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Journal 48: Philippines Day 11

On the road back to Manila:

Back at the hotel, I spoke with someone just in passing who told me that the buses out of the area were to be closed for the next two days down to Manila because of the holiday.  So I had to put a fast forward on my plans to get out of town.

So that next morning, I packed my things and headed out the door at about 5 a.m. to catch what would ultimately be a 6 a.m. bus down the mountain.

It was a rickety bus providing a bumpy ride that only a meaty shoulder would allow for a leaning nap.  And since there was no one taller than me sitting next to me, Dani was the only one getting any sleep on the ride down.  And it was a long ride.

Take the average developing nation — usually loud, most likely hot, always overcrowded — and then hop on a bus to its capital.  Oh yea, and on New Year’s Eve.  This was my plan for the day.

The area’s recent rains had caused a rise in congested traffic and construction even more than their normal congested-ness (if that’s a word?).  So that added to the delay.  But the bus driver stopped at a few places to eat and we eventually made it to the city.

It’s probably the one thing that I detest about traveling — not knowing about hangups that could otherwise have been avoided.  But they are, as the crux of the situation denotes, simply unavoidable.  You need to know about the delays, the problems with transportation, the days buses aren’t running.  But you won’t know unless you travel there and find out.  Travel in that country would be made much more pleasant, but you have to put in the frustrating time in the trenches to know — thereby ensuring the unpleasantness inherent in the arena of world travel.  It’s the ultimate traveler’s catch-22 (which, by the way, is also the title of the book by Joseph Heller that I will be doing a book review on — as soon as I read it).

Yes, you just can’t get away from those pesky quirks.  But I generally make the best of the time by writing journals, taking photos, talking to the locals — which is a wonderful blessing to have in an English-speaking country like the Philippines.

The people here have been exceedingly friendly.  And even when I inadvertently sat in someone else’s seat, they let me have it without too much fuss.  I am not sure I would have fit anywhere else anyway.

Riding along, I can say that if you visit this area of the Philippines, you should definitely take the day trip.  Crowded or not, the views from either side of the road are bound to amaze you.  There seem to be endless peaks jutting up from below the cloud line and peppered with bright green plumage.  Then you pass through the terraced fields that people have been tending for generations.  These are probably the most spectacular site because of their sheer grandiosity.  Once you reach the highest point, these cascading steps seem to have placed you at the to of some immense temple in the heavens.  Below you  is only a cloud-hewn sea at the surface of a slowly wavering boundary between you and the chaotic city-scape below.

Back in Manila:

New Year’s Eve in Manila is not what I would recommend to anyone wanting to spend that day in a nice place.  It’s noisy because all of the homeless people have saved up their money, apparently, to buy their children fireworks that they can shoot at passing traffic for shits and giggles.

So not only do you have the frequent blasts from the random detonations all over the city, you have the ensuing honking and occasional accident thereafter.  Reason number 108 for why I bring along earplugs on foreign travel.

That night I settled up in the hotel near the airport and headed directly out for the Mall of Asia, which, I heard, was the biggest thing in Manila since shantytowns.

It was big, there’s no doubt about that.  But what was cooler was that the huge globe sitting in front of the main entrance which had recently been redone with more than 26,000 lights coordinated to create the most impressive form of advertising I have ever seen.  Besides actually making a spinning conflagration of countries swirling around as would a globe, it also made use of its spherical shape to cast other amazing items like ornaments on a Christmas tree that zoomed out to show the entire scene and cool ideas like that.

There was supposed to be a fireworks show at the mall, but because the crowds kept swelling and the elbow room kept shrinking, I thought it was probably best to bypass the traffic following the show by getting out of there early and getting some sleep for my 6 a.m. flight to Cebu.
[youtube http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pL4NqhT0tKE]

End Part One

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Journal 47: Philippines Days 8, 9 and 10

Day 8: Arrival at Sagada

In between the muted calls of song birds in the distance and quiet gale making its way through these peaceful mountains, I found myself finally able to take in the tranquil notions I’d been hoping for thus far on the trip.

I was extremely lucky in choosing my lodgings the night before in Bontoc.  Because the organization that ran that guesthouse, also had a sister hostel which happened to have the very last room available in any of the homestays in the entire town.

Creeping up on the New Year, this area becomes a hippy mecca in terms of its festivals and celebratory traditions.  Almost every morning people cook up a storm and have their shops open selling all manner of trekking and camping gear.   Almost every afternoon you’ll see people coming back in from long hikes in the surrounds.  And almost every night there is a bonfire festival.

There are pockets of scattered masses moving in their own dust clouds up the dirt streets through town.  And they appear to be a pleasant mix of foreigners, locals and hippies — and various combinations of the three.

And upon arriving and noticing all this, I also noticed that it was well past due for a relaxing day doing little to nothing, save showering and scrubbing the last few days of dirt from my pores.

First order of business: Shower.  Next: the bunk.  Evening time: beer.

So that was my first day.  It’s quite easy to sleep in a town like Sagada.  The dreaminess of the place almost keeps you in a perpetual state of laziness anyway.

Upon arriving at St. Joe’s, I was confirmed for the reservation that the lady from the Bontoc hostel had arranged for me and promptly shown to my room.  But it wasn’t two minutes into the conversation that I was interrupted multiple times by desperate backpackers trying to secure a room for the night.  So along with the horror stories that accompanied trying to sleep through the last week’s rainy nights, I was also told about how there were quite literally no more places to stay anywhere in town.  People had started to go around asking the locals to take them in for a fee.  I am sure that some of this was arranged.  But I would still hate to have been in that position in such damp climes.

The restaurant was as peaceful and cabin-like as the surrounds.  All the woodworking from the entire grounds was done by local artisans with quite a western sympathy.  It seemed like it was more influenced by Norwegian winters than the more common tropical humidity.  But it nevertheless brought in a feel that was well accepted by the patrons.

The food was good.  It took quite a while, but when I went to find out where the staff was at with the preparation of our meal, ordered no less than 45 minutes before, I found the head cook: a vicenarian mother of two (one of which was strapped to her rump like a huge humpback with curious eyes).

I let it pass.

On to bed to plan my next day.

Day 9: Humping through the hills

Being a top-heavy lad of 33, the longer, more technical, more demanding hikes I’d pounce through like a gazelle in my younger years, I am finding the excuse to shy away from nowadays.  Thankfully, Filipinos are among the like-minded citizenry who make an effort to place their most important cultural relics within a stones throw of the main arteries that gnarl the mountainside around Sagada.

Besides the miraculous echos that pander themselves along the jutting karst formations, gaining depth and definition as they bounce around the area, the Hanging Coffins of Echo Valley are just the right counter to break their flow.  And as you descend the mountain to reach them, the echos of even your conversation-level tone can be heard answering back at you like phantoms escaping the limestone erosion.

Seeming so foreign even to this unfamiliar corner of the Southeast Asian wilds, these stoic boxes clinging to the sheer cliff faces at the base of the hike offer an otherworldly glimpse of the deep spirituality that has existed here long before Magellan plotted his course and imposed his Portugese slant on Catholicism here.

Off in the distance was an amazing looking mansion overlooking the entire valley.  That house, my guide told me, was at the end of the hike that we wouldn’t be doing today.  Oddly enough, I knew that I had paid for that hike.  But this news came after an all-important phone call of his to which my day unfortunately took the back seat.  So it was to be back into town with me without word on when I would be completing my hike.

Throughout Sagada, you’re not supposed to hike without a guide.  That’s what the sign says when you perform the other required task of registering as a foreigner to the town hall.  I couldn’t tell if this was for safety purposes or for commerce.  Well, I couldn’t tell until I read the part of the ledger that asked the budget, rather than the number of days, that you had planned for their lovely hamlet.

Pacing and feeling like I was wasting my day to the badly prioritized teen guide, I decided to hop in a jeep and take the long hike through the Fidalizan village to the Bomod’ok waterfall on the other side of the crescent valley.

Up at the top, I met my other guide.  Equally expensive.  Equally young.  We set off down through the village which rounded banks overlooking the valley in 180 degrees of crisp, sunny views.

The village, itself, was quite and serene.  But infrequently, we would hear gun blasts or some such oddity coming from an undetectable direction.  My guide would tell me that it was dynamite from the copper mining near the river to the south.

Making our way along the only concrete path in the layered rice terraces, we eventually weaved through the pass and down to the foot of this magnificent waterfall.  The water was a brisk and perfect contrast to the hot day working in on us from behind the mountains.

I swam for about a half-hour at its base.  But all one need do is stand near it and become drenched in its powerful sheeting swathes of fall-spray.  It was a wonderful experience to see that kind of power from mother nature even in this remote, unexpected place.

Once out of the water and dried off in the sun, we headed back.  But not before my boots lost a sole.  to this day, I have no idea what took them down.  But whatever the case, I was forced to run through a new pair of socks on the climb back through the other side of the village.

Back in town, we found out that, because of New Year’s traffic, all the tickets would be booked for the next two days.   So if I was to have any hope of making it to the islands before my departure time, I would have to cut my mountain escape one day short.  So I packed and woke up to the early bus for a day-long trip back to Manila.

There, I would run into all sorts of problems.  But that’s going to be another journal.

Check out the rest of the images from Sagada, but don’t forget to watch Part Four of the Philippines documentary below:

At about 3:00 into this movie, you see Sagada from where we arrived, at St. Joe’s.
[youtube http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dbf1O6my9-c]

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Journal 46: Philippines Days Six and Seven

Pushing on today, I made it to about the half-way mark: Bontoc.

Bontoc was one of the towns that I had made it a goal of mine to visit because of one particular fascination of mine: the ancient headhunters.

Warring tribes all throughout the mountain areas have feuded for hundreds of years over land, power and mating rights with the women.  And I wasn’t aware of this before I went, but a missionary had set up a museum, the Bontoc Museum, years ago when he’d arrived to rape the local people of their then-current belief system.  Funny – even ironic – I thought, that Christianity would aim to remove all traces of the local belief system which included beheading, worshiping ancestors and honoring gods of unknown western appreciation, and then turn around and build a memorial commemorating its amazing past.

I wasn’t able to get much information about the family lifestyles, but I definitely hit the major points in the museum.  There was a Frenchman who wandered into this area in the 1970s when the culture was still in full swing and not yet inhibited by any western conservative movements.  He captured the life that existed here on film and published a book of the best of those prints.  [I have been unable to find this author’s name and would love it if someone would leave that information in a comment at the end of this blog]

In his book there are so many telling photos that show situations where men had just come back from a headhunting party where they had the headless loser of the battle tied up and hanging like a pig from a bamboo strewn between two carriers.  They would bring their spoils back to the village, remove the face of the fallen prey, keeping it as a trophy, and tattoo a patterned series of lines on their chest marking their success amongst their battles.

How amazingly far flung, I thought, from our current accepted way of life these people are.  Nestled in this little country at some far reach of the world, why, too, would their culture not be just as foreign?

Headhunting, as I found out, was not the work of mad people bent on control or power or because of some strange right of passage.  As things went, there were no rules that might keep people from killing each other and taking their land, their animals, their women and on and on.  So, instead of warring on a tribe-wide scale, the village leaders would simply send out two snipers and a small contingent of soldiers to find the opposing leaders – the few people in charge of waging the violence in the first place – and, simply put, come back with their heads; guaranteeing that these orders would not see their way to fruition and certainly sending a message to any who might follow in their footsteps.

The pictures that I saw in this museum showed men with six and seven rows of these tattoos indicating their take of the men who’d otherwise have their memory emblazoned across their chests.  Men sat in the proverbial Asian squat, holding up their latest trophies from the massacre – the eyeless face of the man who’d not fought hard enough, or the man who’d been taken by surprise in his sleep, or the man who’d been turned in by his own people at the risk of losing their own heads in his stead.

The stories, too, were captivating.  I stood reading every etched piece of wood, every banner and sign in the museum – all of them depicting the shortened history of a certain village or strain of people living their lives in their unique ways, wearing their unique cloth-work and providing the camera with their own lives in the villages they lived in.

I won’t soon forget the many interesting things that I found there.  And I apologize that I don’t have any photos from the location.  But the video below should do a good job at staving off the fiendish demand for the answers to the curiosity for secrets of the Ifugao headhunters.

Back on the road, I headed northward.  More on that trip and the gallery from the mountains of Sagada in the next journal.  Until then, enjoy Part Four  of Travel Geek: Documentary Philippines!
[youtube http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dbf1O6my9-c]

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Journal 45: Philippines Days Four and five

Ifugao:


See the rest of the photos from the Philippines at cyleodonnell.com

Moving onto the mountains, Ifugao was my next destination.  Highlights abound on this leg of the trip.  I wanted to see the hanging coffins of Echo Valley, the tall, majestic waterfall past the ancient Fidalisan Village and of course the ancient rice terraces.

I have seen many terraced farming fields before in places like Northern Vietnam, Laos, Malaysia and throughout some areas in Korea and Taiwan.  In full season, the fields can take on an otherworldly pallet of colors and, depending on the perspective and the backdrop of the sun at the time of witnessing them, they can make the intricate lines of a valley appear to carve out the steps the gods take to travel to their resting place – or something equally mysterious and grandiose.

But these fields were said to be the best terraces in all of Southeast Asia because of their expanse and their meaning in the ancient world.  I suppose I’d find out in a couple days.


To see the rest of the photos from the Philippines, go to cyleodonnell.com

My first stop was a little town called Baguio.   It was just a quick stopover as I would almost immediately catch another jeep into the higher reaches of the mountains.  But it’s worth mentioning because it’s the carving capital of the Philippines.   Well, that and the fact that I had a great conversation with a lady who sold beetlenut to the locals.

So beetlenut is a small, fibrous bud that comes from within the fruit of a palm-like tree.  Beetlenut by itself isn’t really all that stimulating.  It’s basically got the consistency of chewing on a pine bud or pre-pinecone sprout.  And it’s not all that organic tasting either.  But if you never spat the juices out on the ground, you’d never really get the feeling that this little bud really has an odd chemical reaction in your mouth.

The punch comes when you add two other ingredients.  First, you add tobacco and wait for that to get into the blood stream. Then you squeeze in a packet of mustard.  And the combination of all the various substances forces into the blood, a very amphetamine-like buzz.  It’s effects are fleeting — only 20 minutes or so — but the process can be repeated over and over with the same effect.

Basically, it’s become this ritual for the men in the area, more than a drug or addiction.  However, the addictive qualities of this substance are not to be questioned.  Almost all men do it.  And if the stained red mouths full of quickly decaying teeth didn’t give it away, the huge, snot-covered, crimson spatters all along the roadway will.  All told, it’s probably one of the most disgusting pastimes I’ve seen in Southeast Asia.  And I have seen a lot of them.

But that didn’t take away from the “carving capital” aspect of the place.  Huge trunks and split logs almost completely line the roadway up to the town and even a little after, awaiting their artisan’s shaping hands to come and craft them into something appreciable by human standards.

The town itself has an easy, laid back feel to it.  Shops line the three corners of the central part of town and they supply the entire outlying area with goods and food.  But what I liked the most was that the backs of most of the shops had restaurants hanging about a mile above the huge, mountain drop-offs below.  The people are very curious of travelers, walking up to talk and waving at you from passing vehicles.  And this also adds to the demeanor of the place.


If you share any of my photos, please reference back to this blog, cyleodonnell.wordpress.com, or my main site, cyleodonnell.com.

From there it’s only a short wait until another jeep is full of people and items are piled high on the roof.  My jeep started rumbling up the mountain at about noon and I arrived at my next destination, Banahue. by 6 p.m.

Banahue is another one of those towns where things are a little slower, not necessarily finding any reason to rush around.  And over every mountainside guardrail there’s a vista of the most amazing terraces chiseled into the valley below.

It was Banahue, too, where I got the full grasp of the risk people take in traveling through this area.  The mountains in this area were simply not equipped with the soils befitting of support for the roads being plied through them.  As in several locations I could very easily see the next pass the jeep was headed over, there would be a huge empty space where the mountainside used to be underneath the 4-inch-thick concrete pathway for the passing vehicles.  This, of course, was precariously replaced by a few rickety beams used as temporary replacements for the moment’s pause until the seasonal construction crew could come out and lay concrete underworking to the roads damage.


Buy a print of this or any of the photos here or on my website, cyleodonnell.com/photography.

Passing over these dodgy turns was shifty business at best, and, as I thought many times, likely to be my last time passing over anything at all on this planet.  It made me wonder if the last vessel of people to have toppled to their deaths during one of these trips was filled with people who may have been thinking the same things I was thinking – anticipating their own demise just moments before it was sure to take place…

In Banahue, I moseyed around and went to the little tourist-based shops and bought a couple masks and a native fighting stick and even a couple little bags to keep my batteries in.  And when I walked back across the lazy road I snapped this shot of local life in a typical shop in this area.  The peacefulness of the mountains seemed to echo its own voice back into the culture that exists here.  In fact, a lot of the mountains’ characteristics are played out in traditional life, I thought.  It was the nice, cool climate that I had been seeking since my retreat from the heat and bustle down in the towns of southern Luzon.


Buy a print at cyleodonnell.com

Below is a part three of the six-part documentary film, Travel Geek: Documentary Philippines (be sure to subscribe to my channel). It covers much more than this journal. But since I’ve already made the video, I might as well put part one of the six-part series in here to add some reference:
[youtube http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YEVWwTJMXcw]
[Wanna Help?  One way you can help is to sign up for blog updates.  You can also share this video (which can be found on my channel), my photography website and this blog.  Email at least ten of your email contacts who might enjoy it.  Help spread the word so others can enjoy my travels!  If you have any questions, just email me at: cyle@cyleodonnell.com. You can also follow me on facebook, sign up to receive my tweets on Twitter, and see my latest pins on Pinterest!]

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Journal 44: Philippines Days Three and Four

After Pinatubo, I headed farther north into the western peninsula of Luzon.  Hundred Islands National Park was next on the agenda.

As I rolled into Alaminos, on the long bus, I hadn’t realized how much time had gone  by.  But that last leg took me almost six hours.  I just spent most of the time snapping photos at passers by and trying to scribble a few words into my journal as the bus bounced roadward.

Getting into Alaminos doesn’t mean you’ve made it to the park, however.  Once there, you still have to pay a tricycle to drive you the rest of the 7km distance to the coast.  The price isn’t that bad (only about $2), because the driver probably will have a brother or cousin who owns a hotel, restaurant or boat.  Good people to know.

Hundred Islands National Park:

Probably the thing I liked the most about the Hundred Islands National park was area surrounding it.  Staying in Alaminos and Lucap was sort of what I was hoping to see since I got to the Philippines.  The slower pace of life, the small town feel and the quiet streets that, once you wake up, you’re happy to have had the night before.

The place I stayed at was a reasonably large place that had recently been built by a small family.  I couldn’t tell if the husband was a perpetual drunk, because it was Christmas Eve when I arrived.  To be fair, both towns were equally stocked with drunkards, I suppose.  So perhaps I was being a bit harsh on the old man.  But it was his reliability as a boat captain what I was more unsure of.  Because the next day I’d signed up to have him drive me out into the park.

I approached to set up a time to leave to the park the next day and it felt like he’d thrown up an entire bottle of malt liqueur within five minutes of our meeting.  But as I had begun to find out, there were many people who could captain the rickety little vessels passing as the latest influence for the aquatic tourist conveyor belt out to the islands.  So if he fell through, I was pretty sure I’d be okay.

And that turned out to be the case as I wound up snatching up a younger, more sober looking driver at the entry to the pier.

Being as it was the morning time and I had arrived to the crumbling docks in time for the sunrise, I thought I’d snap a few photos.  They became some of the best shots I’d made yet on this trip.  So I was happy that I went out early.

Being the first national park that resided in the ocean that I have ever seen, I thought that this was one was particularly special.  The islands themselves were interesting.  But they weren’t mindblowing – as played out in the advertising all along the coast.

Shaped like the average blooming mushroom, these islands display a headdress of green foliage under a short canopy of failing coastline.  They are also very close to one another in proximity.  So there are lots of shallow pools, swimming areas, neat beaches and what is left of the coral that was swept nearly away from the latest wave of seasonal typhoons and covered by annual sediment brought in by lahar flows.

I don’t want to give the impression that I wasn’t impressed and didn’t enjoy the trip.  But if they were a little less dramaticized before you got there, they  might seek less awe and find more of it in the people that gaze upon these eroding structures.  Nevertheless, among the two packages (a half day [3 hours] and a full day [can include an novernight stay on Governor’s Island]), I opted for the short tour.

But I was no less excited about the day in the islands.  The driver took us out to little coves and swimmable spots.  There was this great little island that had all sorts of little pagoda-looking huts that appeared to have lived through many a noisy party echoing through the inlet.  And probably my favorite part of the trip was… well, the trip.  I guess I mean that literally.

When we arrived at the last island, there were lots of people swimming in the crystal clear waters at the south-facing beach.  And I was happily prancing along watching them when I stubbed my toe on this enormous shell jutting up through the sand.  I definitely broke my toe and I was down for a ten-count.  But once I was back up and snapping away, I found this great little oyster bed that had been “salvaged” by the last heavy weather that had come through and torn up the coral bottoms.  

I crept out into the sectioned off nursery and snapped a few photos of these giant oysters.  They must have been two feet across.  They were bright blue and green and seemed to change color under the shifting light of the cloud-strewn sky.  It was a great additive to the trip.  But after that, I headed back for the trenches.

Today, it was off for Banahue and Bontoc on my way to seek out the home of the native headhunters of Ifugao.  That trip would prove to be exciting and full of great views.  I would spend the first half on top of one vehicle and the other half hanging out the rear door of another.  But you’ll have to wait for the next journal to see photos and read about that.

And speaking of photos, be sure to stop by cyleodonnell.com for the photos from the whole Philippines trip.

Below is a part two of the six-part documentary film, Travel Geek: Documentary Philippines (be sure to subscribe to my channel). It covers much more than this journal. But since I’ve already made the video, I might as well put part one of the six-part series in here to add some reference:

[youtube http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=j_NFWWaw-u4]

[Wanna Help?  One way you can help is to sign up for blog updates.  You can also share this video (which can be found on my channel), my photography website and this blog.  Email at least ten of your email contacts who might enjoy it.  Help spread the word so others can enjoy my travels!  If you have any questions, just email me at: cyle@cyleodonnell.com. You can also follow me on facebook, sign up to receive my tweets on Twitter, and see my latest pins on Pinterest!]

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Author Spotlight: Aung San Suu Kyi

Along with her book, Letters from Burma, I also recommend her book, Freedom From Fear.  Both were written while she was under house arrest at her Inya Lake residence in Myanmar.  When released in 2009, she instantly became one of the front runners in the political movement in which she was involved before her incarceration 15 years before.

In Letters from Burma, which is a collection of two-page notes, she talks about everything from her visitation rights to and from her loved ones and supporters, to the folly involved in releasing pigeons outside her house.  And in the moments where she’s found writing about the smaller, less static times of her manifold hours alone, her poetic writing never trails too far from the undercurrent of strife that she is faced with in her life.

Truly an inspiring woman through her strength, dedication and passion for non-violent resolutions in a country run by anything but peaceful leaders, her book, Letters From Burma, shouldn’t inspire women.  It should inspire EVERYONE.

Below is my video review on her book and her time as the leading face of the peaceful movement in a land of tyranny.
[youtube http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JhkOiI2vrts]

[Wanna Help?  One way you can help is to sign up for blog updates.  Then email at least ten people from your email contacts who might enjoy reading the journals and checking out the photos and films.  You can also share this video (which can be found on my channel), my photography website and this blog.  Help spread the word so others can enjoy my travels!  If you have any questions, just email me at: cyle@cyleodonnell.com. You can also follow me on facebook, sign up to receive my tweets on Twitter, and see my latest pins on Pinterest!]

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Journal 43: Philippines Days Two and Three

Jeepneys:


Be sure to check out the Philippines photos at cyleodonnell.com

There’s an interesting and flavorful addition to the Philippines that is home to no other location on earth.  What is this delectable, endemic treasure: the Jeepney.

Short is its history on this green earth, but fascinating is its time here.  The Jeepney came about through an unexpected gap in the Philippines chilling and exciting past.

For only a short period of years, about (#) years or so, the United States occupied this small, island-speckled nation.  But in those short years they peppered the countryside with the vehicle most appropriate for bouncing around its rugged terrain, the Jeep.  So godlike is this amazing entity bestowed upon the Filipino people that they created many different Jeep-esque country crawlers in its honor.

Useful in hauling everything from livestock to construction materials up the slow-to-progress hinterland road system, these smoke-belching beasts are seen all over the country – especially in Luzon and the larger islands.  The classic front end, the heavy steal construction and, of course, the diehard suspension system are all akin to their master.  But Filipinos have added girth, length, an upper rack system that could rival the strength of boardwalk pilings.  And that’s all in an effort to tote as much as possible (and therefore make as much money as possible) in one trip.  But little else has changed about from the Jeep’s original design – including its not-so-environmentally-friendly miles-per-gallon ratio.

I was scammed and always charged the local rate on these mobile social clubs.  And it was never a boring ride.  People were crammed everywhere; in the nooks aboard the body, on the rack above, in the front seats and even clinging for dear life off the back.

I could have taken the big bus liners to the areas I wanted to go – mostly.  The air condition going through the city would definitely have been nicer.  But I would rather see the Philippines the way it’s seen from the inside – not the outside or looking down.

Mount Pinatubo:

Once near Angeles, I could tell that getting the rest of the way would have to be done a little more discerningly.  Angeles is a dirty, crowded town where little English is spoken.  People are willing enough to help you get to where you need to be.  But the drivers seem more to be out for the buck.

At the local depot, I was approached by lots of “tricycle” drivers asking to take me to my destination.  But I have learned that generally, you don’t want to just jump into the first offered ride when you’re fresh off the boat, so to speak.  So I haggled a little bit and met a few guys that were willing to discuss the idea.

The first price was offered.  I turned it down, of course.  Then I walked a little further and they sort of teamed up against me, saying that this was the regular price and that the distance was far away.

I knew that we were only about seven kilometers from the dropping point for what I had researched was the start of the hike for the mountain.  So I eventually just moved on.  They were not pleased that I had not fallen for their game.

Lesson from memory: be willing to walk away… a long way (in order to A, find out of the driver is serious and B, ensure that you’ve done as much as possible to help guarantee that you’re not the next white dupe to fall out of a bus and right into a scam).

Down the road a little bit, I hopped into the least formidable looking jeepney headed in my general direction and cut my lost time.  On the trip I found just what I needed.  A relative of the person in charge of the next leg of my trip.

Cindy, the cousin of Wendell, had told us that we were approaching O’Donnell Village and that we should stay at her relative’s place overnight and then, in the morning, take his jeep tour into the Pinatubo region for a quick day hike.

And just like that, I had a place to stay, a hookup into the trek up the mountain and the closest thing to a personal guarantee that I had secured the best price possible – the local price.

And what a hookup I had: Wendell turned out to be the president of the Four-Wheel Club in the entire area.  And as a bonus, it was his birthday.  So he was celebrating with a huge banquet of food, complete with servers and free beer.  So, besides the all night bash that included seemingly endless karaoke until all hours of the morning, it was definitely a good night to stay at Wendell’s place.

The next morning I was overcharged for my room and headed toward the mountain.  It was the first time I had been swindled, so I didn’t take it to heart.  And since I’d been given plenty of food and beer the night before, I didn’t really waste much time debating it.  But Wendell gave me a price the previous evening, 500 Pesos, which had somehow turned into a per-head price by morning.  But nevermind that, it was off to see one of the world’s most famous mounds of dirt.

Once at the gate and registered, it was 16 kilometers to the base camp.  From there I’d end up hiking another 12 klicks to the summit.  Or should I say what used to be the summit.

In 1991, Mount Pinatubo breathed its most recent breath (well, the lesser of the famous ones was actually in 1993), casting a billowing haze of smoke, ash and flying debris 40 kilometers into the air and combining its efforts with a tragically coincidental typhoon that had pummeled the west coast that same day, adding insult to injury.  The resulting lahar flowed down the mountain and through the surrounding villages, killing scores of people in its path.

Once I reached the crater left behind by this destruction, I instantly felt the helplessness that must have been a part of the psyche of the victims of this massive sleeping goliath.

Below is a part one of the six-part documentary film, Travel Geek: Documentary Philippines (be sure to subscribe to my channel). It covers much more than this journal. But since I’ve already made the video, I might as well put part one of the six-part series in here to add some reference:
[youtube http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KM7BnYvzRa8]
[Wanna Help?  One way you can help is to sign up for blog updates.  You can also share this video (which can be found on my channel), my photography website and this blog.  Email at least ten of your email contacts who might enjoy it.  Help spread the word so others can enjoy my travels!  If you have any questions, just email me at: cyle@cyleodonnell.com. You can also follow me on facebook, sign up to receive my tweets on Twitter, and see my latest pins on Pinterest!]

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Journal 42: Philippines Day One

First Day in the Philippines:

I’ve chiseled out about two weeks to spend in the Philippines over the New Year holiday, 2011.  During this time, I am interested in seeing two world heritage sites, climbing some mountains, seeing some waterfalls and navigating underground rivers.

This might be an auspicious venture and an unreasonable expectation for Southeast Asia’s black sheep.  But I have been pleasantly surprised at my goal’s relinquished rewards in the past.  So I continue to set my standards high.

Day one sees me landing in Manila.  I landed at about 9:30, well after dark.  And Manila, like many Latin-descended capital cities, it’s not really safe to fumbling the streets late at night.  So I jumped right into a cab and headed for the Stonehouse Hotel, far north of the city.

Strategically, I planned on staying near this location because I wanted to simply leave Manila as soon as possible the next morning.  I had bigger plans in mind.  In fact, my plans stood 1486 meters high as I planned to crest the lower reaches of its summit within the next two days.

The mountain has an amazing recent history.  But first, for reference, I will start on the other side of the world:  In 1980, Mount St. Helens, which sits along the Cascade Range in Washington State, erupted like a nuclear bomb and blew fully grown trees to the ground for hundreds of yards in all directions.  It was so powerful that it recorded a Volcanic Explosivity Index of 5, the most significant in the contiguous 48 states.  It hurled bombs and ash into the air that tormented surrounding states and Canada for months after.


Be sure to check out the Philippines photos at cyleodonnell.com

But when Mt. Pinatubo went of in 1991, it recorded a VEI of 6.  It also coincided with a massive tropical storm that happened to have been battering the coast at the time.  When they met, the water from the heavens created a surge of mud that buried a handful of villages in the mudflow’s wake.  A dozen people died and cleanup and recover took months.  It erupted again two years later.

I didn’t know if I was going to take the longer, more strenuous two-day hike with an overnight, sweating to the temperature-cued crickets choir or if I was going to try and shoot straight through in one day.  But I knew that I was headed for the world’s most recent VEI-6 explosion and currently active volcano, Mount Pinatubo.

But, as is the case in many other times of seeking out the location of desire, the adventure, I was planning, would be in the voyage.

Below is a video of the first part of the trip (be sure to subscribe to my channel). It covers much more than this journal. But since I’ve already made the video, I might as well put part one of the six-part series in here to add some reference:
[youtube http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KM7BnYvzRa8]

[Wanna Help?  One way you can help is to please share this video (which can be found on my channel), my photography website and this blog.  Email at least ten of your email contacts who might enjoy it.  Help spread the word so others can enjoy my travels!  If you have any questions, just email me at: cyle@cyleodonnell.com. You can also follow me on facebook, sign up to receive my tweets on Twitter, and see my latest pins on Pinterest!]

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journal 41: Hong Kong and the 16-story Chungking Mansion

Hong Kong is a massive rush for any first-timer.  It’s even more so at any time during rush-hour.  It was amazing when I found a street, like the one above, that wasn’t completely packed with foot traffic.

Laborers throwing bags of rice from a truck; rich folk chatting away on their Blackberries; book-reading, iPod-flicking zombies pausing just inches before bumping into passersby as they come barreling into their shallow field of vision.  It’s a maze of trollies, Mercedes, buses, overhead walkways and cryptic alleys selling everything from pantyhose to Christmas lights.  And amid all this, surprisingly no other photographers.

For this trip, I made a special effort to work a my new style of photography that I have been wanting to integrate into my repertoire.  And it requires a tripod with a nice head and the ability to hold at least 8Kg of camera body and lens attachments.  So there I was, mid-sidewalk, setup and ready to shoot as the sea of people flowed around me, and I got the sense, for the first time while traveling, that I was no longer worried of being the victim of any type of robbery.

I know that sounds strange, but I am constantly on the lookout for quick hands, have an ever-present eye on my bag and know where all my camera gear is at all times.  But I suppose I took more comfort than usual in the massive swell of bodies in motion all around me.  I wouldn’t have been able to chase anyone down, shout at someone or for help or have much chance of even knowing if I was actually the victim of pick-pocketing.  But I was at ease nonetheless.

I guess that feeling came mostly because I was a point of attraction in the street.  So all the eyes peering in my direction acted as a web of security for anyone ballsy enough to approach and steal something from me.  It would probably be the equivalent of walking onto a stage in the middle of a ballet and trying to steal a tutu.  It was pretty refreshing, actually.  After all, this is no small city; and indeed no city which was unfamiliar with crime of all kinds.

But before I start a tangent, I want to discuss some items that will be shortly upcoming for this blog, blog #41, the content of future blogs and the big plans that I have for the future of the blog in general.  

For this blog, I’d like to introduce a new technique that I have been interested in since my Korea trip.  I wanted to do more of it on that trip, but I limited it mostly to gathering a style, hammering in the technique and then working on solid post-production.  This new technique is called High Dymanic Range photography, or HDR for short.

This type of photography consists of creating several frames of the same image at different exposures and capitalizing on their ability to draw from different gradients of light to maximize the feel of “being there,” visually speaking.  As you’re standing in a place, your eyes do a much better job of analyzing light as it truly appears.  The problem that cameras innately have, is that they can expose for only one temperature of light at a time.  This can be manipulated with the use of filters, multiple masking layers in editing and of course the software itself has, to some extent, the ability to draw out the other underexposed areas.

But when a camera can bracket several exposures almost simultaneously, it makes the work of getting the right all-around exposure pretty easy business.  And with new technology, powerful thinking by photographic creatives and lots of financial backing, software has come about that makes that process much easier.  But while HDR not only increases the amount of time needed to dedicate for still images on location, but adds a step in an already very tedious production process for large catalogs of images (that ultimately I have to deal with after every trip), it is much more rewarding once the final product is in.  The image at the top of this blog is the exact result of what I am describing here.  It is the way light hits the eyes naturally, exposing the under-eve locations of the scene just as would your eye’s quick and long-adapted ability to do so.

This image is another one of my favorites from the Hong Kong Collection.

This dramatic lighting comes from the multiple exposures that were created during a series of high-speed, continuous shooting that my Nikon has the ability to do, freezing the action sequence in a way that makes it possible to layer several different exposures into a single image.

But more about that later.  Another part of the plans that I have for this blog is the addition of two very exciting things.  I will be adding a discussion section of the newest gear that I am interested in like photographic equipment, travel guides and equipment, books, different websites that I keep up with and lots more to make things interesting.  And the other point that I am excited to be bringing to the blog is a photography contest!

I will be hosting a new photo contest each month with prizes for first and second place.  And lots of cool extras for participants.  But since this blog can’t handle that kind of memory (or won’t, really), I have opened up a new website that I will be announcing shortly.  There are some really great things afoot, so be sure to stay tuned for the latest on what’s happening.

And as for the blog that will be carried over to the new site, I want to also introduce new features that I have wanted to implement and that I think will really be good for the site (and that you will enjoy seeing).  Firstly, I plan on putting up lots of videos.  I liked seeing them in other blogs that I subscribe to and I have regretted not putting more emphasis on that here.  Travel videos, tutorials, discussions on the latest gear that’s out there are all going to be part of my upcoming videos.

Secondly, I will also have a member’s area where you can log on, post links to your site, get your photos seen, link to your twitter account or Facebook and even start discussions of what interests you in the worlds of travel, writing and photography.

I want to form a community where I, and others, can come and keep up with others out there traveling, writing and doing what they love (and all those who live vicariously through them).  But I will be discussing that more in upcoming blogs.  For now, though, I have the great Hong Kong to blog about.  Don’t worry, I will be talking about my newest favorite gear in this blog as well.

Lastly, I have several books slated to be published next year and, as well as portraits and landscapes, I will be hosting them on this and my photography site.  I will give some of them away as prizes and will also host books by other authors like me trying to gain more exposure.  I will, of course, be doing this overseas, so you’ll have to be willing to wait a few weeks for delivery if you’re the lucky winner.  But I will get you your prizes, I promise.

But I don’t want to stray too far from the norm of the blog just yet.  So in light of the mention of my interest in discussing books, I wanted to point out one that I purchased while I was in Hong Kong.  It’s a great read and it’s written by Gordon Matthews, a professor of anthropology at the Chinese University of Hong Kong, who’s taken a really interesting avenue for his research.  He’s stayed at least one night at the Chungking Mansions each week for the three years preceding this book (and I am willing to bet, a few more).  In his book, Ghetto at the Center of the World, he describes the Chungking Mansion as a dilapidated, 16-story commercial and residential structure in the heart of Hong Kong’s tourist district.  It’s home to a remarkably motley group of people including traders, laborers, asylum seekers, drug dealers, prostitutes  and even foreign workers who return home once every few months.

Of course, I stayed there as well.  And I have to say, the research alone that went into this book had to be pretty entertaining.  Every night there was some really amazing activities afoot right outside the gates.  The on-duty security guards mostly laughed along with the residents at what was happening.  But I didn’t feel unsafe (mostly) while I was there.

I can say, though, that this little building that would be boarded up and locked down for fear of collapse in many other countries, was a truly amazing oddity to be sandwiched amid the looming towers in the multinational headquarters of the world’s financial mecca.  Multinational corporations and global companies might barely even lift a proverbial eye brow in its direction.  But this dusty edifice probably had more character attraction on one floor than several of its goliath neighbors put together.

Anyway, it’s a great read if you get the chance to pick it up.  But what better way to paint a picture of my experience in Hong Kong.  It was really great.  And the people were something unexpected, too.

As far as the city goes, from the cobbles in the alleyways to the marble floors at Starbucks, this, like many other huge, Asian cities, was basically a huge shopping mall.  But the people were what made it surprising.  Mostly they kept to themselves.  But when bumped into (which was a rare occurrence indeed) there was always a hand wave and an apologetic look which was normally followed by an “excuse me.”  And that reminds me, everyone speaks English in Hong Kong.  So if you’re on your way there, you don’t have to worry about brushing up on your Cantonese first.  But while you might not want to carry all those extra pieces of luggage through this unforgiving maze of concrete, you may want to overpack your wallet.  This place is EX-PENS-IVE.  And by no means should you take that lightly.  You will go through more money here than most other places you’ll go.  Make no mistake about that.

Not only is the exchange rate very difficult to quickly calculate mentally, it’s also difficult to bargain with people here because they’re so used to catering to so many currencies that they will try and work into other denominations to make it sound like a better deal.  Talk about a headache.  My calculator was the first thing to materialize when I approached any booth, table or counter — long before the money came out.

The trip wasn’t that long, really.  All I had to do was get my residence visa worked out for Taiwan and check into my Myanmar tourist visa for my next visit there early next year.  So the rest of the time was spent in book stores, checking out the sites, photographing amazing street action and, oh yeah, the best part: sailing through Victoria Harbor and Kowloon Bay.  I have wanted to do that for so long.

Downsides to HK: if you’re not used to walking on inclined planes, you’ll be dead within hours of arriving.  That, or you’ll simply never get anything done.  Walking is everything.  And everything is slanted vertically.  So start your hikes early in preparation for a visit.

Upside, you can get anything you want here (and I mean that literally).  And for being in Asia for the last three years, it’s nice to get an American cheeseburger and fries with real pickles and real ketchup/mayo and all the trimmings.  Quite enjoyable.

Don’t forget to drop by the website, cyleodonnell.com, and check out the new Hong Kong gallery.

Until next time, happy trails!