Where's Scott?

We’re running late for the ferry, and fight off the swarm of porters vying for our business to get to the Supercat counter. We meet Mabel’s sister who’s joining us for the 2 hours to Ormoc on Leyte, and the time flys by after Seb sets up his mini movie theater and we watch the first episode of Lost. We file off the boat and are met by 12 of Mabel’s extended family who’ve all come in on a small flatbed 4×4 to meet us (and for a much anticipated dinner at Jolleybee, the local KFC clone, Seb’s treat).

After dinner, we start to organize in the truck. The family makes no bones about it, we have to sit in the kingcab, with the remaining nine somehow managing to arrange themselves on small plastic chairs, squat positions, or sitting on the sidewall in the open flatbed. The space efficiency is incredible, but when I see four adults and three kids all crammed on a motorcycle, I realize this truck is spacious! (7 on a bike, and Americans can’t get 2 in a Hummer). The trip back to Mabel’s village is no walk in the park. It’s about 2 hours, the last 45 mins of which are a 10 mph bumpy crawl along an unpaved hazzard course of mud holes, rocks and slippery hill climbs (the last one of which we barely make). It’s hot in the cab, no fan let alone AC, but I can’t image how the family in the back is coping with the tossing and twisting. When we reach a lighted bit of road, a sneak a peek back, and they all look quite happy. It’s clear Jollybee is worth a few hours of discomfort, both ways. The truck’s horn is kept quite warm with liberal use (to scare ghosts away Mabel explains later), and the road is crowded in many places with dogs, chickens, kids, and crowds of adults “hanging out”; the road is clearly where the party’s at.

With the Mabel’s visa initiated, and a quick run to the Chinese cemetery for a little tourism (43 hectares, a city of mausoleums!), we’re free to head towards Mabel’s home village on the island of Leyte. The route takes us through Cebu, one of Mabel’s old haunts, and she plans on catching a few friends there. Cebu is a small slice of Manila, but since Mabel knows the Jeepney routes here we opt for using them over a taxi. The Jeepneys are great, with their crowded benches and open sides, they put us much closer to the action.

We hook up with a friend of Mabel’s and check out a local bar where many more of Mabel’s friends soon make an appearance. Much of the action in the Philippines appears to be focused around the mall, and many of the better clubs are located there. It’s clear why, the malls are climate controlled and have security frisking people at the door, so it’s a comfortable and safe environment. The local mall back home could defintely use a few wild bars with live bands! After a few hours in the bar, we hit a bigger club, catch yet more of Mabel’s friends, and another Filipino band that would put a club band in the states to shame! Damn if these guys can’t sing!

Next day, we’re a bit rough (having been out past 4), but manage to meet Mabel’s older, gay sister and her girlfriend for lunch (Seb has to point out the sister to me as she, at 25, appears to be a 14 year old boy). Mabel and her sister kick it into Visaya high gear (their local dialect), so Seb and I wander the mall to pass some time. Seb quickly spots a portable DVD player, and with the streets filled with multi-movie discs and whole seasons of popular TV series for sale for pennies, he quickly decides he needs it. We spend the afternoon scouring the DVD stalls for “Lost” and Pink Floyd, and Seb has little difficulty finding everything he’s looking for. When you can find a whole season of TV on a single DVD, shopping for a whole series is easy!

Loaded down and hungry, we finally retreat to the hotel (and a nice local food stall we spotted there earlier), and find several dozen dragon suited Filipinos preparing for action. It may be Chinese New Year, but we’ve seen no sign of it about Cebu; there doesn’t appear to be much of a Chinese presence in town, but the hotel owners clearly want all the luck of the rituals, so they’ve hired a crew of Filipinos to put on a show. The guys do the job right, loud drums and clanging cymbals bring the dragons to life, and they chase a few bystanders and pluck red envelopes that hang around the lobby (I’m guessing holding cash). Outside, a 40ft dragon spirals around the building, stopping briefly for photos. Everyone has a camera!

(edit 3/10: Henage update)

Another day of visa bureaucracy, but after some serious logistical nightmares and fair amount of legwork, we get Mabel the fabled “manager’s check” and head down to the boardwalk. Manila is a city by the sea, and enjoys warm, calm evenings making it an ideal city for ocean-front dining. We wander the water’s edge dodging between tables and street performers on the beautifully lit waterfront, all the while listening to local Filipino bands playing fantastic renditions of American classics (did I mention how Seb and I hate their uncanny ability to sound like Star Search finalists?). I read a bit about a local dive called the “Hobbit House,” a Lord of the Rings theme bar tended by little people. Since Seb has a “fear and loathing” thing going with little people (long story involving a mean little person), I convince him it’s time to give them another chance.

The Hobbit House is much older than I expect, and we learn it’s been around since the 70’s (and not inspired by the recent Tolkien revival). True to the rumor, the waiters are little people though and I watch Seb for signs of anxiety, but he plays it cool. The live band quickly draws our attention. The singer has an amazing voice (and we’re on the Filipino scale now, so we’re talking real talent!), and with only about 30 seats in the house, it’s a very personal concert. Mabel knows all the songs and sings along happily… Seb and I notice little quips such as “from my third album” and “I first debuted this song here in the Hobbit House in ’78” and start to wonder if there’s something we’re missing. All the songs a Filipino (so we naturally don’t know them) and we ask Mabel if the singer’s the author: “No, no, not write the songs!”. Ah, OK, our mistake… (“All the those who can’t understand the words to my next song have their girlfriend explain them to you” – OK, the implication that all the foreigners are men; oops, it’s true! Where are all the foreign women?) “I won my first award for this next number…” “Mabel!” we shout together, “are you sure she didn’t write all these songs?” “Yes, yes. No write the songs.”. *sigh* This is a tricky point when talking with Mabel, “yes” means I heard you, “yes,” and sometimes “I don’t know.” “No” means I didn’t hear you, “no,” and of course sometimes “know” but without the usually linguistic context. We clarify, “did she write songs!” “Not write songs!” OK, time for the internet, I hand Mabel the Blackberry: “type in the name of the song” *tick tick tack* (she types the name in Tagalog) >Search< “Asin, Philippine’s most beloved artist…” I wander outside to check the artist: “ASIN”. “Mabel, she wrote all these songs you love!” “No, not write the songs” “Who wrote the songs?” “I don’t know…”. A bit more research and we figure out that we’re getting a fantastic, front row almost private concert with the Philippine’s “Paul McCartney” – but of course Mabel’s too young to know her, she only knows the words to almost every one of her songs! Fantastic! What a treat! By now, though, Seb has had a call from Henage, an old friend of his from London who’s in town, so we’re off! Of course, we have to get the “white man’s discount” by an overcharge of 80%, so Seb is vindicated in his distrust of the smaller folk, and after a bit of corrective haggling, we make a swift exit.

Look up “character” in the dictionary, and there a full color glossy of Henage. By the time we get to his hotel it’s after 2(am), and Henage has been pickled since, oh, about 1984. Henage is only here on business, surrounding himself by old fly boys from “the colonies”. “H, is that you?” they call as they pass through… Henage spent years in the Philippines running the some of the “more interesting” bars, knows enough to have written much of the Rough Guide to the country (which he has!), but he’s since fallen in love with Thailand (or at least one Thai) and appears to hate leaving it. Henage buys us a few rounds and we hear some tall tales of the old days in Manila. The hotel itself appears to be a relic from just after the war, and I feel as if I’ve been transported back decades and surrounded by some of the first Westerners to brave the jungle. Mabel has arrived in dread fear of him after Seb told her he hates Filipinos (though not true), and she quietly hides at the corner of the bar. A few young local women storm through the bar and call back some colorful remarks from the door. “They appear to have wanted too much money” Henage explains to everyone in earshot. Henage pulls no punches, but you soon realize that he has a warm sense of humor, and below a very gruff exterior is a really likable guy… after a few minutes even Mabel warms up to him. You’ll always know where you stand with Henage, but I’d hate to be on his bad side!

After realizing that we were in Manila for a few more days for Mabel’s visa, we immediately headed out for some “real” beer and pork – both at best scarce and expensive, or at worst unavailable, in Malaysia. We ask the doorman for a direction to walk and within a block have found a Karioke bar tended by women dressed as schoolgirls with beer so cheap that it’s only slightly more than the can deposit in Michigan! After swilling $2 Tiger beers in Sempora, San Miguel (who monopolizes the beer industry in the Philippines) was a godsend! We fended off the approaches of the “17 year old girls” urging us to buy them drinks or flowers (and since 30 year old Philippino girls look 17 in granny clothes, it felt like fending off 12 year olds!), and focused on quenching our pent up thirst for barley and hops while waiting for Mabel’s friend to to drive into town and join us. It didn’t take long before the Karioke song list was passed around, and since we were drinking on an empty stomach, we were quickly drunk and stupid enough to start reading it…

Let me put it this way, everyone who’s not Philippino will quickly hate (read “envy”) the fact that Philippinos can all sing – they sing along to songs on the radio, in the mall, restaurants, anywhere… and this means that they’re generally good signers, much better than the average American, and light-years ahead of either Seb or myself; so when Seb started scaring small animals with his first 3 choice picks, I was seriously impressed when the only couple who bolted the scene in apparent pain were a German couple — all the Philippinos stayed, and even gave Seb a polite applause! Of course, they proceeded to put us all immediately to shame, and we realised just how outclassed we really were… (nowithstanding the humiliation, I managed to somehow end up with the mike when “It’s really hard to be a woman” came on :>)

Once Lizel had joined us, we hit the clubs. No tourists here, Lizel and Mabel knew the good local joints. I’ll have to admit it, the Philippinos definitely have a sense of humor! It was Model Night, but Seb and I were a bit peeved when the models all turned out to be 20 year old Philippino boys; but the joke was on us. After strutting around the stage for a few minutes in pouty model fashion, all the models tore off their clothes to reveal nappy diapers, and then continued the show as if nothing had changed! Awesome! It was going to be like this all night, Manila clearly knew how to spice up a Wednesday night.

I’ll press on past our further scuba experience; even though it was all excellent, the merits of each island paradise are really in the fine details, and as such might prove a bit tedious in the telling (although I will mention that the beach on the island of Mantubul must rank among the most picture perfect golden sand beaches in creation). So after 6 beautiful days and 15 stunning dives, we bid farewell to the Scuba Junkie gang with a few beers on the boat, and jump a taxi for the airport – we’re off to the Philippines!

We know something’s fundamentally different as soon as we jump off the plane. The pulse and character of the Philippines is a breath of fresh air compared to Malaysia (literally!). The differences are much greater than faith (Philippines is Catholic, Malaysia is Muslim), however religion clearly is a core factor in the attitudes of the people.

Tawau (the Malaysian city we hung out in before flying out) was very similar to Semporna: trash was everywhere, most people were milling about with no particular place to go; the dress was very uniform, colorful and clean, but with no individual style; the houses all appeared to be clones of the same plan, with almost no personal flair; traffic was lazy and slow; rules were followed to the letter, even if the spirit wasn’t (example being the 2 airport security guards placing “checked” stickers on all the bags as they exited the xray scanner without ever considering that perhaps they should look at the scanner’s video monitor to actually “check” the bags – don’t I feel safe! 😉

By comparison, Manila is a swirling chaos of originality! Every house has a distinct character (we spent 30 mins on the backstreets, and never saw two alike); the streets, although not freshly paved or “clean” per se, are almost completely free of trash; the Jeepneys, “stetched Jeep” minibuses that are everywhere and used as almost as moving walkway of local transport, are splashed with color and crowded with people going places and getting things done. The people have a purpose here, and the American influence is clear: make your own way, be creative, and don’t let anyone dictate what you should do (which goes as far as green means go, and so does red).

Mabel also comes to life almost as soon as we collect our bags. Up until now she’s been shy, reserved and difficult to rouse to conversation. She’s in her element now, speaks the native tongue, and knows how the system works. Suddenly, Mabel’s the boss!

We’re in Manila mainly to start Mabel’s visa application process, and so after the usual scramble for lodging, we rush off to UK Visa Inc (no kidding, there’s a company to do this for you, because it’s too difficult to do it alone! The UK is such a welcoming place…). As always, there’s a hitch – we expected at least one – and Mabel needs a “manager’s check,” rather like a cashier’s check, to pay for the visa. We immediately find that none of the banks will issue one without an existing account, which Mabel doesn’t have; hmmm, problem. Looks like we’ll be here a few days…

What can I say… Sipadan is a fairyland of pristine untouched coral reefs, massive colorful schools of fish, sea turtles gliding lazily through the torquoise waters or sleeping deeply in one of the many crags scattered along the underwater cliff wall. Sipadan is small, no, miniscule – perhaps 3 acres – but there’s nothing to do on land (in fact the Malaysians, in what Seb professes to be their only smart government action ever, kicked everyone off the island a few years back, and there’s only a few abandoned shacks there now; well, that and a few armed military personel – they did steal it from the Philippines after all). The real action is on the cliff walls all around the island.

The density and variety of life here borders on the absurd. Coral, sea anemones, sponges, plant life and an incalculable number of crawling creatures vie for land space on this crevassed, and sometimes overhanging, dead drop starting a few meters below the surface all the way down to the black depths, at some points 2000m below! Also hidden in the crags and holes, and in amongst the coral, are many (sometimes almost invisible) treasures: Lion fish, dancing harlequin sweetips, and nudibranches are the easiest to spot; more challenging are the lobster, shrimp, crabs, crocodile fish and moray eels; and if you have a really sharp eye, and know what to look for, you might spot a frog fish or a scorpion fish – but these can be so close to invisible that you can stare right at them and not see them unless they move! Seb was taking a picture of one scorpion fish at about 8in, and completely failed to see a second sitting an inch to its left; even when it was pointed out to him in the photo later, he could barely make it out.

Above the crowded wall life swirls a huge variety of more active swimming beasts. In addition to the smaller fare (and the turtles) are various species of shark, tuna, trivalis, angelfish, napolean bumpheads, batfish, jackfish, and barracuda. At one point Seb and I were in the center of a swirling vortex of jackfish – thousands of large silver creatures whirling, all with one eye watching us float there in stunned silence.

I could go on (and on and on) but words and even pictures (which we snapped a few of with a rented camera) cant capture the awe that Sipadan inspires. In the warm evening air, as we speed back to Semporna over the glassy water, Seb and I laugh that it’s ruined diving for us. Since there’s no hope of ever topping Sipadan, there’s really no point in even trying! We joke that we may one day be old fogies with one refrain for scuba diving: “Bah, I’ve seen better!”

We gear up at 7:30am and the boat leaves at 8 sharp — the scuba boat has twin 150hp motors and the water surface is very calm — in fact, the sea has almost no waves at all, and the boat tears through the water at full throttle; it only takes about 40 mins to get to the Sibuan, and our first impressions of the island is total disbelief — it’s straight out of a Hanna Barbera cartoon! Perhaps 1km long, a few palm trees, perfect golden sand beaches, and a few huts on stilts (present on all waterfront real estate in Malaysia) to add a human touch. It is… paradise, if a little unreal in it’s perfect replication of “Pirates of the Caribbean.”

We suit up and jump in — water, of course, is just ideal! 31C on the surface, and 28C most of the way down. The water’s not Hawaii clear, but the visibility is about 25m, and it is possible to lose the group (which of course we do *blush*). There’s tons of small stuff to see. Seb immediatly spots a tiny, bright red and yellow nudibranch; I immediately regret not having an underwater camera housing, but one of the other diver’s taking some excellent shots, so we get a few choice pictures later. The list of things we catch sight of is really extensive (and quite dull without the accompaniment of a few pics, sorry!) but I’ll leave it at “wow!”. My favorite sighting is of a 2ft cuttlefish (which I learn later was laying eggs with a 2nd); the colors that danced and rippled across its skin are something that I think even Lucasfilm would be hard pressed, no unable, to to dream up, let alone reproduce! I immediately abandon plans for my underwater camera case, and wish for a hi-def underwater video camera. I could have captured hours of footage that would have have been a joy on a 100in screen.

We enjoy a nice noodle lunch on the beach, and doze under a shade tree while the waves lap at the warm sand below us. Seb and I both agree that it can’t get much better than this… of course we have no idea of what awaits us the following day.

Met up with Seb and Mebal in Tawau, and grabbed an hour taxi out to Semporna. It’s great to catch up with Seb, and we jump straight into motormouth mode. Mabel is very shy at my arrival, and I think our coversation may be a bit fast for her English, so she dozes most of the ride.

Semporna is, for lack of a more descriptive (and polite) term, a bit of a dump. Trash is everywhere, but after a while you just stop noticing it. The people here are very sweet. Lots of smiles greet us at every corner. Most of the kids (and there are _lots_ of kids) want to practise their “hello!”s on us, and we’ll call back “salemet pagi!” or “salemet malam!” (good morning/evening in Malay). Semporna’s a small town, mostly apparently on stilts over the water, and Seb and I are very “visible” — it appears that the only non-Malay’s about are from our scuba house, Scuba Junkie (which is also a small guest house), and the local hotel, whose guests don’t seem to make it to town much.

Every bit of streetfront is a shop, and all of them are packed to the gills with “stuff”; there’s no rhyme or reason to it either (apart from the fish/fruit areas), everyone sells whatever they can: candy, shirts, balms and spices, flashlights, soap, anything! Most of the stalls have several people tending them, but there’s almost no aggressive salesmanship, most just wait for a sale (although I see almost no sales or money changing hands). There’s lots of activity and people milling about, lots of colorful clothing, and despite what appears to be a majority in poverty, the locals are all clean and surprisingly well dressed. Just about all are clearly Muslim, the head scarf is pervasive on the women, and alcohol can’t be found anywhere but the Scuba bar and a few Chinese restaurants/market within a few blocks of the Scuba house. The beer is criminally expensive at $2 a can (or 6 ringot, Malay’s currency), and the selection of Tiger or “Carlesbad” only rubs salt in the wound. Seb almost refuses to drink it on principle: bad beer, extortionate prices (…almost means only 4 cans a night)

The Scuba Junkie crowd are a friendly bunch, a mish-mash of Swedes, South Africans, Scots and French. They run a pretty tight ship, and the boats leave and return like clockwork. The other tourists/travelers are an even more mixed bag, many from Sweden, some from South Africa, Germany, Ireland, or Scotland, a few from Singapore or mainland China, but far fewer Aussies than I’d expected (but the have their own dive paradise!). There’s even the odd Californian, the most surprising being one of the instructors, Julie, who went to Crystal Springs for a couple years (meeting someone half way around the world who went to your tiny suburban high school makes the world seem smaller than it should!). Most of the guests are very shy, and only a few are easy to engage for more than a few minutes of coversation — they’re here to dive, and it’s all business!

Seb and I haven’t made any reservations up front, and the “prime” dive spot, Sipadan, is out for the first day — it’s a game preserve, and there’s only 100 visitors allowed each day (and the Malasians, if nothing are sticklers for the rules!). We opt for the “other boat” with goes to a different island each day, and it’s going to Sibuan tomorrow. All the islands look like paradise! No problem!

I’ve never missed a day before… I’ve slept late, been sick and spent the day in bed, or even stayed up for several in a row… but I totally missed Feb the 5th — I never saw it! It’s a bit like having your birthday on Feb 29th, most years you wake up a year older, but just didn’t have a birthday getting there; or being knocked out and waking up several days later and just losing the time in between… I took off from LAX at 11:35am, Feb 4th, and woke up before landing in Taipeh at about 3am, Feb 6th — I’d slept about 7 and a half hours, and I’d missed it, Feb 5th was gone — and my feet never even hit the ground! What an odd world this is…