What’s to be done when one does not relish the thought of flying to travel around the country? Travel by land, that’s what.

It took us a month to prepare for the trip, counting the days we waited for good weather, calm waters, and for aftershocks to subside in the Visayas where an earthquake had just hit.

Armed with a newly-bought GPS, E-Z maps, a Lonely Planet book, and some downloaded materials from the internet, we set off early one morning from Quezon City, aiming to reach Legaspi City by evening on our first day on the road. No, it was not a SUV that we used but a Honda Jazz, our little car that could. We loaded its compartment with our provisions of medicines for different types of traveler’s ailments, food (the ones that say just add hot water on the label), clothes of varying quantities per person, a ukulele, and a spare tire.

By sunrise, we were passing through the towns of Laguna, stirring to life and their streets still unclogged by commuters and vehicles. Around noon, our rumbling stomachs told us that we had to stop at Gumaca, Quezon for a quick bite. The moss-covered walls and stained-glass windows of an old church nearby beckoned to us. We only had time to take some photos of Gumaca Church, the biggest and oldest Catholic Church in Quezon province that was built in 1582, before setting off on the road again.

We continued on, choosing to take the scenic and more challenging zigzag route to Bicol, instead of the diversion road. The zigzag route is alternately known as bituka ng manok (chicken intestine) because of its hairpin (and hair-raising) curves. What I didn’t know earlier was that the road passes through Quezon National Park. We marveled at the sight of wide amlang trees with giant buttresses, hanging vines and gnarled roots hugging huge boulders by the roadside. We sped across light and shadow as sunlight filtered through the trees. At one point however, the sight of elderly beggars lining the road with outstretched arms, screaming their desperate pleas for alms disturbed and disconcerted us. For a moment, we drove in thoughtful silence, pondering on the incongruity of the beautiful scenery and the beggars.

At dusk, we were in Daraga, Albay, with a full moon shining and hanging over a mountain with the same name as the town. Stopping at a local gas station, I was told by the owner that Mt. Daraga is used as a base camp of the New People’s Army guerrillas. The moon followed us to Legaspi City, illuminating magayonor beautiful Mt. Mayon in the dark of evening. Early the next day, we drove to the top of Lingnon Hill where we got a close and unobstructed view of Mt. Mayon. From where we stood, the path of the lava flow from the volcano’s previous eruption was visible, as were the fertile fields planted to countless coconut trees, abaca and root crops that lay at the volcano’s foot. From another vantage point, we had a sweeping view of Legaspi City and its coastline, made blackish by the volcanic soil. Before leaving Lingnon Hill, we walked up to the entrance of  a network of tunnels once used as ammunition storage by the Japanese army during WW II, but only to find it closed to the public for safety reasons.

Our next stop was the Cagsaua ruins, which is perhaps second only to Mt. Mayon as the most popular tourist destination in the Bicol region. Cagsaua ruins were once a church built by the Spanish clergy after 1724. A powerful eruption by Mt. Mayon in 1814 laid the town to waste and left just the church's belfry and portions of its stone walls standing.

A few meters from the ruins were stalls selling souvenir knickknacks, woven abaca hats, mats and bags, all kinds of imaginable sweets made from pilinuts for which Bicol is also known. In one particular store that sold musical instruments such as jew’s harps, bongo drums, and flutes, hung an electric bamboo bass guitar, its fretboard made of a mature bamboo pole. An amp was on stand by for anyone wanting to play a few licks and chops. In another section of the park, the variety of orchids that were said to have been plucked from the forests around Mt. Mayon was enough to delight the hearts of garden enthusiasts. Vendors would gladly pack the plants for travel, if asked.  Because it was high noon blazing with sunshine, we sought shelter in one of the bamboo stalls near the ruins, and cooled ourselves with bowls of halo-halo topped with brightly-coloured banana, gelatin, and grated cheese.

We ended our day with a dinner at Happy Talk, a restaurant owned by a local chef who has made good use of the local produce and concocted such novel menu offerings as pili nut ice cream, pizza topped with taro leaves, and tender chicken slow-cooked in coconut and chili.

One-and-a- half hours away from Legaspi is famous Donsol, Sorsogon which is the take off point for butanding (whale shark) watching. The drive to Donsol was pleasant as the road was smooth and lined with giant fronds of nipa palm. Tiny bamboo and nipa huts dotted the pastoral landscape in varying shades of green that could have been an inspiration for an Amorsolo painting, except for the presence of military detachments. This, as we found out, was going to be a common sight during our road trip. It was a sad and grim reminder of the country’s militarized situation, particularly in the rural areas. Reaching Donsol at two in the afternoon, our excitement was dampened when the receptionist informed us that there was almost a nil chance of whale sightings at such a late hour in the day. For a thousand bucks or so, it was much better to catch the early morning boats and get our money’s worth. Around us, there was a crowd of young foreigners signing up for deep sea diving which was way above and beyond our excitement and derringdo level. 

We woke up at 3:00 a.m. the next morning, to catch the ferry from Matnog, Sorsogon to Allen, Samar. After a quick breakfast of 3-in-1 coffee and instant noodles, we were ready to go.  For the 1-hour ferry ride, we paid   P90.00 per person and P900.00 for our small compact car. It was my first time to ride the RORO (roll on-roll off) ferry in the Philippines and I was apprehensive. I had ridden the ferry from Vancouver to Victoria, B.C., the ferry in Seattle Washington, one from England to Ireland, and another from England to France, but riding the Philippine ferry was akin to getting on board a thrilling, dangerous amusement park ride. My nervous excitement must have been caused by wonderment whether the rusty thing would stay afloat until the next port. Past incidents of interisland ferries that sunk because they were too old, overcrowded, brought down by bad  weather, or due to a combination of all factors came to mind.  But I could not afford to be scared. We HAD to get to the next island.

Pier hands and the ferry crew guided the drivers expertly into the deck where vehicles were parked nearly a hair’s breadth from each other. After several attempts, we were able to get our contorted bodies out of the car.

While we were still docked and waiting for the other passengers to get on the ferry, young boys dove from the upper most deck. A sun-baked young boy bobbing in the water called out to me and earnestly shouted, “Doktora! Doktora!”, motioning for me to throw him some change. Feeling a bit flattered, I went back to my husband to ask if I really did look like a doctor.  The kid wanted you to throw him a bigger amount, he replied laughing.

Inside the ferry, harried passengers plopped themselves on the leatherette-covered seats that had seen better days. There were life vests alright, but I thought that only the fear of drowning could induce passengers to put on the grimy flotation devices.  It was a relief to find a washroom but the smell of urine from its dilapidated doors interfered with the sea breeze. Indeed, it will be a great day when owners/operators of these sea-going transport vehicles put the comfort and safety of their captive passengers over huge profit.

Nevertheless, the ferry ride was pleasant. There was a videoke bar and a small canteen selling sitsirya or munchies. A slew of hawkers fed hungry passengers with balut, peanuts, and cheap meals of boiled eggs and rice. On the outside deck, women relaxed and gazed out to the open seas as they had their nails done by enterprising manikuristas.

 

 

 

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