 800 pesos a night.

I thought I might stay in this 200-peso a night hovel, but it wouldn’t hurt to check out one other place first. I found myself at the newish Addison Pension House, where I was shown a large room with a queen-sized bed, a desk and chair, a complete bathroom, a TV with cable, and air conditioning for 550 pesos a night. (This was the matrimonial room, I was told.) Five hundred and fifty pesos is considerably more than 200 pesos, but the difference in the quality of the room was astonishing. The closet seemed a place where people went to die. This room was for the living. At least it was for now. Upon closer inspection, I noticed that everything in the room was of the cheapest construction and quality possible. It all worked now because it was brand new. In a short time, this place would fall apart and be the shell of its former self, but for now it was in good shape. It even offered a small café with seven sets of tables and chairs, two sets of which were on a nice balcony outside. Finally, the young man at the front desk was extremely friendly and helpful. He even helped me carry up my bags once I had checked in and handed over my 550 pesos. There was even a safe area on the ground floor behind locked steel doors to store my bicycle. I can see an argument being made that even for a traveler on a budget, places like Addison Pension House would end up being cheaper in the long run if only for the security they offer. One might save a lot of money by staying in the hovels for 200 pesos a night (assuming you can find them), but it would only take one night when someone breaks into your room and steals all your belongings for you to lose all the money you’d saved (probably much more). At the place that had the 200-peso room, there was no security at all and getting into that closet room would require little more than harsh words aimed at the doorknob. It would just pop open.

While I wandered around the town, I stumbled across a place with a “Tourism Information” sign. It was largely a place that sold souvenir trinkets, but the friendly woman there did supply me with a map and brochure of the area and some info. It turns out that there is much more here than I expected. For one thing, there is an island just south of Guiuan called Calicoan Island. I hadn’t even noticed the island because on my map it looks like just an extension of the peninsula. It turns out it is a separate island connected by a bridge. More, it is something of a tourist island offering surfing and many beautiful beaches. I had never heard of the place before. I also learned that there were possibilities of island-hopping tours from Guiuan to beautiful islands and even a fish sanctuary featuring giant clams. Such tours aren’t organized, unfortunately. You would have to make your own arrangements and that would likely be expensive for a single person. I talked to some people later on that said a boat could be hired for the day for about 1,000 pesos. On top of that, one would probably require a guide of sorts. So it would end up being an expensive proposition for one person. It’s a good thing that I’m more interested in daily life than in standard tourist activities. The tourist activities would likely prove a bit of a strain on any reasonable budget. I found out about the possibilities of island-hopping when I was invited to sit down at a local shop and chat with the owners – a retired policeman and a retired teacher. The shop was located right in the middle of a section of the slum housing along the water. While there, I was also introduced to the barangay captain. He was quite sure that I would enjoy a visit to the fish sanctuary, but to go there, I would have to get permission from the local fisheries office. As I often do, I felt somewhat out of place. All the things that I was expected, as a tourist, to do were meant more for groups that hired tour guides. For a sole traveler to do them is problematic. I often think of the joy of a place like El Nido, where there is enough tourism for them to have organized island-hopping tours. It was wonderful to be able to just sign up and go at a reasonable price without having to be part of a group. My attempts to do the same on this trip have not been successful – such as the trouble I had in Matnog. Tourism here is designed for groups, not individuals. So it is lucky that my sense of enjoyment extends to walking around normal neighborhoods and taking pictures.

I came here with rough plans to visit the island of Homonhon to see where Magellan landed. I might still do that, but it will take some effort to figure out how. It appears that I can take a public bangka from a place a few kilometers outside of town. But then there would be no way to get back on the same day. I’d have to spend the night (at least) there. And at the moment, there is concern that the seas are too rough. The typhoon that recently passed has churned up the water and the waves are quite high out in the open ocean.

The brochure I was given provided some other unexpected information about Guiuan. Apparently, the American plane carrying the atomic bomb to Japan, the Enola Gay, left from here. There are the remains of a huge American airport nearby, though it’s not clear to me if that is where the plane left from.

 

 

Tags: bike, Cycling, Philippines Bike Trip 2013, South Coast of Samar, typhoon