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Deep Field Relaxation The web site of Clif Sanderson who is famous the world over for his healing, teaching and seminars. One of his most notable achievements was helping the chilren of Chernobyl. Clif is well known in Asia Sport Fishing Asia |
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Established in 2001 by bikers for bikers and the motorcycle community |
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Claveria (Rene) In the northwest section of Cagayan, lies the coastal town of Claveria. Framed between two mountains, there is a long and clean beach where a few small resorts are located. (James) About 45 minutes later, we pull into a beachside resort in Claveria, where Andrew, Jobo, Biboy and Ann have decided to stay for the night. (Andrew) Biboy, Ann, Jobo and me decided to stay here for the night. When riding - I use to choose small, native oriented resorts. Resorts - used mainly by Pinoy. It gives me a taste of real Philippines. In such places - I usually meet average Philippine people - who just want to rest at countryside. Food is "home made" and atmosphere is "easy". I don't demand much from such places, and I never complain over lack of luxury. I love to chat with the people running the place and take a beer with guests. We had a chat with the owner of our resort ABT our dinner, and we decided to buy fresh meat/fish at the market, and the "chef" was instructed to prepare a dinner for us. We were 50 m. from the sea - so we decided to take a swim. What's a feeling. Nothing can replace it. Swim in the Ocean with nice waves and with 3 youngsters chatting, laughing and fooling around. Strange ( for us) things were going on at the beach and at the sea.
Many people were pulling a rope (sometimes over a couple of kilometers long) from the sea. At the same time - many simmers were frantically swimming from the sea in direction of the beach. The swimmers tried to make as much noise as possible while swimming. We thought that we are witness to a sort of competition. We have seen hundreds of people on the beach and many swimmers involved in this kind of activity in different part of the beach. In the middle of that we were having a time of our life swimming and playing around. I made some PIX and during our dinner we got to know, that village people at the beach were occupied with fishing. When observers ( located on several boats) see a big amount of fish - they put long nets to the water and deliver the ropes (connected with nets) to the people on the beach. Net is pulled to the beach and many experienced swimmers are doing their best to scare fishes and direct them to swim in direction of the net. Funny for stupid tourist- hard work for local people. Talking ABT a small world! I had a chat with the owner of the resort and got to know that she is from Burgos. (a place in Ilocos Norte). I mentioned that my wife is Ilocana and that she is from that area. Here comes a surprise - it shows that the owner of the resort KNOWS the father of my wife and that she is RELATED to his family. (Biboy) We hit the road again and soon arrived at Claveria, Cagayan. The group decided to split up. Rene, James, Charlie and Ritchie went to a classy resort some 45 minutes away. We however found a nice and cheap place to spend the night. It was 4 pm. The manager of the resort offered to prepare our dinner so we went to the market to buy our stuff. We found out that there was nothing much left to buy at the market as it was already late in the afternoon. The good stuffs were taken. We were just hoping against hope that the meats we bought were still fresh enough to be enjoyed later. We bought onions and a delicious fish to be fried and some pork to be grilled. The dinner was set at 7 pm. Andrew instructed that they cook the food at least an hour before so that it will remain warm. Then we went for a swim. The ocean water was surprisingly cold. It was a relief however, after being exposed to the grueling heat of the sun the whole day. Along the beach we noticed that there were people pulling on something we later discovered were nets. The boats would go out to the open ocean, cast the nets and the people along the shore would pull on it. That's the first time I saw that method of fishing. Andrew shared to us a little bit of his family and biking history and how much he dislikes Harleys and we shared to him what little history we have. We had a great time. Then we waited for the sunset. The sunset at that place was perfect. No mountains, trees or anything to block our view of the twilight. It was really awesome. Dinner was ready. Dinner was an ultimate dismay. The onions weren't fried, the pork tasted like rubber, and the fish was rock solid and was cold as steel. Andrew even picked one piece up and let it clank away on his plate. It was really hard. They cooked the food as soon as we handed it to them. We asked them to fry the onions twice as the first attempt left some still raw. We had the fish revised into a soup and the pork was left as it was. We don't want to argue with management anymore and called it a night as soon as we had our fill. That's the price of paying cheap. We have to be up early to find the others. Probably due to exhaustion, the group forgot to discuss the details when and where to meet the following day. We even forgot the name of the resort where they stayed for the night. Again, we prayed that luck will be on our side.
Ilocos Norte
(Rene) We rode through more winding roads that led us to the boundary of Ilocos Norte. The sight of a winding road is like carrots to the rabbits. Soon, Ritchie and Charlie are nothing but exhaust fumes, racing ahead to Pagudpud, while James and I take a more leisurely pace, enjoying the mountain scenery and an empty road. Riding a 1990 vintage motorcycle reveals the shortcomings of old technology, especially the tires. The skinny tires on the Honda meant very conservative lean angles. No Øchicken strips' on this bike. I ran out of them back in Batangas. The tread is used up all the way to the edge, and I'm barely leaned over. To go faster on the curves without experiencing the sudden dip from loss of traction, I put more body English into the turn, leaning more of my body while trying to keep the bike more upright. (James) Rene and I stop for photos at the welcome arch to Ilocos Norte (again, I can't believe that I've just made to yet another province) and on perfect concrete roads we begin the descent into Pagudpud from the heights of lush mountain forests incredibly surpassed by a breathtakingly inspiring view of the ocean ahead. Communication gaps at paradise: Of beds, showers, and the difference between pork and fish We make it through the mountains onto ground level and Rene starts another mountain climb without noticing that he's just passed our resort. After catching and turning him around, it's decided that I will handle the checking-in duties, while Rene collects Ritchie and Charlie at the agreed-upon meeting point, just about 10 minutes away. By this time, tired, sweaty and hot, I am so looking forward to a nice shower and a soft bed but instead of relief, the room that I am shown to, which Rene and I will share, invokes only horror. While the room is nice and new, there is only one queen-sized bed! And of course, the same accommodations are slated for Charlie and Ritchie and while they do appear to be close friends, I would bet money that they are not THAT close. The hosts then put us up in double room cottages that aren't new but at least they have separate beds with the only drawback now being the one shower we will to share between the four of us. Figuring the shower problem will last only minutes whereas the bed issue would be for hours, I agree on the cottage. The guys make it back just as everything is settled and we all settle in for the night, with Ritchie and Charlie making better arrangements to secure a shower of their own, luckily for everyone.
(Rene) Charlie and Ritchie, who were minutes ahead of us, overshot the resort. I do the same, but James' sharp eyes picks up the small sign on the side of the road. He flags me down and we turn back. Nice little placeé overlooking a small bay. We are a few kilometers east of Pagudpud proper. James volunteers to check us both in while I return to the bike to give chase to the rabbits. I find Ritchie and Charlie at a nearby Grotto, a couple of kilometers away, buying seaweed and making small talk with the local ladies. When it was time to go, Ritchie's bike refuses to start so Charlie gives him a healthy push down the hill. Charlie returns huffin' and puffin' mumbling something about being too old for this kind of activity. Charlie and I wait for Ritchie to come back from the bottom of the hill, but he does not return. We followed Ritchie down the hill watching him try in vain to bump start a bike that does not want to wake up. At the bottom of the hill, we park to the side and began to work. Gloves come off, tools are unpacked and we start taking off bodywork from the F4 to reach the battery. Fortunately, for us it was only a loose terminal. A few turns of the screw tightened it back up and the bike started like new. Back at the resort, we find individual huts with nipa roofs. Our room is equipped with a spacious balcony outside and air-conditioning inside. Temperature outside is perfect. A pattern I'm seeing with the rooms we've stayed so far is the lack of closet space to put away our Østuff'. If there is a closet, there are no hangers. The floor, the chairs and the beds are again littered with our riding equipment. I took a solitary walk down the beach while James takes first dibs on the bathroom facilities. Later, he casually mentions that a young lady at the front desk jokingly offered to share the shower with him, when he commented how nice a shower would feel after a long ride. There goes that image of shy women from the province. A barefoot walk on the beach was painfully relaxing. Painful because my feet, often artificially cocooned by footwear, are thinly padded to endure nature's form of carpeting. I seek the comfort of the sand and enjoyed the coolness of the waves splashing me. The sun is about to set and the local fishermen are getting help from young boys as they drag the boats out to sea for a night of fishing. I watch the boats go out to sea, but the boys remain in the water playing. I hear their mother calling out to them. Its time for supper, but the boys cannot hear her. They are having too much fun. Pagudpud is a deadzone. We later find out that Claveria is the same. No cell phone connection means we have no way of coordinating our ride tomorrow. The resort has satellite phone connection at a steep price of 35 pesos per minute. James is able to call home, but there is no way of contacting Claveria. We thought hard about what to do tomorrow. Will they see the resort as they pass? Should we wait for them or head on out to Laoag where there is a cell phone connection? Do we ride back to Claveria and meet them halfway? One thing for sure, the Claveria group is in the same dilemma and they are probably going through the same thought process. (James) After showers and fresh clothes, the four of us gather for dinner. On Rene's instructions, I ordered the house specialty fish dish that, as a result of a failure to communicate once again, turns out to be pork. On the brighter side, it's one of the tastiest “fish meals” I ever had. Over dinner, we plan out Day 3's ride without being able to consult the other half of the convoy, as there is no cell service in our resort and the satellite phone charges P30 per minute. Charlie, a man of few words throughout the trip, is now regaling us with stories of his “adventures” with Ritchie over the past many years. It's great company and a fantastic way to end a send day of awesome riding. (Andrew) Communication problems. Pretty soon we discovered that there is no mobile communications in Claveria as far as GLOBE is concern. No cell phone connection means we have no possibility to coordinate our ride tomorrow. In the middle of the night, I decided to go solo to the mountain ( in dir. Of Apari) to call our friends in Pagudpud). I stopped many times and tried to climb some big stones in order to got some signals. Nada. Many passing cars were wondering what the hell I was doing in the middle of the night standing on the stone with my hand up in the air. After 1 hour I gave up.
(Rene) Worry not, what you can't do anything about, so we focused on dinner. Ritchie and Charlie asked the resort staff to prepare the seaweeds bought at the grotto as part of our dinner. Meanwhile, we ordered the fish of the day and received a catch that taste and look a lot like pork. James likes it. We called it Porkfish - the resort's specialty. We all eat heartily as we talk about the events of the day. Ritchie who is with Red Ribbon, is the consummate gentleman, accommodating, soft spoken, generous and disarmingly gracious. Charlie on the other hand is enigmatic, talks in whisper like the Godfather. He is a man with an inner strength who has lived a very interesting and colorful life. Charlie is also an artist. After dinner, there is nothing left to do but enjoy the quiet and a restful sleep. Ahhh, life in the province. In a previous life, I spent many nights looking through the blackness and quiet of the night, searching for shadows that could turn a dream into nightmareé. Day 3 Great Minds Think Alike (Andrew) Next day, I decided to move our little group early in the morning from Claveria, in order to find the rest of the group. To coordinate the time of departure when in-group is essential for the successful ride. Discipline of departure time is the key to have fun when riding. We started before 6AM. On the road we were observing the beautiful scenery and were frantically looking for the resort Rene, James, Charlie and Ritchie checked in. Last night, I got some key info ABT the resort, and I was sure I could find it. Before we started, we agreed that 7 AM next day would be our target time of dept. from their resort. (Biboy) We were halfway to the finish line. I was confident on this one as it was my second time around this bend of our adventure. The bike did not conk out except for the spring on my brake pedal vanished yesterday afternoon. It happened somewhere in Aparri. I just have to snitch it back up whenever I used the rear brake. I woke up early and secured the brake pedal with the rubber bands I bought from the market. The minor problem was easily solved. Breakfast was far better than dinner and the coffee has kicked in and washed any traces of lethargy. We hit the road around 7 am and headed for Pagudpud hoping to meet the guys somewhere. As we near Pagudpud, we can again see the ocean below us. It was a spectacular sight to see. It felt like you were at the edge of the world. The sun's radiant glow was reflecting on its rippled surface like a mirror. I envied Ann as she can fully savor the beauty of the place while I on the other hand can only get snippets of it. We passed by a resort whose name rang a bell. James had shown us the brochure of the place in one of our stops but the four of us can't seem to remember it. It was only upon reading the signage that made it pop out of our heads. Andrew, Jobo and I simultaneously made a U-turn and headed back to the resort. Rene and James were really surprised when they see us coming. Andrew was not able to contact them last night because there was no cell phone signal in Claveria. We discovered that they are in the same predicament. Ritchie and Charlie were still having breakfast so Jobo, Ann and I took that opportunity to take some more pictures on their beach. We hit the road as soon as the Duo finished their breakfast.We stopped at the Pagudpud viaduct for one last look at the ocean and for Andrew to take more pictures of the group. (James) Figuring that the other group likely does not have signal either, Rene trusts in Andrew's resourcefulness to find our resort and sure enough, with Jobo and Biboy's great memories, they pull into our resort by 7am, just as we are getting our things gathered to hit the road as well. More perfect timing, you couldn't imagine, considering the distance, terrain and lack of communication between both groups. The rest of the patrons look on in obvious awe and envy at this bunch of bikers that have added color and life to the sleepy, quiet and remote resort. One look at the luxury SUVs in the grass parking lot and you can tell, this crowd did not expect to see bikers in Pagudpud. (Rene) In the morning, James and I decided to take Baguio out of our itinerary after hearing the news about a new case of SARS in the city. The beaches of San Fernando, La Union would be our alternative. We ate breakfast and decided to ride ahead of the Claveria group and wait for them somewhere in Laoag. While packing the bike, I hear Andrew's Dragstar blasting by followed by Jobo, Biboy and Ann. I yelled as loud as I can in vain, and fortunately, Andrew saw the resort sign and quickly made a u-turn for our parking lot. We are together again. After some picture taking, we are back on the road. Hanging, Elevated, Suspended Road
(James) In the early morning sunshine, we pull out one by one and make our way towards the assembly point, ten minutes away by a waterfall and grotto. The locals gather around Mr. Andrew as he finishes taking more photos. He loudly proclaims, “Asawa ko ay Ilocana!” and then jokingly adds “Very kuripot!” The crowd bursts into raucous laughter. As we pull away to motor on, I get my first glimpse of the famous vista of Pagudpud motor touring with sea, rocky shore, sea cliff and gorgeous, deserted hanging highway! Like many bikers before me, I come to appreciate their predictions that you'd swear you were riding in California! (Andrew) Next day we were passing the most scenic and most showy part of the road of our trip, so we wanted at any price, make a group photo there. The part of the road is known as "elevated road near Patapat. Just some km. West of Pagudpod I was sure that Rene - a CAPTAIN of the "Pagudpod" group was in the same process of thinking how we will meet in the morning. Luckily for all, our group fined our friends resort just before 7AM, and after some chat I decided to go solo to the mentioned part of the road to prepare my camera and myself for picture taking. The ride was fantastic. The scenery unforgettable and morning solo ride was GREAT. The nature - Rock Bridge and the elevated road of Patapat was for me the most beautiful road experience of our trip. I waited for our group under the shadow of the Nature-bridge and while talking with locals, I was admiring their ingenuity, inventiveness and the sense of business. Using running water from the mountain, the locals open many car wash points. Coz of this, many cars stop there - coz of this - many shops can exist. Souvenirs, sari-sari stores and turo-turo restaurants make the place a memorable stopover on the road from Sanchez-Mira to Laoag. As usual, I tried my poor Tagalog with locals. To mutual fun and joy. (Rene) We stopped at the suspended road hugging the coastline and took pictures to memorialize the event. There is road work ahead ¥ another temporary wooden one-lane bridge to cross. As we proceed ahead, I noticed an earth-moving equipment, about 60 feet on the hill above the road, pushing a lot of dirt, causing massive land slide to cascade down the roadway. I see James heading for this section of the road as dirt and rock come crashing down the hill. He squeaks by the falling dirt in short order and soon it was my turn to pass the bridge. These poorly made contraptions, always gives me the willies. Planks of wood are sometimes raised or loose, causing the front wheel to wobble. (James) The route to the west coast is a picturesque, cliff-side cantilevered roadway but a 50 meter section of the road is gone, spanned temporarily by a wooden, planked bridge. Flagmen at either end control the flow of opposing traffic (if there ever is any) as well passage during boulder clearing that is ongoing on the cliffs above. Charlie, who's been riding for decades like yesterday's run at 160kph wearing a cutoff t-shirt, had intimated that the bridge scared him so we cross the bridge one at a time for safety's sake. Of course, just as I reach midspan, the tractor above starts rolling Volkswagen-sized boulders down the drop towards me. Suddenly, the reason behind the missing 50-meter section is no longer a mystery! Out of sheer disbelief and shock, I come to complete halt at midpsan, eliciting frantic waving for me to expedite from the flagman at the far end! Eagerly, I comply. (Biboy) There was this section of the viaduct that was destroyed by a landslide from the recent storm that hit the countryside. We have to make a single file to cross the crevasse. Workmen were guiding us through the gap while at the same time signaling to someone on the cliff that we are passing through. I really have no idea that there were people on the cliff if not for their hand signals. But I never looked up because I was so transfixed in crossing the wooden bridge as fast and as safely as I can. The bridge was designed for cages, not for bikes. Parallel wooden planks that were spaced to fit a car's axle ran across the gap and were connected to each by perpendicular planks. But the perpendicular planks were nailed underneath them. The bridge looked like a railroad. The width of the parallel wooden planks was just enough to fit the car's tires. Stop anywhere in the middle and you will surely kiss the bridge. The nearest thing you can step on to in case you stopped were nailed three inches below the contact patch of your tires. Unless you can extend your sinews to reach them then you're bound to fall. I later learned that James had another challenge beside that damn wooden bridge. This time the people on the cliff could not hold on anymore to whatever they tried to keep from falling. Gravity did its job, down came a boulder the size of a Volkswagen Beetle. James luckily got through in time. (James) It's another perfect riding day and the sun is blazing as we cruise by the rugged beauty of the northern coast of Luzon and up another mountain through yet another section of mountain twisties. Traffic is a heavier now, as we encounter other vehicles every 5 or 6 corners instead of occasionally. Andrew is a hard working lead man, and I know we all greatly appreciate his boundless energy, as he indicates all clear or oncoming traffic, in which case he pushes them to the extreme sides of the roads. After a few minutes in the tight stuff, I notice Jobo is itching to move faster, so I pull to the side and wave him through. (Biboy) Somewhere along the way, the Duo separated from the group. They were going to Baguio. The group had planned to go there, but decided against it later. So off we went to look for the one last stop before Batac. The Cape Bojeador Lighthouse. It is considered to be the tallest lighthouse in the Philippines as it is situated on top of a promotory. I've been there before and I was looking forward to meeting the caretaker, Manong Ben. I don't know though if he's still around. I was glad when I saw him sitting at the veranda. 19th Century Lighthouse (James) The hop is cut short a little while later by Jobo, who is off his bike and signaling the pack to turn inland and up a mountain road in the direction of old lighthouse. The way up is tight and fun with the road getting narrower and narrower as we climb and again, I am grateful to be riding the Transalp. We pull the bikes into a large cemented clearing just short of the top, which can only be ascended by foot and lots of stairs. It's blazing hot and we all scramble to squeeze the bikes in what little shade there is. The view of the coastline from the top of this mountain is magnificent and unlike views near Manila, is unspoiled by any hint of pollution, burning garbage, semi-urban sprawl and congestion or commercial and political advertising. Just raw, unspoiled beauty and a rare home now and then. (Biboy) Manong Ben has been there for several years now. He gladly shared to us the history of the lighthouse ¥ it was built in 1892 through forced labor by the Spaniards and how he's been through 8 lighthouses all over the Philippines. He even allowed us in the lighthouse. It was a privilege not any visitor can have. He has to get the blessings of the keeper first to enter it. We were on top of the world. The 360ë view of the place was magnificent. But the heat up there was unbearable. There was nothing to block the blazing sun.
(James) Jobo introduces us to the lighthouse keeper, Mang Ben, who speaks to us in perfect English or Tagalog, depending on your preference. We learn that he is actually from Tugegarao and he's happy to hear that we had just come from his hometown just two days ago. He says that he doesn't get to go home much and that lighthouse keeping gets to be a very lonely job. Turns out that this is the eighth lighthouse in his career that he has been put in charge of. Mang Ben then personally takes us on a tour, opening up the museum where, among other interesting pieces, there are several newspaper clippings about the lighthouse and Mang Ben himself. He tells us that the lighthouse was built through forced labor over the course of 30 years beginning in the 1830's and it's hard to conceive that something so beautiful could have been built with conscripted craftsmen. He unlocks the tower itself and allows us to climb to the European Victorian wrought iron spiral stairs˜a work of art in itself˜to the very top of the lighthouse, where the views, magnificent already, become that much more magnificent with unobstructed 360-degree views of the coast as well as the mountains, now below us and behind us. The prism however magnifies the heat and so we take a few sweaty and quick shots and make our way back down to “cooler” environs. We make our way back to the bikes for more photos as we lament the sad state of disrepair that the architectural treasure is in. At the bottom of the hill, Andrew thoughtfully takes more pictures of the group with the lighthouse in the background just before we leave we it behind. (Rene) Along the way, on the northwest corner of the island of Luzon, we stopped and a visited a lighthouse on a hill, still maintaining vigil to guide ships away from the coastline. A well maintained two-lane cement road wound its way up the hill for a couple of kilometers, leading us to the a parking lot, 100 feet below the lighthouse. A concrete stairway with giant steps led us up to the structure that took 30 years to build, over 200 years ago. An elderly gentleman lives alone here and he is charged with the maintenance and operation of this historic site. Jobo, who has been here before, greeted Manong Ben like a long lost uncle and we treated him the same. Manong Ben is genuinely glad to see us. This tall, dark, and slim man, wearing spectacles, is probably in his 50's or 60's. Today, he declares that we are his special guests. He treated us like dignitaries from afar, allowing us to enter parts of the lighthouse most people don't see and telling stories of the past. He later confided that most people who visit do not give him much notice, walking past him without a word or acknowledgment of his presence. Manong Ben is full of stories to behold one's attention. He speaks fluent English that gives away his educated background. His simple appearance is misleading. He asks if we were the Mad Dogs. The club name is recognized even in these out-of-the-way parts of the country. We politely told him we are not, although privately I thought to myself that this puppy is about to go mad from the heat. We climbed all the way up the lighthouse tower. Only five people at time because the old rusting structure might not be able to handle the weight. A spiral staircase turned tightly inside the small tower, similar in construction to the Statue of Liberty in New York. At the top, breathing hard from the climb, we are treated to a panoramic view of the rocky coastline below us. If only the sea can talk as I wonder how many ships are lying underneath this watery graveyard prior to the construction of the lifesaving tower. It is like a sauna on top of this glass-encased room and we all glistened from perspiration, especially Biboy, who looks like he just entered a wet T-shirt contest and won! More pictures and we worked our way down to the main house. Now we know how Manong Ben stays in shape ¥ climbing up and down those darn stairs will do it to you. Another group of visitors arrives and they walk past the lighthouse keeper without a word. A word of advice to future travelers. Please don't ignore Manong Ben if you come and visit. Treat him like a long lost relative and watch a lonely man bloom into someone who will regale you with stories only he can tell. Andrew, who I admire for being prudent with his money, knows the right time when to give as I saw him slip a few bills into Manong Ben's hand as a form gratitude. The lighthouse does not charge any money from any visitors. By the state of disrepair of this beautiful relic, which is a part of our Philippine history, it is severely under funded by the government. We bid goodbye to Manong Ben and we promised to come back with our families at a later date, and maybe, stay for the night to listen to his ghost stories. From the lighthouse, we reached Laoag after a couple of hours of riding. According to my Lonely Planet travel book, “There is not much to see and do in Laoag.” We only stayed long enough to get gas. I arrived a few seconds late at the pump, but caught the attention of the attendant first. I told him that he should fill up my tank first because the rider on the other side is pangit and his motorcycle is mahina. He busted up laughing. The guy on the Police Bike is funny after all.
(James) The coast stays with us for quite some time and eventually, we turn left at the Northwestern corner of the country on our way to our final destination of the day, La Union. Moving away from the coast, we're droning along roads lined with huge trees that are more populated but still light in comparison with those surrounding Manila. Traffic then becomes annoyingly familiar for a brief stint as we make our way into Batac to see former President Marcos. It's 11:45am and again, we scramble to find shade under which to park the bikes. Everyone loads up on water at the nearest vendor. (Rene) We kept going through the midday heat and reached the town of Batac, 13 klicks south of Laoag, to visit the former president Marcos. Andrew's wife Lita is from these parts of Ilocos and Andrew knows the town like the back of his hand after having visited it often. (James) Unfortunately, the mausoleum appears to have closed for lunch 15 minutes early and it looks like we're going to have to cross this objective off our list when suddenly a curator makes a loud last call for final viewing, probably after noticing our disappointment as we stared at the viewing hours sign. He unlocks the doors and we quietly file in. Yes, it's definitely Ferdinand Marcos lying there but Rene comments how statue-like he appears and wonders if it's really him. Without realizing it, our whole group was just riveted at the entrance, ignoring the view from the rest of the large room when the curator snaps us out of our trance (probably induced by the darkness of the room, spotlights and music), asking us to hurry it along so he close up for lunch. We scurry around the glass case and then back out to the blazing heat. (Rene) The former president is inside an air-conditioned building where interior lighting is at a minimum and the walls and ceiling are painted black. In the center, encased in glass is the body of Marcos, dressed in a Barong Tagalog and dark pants. (Biboy) Next on our agenda, was Batac, Ilocos Norte. We wanted to look at the waxy remains of the late President Marcos. The ride was smooth and we were now experiencing some traffic. Traffic in Laoag reminds you of España during rush hours. We got to Batac around noon. The museum was closed for the afternoon lunch so we just waited outside. The guard however sensed our predicament had called out for us to enter. He probably noticed that we were bikers and will be going off soon. After a few seconds, we were ushered out of the building. For Rene, it was a macabre experience. (Rene) Outside, there are rooms where pictures of the former president and the first lady are showcased, doing what they do best at the height of their term. Vendors outside sell their wares and foodstuff. James and I bought some Kalamay hoping that the freshness will keep long before we reach home. On the way back, Ann and I watched a large dog chained to a tree. He looks unhealthy and is pacing back and forth, limited in range by a chain no longer than five feet long. Poor animal, we thought. In America, pets are sometimes treated better than humans. In the Philippines, I often see dogs locked in a small cage, barely three feet square, nowhere to go, their masters barely giving time to share their love. We get ready for another 50 kilometer run, this time to Vigan. As we prepare to get back on the road, I watch how people around us react. The tricycle riders are always there to observe, smiling, joking to each other. Older folks don't seem to care much, but I notice the young ladies making a subtle effort of walking by us to catch a glimpse of these strangers wearing unusual clothing and speaking in foreign sounding English. The people here have a different face, featuring almond shaped eyes that reminds me of Egyptians similar to king Tut's. Some have high cheekbones and wavy black hair. Beautiful. |
