Border Crossing into Cambodia

I soon tired of the video entertainment on the bus bound for Phnom Penh and concentrated on trying to learn a few Khmer phrases which might come in handy for the next week. As we neared the border, the bus conductor (whom I will call Thuy) went around collecting everyone's passport, photo and $20 cash for the Cambodian visa. Although I already had my E-Visa (as told here) he still requested me to hand it over. A couple of hours later, Thuy went around trying to return the passports to their rightful owners. This basically involved flipping open each one, walking up and down the aisle searching for the matching mug, at times calling out the names when his facial scanning abilities proved inadequate. Now, repeat this process fifty times.
I casually opened mine and found a Cambodian entry card attached to my E-visa, all filled up by hand. People seated nearby also commented that Thuy had filled out their Cambodian visa application forms by hand. So apparently that's how a bus conductor occupies himself on this six hour intercity route - by painstakingly copying personal info from each passport onto the application forms and entry cards. As if getting yelled at by inconsiderate Irish girls wasn't bad enough. My seatmate Froso, who possessed a very striking Greek passport whose pages were replete with images from ancient times, complained that her application form was nowhere in sight. Thuy sheepishly admitted that he ran out of them, but would take care of the problem at the border. This process struck me as placing an unduly huge burden on the conductor. After all, providing the forms was itself an unexpected service - couldn't he have handed them around, with each traveller responsible for ensuring they were correctly filled out? Was Thuy part of some joint Khmer/Vietnamese government intelligence force responsible for first-line terrorist screening? Or perhaps the Benevolent Bus Conductors Association set up by the bus companies to ensure happy travels and minimal hassle to overland tourists? Alas, we probably shall never know.

The bus entered Cambodian territory, the passengers disembarked and collected their bags, and lined up at Vietnamese immigration to formally exit the country. Based on Thuy's instructions, we waited for him past the customs area and handed over our passports once more, which he meticulously stacks face up and delivers to one of the the immigration officers. At this point we were in a crowded, humid makeshift waiting area along with other tourists and passengers of countless other buses, all impatiently standing around and eager to enter Cambodia. Minutes passed, and as passports were processed by immigration, bus conductors yelled out their respective passengers' names and one by one those called filed out of the building. Given that the Vietnamese language has no less than six tones, some tourists could barely make out their own names and hesitated to come forward, leaving the bus conductor to resort to the more rudimentary facial recognition search pattern. Although I found this to be quite comical, unfortunately I was one of the last ones called, just when there were only 20 or so of us left in the once packed hall, thus the novelty had worn off and I was left cursing the heat, my hunger, and the damned inefficiency of the whole thing.


Outside, once Thuy had ascertained that each of the passengers had finished exiting Vietnam, we were back on the bus - for all of two minutes! The bus deposited us right outside the Cambodian border and told to disembark once more. As each of us walked past the border guard, we handed him our passports and walked on to - where? Not towards the Cambodian immigation hall, but rather, back on the bus!!! At this point, I'm thinking, "This is rather bizarre. Where are we driving to??". The bus continued on the main road, where the surreal sight of numerous casinos greeted us. Not quite as grandiose as Las Vegas, but still mystifying given that Cambodia is generally an impoverished country. Later my suspicions were confirmed that these casinos catered to Thai, Vietnamese, Chinese, Korean, and other visitors from nearby countries where gambling is not permitted. Quite perversely, Cambodians themselves are not allowed to gamble at these casinos which are present in most border towns. Quite worried about the fate of our passports and puzzled that no one else seemed to be, I turned to Bun and asked "Where exactly are we going?". He replied, "Going to have lunch, of course. No one knows how long it would take immigration to finish. Don't worry about it", his voice indicating vast experience with such matters.

That's it! Lunch, of course!! We had just spent hours on a bus, it was hot and way past noon, time for some chow. Our passports? Who cares that they were taken from us and their return somewhat nebulous?! So, the bus continued for a few kilometers past the casinos and parked outside one of the small roadside food stalls. The roadside cafeteria, though somewhat ramshackle and unispiring in appearance, offered seemingly tasty, hygienic and really cheap food, around $2 for an entree with rice, so pretty soon I was digging in and forgot the fact that I was travelling undocumented, but most tourists opted for "safe" American fare like cans of Pringles potato chips (no kidding!)...ummm, at least get some local brands of chips and snacks. My bottle of Angkor beer helped in beating the heat and made the wait somewhat more pleasant inside the fan-cooled cafeteria. After another hour or so of sitting around, all of us tourists were told to board the buses to continue on to Phnom Penh. Oh, and the passports - where exactly were they?! No one seemed to know, and our bus pulled out of the parking lot and idled on the roadside, waiting, waiting...for what?! For Godot? But this time, unlike in the play, Godot does arrive, in the form of Thuy, who had been conspicuously missing at the cafeteria and now scrambled onboard the bus carefully balancing a stack of fifty passports with both hands! Everyone cheered and applauded, and the first smile came from the perenially harassed Thuy's tired face that day. The bus' engine roared, and off we were! I entertained myself by musing about potential comedic situations that would occur in the event the wrong stack of passports was delivered to the wrong bus, but (un)fortunately no such thing happened.

Joyride in Ho Chi Minh City

That is what is called in HCMC (aka Saigon) as a cyclo, a non-motorized form of transport that used to be popular but has now been supplanted by the four million motorbikes roaring throughout the city. Scores of cyclo drivers still hang around Ben Thanh market and try to get tourists to go on a leisurely tour around town. I had successfully resisted their overtures (as well as those of the dogged female merchants inside the market who constantly grabbed at my arm as I passed within shouting distance of their stalls), and thought I would leave Saigon without having experienced a cyclo ride. Little did I know that Bun had arranged for cyclos to ferry us to the bus terminal for the long bus ride to Phnom Penh, thus as I stepped out of the hotel to my surprise a horde of drivers rushed forward to grab my luggage and usher me to their cyclo.

So off we were on a joyride! Even though each cyclo only holds one person, given the excess weight both on my frame and the accompanying baggage, I was worried that my gaunt driver would run out of gas (bad intended pun) before we reached the bus terminal about ten minutes away. He didn't seem to mind though, and started pedalling our cyclo right smack into crazy Saigon traffic. So we drifted along the streets at a glacial pace, giving plenty of time to contemplate everyday life taking place before our eyes. My amazement at the lack of vehicles in front of us sometimes gave way to sympathy for the motorbike drivers impatiently waiting to overtake our cyclo on their way to urgent business in this rapidly developing commercial heart of Vietnam. There were panic-filled moments as well especially when our throwback means of transport would attempt a left hand turn (how does one signal?) despite an oncoming rush of far bigger mechanical beasts, and I would suddenly become conscious of the absence of any steel or aluminum protective barriers around my body. As would be expected, my driver remained stoic and his expression unchanging all throughout this somewhat exhilarating experience, and I have to admit, just as I was getting the hang of it and learning to suppress the urge to scream "Look out!", we had reached the bus terminal. Alas, the joyride proved to be all too brief.

Given that all my body parts remained intact, I felt compelled to give a small tip to Stoic Gaunt Driver for his deft maneuvering amidst all that chaotic traffic. I reached inside my pocket and blindly grabbed one of the remaining Vietnamese dong (US$=16,500 dong) currency bills in my possession. I took out the note, flashed my best smile and offered it to Stoic Gaunt Driver. He took one look at my hand, his expression turned into one of disgust, then he gave a hearty laugh, turned to the other drivers and made some comments to them while pointing to my outstretched palm. I looked down and was aghast to see that I was holding a 500 dong (US$0.03) note, pretty much close to worthless and worthy of derision even for cyclo drivers. (In fairness to me, they're pretty hard to tell apart - lame excuse). Chastened by the group of drivers laughing in my face, I simply retreated and went in search of the bus to Phnom Penh. Notwithstanding my major faux pas, I totally enjoyed the experience and Stoic Gaunt Driver proving not to be that stoic after all.

Mouse Loves Rice

The seven hour early morning bus ride from Ho Chi Minh City to Phnom Penh got derailed as soon as it started. At one of the pickup points, four female backpackers in their 20s jumped in with their heavy packs, and one of them asked the driver, "Can we wait for my boyfriend? He's getting money at the bank". The driver of course didn't understand much English and gestured frantically to indicate that, "No, you stupid tourist, we can't wait for your boyfriend who is at the bank because we're on a busy road and have to keep moving or else the police will give me a ticket". Thus, the bus rolled along for about a mile or so, all the while the girls were screaming over and over, "Stop the bus! Stop the bus!", much to the amusement of passengers sitting in front (among them yours truly).

In truth, I was amused by their heavy accent whose origin was yet-to-be-determined more than anything else. Things got ugly though, as the girls starting hurling invectives at the poor driver - suffice it to say the English-speaking tourists onboard all cringed in horror and everyone speculated as to where exactly these stupid bitches were from. At last glimpses were caught of their passports and the word "Irish" became a dirty word for the rest of the bus ride. And yes, the (bleeping) Irish boyfriend eventually caught up to the bus.

Sitting near the front of the bus has its perks, watching the onboard entertainment being one of them. (Another is disembarking first. Can't think of anything else). Things didn't start out promising. A couple of songs from Disney movies - one from Mulan (ugh), the other from Lion King perhaps. Just when I was about to concentrate on my Khmer phrase book, the next song caught my attention - a cartoon video accompanied by a simple catchy ballad with lyrics of dubious grammatical accuracy, and the chorus led off by the immortal line, "I love you, loving you, even as the mouse loves the rice". I wasn't the only one who got a kick out of it, as the other passengers seated nearby roared in laughter. Isn't this the perfect pick up line?! ;-D Don't smirk, but the song is quite addictive - check out the Mandarin, Cantonese, Japanese, Khmer, Vietnamese, and Korean versions, and a huge hit in Asia. Most bizarre of all is the video of a family vacation in Utah with the song playing in the background, with the Dad singing in Lao no less!! And for the younger party-going set, a rousing club remix. Or for mellow types, enjoy this acoustic guitar rendition, and an "unplugged" set by an aspiring singer. Ah, these rice lovers!

Sadly, it all went down the drain after "Mouse Loves Rice". The rest of the videos were of a chubby Tina Turner look-alike singing Thai or Vietnamese pop songs accompanied by an ensemble of dancers, but it was gibberish to me. After a couple hours of this tortuous wailing, the passengers clamored for the TV to be turned off and the driver, sensing unrest brewing, had mercy on us and did so promptly.

Every Country should emulate the Cambodia E-Visa program

Having solidified my plans of visiting both Vietnam and Cambodia, with some apprehension I turned my attention over to the matter of procuring visas for both countries (which in itself surprised me, as most countries don't require visas for US nationals). The memories of schlepping to the Honduran embassy twice only to be given the runaround by ignorant staff are still fresh in my mind, despite occurring a few years ago (here and here). Luckily, my travel agent informed me that she could handle the Vietnam visa bit, and sent me the appropriate application forms and requirements. The steep cost ($125) caught me by surprise - but looking on the bright side, I guess this means they have shed their Communist ways and become capitalist pigs as well.

Turning to Cambodia, I learned somehow of their innovative e-Visa program, where the application process is conducted entirely online. Initially skeptical of a small, impoverished country managing to offer such a convenience, curious how anti-terrorist background checks can be performed and incredulous as to how visas can be "bought" online as if it were a book on Amazon, I decided to give it a shot anyway.

After filling in the standard biographical information, the website requires the applicant to upload a passport-size photograph, and provides several hysterical illustrations of unacceptable pictures. Digital camera in hand, I commandeered Indra who sat in the next cubicle and off we went in search of the suitable white background demanded. Eventually we decided that the pillar beside the printer would suffice, and Indra by trial-and-error managed to snap a photo that showed just the right balance of face and shoulders. Not such an easy task, what with other employees picking up their printouts and shooting amused glances.

Picture having been uploaded, the final step was payment. Amazingly enough, Paypal was an option, so I selected that. Compared to Vietnam, price wasn't so bad, only $20 + $5 fee. (The same cost as procuring the visa on arrival in Cambodia). A confirmation email arrived in my Inbox indicating that approval notification would follow in three business days. I was thoroughly impressed up to this point, but was blown way further when the approval email arrived the next day and I was able to download my e-Visa in PDF format!!! Not quite the emotional sort, but tears of joy almost (almost!) came running down my cheeks. Convenient? Check. Hassle-free? Check. Has the Honduran embassy made plans to copy this innovative program yet?!

Note: At the time this blog post was written, the Cambodia e-Visa site had recently undergone an upgrade process and encountered "problems" (sigh, those IT guys). In short, the site is off-line and non-functioning, and has been so for almost a month (uh oh). However, as the site states, "the government official in-charge of the Cambodia e-Visa operation currently rectifying the problem in order to ease the operation to the normal operational function". Let's hope so.

The Man Who Could Walk Through Walls

Sure, every tourist knows about Montmartre since the 2001 Academy Awards-nominated movie Amelie starring the irresistible Audrey Tautou and some bloke made this quaint Parisian neighborhood quite famous. Things have never been the same since - the Basilica of Sacre Couer is now on everyone's list of places to visit, and nearby Place du Tertre is constantly overrun with tourists quaffing overpriced drinks at the cafes and artists offering to draw your caricature for a hefty fee. In short, it has become a classic tourist trap.
We decided to visit Montmatre on a two hour walking tour by Paris Walks, as they promised to show not just the sights, but also the more quiet parts of the neighborhood where the artists Van Gogh and Renoir used to paint, as well as other lesser-known landmarks.


One such interesting sight is the statue of a man stuck inside a wall. The statue is based on the French writer Marcel Ayme's story, "The Man Who Could Walk Through Walls". The story tells of a chap named Dutilleul, who at age 42 discovered his ability to walk through walls. It didn't occur to Dutilleul to use this extraordinary power, until a year later when a new boss showed up at his office and instantly took a disliking to Dutilleul, insulting him at every opportunity. No longer able to bear the insults, one day Dutilleul decides to poke his head through the wall to his boss' office, at the same time declaring, "“Monsieur, you are a hoodlum, a boor, and a spoiled brat". He did this no less than twenty three times that day. After a couple of weeks of seeing this talking apparition, his boss was taken away to a sanitarium. (Slackers of the world, rejoice!).

For more on Dutilleul's exploits as a bank robber, his struggle to keep his powers a secret yet at the same time eager for recognition, his arrest and escape (duh) from prison, and his affair with a married woman that sealed his fate, here is a long, highly entertaining version of the story, about a 15 minute read. It is as riveting and enjoyable as it sounds.

All Roads lead to the Arc de Triomphe

No kidding. Sitting on the Western end of the Champs Elysees, this magnificent triumphal arch commemorates soldiers who died fighting for France, and is at the intersection of no less than twelve different avenues. Damn, those must be some of the longest traffic stop lights ever! (Note that the pic is not of the Arc de Triomphe, but rather Washington Square arch in New York City, which was modeled after the Arc...but you get the idea). Again, it was my first time to go up to the observation deck, and it was a breeze - only 284 steps - compared to the Notre Dame Cathedral.

The observation desk afforded 360 degree views of the surroundings, with the Eiffel Tower seemingly close enough to touch. I especially liked looking down at the grand boulevards that led to the Arc and the greenery that lines them. Looking down the Champs Elysees reminded us of how far we had hoofed it - all the way from the Louvre museum! No wonder our feet ached, and our stomachs growled - a good excuse for a Berthillon ice cream stop ;-). On the upper right-hand corner of the photo on the left, the Sacre Couer is visible set on top of the hill in Montmartre.

The last two photos show, respectively, a view of La Defense, the Parisian business district; and the Louvre museum (the castle-like structure) in the distance just behind the Place de la Concorde. Everything looks so green, doesn't it?

Climbing up Notre Dame Cathedral

On the two full days we had before Roland Garros started, we managed to get in quite a bit of sightseeing. Like most tourists we decided to visit the famous Notre Dame Cathedral, shown here from behind as shot from my vantage point on the Pont de la Tournelle. There's always a throng of people lining up to get inside the cathedral (it's free, after all), and since I had done that on a previous trip to Paris, I wasn't eager to brave the crowds.

As an alternative, my brother P., who did his research, suggested going up the cathedral's towers where we can see the various gargoyles and the huge bell. (Insert obligatory hunchback of Notre Dame reference here. Whatever). I hadn't known about this option so heartily agreed. Oh, a minor detail - this endeavor involved climbing up over 400 steps up the circular staircase all the way to the top! As the Notre Dame website happily advises, "It's best to be in good shape!". They should probably add, "Proof of medical insurance required". After a brief self-evaluation, I deemed myself fit and started the ascent.

The views from the top were simply magnificent and one could see for miles around, including landmarks such as the Eiffel tower and the various bridges connecting the opposing sides of the River Seine. In the picture, I believe the building in the foreground is the hotel de Ville (city hall). I loved the gargoyles with their different poses as well, like this one who looks like a typical Frenchman eating a ham and cheese baguette. Despite the daunting and strenuous climb, lots of camera-toting tourists made it up there, including some who dragged their 300 lb. frame up the stairs, one slow step at a time. The views were well worth the exercise (and potential heart attack), as I'm sure you'll agree.

Crazy Action at Roland Garros

After subsisting on ice cream and granola bars the first day, I braved the lines at the concession stands and snagged a tasty hot dog on a baguette. The prices (converted to US dollar) almost gave me heartburn, but overall the delicious food at Roland Garros easily trumps the lackluster fare at the US Open. I spent most of the day watching tennis action on the outer courts, saw some good matches and spirited cheering from the Belgian contingent (all for naught, as their temperamental bet never stood a chance). Unluckily enough, in the late afternoon the rains poured causing the tarps to be brought out, and play was suspended for the day.

Anyway, I managed to shoot a video of some live exciting action before the rains fell. :-D


Sweeping has never looked so glamorous, has it??? LOL

Roland Garros, finally

The metro ride from Cluny-Sorbonne to the western edge of Paris and our Roland Garros stop, Michel-Ange-Auteuil on the #10 line was surprisingly swift, taking only about 25 minutes. At each metro stop, more and more tennis fans piled into the train, many with their backpacks containing provisions. I was surprised at this, since at the US Open the restrictions on what bags are allowed in are so onerous that I simply gave up bringing even the smallest item. Checking in your bags cost a lot too - both in terms of money (the nerve!) and time lining up. Another pleasant surprise was the nattily-attired spectators; well it shouldn't really be a surprise - these are the French, after all :-) In contrast, the sight of US Open spectators inexplicably dressed in tennis attire, as if they had a scheduled match, never fails to amuse. There's always someone wearing a ratty T-shirt with something like "1999 NJTL Tennis League" printed on it - um, those Federer Nike outfits look much more classier, hint hint. And until a few years ago when the above-mentioned bag restrictions took effect, it wasn't unusual to see some hard-core fans carrying those huge 6-racquet tennis bags (coordinated with their outfits, of course), seemingly ready to jump onto the courts in case their favorite player gets injured and has to withdraw. "Oh, Agassi's injured?! Well, I'm dressed and ready to play for him!".
Simply following the crowds after getting off at Michel-Ange-Auteuil took us to the grounds of Roland Garros. There are three big stadiums - Court Philippe Chatrier (center court), Court Suzanne Lenglen (named after the dominant womens' player in the '30s, who smoked cigars and drank wine during changeovers!), and Court One - in addition to fifteen or so outer courts where the lesser known players do battle. At the moment though, lots of famous stars were on these courts practicing for their matches. The top photo is of James Blake, a Harvard-educated, popular American who is wildly overrated and does poorly on clay every year. (True enough, he crashed out in the second round). This generation of American players never really figured out how to slide on the red dirt, so they might just as well eat baguettes and escargot all day and show up to collect their first-round prize money. Oh, for the good ol' '90s when Jim Courier, Michael Chang, and Andre Agassi showed them how it's done.
Above is Richard Gasquet, the top French men's player who hasn't lived up to expectations yet despite having a notably beautiful one-handed backhand. At age nine(!!!) he appeared on the cover of L'Equipe, the leading sports magazine in France, so just imagine the immense pressure on him every year to do well, if not win, Roland Garros. Alas, not being the most mentally strong competitor around, Gasquet decided to flake out at this year's tournament, claiming some sort of injury and disappointing the French yet again. I admit it must be tough for the French players to keep in tip-top shape, I'd rather eat all those baked goods, stinky cheese, and other fattening staples of their cuisine rather than work out at the gym too. Other famous players I saw practicing were Amelie Mauresmo and the 2002 womens' singles winner here, Serena Williams. Struggling with motivation and health issues lately, Serena looked, for lack of a better word, HUGE. Her tremendous biceps (and backside) were on display as she whacked balls with her male hitting partner, as her mom (and coach) stood behind the baseline watching them practice, and demonstrating the proper technique to Serena as she grew frustrated at her own form. As if mom knew anything about tennis. Although Serena obliterated Ashley Harkleroad, a really hot not-so-great player appearing soon in Playboy (formidable!), that day, she lost in the third round to an unknown. Me thinks maybe a new coach is in order.

Merci beaucoup, Federation Francaise de Tennis

Well, well, well...sandwiched among the usual junk mail was a notice to pick up a package from the post office - a walk of a mile or so. I made a mental note to go on Saturday, but I already knew that the package contained my long-awaited tickets to Roland Garros. As a long-time tennis fan who has schlepped to Queens for nine straight years to watch the game's biggest and brightest stars battle each other at the US Open, it had been my dream to watch the action on clay at Roland Garros.

How come? Due to the slower surface, long rallies were more common in contrast to the shorter points on hard court surfaces, and I enjoy the tension building up as the points become longer and longer and the players try to come up with all sorts of shots to outwit their opponent. So it's style and finesse over power and brute force. Besides, it's held in Paris, which is self-explanatory, isn't it?

So the obvious question is, how does one get tickets to Roland Garros without paying an arm and a leg? Here's how I got them, which involves a bit of luck and suspense. But thanks to the generosity of le Federation Francaise de Tennis, I'm off to the City of Lights in a few weeks to witness live tennis action on la terre bateau. Allez!!!

The City that Always Sleeps

I cried out in pain as I stumbled on the bed. My entire back had turned a crisp red, sunburnt after four hours spent in the water off Alona Beach. After yesterday's hectic sightseeing, Nick and I decided to chill out today and spent most of the day lounging around Alona Beach, the most popular stretch of sand on Panglao Island and a mere five minute walk from our digs. Alona beach boasted fine white sand, but it wasn't as long nor wide as White Beach in Boracay, as I had hoped. The water was crystal clear and inviting, and we both waded in without giving any thought to SPF protection, stupidly as it turned out.

After spending the afternoon trying to recover, Landel came to pick us up for a night on the town. Quite a laughable statement in itself given Tagbilaran City's reputation for being staid. Things aren't exactly rocking here. The lady at reception mentioned some bands playing by the downtown waterfront which seemed promising. We got there a bit early though and the sound equipment guys were just setting up, so we dropped by Bohol Tropics resort for dinner. This resort is the poshest in downtown, and its amenities include two huge swimming pools, and a three-story restaurant. As we appoached the latter, an enthusiastic karaoke session appeared to be taking place, the singing overpowering any other sound in the immediate vicinity. We went up to the top most floor (a debutante's ball and college reunion were being held at the first two floors) where the singing came from and discovered that the singers were in fact paid entertainers, and not overly eager karaoke amateurs.

With numerous huge groups occupying the other tables, our waiter indicated that the food would take a while to arrive, thus there was nothing else to do but drink more San Miguel Lite beer while concentrating on the entertainment. The duo's repertoire consisted mostly of sappy ballads (think Michael Bolton), golden oldies ("My Way"), mixed in with the occasional '80s hit. In fact, their rendition of the Police's "Every Breath You Take" wasn't too bad at all. As is customary, they were open to taking requests. Minutes later, they announced to all that an audience member had requested "Every Breath You Take", and that they were singing it again, despite having just done so twenty minutes earlier. Collectively our jaws dropped and we were like, "What the hell?!". Nick decided to join the requests game, and wrote down "Kiss" by Tom Jones (remade by Prince aka The Artist formerly known as Prince) on a napkin, ignoring the fact that this song was well outside their genre. True enough, they never got around to it.

Not to be denied, Nick took another napkin and polled me and Landel for suggestions. Always the logical thinker I said, "Given the type of songs they've performed so far, I suggest something by Air Supply. You know, like 'Lost in Love', for example". He replied, "Don't they have a song called 'All Out of Love' or something like that?". Landel assented, so he wrote that down, while I restrained myself from commenting about the singer's vocal range being several octaves lower than Russell Hitchcock's. Or maybe I just found the song overly sentimental and cheesy (aren't all Air Supply songs like that though?). I had a eureka moment and excitedly said, "Ok, this one I bet they'll do - 'More Than Words'! (by the rock band Extreme)". Both Nick and Landel nodded in agreement so that made the list as well. To seal the deal, he stuck a Php100 (US$2.50) bill to the napkin and gave it to a passing waiter who, perhaps unaccustomed to finding money stuck between napkins, promptly dropped the bank note on the floor. Roaring with laughter, we called him back, and after the note had been passed to the entertainers, without their usual intro ("This song is dedicated to everyone here tonight"), the opening strains of "All Out of Love" were heard (pause to vomit). And once they finished that, a quick cut-over to "More than Words".

"Wow, this is really cool. And, financial incentives DO matter", I chuckled to myself. Just then, as the song was winding down and the lead singer tried valiantly to hit the high notes of the chorus, suddenly the lights went out and darkness engulfed the restaurant. Stunned silence all around, except for our table - three guys doubled over laughing uncontrollably. A sure sign it's time to call it a night.

P.S. Isn't the plural of "seafood" also "seafood"???

An Experiment Gone Wrong and Mammary Glands Galore

"Oh, he's so cute!!!", exclaimed the white female tourist behind me, and I turned around to find out the object of her affection (I thought it was me, as usual. LOL). There she was, her face inches away from one of the weirdest-looking creatures on this planet, cooing at the Philippine tarsier as one would to a baby, perhaps coaxing it to pose for a picture. I could think of a few adjectives to describe these tiny (4 -6 inches) animals, but "cute" would be one of them. To me they appear to be a product of "cross-engineering genes gone wrong" between species of monkeys and mice, or simply put, a little like that extraterrestrial who wants to phone home. These tarsiers are on exhibit in numerous cages (illegally run, as it turns out) behind many stores on the banks of the Loboc river. You just drive up and there they are, along with lots of tourists staring intently at their brown fur and huge (make that HUGE) eyes. Some tourists can be real dummies, and despite the caretakers' constant pleas not to do so, they insist on touching these nocturnal creatures and using flash photography.

According to the Lonely Planet guidebook, these primates can leap up to five meters; not sure if they bite, but I'm sure they're eager for some payback to tourists who stick their cameras too close and shoot away, flash and all. Everybody needs their beauty sleep undisturbed, imho. Other caged animals present include monkeys, whom the caretakers will take out of their cages and place on your arm for the perfect touristy photo op, for an additional bribe...ahem, fee, of course. Illogical as it would seem, my fear that the monkeys would use my arm as a toilet led me to decline, and I was content to observe them within their own personal confines. Took all of two minutes and then I got bored, so went over to the huge tarsier cardboard cut-out. Call it cheesy, but that's what I call a great photo op :-D. Oh yeah, the illegal part mentioned earlier. I had wondered how these shops were able to lay their hands on the endangered tarsiers, and although I don't have the answer to that, they are in fact illegal and if you've ever in Bohol, do the tarsiers a favor and reserve your viewing for the Tarsier Visitors Center run by the Philippine Tarsier Foundation.

Our quest for more flora and fauna led us to the Chocolate Hills, a tourism marketing director's dream. Along with the tarsier, these hills have become ubiquitous icons gracing the tourism brochures of Bohol and are one of the premier attractions in the country. Seemingly ordinary-looking and unnoticeable from the street level, a drive up the hills and then a steep climb up to the topmost viewing platform of the Chocolate Hills complex (built atop one of the hills! Brilliant!) reveals a spectacular, breath taking view of these massive lumps ranging in size from 40 - 120 meters, some of them roundish and others more pointy. Trying to count how many hills there are (as I tried) is an exercise in futility, for they can be seen as far as the eye can see (official sources indicate there are 1,268 hills in total).

There are many theories on how these hills were formed, but I won't bore you with those (Google is your friend). But let's debunk one nasty rumor that has circulated right now: The Chocolate Hills are not fake (all naturally perky, baby), were not created by ingenious tourism officials for your viewing pleasure (although I see clones in a Vegas-like setting happening soon). This is not Stonehenge, people. (Snarky comment). So now, I bet the burning question in your mind is, "Why are they called Chocolate Hills when they are, in fact, green in color?". Dude, the grass only turns brown in the dry season, so you have to stretch our imagination, as we did. Now that would be an even more glorious sight, and something to look forward to on a return visit, perhaps?

The Bridge to Nowhere and The Leaning Tower of Loboc

One of the things I noticed was the newly-constructed bridge connecting both sides of the Loboc river. It initially seems to be a rather ordinary bridge, one of numerous projects by the government's public works and highways department, but if you look closely at the picture, you'll see that the bridge ends just right above where the brightly-colored jeepney is and basically leads nowhere. The building in front of it is San Pedro Church (built in 1608, rebuilt in 1670 after being destroyed by fire and survivor of many floods), which adjoins the Museo de Loboc. Would the church need to be demolished? No one seems to know why the bridge was built in the first place, nor if and when it will be finished. For now, automobiles crossing over the Loboc river still use the existing rickety bailey bridge, and the new white elephant of a bridge serves no purpose other than giving locals a venue for their evening stroll. Just another example of money wasted and possibly stolen in this country of hours. Ah, but we're used to it anyway (shrugs).

As we were getting into the van to make our way out of town, we realized that we were parked right in front of the Museo de Loboc, so might as well check it out. Judging from outward appearances, I didn't expect much from a museum housed in such a crumbling, unprepocessing stone building whose sole decorations are Christmas lanterns. After paying the Php15 (US$0.40) entrance fee, a guide (the only one, in fact) presented himself to show us around the three-story building. The most interesting exhibits are on the ground floor relating to the town's religious musical traditions and history; not for nothing is Loboc the "music capital of Bohol". They are also rightfully proud of the Loboc Children's Choir, which in 2003 represented the country in an international folksongs festival in Barcelona and promptly bagged the gold medal in the Children/Youth category, and were awarded the Festival Cup for garnering the highest point average (a nerdy 97.5!). So in short, they kicked other countries' behinds big time.

The rest of the museum consisted of a room containing statues of saints used in various religious processions, and a big open area where the choir practices. The guide led us out onto the balcony of the third floor, and pointed to the church bell tower (which for some reason is across the street from the church itself). "Notice that the tower is leaning?", he asked. I squinted really hard and yes, it appeared to, ever so slightly. "It's from all the pile driving when they started constructing this damn bridge", he continued. So there, it appears we have a local counterpart to the leaning tower of Pisa, our homegrown Very Slightly Leaning Tower of Loboc. (Click on the picture to enlarge, and judge for yourself). Also notice the two men who have made the bridge their personal playground.

Slow boat on the river Loboc

Just when I thought Philippine Airlines (PAL) had shaken off its unofficial moniker, "Plane Always Late", well whaddaya know? Nick and I arrive at the airport quite early only to find that our flight to Tagbilaran City was delayed by an hour. The check-in staff didn't even mention anything about it (nor did he ask for identification), we only found out when we got to the gate and saw a handwritten note taped over the counter. The brief flight ended on an auspicious note when our pilot landed the aircraft at full-speed and applied the brakes furiously, causing us to be thrown forward in the cabin. One of the passengers, apparently also in the aviation field, noted that this was the proper way to land a jet on a short runway. Say that again?! Now I know why they insist on passengers wearing seatbelts during takeoffs and landings.

After our driver/guide/gofer Landel picked us up, we drove to the town of Loboc to experience their famous lunch cruise on the town's eponymous river. Essentially it's an 1 1/2 hour Filipino lunch buffet on river boats, aka floating restaurants, with some entertainment and sightseeing along the way. A long line greeted us at the makeshift tents where you purchase the vouchers (Php280:US$7) and are assigned seats on a specific riverboat, exacerbated by the seeming inability of Filipinos to form a single queue to keep things orderly. Nor did any official staff try to impose any sort of discipline on queue-jumpers. Trust me, queueing is not the greatest strength of Filipinos (Karaoke probably is). So Landel got stuck in line for about thirty minutes, while I contented myself with whetting my appetite by looking at enticing pictures of various native dishes prominently displayed by the tents. "This is gonna be some buffet", I even muttered to myself.

Vouchers in hand and growing hungrier by the second, the three of us excitedly rushed to the dock for...more waiting. Our riverboat was still in the process of ferrying the previous batch of tourists, and there was no word on when our turn would come. In the meantime, we watched other people stuffing their faces on meat and seafood dishes inside the boats docked nearby. I counted at least fifteen different floating restaurants, each one varying in capacity from 30 to 60. Just when I was becoming delirious from hunger, our names were called and before you knew it, we were sharing a long table with a family of four, who looked equally impatient at getting their hands on some grub.

At long last, the dishes were set up on the buffet table (a disappointment in terms of both quantity and quality), and everyone proceeded to line up, plate in hand. I use the term "line up" loosely, as in the best Filipino tradition, all hell broke loose. On one side people furiously scooped as much meat onto their plates while ignoring the stares and mumbling of other diners unfortunately situated behind them, some were pushing their way forward to get the last remnants of baby shrimp which the first five people had apparently claimed the majority of, and most alarming, some folks decided that they couldn't be bothered to stand in line and thus created their own queue at the other end of the buffet table (where the desserts are located), and their counter-flow of traffic now collided with ours with the force of a ten-wheeler truck.

Somehow I managed to get out alive, albeit missing out on the chicken and getting mostly glistening fatty pieces of pork, and made my way back to our seats. Surprised at the sight of diners at the adjoining table feasting on pork barbeque on stick, I rushed back to the buffet but couldn't find traces of the dish. Totally bummed, I sat down and decided to make do with whatever I had, at the same time wondering where the hell Nick had gone to. My question was answered two seconds later, as I turned my head and saw him coming towards us clutching ten (ten!!!) sticks of pork barbeque, the look on his face indicating his intent to impale anyone who tried to grab them away. To this day, I haven't bothered to find out how or where he hijacked them from, but those sweet BBQ truly saved the day.

I should note that the rest of the lunch cruise went by pleasantly. The riverboat slowly wound its way up the Loboc river until it reached a series of mini-waterfalls (emphasis on "mini"). Ideal photo op for camera-crazy Filipinos, to say the least. At this point, the boat turned around and on the way back, we also stopped a hut on a wooden raft where forty or so entertainers sang several native songs, accompanied by some guitar-playing and enthusiastic dancing from small kids. I actually liked the choreography, and wondered if they're being groomed to join those dance contests on TV programs. All part of the Loboc river cruise experience. An interesting, enjoyable, and mildly chaotic start to our visit to Bohol.