Kinatarkan: This One Goes Out to All the Sweet Filipina Island Gyal

I’m so mainstream. When everybody on earth started going to Guintarcan Island after PinoyApache posted an article about it at Istorya.net, I went too. I took my Jeck Pilpil and the Peacepipes playlist with me on that tour sponsored by hers truly, Chyrel Gomez (“hers truly” because she is so self-indulged). Anyway, I do not have to give out a whole lot of details about how to get there because PinoyApache already did a great job on it. Redundancy is boring, unless it’s financial redundancy. I’d like that. But I want to add some stuff.

Side note: If you’ve read the comments section of that page, a lot of people have been asking how to get there when he did write how to get there. I don’t know why people would ask about something that’s already written at the very same article they’re commenting on. Anyway, on to my story.

We got on a fishing boat that sidelined as a passenger craft (the guy was on his way home from delivering fish to the market) at 11am in Daanbantayan. The wharf to Kinatarkan (as Guintarcan is known to locals and to GoogleMaps) is very easy to get to via habal-habal and trisikad. Just tell them to get you to the pantalan or slawter house.

We got to the wharf at 8.30am and passed the time waiting for a boat talking to locals about the new mayor, the new guys who’ll be hired at the slawter house now that they have a new mayor, and how to get there without having to swim all the way. I asked them if someone has already swam the whole width but they said no one is that senseless in the area. I’m not Latvian either so I’m not gonna try. We paid 40 pesos, there was just me, Chyrel, a local, and the fish delivery guy. The waves did a really amazing job of getting me soaked (I sat at the front, I don’t know what’s the called in boat terminology). At some point while at sea, it seemed that the island wouldn’t get any closer. The unchanging seascape or probably its lack of landmarks makes any estimate of distance a wild guess.

As we moored out of Daanbantayan, we could see rain fall on the eastern end while the rest of the island was soaked in sunlight. The gloomy and sunny parts seemed like time zones apart.

From afar, the island seem uninhabited, just a green mass of land trimmed by white sand and dark-walled cliffs. But as distance subsides, houses unveil themselves and you’ll get a clue that there’s a whole bunch of people living in there. Took us 54 minutes to get to shore on a small, single-engine rig.

We got off at sitio Dapdap. Then we rode a habal2x to the house of Hagdan’s barangay captain to rent bicycles. Those were made-in-China BMX and we regretted renting them, although the captain is a really nice lady. We spent about an hour trying to put the bikes on riding condition before we’re able to roll them.

There is a guy who rents bicycles in Sitio Dolphin, Kinatarkan and he has better stuff. Although I bet Chyrel would still complain because she’s used to riding professional-grade mountain bikes. The weather during that bike trip was bipolar, and rabidly so. Rain fell and stopped and fell again, in a crazy cycle that made me wonder why I didn’t stay home for the weekend.

I got a lot of unsolicited attention going around the island mainly because of my dreadlocks (I don’t know if it’s the dreads or the fact that it’s all messed up and needs some repair). Kids wherever I pass would debate if it’s real or not.

Kinatarkan is more populated than I first thought, although the sight of outsiders in their island is still relatively foreign. Where we had lunch, the lady asked us why we’re there and if we were selling anything. The explanation of going there just for the heck of it is not very sufficient for most people we’ve talked to. Forest Beach is probably the only commercial resort in the area, and people who go there are mostly locals. The best beaches are the ones you find on the side of the road but Forest Beach has a dive board and a slide which is why kids love going there despite the five-peso entrance fee.

The beach photos in this entry are taken near Sitio Pasil. There was no one there to ask what the place was called. If you go there I’d suggest bringing a folding bike or renting some decent bike, you should be able to find it if you just go around the island.

Locals get their water from one of the few wells and water pumps in the island. The rainy season brings an added blessing—their tadyaw (clay water jars) would be filled with extra water. Those who can go the extra financial mile buy distilled water from the mainland. I hardly think that’s necessary since we survived the night and the morning after drinking rainwater, although I am happier to not know how that water looked like before they packed it in cellophane.

The island’s mainroad (which is only a vehicle’s with since only motorbikes go around the island) are littered with plastic trashes on the side. You know that one plus one equals two and adding another one to two all the time creates a huge bunch. It’s the same math that works with garbage and I hope people will soon realize that they can’t just litter the roadside or anywhere else.

The island is only twice the size of Malapascua, you can’t get lost there. You gotta know though that the regular trip to the island is only once a day. It usually leaves the island at 8am and goes back at 12noon. There are two or three rigs that keep that sched everyday, but they pretty much have the same schedule. We had no choice but to spend the night at the island. Did I mention there’s no commercial resort in the island? I guess I did, I’m a touch-writer, I write as a type. We spent the night at Berlito Mantao’s crib, he’s a retired teacher who hosts visitors in his crib. Food and lodging for the night and the trip back to Kawit included, he asked for 350 pesos for the two of us. We got discounted rates because electricity was down when we went there.

Maybe Manang missed the fact that I’m underweight or she took personal responsibility for it, that’s why she cooked right that was good for the Philippine Dragonboat Team. Either way, we had really great dinner and breakfast while we’re there, especially that the fish we ate were still swimming freely before they hit the frying pan.

I’m debating whether to post any more info about the island or just let you guys find out about it. I’ll just post photos and let’s just keep being mainstream you all!

Tulang Diot – No Island is a Man

It’s time for vengeance. People always make “man” seem lesser than an island with that old no-man-is-an-island phrase. It’s about time we look at the other side of the table and realize that no island is a man either. Whoever came up with that fallacy deserves karma big time—especially that it made it thru centuries. I was going to write about my whole trip in Camotes today in one entry but I did so much waiting at the terminal that I got all the time in the Milky Way to think of useless things. My mind wandered through every decipherable degree of the compass and it’s a high tide of rumbles up here.

But then again, I’ll sleep tonight and might wake up with less than a sentence to write about the rest of my trip. Speaking of compass, I want to get one because I suck with directions. I am really good at reading maps but when there is no landmark to lead me to the right track (like most trails are), that’s when picnic turns to panic (that sounded unforgivably cheesy but I can’t stop it).

Tulang Diot it is. I have wanted to check the place out about a year ago but I almost entirely forgot about it. Until yesterday. I was at work with Tyler (you may wonder who he is, he’s at the previous post). We were on meeting but it was not a real meeting and we spent time ogling at people on Facebook while I did map surfing on the side. The my cursor ended up in Camotes and my attention reunited with the tiny (it measures in length) island of Tulang Diot, right at the top of it. Tulang Diot is just right across Tulang Dako. (Tyler did not go. Apparently, you have to book him three months ahead of time to get him to go anywhere.)

Diot means small while Dako means big and I’m such a moron I didn’t bother asking the locals while I was there what Tulang meant. I was under the impression that the island is not so inhabited. That made me want t go there so I could maybe ride through trails carved by coconut men (not the rapper, the real ones). I was wrong. Not my fault. The internet did not give enough information about the island.

Anyway, the island is so crowded that there are no real streets, just gaps between one house and another. Bamboo fences flank each house that it gets dizzying to bike past them.So how densely populated is Tulang Diot? I did not get the figures but every livable space in the island is already occupied by a house that no one is allowed to build anymore.

I guess the reason why many people live there is because of the rich marine life (“rich marine life” – I can’t believe I sound like a documentary host on government access). A local told me that when there is habagat, fishes would take shelter near the island. There’d be so many of them that he only has to wade waist-deep and spear them.

I wanted to check out the marine sanctuary that Wagee (my trail-rider-turned-triathlete-friend-who-sidelines-as-trail-rider-still) told me about. But I took a crash landing at disappointment-landia when I reached the place that I spent most of my time there chatting with the locals and just enjoying the most of the water. The place is still fairly descent. But the sand is not that powdery and “pristine” as some of the beaches in mainland Camotes and Cebu. Plus, it bothers me that I am swimming near a densely populated islet that has no established drainage system.

But the people are really nice though. They were generous with their Kulafu. I took a few shots because I was too diplomatic to tell them that I have been enduring hyperacidity for more than a week now, that I can no longer enjoy Coca-Cola which used to be a part of my very own recommended daily nutrition.


Another reason I left early because one manong kept talking about how dangerous it is to travel alone. That you could end up robbed, mauled, or mutilated (he has some rather ugly details about the mutilated part, although it’s not about some traveler). I don’t wanna stick around people who want to share their negative energy. I’m already full of the positive ones, and like your island manong, I can’t make room for anymore.

I always keep in mind what Anne Frank said in her diary—that people are really good at heart. For someone who has seen more than 5.7million of her people getting killed, she has a really positive way of looking at life. I can’t control how people will act or think but I can be positive towards them. It may smack of the Law of Attraction thingy, but it’s more like of what I learned in mountain biking: when you fixate yourself on the tree in front of you, your face will end up on its trunk. But if you keep yourself aware of that tree and focus on where the track slips pass it, you get yourself a smooth ride.


Some people can bear being dishonest with tourists thinking that they will only meet those people but once and no one will be after them. The fare to the island was supposed to be only ten pesos, five pesos for me and another five pesos for the bike. But the guy who took me to the island asked for twenty.

The manong who took me back only asked for ten. And I had so much more fun with him because we went around one fishing boat so we could stop at another because it ran out of oil and it’s stalled there until they could bring some more oil and fix the damage they caused to the engine by letting it run out. He had picked up two guys, who promised to pay him when they return (twenty years from now??). The last photo shows Manong doing his rescue moves.

I just got distracted reading about the Seven Wonders of the World scam and I forgot what I was about to type. I guess if I make this whole post simple, I’d just say going to the island was not really worth the effort. But the people I met along the way (including those on board) made everything worth it. That’s why we travel—the people we meet.

Lambug Beach, Badian, Cebu -- The Day We Ruined Volleyball

I heard a lot of good things about Lambug Beach in Badian. So many of them, in fact, that my expectations were utterly underwhelmed by reality when I went there with my teammates. Instead of the never-grow-old pristine beach hidden away from the maddening crowd by hills, I saw one where Bingo, Chippy, and Creamsilk rise and fall with the Tide. Or maybe we just went there at the wrong time. I see photos online of Lambug dated just months ago and it was not that bad. It was great in fact.

The beach is not the best place to advertise products so someone should do some cleaning up soon. It’s rather inhumane to mess up something that can’t clean up on its own. (I was gonna say “bullyish” or “bullish” but I don’t know what’s the right form so I settled for “inhumane.” Morphology help, anyone??) I love being in the water but I spent most of my time out of it when we went there. We spent a huge proportion of our supposedly productive energy and time with a game called let’s-pretend-it’s-volleyball (longest rally: two). And some Frisbee, of course.

We couldn’t remember some of the rules so we had to make up some of them, which may or may not be in line with the actual rules. We looked stupid most of the time but we had fun. The morning after, a friend and I did a little clean up. Not because we care so much about nature. We were just up earlier than the rest and we had nothing better to do. Lambug, we’re not giving up on you so get well soon!


 
 

Revisiting the Trails of Consolacion, Cebu

I hate to smack too much of nostalgia but it’s what I really did this afternoon. I have not been around this side of the planet for almost a year now. Before I discovered Google Earth, I have always thought that Consolacion is only for cross-country mountain biking.

But as I became curioser and curioser (thank you CJ Lewis for letting me borrow the phrase), I have found a few short trails that link roads on higher ground to those on the flatland. Wood-gathering people have made these tracks with their enduring feet.

I love riding trails. It makes me feel like a pro although I’m not even close to being a solid rider. Trails also help me come into terms with the irrevocability of my decisions. Choosing lines which are only inches apart can tell where you’d end up face down on the ground or not.

People in high land are a bit busy these days because they are expecting for the rainy season to come soon. Some of them have started to burn grass to make room for their crops.
Manong told me that he does not expect a lot of rainfall in the next few months so he’ll grow crops first, and some squash maybe. Fruits use up way more water than crops.

I hit two trails today. The first one is in Panas which will be the venue of a downhill race this 18th of May. It’s adrenaline rush all the way except for two sections: the hell-steep red soil section where I almost poked myself blind a couple of years ago and the final six-foot drop. They make me flat out scared and take away all the excitement.

I’d do six feet if it has a safer receiver but the gap between this drop and the receiver is quite gnarly. I don’t want to end up crashing a bike that’s not mine. I’m not a chicken. At least chicken can fly. I can’t. I’m less than a chicken. The second trail is in Mapulo and I don’t think a lot of cyclists have been there.
I get celebrity attention whenever I pass there. For lack of any structural reference (the trail head is somewhere in the middle of a quarried road), I can’t exactly describe where it is. But it’s fun. You get scratches on the forearm for free.