I woke up with an intense stomach ache. I guess it had got to do with all the junk I ate yesterday. I finally decided not to extend my trip in Baler and went back to Manila with the three musketeers. My flight to Cebu was at 7:50 on Wednesday morning and I was dead scared I might miss it. But thanks be to heavens, I made it and I just had to endure an hour of delay because of “air traffic”.
I’ve been to Cebu in 2013, with the same itinerary but for a different reason. That time, I had to travel alone from Cebu City down to Santander Port so I could go to Bais, Negros Oriental for a weekend of “Dolphin Research” with my friend’s group of Marine Biologists. Now, I was going to Santander port too, but in a few days time, since I opted to stay a bit longer in Oslob to swim with the whale sharks and visit some sites.
I was startled to discover that I could not remember any of these places anymore even if I’ve been here 6 years ago. I could not remember how I went from the airport to the city center, nor was my trip from the center to the terminal. I could not remember how extremely urbanized Cebu City was and how friendly the people are. I remember 6 years ago, as I was walking with my big pack along the streets of the city on an early morning, a driver stopped and took me to the terminal telling me in the most gentle way how dangerous it is to walk on the streets that early and alone.
Now, what’s fascinatingly peculiar were the stares of the people. As I took my lunch in a restaurant inside the mall, the waiters were all staring and smiling as if knowing that I am an alien in their native land (thanks to my big backpack for selling me out). They asked about my reasons for travel, if I’m doing this alone and why I am doing this alone and they were extra attentive to my needs. So far, it’s a sign that this trip will be nice, if people wherever I go, will respond to me the same way.
I managed to attend a mass at the Basilica de Sto. Nino just before hopping on a bus for a 4-hour ride going to Oslob. The Basilica remained the same as how I remembered it 6 years ago. The altar was still extravagantly beautiful and the Magellan’s cross remained caged in the corner.
But what I didn’t notice before that I noticed that morning were the women holding red candles and incessantly praying aloud in front of the church. They were too many to count. They wore a yellow shirt and red skirt. They carried an umbrella to shield them from the piercing heat. I approached a lady who was standing idly in the corner. “Ano po ang ginagawa niyo?” (What are you guys doing?). Nagdadasal kami para sa mga tao (We are praying on behalf of the people). Bibili sila kandila tapos ibibigay nila sa amin para ipagdasal namin sila (They’re going to buy a candle and they’d give it to us so we can pray on behalf of them).
It was an interesting sight, a part of the Cebuano culture that may also be happening in Manila, say , in Quiapo or in Baclaran. I asked myself if the prayers of these ladies in yellow and red are more powerful than the prayer of the individual himself. I had to park the thought and rush my way to the terminal.
I relied completely to the bus conductor. I didn’t know the exact location of my hostel and I didn’t have any internet data to search for it. I told the conductor where I needed to go and he told me reassuringly that he’ll take care of it – another gesture of Cebuano hospitality, I mused.
After 4 hours, I reached a space just beside the hi-way where my hostel was located. The place was quiet and subtle. The sign says “Nature. Food. Rest”. I booked for a tent knowing that I don’t need much for the next days. The hostel calls it “Glamping”, a glamorous camping because it’s not the usual tent with nothing in it. Inside the tent were the following: 2 folding beds, one fan and a tiny desk and lamp. It’s more than what I needed.
The tent was pitched in the middle of a garden surrounded by Nipa huts and tree houses where other guests were lodged.
Upon arrival, I checked the list of those who are staying: 2 French, 2 Taiwanese, 2 Japanese, 2 German, 2 Europeans, 1 Taiwanese and 1 Caucasian… and me. I was the 13th guest. Most of them were couples, I found out the next day, as we swam with the whale sharks… and I was the only Filipina. At the back of my head, I was waiting for the 14th guest. But it didn’t come. 13 became the lucky number then.
If there’s an upside of traveling alone, it’s the fact that the staff are extra friendly to you. I was overwhelmed by the hospitality the locals gave me. Everything I needed, they provided, sometimes for free (like the gears or some trips). I was prioritized during tours, they always asked if I was enjoying and they acted as if they were my travel companions. One night during dinner, I found out that one staff was actually living before near my place. With all the laughter and shared stories, I felt the warmth of this trip, I guess it’s not bad to do this thing alone after all.
I asked one staff if there’s a beach where I could run or a place where I can do some sports (since I committed to continue doing sports even while I’m travelling). He told me there’s a nice beach down the hill, if I’m up for a 200-step staircase challenge, but there’s no space for running. “The 200-steps staircase is an exercise already, ma’am!” He told me gladly. I politely smiled and thanked him but in my head “But 200-steps staircase is not enough! I need a space where I can run!). And so I went down the hill to check out the beach he’s telling me. As I went down, I caught a couple making out on the lagoon-ish part of the beach. I thought they were the Frenchies, and I guessed right when I saw french magazines by the bench.
I wanted to swim but I didn’t want to be rude and just swam in the middle of all the making out. The other side of the beach was rocky and waves were crazy and I just couldn’t jump and swim there; I had to wait for the Frenchies to leave so I could take their place.
But after a couple of minutes of waiting, another couple arrived… This time, it’s an old Caucasian man with a young, petite Asian girl. I remember it was in 2016 during my holidays in Batangas when I saw the same kind of couple: old white man with a young Filipina woman (but probably older than me). Judgement took over and I couldn’t stand seeing them. But when the woman approached me with gentleness and authenticity, I felt extremely bad. Who am I to judge them? I don’t know their story, I don’t know even know their names. After that incident I told myself that I should not be a judgmental a**hole and I should take the people as they are. The Frenchies left and the other couple took over their place.
After a while, as they were about to leave, I was greeted warmly by the Caucasian man and told me to enjoy the cool waters. The sun was starting to set. I still had a bit more time to enjoy the tide before darkness takes over and waves become more furious.
I went up just after the sun disappeared and the 200-steps staircase that I thought was “nothing” suddenly became a serious torment. It literally took my breath away and left my legs shaking.
That night, I tried hard to eat a decent meal. But my stomach was still in chaos; it couldn’t accept anything except water. I thought of having a massage, maybe it would ease some twisted muscles here and there and maybe it can also fix my unhappy gut. When the masseuse arrived, I told her about my state of being. “I just had surfing the other day and these are bruises from the trip.” I pointed the big black patch on my inner thigh just above my right knee, another bruise on my arm and another one on my left leg. “Also, my stomach is aching since yesterday and I don’t know what caused it.”. She nodded and told me she’ll check it after the massage.
By the time she was examining where the pain was located on my belly, I let a cry of pain after she pinned her finger on my upper abdomen. “Ayan, kaya masakit kasi puno ng hangin ang tiyan mo. Yung pulso mo andito, dapat malapit yan sa pusod mo. Teka, hilutin natin” Afterwards she told me more things. “Kapag gutom ka, kumain ka dapat agad. Wag mong hayaan na malipasan ka ng gutom. Wag mo rin hayaan masyado mahanginan tiyan mo, wag ka magsuot ng mga damit na kalahati lang.”
I found that moment extremely comforting. I missed my mother. Every time I have any pain, it’s my mom who would massage it. She’d massage my feet, my stomach, my back, my head every time I feel stressed or tired or in pain or sick. It’s the tender warmth of my mother’s hand that made me feel better when I was younger. But now that I was 1-hour plane ride away from home and that I haven’t had seen my mother for months on end, I found this old lady’s massage somewhat consoling.
Afterwards, she told me to drink some hot water. A staff gave me some right away with a smile on his face.
I slept like a baby that night.
On Whale Shark Encounter
At 4:45am, I heard a light tap on my tent door. “Good morning po. Alis na tayo”. We were scheduled to swim with the whale shark that morning.
While I know the reputation Oslob has with regard “disrupting the habitat of whale sharks”, the curious side of me couldn’t help but to experience first hand what it feels to swim with these gentle giants.
We arrived at the jump off point a little past 5am and the place was already crowded by groups of Chinese, Japanese, some Caucasian and locals. It was crazy to think that this multitude of people will go towards where the whale sharks are and swim there.
It’s too much. We were probably around 100-150 people just at that time and surely, a lot more will arrive at a later time.
“We are the first to ride a boat!” A staff told me triumphantly. “One staff had to come here at 1am to secure our slots”, he added.
The first batch of boats will row their way towards the sea at 6:30am. And true enough, we were the first one to go.
The waves were rough and the boat was small. The french girl screamed as the waves hit the boat. “Ca va, lyn. Ca va”. She told herself as she calmed herself down.
It took us roughly 10 minutes to reach the viewing / swimming area. The whale sharks were already there, as they were being fed by the fishermen. And then we jumped out of the boat.
The sight blew my mind. Here they were, swimming gently across the sea, possibly fed up with all the people and boats.
I swam closer to one whale shark just for fun but I regretted it afterwards; it was difficult to swim away from it as it glided towards me. I panicked. Thankfully it turned and swam away instead.
Most of the people were there to have their photos taken. I didn’t have an underwater camera but I bought a cheap waterproof bag for my phone. I asked the boatman if he could take it from my bag and give it to me. “Naku ma’am, marami nang nasirang phone dito dahil sa waterproof pouch na yan”. I listened to him and let my phone inside my bag; I couldn’t afford to travel in the next few weeks without a phone.
And so without a camera and only few more minutes to swim, I move towards the sea and away from the people on life vests having their pictures taken every minute.
Now, for those readers who would like to know what it looked like under the water, here are some photos I saw online which closely resemble what I experienced during the 30-minute swimming with the whale sharks:
We went back to the shore and headed straight to the hostel. I had my breakfast before going to another island: Sumilon.
Sumilon Island
The rest of the guests decided to stay at the hostel. So it was me with two Japanese men who went to Sumilon Island for the next couple of hours.
I was seated beside two women and I could tell by the looks of them that this girl on my right is the daughter of the old woman beside her. I remembered again my mother. Of all the trips I have done in my life so far, I haven’t actually traveled with any of my family members. I know deeply that I wanted to bring my mother to Batanes. “Anak, diyan ko talaga gusting pumunta”. But it never happened. And so during that 20-minute ride going to Sumilon, I told myself the next trip I’m going to make is to Batanes… with Mama.
The island was small and crowded with tourists. The sea was turquoise and clear. The sun was hot and viciously intoxicating. For some reasons, I forgot to bring a book (and money) and I had no choice but to waste my time doing what I don’t normally do: “sunbathing”. I somehow told myself that for this trip, I’d get the darkest/tannest I could be just to feel that I clearly did enjoy the whole beach thing.
As I scanned the whole stretch of sand, I saw some Filipino groups nestled inside a big umbrella, with long sleeves and hat, scared to get in direct contact with the sun. The other side was full of Chinese, Japanese and Korean tourists in bikinis, posing one after another for some photos. At the far end were the Europeans, lying gloriously on the sand while waiting for their skin to catch some color.
I decided to swim. That’s where I met Sumaya (Fun fact: in tagalog, Sumaya means “to become happy”). Sumaya was one of the rare finds in the island. She was swimming peacefully with her hijab on when she caught my presence and greeted me “Bonjour”.
“Salut”, I replied back with a smile on my face.
“ahhh, parlez-vous francais ?”, she excitedly asked. She must be a couple of years younger than me. Her voice sweet, like the sound of chimes on a breezy day.
“Non, I just understand a bit” I said in full defense
“alors pourqoui tu parles, non, comprends francais?” she inquired.
“I work with some French volunteers in my organization”.
“Where are you from?”
“Manila. You?”
“France. Paris. What’s your name?”
“Lourraine. You?”
“Sumaya.”
“Are you here for vacation?”
Yes, I’m here on a vacation with some friends. Are you travelling alone?
Yes. Well, enjoy your day, Sumaya.
Profite bien, Lourraine.
And I swam away.
I could tell that I was not in the mood to mingle with people and I just wanted to enjoy the sun and the sea, that when I saw a lone man looking at me and I sensed he’s going to approach to start some conversation, I swam further away. But to my surprise, he was there just behind me.
“The fdfjnei irjtor a pool no?”
“Sorry?”
The sea looks like a pool. A Big pool. He said while smiling and admiring the beauty of the waters.
“Ah yes ! it’s beautiful.”
“Where are you from?”
“Manila. You?”
“Italy.”
“Ahh Italiano !” (I cursed myself afterwards for letting out such a stupid remark)
“Are you travelling alone?” I asked to redeem myself from the stupidity of my previous comment.
“Yes. My friends already went back to Italy and I decided to stay 10 days more. And you?”
“Yes, for now. But my friends from Manila will fly over the weekend to join me in Dumaguete. Well, Enjoy !”
And I swam away again. I didn’t even ask his name nor I showed some interest in making further conversation. But I guess I was still sick in the gut (or in my mind) that I can’t be just a hospitable Filipina woman I’m “expected” to be.
The sun was piercing and after a couple of hours, I went back to the hostel.
The plan was to go to Dumaguete that afternoon to welcome Hazel and Ace and so I packed my stuff and bid goodbye and remembered my phone inside the waterproof pouch.
When I took it out of the pouch, the phone was sizzling hot. I tried opening it. Nothing happened. I tried restarting. Nope, didn’t budge. I knew that morning I charged my phone to full but it’s impossible it was drained now.
It’s just now that I realized, when the boatman told me a lot of phones were broken because of the waterproof pouch, he was not talking about having it destroyed by sea water but because of the insulated heat ! How foolish. (No, just kidding, he was really talking about the phones getting broken because of leak)
After 30-minutes of trying and failing, I finally told myself that my phone was broken. Overheat. I tried to be composed and thought of ways on how to fix this mess. I couldn’t afford to buy a new phone and I don’t want to even spend on that. I turned off my Facebook before starting my trip and I didn’t have any intention of opening it up. It’s 1PM. Hazel and Ace are expected to arrive in Dumaguete at 4PM. I still have 1 hour travel time by bus and boat going to that island.
With no phone and no patience left, I decided to go earlier than usual to Dumaguete.
Lou x Raine 
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