It’s 2 AM and I am absolutely wide awake. My internal clock has gone haywire. I’ve been running errands all afternoon, trying to force myself through this inexplicable, mysterious jet lag, suffering in ways I just don’t understand. During the day, I visit with various people on the phone. I don’t have a lot of energy; I drag. I hear stories of friends, acquaintances, people who know people who are getting taken down by age or serious health issues, which tends to scare me, especially when I am tired and hardly have the will to be my old reliable self.
My memory seems to be going out on me—not a good feeling. My muscles are visibly shrinking—beginning to look like what I associate with old people. I’ve got so many joint and back aches. Nobody told us this is what really happens. But when I am tired, I become drained of physical energy and any imagination. I tell myself I will get through this.
In the meantime,
Jerod Foy in the dive shop
Mother Nelda and her granddaughter, Resha May
Youngest daughter, Althea
Niece Angela and her sister, dancing to a cellphone in a jungle hut
Allaneth having the hair done, a reward for a 90.4 % year average
For every minute in line somewhere, there’s 20 or 30 minutes on a beach, in the mountains, diving, or with someone interesting or doing something special
What a special place to grow up, on a remote beach on a remote part of a distant island in a distant land
“Lolo, do you have a peso for me?”
Traveling is truly a double edged sword. And if you seek any kind of adventure, know travel will be a part of it. With travel comes the pain of fatigue, the inconvenience of hunger, sometimes thirst, not knowing how things are done. But with a degree of persistence, also comes the reward of seeing things you have never seen before, sometimes beautiful things, more often than not unique things. That is my primary motivator in life.
To get to the corners of the planet, you gotta walk crowded lines
It just makes it easier having someone who is game to follow you into remote corners
Sometimes we have to take a few chances to enjoy the extremes
I put the grind of hardship out to get somewhere I am going, and I put the grind of hardship out to get home at the end of an adventure. I have a side of me that wants to believe I’ll never be too old to keep chasing the sweet things in life, but I also know the reality is, all good things must come to an end. Monette is a part of that aspect of life that tells me to keep going as long as I can.
We now live within 1 or 2 miles of this channel made for diving
Here’s coming from the other direction in the evening
Monette and I exploring down below
My favorite little black tip grouper photo. Every once in a while, everything cooperates
Sitting in one of the countless gates in Ninoy Aquino International Airport, beginning one of the infinitely long waits between the many various flights across and over islands, continents, and countries )-: The tough part of travel, waiting, bureaucracy, never able to sleep, being checked and searched, waiting some more…
I feel bad. I departed Monette and Mosaic Tower this morning, right around 7 AM. I could tell Monette was about to break into tears. She no sooner got me into my Grab Taxi Cab than she shut the door, turned around and headed back into Mosaic. It was not a good feeling. And on top of it all, it was a gloomy, miserable looking day. So here I sit now at Gate 3 in Terminal 1, watching the room fill up, knowing the next 24-36 hours is going to be a little piece of hell, always waiting, never being able to sleep, sitting in economy class without a square inch to move.
I am always mystified by how I am going to navigate all the hoops. I never do anything right and the lines are always infinitely long. If I hadn’t been so caught up into the pain and agony of it all, I would have taken a few pictures. But, inevitably, somebody rescues me. This time it was a doll of a little Filipina gal who practically took me by the hand and guided me through the system. She wanted to know if I was “pre-registered” (so I could get into the fast, short line). “No, I don’t think so”. She immediately confiscated my iPhone and was quickly navigating her way through the loops and turns of pre-registration. I had no idea what she was doing. I was like an old, feeble grandfather watching the efficienct grandchild whir through electronics and technology, knowing I could never comprehend, but she was fixing it for him because that is what a loving child does. She had my name, cell phone number, address, flight routes, ticket numbers, date of birth, passport number, and had me following her closely from one line to another. Finally she said, “okay, come with me. You are in this line now—you are pre registered”.
I went from number 322 in a line that was not moving, to number 4 in a line that was moving at a fast clip! “How much do you make?” I asked. “Nothing”, she said. “I’m in my 4th year of college and I am a volunteer. I want to be a stewardess someday”.
I insisted on giving her a little tip, and she refused, repeatedly. I had to smile. She said she was happy doing what she did. How Filipino, I thought.
(A few hours later) So here I am in mostly sunny, puffy clouded Taiwan, a gorgeous, ultra modern country, and sophisticated in ways it is hard for me to relate to: clean, efficient, modern, socially cooperative, and surprisingly unconcerned about their relationship with mainland China. Maybe they know something we don’t (-: Monette and I had a chance to do Taiwan with Gordon and Gretchen for a week long trip time before last. The tickets were purchased, we were in the airport, going through Filippine customs and Monette abruptly got pulled aside and grilled like she was a wannabe escapee from the Philippines! Where the logic was, I’ll never know, but by the time the authorities were through roughing her up with questions, we missed our flight. Stange, no apologies, nothing.
So I have never had any personal experience in Taiwan except countless trips flying in and out of the country making transfers. And I know people who know the country. I love flying into it—it looks so…exotic, different in its own way. Endless coastline, rectangular parceled farmland, wind generators, modern highways, roadways, river systems, green mountains, clean looking towns, cities, fishing grounds. They take pride in their national parks and wilderness. They seem to hold their country in high esteem. It always makes me think about how unique the planet is and how humanity has spread across the planet.
We got here fairly effortlessly yesterday afternoon, before 3 PM. We arrived at Buendia bus terminal, wild, crazy, and cluttered with activity around 2:30 PM and immediately began negotiating for a taxi—Monette began pushing for 200 pesos ($3.44) for a ride to Mosaic Towers, the heart of Makati. I suspected we were not going to get a quick lift for 200 pesos. Sure enough, most cabbies held out for 300 pesos. Just as I was about to say, “let’s just pay the 300” somebody said “ok, 200”. Long story short, he didn’t know where Mosaic was so we got out and started over. I ended up paying 250 just to end the negotiations and get on with completing the little journey.
Into the ferry terminal in Balatero
It started downpouring, as only a healthy cloudburst in the tropics can do. Rainwater flowed 2 inches deep in the streetways and we had managed to get within 1/2 block of Mosaic, but it was a one way street so I told him to just let us out and we found a dry spot under an eave amidst the downpour. Finally there was a bit of a lull in the deluge and we took off scampering for Mosaic. Of course we got soaked but the always-kind-and-accomodating Thess was here at Mosaic Towers to oblige us. What a relief to meet up with her.
Needless to say, we found our room, impeccably clean and luxorious. We unpacked, showered, regrouped, rested, then headed for the Antipodean where we indulged in draft Heiniken and fine food and palavered till almost 8 into the evening.
Today we hit a coffee shop known for its decent food and fine coffee, but both of us being non connisseurs of coffee and apparently neither of us could appreciate how fine our meal was, we just used the time to chat. Then I did my banking at BPI. Turned out I did not have as much in the bank here as I originally thought. We decided to march around Greenbelt I, which is closed for remodeling—I don’t even want to know what they are thinking, but as it always seems, they are tearing things down, closing good businesses just for the sake of making things new and improved. Myself, I like tradition. I like habits and familiarity. I could go to the same old baseball stadium year after year.
In the end, we simply shopped around on the 4th floor of Greenbelt IV for curtains, an item we could not find in Puerto Galera. We looked at furniture, sofas, beds, just pretended like we were rich. I couldn’t even find light covers, you know, the $4.99 glass covers you put over a light bulb. Too outdated I guess. We finally found curtains that would do the trick and departed. Despite the whining knee, I got my exercise in. Maybe I can get 2 1/2 miles in today. Now we will chill for a bit, then head out again in a few hours. Time is closing in on us, ugh!
Always good to relax come evening—fish and chips chased with a good old fashioned Bloody Mary
Leo (Neil) searching for something special to shoot, courtesy Jared Foy
Monette and I are just piddling around. It is Monday, almost 8 AM and we have another hour to go before we head to Makati. It’s not a terribly far journey, but it is slow, taking probably 7 hours by the time we are through making our waits, doing the ferry passage to Batangas, enduring the 2 hour haul to Manila on the bus baring unforseen traffic delays, and finally transferring by taxi to Makati, wrestling with the cabbie trying to explain where Mosaic Tower is. It’s just a dissheveled, piecemeal haul. (And Makati is unfathomably huge in my book—a little like Manhatten).
My dive buddy, Jared Foy, just sent a photo a few minutes ago that he took on our last dive, which was very thoughtful of him. Yesterday was just a catching up day, lulling around, and sorting through photos trying to figure out what was what, before Monette and I went into Sabang toward evening to visit Cherry Marquez (happy 40th, Cherry), and then going out to one of our favorite restaurants, Montani’s, where I indulged in fluffy mashed potatoes, a smokey chicken gravy, and a very tasty chicken cordonbleu. It was a nice place to dine and take our ice cold San Miguel Light the end of the last day.
Today is wet and warm and it is almost time to depart. Monette was up at some god awful hour and packing all our Makati and my U.S. stuff. It’s been a good trip.
A shot I coincidentally got later of young Jared, poking around for something special
I’m excited, I’m wide awake, the sun is shining brightly in a happy blue sky. In one hour I will be suiting up for the 700th dive, the last of this trip, which I must say, has been a good success despite the usual little challenges (of life). My number one concern at the moment, is the friggin’ camera. If the camera is working properly, all should be well.
Ambon lionfish
This excavating couple has me completely befuddled
I think Rhio has set Montani aside for the morning. It takes a certain kind of diver to get into Montani. One, the diver needs a camera, and two, if he does not have a camera, he’s got to be into finding unique critters, like Willy is. My migraine and all the side effects has finally, more or less, vanished. When I get a bad migraine (usually not pain, but auras, a miserable, debilitating plight I have suffered my entire life), I feel like an empty surreal replica of life just drifting about and sometimes it takes the better part of a day or two to put it behind me. Being underwater in more extreme conditions is a bit challenging. Not fun. I don’t want to make mistakes that can be costly and I can become really stupid when a migraine sets in. But fortunately, those more serious episodes are far and few between and I have had enough experience with them that I am good at keeping my poise under pressure.
A fingered dragonet, another one very difficult to photograph
filefish, a strange sort
(7 hours later). I am back and I have to say the dive was a success. We did go out to Montani and managed to get in almost 70 minutes underwater and we saw the usual unique oddities of a good muck dive. Thank god, Monette accompanied me to the dive shop and monitored everything with the camera. I am not sure I could have fannagled the camera into working order, but she seems to have the touch (plus good karma, a nice addition to my team).
Suspiciously similar to a dragon sea moth, a very odd fish and tough to photograph
Cinnabar goatfish—note the long “whiskers” on the chin
Now it is just about sorting through photos, none of which are exceptional, but at least the subject matter was there. We are going into Sabong in another hour, having a few beers—I am doubling up on the occasion tonight—being that this dive episode in Sabang, April through most of June was successfully concluded with around 50 dives and we have a lot of people to acknowledge. It should be fun.
One of a half dozen similar species of pipefish, maybe a reeftop pipefish
The Alma Jane is almost something that comes at you like it is from a dream world. You roll into the tepid, deep water, and begin sinking toward the shadowy bottom deep below. It’s darker than your average dive. And, all of sudden, the Alma Jane materializes a bit like a ghost ship. But it is always surrounded by big fish or colorful schools, a place most fish in the area like to call home.
Beautiful batfish. (Forgive the poor quality of photos: I was lazy, we were on a time line, and I was still recovering from a mean migraine)
Inevitably big, presumptuous batfish will be the first to come out of nowhere like happy spirits, curious to know what you are bringing to the party. (Maybe they have been fed, in the past—I honestly wonder). They move in close, circle, and several follow the divers. In years past, I’ve had some great photos come out of the swirling clouds of batfish. And this is not mentioning all the other schools of fish.
Big schools of snappers are always a “feel good” experience.
I can’t wait to circle the ship and see what surprises await. Always giant sweetlips scatter, and it’s a rare dive I don’t see scorpion fish or a wandering frogfish, lurking as patiently as a fat mushroom for unsuspecting prey.
You don’t want specimens black, small, or in a nook. But rather big, light colored, and highly visible are the preferred
An example of a black anything—impossible to photograph. In this case, the mouth is on the right hand side, nothing but a blackened cresent, and the eye is below the largest white spot. In general, just a bad photo (-;
For some reason, the big eyed snappers seem to be the resident school(s) of fish, swirling and turning like living kaleidescopes. I circled the entire boat, poking and prodding, then went on board down into the bowels of the ships, exploring as long as I could before Rhio gave the sign, “better start back”.
Can’t beat an innocuous stone fish (waiting to be stepped on) (-;
One of several varieties of scorpionfish, and I’ve gotten too lazy to narrow it down
There were five of us, all pretty experienced, and we started back “cross country”, amidst so many fish: frogfish, scorpion, stonefish, zebra moray, and dozens up dozens of intermittent schools of the usual and unusual alike. I have to say, with no current, good visibility, and no other divers, this turned out to be an exceptional dive. We were deep and down for a long time.
There’s not many moray’s as beautiful as a zebra
I had so many pictures of fish schools, everywhere, fish, fish, and more fish.
Let’s start this blog out with the illusion that all I do is dive and have fun. This was the day before yesterday, when a school of marauding big eyed barracuda came racing into our midst, as curious about us, as we were about them
Moving has been challenging enough. We had it pretty good while living in Sabang: air conditioning (yeah!), wifi, water, restaurants, dive shops, no real responsibilities, health, weather, you name it. It was good while it lasted. But then the cold reality of life set in: School let out, there were other responsibilities that began competing with life, and living in the Philippines is not quite as easy as vacationing here.
The key is, if you gotta work, if you have responsibilities, things you don’t wanna do, save them till last and squeeze in as much fun as you can, till you have no more choice. Moorish idol, a gorgeous fish
But I try to be a flexible guy in my own way, so I kept it in my head that you don’t just “move in” to a new evironment, a new country, overnight. And so it has been. Being without water on a regular basis is not exactly fun. The natives know how to do it. Just buy your own 1000 gallon gal tank and keep it filled (by truck delivery). But buying your landlandy her own 1000 gallon container tank is a little different matter. Can you trust she can be trusted? And wifi going down is not fun. But it’s been a lot better this round, than it has in many rounds past. Did I mention electricity? Yes, there is that issue also, and we live in a pretty respectable area. They are called “brown outs”, and electricity I can live without, but 96 degree moist air that does not move, is not fun. Note, the foreigner is the only one sweating profusely. He’ll be the first to die of heat exhaustion. (In the U.S. I always felt sorry for the “elderly” who died first during power outings. Well, now I relate).
Gobies always tillilate my heart—aurora shrimp gobi
It’s a learning process. Thank god I have Monette in my corner, waiting hand and foot on me…or atleast feeling sorry for me, sopping my forehead with a moist cloth, when there is NO power. But we’ve got water back! I have protested enough to the landlady’s brother who is our neighbor, (but also has a 1,000 gallon water tank). I don’t know who is going to break first. If I throw the towel in Monette and her girls die, I go home, and the landlady starts a new search for a tenant. If she gives up, she purchases a new water tank, money that a Filipino landlord can squeeze out of the greediest of misers, but she might not be able to find another foreign sucker. It’s a cat and mouse game, though I tell myself I am too old to be getting wrapped up in these kind of new contests.
This is a highly venemous 5 1/2 foot sea krait (laticauda) that very rarely bites humans and is more or less quite harmless (especially out of water). Impress your friends, handle him, take a photo. Be the brave guy amongst your buddies (-:
And the latest thing is health! I twisted my bad knee getting out ot the dive boat. What else is new? I am trying desperately to hit the magical dive number 700. But dives only come one dive at a time. Yesterday, very early, I was concerned that I was not going to get the first dive in, so I gave up on the idea. Then by 9 AM I reversed decision and went for the second dive in the day thinking I’d be ok. In the second dive, my body miraculously held up. But Monette was still suffering the slings and arrows of her ailment—water in the inner ear.
Ah, the little striped catfish—don’t eat them, I understand they are venemous.
We went by Doctor Arroyo’s, bless her damned expensive heart, and she gave us the bad news: Air pressure perforated her ear drum and after going into great detail about how Monette is to recover from this, it was determined she was going to miss 2 months of diving! Yes, that’s right, two months! After talking with everyone and their brother who might know anything at all about perforated ear drums, it has been determined, she can and will get through this, but will hence forth be wearing the equivalent of “diving ear muffs”. All the pros reassured her. They even showed her how the ear muffs worked. Pretty nifty, but alas, if one takes great precaution, it is still a two month wait!
A yellow margined moray, aggressive looking, but passive. It seems most eels are pretty mellow
Then to top it all off, I had a post dive migraine and screwed up with my camera. I don’t know what I did, but somehow moisture got into the housing. I am thinking I will survive this (hopefully) and can resume diving with a camera, tomorrow morning, after missing a photoshoot today. I’ve got two more dives to go, that’s it, just two more—and at 698, I can surely re-group and make it to the finish line, Sunday.
I couldn’t figure out what to do with this mediocre, though unique picture of a blenny. Now I know
When it rains, it pours, as they say. But I have learned, keep your poise when things get demanding. I suspect things will iron themselves out before too much longer. In some odd, old age way, this is just another adventure.
This was a real beauty of a reef lizard fish. They’re as common as political opinions, but if one gives you an exceptional shot, you’ve got to take it—I love these guys
I’ve only been diving since I was in my mid 50’s. It was always too costly and too convoluted to pursue. In my world, you just threw your fins, mask, and snorkel into your backpack and took off for exotic, tropical lands where you camped on the beach—that was my style back in the day, live third world poor.
I’m thinking a star puffer
Then one day, Sierran and I returned from one of our semi wild outings down in Mexico. We had been beach combing remotely on the Baja, living and visiting amongst the Seri Indians as we trapsed the more lonely stretches of the Baja, dodging what we feared were drug cartel members until we realized they had no interest in us, snorkeling, having the hard, but good life, climbing mountains (we had a real close call in a thunderstorm one night on the way back on 14,000 ft. White Mountain Peak where we got stranded in an electrical storm). I was a little wild and crazy back in the day, and I decided all in a whim on our return, I was going to get certified to dive because I wanted “to go deep” and snorkeling was to become a thing of the past.
I can’t peg this guy, though they are fairly common. I’ve got it narrowed down to a Japanese large-eyed bream or a Russell’s snapper. The pros would have this pegged in minutes, I am sure
Six hundred ninety-five dives is not the huge number I fantasized making some day, but it is still substantial. I always figured between equipment, fifteen or twenty different certifications, gas, hotels, retaurants, plane flights, boats, etc, etc, I probably averaged $100 a dive. Everybody has something they feel passionate about, and though I can never say I got passionate per se, I did get into it a bit.
A stone fish—a fish you do not want to be envenomated by
Now, I am within five dives of breaking the 700 milestone. I should do that Saturday barring the unforseen. I will be heading for Manila with Monette Monday, so if I allow myself a day’s respite Sunday, I should hit 700 before I go. Anytime you turn a hundred dives, you hit a bit of a magical number and 700 has been a long time coming.
A white mouthed moray
I ain’t the diver you would think I would be at 700, with all the setbacks I’ve had, but with a lot of luck, my return to the Philippines in November could have me hitting the big water again. With luck, Monette could be a real ally. But luck is the key word because anything is possible at any given time.
Resha May leading the way of the back from the bay
Nothing is what you ever think it is going to be. A handful of things struck me as novel: the first was the distance to the waterfront was not nearly what I thought it would be. The second was that some pretty nice places existed amongst the jungle of terrain we traversed to get to the waterfront. I was very impressed by how nice the community was at large despite the fact that it was primitive in general. Goats, chickens, ducks, and dogs were everywhere. People looked earthy and humble, but their places glowed.
Resha May, young, light, athletic leading the way into and through the mangroves
Monette, a little like myself, feeling her way very gently through the mangroves
We got it in our heads just before sunset, after a few drinks and dinner, to follow the road and see just how far and to whence this road went. It immediately took a sharp turn, and went jungle sour on us. Some gal pointed the direction, into a mangrove, and said for us in Tagolog to “follow the path”.
Before we even started hitting the mangroves, we would occasionally come across a household amidst the ducks and goats and overgrown gardens
More mangroves
It turned dark and vanished into a tunnel of mangroves on an elevated pathway made of flimsey bamboo. Once we were in the mangroves it was obvious the path was headed to the end of a cove and this is where the local populace kept their bangkas. We emerged from the mangroves into the end of the bay, and though it was “way back there”, there were some pretty nice places amongst the woodlands. I don’t know if there are a few roads or just more trails that lead down in there. We dawdled, took some pictures, chatted, then headed back, having a much better picture of where our “road” turned into a trail, went south through the mangroves, and emerged at the waterfront. I imagine this whole region is like this, bays, backwoods, and endless settlements, some quite nice, scattered through the region and for a trail, two hours worth, to meander along the mangroves, waterfront, and woodlands, no big surprise. But good luck following them.
End of the boardwalk
End of the day at the end of the bay, (families coming home via bangkas?)
What looked like a nice looking restaurant that must have had a road leading to it coming from somewhere
Coming back to the end of the road somewhere in Kabulong Gulad. Lots of nice, big ol places back in here. I think I could live here except for the brown outs and intermittent shortage of water (which I am already learning to adapt to in our new place)
rubberboa 