Ohohoy!

Cagayan de Oro is synonymous to white water rafting:The adrenalin pumping activity that sets you rapidly going down stream and holding on to dear life with a paddle. Derived from the word “Kagay” which means river and “Oro” which means gold. As per the old folks’ tale, the river that separates Cagayan and Bukidnon, did have gold back in the day. It might as well be so as river rafting seems to be one of the major tourist attractions of the city and various outfitters’ bread and butter.

I have had numerous river runs with the Redrafts, one of CDO’s pioneers in the sport. I progressed from being the official entertainer to an extra paddler. Entertainers throw in fun facts, trivia, occasional jokes and whatever stories they can muster to keep the energy level up when passing steady waters. Extra paddlers come in handy for a relatively weaker team (group of old folks and or kids). I have come to know that the integral part of rafting lies in the hands of the river guide who possesses the skill and knowledge to get their passengers through the activity safe and sound but more than the expected criteria, they too must be very good in assessing a team of rafters.

Each participant will be given a helmet, a paddle and a life vest. Once everyone is fully equipped, the designated speaker/senior guide will gather all the participants and brief them on safety precautions and demonstrate the right way to paddle.

MEMORABLE AND VERY USEFUL TIPS:

If you fall into the water, do NOT try to swim, just float facing down stream, relax.

Your river guide is trained and equipped to get you at all costs.

IF YOU PANIC, YOU DIE.

Briefing is also the time for the senior guide to assign a guide to a particular team of rafters. The more daring guides are usually assigned to the equally daring team. It’s incredibly scary until you’ve passed the first rapid. The water looks so intimidating you’d want to back out soon as you see it. Lesson learned: when the guide screams “LOCK YOUR FEET, SHUT YOUR MOUTH!!” you better do so. I was so overwhelmed I forgot to shut my mouth. I ended up swallowing a good amount of murky river water. I was more relaxed though after the my first taste of a decent rapid.

The usual river run starts at Aura, which brags of 14 rapids that’s perfect for beginners. The more adventurous ones can start at Ugyaban with an additionall 7 wilder rapids. Either way you get to enjoy varying rapids from levels 1 to 3. In between the blurry battle with the rapids is a relaxing sight seeing activity where the guide’s people skills come in. It’s like watching National Geographic live! You come across giant fossils of clams (apparently the river used to be part of the sea), snakes, caves, naked locals bathing, lava rocks (where the locals wash their clothes, get it?) and a wide assortment of trees, animals and flowers.

Towards the end of the activity, the guests have an option to take one last challenge: To climb and jump from a 18 ft rock aptly called “the graduation rock”. It’s not much to look at from a spectators point of view but it’s way intimidating when you’re at the peak and looking down at the cheering crowd below you. Even scarier is the guide’s warning to never swim to the left as the current will take you tumbling like a piece of laundry in a washing machine. Some climb up and jump. Some climb up, wait, then jump. A number climb up, wait, wait some more and finally climb down. At least there’s something to look forward to the next time they go rafting.

As with any water sport, the 3 hour activity just leaves you so damn hungry! The Redrafts offers packages that include food. Food package includes a variety of barbequed treats like chicken, shrimp and tuna belly, fresh fruits, steamed rice and a bottle of Cagayan’s unique blend of Pinakurat (local vinegar made from coconut and spices) served picnic style by the river replete with white and red checkered table cloth. Everything prepared just in time when you get off the raft and ready to devour almost anything. Nothing beats capping an activity with a well deserved sense of accomplishment rewarded by a very well prepared local gastronomic experience.

For reservations and inquiries call Lyle X (Redrafts) 09179045298 or Rex 09228973175

More creative ways of being sorry for your sins

My friend, AJ and I decided that Lighthouse hotel was too crammed with the sardonic holy week merry goers. We pack our bags and hit the road to Zambales with a standing invitation to go to Anawangin Island. The one hour and thirty minute drive was fairly okay albeit the masochists punishing themselves agitated the living shit out of AJ.  More than the sight of blood and gore, it is the thought of being splashed by it as I insisted on opening the windows to get a close up shot of the “sinners” whipping their asses sorry. It was a rather entertaining/educational drive to Pundakit, Anawangin Island’s jump off. 

Despite the crowd at Pundakit, the jump off to Anawangin is still impeccably clean and very well maintained

After the bloody show, we passed the time singing The Corrs’ “Don’t Say You Love Me” to Pointer Sisters’ “Jump”. Not really your ideal soundtrack but when you start noticing the spectacular landscapes and the perfect beach weather, it doesn’t really matter. A toll gate that issues a day pass for 40Php breaks our concert series as the toll gate operator who offered us a boat ride to the island gladly left the “toll booth” and escorted us to the parking area. He advices to bring all necessities with us especially drinking water. I got a plastic bag full of bottled water, lunch for 2 and a bottle of Tanduay while AJ re-packed his trolley with his version of necessities: laptop, iPod and SLR camera. The two-way boat ride costs 1200Php that you pay later when they pick you up on the Island. The boat men’s rule is unwritten but strictly followed. Whoever brings you to the Island takes you out of the Island. This prevents them from stealing each other’s clients and ensures a harmonious working environment.

The pine tree-decked campsite

The 20 minute boat ride was very pleasant. The water was calm, the sky was blue and the view was yet again a sight to behold. Finally, we reach a cove decked unexpectedly with pine trees. My first impression as I land my feet on the fine sand and clear water was this has got to be where Palawan meets Bukidnon (Or Boracay meets Baguio…whichever gives you the better visuals). Beautiful.

We weave through hundreds of happy campers frolicking without a care on the scorching hot sand looking for our host, Dada. In between searching was the dawning that there are absolutely no available rooms to rent much less a permanent fixture other than a line of toilets. With his trademark long hair and sleeved out tattoo our only hope for survival was not all that hard to find. I was overjoyed to see him. The sincere welcome from Dada’s friends probably came from pity as AJ and I looked desperately unprepared for camping. One candid comment came from a near by group directed towards AJ’s hard case trolley “Ano yan kapatid? Refrigerator?”. I nudge AJ and told him to pretend to be a Japanese tourist so he can get away with his luggage faux pas.  The group vacated one tent offering it to be our accommodation for our stay in Anawangin. We quickly adjust to the environment and start socializing with Dada’s friends and even with the neighboring group who continuously made a joke out of AJ’s “refrigerator”.

Skim boarding is waaaaay harder than it looks

Dada, AJ and I went for a stroll and came across a lone skim boarder who gladly offered us free lessons. As Dada and I learned about timing and balance, AJ snapped away documenting our very first experience with a skim board. (To skim boarders all over the world, I salute you. Your choice of sport looks so damn easy but certainly isn’t. ) Eating and drinking is by far the only staple activity in this time of day. It was too hot to be out in the sun and the sand is just very unfriendly. I bring out my bottle of Tanduay and got the drinking spree started. The rowdy tattooed out all-male group who turned out to be an all gay group/seasoned climbers came over to drink with us. I notice Rasta Jay, with his waist long dreads, listening intently to Kundiman. His peculiar penchant for the olden Filipino love songs reveal a stunning realization, when Metro sexual AJ, Rasta Jay and the rowdy gangster looking gay group started singing every single line. Apparently this musical genre under the influence of rum transcends all stereotypes! Soon as the sun tamed down a little bit we decided to play Frisbee. Let me tell you that playing a mean game of Frisbee in between drinking and smoking is not a good idea. Some just collapsed on the sand complaining of stitches in their stomachs, Dada just started puking. Rasta Jay, …well…he was just really sitting pretty and moving at glacial pace on a corner playing with sand the whole time. The all gay ensemble was desperately gasping for air and gave up in the middle of the game. Yours truly got a knee injury. Everyone gave up on the athletic aspirations and just retired wading on the cool clear water and now sizzled out sand. 

AJ's accommodation

The absence of a decent shower room is compensated by a couple of old school “poso” situated where everyone might as well be eating peanuts and drinking scotch. It is fairly a free show so be wary of wiggling your behind too much. You might just get a well deserved but unsolicited applause.

After dinner we grab the necessities for our drinking spree before we headed out for the beach: Bottles of Grand Matador and water for chaser. This is by far the provincial venue that sells the most expensive bottle of Grand Matador (120php)  and pack of cigarettes (100php). I should’ve taken the boatman’s advice seriously.  The ambience though is incomparable and as per Visa, “priceless”. We drank by the beach sitting on the cool, fine sand under a full moon lit sky. I didn’t mind paying for a couple more ridiculously priced “Granmas”.

Our hosts dada, rasta jay, ancel, joy and dugo

For some bizarre reason, camping holds no place for hostility. In the back of your head there’s a nagging feeling that sooner or later MAYBE you will need something, no matter how small from somebody else. Call it survival instinct. The activity leaves you vulnerable and stripped off what you have or what you do for a living. In a place like this, who you are does not really matter.

Tired and tipsy, some headed to their respective tents to sleep. I, on the other hand, stretched out on the beach, under the full moon listening to Sting’s “Why Should I Cry For You” on my Ipod until I fell asleep. Of course, everything in between sound tripping and falling asleep is as pleasant as pleasant could be.  I’d have to say, my accommodation for the night was literally and figuratively a million stars.

I brought my LX-3 with me to the streets of Hong Kong in a recent visit to the country. Unlike taking street photos in the Philippines, Hong Kong is much more photographer friendly. People won’t stare at me when I aim my camera, there’s lots of tourists with big heavy DSLR’s around, wearing a jacket is normal and I can easily conceal my LX-3 in one of my pockets and most importantly, I feel safe that I won’t get mugged while taking pictures. Here are some of the photos I took…

i forgot to take my hepatitis vaccine shot before going there.

nice nails...

She came prepared.

There's just too many interesting people around.

Beware of the Death Stare. You're not a street photographer until you receive one.

Tired in Disneyland

night shot. no flash. no problem with the LX-3

Nice gear. Where's the studio?

Note: minimal post processing if none at all was used in these photos. Unlike Mr. B, I’m not inclined to enroll in a photography class where photoshop is integral in the end product. Film is not dead!

Pardon the wordplay but it’s true.  Or so says the lecturer at a basic photography seminar I recently attended.  The burden to prove that it is indeed not the gear but the photographer fell more heavily on yours truly as I sat with a couple dozen of DSLR-toting shutterbug wannabes, including my sister, while I tried hard to conceal the content of my cute little black bag: a kick-ass but out-of-place Panasonic Lumix LX3.  I had never felt so alone.  I didn’t feel the full impact of my folly until the lecturer asked us to bring out our cameras and check our viewfinder.  I’m telling you, it was a Kodak moment in a WTF sort of way.  

Anyways, being the odd one out in the seminar had its benefits.  For one, the lecturer seemed more forgiving of the high-ISO noise in my photo.  I also thought I was being given more attention by my mentor during breaks just to patiently answer my queries, from the silly “Will I ever progress to a serious photographer using my Panny?” to the sillier “Why Canon and not Olympus?”  One time Mr. Lecturer took his cigarette break outside the studio (where he usually smokes) to join me and my sister in our own puffing session even as he tried to further comfort me with his “indian/pana” analogy.  Lastly, he took out photos he had taken with a point and shoot camera and told me to check them out, perhaps to nail down the point that I shouldn’t be too worried about my gear.

Post-processed food, anyone?

As soon as my teacher finished his lecture on Photoshop, I quickly realized what he meant from day one.  Call it a distortion of the true lesson that he wanted to impart, but my mentor just opened my eyes to the magnitude of things I could do AFTER taking a shot. Ohohoy!  Now I can, ahem, process my crap and turn them into, hmm, semi-crap.  And I got a CD from the seminar containing the most powerful things one can do with mighty PS.  Mr. A may be salivating right now and just about getting ready to show me the money , but I am under strict instruction from my mentor that yes, I can pay it forward by sharing the knowledge I gained from attending his seminar, but no, I cannot share the CD I got from him for the very sensible reason that it was five nights of my life that I spent learning, not to mention it was my hard-earned Gs that I paid for those nights.  As it is an imperfect world that we live in, everything will boil down to how my friendship with Mr. A holds up.  And to the offer he will dangle that he hopes I can’t resist.

Indeed, one seminar does not a photographer make.  I don’t even feel the urge to upgrade my pana right now.  Give or take a few more months taking pictures and mastering Photoshop and joining photography clubs, I will be able to know where my future is heading.

Just don’t ask me to check my viewfinder.

(Ohohoy! gives way to this wonderful piece written by Ms. E.  Mr. A and I are yielding precious space not only because we do occasionally run out of something to write - and that’s being kind to ourselves - but also because we know that antagonizing Ms. E is practically inviting a reenactment of Ricky Hatton’s narcoleptic episode.  So there. — Mr. B)

I find myself in a mess that my half-baked decision had taken me. A decision to go to a fairly familiar place yet a completely unknown territory: A 4 day hike to Luzon’s highest peak, Mt. Pulag. Bad weather, absence of pre-climb, pre menstrual syndrome, bad start (we missed the bus), An honest opinion from one of the hosts that it is NOT a “fun” climb …I can enumerate a thousand excuses not to push through.  The oddities seem to pile on to each other like a mound of heavy rocks similar to the pack I have to haul for the rest of what deemed to be an eternal climb. My only consolation which also happens to be the source of my anxiety is the fact that I teamed up with 4 seasoned climbers. While my all male team made sure I am well equipped from gear to mindset, their experience and reputation compels me to keep up with their performance. I am all set and ready to swallow the bullet I have blindly bitten.

Mt. Pulag trail

I literally hang on for 3 hours to dear life atop a truck that consistently broke down every 20 minutes. The unforgiving rain and wind has taken a toll on my bladder. I really have to pee. After holding it for what seemed like hours the truck breaks down thankfully near a small hut where I begged the homeowner to let me use their rest room. Upon entering the door I see a hole in place of a toilet bowl. I peak outside to look at the owner and he nods in approval. Okay, at least I’m sure I’m not on some sort of hidden camera.   My second call of nature takes place on the open trail where I asked a teammate to look out   by the curve and stop pedestrians and or vehicles dead on their tracks at all cost. All these and I am not even at base camp. In between asking myself what I got myself into, I pray for the bad weather to get worse so everything will just be called off. I want to go home so badly.

Arriving at a public school which is also the make shift base camp did not seem to divert my prayers. As soon as I get off the dump truck I sink knee deep in mud. First instinct was to yank my feet out as quickly as possible. I have succeeded in taking my foot out less my shoe! Great! Now I have to get my arm elbow-deep in mud to fish out my shoe. I have never seen my ACGs so dirty with mud I can barely recognize it. I am cold and looking forward to changing into fresh clothes and a decent meal. As we walk into one of the classrooms, X, the eldest and most seasoned in our team and that person I perceived to be a rock star in his passion for climbing, made sure he marked our small territory by dumping all our bags into a corner and lining the space the size of a single parking slot with wooden arm chairs. This is our accommodation for the night. The sleeping arrangement is fairly okay. I feel comfortable and toasty inside my newly acquired sleeping bag. I slump anxious in between bodies imagining what it’s going to be like in the morning. I did not get to sleep.

Pine City - trail to the peak

It’s finally the moment of truth. I’m getting more excited as I gear up. The lack of mirrors prevented me from confirming how awful and silly I look. I do some stretching, some photo op (just incase one of us goes missing?) and then we start rolling. At least the itinerary says ‘descend’. I think ‘descend’ barely does the actual thing justice. I find myself ankle deep in mud, yet again, constantly slipping and helplessly clinging on to a person I do not even know just barely 10 minutes into the trail. My short term goal is to go through the day without falling on my behind. It’s bad enough that I have to recycle my clothes so I try to keep it clean and mud-free as possible. With the help of keen observation and tons of human intervention, I succeed. I am amazed by the openness and willingness of these strangers to help another. I slowly adjust to the environment, the activity and the culture of climbing. I start appreciating the sights rather than constantly looking down and minding where my feet lands and start interacting with the other climbers whom I will be stuck with and will have the chance to get to know better for a couple more days. I worry about getting sick from the fickle weather but completely dread facing my worse nemesis- the formidable leech. I freak at the sight of it crawling up my legs. No amount of shaking it off can budge the little suckers. As I barely conceive of looking at it, much less touch it, I impose on whoever is nearest to take it off me. One naughty climber decides to entertain himself by giving me a leech scare. Turning around to look at me, his eyes widen as he points at my face and says “OH MY GOOOOOD”. Assuming it was a leech stuck on my face he was pointing at I, scream…palpitate and well…all the rest was a blur. When I finally got hold of myself, I realize there was quite a lot of people around me. The joker and yours truly did not realize the intensity of my phobia, I, too, did not realize until that incident, how the shrill sound of a woman’s shriek can send the teams before us running back as they thought I had fallen into a ditch. Two words: Bad Joke. I don’t know who was more embarrassed. Thankfully, my unfashionable combination of printed slipper socks, tights and cargo shorts prevented the suckers from penetrating my skin. I learn that functionality before fashion is definitely the way to go. 9 hours and about 30 kilometers after, we finally reach another public school turned camp. We try to settle in doing the same routine as the first night. Winston, the youngest in our team, muses over a leech that got stuck in between his climbing shoes and mud guard. I cringe at the sight of it but more on the possibility that if he had one on his shoe, then the 20 other climbers must have one too. Worse, the suckers must be crawling freely on the very same floor we’re supposed to sleep on. Pushing the thought aside, I still have the energy to cook a decent, rather gourmet pasta meal for my team. I realize that nature provides a constantly changing backdrop that entertains you and somehow makes you ignore your weariness or maybe it’s just the ghosts of the leeches haunting me that kept me up and about.

View from the peak

One sleepless night followed by an eventful day takes toll on me, I am tired. Gen, the longhaired, soft-spoken gentleman in my team who stayed up with me the previous night advises me to take vitamins before I sleep so I wouldn’t be sluggish in the morning. I pop one and slip into my sleeping bag. Instantly enough I notice that instead of getting sleepy I was getting more and more giddy. My mind is racing with so many thoughts. I get up to check if anybody is still up. Gen heeds my faint call for companionship. I told him I took Pharmaton and as soon as I utter those words the Pharmaton ad started blinking wildy in my head in neon colors “Mind and body, Mind and body”. Fuck! I was begging to the high heavens to give me even 30 minutes of quality sleep and rest that I need so badly. Turns out it is another sleepless night.

I survive the first day, I am pretty sure the 2^nd day will be somewhat the same. Wrong (again). The itinerary says ‘ascend’ and ‘assault’. Apparently, the grueling first day is the fun part. In addition to the physical torment of the climb, 2 sleepless nights (thanks to pharmaton), I unexpectedly get my period which explains my constant lack of energy and exhaustion. I cannot give in to my physical and mental states’ urge to give up. My short term goal is to just make it through the day regardless whether I slip, fall or tumble.  I chow down my chocolate bars and bring out my ipod. It works! I successfully psych myself to push forward until we reach camp…unscathed. I walk around with a well deserved sense of accomplishment.

My team initiates a meeting to push to the next camp despite the extreme cold. Ironically, we are the first to bail out as X started feeling uncomfortably cold. Being the veteran that he is, he advises to always listen to your body. The other teams went on their way leaving just a handful of us at the camp. We had one tiny room all to ourselves. And as if sleeping were not an integral part of our currently hectic and physically tiring activity, I stayed up in the cold chatting with Gen and X.  The latter went on a drinking spree with the other teams while Doy, my other teammate, who talked me into climbing, retired right after dinner. As the night progressed, Gen and I head off to our rugged accommodation. The scent emanating from the tiny room is just so offensive it stops me dead on my tracks.  I stare into the room and realize the unfriendly scent was from the two semi dead (or so it seems) bodies slumped on the floor.  X, who wreaks of gin and Doy who just plainly and simply stinks from accumulated bodily odors that was consciously untamed for 3 days.  Thankfully we start rolling at 2am. I am wearing a long sleeve shirt, a dry fit shirt, fleece, rain jacket, tights, climbing pants, 2 layers of socks, bonnet, scarf, gloves, my ACGs and finally a head lamp. I have never worn that much clothes all at the same time.

The Peak

As we trek under the moonlit sky, I barely feel the exhaustion. As if every part of my body is overwhelmed by a picture perfect silhouette of a tree atop a distant hill against the full moon and a midnight blue canvas. I stop every so often to catch my breath and a glimpse of that perfection that’s becoming bigger and bigger with every step. As daylight breaks, the previous silhouettes of hills turns to gold and the canvas turns to a marvelous play of orange, pink and blue. My excitement turns to exhilaration as I finally reach the peak. What stands before me is a sea of pure white clouds so beautiful beyond words that I just find myself sitting silently in solitude without a care in the world. Doy looks at me and simply utters “This is why we climb”. Overwhelmed, I just acknowledge with a nod and a smile.

In the face of physical and mental torment coupled with a countless mishaps I am still grateful that I bit that bullet. Frankly speaking, I’ll bite it again, this time with eyes wide open.