Dapitan City

At dusk, I arrived in Dapitan. With an overpriced ride and brand new eyes, I set to explore Zamboanga Del Norte; how pristine the place was, its beauty basking in the golden lush sunset.

The driver asked me twice if I was going to stay in this Pensionne House (I opted not to disclose the name for some reasons you’d find out later); he initially thought I was going to stay in Dapitan Resort Hotel but was shocked when I told him to stop just before the hotel and told him this is where I’m going to stay while pointing to the beat up pensionne house by the beach.

He was hesitant and bravely asked me “Sigurado po kayo?”. It was not until I saw my “room” that I paused and thought, “Okay, Lourraine, you can still change your mind”. The place was beside the City’s hotel along the stretch of Sunset Boulevard. When I walked past the cottages, it gave me a feeling of an abandoned place where no one seems to notice its existence. The far back of the houses looked like a dumpsite; all scrap metals were placed and it blocked the dazzling view of the beach.

The caretaker accompanied me to a cemented room adjacent to other Nipa hut cottages. The moment she opened the door, I was welcomed by stacks of foams and some double deck beds all haphazardly placed inside the room. The toilet seemed ancient and the air conditioner looks like it’s going to break into pieces. She opened the light and waited for my affirmation. I was hesitant to the point of just running away. And as if by a miracle, the bulb flickered and died, prompting the caretaker to leave so she could inform the owner about the dead bulb. I was left there, frozen, not knowing what to do next. After a split milli-second, I grabbed my backpack and followed the caretaker and told the owner myself the best excuse ever: “namatay po yung ilaw. Maghahanap na muna po ako ng ibang tutuluyan.” And rushed myself out of the place.

It was almost evening with the sun setting in the horizon and to be outside some unknown place with no hostel to sleep in was the last thing I wanted to happen. And so I started walking. Few meters away from the pensionne house, I found another Pension “Beach Resort”. 500php for an air conditioned room – not bad.

But I felt like I was entering into another kind of horror story.

As I entered the property, I was greeted by a grimy dog and the small television box was showing some Dolphy movie during the ‘90s. The caretaker was an old woman with some eye disease; her left eye stares at me while the other one couldn’t seem to stay focused. I remember Quasimodo – female version.

Another guy was busy doing some paper works on the table. I thought he was a student reviewing for boards or something. I found out he’s the executive assistant of the owner who’s an engineer.

I asked for a room. She showed me two until I finally decided to take the one that looks the least deadly. The room was full of incomprehensible stench; it must be the smell of a place which has not been opened for a couple of years. The AC was working and the toilet seemed decent (but I found out, later on, that I won’t be able to use the toilet due to some hygienic reasons). The bed was staple. The sheets looked like somebody died on it. I asked for new sheets. “Pero ma’am bago po yan”. The caretaker told me with a hint of irritation in her voice. I rested my case.

As I settled my things, I prayed incessantly that nothing can harm me during the night. I let all the windows and doors open while letting the sea breeze take over the musky odor of the room. I opened the AC and sprayed some cologne and finally sprinkled some sacramentals (travel tip: one thing I realized during the course of my trip was to bring a pocket room spray in cases where you’d have to stay in rooms such as this)

I went out and sat lazily on the common area, watching TV and adjusting my senses that I am, indeed, in Mindanao. Later that evening, I found out two things: (1) they don’t serve food and (2) that’s also where the owner (and his GUARDS) also live.

It was in the evening when a couple of cars arrived and men hopped out. I immediately thought of the usual movie scene where a drug lord was surrounded by hooligans. I felt uncomfortable with all the staring.

I decided to go out and look for some place to eat (which I found out later on was a good 20-minute walk away from the hostel and down the dark streets of Dapitan. I started asking myself what the f’ck am I doing with my life, putting myself in all this craziness).

I found a nice little restaurant which will close at 9pm. I was there 8pm. I still had time to eat. When I got back to the hostel, the men were all there, preparing for their dinner. I realized afterwards that most of the rooms were occupied by these men; the two rooms shown to me were the only ones available to guests.

I also found out I was the only guest in the entire pension house. It’s going to be a long night.

Dapitan on Bike

I immediately got up the next morning leaving the makeshift sheets out of my scarves and towels which lay limply on the bed. I was determined to start my day as early as possible so I could leave the place right away. I started walking towards the city center and reached another hostel where I planned to have my breakfast and rent a bike.

I was welcome by a soft music of praise, the kind of song I often hear during mass. It feels good to see how deeply rooted Christianity is in this area. Wherever I go, I see some signs of faith, symbols and icons hanging around, unpretentiously exuding how connected these people are with God.

It was one of those unplanned decisions when I asked the lady over the counter If I could have a room. I initially planned to go to Iligan that day but because of lack of sleep and the dire need to laundry my clothes, I told myself it won’t harm me to stay another day since Dapitan was supposedly just a transit for me to go to Marawi.

“Ma’am 2PM pa po ang check-in.” The lady told me. I told her it’s okay as long as I can use the bike and leave my pack inside while I search for a laundry shop for a rush service. I always wanted to experience travelling on bike but that particular time, I was beyond scared due to a bad precedence (I had a stupid accident a month ago inside a garage while riding a bike which tore my pants and gashed my knee caps into total mess. I couldn’t believe how stupid I could get to bruise myself inside a freaking garage). This hidden fear inside me made it difficult to navigate the bike that I almost caused a traffic and ended up with a broken skull.

“Breathe in, breathe out. Relax my shoulders and put the weight on my torso.” I was telling myself as I bike through the torrent of cars and motorbikes.

That morning, I passed by the post office to drop the post card, the only post card I bought in Apo Island and thought endlessly to whom should I send it. Finally, I sent it to my parents.

After finishing some errands and getting more and more comfortable with the bike, I decided to go back to the hostel to wait for the check in time.

“Pwede po makahingi ng water”. I smiled at the lady while asking for something to drink. After giving me water, she checked her watch and told me “sige, ma’am, mag check in na po kayo”. It was 9 in the morning.

I was beyond happy since checking in meant I could get to shower, rest and read some more in the comforts of my air conditioned room while lying on the fluffy, white linen bed.

I took out a copy of Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie’s Americanah and continued reading until I finally dozed off.

Mi Retiro

July 6, 1892, Dr. Jose P. Rizal was arrested. July 17, 1982 he was deported and arrived in Dapitan without the benefit of a trial. From that day until the 31st of July in 1896, Dapitan became the living witness to one of the most productive moments of our National hero’s life. It was the a period when Rizal aside from carrying out his passion in the arts and literature. He devoted his time to community services, civil works, medical practices , educational advocacy and development in Dapitan which is now dubbed as the Shrine City of the Philippines.

source: http://www.juanderfulpinoy.com/11-interesting-facts-about-rizal-in-dapitan/

I parked my bike just before the entrance and breezed my way through the door. A man warmly welcomed me and offered to tour me around. I accepted. It won’t hurt to have somebody to talk to for the whole afternoon anyway.

We walked around the compound going from one place to another while he animatedly shared with me stories after stories of Rizal and his life in exile.

As we reached a rock formation, the man gestured me to stay still and pose. “Diyan ma’am si Rizal lagi kapag sunset, nagsusulat siya diyan at diyan din sila lagi ni Josephine Bracken”.

I said thank you to the man who toured me and gave him his fee; funny how I needed to pay just to have somebody to talk to.

I went back to the benches facing the sea and started writing. To be honest, I had a hard time writing the past months and I could sense my love for writing drifting away, becoming emptier, drier. I thought of Rizal. I thought of all his novels and poems. I thought of how he used words as swords and how it brought about freedom.

I imagined him sitting by the rock, words pouring like rushing water as he wrote Mi Retiro. I thought of the feelings felt and its intensity to the point of explosion. I have felt that way, too, I realized. In the past where I seem to be consumed by an unknown force, letting all the words flow and splatter on paper. I had no control; they felt a different entity.

But I am becoming dry.

I gazed again at the sea. This was his witness, the rocks his fortress. And there I was, 100 ++ years after, walking the paths he walked, looking at the sea which captivated him. I was there.

“I also want to show those who deny our patriotism that we know how to die for our duty and our convictions. […] what does death matter if one dies for what one lives, for one’s country and loved one?”

(Rizal, 1892)

I decided to go back to the hostel and prepare for an afternoon run. I haven’t run for a while and by the looks of the Sunset Boulevard shore, it definitely be a great time.

Sunset boulevard was not named like this for nothing. It captures one of the most beautiful sunsets I have ever seen in my entire life. After running and watching the local kids play Frisbee, I looked back on how the trip unfolded so far.

I realized how small the city was; I was able to bike around and cover its entirety in less than an hour or so. There’s a certain calmness and simplicity which make it a good place to live in. Dapitan, I thought, is a place where I could see myself living. This small community of believers, where Rizal was exiled before his death and with this stunning sunset I was staring at along with the gentle river just before the city… it all tells me to stay.

It was such an intense moment of joy and relief, of peace and letting loose of all the tightness within me, of watching kids play as they bask on the golden color of the horizon.

I sat by the monument of Rizal and waited for the sun to fully set. There was peace in that moment and I was filled with a calm sense of being.