Island Hopping, Part 2: Apo

Our time in the sunny Philippines is over--already! The three weeks we had wasn't even close to enough time to see all these islands had to offer, but I must admit, I was almost ready to move on. The landscapes were varied and beautiful and the locals friendly, but I was exasperated by what I started calling the White Person Tax. Many locals are under the impression that because you are traveling, you have sufficient funds to pay more than the regular price for things. It wasn't a scam--they were very upfront about it. "Yes, the local price is 25 pesos," one tricycle rider told me when I was arguing over a price for a ride. "But you are a foreigner, so it is 75." And that was that.

My favorite place in the Philippines was Apo Island in the Visayas. Most people pass it over in favor of the more developed Palawan or Boracay, but those people are dumb. There's no running water on the island (Stay with me.) or electricity (Going unplugged is good for you.) or motorized vehicles of any kind (Who needs 'em when you've got a push cart?), and it's all part of the charm.

                                           *The only mode of transportation on the island.

This tiny, 72-hectare island is straight out of a book. There were generator-powered lights on the island from 6:30-9:30 pm, during which time everyone would hang out at the one karaoke bar or crowd around the few TVs in the village (even if that meant standing outside the neighbor's window like a creeper). After that, it was straight to bed so you could tolerate getting up around 4 or 5 with the multitudes of roosters strutting around the island.

Apo is a protected area for sea life, and the sanctuary there is 100% community run, meaning that defending the island from other fishers, etc., is up to the locals. Interestingly, up until 30 years ago, the islanders primarily made money from dynamite fishing. Then a local professor realized that, if the coral and tropical fish that called Apo home were allowed to flourish, the islanders would have a great source of revenue on their hands. He convinced them to make Apo a protected area, and today, tourism brings in more money than fishing ever did.

Because of the sanctuary, Apo is a mecca for divers and snorkelers. In fact, I wasn't a diver when I arrived on Apo, but I was by the time I left.

If you had told me three weeks ago that I would get my diving certification, I would have snorted unattractively at you. I can't snorkel for more than five minutes without getting a nose-full of sea water. But everyone raving about the coral convinced me to do an "introduction to diving" dive. Me being me, I prepared beforehand, reading the manual thoroughly and taking each self-assessment quiz. But, of course, book learning is quite different from real-live experience.

You control where you want to be in the water with your Buoyancy Control Device (BCD), which is a vest you can inflate and deflate with air to go up or down, and basically my learning period with it went like this.

Why isn't this thing deflating? Wait, it is. Whoa, it really is. Inflate! Inflate! Crap, I'm going to crash into the reef, just like the manual said not to because that destroys delicate aquatic life. I hate destroying delicate aquatic life! It goes against everything I believe in! Aaaaaand . . . I'm prostrate on the reef. Oh sure, BCD, now you inflate. I would make a horrible mermaid. That's fine actually. If Ariel is any indication, they are all dipshits. Bleck, this air is making my mouth dry. OK, relax. Look around. That's the point of this ridiculous exercise. OMG! I FOUND NEMO!!!*

From then on, I didn't think about my BCD or the air or the fact that I really had to pee (OK, I thought about that a little bit.). The fish and coral were mind-bogglingly beautiful. There's no way I could describe them, but let's just say I also saw Bloat and Crush and a lot of electric blue starfish.

Our divemaster, Mario Pascobello of Mario's Scuba Diving and Homestay, really added to the experience. He was thorough (He made me practice taking my mask off and putting it back on underwater five times, which is how many times it took for me to quit snorting water up my nose.) but also pretty chill. He was, and continues to be, a key player in making the reef a protected area, and was the captain of the barangay for ten years, so he was an all-around cool person to get to know.

                                                                        *Mario's selfie

This week, we're rocking Singapore and Kuala Lumpur, Asia's most glamorous cities with delicious food (I have a food belly already). Then it's off to Indonesia, where more diving awaits us.


*Apparently, all my previous experience with underwater life has been through Disney movies. I even caught myself humming "Under the Sea" into my regulator.

Island Hopping, Part 1: Siquijor

Yesterday was an R&R day. We've been going pretty hard for two weeks now, trekking and caving and jolting around on top of jeepneys. When even your armpits are sore, it's time to take a break. We're currently in Sagada, an idyllic mountain town up in North Luzon, Philippines. With rice terraces, alpine forests, and chilled-out locals, there isn't a better place for an easy day.

                                                     *The view is always better up top!

So, yesterday afternoon, we're lounging in our room at the Sagada Homestay. With pine wood flooring and walls and breath-taking views, it's the nicest place we've stayed in so far. The breeze is gently blowing the curtains back from the open windows, letting in a few sun beams. I glance over at Josh, who looks contemplative.

"What are you thinking about?"

"The Zodiac killer."

"What?"

"I was just reading some TV reviews on The Daily Beast, and there's a new one about serial killers that looks cool. You know they never caught the Zodiac guy?"

I was thinking about the great trip we've been having so far, but to each his own.

We kicked off in Dumaguete, the capital of Negros Oriental. It was a great place to start because you have all the conveniences of a city but can catch ferries to a variety of small islands. The first one we hit was Siquijor. There are some beautiful falls, and the white-sand beaches are gorgeous and almost tourist-free, but rather small. The real thing to do there is see a witch doctor.

Yeah, a witch doctor.

Stupid Lonely Planet acted like it wasn't really worth the effort to see one. Were they ever wrong. It is a bit of a drive--we rented a motorbike and drove up through the mountains to San Antonio, a village about an hour and a half away from the main town. Luckily, once we were in the area, we got flagged down by some guys harvesting coconuts who wanted to offer us some fresh juice. While slurping it right out of the coconut shell, I asked about seeing a healer.

"Annie Ponce," said the oldest guy. "She is the best. Just drive up there and ask--everyone knows her."

Annie lived in a nipa hut with her family, with a little room added on for her to see patients. From the moment we walked in, it was obvious that the practices of this "witch doctor" weren't about sorcery. Instead, they were a funky mix of older, traditional healing and Catholicism, the country's popular religion. Hanging on one of the walls was her assortment of handmade cross necklaces, which she explained could protect from illness, evil spirits, and "people who don't like you." There was also a statue of a saint I didn't recognize, and a small bowl with a handle in the shape of the Virgin Mary.

Annie started our session by asking what she could do for me.

"Uhh," I hesitated. I was doing it out of curiousity, but I'm pretty sure you can't just tell someone who considers herself a doctor that she's a tourist attraction. "I umm, just heard that this was an interesting thing to do."

She looked at me skeptically.

Great. That was probably insulting.

"She has allergies," Josh interjected helpfully.

"Ahh. OK, no problem,"Annie said.

She had me sit in a chair and made a charcoal fire underneath it, which, I must admit, was a bit terrifying. Then she wrapped me in a sheet from the neck down and basically smoked me out. While the smoke was getting thicker and my seat frighteningly warmer, she started crossing me over my head and the back of my neck and chanting prayers. Then she mixed a concoction of coconut oil and herbs in the bowl with the Virgin Mary handle and massaged it into my face, neck, and back, followed up by some more crossing and prayers.

"OK." She removed the sheet and the escaping smoke billowed up to the ceiling. "Don't take a shower today. Also, don't eat chicken, fish, or shrimps anymore."

I nodded obediently. (I definitely broke all those rules within like six hours.)

"How do you feel?" She looked at me expectantly.

Uhh, oily? "Relaxed!"

She nodded resignedly and looked at the unidentifiable saint.

Crap. Another insulting answer.

She said payment was donation only. I paid a lot. It must have been enough for her to overlook my ignorant insults because she sent me home with a coconut oil potion, good for "skin infections, insect bites, and stomachaches."

I have to admit, since my visit with Annie, I've reduced my Zyrtec pills by half. Of course, that could be because I no longer live in my moldy Taiwanese apartment . . .

The Real Taiwan

Lonely Planet: Taiwan (Yes, I am that mainstream.) says that venturing outside of Taipei gives travelers “their first taste of what many consider to be the ‘real Taiwan.’” Josh and I spent five days road tripping around Taiwan on Rodney the Motorcycle for the Double Ten holiday, and Real Taiwan is certainly cooler than . . . the fake one. (?) It was a magical place where the air smelled like jasmine and pollution didn’t blot out the sun.


Day 1 – 220 km

When I was a kid, I loved the book Misty of Chincoteague. I wanted a horse with “a patch of white on her side, shaped like the United States” desperately. But horses—nationalist symbols or not—did not want me. I was that pre-teen girl at the horse-riding birthday parties whose tame, donethisfordecadeswithoutbuckinganyone mare would get distracted by some tasty morsel of grass, fall behind the group, then get spooked by my cries for help and gallop away, only to be rounded up by a not-handsome-at-all cowboy.

After spending seven straight hours on the motorcycle, I think those horses were doing me a favor. They could smell the weakness in me when it comes to chapped tushie. We wanted to get as far away from the sprawling capital in one day as possible, so we made a break for Taroko Gorge.

We passed these views along the way.

*Yilan

Taroko Gorge is the number one tourist destination in Taiwan, and it’s easy to see why. It’s basically a mini Grand Canyon except with marble walls and a river with minerals in it that make it a cloudy grey-blue.

People here have a different style of traveling—families and friends go places together, in huge groups on double-decker tour buses. That’s totally awesome until 30+ buses (For reals. We counted.) are trying to navigate the windy, two-lane road perched on the edge of cliffs through the Gorge. Normally, driving a motorcycle means you can just whip around traffic jams, but not when there are buses involved. It took us 20ish minutes to go five kilometers.

*Note: This is the widest part of the road.

Day 2 – 180 km

Back on the bike, we spent the day on Highway 9, which goes along the East Rift Valley between the East Coast Mountain Range and the Central Mountain Range. The valley makes up about 20% of Taiwan’s land mass but only 2% of its population. Basically, it’s just stretches of rice fields and fruit trees. With mountains on each side, expanses of rice fields, and wizened farmers in conical hats, it’s the Asia that people who have never been to Asia always picture.

Day 3 – 14 km

We spent Monday hiking the Walami Trail, some of the best preserved jungle in Taiwan. It was here that I learned something new about Josh: he can talk to monkeys.

There were monkeys everywhere. We had staring matches with five or six different troops. They would stare at us for several minutes, their little red faces indignant through the trees. They’d yell this single syllable squawk back and forth, (probably monkey speak for “Stranger, danger!”) and then all we’d see were the trees swaying back and forth and they swung away. Seeing monkeys in the wild was definitely a highlight.

Back to Josh’s special gift. The first time we heard their danger squawk, we couldn’t quite spot them through the dense foliage. So Josh, a monkey aficionado, mimicked their squawk perfectly and, sure enough, they jumped towards us. Then they realized they were getting lured in by that creepy guy with the dark van and did an about-face, but it was still cool.

*We didn't see any of these, but I kind of wanted to.

*The ferns were as big as palm trees!

Day 4 – 220 km

On day four, it was time to set our sails for home. We took Highway 9 back along the coast.

*Water buffalo

Day 5 – 130 km

Seeing as we had passed the Tropic of Cancer (i.e. that invisible line that keeps rain clouds at bay) the day before, the last stretch wasn’t as picturesque. But it was beautiful in its own grey way.

We stopped at my favorite place in Taiwan for seafood – Daxi Fishing Port. . .

. . . and got a bowl of fried goodness, including fried seaweed. That may sound gross to the uninitiated, but I haven’t met someone yet who tried it and didn’t become addicted.

We did other cool things too, like soaking in hot springs, and met lots of great people, like our couchsurfing host's toddler, who was obsessed with "the Germans." Now, three weeks later, winter is approaching. Soon, I’ll be enduring nonstop drizzle and cleaning mold off the apartment walls. But, even when I’m drying my face with my perpetually wet towel, at least I’ll always have the Real Taiwan.

Sun Moon Lake

Riding the subway during rush hour here is akin to being one of the first customers into Best Buy on Black Friday—by the time you leave, you’re bruised, you’re battered, and your sense of personal space has been beaten and left for dead.

But swimming across a lake with 28,000 people for 2.5 hours makes taking the MRT look like child’s play.

This past weekend was Taiwan’s annual Sun Moon Lake International Swimming Carnival (the real English name), the one day a year that people are allowed to swim in the biggest lake on the island. Crystal clear and surrounded by mountains, it’s no wonder people jump at the chance to get in (pun intended). In fact, it’s the world’s largest open water swim.

People have been doing this 3.3 km swim since 1983, and there’s always a big turn-out. At first, I thought this was odd because many Taiwanese people can’t swim. I’m not sure why, seeing as the nation is, ya know, surrounded by water. But the sport’s just not that popular.




Then I learned that there are a few safety measures for the Sun Moon Lake swim.

1. Piers with two lifeguards are stationed every 100 meters. Swimmers may stop and rest on these piers, which also have snacks like chocolate and “Friendly Biscuits” available.

- Some swimmers took this opportunity to whip out their Ziploc baggies protecting cigarettes and iPhones and take a smoke / Facebook break.

2. Every swimmer must have a floating device. And carrying it is not acceptable—it must be firmly secured to the body.

3. Swimmers must stay in the 50-meter-wide swimming lane. If one strays by even a few inches, the lifeguards will blow unceasingly on their whistles until the deviating swimmer returns to the safety of the lane.

4. Every swimmer must wear a swimming cap, which he or she may take off and wave if in need of assistance. (This serves the additional benefit of keeping gross human hair from contaminating the outdoor lake.)

5. To avoid cramps or other injuries, swimmers MUST walk the one-kilometer path to the lake to warm up for the swim.

So it’s more of the world’s safest float trip than a swimming competition.

At first, I thought the rules were overkill, but I was pretty grateful for that floatie once I had to start treading water five minutes in because there were so many people around I literally couldn’t move forward. And the warm-up was smart thinking too. Turns out, dog paddling can be taxing if you do it long enough. Thanks to the warm-up, however, the biggest injury I sustained was floatie burn – like rug burn, except under your arms.

Oh, and all that stuff you hear about Asians doing anything to avoid a tan–it’s all true. Even with the outdoorsy types, it’s true.

Huangdidian - The Emperor's Throne - 皇帝殿

Josh’s college roommate, Matt, came to Taipei for a visit a few weeks ago. To kick off his stay, we hiked Huangdidian, which means “The Emperor’s Throne.” Our trusty Lonely Planet guidebook recommended this hike for intense exercise and thrilling views. It did not disappoint.

To get there, we took the 666 bus (Foreshadowing, anyone?) from the Muzha MRT station to the village of Shihting, where we enjoyed a tasty pre-hike lunch of tofu, rice, and the standard boiled vegetables at a stand run by a Buddhist nun. We asked her where the trail started and, to our surprise, she flatly refused to tell us. She pointed at the sky, which had been cloudy for most of the day, and said it wasn’t a safe hike in the rain. A passer-by then volunteered the information, which produced an irate outburst from the nun. (Again, foreshadowing?)

The trail begins with about 45 minutes worth of stairs. . .

. . .and then moves into a series of winding footpaths, parts of which are steep enough you have to use the ropes provided for balance or even to just flat out pull yourself up.

The only part of the trail that had me worried was these steel ladders. At 30 or 40 meters long, some of them were a doozy.

Especially after it started raining. We were too occupied with maneuvering the slick metal and slippery rocks to get photographic proof, but turns out, that nun had good reason to treat us like dolts.

Then you have to walk the ridgeline. This section provided some protection on the sides, but on other stretches, it’s just you and the edge.

Huangdi temple, nestled in the mountains, is towards the end of the trail. The temple attendant had set out a nice spread of teas and chairs for hikers to enjoy.

The views were, per usual, misty and breathtaking.

We had a blast. Just be sure to check in with one of those nuns before approaching The Throne.

Taiwan - Finally!

When Rachelle and Brittany, two friends from my hometown, returned from a two-week trip to China this summer, I asked them to give me the low-down on Asia. Out of the many tidbits they shared, the point they emphasized the most was that generally, bathroom facilities are not equipped with toilets. Instead, they use “squatty-potties,” which are basically porcelain-coated holes in the ground into which you relieve yourself. At first, I assumed they were exaggerating. Or, at the very least, this couldn’t be an Asia-wide standard. After all, Josh had been living in Taiwan for six weeks, and surely would have thought to mention such a…umm…cultural difference.

They were not exaggerating. And Taiwanese bathrooms absolutely include squatty-potties.

I first experienced these in the Tokyo airport bathrooms during my layover. The stalls were labeled “American Style” and “Japanese Style,” which instantly raised a red flag. Feeling a little panicky, I nudged open a “Japanese Style” stall…and proceeded to stand awkwardly in the doorway, my mouth gaping open at the rounded-rectangle of porcelain set into the floor. Why had Josh not warned me of this?! I could have spent part of the summer practicing, you know, doing squats and lunges and stuff. This isn’t a huge deal (I tried to reason with myself), but it does affect an activity I do multiple times a day, not to mention a significant muscle group. Surely he would have also found this a bit unusual and made some sort of comment. I mean, good Lord, Rachelle and Brittany couldn’t stop talking about it.

Then I remembered: he’s a man. I’m not passing judgment; it’s just that peeing on the ground makes things more convenient, and actually, the porcelain is an added luxury.

Although, when I asked Josh why he didn’t mention it (Yes, I asked. Quite indignantly, in fact.), he made an excellent point: it’s pretty gross to sit on a toilet, seeing as God knows how many people’s butts have been planted in that exact spot.

So yeah. I just dedicated a substantial part of my first blog post about Taiwan to the particulars of using the toilet. I can sense my mother’s horror from here.

Despite the squatty-potty issue (Which, by the way, is a horrible term, obviously created by some vulgar American.), Taiwan has been an amazing experience thus far. The Taiwanese are uber friendly, and there is so much to do and see – dazzling temples, beautiful jungle hikes, lively night markets… Plus eating has become my new favorite hobby. Dumplings are the bomb, shaved ice/fruit desserts are delish AND hydrating, and bubble milk tea is literally manna from heaven. Seriously, I wouldn’t be surprised if researchers someday discover that “milk and honey” stuff the Israelites were raving about was really milk tea.

Also, I discovered a website that streams 30 Rock for free in Taiwan, so basically I’m all set on American TV. Tina Fey is just funny – it doesn’t matter where you are.