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The Philippines is home to thousands of islands, each with its own unique character, language, and adventures. The cheapest and most exciting way to travel between the islands is on the super ferries. Adventures in Coron I had just finished my work in Puerto Princesa and was headed to Coron. At the ferry office, they told me that a cheap ticket would cost 750 Pesos. I noticed that business class was only 1,000 pesos, and included free meals. I went with my instinct and bought the business class ticket. When I got on the boat, I was so glad that I had. The cheap seats are called Tatami class. It was like steerage class on the Titanic. The passengers sleep in bunk beds, stacked two high and twenty deep. The beds are touching. So, if you are sleeping in bed 20, you have to climb over 19 people. The room was not air-conditioned and in addition to the sweltering heat, you had to deal with deafening engine noise and diesel fumes. The one sound that competed with the mechanical thunk of pistons was the playing shouts of approximately seven children per family. For the passengers who weren’t chained to an oar, there was a signup list on the wall so they knew when to take their turn shoveling coal in the furnace. Tatami class didn’t seem to be very conducive of a good night’s rest. I, on the other hand, was a business class passenger, and proceeded to climb the stairway, two decks up. The lobby and furnishings were all made of wood. To get the key for your stateroom, they will require you to turn in your passport. Having been a merchant seaman, I learned to never, ever, under any circumstances, give up my passport on a boat. If a ship sinks you will lose it, and you will get locked up in some type of immigration detention until you contact the US Embassy and arrange a replacement. An old alcoholic sailor I worked with, named Howie, told me that he had survived three shipwrecks. I guess he wasn’t a very good driver. As a result, he always wore his passport in a waterproof bag around his waist. He also advised keeping your credit cards, US dollars, and local currency in the same waist bag. The receptionist compromised, and copied my passport then gave it back to me. In business class, I had a cabin with two bunk beds, a sink, a desk and chair. There was also a TV with no buttons. At nine o’clock, we were due to set out, or shove off, or weigh anchor, or whatever it is that ships do. The captain came on the loudspeaker, and led the crew in several prayers and a few Hale Maries. I joined them. We could all use a little churching up, especially me. At three o’clock, they came on again, and did a prayer, this time it seemed to be part of a country wide program, praying for peace in the Philippines. There have been two insurgencies; one communist and one Muslim, going on in Mindanao for years. This also seemed ok and I participated. At six o’clock, they came on with another prayer, and I joined in. Then they said the Hail Mary, and I joined in. Then they said another Hail Mary, and another, and another. At one point, I thought, they were going to say a novena, a set of nine payers. When they hit ten, with no sign of stopping, I was afraid it would go on for the rest of the day. I felt like I was in one of those political re-education camps in China, where the loudspeaker blares, twenty-four hours a day till you go mad. They tell me Purgatory no longer exists, so the stakes have been raised. Fearing my punishment, I turned up my CD player to full volume. Out of habit, I made sure the sisters weren’t watching. I kept expecting to get hit with a yard stick. Even with Sean Paul at top volume, the endless droning penetrated. Finally, I took refuge in the small mosque located at the aft of the ship. The Muslims had already finished their five o’clock prayers and they were all hiding in there, as if they knew the drill from previous trips. We drank coffee and talked about the affairs of the world. One of them asked me, “What does pork taste like?” “Chicken.” I answered. Adventurers always say everything tastes like chicken. Snake tastes like chicken. Platypus tastes like chicken. One exception was during the Spanish colonization in Florida, the Catholic Church said that Manatee was fish, so it could be eaten on Fridays. So, if you asked a conquistador, he would never tell you manite tasted like chicken, or it would be a sin. “Tiene savor de pesco.” Said the conquistador, “It tastes like fish.” I got up, walked around the boat for a while, and grabbed a free meal in the café. Down in the communal dining room, I met a group of Americans. One was a Peace Corps volunteer. She had been through language school and spoke the dialect of the small island where she was stationed, but couldn’t speak Filipino. “It is frustrating traveling around the country.” She said. “People ask, can you speak Filipino? And I say, no, but I speak a dialect spoken by three thousand people on an island. Of course, on my island, people are always amazed to meet a foreigner who speaks the local language. I just say hello and they fall all over me with compliments.” We talked about how the Mormon missionaries have an excellent linguistics training program. “Yes, they all speak Filipino or dialects perfectly. They dropped off a volunteer on my island who had been through a one year course, studying the dialect. I was pretty bummed out because my position as single linguistics master would be usurped. But then it turned out, he was trained in the dialect spoken on THE OTHER side of the island. On my side, no one understood him.” She stood up and did a football victory dance. “YES! I am still on top.” We continued to have, what I believe may have been an interesting conversation. I can’t swear to it, however, because I was only catching wisps and threads over the blaring karaoke machine. Other than the noise, it was clear skies, smooth seas, and an excellent trip. We only arrived twenty minutes late, which was a record for the Philippines. I was proud of my own participation in this record breaking event. I am sure some of this was due to my recent weight loss. I have been on a starvation diet and Spartan training regime for a month, preparing for a film. My local guide, Rannie, of Sea Trekker, met me at the port and took me to my guesthouse. I got a private room, with aircon for only 450 pesos a night. I was lucky enough to get a room with a western toilet, but there was a traditional, bucket shower. A bucket shower isn’t a problem. It’s not like a sponge bath. You actually get just as clean as you would with a regular shower. But dumping that first, cold bucket of water over your head in the morning can be a heart stopping experience. You may want to take precautions, like drinking a lot of coffee first, in case the cold water sends you into cardiac arrest, the caffeine will zap you right back to life. In the few near-death minutes in between, you will see into the future, my future looked rather grim and impoverished. Actually, perhaps I was just looking into the mirror over the sink. I think there is a tribe in Sicily who uses small cups of drug strength coffee and cold water to enact visions. My family has done it for years. But we also eat a lot of manicotti and mozzarella, so there is the danger of jump starting your heart and kicking loose a big chunk of cholesterol which will go to your brain and give you a stroke. So, an important travel tip, drink coffee before showering, layoff the ricotta. Within minutes, Rannie had set up a great itinerary for me. I was going to be horseback riding, kayaking, meeting a tribal chief, diving on Japanese wrecks from World War Two, and visiting the Tagbanua Calamian tribe. They were a separate group from the Tagbanua Palawan, who I had just finished writing about in Puerto Princesa. All together, with guide fees and equipment rental these adventures were only costing me about 1,200 Phillipines pesos (US$27) per day. Next month: Horse Trekking in Coron
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