I thought I would miss the last barge going to Camiguin. We just had an amazing race that morning, Tonic and I. We left Marawi a little past 9am and it took us almost 5 hours to reach Cagayan de Oro. I still needed 2 more hours to reach Balingoan port for the last trip going to the Island, yet, out of some cosmic conspiracy, the van already left, leaving me no choice but to take bus via Butuan and pray to the heavens I won’t miss the last barge.
At 4PM, I reached Balingoan. The last barge was set to leave at 4:15PM and so I hurried down the bus and bought my ticket. With no lunch in my stomach and rising anxiety on my head, I asked if the barge was still there. “Yes, it will leave in 15 minutes”. I was told. But this old lady approached me asking for some money. She was speaking to me in bisaya and I could not understand what she was telling me until she put her hands on her stomach and gestured towards her mouth. She hasn’t eaten anything yet. I told her to stay with me until we reach the carinderia where I bought some rice and meal for her. I wanted to stay and eat lunch with her but I was afraid to be left by the barge and stay overnight at the port. Plus the accommodation has been settled already and it would cost me further if I don’t hurry up. And so with a hurried smile, I told lola to enjoy her meal. That’s when I started to run. I didn’t see her smiling face nor hear what she said (which was probably in Bisaya anyway).
I ran towards the gate only to be told by the lady “Relax ate, wala pa nga ang barko”. The barge was not even there yet. It’s meant to leave at 5PM. I had time.
At past 6pm I arrived at Benoni Port. With no money left and no ATM in sight (plus hunger already being felt), I didn’t know what I should do next. A group of drivers swarmed around me asking where I’m staying but with no energy to deal with them, I entered a grocery store instead, hoping I could buy something.
From inside, I eyed each of the drivers waiting outside and checked who among them I could approach to bring me to where I’m staying. One big man approached me instead. I had no choice but to speak. He told me he knows the place and he just driven some of the guests from there going to the port.
“Kuya, wala pa ako pera. Pwede tayo dumaan sa ATM at grocery?” I asked the driver as we agreed on a price, which, by the way, was the most expensive ride I had during the course of my whole trip.
“ok sige punta muna tayo Mambajao.”
And so we went to the city center first where I could withdraw some cash and buy some food to eat and to cook for the next days since the house where I was going to stay was almost on top of an active volcano, lost in the middle of the jungle. There will be no restaurants, no fast food chains, and surely nobody who will cook meals for me. I had to do it survivor style.
It took me almost an hour to buy all the ingredients and foods I will be needing for the next two days but I still felt it was not enough.
And so we started riding towards the mountain, where PHILVOLCS was located and not so many houses were lit.
In the beginning, I enjoyed the ride to the fullest. With no lights around (except for the motorbike light), I could clearly see the beauty of the night sky. It was breath taking. It could easily skyrocket to the top 3 most beautiful night sky I have seen in my entire life (of course top 1 will always be the sky in the middle of pacific ocean in 2012). I stared too long while trying to keep my balance on the bike with my big pack on my back.
It was not after around 30 minutes or so of endlessly driving deeper and higher to the mountains that I started asking myself if we were still on the right path. I didn’t know the exact location of my accommodation (yet again) and I didn’t have any signal to search for anything. From what I know, it’s in the heart of Mt. Hibok Hibok Volcano and it would take me 30 minutes habal-habal ride from the port. But we are already past 30-minutes timeline.
I started to get anxious. I saw some big houses with nice incandescent lights that looked like the one I’m supposed to be going yet we passed by them. The driver didn’t seem to care nor to assure me if we were almost there.
We passed some more houses and everything became spooky and dark. I started praying.
As I called on all the angels and saints, I crafted a well-designed plan on my head. I sized up the man in front of me. His humongous torso and beer belly look like I could outrun him. I became hyper vigilant to my surroundings; I was looking for some spots where I could run to in case something tragic happens. I kept in my mind the nearest house, the nearest spot where I saw some humans.
I told myself that once the driver starts going off the path and enter to the wild or stop there, that’s where I will start running. Never mind my pack, I thought, I will throw it to him. There’s nothing there anyway but a bunch of dirty clothes, toiletries, books and my 2018 journals I was planning to read in Bukidnon. I could search for it the next day. All my essentials are in one small bag which I always carry.
And the plan was set.
Just after a couple of minutes, the driver stopped and directed the bike towards the right; where the path was off beaten. My heart raced. I needed to jump any moment. He glanced at me and I swear to God I was about to jump… if not for the glow in the dark sign which says “Fermin Volcano Houses”. We reached our destination. Safe. I melted in shame.
Thank goodness the driver didn’t notice my panic or my evil plan to beat him with my big bag and run away from him towards God knows where. And so with so much warmth, I said my sincerest thanks to Kuya Nato (I found out afterwards) and went inside the house built in woods and stones.
Volcano House
The house was poorly lit and the only light which welcomed us as we parked the bike was a yellow spotlight which heavily reminded me of horror movies (yet again!)
As I entered, I saw the caretaker panicked.
“Ma’am, akala ko po di na kayo dadating” (Ma’am, I thought you’re not going to come).
I sensed something’s off.
“Good evening po. Natagalan po kasi ako sa byahe kaya ngayon lang ako nakarating.” I told him as I put my pack on the chair.
“Asan po kasama niyo? Siya ang nag-book no?” (Where is your companion? The booking is under his name, right?)
“Mag-isa lang po ako. Hindi siya nakasama, may urgent meeting sa Manila nag-cancel po last minute.” (I’m alone. He couldn’t come since he has an urgent meeting in Manila.)
“Ma’am. Nag-double booking po kami, wala na po available room” (Ma’am, we have double booking, there’s no available room)
When I heard that, I didn’t know how to respond. I’ve been travelling since 9 in the morning from Marawi. I almost missed my barge and almost died because of an [imaginary] attack, and all I wanted to do that time was to take a long shower and sleep on a nice bed… But I was being told there’s no room for me. I didn’t know how to be nice at all.
I kept silent as I listened to the explanation of the caretaker, how, on the last minute, a group of production crew arrived and occupied all the rooms of the other house and how, the foreign couple had to move and take my room instead.
“Paano po ito kuya?” Was the nicest thing I have said after.
“May space po doon sa taas, pero open area lang po siya. Pwede po muna kayo dun ngayong gabi tapos bukas may bakante na po kasi lahat ng guests magchecheck out na” (There’s a space upstairs but it’s an open area. You could sleep there tonight then youcan choose wherever you want tomorrow since all guests are checking out).
I went up to check what he was talking about, only to be welcomed by this:
In my mind, this was not bad after all. Though I haven’t tried sleeping on a bed-size “hammock”, it sure did look like it’s going to be quite an experience. But I had to be realistic, too. I didn’t have any toilet, no privacy, no nothing.
I asked for the payment arrangement; I didn’t want to pay the amount I paid for an actual room only to be given this.
“Sige po, kami na lang po ang sasagot ng motorbike niyo” he said, smiling. That was good enough for me.
After all the shenanigans, I noticed to people watching us since the conversation started. They were on the kitchen (which was in front of us), preparing for their dinner.
They were both solo travelers. The guy’s Filipino and the woman Chinese.
I started preparing my meals, too and talked with both of them.
Dom, a geologist from Nueva Ecija, also traveled alone from Cagayan de Oro to Camiguin. The chinese woman, who was busy on her phone, trying to find another accommodation (This place so far! I cannot! I need food!), has been traveling for quite a while too.
Dom and I talked mostly that night, exchanging information about our work, school (tatak UP!) and travel experiences. I shared with him my plan for the next days. “I’m going to stay here tomorrow and will just explore the island by Sunday. I badly needed rest and the place calls for it. But I just don’t think I have enough food until Sunday morning at least.” I was musing aloud while trying to figure out how I could do it since we are clearly out of the civilization.
“I’m leaving tomorrow for a short tour but will be back here to check out. List down everything you need and I’ll buy it for you”. This nice gesture of kindness was what made me survive the following days.
But this kindness didn’t end there. He let me use his bathroom (he’s staying in master’s bedroom) so I could take a shower and he made sure it won’t feel scary sleeping in the common area; we found out we could actually talk even if he’s on his room and I was on my cute hammock. That’s how open the house was. How did we find out? It’s when I was about to sleep and the windows started trembling, I felt my hammock shaking and he shouted “Is that an earthquake?”. Yes it was indeed. Earthquake originating from Surigao, we found out the next day. “Yes I guess so”. I replied and went downstairs. “Holy shit I am taking shit!” He shouted. Thanks for the information, dear friend.
STAYcation
The volcano house is owned by a Spanish guy who decided to leave his comfortable life in Madrid and started living in the second smallest island in the Philippines, Camiguin. He bought a one-hectare land on Mt. Hibok-Hibok, one of Camiguin’s main active volcanos.
As I prepared my breakfast, I was greeted warmly by other caretakers and they didn’t miss the chance to apologize on behalf of the owner. I told them it’s okay and I slept really nicely and it was not that bad anyway.
I gave Dom my grocery list:
4 eggs | 1 loaf of bread| 2 beers | lights | coffee | coke zero (yes, I couldn’t help it)
I had bought the pasta and vegetables and all the condiments yesterday, so I was only missing food for breakfast and some snacks. Yet, as if not contented with what I listed, I took it back and added the most important item: 1 pint of Ice Cream.
I decided to stay in the house for the day; I had my stock of food (thanks to Dom, who arrived waving the grocery with all smiles; it seemed he enjoyed the small act of kindness), my drinks and most especially, my pint of ice cream. My music softly playing on the background as I sat on the sofa, curled inside a mint green blanket.
The house was a gem. Sitting atop Mt. Hibok-Hibok volcano, the house is covered by glass walls and open ceiling, lush greens around, dogs lazily lying outside and chandeliers made of wooden installations gave the whole place a rustic finishing touch. It heavily reminded me of Sagada, same temperature, same feeling.
The whole day was spent devouring Americanah while writing and consuming the beauty that is, Volcano House.
I lazily lounge around the house with a blanket, a spoon and an Ice Cream, a total contrasting decision since the place was already cold. But who cares, that was the perfect time to laze around, anyway.
That afternoon, I received a whatsapp message. It was a photo of one of our beneficiaries who arrived in Paris.
I sent this photo back instead:
Roadtrip Camiguin
My “free” island tour was scheduled the next day. It was also my last day in the volcano house and I moved to another house closer by the beach. It was a Sunday.
After the first mass, I found myself being toured by Erik, a local guy who seemed to be extra curious about my trip. “Are you really travelling alone? Why are you alone? Where’s your boyfriend? Why don’t you have a boyfriend? Maybe you’re just kidding me, it’s impossible you don’t have a boyfriend. Next time you come back here, you need to bring your boyfriend”. Though I told him a million times over the non-existence of a boyfriend, a part of me wanted to craft an elaborate love story so he’d leave me in peace. But then I had to endure the whole conversation until we reached White Island.
There I met this beautiful group of Auditors.
Since I had to join a group going to the island, they warmly welcomed me and made me feel I was the 7th member of their own group. This bisaya group of men coming from Davao had their auditor work in Cagayan de Oro and decided to take a break by visiting Camiguin before heading back to Davao the next day. We decided not to break the group and make the whole tour together. We convoyed around the island, hopping from one place to another, while I discovered their personalities more and more.
That afternoon, after enjoying the chilly waterfalls, we bade goodbye. They headed back to the port, I traveled my way to another hostel.
As I stepped inside the house, I was greeted by an old man. The sala was filled with the island sunset and Tennessee Waltz was playing in an old radio. That moment, I was transported back to a childhood memory I hold dear in my heart; a lazy sunday afternoon with my father’s music playing in the background as our house basked in the golden rays of sunset. It was the exact feeling.
Obi Ocha
It was my 18th day of travelling. Since I arrived in Mindanao, I’ve been travelling alone (except in Marawi when I visited a friend). The whole idea of this trip was to slow down and breathe after all the works in Manila. It was meant to give myself more time to write and reflect, look back at life and see my way forward.
My whole Camiguin trip was best summarized by the emotional ride I have felt reading Americanah. While it’s nice to write all the good and bad stuff one experiences when one is travelling, I guess it’s still nicer to have something kept for oneself. Maybe there are two reasons why I chose not to write about it, (1) it’s difficult to put these thoughts on words and (2) it’s difficult to translate these words into feelings where others can relate to.
See for yourself what I meant by these… try reading the book. But I leave you with this beautiful phrase: Obi Ocha… a Nigerian word for “a pure heart”.
The next trip will be in Bukidnon. This time, i’d get to take a spiritual retreat with Benedictine Monks on the mountains.
and so the adventure continues.
Lou x Raine 
Great post 😁