Travel Journal

Hello everyone,

I have arrived in Thailand, known as Prathet Thai to its people.

As I visited this country and its capital Bangkok (Krung Thep) in January of 2003, it has got quite a familiar feel about it. The non-western script of the language, the police officers in their ultra-tight uniforms, the perfume of incense in the little alleys off the main roads, the little ghosthouses where a woman carefully places some rice and other offerings, the polluting tuk-tuk tricycle taxis crisscrossing through the busy traffic. A lot has changed, too. Some parts of the long Sukhumvit Road I barely recognise, with a lot of new office buildings and luxury shopping malls that have been built within the past two years, and much to my surprise, Bangkok now has a brand new, Singaporean style underground metro system, the MRT. Opened only four months ago, it is very useful to get around town as Bangkok’s traffic tends to be quite congested. Unfortunately, after a couple of days using the MRT, I found myself watching the news one morning, images of a now familiar underground station (Thailand Cultural Centre, just north of the city center), where wounded were being carried out on stretchers. Two trains had collided, 200 people were hurt of which 24 seriously and the MRT was now closed for several weeks for the investigation, clean-up and repairs. So now I am zooming around the city on Bangkok’s other efficient mass transportation system, the BTS skytrain, which runs mostly along the Sukhumvit road.

Legislative elections will be held in Thailand on 6 February 2005 with 500 seats at stake in the House of Representatives (Sapha Poothaen Rassadorn). There are posters with the pictures of candidates displayed everywhere in Bangkok, including the clear favourite Thais Love Thais Party (Phak Thai Rak Thai) of Chiang-Mai born Prime Minister Thaksin Shinawatra, looking statesmanly in his elegant suit. Criticised for the deaths of Muslim protesters in southern Thailand and the handling of the bird flu outbreak, this billionaire Prime Minister has regained support, mainly due to his government’s response to the tsunami disaster and its aftermath. But inevitably, there are also posters for the protest party, the candidate displayed holding a sledgehammer.

The two most important things for the Thai people seem to be the monarchy and the Buddhist religion. Everywhere in the city, large posters of His Majesty the King Bhumibol Adulyadej, and before a movie starts in any cinema, you are requested to pay your respects to the King by standing up, as the national anthem is played, and a collage of many different photos of the King is displayed on the screen. On the streets, in the parks, people stand up and stop what they’re doing at 8 am and 6 pm, when the national anthem can be heard everywhere. Regarding the Buddhist religion, you’ll find a wat (temple) everywhere, or people on the streets selling flower offerings. When you walk past one of the many Buddha statues, it’s customary to show your respect to Buddha by making a wai, a respectful greeting with the palms of your hands pressed together, bowing your head slightly, which is also used by many Thais instead of a handshake.

The Thai food - I had forgotten how delicious the Thai food is. My favourite being Tom Yam, a soup with shrimp, sometimes chicken, mushrooms, and flavoured with lemon grass, ginger, coriander, basil, chillies and fish sauce, absolutely delicious. Then there are the dozens, no hundreds of different kinds of Thai curry. Ranging from pleasantly mild to unbelievably spicy, they have the flavours you wouldn’t find in any of our Western countries, every single one so distinctly different from the other, every taste making you want to be able to replicate it once back at home (I’ve tried, but never got it quite right).

All these things make me feel almost at home here, and I cannot wait to explore the rest of the country again, visiting sites I have been before, exploring new places, sampling more of the delicious food, and feeling welcomed by the very friendly Thai people.

After nearly two weeks on beautiful Boracay, my next destination was going to be the large island of Mindoro to the north. A large ferry brought me to the small town of Roxas, on Mindoro’s south coast, where I took a tricycle to have some lunch in the tiny town center. After some dreadful Filipino-style spaghetti, I walked out onto the street again, where I was surprised to find many people yelling at me as they came running out of their shops and houses to speak to me. Apprehensive at first, I quickly relaxed as it turned out they only wanted to know where I was from, how long I had been in the Philippines, where I was going, followed by repeated, excited instructions on how I could get to the busstation, and even though it was only 100 meters away, I was offered a lift on a motorcycle. At the busstation, basically a parking lot next to a house with a sign attached to it, people quickly gathered, smiled at me and asked me questions in their basic English. I guess they don’t get to see tourists that much in this sleepy town, and it’s quite refreshing that they are just curious and for once have no interest in getting your money, as they do in the more touristy places elsewhere.

After waiting for about a quarter of an hour, four people pointed the minivan out to me, that would take me to Calapan City, the capital of Mindoro on its northern coast. As we departed on our four hour journey, I immediately noticed how all the big leaves of the palmtrees were bent in one direction, almost as if they had been combed that way. Then, on the outskirts of the town, collapsed nipa huts, houses with their roofs torn off, and a Filipino man explained to me that this was part of the damage done by the typhoons, that raged over this area in November of 2004.

The journey led us through small villages, past military checkpoints (this province used to have rebellious activity), and we arrived in Calapan City around sunset. There, I was told that the last jeepney to the village of Sabang, my intended destination, or to Puerto Galera, the nearby town, had already left an hour ago. And as a jeepney really is the only way to travel there, I was effectively stranded in Calapan City. It’s the first time this has happened during my travels, but I’m sure it won’t be the last time. I managed to find a cheap hotel near the city center (accommodation can be quite expensive in the Philippines), and after spending the night in Calapan City, I departed on a packed jeepney, heading for the village of Sabang.

Along the way, I was once again reminded of how beautiful this country is, a landscape of hills covered with coconut trees, alongside green ricefields, thick forests with small nipa huts in the clearings. After a while, the asphalt road ended and a dirt track with potholes started, as we went over the mountains, with more gorgeous views of green valleys with the sea in the background. When we arrived in Sabang, I walked the small distance to Small La Laguna beach, a lovely stretch of sand with a handful of hotels, cottages and restaurants, and found a nice room there, where I would spend most of my last week in the Philippines.

A couple of small boats, including one yacht, had been deliberately sunk a mere 100 meters from the beach, and were now stunning diving sites. As we swam closer to the wrecks, shoals of large batfish accompanied our group of divers, swimming very close to us. The wrecks were teeming with life, home to so many different kinds of fish, including snappers, stonefish, butterfly fish, and the impressive lionfish again, looking fierce, holding still in the water. Inside the yacht, a large number of sleeping catfish, slowly crawling over eachother. In between the various wrecks, I saw some clownfish (Nemo!) in their anemones. And then there are some animals that really look like plants, or seaweed, but suddenly you see them crawling over the bottom of the sea, using their “leaves” as tentacles to move forward. A lot of nudibranches again in stunning colour, and a lone striped seasnake moving elegantly through the water. After Australia, the Philippines is really the number two country for diving in the world, but unlike the Great Barrier Reef, the dive sites here are very close to land, accessible by just wading through the surf, or taking a 10 minute boatride.

During my stay in Sabang, I met a Filipina-Australian, who was on holidays to her homeland with her son. We talked a lot about the Filipino food, about cultural differences, and also about the extreme poverty in the Philippines. She explained that most of the establishments in and around Sabang were owned by foreign investors, or foreign pensioners who had moved to this area and opened their pubs or restaurants, as it was now near to impossible for common Filipinos to start their own businesses, the costs are just too great. And I noticed again here what I had noticed in Moalboal on the island of Cebu: many older western men, with a Filipina 30 or 40 years younger by their side. A so-called Puti at Pinay ("white and Filipina") marriage therefor isn’t frowned upon, it is accepted as merely a way out of poverty for these young women. Some are quite worse off as “working girls” at one of the many bars, euphemistically called “discotheques” or “music lounges". And then there are the tens (if not hundreds) of thousands of Filipina women who work as nurses or maids in many countries around the world, sending back money to help their parents or other members in their family. My Filipina-Australian friend explained that this is unlikely to change, due to the high rate of unemployment in the Philippines, and the corruption and mismanagement at the higher levels of government. It is quite sad to realise this, and the seedy areas in the touristy parts of popular towns or villages do take away a lot of the charm of the Philippines.

Nonetheless, this is a wonderful country to visit, its friendly people proud of being Pinay (Filipina) or Pinoy (Filipino). The natural beauty of the country, with its paradise-like scenery, is just breathtaking. The enormous Catholic cathedrals found everywhere are such an unusual sight in an Asian county, as it is to find that the shopping just stops in the supermarkets at 6 pm, when everyone stands still to listen to the prayers, read out through the loudspeakers by the resident supermarket priest.

After a short visit to the town of Tagaytay, where I admired the beautiful view of Lake Taal, with the small dome of the volcano with the same name in the middle of the lake, I went on to Manila’s Ninoy Aquino International airport. There, a Thai Airways flight would take me to Thailand, the first country during my current travels that would be a little familiar to me.

After entering my name on a passenger list, I boarded one of the small motorbanca outrigger boats, that are great for short distances on calm seas, but should really be avoided once the waves get any higher than one meter.

The great thing about the small island of Boracay is that most of the buildings are hidden behind a line of palmtrees along the beach. When you arrive, you see just the wonderfully white beach and the lush green of the vegetation behind it. I checked into a nice room and went for a walk on the sandy path in front of all the shops, cafes, restaurants and hotels. Boracay seems to be Korea’s number one holiday destination, with many signs and menus in both English and Korean, the Korean tourists outnumbering the locals. Perhaps that is the reason why prices for about everything are higher than in the rest of the Philippines, and as the so-called holy week holiday sees the biggest number of tourists (including Filipinos) on this island, rates climb even higher. Still, compared to the western world, it’s very cheap, and once you see the wonderfully white beach with the calm see in various shades of blue, you forget about the rest and just adore this paradise-like environment.

In the evenings, the palmtrees are illuminated with lamps and the lights you usually see in Christmas trees, and a surprising number of Filipino boys are selling luminescent sticks, blinking earrings and laserpointers, which they aim on the sand near your feet to try to get your attention. Children are asking for a few Pesos for their big sandcastles, or the flower-like patterns they have created on the beach, beautifully crafted and lit by oil lamps placed inside.

Boracay, like most parts of the Philippines, suffers from frequent electricity blackouts, sometimes several times a day. For up to half and hour, everything is pitch black, apart from the more luxurious resorts that have their own generators, and candles and battery-powered lights are quickly brought out. Because not all areas are affected, they call these “brownouts” (I suppose “partial blackout” is not in their vocabulary?).

During the day, I went for frequent swims in the cool, clear blue water of the sea, or worked on my suntan. As a dark skin is considered undesirable by Filipinos (and actually by the people of most Asian countries, hence the popularity of skin-whitening creams here), the locals usually went for a swim just before sunset, and then still with most of their clothes on. The Filipino men also have another, weird way to cool off: by rolling up their t-shirts to just under their chest, exposing their bellies and lower backs. You see lots of men walking around this way, and I just hope it’s as effective as it looks silly. In the evenings, I went for cheap San Miguel beer at some of the many bars and cafes on this island, where both locals and travellers go for a good night out, or I tried some of the cocktails they have on offer.

During Christmas day on Boracay, groups of Polynesian children walked around singing English Christmas carols with beautiful voices. Unfortunately, most of the other indigenous people on the island are beggars, mothers with their children sitting in the shade on the beach, holding up their hands, as restaurants put out signs with their Christmas Day turkey or roast beef menus.

I was in my room, in the early evening of Boxing Day, Sunday 26 December 2004, as I received a text message from a family member in Holland, informing me about an earthquake near Indonesia, and a tsunami that followed. As I walked outside, quite a number of tourists and locals alike had gathered in front of the restaurants and cafes that had televisions with BBC World or CNN, and even the staff watched silently as the news was unfolding. The Philippines has had more than its share of natural disasters, like the many destructive typhoons that have raged over its land, and the deadly eruption of Mount Pinatubo in 1991, which was the second largest volcanic eruption of the 20th century. But nobody was quite prepared for the horrible images that we were seeing, watching in disbelief, unsuccesfully trying to comprehend the enormous scale of this natural disaster. After that, and as the death toll grew exponentially in the following days, it was quite surreal to be on a tropical island with its beautiful beach, not unlike those places on the west coast of Thailand, that have now been wiped away. It sends shivers down your spine to think how it must have been for the tourists on those beaches of Thailand and India, for the people in Aceh who had already suffered so much because of years of violent conflict, for those Sri Lankan fishermen, and for the tens of thousands of children, who died or are now orphans. You count yourself lucky, as you inform worried familymembers and friends that you are okay. Six weeks ago, overlooking the lava valley and the volcanoes of the Bromo-Tengger-Semeru National Park on Java in Indonesia, I was thinking how insignificant we humans really are in the face of the power of nature. As the death toll is still growing, and recovery of the affected areas is likely to take several decades, this catastrophic event is once again painful reminder of that insignificance.

That excited feeling when you hit the water, then a final check before you slowly descent into the dark blue depth, your equipment not heavy anymore as you’re now weightless. The only sound you hear is the hissing of air through your regulator, and then, as you exhale, the release of the many bubbles, slowly climbing to the surface. You look to see if your buddy is okay, you give eachother the okay sign by making a circle with your thumb and index finger. Then, you slowly drift past a bank of coral, there’s suddenly just too much to look at, the rock-like brain coral, which really does look like an enormous brain, rounded-bubble coral, slowly moving back and forth with the currents, small multi-coloured Christmas-tree worms, that retract into the coral quickly when you move in close, and slowly fold out again. You find nudibranches, best described as small underwater snails but in the most beautiful of colours. And then shoals of fish, quickly swimming past, their movements so synchronised, a big green turtle lazily swimming over the coral. Camouflaged scorpionfish are preying for food, a scared octopus quickly changes colour and hides. You do forget about time, but still regularly check your depth and the remaining pressure in your tank. You watch as a pair of yellow-black butterfly fish swim in front of you, and then you notice a ghostpipe fish, resembling more a cactus than an animal. Hovering in between the coral is a fierce looking lionfish, zebra striped, with its feathery pectoral fins and its venomous dorsalfin spines. Towards the end of the dive, you go shallower, golden rays of sunlight piercing the water, illuminating the coral with its many colours, every meter is a world of discovery. Then, when you get back on the boat after nearly an hour of diving, feeling tired but exhilirated, you just want to go back again, as soon as possible, to that strange and beautiful undersea world.

Moalboal (pronounced Mo-all bo-all) is a small town on Cebu’s north-west coast, and along the Panagsama beach there are a dozen of hotels and guesthouses, bars and restaurants, and many dive shops. In 1984, while still recovering from typhoon Maring the week before, the region was devastated by monster typhoon Nitang, with its 275 kph winds, nearly wiping out the entire town, leaving thousands dead and hundreds of thousands homeless on the southern islands of the Philippines. A Filipino confided in me that although rebuilt, Moalboal hadn’t been the same ever since, the coastline changed, its beach now a rocky strip, a lot of the coral destroyed. It’s a quiet, sleepy town now. Some foreigners have chosen this place as their home, their enormous sea-side villas in stark contrast with the surrounding huts and shacks of the Filipinos, who earn their living as fishermen, or by taking tourists on their motorbanca outrigger boats. The locals are friendly, greeting you as you walk on the small, unpaved road, the smell of barbecued fish or meat coming from the small foodstalls. At night, the stars are bright, the sound of the crashing waves only interrupted by groups of young children, singing Christmas carols and then holding out their hand for a couple of Pesos.

After a week of diving in Moalboal, I went back on a bumpy busride to Cebu, enjoying the beautiful scenery along the way. There, I booked a flight for my next destination - the small island of Boracay, off the coast of Panay. At the check-in desk in the departure hall of Cebu’s Mactan airport, I at first thought they made a joke when the attendants asked me to step on the luggage weighing scale, but no, they were serious. I started wondering how small the aircraft would be, as I made my way to the departure lounge. It turned out to be the smallest airplane I have ever been in, a 12-seater LET, painted bright red. From the cabin, you had a view of the cockpit and the back of the heads of the pilot and co-pilot, as they started the first propellor, and then the second one. A member of the groundcrew quickly yelled the safety instructions to us, before she left the plane herself and closed the door behind her. The craft needed only a small part of the runway before it ascended steeply, leaving Cebu behind us. After an hour, flying high above the water dotted with islands, the plane descended, and just when it seemed it was flying into the mountains of Panay, it made a sharp turn. We were flying 30 meters above the surf, then fishing boats and beach, followed by houses and palm trees, and we flew so low that it seemed almost possible to grab some coconuts. Ten seconds later the plane touched down on the airstrip, followed by the sound of the screeching of brakes. The plane taxied to a tiny parking lot with one other, bigger airplane, a helicopter and a handful of ground crew, and the pilot neatly parked it next to the other airplane. He then removed his headphones, turned his head around, and personally welcomed us to Caticlan - Boracay airport. It was four days before Christmas, I was looking forward to exploring Boracay, unaware of the impending disaster that would shake the world, only five days later.