Philippines

July 2001

Let’s get straight to the point. If you love drinking beer, you'll love the Philippines. You can kick off the day with a 60 ounce (1 litre - the old Darwin stubbie) of San Miguel ('expertly brewed since 1890') or Colt 45 for breakfast for about 47p. Then top up during the day with 'shooters' - standard bottles for 13p and in the evenings move on to 'Red Horse' 10% extra strength with a shot of gin in it for 25p. Drinking is a national sport here and it is 24 hours a day. There is even an Internet site at www.booze.com.ph where you can order beer. Members of AA need not apply. When they get hot, the Filipino men lift their shirts to cool down their beer bellies and piss at the sides of the roads. I fitted in from the start.

The Philippines had been getting a bad press. On the island of Palawan a few weeks back, a Muslim independence movement had kidnapped some 5 star tourists. One American had apparently been beheaded and the rest were still being held hostage. Like Sulawesi, it was as popular with the tourists as England during the Foot and Month farce. Using the Internet, I discovered that anyone not in the Philippines was saying "stay away", but the few travellers actually there were saying "What a great place. Come on down". Added to that, their most famous volcano, Mayon, had recently erupted and was off limits and parts of the country had been hit by the devastating 170km an hour winds of Typhoon Feria - 163 dead, 60 missing, landslides and 800,000 people displaced. Three British people had also been kidnapped in Manila this year, which had sporadic grenades going off in the shopping malls. My kind of place.

The Philippines with 80 million people and rising fast, stand at the crossroads of the developed western world and the Orient. It lies in the heart of SE Asia, stretching more than 300,000 sq. km and consists of about 7000 islands - most are tiny dots on the map. The 11 largest islands cover 94% of land. Taiwan and China are northern neighbours. To the west are Singapore, Malaysia (Borneo) and Thailand. At its feet is a chain of Indonesian islands. The tourist blurb said "its unique location has made the Philippines the commercial, cultural and intellectual hub of Asia from the dawn of history". Yeah, whatever.

The climate is typically tropical - it is hot and humid all year round and averaged 35'C during my stay in July. The economy is cash crops - coconuts, rice, sugar, tobacco and tropical fruits. Mango is the 'Queen of fruits'. Principally agrarian and potentially self sufficient except for bad farming techniques and poor yields in a mostly peasant society. Some gold and silver mining. It has a lot of untapped potential. Petrol cost 26p a litre. Coffee (black) was 3p a cup.

Language: Halo - hello, Oo - yes, Hindu - no, Mabuti - good, Magkano (Mechano) - how much?

Brief history: The Philippines has spent most of its life trying to get rid of the 'colonial yoke'. Discovered in 1521 by a Portuguese explorer, Ferdinand Magellan working for the Spanish, it was named after the, then current Spanish king, Phillip II. The Spanish moved in full time and dominated the country for over 300 years, attempting to bring Catholicism to the heathens (even now, 83% of the population is Catholic, which is unique in SE Asia), wiping out all previous Filipino culture and growing tobacco for the European market. By the 1890s, the locals had had enough and inspired by Jose Rizal, a brilliant scholar who advocated peaceful independence, started to rebel. The Spanish solution was to execute Rizal, which really pissed them off.

The 1898 Spanish-American War led to Spain's defeat and the Yanks moved in for 50 years. During World War II, the Japanese invaded and General MacArthur, the US General declared "I shall return" while leaving on the next available plane. The Japs were defeated, MacArthur made a re-appearance to declare "what happened to my favourite bar?" and Philippine independence was finally declared in 1945.

Independence led to political corruption, of which Ferdinand Marcos and his shoe collecting wife, Imelda, were the most famous culprits. They were kicked out in 1986 and since then, it has rolled on with enlightened reforms and more political corruption. The last president is still up on charges.

While Jo tackled Singapore and Malaysia, I had 3 weeks to cover as much of the country as possible. It was a full on, non-stop journey through 10 of the major islands. Not nearly enough time, but I came away with a good overview and thoroughly recommend the Philippines for a holiday.

Arriving at Davao airport on the most southern island of Mindanao (where most of the Muslim uprisings were happening), I found, as at Manado, a relaxed sleepy airport. Immigration was excellent. No baggage search. The headman expected "Mr Robert" and gave me a 21-day visa and steered me to a Philippine Airlines office to purchase an outbound ticket as planned.

Outside the airport, there were no taxi drivers hounding me. I casually walked out of the airport to the main road where the Mayor, Ben de (rules) Guzmor welcomed me on a large billboard. I caught a jeepney (see later) downtown, found an ATM to get cash and took in a few sights including the ugliest church I have ever seen - like an upside down boat made of unpainted grey concrete. It was strange to see fully armed security guards outside every bank.

Davao is a rapidly growing cosmopolitan city of 1.2m pop, on the Philippines' second largest island, but it had nothing of interest for me. Decision time. Stay here the night or move on. I found the bus station and decided to head north at 5pm. Let’s see where I end up. The biggest problem with travelling around the islands is that you are at the mercy of the ferry services. If you miss a ferry, you often have to spend the night waiting for another.

The bus had chickens in the aisles but was bearable on the sealed roads. Similar scenery to Sulawesi - tropical trees, coconuts, palms and bananas. Thunder and lightening storms flooded the road, which after 5 hours was unsealed, rough and under construction.

We finally arrived at Butuan in the north of the island after midnight. The bus station was full of sleeping people waiting for bus connections. A tricycle picked me up to take me into town, and the driver's mate offered, in broken English, "good looking chicks". Listen pal, I've been travelling for 15 hours - do I look like a need a woman? I need a shower.

Around 1am, the armed security guard unlocked the doors to my cheap hotel where he, the receptionist and maintenance kid were all watching a movie on TV in the lobby. A standard room with cold shower, fan, towel and soap (luxury after Indonesia). I was so wired from the day that I sat in the lobby drinking ice cold Colt 45 (which tasted as good as I remember from my student days) and chatting until 5am. Around 3am there was a tap at the hotel door. A local was selling 'Balut' which is boiled duck egg containing a partially formed duck embryo. Yuck. No takers there.

Batuan was just a non-descript, transit point to the coast to pick up a ferry to the next island. Walking back to the bus station, tricycles passed by - either motorised or pedalled. Take a motorbike and sidecar, remove sidecar and slide a wooden/fibreglass frame over the top, with wooden garden seats to sit on. They hold 4 people, or 2 if pedalled. They were all customised with decorations and names like 'Wings of Speed', "Enforcer', 'Honey with Love' and 'Lawn Mother Returns'. I saw a sign for 'Fighter Wine - Mindanao's No 1 Medicinal wine' , which sounded interesting.

First impressions: People were very friendly . Very polite - lots of 'sir' and 'excuse me’. Everyone seemed to speak some English and was interested to meet a western tourist without the Indonesian roll call of the usual questions. Beer prices were signposted (by the breweries) outside stalls, recommending the fixed price. The jeepneys all had the same fixed price. It was very easy to travel around. While drinking is popular, smoking is not and most transport was smoke free. Lots of no smoking signs around. Beer was almost as cheap as mineral water/lemonade and market stall food was also cheap. I was immediately enticed by the relaxed friendly, unhassled atmosphere. The favourite call to tourists is "Hey Joe" - a throwback to the World War Two American occupation. I heard it so many times I kept breaking into the Jimi Hendrix song with same title. Many people thought it strange that I was travelling alone.

The biggest first impression were the 'Jeepneys'. which are unique to the Philippines. After WWII, the Americans left their army trucks, which were converted, into colourful shining chrome taxis. They became part of the culture, to the extent that new jeepneys are built on the old designs. Take a 20 foot long army truck, and stick two padded benches in the back seating 7 crushed people on either side, with room for tiny stools in the aisle for extra passengers and two more up front with the driver. Paint them every colour of the rainbow and cover them with shining chrome, tassels, badges, lights, aerials and horse statues on the bonnet. Arm them with loud horns and a booming tape deck and sound system and off you go. They were great. Everyone passed the driver the money (fixed price throughout the country of about 2p) while he drove like a madman, holding his arm out behind him. There were signs on the windscreens for the fixed destinations. On the smaller islands, I'd ride on the roof with the luggage. Manila, the capital, has 75,000 of them battling the rest of the public transport system. I'd love to ship one home, but I doubt their exhaust fumes would meet our western standards.

A fast, efficient minibus took me 3 hours north to the coast, past lush forested hills and black water buffalo strolling along the roadsides, often with small boys riding them. More paddy fields. We passed through a town called 'Bad-As' where the Mayor was running for re-election. His campaign motto was "Lets Doh it again!" (Maybe Homer Simpson's party?).

The port of Surigoa had a ferry leaving at 2pm for Leyte, the next island northwards. I tried my first Filipino food at a local stall called the 'Comon Food Hauz'. Foodstalls usually have a dozen saucepans of cooked food. You just lift the lids, have a gander and see what’s on the menu. The Filipinos like to eat early and at lunchtimes. Hard to find cooked food on the streets after dark. This stall had delights like stewed kidneys, beef, fish heads, sardines and vegetables. I had octopus stew with a beef stew side order and, inevitably, a beer.

The ferry terminal was spotless with a/c and TVs for the waiting passengers. TVs are everywhere in bus stations, food stalls, houses, ferry terminals. Once you paid for your ticket, you signed a ferry manifest (name, age, and nationality). Queues were strictly observed during the entire process. My female desk clerk giggled to her companion and told me "Your nose is very large". Not as large as yours, love.

A 3-hour journey on a smooth car ferry took me to Liloan, on the island of Leyte and around 6.30pm, I climbed aboard a bus to the port of Maasin for another ferry journey to the next island. It was strange to have sealed roads all the time. We roared through empty hamlets where lines of kids dressed in white T-shirts amused themselves. As soon as the bus lights lit them up, they would raise their arms and do strange belly dances. Others ran alongside the bus like Norman Wisdom. I now know Filipino for "Mr Grimsdale!". Not much entertainment in these places. Dozens of dogs with "today's menu" hung around their necks slunk around. Every dog I met in the Philippines ran away frightened since they are still a popular meal, though the Government is trying to remove it from menus for "health reasons".

I was stranded in the port of Maasin overnight. There were no hotels and the only one I found was terrible (3" foam mattress and a fan). Washing facilities were a cold bucket of water poured over your head. But it was 10pm and I wasn't going anywhere. Maasin, did, however, have a lovely old spotlit, Spanish sandstone cathedral where a night service was taking place. Inside, a local man sang a piercing, wonderful solo performance which echoed around the streets. The large cathedral was a third full - not bad for a late midweek service. As the only tourist in town, I was stared at a lot. I didn't see a western tourist for my first four days in the country.

Someone was pulling a high pitched saw through my head. This deafening noise was my alarm clock. My room overlooked the bustling early morning market and the carpenters had started before 6am. Which was nice. I strolled around to see huge one-foot wide slabs of Marlin fish and two-foot long silver tuna on the stalls. Over a coffee, I chatted to a 'disbursing officer' (in payroll) who told me that the average Filipino salary was about £60 a month.

Maasin, during the daytime was quite pleasant. Locals (including schoolchildren) popped into the cathedral for a quick prayer. Lots of public signs: "No blowing of horn", "Lets keep it green" and "Not Filipino Time - but Filipinos on time" and the subtle "Only dogs piss in public. Are we now dogs?" (a reference to local men who relieve themselves at the side of the road). All care of the local Rotary Club. The schoolyards were full of the returning students dressed in white shirts and black skirts/trousers. The female teachers were dressed in fetching pink trouser suits. They follow the American educational system and there were signs asking for bugle and drum volunteers for the school band and announcing an 'acquaintance day' for the students.

Throughout the Philippines, I would pass schools, which had "Be proud. You are a teacher. The future depends on you" in large letters on the walls of the school. Motivation or what? Maybe Tony Blair should try it in the UK. There were also signs at the schools with "Just say no to drugs but yes to God and sport" (and beer when you're old enough). Many schools had been financed by the Japanese and the schools were all involved with a national project ("school within a garden") to get the kids to construct gardens in front of the buildings.

Along with the jeepneys and educational system, the Americans left basketball, which is the national sport. Late afternoons, the streets would fill with basketball games, though Michael Jordan need not fear the competition. Noone knew any English soccer clubs or David Beckham, which was a first on this trip. Which was nice!

To reach the island of Bohol, I caught an outrigger boat called a 'Bancas'. They are about 25ft long with wooden stabilisers strapped to both sides for two thirds of the length of the boat. Open windows. Everyone else sat under a canvas roof or behind the plastic sheets on the sides. I sat on the bow and within 10 minutes, in choppy seas, was absolutely soaked. So that’s what the protection is for. One way of learning - the wet way.

The island of Bohol, lying between Leyte and Cebu was an easy going, quiet sort of a place, famous for it's 'Chocolate Hills'. It turned out to be one of the nicest islands in the Philippines. My 'St Jude' company bus had a sign on the back proclaiming "Pray the Holy Rosary daily - only takes 15 minutes". Save time to drink more beer!

We passed lovely rural countryside, with lush green vegetation on the undulating hills. Lots of workers in the fields and old dusty, rundown Spanish cathedrals in the villages. When we stopped at Carmen, a public notice stated "No animals allowed to roam the streets, public places, public buildings, churches and chapels to maintain cleanliness of the areas all of the time". It was strange to read signs in English again. While I read this, 5 men passed me on a moped and there was still room for one more. Local women sold peanut 'kisses' (crunch) to the bus passengers. Bohol is also the home to the world's smallest monkey - the tarsier. It must have been small. I never saw one.

I was dropped in the Chocolate Hills area, and walked up a steep hill to a crumbling tourist resort where I was the only person in a shambling 30-bed dormitory. The 'Chocolate Hills' are 1200 inter-connected conical 40-120 metre tall limestone based hills eroded by rivers and rainwater into conical shapes. In the dry season, the vegetation turns brown into a chocolate colour. But they were vivid green during my visit. Not so much chocolate hills as 1200 closely packed large molehills that had been grassed over. Once you had climbed to the lookout, read the blurb "Behold the products of the patient labouring of rainwater on a thin soluble limestone foundation", and taken a few photos, you were pushed to pass 30 minutes. But it was an intriguing landscape, which I hadn’t seen before, and a lovely scene to pass a beer or two during the hazy sunset.

An early morning bus took me to Tagbilaran, past paddy fields and water buffalo hauling produce to the farms by pulling wooden sleighs (a first!). Tagbilaran, Bohol's capital was a busy market town and I caught the 8am 'Supercat' ferry to Cebu. The most comfortable boat ride since Australia, despite the fact that they had lots of public announcements including a prayer before we left port. En route, The latest Kevin Costner baseball movie was on show, but it started after the beginning and ended just before the end so it was a little difficult to follow. I never did find out the title. Here's an idea. Don't show long movies on a 90-minute ferry ride.

Cebu City, 'Queen City of the south' (pop 550,000), on Cebu island, is the Philippines' second largest city and the commercial and transportation hub of the southern islands. It was 33'C downtown and absolutely roasting. It was the original Spanish capital with the oldest Spanish fort - Fort San Pedro, and Colon Street, paved in the 16th Century, is apparently the country's oldest street. The Spanish probably called it that to remind them of the dodgy local food available. I saw my first tourists (er, 4) and Internet cafes which suffered from power cuts.

I did a tour of the sights. The Basilica Minore del Santo Nino was a stately grey limestone building and one of the country's oldest cathedrals (1740) . There were lines of people waiting to pay their respects to the Santa Nino statuette (the oldest Catholic relic - which the first explorer Magdellan gave to a Philippine Queen in 1521 after she'd been baptised/brainwashed). The statuette looked like a doll's head stuck on top of an ornate golden gilded cloak. Someone would approach the shrine, knock on the glass to get it's attention, say a private prayer, rub the glass and drop some money in a box. I wondered if you pressed its stomach, it might say "mama".

At Independence Plaza, I came across a statue of Ramon Magsaysay (Philippines' first Presidente), who had a jovial face, a sunhat in one hand and his other arm waving in the air ("another beer! Now!"). Beneath the statue were his ten pledges such as "I believe that he who has less in life should have more in law" and "I believe that the little man is fundamentally entitled to a little more food in his stomach". I was attempted to add an eleventh pledge "I believe I'll have another beer". I know I did.

Cebu was a crowded, polluted city of heavy traffic, endless cries of 'Hey Joe!" and enough after one day. You can't avoid the large cities, but the trick is to stay in the sleepier towns. I caught a bus across the mountainous island, where the driver hurled the bus so recklessly around the twisty bends, that I was flung back and forth across the back seat, while attempting to view the lovely scenery of palm tree and banana plantations.

Panagsama Beach, just outside the sleepy town of Moalboal on the western coast of Cebu, had no beach (removed by a previous typhoon), but some excellent scuba diving. It was virtually deserted. Despite overcast weather, choppy seas and the inevitable tropical storm, a local guide agreed to take me diving off Pescador Island, about 2km offshore. There was a catch. We had to swim out 200 metres offshore to an outrigger boat in our gear, which was hard work in the high waves. "Watch out for the sea urchins" my guide warned, while promptly stepping on one with the long sharp black thorns, which he proceeded to pick out of the soles of his feet as we motored out to the island. It was so rough, I felt like Captain Ahab in search of Moby Dick.

Pescador Island is tiny, but has a small coral reef around it, which drops to 40 metres. We did a couple of relaxing dives, using the current to drift around the reef at 28 and 25 metres. It was very clear underwater and we saw dozens of pairs of Lion fish with their narrow frilly brown and white fins, and a white tipped reef shark (rare sight apparently) swimming below us. We swam through Cathedral Cave (basically a small tunnel leading to a large cavern in the coral reef), spotted bloated puffer fish and heard a large Triggerfish munching coral from 2 feet away. Moray eels, black and white sea snakes. The whole caboodle. It was great to just dive on our own with noone else around.

At my hotel, I met Peter, a 50-year-old Vietnam Vet, now ex pat US citizen living in the Philippines. He told me about life for the foreigner here. The growth of a 'middle class' has been discouraged. People were either peasants (poor) or very rich. "The beer is cheap for one reason. If it wasn't, there would be a revolution". The women ran the country while the men stayed drunk. He had married a local Filipino woman concluding "Women get pregnant here just by looking at them - the most fertile people I've ever come across". But he was also bitter. His wife had milked his bank account to finance her extended family and he'd lost his business through corruption. It was a familiar story. Every ex-pat I talked to had lost their business and were fleeced by the marriages. "Why don't you just go home?" I asked everyone. "I've been here too long and I'm just too used to living here now" was the usual reply. It was, despite the problems, a very relaxed lifestyle.

I headed north for a long day's travelling. A connecting bus must have had 100 people on board, hanging off the sides and roof. Despite my backpack I was ushered aboard to hang off the side as well. I nearly broke my spine with the 45lb weight. At high speed, going around bends, I only just held on, thinking I was a goner.

The bus pulled into Toledo in NW Cebu and a smooth 2-hour ferry ride took me across to the island of Negros. At San Carlos, I boarded a bus for the capital of Bacolod, a 3-hour ride around the island. Negros is the sugar island of the Philippines and the fields were indeed just full of sugarcane. I saw a new sight - Cockerel farms! Hundreds of cockerels were tethered up in 100m lines, penned to their own small 1m area with a palm leaf shelter. Just enough space to stop them from fighting.

As we approached the town of Cadiz, a scruffy village by a river port, there was a terrible smell. One of those - stuck in your throat, Jesus, has something died? smells. The smell turned out to be small sardines drying on tables by the million. How did the locals live with the aroma? The smell passed until we hit the central market. The same bloody fish for sale. Silas, had nothing but a sign which proclaimed "One of the Philippines top 25 tourist destinations". I think not. I'd never heard of it. Maybe the 125th destination if you were really stuck. The only thing I saw there was a funeral procession. Pretty apt. Rather than a hearse, hundreds of locals followed a normal car with the coffin stuck out of the rear door.

Bacolod calls itself the 'City of Smiles' (if you're leaving). The Lonely Planet described it as a typical Filipino City "of no great interest". No shit. Noone spoke English. The ferry wharf was 7km north of town, but could I find it? I walked for miles through scruffy wooden shacks built on stilts above the water and litter strewn streets while the local youth played basketball, yelled "Hey Joe" and were not exactly helpful. What an ugly place. I would say 'Ilo-Ilo' and they just kept pointing down the road. My determination paid off. When I reached the ferry wharf, the last, high speed "Bullit boat" of the day was leaving in 10 minutes at 5.15pm. I was on it and gone.

It was another swish a/c job with the movie "Proof of Life" half showing. With the sound turned down, it was no duller than with the sound turned up. Wooden acting or what? Ninety minutes later, we motored into Ilo-Ilo, the capital of Penay Island. It had taken 3 bus rides, 3 jeepney rides and 2 boat trips but I had covered 3 islands in one day. My hotel owner apologised for the 'noisy room' I would be given, but it was very quiet and I hung out up the road, at a drinking stall with the locals who watched B-rate American movies while getting plastered. Who needed to eat? I was often travelling so fast, that I survived on beer and peanuts. You could always find beer where there was no food. What a great way to lose weight.

Breakfast was included and I watched Filipino men order fried sausage and egg with a large dollop of rice. The security guard spoke English, drew me a diagram and told me where to get a jeepney to the central bus station. Generally, I found it very easy to get around the Philippines. Just ask (except in Bacolad). A large a/c bus was waiting to leave at 7am for Caticlan in the far north of Penay. I had to sit on a plastic stool in the aisle.

The bus ticket system is different in the Philippines. The conductor comes round and issues you a ticket - a line of numbers indicating stops and prices, which he punches out. Then, maybe an hour later, he comes around to collect the money. You can work out from your ticket what the ride costs and have the correct amount ready. No over charging or dual pricing. A very efficient system which I welcomed.

Eventually I got a seat and 5 hours later we pulled into Caticlan. I saw a wonderful sign en route which said "The World is a book and those that do not travel, read only a page" (St Augustine). I thought this statement was a fine epitaph for this entire trip.

My destination off Penay, was the tiny island of Borocay, which is the most popular tourist destination in the country. A small wooden outrigger boat (covered in plastic sheeting) with about 20 passengers, crashed through the waves to the world famous (yeah right, like me, you've never heard of it), tropical paradise. The tourist blurb read such delights as "crystal blue waters... powder white sand...liberal doses of tropical palms... healthy marine life under the waves..etc". From a distance, it looked very appealing - 100m tall green hills with white beaches, lapped by the sea. When you arrived you found the beaches covered with litter (due to the recent typhoons) and a pretty scruffy place geared to the western tourist - dive schools, souvenir shops, restaurants etc. The tourist industry had died a death. I counted 20 western tourists, but the Korean tourists were still flooding in. It may be ranked as one of the most attractive islands in the world, and it is very relaxed, but I felt that Koh To in Thailand and the Gili Islands off Lombok in Indonesia were a lot more attractive and appealing.

A local woman met me off the boat at White Beach and led me down the sandy trail (no cars on the islands - just mopeds and tricycles) to her hotel, where I got a splendid cottage about 100m from the sea for £2 a day. There isn’t a lot to do here on your own except sunbathe, read and buy crappy souvenirs. At shantytowns inland, away from the tourist strip, I was able to find local price beer and market food. I did, however, treat myself to an all-you-can-eat tourist buffet spread of chicken and pork stews, huge slabs of fish, 'Lumpia Shanghai' (spring rolls with meat), 'Pancit' (noodle dish), fried potatoes, rice, salad and fresh fruit. After 3 helpings, and getting strange looks from the staff, I concluded that I had got my £2 worth. It was my first decent meal in days.

The dive schools were overpriced, considering that the coral had been destroyed by the typhoons. I opted for a cheaper snorkelling trip. 4 Korean tourists and myself were taken around the small island (about 9km x 1 km wide) in an outrigger boat for a five hour trip to drop in on lovely sandy beaches, snorkel off the shallow coral and have an excellent lunch of 'Bangus' (Milkfish) and chicken cooked on the beach (including beer) for $7US. I did see my first 8" octopus squishing in and out as it swam, but I was glad that I hadn't dived. The clear turquoise water off the island was the best thing but it was a nice day out. Borocay was nowhere near one the Top Ten Beaches of the World.

After two days I was ready to move on. The sea was too choppy for outrigger boats to leave White Beach, so I shared a tricycle to the other side of the island. Somehow, 6 of us were crammed in with luggage along with the driver. The low calibre motorbike barely made it up the hills in first gear. Two kids tried to jump on for a free ride but were booted off. The 7am outrigger boat motored back to Caticlan on Penay and I got another outrigger to the island of Tablas. 6 mopeds were loaded aboard - it took two men to lift one above their shoulders through the water to get it on board. On all outrigger boats, you usually wade aboard through the waves. Another rough ride of stormy seas.

We arrived at Tablas, but I had no idea where. My map was very basic. I walked from the jetty into (it turned out) the port of Looc, where a packed jeepney took me to another port. I sat on the roof with the luggage and watched the paddy fields pass by. Dogs, turkeys and goats were blown off the unsealed road in the dust. Every village had a sign, which said "Thank you for visiting. Don't forget your Millennium smile". Tablas was the most attractive island since Bohol. Splendid grassy hills loomed behind the banana and coconut trees. Men sat by the side of the road and chopped hundreds of coconuts into halves to leave them to dry. One of the most scenic rides I did in the country.

Rolling into the port of Odiongan, I found a large ferry going to Batangas, Luzon around 5pm. 'Pata' - crispy fried pig skin kebabs and Gold Eagle beer passed the time before departure. One of the things I most enjoyed about the Philippines was just being able to 'hang out' with no bother. People just assumed you knew what you were doing and didn't interfere. Few ever asked me where I was from (assuming I was American). As long as you were buying beer, they knew you were happy enough.

It was a large car ferry with 'economy' bunk beds on the upper open deck. I had a nine-hour cruise, undisturbed and slept most of the way, arriving at Batangas at the southern edge of Luzon Island at 2am. Originally my plan was to head south to the next island of Mindoro to do some more diving, but arriving in port, there were buses headed for Manila the capital and I thought, what the hell, I'll pop into Manila and see if I can get my camera fixed. As you do.

I was dropped in Manila around 3.30am by the side of the desolate 'Taft' highway in the centre of town. Great. I have just arrived in another crime-ridden capital in the middle of the night. I saw groups of boys sleeping in doorways. A few, who were still awake, came panhandling. I got my bearings and walked to my chosen hostel. Lots of taxis still plying the streets. By the time I reached my hostel, it was too late to bother checking in. It was 4.30am. I booked in for the next night, grabbed a shower, left my gear and was out of the door at 6am, having watched a movie with the staff.

I spent 4 hours the following morning trying to find a camera shop that did not exist. It was one way of getting to grips with Manila - a teeming 11 million population of both new high rise financial/commerce centre at Makati (the former US airbase) and scruffy throat wrenching polluted streets full of horn blowing jeepney/traffic gridlock from 6am onwards. It wasn't difficult to negotiate the transportation system, but such a mundane city to visit. Even Jakarta seemed to have more on offer. There were few people who spoke English. I abandoned the search and just wandered around some of the sights, which I will cover later on my second visit. My dorm room contained a Korean, Japanese and Singaporean. They could only communicate with each other using English!

I got out of town early the next morning, travelling with just a daypack for the next week. Total gridlock with jeepneys - "chariots of galvanised iron, belching, wheezing, coughing out dreadful fumes like mechanical dragons, weaving suicidally through the traffic" (and this is official Filipino tourist blurb). I was headed north to explore the more famous sights of Luzon Island (the largest in the country stretching more than 10,000 sq. km in area). Ironically as we pulled out of town, there was a public sign which said "Smoke Belchers will be apprehended".

Flat, efficient dual carriageways led, after 6 hours, up into the mountainous Cordillera region. The steep sided, green covered hills had impressive valleys and long waterfalls pouring over the sides. My destination was Baguio. The recent typhoon had devastated the outlying area, and the road was washed away in parts. It was pouring with rain and the road was a quagmire of mud and water. Inevitably, I had left my rain gear in Manila. Big mistake! I hadn't seen rain since I arrived in the country.

Baguio is a popular summer resort - not that you would know it today. Situated at 1400m, it is much cooler than Manila. It is famous for its faith healers (oh yeah? so how come they can't stop the rain and typhoons?). It was miserable. The locals, all smaller than me, walked underneath umbrellas and I nearly lost my eyesight on numerous occasions. I holed up in a tatty hotel and amused myself in the small supermarkets reading the labels like 'Gee! You have great smelling hair' shampoo and 'Granny Goose' crisps ('America's finest!'). Consequently, I failed to see the Cemetery of Negativism with its amusing gravestones and the Kabayan mummies from nearby burial caves. Both were on the outskirts and the rain was just too heavy.

It was still raining the following morning. Jehovah witnesses were outside my hotel at 6am. They were keen. Even the "Three Sisters Eatery and Singalong Café” could not detain me. I fled further north at the start of my 21st month on the road. A rugged bus negotiated more washed out and unsealed roads while road workmen toiled in the mud. Endless drops off the valley edge, often without safety rails. The hills were shrouded in rainstorms and the valleys were invisible. We passed over the highest point of the road at 7,400 ft where the clouds had cleared. Scruffy villages. Pigs' heads hung outside the butcher shacks.

My parents had warned me about this road. A few years back, they had stopped over in Manila and rented a car to visit the world famous rice terraces in the north of Luzon. ("The road looked ok on the roadmap" - dad - famous last words). The unsurfaced rocky road was so bad, their car had disintegrated en route. They waited hours for a breakdown truck from Manila. On the way back down the same terrible road, they were forced to hole up in a local village, where only dog and fish were on the menu. The car rental recovery team slept in the car to prevent it from being stolen.

The mist cleared and there were fine views over the lush green valleys. Towering rice terraces came into view. From Bontoc, I grabbed a local jeepney up into the tranquil little village of Sagada, isolated in the hills. The village was very quiet and very scenic. The local houses were wooden frames covered in shiny tin plated roofs. They almost looked like Alpine lodges. The people tended their well-kept root vegetable gardens behind their fences. On the outskirts were lovely rice terraces. Lots of walking to do here if you had the time and it wasn't raining. Which it was. I watched a squealing pig get tied to a jeepney roof. It's high-pitched scream echoed around the village. Cockerels crowed and the smell of pig shit burnt the nostrils. One kid walked up and said "you are big muscles". Both men and women chewed beetle nut and spat large wads of red gob on the streets. I walked along a muddy track into Echo Valley to view the 'hanging coffins" (not a patch on Sulawesi).

The good news was that I was the only westerner in town. The bad news was that the village had run out of beer! Finally a lady in a stall dug out her last two of bottles of 'Red Horse' from her private supply while a local man suggested I try the local 'ganga' to appreciate the place more. Not much to do, except watch the kids playing basketball, then enjoy the rain storms start again. The following morning, I caught a 6am jeepney back to Bontoc, while the women piled in with their baskets of vegetables to sell at the market. A 3-hour ride took me north to Banaue.

Two to three thousand years ago, the Ifugao people carved rice terraces out of the mountainsides around Banaue, which are almost as perfect today as they were then, because they are reinforced with stone walls. They run like stepping stones up to the sky - over 1500m in height. If stretched end to end, they would apparently extend over 20,000 km in length.

The sun was out! What a relief. The rice terraces loomed all around and were majestic. I remembered when Michael Palin turned up on his "Full Circle' tour and never saw a thing because of the rain and mist. I did, and they were stupendous, so tough shit, Michael. Better luck next time! I'd never seen rice terraces on this scale. I tried counting the layers and gave up after 85 because they continued to stretch up the steep hills. The rice terraces were full of sprouting green rice. At the start of the season, the paddy fields are full of water, which reflect from the sun. So I suppose I didn't see them in their "Eighth Wonder of The World" status but I was still glad that I'd hung on for 3 days travel just to see them on a glorious day. I had seen the gleaming, flooded, smaller scale, terraced paddy fields in Bali so I had an idea of what they would look like in their prime.

Once I had walked up to the various lookouts, lifted my jaw, taken my photos, and watched the sad old Ifugao people (some bent double with age), dressed in colourful red costumes panhandle the few Filipino tourists for photo shots, a few hours had passed and there was little reason to hang around, save to haggle for weaving souvenirs at the market. I holed up at the bus stop for a bus back to Manila.

The waiting room was a sparten wooden cafe with a dreaded karaoke machine. I was handed the impressive book of available songs - hundreds of them and was surprised to see, along with the usual Spice Girls, Frank Sinatra and Elvis songs other strange offerings. For my musical mates back home, examples of tracks were: "Changes" (Black Sabbath), "Here I Go Again" (Whitesnake), "Foolish Heart (Steve Perry), "Poor Man's Moody Blues" (BJ Harvest), "Sweet Lucidity" (Queensryche), "The Temple of the King" (Rainbow), "November Rain" (Guns n' Roses), "Creep" (Radiohead), "Love Hurts" (Nazareth), "Hold The Line" (Toto), "Owner of a Lonely Heart" (Yes), along with "He'll have to go" (Jim Reeves), "Last Train to Clarksville" (Monkees), Donny Osmond, Good King Wenceslas, Tom Jones. All Beatles songs were credited to J. Lennon. But the catch was, they were not the real songs. They were computerised renditions (i.e. no drums or guitar), with a backdrop film of drab looking models who appeared on screen looking bored in tropical locations, while the words appeared underneath with a bouncing ball to take you through the lyrics. For 5 pesos you could warble your way through a song. The Filipinos stuck to what they knew, which was Filipino music. At the end of the song, they'd get an accuracy score. Most got 94%. After much prompting and encouragement, I warbled through "Once Bitten, Twice Shy" (credited to Great White?) and got a standing ovation, with me complaining about the lack of guitar. The owner then switched the machine off - which I thought was an apt response.

Under overcast skies, we departed at 5pm, and I watched the rice terraces and valleys disappear into darkness. The route back, followed a more direct, sealed, quicker route down to Manila, where we pulled in at 2.30am. The streets were still bustling. Fruit sellers slept by their stalls (so they didn't have to pack the stuff up overnight), and the central market was in full flow at 3am. I had been dropped in the north of the city, but asking around, was pointed to a jeepney heading south. The driver could hardly stay awake. The jeepney, even at this hour, was packed. One ride took me down to the bus terminals and I was out of Manila on the first bus heading south around 5am.

Back to Batangas and a 9am high speed ferry over to the island of Mindoro about 90 minutes away. Mindoro (meaning goldmine in Spanish), is a relatively undeveloped island - the nearest 'frontier' to Manila, but has become very popular for the scuba diving off the northern coast at Puerto Galera and Sabang. I holed up in the lovely sunny quiet seaside village of Sabang and rented a comfortable cottage (with hammock on the patio), overlooking the bay. I had covered my planned itinerary of the Philippines and since the Mayon volcano was off limits, decided to spend my last few days scuba diving.

I booked on for 6 dives (2 a day) with a 25% discount from a friendly German guy, Gunter, who ran the 'Sabang Divers' diveschool next door. I was trying to shake off a cold from the rainy north (not helped by my infrequent eating habits over the past few days). The currents off Sabang are very strong. My first two dives were with Germans with cameras and a Korean couple with video camera. Which slowed down the dives while they shot off their film. With my cold, I had problems equalising (removing pressure from the brain). We descended to 30m to a 'canyon' with huge yellow striped/black spotted sweetlip fish right in my face. I spotted a turtle munching on coral but could get noone else's attention because they were stuck behind their cameras. As it swam away, a German followed. He disappeared never to be seen again. Well he did appear. After we surfaced and got back into the boat, we headed down current and found him bobbing on the surface a kilometre away. He was pretty shaken up. The second dive was boring, having to hang around waiting for the Koreans to do their Jacque Costeau photography sessions. I had a word with Gunter ashore. I was fed up because the dives were being dictated by video cameras. Too slow. I liked exploring. Show me the best you've got to offer - because I am seriously "bored".

So the following morning, Gunter took me down under on his own. My nose had been bleeding after the previous dives which was a good sign about recovering from the cold and handling equalisation. He didn't mess around. On the intricate dive plan, he told me, "Stay close. If the current grabs you, you’ll be swept away". We headed out to some seriously strong currents and descended to 45m - my deepest dive yet with a 'negative entry' dive. You just fall back off the boat and start descending immediately without time at the surface. Underwater, the current swept us along at high speed. It was like a funfair ride, where you rushed past the coral walls and tried to spot the marine life.

One spotted me. At 38m I was attacked by a large 2-ft long Triggerfish with large jagged teeth, which grabbed hold of one of my fins and held on, despite me kicking. They are territorial, but not usually at this time of the year. Gunter used his torch to flash a spotlight on the Triggerfish to scare it off. It was a superb adrenaline rush dive with the nitrogen narcosis at such depth, affecting your brain, so that even though you were rushing with the current, your brain slowed down and it all seemed to be happening in slow motion. How wonderful, my numbed-brained thought, I'm being attacked by a fish. Excellent visibility and at the 'Fishbowl' (where the fish shelter from the currents), we saw a lot of varied large fish. Back on the surface after 25 minutes, I was buzzing. This was what diving was all about. Gunter was also pleased with my performance and the Triggerfish story to tell the other divers.

In the afternoon, I accompanied Gunter and a Canadian doing his divemaster course, and headed out to a different area for another intricate current dive called 'Kalima'. "This time, stay really close, if you miss the drop off, you're a goner. It’s a bastard" I was warned, which had happened to the Canadian when he had last done this dive. We descended to 30m and Gunter led us to a narrow cave in the coral. It was pitch black. He flashed his torch and the cave was spotlit, revealing 4 baby sharks (maybe 3 feet on length) swimming within the cave, It was the closest I'd come to sharks underwater and it was a superb sight. We headed for the 'canyons' where if you didn't dive down in time, the currents swept you away. We all made it safely to be surrounded by 1m long Rainbow Runners (like huge mackerel with large dorsal fins), longnose imperials and enormous tomato rockcod. As we drifted along within the canyons, the currents churned into a washing machine effect - we were tossed and turned, trying to stabilise. More huge sweetlip, the largest I'd ever seen, a huge flock (over 200) of silver Dog-toothed tuna fish, over a metre long, silhouetted above us, and huge expanses of white fan coral. Back on the surface, Gunter was, again, very impressed with the dive (its always nice to dive with an enthusiastic diving expert). "What a great dive" he concluded, "You should do the Dive Master course. You're a natural". Which was fine praise. After those two dives, I didn't see how they could be bettered. challenging environments with a wealth of fish to see. It's great when you dive with people who know what they are doing.

The final two dives were equally impressive. Strong 'funfair' currents down at 29m and sightings of large grouper, batfish, and moray eels at 'Ernie's Point' and huge Napoleon Wrasse, porcupine fish, lion fish, leopard fish, scorpion fish, puffer fish and non attacking Triggerfish on the "Hole in the wall" dive, where we swam through a coral tunnel. It was a fine dive to finish off with - my 48th dive. I wouldn't mind doing a Divemaster course here.

In-between the diving, I enjoyed the relaxed village, finding the local (non western cafes) stalls to eat and drink beer and become a 'regular' during my 4 days. I'd rate Sabang as one of the nicest places to stay in the Philippines. If you love diving and don't mind the absence of beaches, this is the place to hole up and it is only 5 hours south of Manila.

Manila beckoned again for the last two days. The return journey during the day from Batangas took 5 hours! (2 at night) with the gridlock. My dormitory mate, a Japanese youth, was still in bed at 1pm when I checked in. He'd had a tough night on the brandy and had been mugged on a jeepney around 3am the previous night. He felt a knife in his side and was robbed of his mobile phone (which must have been by the only Filipino without a mobile phone). "How could you get robbed in a jeepney?" I asked. "I'd have fought back". "Its alright for you" he surmised, "I was pissed. And you're built like a brick shit house" (where do the Japs learn slang like this?). I left the sleeping Hito in an attempt to find something worthwhile to see in Manila and finally found it.

The old centre called 'Intramuros' was a walled compound of quiet streets, with the old Spanish fortress, bordering the river. The area (under Japanese occupation) had been flattened during World War Two, but rebuilt. Away from the traffic, the fortress was dead quiet and a world away from the real city. Inside was Rizal's Shrine. Jose Rizal was the Philippine hero - the intellectual who tried to fight for independence on peaceful terms and was executed by the Spanish around 1898 for his troubles.

The 'Shrine' was a series of tastefully done rooms with Rizal's writings on the walls, his quotes, his trivia including an old plain brown peasant coat which was his trademark and the cell where he spent his last days. I was the only visitor and found it quite moving. Just before his execution, his last farewell to the people ('Ultimo Adios') was smuggled out in an oil lamp. It was stirring stuff: "I have always loved my poor country and I'm sure I shall love her until my last moment, should men prove unjust to me. I shall die happy, satisfied with the thought that all I have suffered, my life, my loves, my joys, my everything, I have sacrificed for the love of her". The lamp was on show, containing one of Rizal's 'bullet shattered' bones inside.

Manila Cathedral outside Intramuros, had a varied history: Built 1581 by the Spanish, damaged 1582 (typhoon), destroyed 1583 (fire), rebuilt 1592, partially destroyed 1600 (earthquake), rebuilt 1614, destroyed 1645 (earthquake), rebuilt 1654, destroyed 1863 (earthquake), rebuilt 1870, destroyed 1945 (World War Two), rebuilt 1954. For all that history, it was large but nothing special. They had probably given up making an effort to rebuild the bugger.

Nearby, the San Augustine Church was a World Heritage protected monument. The 1605 structure (the only thing to withstand all the earthquakes) was an impressive, imposing grey structure that was originally a monastery. It is now a dumping ground for every important religious artefact left in the Philippines. The interior was gorgeous. Countless, tastefully decorated rooms leading off from the old cloisters on two levels and filled with beautiful artefacts - carved wooden altars, statues, jewellery etc. The main church within had 3 dimensional 19th century frescos. I had the place to myself apart from a party of 200 smartly uniformed, schoolchildren on a visit. They were filed past the relics in orderly lines, like human snakes going through the rooms. They looked very bored, despite the teachers' urgings that they were seeing some Filipino/Spanish history. Worth a visit if you're in town. Unlike the National Museum which was being redecorated and devoid of anything worth note. The worst museum I can remember visiting. I was in and out in ten minutes.

The post office was more interesting. I'd popped in here the week before and said I intended to send a package before my departure. When I turned up, they were expecting me. They gave me my own desk, some cardboard, brown paper, tape, scissors and a cup of tea and let me construct my parcel. I spent an hour here in a friendly atmosphere (India take note), chatting to the staff about the inevitable computerisation of their workplace. My parcel was optimistically and efficiently despatched. Outside a restaurant I saw a sign saying 'Parking for Fu Wah Restaurant and Porsche Drivers Only". It must have been a select place. I didn't see a Porsche in Manila. Down the road was Rizal's execution site with uniformed soldiers guarding the obelisk. Security guards were outside every shopping centre in Manila, but I was spared the grenades or hostage taking.

I had previously contacted my brother's motorcycling mate called Osman via email. Of Turkish origin, he worked for Shell and lived in the posh financial area of Makale, Manila and occasionally flew back to do motorbike tours of Spain with my brother's gang. I had met him briefly before in Essex! I met him and his attractive fiancée on my last evening near my hostel in the rejuvenated tourist district of Malate. Up to now, I'd been living off cheap market stalls and beer so it was a culture shock to be taken to a Spanish Tapas Bar for proper food and 4x the price for beer. Osman was also a diver so we swapped stories while moving on to one bar after the next. It was like being a real tourist. I was exhausted with the trip and despite boring the very friendly couple with travel tales and knocking over bottles of beer with my waving arms, we had a great night out. Its always nice to met the 'locals' so thanks Osman, for allowing me to leave Manila in a good light. About 4am if I recall.

Rust never sleeps! I was back out of the hostel at 6am to attempt to get to Manila International Airport using local jeepneys. Everyone usually takes taxis, but with determination and lots of asking locals, it only took 2 jeepney rides and a kilometre walk in-between (10 pesos - the taxi costs 240 pesos!) to get dropped near the departure terminal. As I entered, there was a sign, which said 'Well wishers are not welcome past this point'. Breakfast was a final litre of San Miguel at the airport, which was a fitting end to the Philippines. Osman's fiancée had warned me that Philippine Airways (PAL) stood for 'Planes Always Late' but my flight to Hong Kong left on time at 10am. Osman later emailed "We were really worried about you, we didn't think you'd make it". When the going gets tough Osman, the tough start drinking!

Three weeks is not enough time to enjoy the Philippines. What you will find, should you ever partake of a vacation here (which I thoroughly recommend), are a variety of islands, a very relaxed population, and just a nice place to relax. The sights are not stunning (except for the rice terraces), but the scuba diving is excellent and the country is very different from the rest of SE Asia. Much more westernised, but with a strange hybrid culture of Spanish and American. I now understand why tourists rave about the ambience and non-hassle. Manila is best avoided as much as possible (unless you have drinking pals), and is untypical of the rest of the country. It is very cheap and overall, rated very highly of all the countries I have visited on this trip as long as you don't mind being called 'Hey Joe'!.

Costs in Philippines for 20 days (in British Pounds Sterling)

Travel - £204.26 (inc £159.31 flight to Hong Kong from Manila)
Accommodation - £53.36
Food - £47.73
Other - £163.69
Total - £309.73
Grand Total - £12314.13