I Feel so A-Lime: Cantabaco, Toledo

My regular experience with lime involves gin, but last Sunday it’s rock-hard, million-year-old lime that I had. Flor invited me to the place, with a very empathic disclaimer: I wouldn’t have invited you but I’m very desperate for company. Okay, point taken. Friday, our sms conversation went something like this.

Flor: you wanna do rock climb?
Me: sure, when?
Flor: Sunday
Me: which Sunday? There are at least 48 Sundays a year
Flor: This Sunday

I told my Boss that I’m going to win the company’s fun run and I need a full day’s off if I am to do that. I did finish first in that 5k run but I clocked in 24.07mins., something I’m not too proud of because I was looking for a sub-20 finish. That's why I din't post about it on FB, because I'm surrounded by real athletes. Better run next time, I guess.

I got the Sunday off, alright. It has been centuries since I had a Sunday off, it felt weird. You know, not being at work and seeing how normal people go about on a weekend.

Anyway, the climb is in Cantabaco, Toledo. It’s about an hour away from my beloved, totally endeared Cebu City. We took the van-for-hire at CitiLink Terminal, which departs every two hours. Fare is at 70pesos, subject to gas price and wiles of the owner. There are also mini-buses that go to Lutopan and from there, it’s a ten-minute motorbike ride to the rock wall.

I prefer taking the v-hire because it passes thru Manipis, a narrow mountain pass which offers an occasional glimpse at some gnarly-deep ravine. Also, I find van drivers less reckless than mini-bus drivers. I hate to dichotomize but that’s what I see all the time. Plus, the minibus to Lutopan routes thru Naga, which is an even longer drive.

My first order of business when we arrived in Lutopan was to check on my right knee. It’s been loose for the past few weeks and I really should see a doctor. I mean, see doctors on tv or the net at times, but I need to do some consultation soon.

We were met by our guide Willard at the bus/van stop in Lutopan. I knew he was our guide because he was wearing a black Under Armor shirt. He’s a really cool guy and I’m gonna blog about him and his friends later, because I think I’m going to be a regular there.
The rock wall did not look impressive at all from afar. But when we got to the foot of it, that’s when it revealed its awesomeness. I have never set hands on that kind of lime. The wall is overhung, so no matter how much it rains it stays dry. That allowed itself to stay solid, barely worn out by the changing weather. The holds, pockets, and horns are so well-placed, it seemed like it was deliberately built by some professional rock climber.

But Cantabaco is 100% natural—it’s the handwork of thousands of years of rain and sunshine, built by the invisible hands of nature. There’s just so much beauty in Cantabaco’s serendipity. Gazing at it in its wholeness, it felt like the walls hold a universe somewhere inside.

We did three routes that day. The last one ripped every muscle in my body. They call it Vina Kulafu. They said it was named after a great climber, Vina, who drank lots of Kulafu before doing the climb the following morning. She’s a legend in the rock climb scene. It took me ten minutes for remove my harness after I did Vina Kulafu. My forearms felt non-existent at that time.

Flor did a really great job herself, having conquered two routes and making the first portion of Vina Kulafu despite being sleep-deprived. She had to work night shifts at times, being a pharmacist. I guess two hours of sleep is only good for two routes. She took most of the pictures because my camera went dead. I mean, I did charge the batteries but I guess double a’s are really no good. She had to upload the stuff too so I can get them so kudos to her for the photos.

Willard spider-ing down the wall

Willard's son doing the lead climb. He's a nursing student when he's not here.

Yours truly, struggling and shying away from the camera.

Flor, smiling before the suffering stages.

Enie the great, giving instructions from downtown.

My friend says I'm more photogenic as I go further away from the cam.

Thanks a lot, Snake, you’ve ruined my ride

This entry is for snakes. If you’re not a snake don’t continue reading. This whole thing only makes sense to snakes. I was riding Panas downhill track, feeling the universe and the weather in harmony for a perfect ride. And what do I find in the middle of the single track? A Snake ™ chillin’ and going about his business blocking my way. At first I thought it was a VHS ribbon. It could easily have been. It could have been the 15-second clip of Jack and Rose kissing, or it could have been Zorro jumping on to his horse, or any loose scene dispossessed of its wholeness. But no. It’s not a VHS ribbon. It’s a snake chillin’ the afternoon away on my favorite downhill track. That got me mad. (Actually, I was ice-cold scared when I was there but now that I’m far from any snake-ish danger, I’m brave enough to be mad.)

That’s right. I’m very mad right now for the snake for being in the wrong place. If it weren’t for the menacingly familiar glaze on its skin, I wouldn’t have know. Plus its fleshy, scaly belly sneaked right up in the middle of its four-foot frame. That thing could have bit me if I hadn’t noticed it. But I had the sense to get off my bike several feet from it. Then I held my bike on the saddle and pushed it way ahead of me to do the honors of introducing our presence to the snake. I can’t remember exactly what happened, but I assure you that I didn’t close my eyes. My brain just probably froze, or something very close to that.

But I did see the snake dart right back into the bamboo neighborhood in literally a second. I didn’t know how the guy did it. His head was like on the other end and he made a u-turn so fast and sleek, he could have been some race car superstar. Good thing he didn’t make his way towards me. Or I would have been bitten me before I realized that I was really bitten.

I just feel very strongly about this whole snake business. I mean, I’m thankful that he did not bite me. But what if he did? It would be very wrong to bite a guy just because he gave you the scare. For all he knew, I was more scared that him. I just don’t have the guts to bite first. Dear snake people, why would you bite a guy for scaring you unintentionally? Where are your manners? I know this whole territorial imperative thingy has always been an evolutionary fad. But I like my personal space just as much as you love your own territory. We’re practically on the same page so why do we even have to bite each other?

You guys think you’re so cool because you have venom? Well snake I’m cooler than you because I got dreadlocks. You don’t even have a single hair. Being bald is not cool unless you’re the lead vocals of an alternative band and can sing “The Scientist” really well. Dreadlocks win any given track, any given day.

You've ruined my ride. The whole time I felt some of your homeys would pop right in front of me. So let’s stay away from each other. I’m gonna keep riding my bike and you keep chillin’ where nobody can bother you.

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.