Reggie Thomson’s Diary

Just before breakfast, the clouds came up the valley. I rushed off to see if I could get a moody shot. Then I came back to order some porridge and a pineapple pancake. The porridge was great - and there was plenty of it. The pancake was huge, too. I figured I would do without lunch, so needed a good start to the day.

It had clouded over a little, but I set off in the hope that I would be able to take some photos. I went down the path to the village in the valley. I like the tiny paths along the sides of the terraces, though they are narrow, with a single layer of stones to walk on, and sometimes slippery. I had been given rough instructions how to get to the waterfall and as usual I turned down all offers of guides to take me there.

Just past the village, I noticed three other foreigners walking the same way, but stopping frequently to look at plants. I thought at first they might be botanists, but it turned out that they were all Swiss, and one was a guide who had been here for four years. He had waved me to the correct rice terrace to get up the hill to the house at the top - it’s often quite difficult to know which path to take. We met at the top, as I drank my Coca-Cola. I was worried that he might resent me tagging on, when the Swiss couple had probably paid a lot for his company, so I set off down the other side.

It was quite a long walk down a dirty, littered path, with a roaring river deep in the valley below. I had to negotiate a landslide on the way. Finally, I turned a corner, and the waterfall came into view. It was quite impressive, perhaps because of all the recent rain. When I tried to take a photo from close-by, I was thwarted by the spray that shot up from the pool. I had to wear my raincoat and leggings to prevent myself getting soaked.

As I set off again, it began to drizzle, so I kept the raincoat on. Back at the house on the hill, I ordered another drink. I could see the three Irish folks taking the wrong terrace to get up - but they arrived all the same. We had quite a chat while the rain increased to a downpour. They had been saving for three years and planning for two weeks to take a year out. They had already visited India, which they said I would like. They were staying in the hostel above me, so I said I would drop in at night.

I went down to the thatched houses below, and then headed round to the riverside. It looked as if there was a path, and indeed I was able to get round the promontory. At times I couldn’t see if the path continued, but it always did, disappearing over ledges or down rocks. Round the other side were some of the red plants that I wanted to take a photo of, but I couldn’t find a good angle. I climbed up to a small hut near a gravestone. It puzzled me that there were no graveyards in the area. This is a community that has been building rice terraces for thousands of years, but it didn’t seem to have a graveyard.

From round that hill, I could see more terraces on the other side of the valley. Many of them were ripe. I noticed that there was a young boy sitting in a small hut, pulling on strings that would make the bird-scaring devices twitch. Most of them were plastic bags, but I liked the one that was a local plant that jumped up and down when pulled. I couldn’t see how to get to the house, but I’m sure there is probably a tiny path going a long way round.

Climbing back to my hotel, I passed some large leaves that had raindrops on them, so was able to take a more interesting shot, even in the dim overcast light. One gentleman pointed out the direction for me, and when we got chatting, revealed that he was the cousin of the hotel owner.

Back at the hotel, it was a little early to order my lunch. Instead, I took a bath. Then I ordered pizza and vegetable chop suey and fruit salad. I hadn’t eaten at lunchtime, so wanted a hearty meal. It was so hearty that I couldn’t finish it all. The fruit salad came first. The pizza was huge - a large plate with a pizza crust base and a n inch of vegetable topping. I was full afterwards.

I read a little more of my book checking that I could get from Borneo to Singapore. After the meal, the children didn’t gather round - I figure because their father (or maybe both parents) had gone away to Manila to sell their chess set. So, I walked up to the top of the hill to join the Irish folks and two other foreigners - and Englishman and a Canadian, I think.

There was a wood carving on one post - a person with arms outstretched, and a penis the length of the arms. Hmm. Around it, many dragonflies buzzed. The hotel staff started swatting them and collecting them in a pan - I gather they will fry them. Not for me, no thank you. We swapped stories, and joked with the Canadian about the water he had collected from the roof - I’d seen boys peeing on the roof below my hotel! By nine, it was raining heavily again. I had to walk back to my hotel in the rain and using only my pen torch - quite an ordeal.

While I was eating breakfast, I recharged my battery, explaining it used less electricity than the computer. Part of the restaurant area had been sectioned off for a conference, but I only needed to leave my charger there. The sun peeped out of the clouds briefly, so I took a snap from the hotel window.

My trousers are still slightly damp, as are some of the socks and the shirts. It didn’t seem to make a difference if I hung them inside or out. I had to wear them, though, and soon set off. As I was buying some biscuits in a shop, the jeepney went past. Too bad, I thought. I will walk. However, I returned to the market area just to check. There was very little traffic on the road to Batad, so it might not be possible to hitch. One jeepney said he might go later, but then another person advised me that it would go if there were people in it - otherwise it wouldn’t. I walked.

The walk was very pleasant. For most of the way, the road was passable. Sometimes I had to negotiate deep mud. From time to time I would purchase some Coca-Cola at tiny roadside shops. One little village had a sign saying “Best traditional houses 30 steps down.” I went to investigate. A gent was leading a cow, and tied it up on what I thought was the path. I had to go round it carefully. It had mean-looking horns, but didn’t bother me. Actually, I was on a dead-end, and had to go back to get to the path down. I wasn’t so impressed with the houses - thatched pyramid roofs on little stilts. Some children came out, but I wasn’t sure they were so friendly.

I continued on my way. The Coca-Cola truck was parked at one shop. He offered to take me to Batad. However, I was thirsty, and wanted a drink. By the time I came out, he had gone. When I started walking, thinking I could take some more photos, the clouds descended. I could see very little. I should have taken the Coca-Cola truck. Later, I saw it just ahead, and ran to catch up with it. “I can’t take photos now because it is cloudy. Is it O.K. if I come along.” He agreed, but had some business to do at the village. I waited for half an hour, and then thought it would be better to walk. If he passed me, maybe he could give me a lift. The clouds had risen a little. In fact, when he did catch up, I was at the top of the pass, and it was only another two kilometres to the Batad junction. I walked all the way.

There was a tiny hut perched on the side of the mountain selling drinks and cookies. I bought the usual drink, and some biscuits, which were quite tasty. The lady didn’t have sufficient small change, so I bought a few spare packets. Then I set off up the track. A few hundred meters on I met a Dutch couple, who assured me I wouldn’t have difficulty finding a place to stay.

It was quite a climb to the top. There I met a French guy, and we stopped to chat for a while. He was going the other way, and recommended the three-hour path to Bang-an. There were several trucks parked at this point but from here on it was a tiny path. Batad does not have any vehicles. I continued on my way, stopping at a viewpoint to take some more pictures, then proceeded to the village.

The first hotel said they were full up. Another one also was full - there had been a wedding. The third said they might have a room, but then said no. I walked on to the Batad Pension. I was able to choose my own room, which would cost only 35 pesos. I dumped my stuff and went for a walk. I could see that there were lots of photos I would need. I climbed down tiny steps on the sides of the walls of the rice paddies, and wanted a good photo. I noticed the red leaves of a plant, contrasting well with the green of the rice. I would have to find a good example.

Some Irish folks went past, so I said hello and was told it wouldn’t be difficult to get to the waterfall. Today I would just take some photos and look around. I had promised my hotel that I would get back by about 5.30 or 6 - there is no electricity, so I assume it is bett er if I eat while it is still light. I walked onl y as far as the main part of the village in the valley. One man, in a strange body-loin, said “You take my picture, you give me money.” I didn’t take his photo. If I want to pay for a model, I will go to a good place. Otherwise it is just a snap.

Back at the hotel, I ordered rice with vegetables. There was plenty of it. I was very full. They put on some music and lit the gaslight. After my meal, one young boy asked if I could play chess. So I played chess all evening. I lost. At first I was doing quite well. Then he cornered me. “Big Trouble,” I would say, and the children would repeat it. The owner told me that the hotels above sometimes say that he has gone away - so they get the business. He is also into woodcarvings, and will take his chess-set to Manila tomorrow. Hence I had to use a simple set.

I lost the game of draughts, too. The rules are different - it seems one can jump backwards even before one is crowned. I lost the next game - a breakout game. By eight, it was time to go to bed. I lit some candles in my room, and used my torch to get to the toilet.

In the distance I could hear the sound of a guitar and lots of singing - mostly familiar English songs. I thought it was probably the foreigners, but in fact it turned out to be the wedding party - perhaps the jeep that I had met on the way. I lay awake, wondering about the litter.

In the morning I had another pancake to supplement my All-bran. It was cloudy and wet. Perhaps today will be a day off. I stayed inside, typing on my computer until the batteries were down to 20%. Then I went downstairs to plug in for another two hours and continued typing after lunch.

Later on, I went for a walk, to stretch. I had to wear my shorts and jumper, since my trousers are still wet. First I walked through the village, peering into some of the woodwork shops. They were dark inside, and the wood was mostly dark, too. From time to time I would meet other foreigners doing much the same. In one shop I noticed some interesting carvings - with very thin characters. I chatted to the sculptor for a while. The carvings are of typical village scenes - threshing the rice, pounding it, and making rice wine. The thin carvings are actually a recent style - just to be different. I quite liked it, and took some photos. The lady gave me her address, when I said I might put the photos on the internet.

I met an Australian who organises trips into the mountains. He was taking some other Aussies to stay in one of the rice huts. He mentioned that, on one of his trips, the company sponsoring it need a photographer. However, it is just before I leave for Malaysia, up in the Pinatubo volcano.

Thinking it might rain tomorrow as well, I walked back up the same path, past the same children asking the same questions. It turned out that the rice paddy where I’d met the young lady yesterday was the route across to another village. I tried to take some photos of it, but the clouds began to descend. I decided to do so too, not wishing to get lost in fog. The people in the village wanted to guide me to a waterfall, but I wasn’t going so far.

I ate well that evening, and used the computer a little. I also chatted with a German couple.

Showers and toilets are getting decidedly spartan. Still, I splosh myself with cold water from a small pail. It’s good for the body. Breakfast was a pancake with thick jam on top. When I had packed, I came down and asked to pay the bill. The lady waved the receipt in front of me and said 194. It seemed a little more than I was expecting, but I handed over a 500 peso bill, and was given my change. They had taken away the receipt, so I asked to see it. I was surprised to see they had charged me 50 pesos for “computer.”

“What’s this for?” I asked. “You used your computer last night.” “It doesn’t cost 50 pesos - maybe it uses one or two pesos of electricity.” I was annoyed because they hadn’t negotiated a price. I argued that it was less than a fan, and most places charged about 50 pesos for the use of a fan for a whole night. I said I would be willing to pay five or ten pesos. At first they were going to call the manager, but they then just handed me the 50 peso bill. I left feeling a little annoyed.

First I looked for the bus or jeepney stop. However, there wasn’t even a jeepney waiting. I asked where the road to Banaue was, and it was pointed out to me. There weren’t many roads to choose from. It was a bright morning, and the track lead through some beautiful scenery, so I began to forget about the altercation at the start of my day. I figured that with charges so low, they have to charge for everything extra, but was annoyed that there had been no negotiation prior to use. Next time I would make it clear that I needed to use the computer before I booked the room.

I walked for over an hour, stopping to take photos of the rice fields and river below. The village of Bontoc was nestled around the foot of the hills, but didn’t look so photogenic. I avoided the barking dogs.

A family stopped for me. They were going all the way to Banaue and could take me there. I sat in the back of the jeep with four of the children. My rucksack squeezed a little under on of the seats, but didn’t quite fit. There were large rust holes all over the floor. When we went though puddles, I was worried that my gear would get wet, but somehow it didn’t. It was a very bumpy ride. I tried taking photos through the grill - there weren’t any windows - but the road was far too bumpy. I had to try and predict when I thought a photo might appear, turn the camera on, turn the screen on, try to get it to focus at infinity, then hanging on with the shutter button half-pressed, hoping that a good scene would just appear. I even put the quality down, because I think the shutter speed goes up to 1/2000 sec at small size. None of the photos came out. It really wasn’t worth it. I can’t take photos on the move on rough ground.

At one point, we stopped to let someone on the back. He didn’t come in - just hung onto the back step. Later, when he jumped off, I noticed he had been sick.

We stopped the jeep at a small house that had a tap and hose outside it. However, the engine stopped, and it was very difficult to start again. They tried hitting something under the wheel - I had no idea what it was. Soon a truck came by. It was full of people standing in the back. Then another jeep turned up. Everyone piled out and started to push. Soon the jeep was running again. The truck headed on but the second jeep seemed to stay near us all the way to Banaue.

We stopped at a waterfall to have some lunch. There was some rice and a thick paste of red beans. Everyone ate with their hands, and I did, too, after washing mine in the stream. I didn’t eat the meat or fish - seeing how the flies would land on it. The book says you are supposed to eat whatever is put in front of you - even a little of it. This is going to be difficult. The other jeep had stopped behind us and were eating lunch, too. One of the boys took them some rice and some of the bean paste. So, I began to think they were travelling with us, but I wasn’t quite sure.

The furthe r we went, the worse the road became. I had to hang onto the doo r with one hand and the railings with the other. Though I was sitting on a padded seat, it was very uncomfortable every time we went over a stone or into a rut. It was hard work preventing my head from hitting the roof and trying not to hurt my backside when I landed. On and on it went. There was no chance of taking photos, and it had begun to cloud over anyway. The journey had become survival. The children mostly lay down on the seats, though one stood up.

By midday we had reached the top with its huge statue of Mary. Downhill from there was just as bumpy. It wasn’t until we were near Banaue that the road began to improve. There was quite a nice view over the rice fields on the mountainside. I should have asked to get out there and walked into the village. We also passed some locals wearing traditional headdresses.

At last we had arrived. I asked the driver to sign my book, as always, then took a photo of the children in the back. The driver had gone off to give directions to the other jeep, so I waited until he returned, because I hadn’t said a proper thank you. I bade farewell, and went in search of a hotel.

I walked past a few, down to Half-Way house. The hotel before that was undergoing construction work, so I didn’t wish to stay there. I booked into the single bed room, then came down to negotiate the use of my computer. At first the owner was unsure. I assured her that it wouldn’t cost much. She showed me her previous electricity bill - 600 pesos for 500 kWh. I thought the computer was only 50W (16V @ 3.3A) and thus would use less than a peso for five hours. Actually, the power supply is 130VA. Still, eight hours of continuous use would be one kilowatt-hour, just a little more than a single peso. All the same, I agreed to pay 25 pesos for up to five hours. The owner a little reluctantly agreed.

First, I wanted to get a look at the place. I went out to the fields with my camera. Everyone wanted to know where I was going. I merely replied: “Up!” or “This way.” “Do you want to go to the waterfall? I can guide you.” They were all keen to take me there, for a fee. I didn’t inquire how much it would be. I was looking for photographs, and would have to stop or take long detours. Doubtless that would be charged extra.

A little up the mountain I passed through a small village called Bocop. The path went right under some of the houses. Everyone said hello, and the children ran around. There were pigs in pens, or running loose. Hens with tiny chickens were pecking at seed thrown on the ground. I climbed on, meeting four girls with long knives. They were cutting the weeds along the path, and chatted for a while. I took their photo and they wrote their names on a piece of paper - I hadn’t brought my visitors’ book. “I only take photos of beauty - you are creating it.” I said. “Someday I may return to remove the litter.” I don’t know if I will. There is a lot of it. Everywhere I went there were plastic bags or wrappings. It would be a major undertaking in this part of the world.

Further up, I met a young lady by some rice paddies. She was clapping her hands to keep the birds off the grain. We chatted for almost half an hour. She was lamenting the fact that many of the children get an education at school and then don’t want to come back to the rice fields. She was staying with her grandmother in a house just round the corner. I took a photo of her clapping - she wanted to pose as a human scarecrow!

It was a little dismal. I returned to the hotel, turning down offers of assistance. In the market I purchased a melon, some bananas, a mango and a melon. Back in my tiny room, I chopped them up, making a fruit salad. It was all delicious, especially the mango. At one point something wiggled in one of the pineapple pieces. The pen-knife was great. I ended up with a huge pile of peelings to throw away.

When I went down for some food, I met an interesting guy who was going up to the mountains in Bonto c looking for tattoos. It was fascinating to chat to him. It seems that some of the tribes used to tatoo themse lves before going to war. He told me a lot about the tattoo artists in Japan. Apparently there is a movie about one lady who takes three years to get herself tatooed.

I typed a little on my computer, using the batteries only. I figure I can then plug it in and recharge while I am typing later on, getting the most value for my five hours.

There were two toilet/showers. The toilet is just the usual shaped bowl but with no lid or seat, and no chain or cistern. To flush, one fills a bucket from a tap, and pours it in. To shower, one uses a little ladle to pour water over oneself. I washed all my clothes, including my trousers, and hung them on a line outside my window. However, it began to rain, so I left only the trousers and a shirt outside, with the rest on my 10m string in my room.

I awoke around five to find someone sniffing around my bags. He quickly left as I got up. Then I watched a group of people fishing bringing their nets in. The curious children came over to look at me, while the adults continued to haul the fish. First I had the usual questions: “Where are you going? Where you come from?” I found out that they go to the high school up the road. Yet here they were, each with a padded loop of rope round the middle to pull up the nets.

One of the girls was giving me a very hard stare, and saying “My daughter.” I wondered whether, in her limited English, this was her quick way out of her poverty and hardship. They moved on to the “Give-Me’s” - “Give me pesos,” “Give me money.” “You have a family and a home,” I argued. “I sleep in a shed on a beach.” They eventually wandered off.

The sunrise was nothing special, and I couldn’t find my “strong visual image.” I avoided the pack of dogs which seemed to have cordoned off a section of the beach as their territory, and walked back to the village. On the way, I passed some young girls at a water pump. Two photos were sufficient - they had tired of me by the third. The horses and their carts laden with woven goods had moved on.

Up in the village, the tricycles had already gathered in strength, vying to pick up any traveller with a “Where are you going?” I’ve started varying my answers, since I get bored with the truth. “To the mountains,” I will say; or, “To Baguio,” or simply, “This way.” It’s always a long way, and they offer to take me there. “I walk or I hitch-hike. No buses, no jeepneys, no tricycles, no trains.” This seems to be my motto.

I had something to eat for breakfast, on top of the All-bran I’d eaten on the beach. Then I started walking up what I had thought might be a highway to Baguio. The map shows it to be like the motorway I had left Manila on - which had nearly four lanes either way. This, by contrast, was a simple concreted road with just two lanes.

I walked a further half-hour or so, before a truck let me jump on the back, to stand with the two guys there. It was great to see the valley from that vantage point. The driver had the habit of going close to the landslip areas because the track was easier to negotiate there. Part of the way was concrete, but it was also under construction in many places. It was quite difficult to take photos while trying to hold on with both hands.

They stopped for their breakfast, and invited me to join them. This consisted of a large plate of rice with several dishes of mostly meat. Fingers were more convenient than forks, though I didn’t wish to endanger my recently recovered stomach.

I was in Baguio by about ten. The sun came out briefly, so I had to take some snaps, but had no idea of what there was. A park looked a little scraggly. I then walked on to discover the Catholic Church on a small hillside. There seemed to be a wedding in progress, so I didn’t interrupt it.

At a tiny information center just opposite, I was given vague instructions as to how to get to the Bontoc road. A policeman, a little further down, gave me more details, but I still went past the road I was looking for. I had to buy some Coca-Cola in a stationery shop, to get the final turns. Everyone seemed to speak English well. I had half imagined the town to be a tiny village, but it sprawled across the valleys and up the surrounding mountains, too.

Walking to Bontoc would be absolutely impossible, according to everyone who wanted to give me directions (or take my money and take me there). “Why don’t you take the bus? The bus stop is just over there.” “I walk or I hitchhike,” but they don’t understand the meaning of this word, “hitchhike,” I think. Maybe there is something I am meant to see, I think. Perhaps it was the small Chinese-style temple that was labeled as a church. For all the effort of getting there, I couldn’t find a great angle. It had some ornate dragons on the walls leading up to a gate.

Again I had to walk past the jeepney stops and the place where the bus pulled in. “Take the bus,” came the persistent advice. I began to wonder if they weren’t right - it would cost only 120 pesos. No, I wanted to try my luck with the hitching. Two guys in a low jeep stopped. “We’ll take you back to the bus stop,” they offered. “No thank you, but thanks for stopping all the same.” On I went, wondering what my real aim was.

Luck was on my side. A truck was going to the mountain province, and could get me most of the way to Bontoc. I sat in the middle. The driver spoke English well, but his companion barely a word. We went past some great scenery, and I realised I would have to make the most of it by sticking my lens out the window from time to time. Not a single shot came out well. I had to press the button and hold the finger partially down, so that the camera would get the focus right (hopefully) and the exposure. Then I would continue to peer at the screen in the hope that I could get the image I was looking for. It would rarely appear, and I more than often went past things that I thought I should have photographed. There were some incredible wood carving shops, with full-scale lions prowling round the front.

The journey was quite long. I’m glad I took some snaps just a visual reminders of the trek. Some of the bridges were quite makeshift. One in particular was single lane, with planks spaced at the point where car or truck wheels would go - only several had shifted. Just beyond this point, we stopped for something to eat - again rice with several meat dishes. It was very tasty. We ordered a large bottle of Coke. I am of the belief that anything that has been paid for should be eaten or drunk completely, so when they were about to leave, I put most of the rest of the drink into my glass and swallowed quickly.

I thought of asking to stand in the back, but it was full of dead or dying cabbage leaves. Instead, I continued to point my lens over the head of my companion, and try to press the button. The jeepneys overtook us, as did the occasional bus. We passed the summit, which I think was something over 2000m. It’s nothing like the 3200 of Taiwan, but there the roads were entirely passable. The incredible thing about this road, aside from its spectacular scenery, was its raw hacked state. A lot of it was dirt track, with the occasional patch of concrete, where we could go faster. I didn’t think at the time, but I later realised that I could have walked faster than the truck on the dirt track patches. Maybe I should have jumped out each time, and jumped back in a the start of the next concreted area. Hmm. Missed opportunities.

We parted as soon as we were in the Mountain Province, near Mt. Data. This time I began to think about taking the bus, but the second lorry to pass stopped. I could stand on the back, looking down from time to time to see the landslides beneath me. It had begun to cloud over, and looked likely to rain. I was taken just a short way up the road.

When I got out, I looked behind and could see the bus approaching. Time to break the rules, I thought. It cost only 40 pesos from here - I’d saved myself 80 by hitching, and had a more enjoyable ride. The bus was packed, but there was just space for me to get a seat. I chose to keep my rucksack near me - I don’t want it thrown around in a common storage area. A gent nearby chatted for a while, but at the next stop, I moved over to a double seat that became free. Not for long, though - another guy was soon seated next to me.

The bus fairly bumped along. Soon it was pouring with rain, too. The windows were darkened, and there was a video at the front which I could see, but not hear a word. I guess that was to take one’s mind off the dangers of the road. As the sun set, I attempted to take a photo peering out of the opened window (the rain came in waves). The camera finds it hard to get the focus when it is being bumped around so much. When I did managed to get the green light stable, I would press the shutter button, but the scene had passed, or I’d let go of t he button for just a second, and it would take a further five seconds to set everything right again.

It was worth watching the video when it got dark. We parked at a roundabout, and a lady on the bus asked if I was going to Pines Kitchenette. It seems that everyone knew where I was going, but then again, it’s the only hotel mentioned in the guidebook.

Inside I accepted one room for just 100 pesos. It was a tiny, single bed room. I searched around for a socket but couldn’t find one. So I went down to the reception desk to ask if I could plug in to the socket by the piano. They said it was O.K. I recharged two batteries while I ate my evening meal. With accommodation so cheap, I could afford to feed myself well. I chatted with some of the other inhabitants, and then decided to bring down the computer to show them the photos of Japan and Taiwan. The staff crowded round, too. I mentioned that I wanted to take good photos of the Philippines, and asked what there was to see at Sagada, just up the road. It was really just the caves, with their hanging coffins. They would be hard to photograph well, I thought, and with the possibility of rain, I figured it would be better to go up to Banaue.

I was up later this morning, and ate my rice with the All Bran. I had another pancake with the others. They were going to visit some caves round the cape, and invited me to join them. I decided it was time to head on. They piled into one tricycle, and I began to hitch. The first lift came quickly, and got me to the other side of Alaminos. The driver took a short-cut and explained where he would leave me. That way, I didn’t have to worry when he turned off the main road.

I walked on through the rest of Alaminos. Then a truck stopped. They were going to Villasis, having delivered some ice. At first I thought I should get out at Binmaley, but then I thought it would be better to go with them to the main road up from Manila, and catch all the traffic going towards Vigan. I was told it was only a four-hour journey, and hoped I could do it before sundown. So for me it was a detour, but aimed at getting north quicker. Again I didn’t trouble the driver by asking to take photos. After all, I am merely the guest.

I was dropped in the center of Urdanetta, and drank an ice-cold cola before walking north. It was a long walk. Perhaps I should try hitching the conventional way. However, I often feel that there is the possibility that I will see something interesting or beautiful that I might be able to photograph. I didn’t. There was nothing that I could see. My eyes are too weak to see the beauty. I wanted a photo of one of the cows, but couldn’t find it. I wanted a photo of the coconut trees, or the flower of a banana, but I couldn’t see it.

Hitching was village by village. I got to Binalonan and walked another hour. I got to Pozorrubio and had to walk. Then on to Sison and Rosario. From there it was on to Agoo. My guidebook mentioned that the basilica in the town was “worth going to see.” I was dropped right outside it. There was a church service in progress - and the church was packed full. I stood at the back, thinking that the music didn’t seem to be quite in tune. Perhaps beauty requires human effort and lots of it.

The road opposite the church was filled with people and tricycles. I tried looking for a sunset photo of the rows of tricycles, but it wasn’t there. Some thought I was Jesus Christ, and others said I was Santa. Everyone asked where I was going. Maybe I should reply, “Calvary” or “The North Pole.” I chose to be a bit more honest this time - I simply said, “I don’t know.” That flummoxed them. Fancy someone admitting he doesn’t know where he is going. Surely we have to know where we are going.

For a while, I walked round the market, a dark an smelly place. Most folks smiled when they saw me, but one poor boy burst into tears. His mother picked him up and consoled him, saying I was Santa. I bought only some apples. I’ve survived on Coca-Cola all day, and my tummy, not fully 100% but not far off, hasn’t really complained.

The sun was going down, so I proceeded towards it. The road led on. “Where are you going?” was the persistent question. I started saying, “This way.” “The beach is very far,” I was told. Without a destination, I couldn’t hitch. I walked all the way, but the sun had disappeared. There were no cows near the road in the fields that I went by. I passed one kitchen/restaurant, and thought about eating there, but didn’t go in.

When I got to the beach, I noticed there were lots of huts. Underneath the straw roofs was a table with benches. Perhaps I could sleep on one. I looked around, avoiding the packs of dogs that started barking at me. I found one that was further from the centre of activity. That was where I would kip out for the night, unless I could get a cheap room at a hotel I’d seen on the corner. It was full up. I wanted to buy some food at the store, but I had to peer through a window - I wasn’t allowed into the building. Filipinos don’t trust each other, was the message I read. It was too hard to see from the grill in the window. Instead, I ordered another coke at a nearby stall, and chatted with the owner.

Finall y, I made my way back to the hut and prepared my bed. I now have two blow-up pillows. I put all my stuff in my bag, and even tied the laces of my Nike shoes to the rucksack. I lay my head on the rucksack, so that if it moved, I would wake up. It does quite well as a pillow. A couple came close by earlier on. Since they seemed curious, I shoed them away. I didn’t want to attract a crowd of onlookers.

The roosters outside my window got me up at three, and I slept lightly thereafter. Perhaps that is their revenge for being kept under a wire cage, or tied to a post, with a string round a leg. At five, I put on my clothes to go in search of beauty. There were already lots of people milling down by the boats going to the islands. I could see the islands way in the distance. The sunrise was great, but I figured I wouldn’t be able to get a sunrise shot of the islands. One gentleman asked if I wanted to go there, so I asked about the price. He said it would be 250 pesos. “Is that everything?” “Well, if you want to stop, it’s 30% extra.” I didn’t like the sound of the percentages. Why didn’t he quote a fixed price (another 75 pesos)? It didn’t sound honest. My morning shots were nothing special.

I sat with the group again for breakfast, ordering only toast. However, when I noticed the nice pancakes the others were eating, I ordered one too. Since they were going to the islands, they suggested I come along, too. Daniel and Johan went off on Daniel’s motorbike to get some food and water from Alaminos, while Bettine and Benzi had a long chat. I returned to my room to continue typing. There’s still lots to catch up on.

By about midday, we were ready to go. I stuffed my pockets with everything I would need - flyspray, waterproof suncream, water, with an extra bag for my swimsuit and small towel. Bettina negotiated in Tagalog for a boat to take us out to the islands and pick us up around half-past five, so I could get a sunset photo. However, the boat had no lights, so couldn’t go out in the dark. It was a little outrigger, with a small canopy and stabilisers either side. I sat at the front, and as we splashed through the water, was soon soaked through.

Some of the islands were quite packed with people on the tiny areas of beach. We chose to go to another island with just a few boats off it, but with only about ten meters of beach. At one point we crossed some ropes - where the best of the corals were. The islands are all covered in dense vegetation, and steep. Our island had a tiny sandy beach, and a small cave up behind it. I started taking photos, with the other boats around. However, they didn’t stay long. I was worried that we had frightened them away, though Bettine assured me that they were probably island hopping. Our own boat had left us - so we were alone, five of us on a desert island.

Bettina had gone off with one of the snorkels to the corals. I changed into my swimgear, though I didn’t have a large towel to hide myself. Benzi had to be warned away by her boyfriend, who noticed she was about to approach. Not that any Scotsman would be embarrassed about what is kept under the kilt!

The water was wonderfully warm, and I swam round in circles, mostly. There were weeds further out that were dead corals. It seems that cyanide and dynamite fishing has killed off most of the corals in the area. I had been swimming for some time, when Johan asked if I had seen his wife. Suddenly I was a little worried. Fortunately, she soon waved from a nearby island. When she came back, she gave me the goggles, and spout, and suggested I go to the second rope.

It was the first time I had been snorkeling, and took a bit of getting used to. It was quite a long swim, along two islands. I felt I had to keep going, since I had never been to a coral reef before. From time to time, I found a place to put my feet down so that I could clean out the water from the snorkel, and take the goggles off. There were a few blue starfish on the way, but beyond the first rope the dead weeds gave way to greens and yellows. Among these swam lots of tiny silver fish, and a few yellow and black striped fish.

I didn’t swim too far away from the rope. The goggles gave a strange sensation that I was too close to the bottom, and from time to time would take in water - so I had to return to the rope. I didn’t want to stand on what looked like fragile corals.

Eventually, I headed back, hoping I c ould remember the way. Hugging the islands, it wasn’t too deep. Finally I was back with the group. They said I had been gone a long time. I went up to the entrance to the cave to dry off. Daniel came up to find some pills, and when I looked back, he was carrying a very limp Benzi. I went down to see what had happened. She had fainted. It looked worse than a feint to me. Daniel was about to give her mouth to mouth resuscitation, but she seemed to recover a little. They shielded her from the sun, hanging up a towel. I offered to swim for help, but was told that Daniel had seen this before - she had heart trouble. He managed to give her a pill, and for a while it looked as though she was in considerable pain. Eventually she sat up, though, and soon it was as though nothing had happened.

We started to eat - tuna sandwiches with water, mixed with a little sand! My back had become quite red - I hadn’t put enough sunscreen on, or I should have worn my shirt while I was swimming. I took some more photos and we lazed around until the boat came back at about five. We had one more swim before gathering everything and heading for our tour of the islands. It was very brief, and I couldn’t get any good snaps. Also, the sunset photo would need to be about one hour later. Really, I should have chartered my own boat - at a day’s salary. Still, for only 80 pesos, I had seen the corals and had a good swim.

Back on shore, we watched the sun sink, a golden orange lighting up the clouds on the eastern horizon. After a shower, we met up again to go out for a meal. The receptionist joked that she wanted to come with me - but again I nearly took it at face value. We walked to Maxim’s, but the prices were very high, as were those at a nearby restaurant - the Last Resort. So we ended up back at Ocean View, ordering our meal there. There were no vegetables left, we were told, but when Bettine asked if they had some tomatoes, they said they had. I ordered just the Shanghai rice and soup. Everything takes time in the Philippines, but it is all served together. My rice proved to be quite filling, so I had some left over. I asked for a doggy bag. The receptionist said I was stingy (actually used a Tagalog word that sounded funny.) The rules of politeness for the Philippines are that one is supposed to leave something on one’s plate to show you have had enough. So much is thrown away that could be used.

In the morning, after a shower and some time on the computer, I packed up and set off. First stop was the supermarket, where I got some more paper and a marker pen for hitching. I also bought two packets of washing soap powder - deciding that the local solution, with germ-killers, would be more appropriate than my Japanese products.

It was a long walk to Dau. People wondered why I didn’t just take the bus, perhaps thinking that I didn’t know where it went from. Eventually, I got a lift just to the next village. I would stop at roadside kiosks (they are barely shops) to buy some Coca-Cola. Indeed, I survived off the liquid for most of the day. Sometimes people stopped to take me back to the bus station. I can see this is going to be a struggle.

I got a lift into Tarlac, with a gentleman going to the Catholic church there. He waved me in the direction of the bridge. There are few road signs, so I have to confirm everything by asking. The map indicates a bright red road, but this was barely a B-road in England. It is concreted, with a rubble or stone side that is probably meant for the tricycles (motorcycles with a sidecar, fitting five or six people.) I walked along here. Children would appear from nowhere and crowd round. Mindful of the warnings, I kept my distance, while trying to write my next sign. When I dropped my pen, far from run off with it, one guy picked it up and handed it back to me. Maybe the book was too harsh on the Filipino character. However, all the drivers warned me to be careful, and the tourist information lady said I shouldn’t trust anyone.

It would be hard to hitch with about twenty children around me, so I kept moving. That seemed to be the only way to avoid a crowd. “Where are you going, sir?” was the usual first question. I was heading for Hundred Islands, near Alaminos. It is a long way away. When a car finally did stop, I also noticed another car had just pulled over further up. I bowed, to indicate my gratefulness - but such symbols may not be understood here.

The driver had actually seen me standing by the road in Manila the day before, so I was glad I chose him. He was going up as far as Dagupan - or that’s where he and I would part. The car was quite a banger, backfiring on occasions. Still, it puttered along. We went past many fields with horned white cows grazing in the stubble - never a herd, just one or two dotted around. There were also large chicken coops. In the distance were mountains, and everywhere palm or coconut trees. I didn’t feel it would be possible to ask to take photos. On the way, we stopped at a Mr. Donuts, where they gave me some cola in a plastic bag, with a straw, and a donut. It was very kind of them.

There was another long walk from Dagupan. I felt I needed to walk, otherwise I would simply collect a crowd of onlookers who would tell me how to get to the bus station, or who would wish to talk to me all the time, and prevent me from hitching. This time I walked past many small huts where people were scraping shellfish. There were ponds on either side of the road, and piles of used shells by each hut. I walked because I thought I might find something beautiful to photograph, but everything was dirty. It was interesting, but not beautiful. Maybe I should change my aim. After all, my album contains many snaps that are not particularly beautiful - more a record of places I have been to.

It was over an hour later when I got a lift with another gentleman. He was returning home after a trip into the town, and had seen me on the way in. He could take me on to Sual, where he lived. He was a farmer, saying he wasn’t so rich. However, by Filipino standards, he was probably well off.

When we approached the turn off to his house, he suggested I go to meet his family, and his brother-in-law, who was just back from California. He would take me on to Lucap later on, so I accepted. There were several houses in a small cluster. I sat outside with the extended fami ly, drinking a cool beer. When I asked to go to t he toilet, I was shown to a small open cubicle with a pigpen and several roosting chickens nearby. I only needed to pee, so could probably have done that anywhere in the garden.

We piled into a car - three in the back and three in the front - to go in search of some relatives. By now it was quite dark, and I had no idea where I was. Still, I felt I could trust these people fully. The guy from California explained that he was currently unemployed there, and only back here for a few months. I was taken into a house, where there was already lots of food on the round table. The kitchen/dining area had a corrugated iron roof, and an uneven floor. More food came from large pots on side tables, and we were invited to take our seats.

The food was quite delicious. It was my first taste of real Philippine food. There were lots of meat dishes, though I didn’t know what they were. Some were mince with potatoes and vegetables, others looked like darker meat. The pork came with a lot of crackling, and rice was the staple. I loved one vegetable dish that turned out to be papayas. It really was excellent. Some of the family appeared from time to time.

The driver said he would take me on up the road to Lucap. It was only about fifteen minutes away, so I think I was very lucky. He drove me right to a hotel, but the only rooms they had available cost 600 pesos. We found another place for only 300, and I settled for that. My room had two beds, with a small bathroom/toilet. It had a fan, so I was able to plug in the computer for a while, too. Downstairs, I met a group of volunteer foresters. They lived up in the mountains beyond Angeles - and it sounded like they had taken as long to get here by bus and jeepney.

The lady on the reception desk joked that she might get up at 5 to accompany me as I went out to take some photos. At first I wasn’t sure if she was joking - perhaps I have become like the Japanese, unable to appreciate a leg-pull because it is uncommon.

Johan and Bettine lived in a small hut with no running water and no electricity, and subsist on a daily budget of about 300 pesos - less than my 400 allowance per day. They told me about some of the difficulties of communicating with the local tribes. It is hard to ask “Why?” because the locals feel that it is saying that it is wrong, and they take it personally.

We agreed to meet up again in the morning.

In the morning, after a breakfast of fruit salad, I continued to work on the computer, catching up on the Taiwan stories. I wasn’t allowed to use the telephone as there was only a single line, so I can’t update the homepage or send out an email. I continued typing until one o’clock, and then packed up to leave, covering myself with sun cream. The sun seemed to get through my shirtsleeves yesterday.

It wasn’t long before a gentleman stopped. He was going part way to Caloocan, via the bypass. However, we soon got stuck in heavy traffic in San Rafael. I was told that the Metrorail would cost only 10 Pesos all the way, so jumped out.

First, though, I had another MacDonald’s meal. I even ordered the ice cream - two for the price of one. As my burger was delayed, so was the ice cream. I was worried that they had forgotten to give me it - and when they brought the burger, they took away my receipt. There was nothing to worry about, though.

The train was cramped, but not overly so. At the other end, I had to walk a long way to get to the start of the highway. It was hard to know where to stand. I went right up to the start, just after the bus stop, but there were now three lanes. It would be impossible for someone in the fast lane to pull over.

There was a long wait before a Lebanese Christian pulled over. “Filipinos are unlikely to stop for you - they don’t know what your sign means. You might be better off just using your thumb,” was his advice. Actually, I should have walked just half a kilometre on, to the toll point. The gentleman was in the export/import business and had been here for over five years. He asked if I was a believed in God, but the conversation quickly turned to discussion about Bill Clinton.

I got out on the interchange by Malolos, and stood near the toll. The second car picked me up. The gentleman was going to San Fernando. He was of Spanish extraction, and actually looked aristocratic. It made me wonder what constituted an aristocratic look - tall, with a V-shaped face. I wonder where I got such an image from.

It was very pleasant chatting to him. All along the road, trucks were carting away the sand and dust that Mt. Pinatubo had spewed out some years ago. He drove me all the way to Angeles, and dropped me outside a hotel where he’d seen other foreigners staying.

It was only 200 for the night, so I had some money to spare. I’d decided to stop here rather than continue into the twilight. I don’t know what hitching is like in the Philippines, and don’t wish to try the night rides until I’m sure. Also, I’m still only feeling 90% OK. I don’t want to go too far from Manila if I have to return for medical reasons.

In Angeles, I bought some food at a nearby supermarket. I wish I’d bought more apples- it was delicious. The ladies in the bars tried to tempt me in - by squeezing their boobs, but I just passed by. Angeles used to be the main American Air base, and apparently when some of the red light areas of Manila were shut down, they just moved up here. I only passed one bar, though.

Everything from yesterday seems to have stayed in place. It still feels as though something is lurking in the background, though. I ate dried Cornflakes with sugar for breakfast, then ordered another of the salad.

I’d come to the conclusion that the feint was not related to the sickness, but because I hadn’t eaten all day yesterday, and had got up too quickly after lying down. When I explained this to the owner, she immediately said, “That’s very stupid. You should eat, even if you throw up.” Yes, I’m back in a “truth” society, with its contradictions and judgements. Perhaps I now value more the silence of a “feeling” society - for the opposite of truth is not a lie, but an image or a feeling. Silence heals many a wound or covers many a foolish statement.

I set off with a sign saying “Intramuros.” The taxis kept pulling over, and I waved them on. A businessman gave me a lift, my first in the Philippines, and took me right into the heart of the city. We passed several ox-driven carts laden with baskets and other products. The farmers sometime drive into the city, I was told.

I walked round, slowly, not wishing to upset my tummy any more. Walking seems to be good for it, though. The cathedral wasn’t so impressive from the outside - not surprising, given its history of earthquakes and wars to knock it down. Inside were the familiar signs of the catholic church. Though the religion is suppose to worship the Word, it has made images more important. Size indicates relative importance - so the Mother Mary is more significant than the Crucified Christ by a factor of ten, or so. I couldn’t get close enough for the photo to show that.

It was approaching 11.30 and I wanted to get into the Rizal museum before it closed at 12.00. So I headed up to Fort Santiago. I was there well in time, but the museum was already shut. I went to the photography exhibition instead. It’s always good to get ideas, though of course I can’t travel back in time - nor arrange the weather. It started to rain, which meant that I had to slow down and wait until it was over.

I didn’t take many photos. It looked a bit run-down. Maybe beauty has to be well looked-after, or it just disappears. There were several art galleries near the entrance - or rather, shops selling pictures. I briefly looked at the real art, and then treated myself to a Coca-Cola. The tummy still isn’t 100%.

The Rizal shrine was open when I went back. It was interesting to read some of his thoughts, reckoning that Filipinos were better off without the word for “miracle” in their vocabulary. It was introduced in the Spanish colonial era. Rizal was a martyr in the cause of freeing the Philippines. As I left, a gentleman asked me to sign the visitors’ book. I started to do so, then noticed a column for donation. What was this for, I asked. For the restoration of the building. I didn’t feel I could just leave it blank, and yet was annoyed that I had been asked to sign, without being told I should make a donation. Everyone else had put in several hundred pesos. I put the lowest amount my “conscience” would let me - 100. That building didn’t seem to need restoring, but maybe it was for the other run-down places in the fort, or in Intramuros.

I had wanted to put in a comment something like: “May no one ever have to die in the next century to free a country or nation from the domination of another - no Scotsman, Kurd, or Tibetan.

The workmen outside waved at me, and said hello. I got used to waving back though not always responding. Walking through the city, many more asked where I was from: (”From where you come?”), or where I was going to. In the Philippines I don’t have to explain where Scotland is. I’m glad some education systems work.

There are people, especially children, everywhere. Chickens clucked in patches of littered grounds, their legs tied with a rope to a post, or covered in a large frame. Dogs were free to roam, and many took exception to my beard.

When I stopped to take photos of San Augustin church or its neighbours, Casa Manila museum or Casa Bianca, people still wished to interrupt me. It gave the impression that they were more desperate for business, and assuming that all travellers have infinite time. I tried not to be impolite, but had to ignore many.

I walked onto the old walls, noticing that there were many places in ruins. One Filipino, accompanying a foreigner, warned me about some children up on the walls. I didn’t quite catch why, but I’ve read warnings about pickpockets. Indeed, one young boy did approach. “Money” was the first demand. “Give me money - to eat.” I wondered. Then he added: “Blow job.”

Ugliness is the situation that creates such people. I decided to walk on. I go in search of beauty, but have to turn my eyes away from ugliness. It is easier to hide from such problems. I have no idea what causes them, and still less where to begin to solve them.

I thought about the 100 pesos I’d put into the building fund. Surely I could have given ten pesos to ten children. Perhaps I could have asked them to collect ten pesos worth of litter. Or maybe I shouldn’t yet ask others what I’m not yet prepared to do myself. Anyway, does litter matter, to the poor?

I went into the El Amanecer building, looking at all the carvings and thinking, “I only need a photo to put on the walls of my computer.” Upstairs in a bookshop, I couldn’t find any maps. I need one of the whole of the Philippines. There was an Internet cafe at the end.

Moving on, by the aquarium, I tried a shot of cobblestones, but there was little of interest beyond the archway. The photo needed a focus that didn’t appear to be there.

In Rizal Park, a policeman called me over: “Where are you from?” It sounded like the start of an interrogation, but by then I was accustomed to the question. He was just asking, as many others did.

The tourist office helped me by giving the times of the boat to Malaysia, and a map of the Philippines. It looks like I will get just under three weeks here, leaving on May 10th to go to Malaysia - Borneo Island.

I wandered on down through town, feeling a little hungry. All along the streets people were selling meat on skewers or other snack, but I decided my body needed to be absolutely sure of what I gave it. I chose to go to MacDonald’s. It’s a far cry from when I first arrived in Japan and vowed I wouldn’t go into a MacDonald’s - to make sure I ate the local food. (I kept the promise while I was a missionary, and broke it when someone took me there in Himeji. I’ve nothing against the company - it was just the symbol of Westernisation for me.)

Walking all the way down Roxas Boulevard, by the palm trees and the sea, again many people shouted hello to me. Some seemed to live there, perhaps even whole families. The sun was setting, but I couldn’t find any strong images.

It was a long walk to Harrison Plaza, a modern shopping complex. There I found a supermarket that sold, among other things, Kellogg’s All-Bran. I’m back in business again, declaring the Philippines to be a civilised culture. I guess the links with America are still strong after the American colonial years. In a bookshop I picked up a map of the Philippines that is fifteen years out of date. It will have to do. In a department store, I went to the socks section. Immediately I was pounced upon by the sales staff. They seemed to be everywhere. Indeed, where the population is high, it is better to employ more people, even if they are working less efficiently. I purchased three cotton socks for 120 pesos. I think I should have bought six - at least.

Finally, I walked the long road back to the hostel. I tried hitching, but in the dark, no one stopped. I was home by nine, with the staff wondering whether I was all right. The tummy feels strange, but I think I’m on the mend.