Bohol Trip: Lunch on The Loboc

The Loboc River restaurant boats are unique; I’ve never seen anything like them. They aren’t really floating restaurants so much as they are floating dining rooms. Each dining vessel is covered to provide shade and very stable because of their large size, maybe 40 feet by 15. In the States we call them party barges, except the ones at Loboc do not have any means of self-locomotion, no outboards and no inboards.

To build the big flat boats it looks like they take two bangka boat hulls side-by-side and build a platform on top of them. Pretty good idea—they take resources already on hand and convert them into what they need—brilliant, and very Filipino.

They use a seemingly ungainly method of moving these large sightseeing dining barges up and down the river. Its simple but it works. They push them with a powerfully motored separate bangka boat. The captain of the pusher boat can’t see where he’s going because of the bulk of the barge he’s pushing to his front. It’s very similar to the way Charles Lindberg flew his Spirit of St. Louis, able only to see out the side of the aircraft. It must take a lot of practice learning how to safely and smoothly manipulate their craft in this manner. It doesn’t hurt also that they go very very slow. As a passenger you aren’t even aware that all this going on behind you just as it should be.

Being late turned out to be a good thing. The rest of the tourist diners were on the way and they were delayed, just as we had been. It was to our benefit because we had first crack at the food and our choice of seats. I took a place at a dining table all the way to the front on the port railing near the food table.

It was quite a spread. Watermelon slices, my favorite, along with a host of other fruit cut up on platters. There was a complete sampling of Filipino fare—BBQ marinaded pork on a stick, rice, chicken, ribs, two different kinds of pansit, lechon and more—everything you would expect to find in a local restaurant. Lucky me, Filipino food is my absolute favorite. But, you might want to bring along extra drinks since they only stocked enough cokes for less than two per passenger.

Refreshingly, unlike many other waterways in this country, the river is free of debris and it’s clean and inviting. The Loboc River that day was slow moving and brownish green with a hint of turquoise. It looks safe enough to swim but like any body of water with nearby human habitation ensure you don’t ingest of any of it.

By the time our fellow diners arrived we were almost finished with our first helping. A musical combo consisting of two girls performed pop favorites for our listening pleasure. Both sang, and well; one played guitar, the other keyboard. Happily, they kept the amp volume down so that it didn’t overpower conversation. I only mention it because usually locals tend to turn volume knobs as far to the right as possible (go to any karaoke bar and see what I mean)—another irksome national tendency.

Once everyone was onboard, the dock and deckhands untied the boat and pushed us on our way with long bamboo poles. It felt good; actually, it was downright exciting to be finally moving up the river. From the very beginning, a sense of contentment and tranquility pervades your soul. And Romantic! In a word, that is how I would describe what its like to travel the Loboc on these dining boats. Guys, take your favorite gal with you because it’s the only way to experience the hour plus voyage. If you are by yourself, as soon as you start to experience the loveliness that is the Loboc River cruise you will wish you had someone to enjoy it with.

In no time at all we passed by the town, first under the unusable unfinished concrete travesty of a bridge and then under the more modest useable one. The river meanders through several slow turns. For the first part of the trip the bank is shadowy and well foliaged with the occasional man-made structure faintly visible through palm trees and thick vegetation. Further on, steep hills, also well foliaged, rise high above; curiously you find your eyes drawn to them and then to blue and white tropical sky above that. It is the perfect combination of inspiring nature and modern comfort. It doesn’t get any better.

I loved the quiet peace. Back home it would be impossible to enjoy such a setting; Americans insist on tearing through ALL bodies of water on jet skis and powerboats. For most of our float tour we saw no other craft or even people—it was just us and nature.

When the river becomes impassable you know you have arrived at the Busay Falls. We pulled over and tied up at a tiny spit of a land upon which was built a bamboo kubo. In it, a half dozen older Loboc men sat close together on wooden benches showing off their musical talents. They played lively tunes on banjos, guitars, horns and woodwinds. We stayed there for 15 or 20 minutes enjoying the band and the view of the falls. I dropped a couple hundred pesos in the band’s collection can. They were okay.

To call them a falls is a bit of a stretch. They “fall” barely more than a few feet, but at least it sounds like a waterfall and it does provide a bit of scenery, although nothing spectacular. The real beauty is to be seen on the river getting to them.

The return trip is not nearly as magical, mostly because the element of anticipatory surprise is lost; what’s to be seen has been seen, only now you get to see it from the other side of the boat going in the other direction. And, it’s a little sad knowing that your beautiful sojourn on the water is about to end.

If you sign up for any tour out of Tagbilaran or Panglao Island you will take this dining cruise. Truthfully, it was the most enjoyable part of my little trip to Bohol.

Bohol Trip: Tarsiers are Cool...

By the time we got back to Loboc the rain had ceased, the sky was blue and the sun was shining. The guide called ahead to let the restaurant know that we were on the way. I had no idea why it was so important to get there at a set time. Here, being late is no big deal—it’s jokingly accepted—like a charming national bad habit. Still, I was intrigued that perhaps I was in for something special.

We pulled up outside the restaurant and right away I figured out why punctuality was an issue. We were going to eat our lunch floating down the Loboc River. As it turned out, we were too late. Our scheduled lunch boat pulled out as we pulled into the parking lot. No worries—there was room for us on the next one.

In the meantime, I got a chance to check out some of the little bug-eyed diminutive creatures that Bohol is famous for—the tarsier. It’s supposed to be a kind of monkey, and people call them that, but they don’t seem like monkeys to me. And sure enough, although they ARE a type of ancient 45 million year old primate, they are NOT monkeys.

The facility for the floating restaurants is built on the river and serves as kitchen, souvenir shop, tarsier zoo, bar, restaurant, waiting area and dock. The tarsier observation area overlooking the dock is where I spent most of the half-hour wait it took the staff to prepare the next lunch boat. I found the furry little animals immensely fascinating. I never tired of examining them, although according to some websites I wasn’t supposed to encourage that kind of unnatural tarsier display and should have ignored them. Yeah right.

Here’s a statement you’ll find about the private tarsier displays like the one I patronized: “Please avoid visiting the tarsiers kept in cages along (the) Loboc River. Here, these shy animals have a miserable live (sic), and normally don't survive for long.”

Supposedly these animals are a semi-threatened species; if so, then they should be protected. Putting the onus on tourists “to do the right thing” is ridiculous, because virtually no one operates that way here. If these private tarsier zoos are bad for them then close them down.

I did read something revoltingly disturbing online. In the not too distant past, people trapped tarsiers, and then skinned and stuffed them into “cute” poses in order to sell them to tourists. I don’t know if this foul practice ended because tourists refused to buy them or if the government finally stepped in and ended it. After experiencing them I can’t imagine buying such a monstrosity. I’m just glad I didn’t have to see stuffed tarsiers on display at the souvenir shops. I think I would have protested by simply leaving and not buying anything at all.

The tarsiers I ogled at the restaurant were displayed unconfined on large bushy potted plants (bamboo, if I remember correctly) that gave the tiny animals at least a minuscule bit of nature in which to hide. At first glance I didn’t see anything but the plant foliage. A keeper/handler standing nearby pointed one of them out to me. Once I knew what to look for I noticed that the scattered plants were populated with many of the appealing little creatures.

It seems almost mandatory that visitors have their pictures taken with a tarsier, either holding one in their hands or placed carefully on their shoulder or on the top of their head. I went along with it and for a short moment cautiously held one for a photo. I cringe at this sort of practice. Small wild animals are vulnerable to human-borne disease and not everyone is mindful while handling them. I’m not a “people person” because so many of us are ugly-acting and callous. Young men and boys can be showy and one of them might purposely or accidentally hurt such a tiny thing. Watching people practically forced to hold the little large-eyed beings kind of sickened me. I wish it would stop.

The handler picked up the same docile tarsier that he used for all the tourist photos. He probably used this one little fellow because of its tame demeanor. I hope he didn’t medicate it to achieve that state, but I always assume the worst; it’s my nature. The tarsier folded up neatly on its haunches on the man’s hand to about the size of a softball. It seemed to use its tufted lion-like tail for balance and not for clinging. What he did next amazed me. He pulled straight one of the tarsier’s hind legs to demonstrate it’s enormous length relative to its body; that’s when I realized what the tarsier reminded me of—a lemur.

Sure enough, upon further reading it is indeed related to the lemur. The tarsier’s hind legs are incredibly long and what makes them seem astoundingly so is that normally they are virtually out of sight. They remind me of the way a frog keeps its legs tightly folded against its body until needed for swimming or jumping. It seems that tarsiers also use their lengthy legs for jumping as well. From what I’ve read they can snatch flying insects deftly from the air as they jump fantastic distances from one tree to another. I wouldn’t have suspected that, so motionless and enervated were the ones that I saw.

To clarify, it’s not really the tarsier’s legs that are so long; it’s their feet. They have the same sort of arrangement as most mammals and even birds, where the lower limbs have evolved and elongated so that the tarsal segment looks more like part of the leg than the foot. (Thus, the name “tarsier” from tarsal). A funny way to look at it is that this “arrangement” kind of gives the tarsier two opposing knees. Take a look at the picture and you’ll see what I mean. An even funnier way to think of it is that we humans are the REAL oddity since we are the ones with some of THE shortest feet in the Animal Kingdom.

The tarsier is nocturnal, which is probably why they were so quiet and motionless that early afternoon. But I did see one show some animation when the keeper skewered a live cricket on a sharp barbecue stick to allow a tourist to offer it to one of them. She held the impaled struggling insect an inch from a lethargic tarsier’s face. The napping animal came to its senses signified by a slight change of facial expression. (Yes, these animals can manipulate their faces nearly as well as we can). With both hands, almost daintily, it slowly reached out and grabbed the cricket. Once firmly gripped, it quickly brought its live meal to its mouth, gobbling it down in a dozen bites, hardly chewing, if at all.

During the eating process I caught a glimpse of its needle-sharp teeth—I sure wouldn’t want one of them to bite me. I’ve eaten live crickets and grasshoppers before so I have to marvel at how that tarsier was able to so effortlessly crunch up and then negotiate the cricket’s rigid legs down its throat, especially considering how relatively small its mouth and teeth are. I guess my problem has always been that the cricket and hopper legs get stuck so easily between my teeth—which is clearly NOT a problem for the tiny-toothed tarsier.

Because its features are so exaggerated, the tarsier looks like a living cartoon. Its fingers and toes are exceedingly long and slender, the tips bulbous; they look like suction cups and I presume they function like them as well. In fact, the handler showed us how their delicate-looking hands, feet and tail are “designed” for easy climbing and grasping. The eyes are amazingly gigantic and look all the more uncanny because of their tiny pinpointed daytime pupils. Their rounded ears stick straight out and are obviously meant for gathering information in its normal nighttime wilderness setting. And just like an owl, a tarsier can look directly behind itself by turning its head a full 90°, although I never saw any of them do that.

Before leaving the little display colony I inspected each animal closely trying hard not to be too much of an agitation to them. It’s obvious they are accustomed to people peering at them from up close because none of them seemed the least bit disturbed. Surprisingly, each animal was unique. What made them diverse were their faces. Even the little guys half asleep displayed a different personality on each of their little mugs. Every one had its own “thing” going on—some seemed to be smiling, others were grinning, sneering, grimacing, pursing their lips or scowling. My favorite one was a little fellow with an evil-looking gremlin-like face. Most of the tarsier pictures on the Net show them with acutely wide-open lidless eyes, but most of the ones I saw had their eyelids partially closed, which adds even more character to their elfin faces.

From what I’ve seen, it looks like the best way to see these precious teeny beasts is at one of the more professional conservatories. I didn’t go there, but try the Philippine Tarsier Foundation. Whatever you do, do NOT be tempted to buy one as a pet. It will be miserable and it WILL die—usually of stress. They are a social animal and they need to be with their own kind.

The boat was ready—time to grab some meat, take a seat, get off our feet, and eat! Stay tuned for my final Bohol post about our floating luncheon on the Loboc River—a truly sublime experience.

Bohol Trip: The Chocolate Hills

After our stop in Loboc we continued north toward the town of Carmen and the “famous” Chocolate Hills. The changing views outside the car and the interesting conversation going on in it kept boredom at bay. The drive is up, down and around because of the hilly terrain. The road surface is smooth and the traffic light. The hour-plus ride from Loboc passed in a flash.

From road level a first time visitor probably won't realize they have entered the Chocolate hills area. In effect, you can’t really see them all that well from inside a vehicle. So, without knowing that we were already driving through them I looked off to the right and saw something manmade way up on the side of a rounded hill. The structure was stark white and contrasted poorly with its beautiful natural setting. Moments later we came to an intersection and turned right. I realized then that the ugly white building visible way above us was our destination. Whoever designed the Carmen Hotel and Lookout, known as the "Chocolate Hills Complex," should have made it blend in with its surroundings — currently it’s an eyesore, a visual blight and the unsightly thing should be repainted and landscaped to hide it.

High up on the hill, the driver dropped us off at the circular drive in front of the hotel--this parking area is busy with automobile traffic and locals hawking their wares to us tourists. Our guide handed us tickets and pointed the way to a gate. She told us to take a half-hour to scope out the view at the top. Surrendering our tickets we passed through the gate and headed to the top of the lookout.

The stairs are straightforward; they take you directly up from one small resting plateau to the next. Each plateau is a landscaped mini-garden with seats and some with shade, and each has a viewing area where you can pull away and gaze while you catch your breath in comfort.

I opted not to stop at any of the plateaus. I didn’t count them, but there must be two or three hundred steps, it felt like a thousand. Ten years ago I could have sprinted them, but 50 pounds later along with the onset of tendonitis and arthritis, I was lucky to slowly trudge my way to the top. Trying not to appear too done in, I went for a nonchalant pose while my heart pounded and my lungs pulled in half the air of Bohol. I found a vantage point and exulted in the astonishing view while recovering my breath.

The whole point of the Chocolate Hills is their outlandishly wonderful strangeness. If there weren’t so many of them plus the fact that they are so substantial, one would suppose them to be manmade. Suspiciously, they don’t LOOK natural at all; they are just too flawlessly homogenous. Mother Nature does not normally use a cookie cutter when she shapes her geology, but she sure did on Bohol. In other words The Chocolate Hills are just too seemingly perfect, too good to be true and that is much of their attraction.

(I just did an image search of The Choco Hills and after viewing a few score of them I now realize that the hills are NOT all the same. They vary in size and some are not so perfectly rounded and sport a visible peak or pointed apex).

There is a tarnished plaque at the top that purports to explain how the hills were formed over the last couple million years. It’s a series of pictures in a storyboard arrangement etched into a large bronze plate. It shows a shallow seafloor of coral rising high up out of the water. Then, by the action of weathering and erosion, this exposed coral bed gradually separated out into the hundreds of perfectly mounded (some not so perfect) hills we now see. All well and good to the average sightseer, but not nearly good enough for me!

There’s nothing on that plaque that explains WHAT exactly was so different in the hill-shaping process on Bohol that could have possibly caused the formation of THESE particular unique mounds. As far as I know there’s nothing else like them in the world, maybe similar, but not EXACTLY like them; and they ARE indeed unique. They are many and they are HUGE; their massiveness is easy to overlook as you gaze out at them, UNTIL you remember that you are standing at the top of one them, and THEN you realize how truly enormous and spectacular they really are.

Another unique aspect of the Chocolate Hills is the apparent lack of tree growth on them. After all, if trees WERE able to take root and obscure them then they would NOT be THE Chocolate Hills. Only grass seems to sprout on their roundedness and from what I could see, it does so thickly. I suppose the locals could be conspiring to keep trees from growing on them by keeping them cut back, but I think that would take an incredibly concerted effort. Still, they might be doing this to maintain their unique appearance. Trees do grow quite readily on the rest of the hills throughout Bohol, so unless there is something about the soil on the Chocolate Hills that keeps them tree-free I have to wonder if the hills aren't "maintained." By the way, the hills get their rich brownness from the grass covering them. When the rains stop, the grass loses its new-growth green and becomes chocolate brown, especially in certain lighting conditions such as morning and dusk.

On the day I visited The Chocolate Hills, as luck would have it, the sky was hazy and spritzed the occasional rain drop. Visibility was limited, perhaps only one or two miles, giving the hills a washed out mystical appearance. They faded from view and yet seemed to go on eternally as my mind assumed they continued on into a misty unseen distance.

Trying to take in every possible view of the hills stacked up into the vastness around me, I continually moved around the top of the 360 degree ring of the upper sightseeing area. From the north side I looked down into a tiny valley formed between the Chocolate Hill I stood upon and the next hill over and I observed a supremely pastoral sight—a farmer plowing a rice field with a single caribou. He wore a traditional conical hat and in fact everything looked “perfectly” traditional, right down to the small bahay kubo (rural Filipino bamboo house) sitting in a grove of bananas just to the east of the rice paddy. The whole scene was so quaintly whimsical that I became convinced that it was entirely contrived (and so what if it was!).

A middle-aged Filipina tourist visiting from some other province approached the top of the last of the steps, and breathing heavily, blurted out an exclamation, “Susu ng dalaga!” I was surprised she said it, since some might consider it to be mildly inappropriate, but she was absolutely correct. The hills do indeed look like the perfectly rounded perky breasts of a young woman. In fact, I was a little shocked that the comparison hadn’t occurred to me!

During my circuit of the circular lookout sidewalk I passed an older Filipino fellow in his 60s and nodded a hello to him. When he hello’d back I immediately recognized him as a fellow American. We got to talking and I found out he was retired and visiting from his home in Ohio. I found it interesting that although he had spent his early years in Bohol he was only now making his first trip to the Chocolate Hills. He said they weren’t accessible back then for lack of a passable road. It causes me to ask the questions: ‘Were The Chocolate Hills deemed worthy as an attraction only AFTER roads were built into them; and did Filipinos know of them and their unique beauty even before anyone could readily visit them? When did they become "World Famous?’

Time got away from me and I realized I needed to get my butt back down the hill. The switchback "down-walk" is separate from the "up-walk," and it got a little slick from raindrops now falling with more frequency. Almost at the bottom I stopped at a religious grotto devoted to the Virgin Mary. It gave me a chance to look more closely at the geological makeup of the hill. The grotto had been chipped more than 5 feet in allowing me to see that the hill was composed of some very solid reddish coral; it seemed very dense and very hard. If all the hills are similarly made then perhaps that explains why no trees grow on them? I'm still not entirely convinced that they haven't cut the trees down from the tops of them over the years.

There’s a great thing about sites involving outdoor settings such as The Grand Canyon, Yosemite, and the New York City skyline. Every new trip to those grand places almost certainly results in a freshly different and memorable perspective. So many factors affect what one sees in the great outdoors—clouds, light, time of day, time of year—what is seen one day will have a new look the next trip. This is certainly true of the Chocolate Hills and it makes me look forward all the more to my next visit there.

The guide wanted us to get moving. During the return drive south I learned that we had a lunch reservation back at Loboc and we would have to hurry to make it. I didn’t realize it, but our lunch in Loboc would rival the beauty we had just seen from the top of that chocolate hill… Stay tuned….

Bohol Trip: Loboc Church

I remarked in an earlier post that the first thing a visitor notices in Loboc is the strange visual conflict between the unfinished Loboc River Bridge and the Loboc Church and that is true; but I also said there were other more charming, less alarming things to see (and do) there—for instance the church itself.

The Loboc Church is typical of many of the centuries-old mini-cathedrals built under the direction of the Spanish friars who mostly controlled the archipelago right up until 1898. Muslim attacks on the Bohol's southern coast in the late 1500s and early 1600s forced the priests to look for shelter far inland. They found it by going up the Loboc River to the spot where the present church stands.

Until I moved here I hadn’t realized that much of what is now the Philippines was dominated by Muslims. When the Spaniards arrived, except for the southern islands, they mostly managed to replace Islam and the local animist beliefs with their own brand of aggressive Catholicism. They never had all that many of their own troops out here, especially during the early days, so the friar orders managed to do their conversions generally through priestly “persuasion” and persistence. It’s interesting to know that back in Spain around this same timeframe (early 1600s) that King Philip was expelling thousands of Morisco, the descendants of the “Christianized” Muslim Moors then still living on Spanish soil. The centuries of war and conflict with the Iberian Berber Muslims had a huge impact on the Spanish psyche and probably had much to do with the way they steamrolled over all the peoples they colonized.

Another distinctive architectural oddity concerning the Loboc Church, the other being the bridge, is the bell tower. Oddly, instead of being a part of the main church structure, as it would be in any other church anywhere else in the world, the bell tower in Loboc was built separately well away from its partner building. On the bank of the Loboc River the round castle-like bell tower prominently sits across and down the street from the church. According to Wikpedia, this freestanding tower was built by the Augustinian Recollects who took over from the expelled Jesuits in 1768.

When I first saw the tower’s disconnected location on the banks of the river, to me it looked defensive, as if it was intended as a lookout for sentries guarding the town. I asked the guide the reason for the unique location and separation of the tower from the church—she responded that the reason was acoustical—that the sound of the bell would travel for miles up and down the river and so carry to more parishioner ears. By 1768 I doubt that the Muslims were still much of a problem, if at all, to the population of Bohol, so the tower was probably not built as a defensive structure as I first thought.

I walked around the outside of the large church and examined its building style and architecture. Like most of the centuries-old Catholic cathedrals here Loboc’s is in need of plenty of preservation type work. The one at Loboc needs paint and lots of structural upkeep. Even stone and concrete has a limited wear time, especially considering how nature takes its annual shot during flood time. This historical fact is displayed by a painted horizontal line about 5 feet up on an inside wall. Over the centuries the river has flooded continually over its banks, the worst in 1876 which is marked by that spot high up on the wall.

Attached to the south side of the church is a now vacant 3-story convent, also built by the Recollects as part of their refurbishment of the original Jesuit-built church. The old convent is now used by and large as a museum. It costs a few pesos so take a few minutes and check it out. Part of the museum is devoted to the award-winning Loboc Children’s Choir started in 1980; but the choir is only a relatively recent manifestation of Loboc’s long history of musical know-how, which has been part of Loboc culture since the time of the Jesuits almost 400 years ago. This part of the museum has displays and exhibits explaining the musical history of the town. Most of the old musical instruments on display are a bit of a joke though; they look like dirty tarnished broken junk pulled from a refuse heap. I’m sure it’s the best the curator could find, knowing how people here hold on to their family heirlooms and treasures.

In my explorations of the dozens of old town churches I’ve often seen the pulpits high up on the side of the walls. The one in Loboc puts the speaker exceptionally high, at least 12 feet or more above the parishioners and I could not resist the temptation to climb up the steep wooden steps and deliver a pretend sermon. The pulpit in the Loboc church still has its ornate cover and as I spoke I realized that the cover was not merely for show—it had a definite acoustical purpose. That fancy little cap above me seemed to concentrate and magnify the volume of my words. I experimented with my discovery by having someone move farther and farther away while I practically whispered, “Can you hear me now? Can you hear me now? Can you hear me now? …” No matter how I quieted my words I could still be heard, even at the back of the chapel. Pretty cool.

I don’t know why, but lots of modern tourists don’t seem to feel comfortable visiting and exploring these old Spanish-designed, Filipino-built churches and that is truly a shame. To get a true feel for the history and culture of this country you really should examine these ancient edifices. Most Filipino towns and villages are quite proud of them; and if you can, see if you can get a local layperson or priest to show theirs to you. The story of each is fascinating and many times there are hidden relics, or locked passages and rooms not usually open to the casual gawker. Ask lots of questions and you are sure to hear intriguing stories and human-interest accounts that you otherwise would never have imagined existed. And by all means, donate to the upkeep fund. Of course, knowing the Philippines, just because you are told that your money will go to that purpose, unfortunately, chances are likely it won’t. Just the same, I still give, just in case.

More on Loboc soon…

Bohol Trip: Loboc, A Tale of a Bridge vs a Church

If you visit Bohol’s Chocolate Hills from Tagbilaran you will pass through Loboc. Even if you hadn’t planned on it I’m sure you will end up checking it out. We stopped there on the way through and again on the way back. It’s a pretty remarkable place for such a little town, and there are several reasons why—at least four that I can think of. But the initial reason is the first thing you’ll notice as you pull up to the center of town.

Have you ever seen something so bizarre, so surreal that you just HAD to have an explanation for it before you could go on with what you were originally doing? It probably feels that way for someone who sees a UFO or The Lochness Monster. Well, THAT is how I felt when we pulled up next to the ancient church in Loboc. The church was old, large and interesting, but that wasn’t what had my curiosity all abuzz, although it was certainly part of it.

No, what had my head cocked and my gaze locked was the hulk of a big old unfinished bridge looking like part of an abandoned movie set. Ever watch the movie “Speed” when the bus jumps across the unfinished chasm of an overpass? Or similarly in “The Blues Brothers” where the Nazis chasing Jake and Elroy go flying off the same kind of unfinished highway bridge? Well, that’s what’s sitting in Loboc, right in the middle of town. But, what makes it unreal is the bridge’s location.

The incomplete bridge comes from the direction of the Loboc River, which it crosses from way on high. This isn’t just a little bridge either; it’s substantial, made of concrete and reinforced with steel, and was obviously built as part of a major thoroughfare. What’s disturbing is that if the bridge is finished, the Loboc Church would have to be demolished, because the bridge stops directly across the street from the historic cathedral. Visually, the unfinished bridge is an open threat aimed directly at the church. So far, the church is holding its own against the menacing bridge’s bulk, but a question begs to be asked: What the heck is going on?

I got out of the car, stared up at the bridge, and while pointing at it started quizzing the guide about the monstrosity across the street from the beautiful church. I must have been a bit too obvious for her because she told me furtively, “Not here, we can talk when we get around the corner.”

So, I figured out that I wasn’t supposed to make a big deal out of the bridge and the way it just seemed to float unfinished in midair looking exactly like a giant waterless pier, at least not openly, so I pretended to ignore it as we walked to a garden park in front of the church. I felt foolish ignoring something so obvious, but I decided to play along. By then I was willing to do about anything to make sure my guide filled me in on “the story.” I knew it was going to be something weird and wacky and I was right.

Here’s the tale she told me. It seems unbelievable, but it makes sense if you live here long enough. There is a legend that there is gold buried under the old church. It’s the same ridiculous myth that the people in practically every province in the Philippines tell. Usually it’s a story about buried Japanese gold, but in this case it must be about Spanish treasure from the time when the friars first moved to Loboc in the early 1600s to escape marauding Muslims. That’s why the church exists in Loboc in the first place.

Some greedy person in a position of authority (sorry for being redundant there!) must have felt that they could use “Eminent Domain” as a way to force the demolition of the 400 year old landmark to get to the mythical gold. That’s all she would tell me and she spoke of it without looking at the bridge or acknowledging it, almost like she was briefed as part of her certification not to make a big deal out of it when tourists ask about the obvious eyesore right in the middle of Loboc.

Sure enough, while doing some research on the internet I inspected a road map I found of Bohol. I've included two maps in this post; check them out. The map above (click on it) shows a major road going from Sikatuna to Loboc from the direction of where the bridge now sits fallow and it also shows the road stopping, evidently from the point where the bridge stopped. I found another map (click on it below) that shows the road continuing to just west of Lila, so maybe that map represents a proposed continuation or a presently unimproved section of the same road. The story and the guide's way of dealing with it is very Filipino, and I say that with a combination of affection and humor knowing what I have learned of the national psyche here—one that is certainly unique:

(Foreigner: “Hey, why is there an elephant in the kitchen?” Local: No explanation—just a pleasant smile and a studious disregard for the question.) That is this place—it’s not good or bad—it just is. One just has to smile and enjoy the occasional absurdity.

I don’t know the rest of the story and I still have a zillion other questions such as: Why did they not finish the bridge and go through with the razing of the cathedral? Who were these dastardly people? Who stopped them? What’s the story behind it? What are they going to do with the bridge now, if anything? Will they eventually move the church or knock it down to finish the bridge? Or, will the bridge come down? One question leads to another.

Is the story about the greedy bridge-building gold-diggers even true at all? It must be, because in a place so devoid of money for public projects nothing else could possibly explain why an expensively massive bridge would be built right up to the edge of an important building like that. I mean, no one builds most of a bridge before noticing too late that there just happens to be a large church inconveniently in the way, not even here. You must admit that it’s a wild story. So wild in fact that if you didn’t have visual proof of the Mexican standoff between that big old incomplete bridge and the equally impressive church then it’s not something you would even consider likely. But the photos don’t lie. If you see it, you have to believe it—right?

There’s much more to Loboc than this amazing “the bridge versus the church” story. I’ll post more on this quaint little town soon…

More Bohol Trip, The Baclayon Church

I love the centuries-old cathedrals here and the two that I visited in Bohol are both worth the time to stop in and check them out. The first was at Baclayon and the other in Loboc.

As much as I scorn the Spanish of 109 years ago (and before) for their despicable acts during their lengthy colonial period, I still enjoy the moldy permanence of their architecture. If not for the ancient bricks and stones all mortared together into the myriad churches that dot this country there would be almost no Filipino architecture here older than 70 or 80 years. Mind you, all these wonderful old structures were put up using local laborers and craftsman. Until just after WWII indigenous buildings were almost all made of wood and have not lasted the years well, if at all. Termites and the tropical climate make relatively short work of wooden structures, even those built of Filipino hard woods.

Our guide took us to the Baclayon Church after our stop at the Sandugo Diorama. I won’t go into the specifics of the place; you can get that at other sites like this one: Baclayon Church But I will give my impressions, and I must say I enjoyed visiting this one as much as any other I’ve seen, perhaps more because of the cool museum in the adjacent convent, now vacant of nuns. There is a small fee to enter the museum, but don’t let that deter you, it’s worth every peso.

Most of the old churches of the Philippines have been in continuous use for more than 200 years, and in the case of the present Baclayon structure, it’s been there for 300 years. If you are a Catholic you’ll especially like checking out all the years of church paraphernalia. Ancient décor, manuscripts and books, furniture, statues, and vestal garments instead of moldering away in some closet or rectory are on display there in the museum. I’ve only visited one other church museum that is better stocked with exhibits and that's the massive one that is part of The St. Augustine Cathedral sitting these past 400+ years inside the walls of the Intramuros of Manila.

The church’s museum has a typical little gift shop with the predictable t-shirts and rosary beads. And also typically, they didn’t have the one item I’m always interested in. I gave the counter girl a bit of a hard time trying to get her to convince her bosses that many tourists love to buy well-written pamphlets and even books that contain photos, facts and historical details. I quizzed her, asking if it was true that others like me had asked for the same thing. As cheap as it is to produce them locally (believe me, I know) and with all the creative talent in this country, it still astounds me that usually no one tries to fill this market niche. In fact, every town and village should produce their own booklet, listing the local history complete with photos and places of interest. I’m telling you, discerning tourists will buy them for their coffee table and travel collection.

One other thing caught my eye in the gift shop—a bit of historical detail that I found hugely fascinating. It was a list of all the senior pastors going back to the early 1700s to include the timeframe they served in that position. Continuity thy name is Catholicism! The list is uninterrupted going back almost 300 years—remarkable! What struck me about the list though, is the obvious reminder of Spanish self-importance and condescension. Every single priest was Spanish right up until 1898, the year we finally booted them out. All those years and the Europeans felt that only Europeans were fit to run that little parish. Thinking about it makes me seethe, but I suppose it was the way of the times to think so little of the locals, in this case the priestly talent. I really need to get over that aspect of this place, especially since Filipinos sure don’t seem to be hung up over it like I am.

Next, our driver and guide continued to take us up the coast toward the turn off going to the Chocolate Hills located in the center of the island. We made one tourist stop at a bolo making shop. The fellow in there doing all the work was both carpenter and blacksmith. He seemed like a humble hardworking guy and I bought one of his wooden-sheathed creations for 300 pesos, telling him to keep the change from a 500. I wasn’t trying to show off; I just like to reward industriousness. I encourage you to also stop in and watch him at work; its well-worth five or ten minutes and he hand makes a pretty good product that makes a great souvenir, and heck, you can use it too.

Our next stop—Loboc.

Blood Compact of Bohol, Legazpi & Sikatuna

Before going to Bohol I was only dimly aware of the 1565 blood compact, or Sandugo in Filipino, between the Spanish conquistador Miguel Lopez de Legazpi and Datu Sikatuna, a chieftain of Bohol. Historically this blood compact is one of the most noteworthy events of Bohol. Naturally, being a lover of things historical, I had to investigate and seek understanding.

We acquired the services of a driver and guide from the Vest Pension House and our first stop of the day was at the traditional site of the Blood Compact. I’m sure no one is exactly sure after 442 years where the specific place is that Legazpi and Sikatuna drank together from a goblet filled with a mixture of their own blood and wine, but the general area is certainly correct. At the small town of Baclayon we pulled off the road and spent several minutes at a larger than life diorama depicting Sikatuna and Legazpi seemingly having a toast. The site is high on a bluff and affords a beautiful view of the Bohol Sea. As I inspected each statue and read the plaques I tried to understand the significance of this pact.

Truthfully, at the time I didn’t get it, and even now I struggle with it. I thought to myself, ‘Why all the fuss over something so tragic?’ I can understand simply marking it as an event from the past to be acknowledged and studied, but people from Bohol actually have a party every year called the Sandugo Festival to mark what can only be considered a start date to 333 years of abject Spanish oppression. For me it brings to mind how the French similarly celebrate their Revolution, one of the most violent and deplorable events in European history.

I asked the guide how she felt about the way the Spanish treated the indigenous peoples here, but as usual I got not much more than a verbal shrug. The Japanese paid some pretty hefty reparations to the Philippines after WWII, but when one looks honestly at the three centuries of Spanish abuse heaped on this place Spain surely owes this country more money than there is in the entire world.

Like other things here there is a dichotomy in how Filipinos look at the subject of Spanish colonization. They desperately want to be proud of their past dealings with Spain, but the only way to do so is to ignore the extremely horrendous way they were treated by them. I see this dichotomy big time in the way Sikatuna and Lapu-Lapu are BOTH celebrated, each for doing the exact opposite thing. In 1521, Lapu-Lapu and his people refused to accept outside dominion and his forces ended up hacking Magellan to death on the beach at Mactan Island, which is just across the Cebu Straits from Bohol. Just 44 years later and Sikatuna accepts Legazpi’s overtures of “friendship” and the rest is history. Of course no one can blame Sikatuna; after all, Legazpi was going to do what he wanted in the name of the king of Spain regardless of what one Rajah from Bohol did.

Interestingly, I found the following excerpt in Wikpedia on the 2006 Sandugo Festival of Bohol.

Sandugo Oracles

1. One of the major highlights of the 2006 Sandugo celebration was the "Sandugo Oracles," an hour-long reenactment directed by Lutgardo Labad, which recounted the historic meeting between East and West through interpretive dance, pantomime, song and a narrative soundtrack in Bohol’s native Visayan. The oracles sought to “clarify” the Sandugo legend by going beyond typical reenactments, which only depict Legazpi and Sikatuna meeting, drinking goblets filled with each other’s blood and little else. “The performance highlights the impact on the native population and makes people think anew of their own realities,” Laba said.

2. The oracles presented Boholano priestess Karyapa tugging on Rajah Sikatuna's arm and imploring to ignore Legazpi's arrival in the Philippines. Karyapa's prohecy foretold the destruction of local civilization. The oracles also showed the role of a lesser-known datu Sigala who convinced Sikatuna to accept Legazpi's offer, and the influence of an earlier raid on Bohol by Portuguese slavers.

Obviously, here we have thoughtful and concerned people, like Mr. Labad, trying to figure out how to come to terms with the “dichotomy” I spoke of above. First, he speaks of using this newly concocted “Sandugo Oracles” to “clarify” events by going “beyond” the traditional reenactments to make us “think anew.” I suppose attempting to do that is okay, but what really bothers me is the addition of the “new history,” where supposedly a priestess tried to no avail to dissuade Sikatuna, while this Sigala fellow reminds not only Sikatuna, but all the play-goers, of what awaited the people of Bohol if he didn’t kiss Legazpi’s ass. Rewriting history can be a dangerous thing. So what’s next? Do they slowly wean the celebration away from the Sikatuna’s Blood Pact until eventually it becomes a commemoration of the ignored priestess, Karyapa? If so, I have the perfect name for this future celebration: The "Hindsight is 20-20 Festival!”

President Clinton and his notorious “definition of what is is” comment comes to mind when I think about what history is. To me, history IS a sacred thing; it should be about cold hard truth. My point is that history just “IS,” and just because it doesn’t conform to a modern vision of what it “should be” doesn’t mean it should be rewritten. Of course the festival should continue—it sounds like a grand time—but stay away from “correcting” the events of the past to make them more palatable to those of us in the present. It’s just not right.

My next Bohol entry will have not a single complaint or a bit of negativity in it—I promise! (Famous last words?)

My Little Trip to Bohol

I made a trip to Bohol a few weeks ago. I spent just 4 days there but what little I saw impresses me. Of course compared to where I live now almost anywhere else in the Philippines, except Manila, impresses me.

We flew into Tagbilaran, the provincial capital. Its airport is typical of all domestic Philippine airports—tiny, but plenty big enough for the new Cebu Pacific Airbus A320 and A319. There’s a reason Cebu Pacific seems to be competing so successfully in the domestic air travel market. Their planes are new, well-kept, and the crews are very professional. Even better are the low fares, as long as you book in advance. Don’t try to show up same day and get a ticket though; you’ll pay double.

The flight from Manila was around 90 minutes. From the air, Bohol looks to be mostly hills and sparsely populated. On the approach to Tagbilaran it seemed as if we were about to land on top of buildings, which continued to flash below almost right up until the moment the landing gear hit the tarmac. After collecting our luggage we made a deal (for 100 pesos) with one of the many van drivers (and taxis too for that matter) to take us on a tour of the hotels so we could pick one. The first stop was the Vest Pension House, only about ten minutes from the airport and it turned out to be good enough. We checked in. It’s not 4-star, but for the money it is plenty nice. I recommend it.

After check-in we scooted out to the nearby mall (a ten minute drive), one of two in “Tag,” or so I was told. It seems every city of any size these days has a mall, and usually two or more. I call it the “malling” of the Philippines. Funny thing about this country is that there isn’t a whole lot of industry in evidence, but there is plenty of shopping. A lot of us expats often wonder where the multitude of shoppers you see at all these malls get their spending money. Most of us imagine it comes from the thousands of overseas foreign workers (OFWs) sending their collective millions back home. Interesting how the president crows how her economic policies have lately made the peso stronger against the dollar. Puzzling, since it means the money coming in from the vaunted OFWs has that much less buying power here.

I hate malls; I hate shopping; so happily, after less than an hour, we were out of there. It was still only late afternoon so we had the driver take us out to look up Paul Bruno, an ex-pat who moved to Bohol from Angeles City out to Panglao Island, a place known for its beaches and diving resorts just down the road from Tagbilaran and across a causeway. Paul, a retired American GI, got tired of the Angeles City rat race and started up a delightful little pizza restaurant called the Powder Keg.

We found the Powder Keg well towards the end of Panglao just up from one of the resort areas at a “Y” just about at the end of the main central road. Paul welcomed us warmly and we sat down with a half-dozen of his buddies who also form part of his customer base. He said he had taken what was once a rundown building, fixed it up, and developed a successful eatery niche specializing in American style pizza (and other fare) and drinks, all at less than resort prices. The pizza was tasty, the setting restful and affable while the lower prices seem to make his place all the more appreciated by resort-goers looking for prices lower than those on the beach. Now, a community of American and Aussie retirees is developing their own little ad hoc expat subdivision, and according to Paul, life is good. As darkness crept in I regretted having to head back to Tagbilaran.

Tagbilaran is hilly just like much of the rest of what I saw of Bohol. I suppose you could call it the San Francisco of the Philippines except it’s not as attractive. Nope, not even close. Like most places here there is very little money for aesthetics. Personally though, I wish they’d find some, especially if those in charge are serious about making this country competitive in the tourist market. Oh well, just a thought. The way it is now, if you want beautiful visuals you have to get out of the towns and cities and head for the hills, countryside and coast; although I hear Vigan is beautiful. It’s on my list of places to see.

If you find yourself on Tagbilaran streets these days prepare for a bumpy ride. They are in the process of resurfacing the entire city and according to a local they have an awkward piecemeal system of doing so. The geology of Bohol that I observed is basically million-year-old coral raised up out of the sea into a myriad of hills. When the crews strip away the old concrete and asphalt down to the coral it makes for a decidedly rough driving surface. The problem is that the follow on road construction crews can take a long time (by non-Filipino standards) to get to those rough patches. Traffic has to slow way down over those areas, which makes for traffic snarls in a place that really shouldn’t have them. Probably the only people who complain are outsiders (like me), since I’ve noticed that Filipinos never complain about anything. (Why can’t I be like that?)

Okay, enough of the typical American style complaining. I really like Bohol and Tagbilaran. Although the capital city is not exactly enchanting, it is a nice place with pleasant people and I’m told it has a low crime rate. The province is a very conservative, traditionally-oriented place, even by Philippines standards, which I find very appealing. If you know me then you know how much I despise the “hip-hoppization” that has befallen the states, which has steadily eroded its mores and values. To me it seems that in general these days, people back home can’t speak without spewing profanity, everyone is angry, and MTV has over-sexualized our kids by the time they learn how to operate a remote control. I live here to get away from that stuff and Bohol seems even further from it.

And here’s an observation some might find interesting: I’ve never met a girl from Bohol in any of the bars on Fields Avenue. I’m sure there are some; I’ve just not met any. And since ALL I do when I barhop is to ask the girls mundane questions, that’s usually one of the first I ask. Whatever that says about the young ladies of Bohol I’ll leave to the reader to figure out.

I’ve got more to talk about concerning my trip to Bohol, but I think I’ll go ahead and post this now to keep the length to a “sub-novel” level. (Have a good one!)