Camerimage 2009, Łódź

01-06.12.2009

After a very busy term 5, I decided to fly to Poland to attend Camerimage. Mike had already left ahead of me, and I was really looking to get away in preparation for the coming end of term critiques.

I had an amazing time in spite of the freezing cold. I was able to watch Up In The Air before its worldwide theatrical release (and ahead of all the Oscar buzz it got; I got bummed missing Sketches of Frank Gehry). I got to attend workshops conducted by Oliver Stapleton, Don McAlpine and Tony Willis. I got to play around with the latest Arri’s and 3D cameras. They don’t lie when they say that the atmosphere in the city is electrified round about the end of November til early December. I had an amazing time despite not having a pass for the entire festival. I had so much fun I didn’t even bother taking that many pictures even though I managed to lug around my camera everywhere we went. I’m already looking forward to coming back next year.

The pictures I took and uploaded here don’t even capture half of the experience. You’d think the city was this empty shell of post-war buildings badly needing repainting. What it really is, during Camerimage, is a swarm of enthusiastic, like-minded brothers who have nothing but utmost love and appreciation for movies and movie-lovers.

Barcelona, Summer 2009

Barcelona is instantly my most favourite city. So far, at least.

When I first decided to go to Spain for a holiday, it was on a whim. It was sometime during the spring of last year after my trip with the Bajentings. It was my first time to stay in London for the holidays and so I had a lot of time on my hands. Instead of seeing more of the city though, I ended up going overseas.

I first entertained the thought when I heard that the Simon Bolivar Youth Orchestra was playing in London. I read about them long ago and was terribly impressed. That they were in London seemed too great an opportunity to pass, so I immediately looked for tickets. My close friends Nep and Tisay happened to have a stint helping the catering for their London show and they told me it’s been fully booked long before. I felt so bad missing the chance that I surfed the net and found out that they’re also having shows in Madrid and Barcelona and a few other European cities.

It was then that I started considering flying to Barcelona just in time to catch their show. It seemed outrageous at the time, but thanks to the internet, I was able to build up a solid itinerary and canvass options for airfare and lodging. Before I knew it, I was impulse buying tickets and making online reservations for a weeklong stay in Barcino.

I was sort of nervous about that because it was to be my first ever solo trip to a country that didn’t speak English primarily. I sorta knew how to speak Spanish, but it’s been so long since Span 1 & 2 with Sra. Carmen and Maita that I didn’t really trust myself to survive. Besides, I was heading for Catalunya!

The morning of my flight to Barcelona, I took a long detour to Stanford at Covent Garden, one of my favourite stores in London now, and bought myself an Encounter guide (back when it only had Barcelona, NY, Rome and Paris) and a Spanish phrasebook…and then I was off.

That turned out to be one of my most memorable and perhaps my most favourite trip ever. Barcelona had everything I was interested in – a beach, a vibrant arts scene, museums worth visiting, a mix of people comparable to London’s, grrrrrreeeaaat food, and a couple of friends who were grrrrrreeeaaat guardians (shoutout to Wil and Lola!). That I was there for six long days, by myself, made for a relaxed holiday with neither the pressure of dragging myself out of the hotel to follow someone else’s itinerary nor the annoyances or conflicts of a travel companion’s divergent whims.

I loved Barcelona so much that even after my camera got stolen on my first trip (please don’t tell my Mom), I still had fond memories of the city. Hey, at least I had the full Barna experience, yeah? The pictures posted in this album were taken during my second trip last summer, right before classes at LFS started :)

Did I mention how much I love Barcelona?

Paris, Spring 2009

23-24.05.2009

Last year, desperate to grab the first chance to step on French soil, I took the long way en route to visiting my Mom. This was back in May during the spring bank holiday. We didn’t have a class that Friday and I didn’t need to be back at school until Tuesday, so I decided to fly to Paris and from there take the night train to Bologna (which was also a first) to see my Mom.

Aside from seeing the Eiffel Tower (typical?) and watching the French Open, the trip was on the whole underwhelming, though by no means Paris’s fault. After all, I was only there for 25 hours, which simply wasn’t enough. The dearth of interesting pictures from the trip is proof of that (due in part to the fact that I couldn’t find a shop that sold a 35mm roll of film! I was incredulous at this new order of things. There wasn’t any film being sold within the 1km radius of the most visited paid monument in the world.)

At the very least, that stopover only whet my appetite for a full, genuine Parisian experience the next time the opportunity presents itself.

Venice, Summer 2009

It's now been a couple of months since I went to Venice this summer. I meant to upload the pictures earlier, but since I didn't take a lot of photographs, I had hoped to post it along with the pictures from my friends who were there for the Venice Film Festival. I didn’t receive the reinforcements I had hoped and only remembered about the pictures I took now. So here they are!

I wasn’t too keen to go back to Venice just yet since I was just there a few months earlier. It was only when Mike and George started talking about going to the Festival to watch George Romero’s new film that I thought, maybe I should go as well. I then learned that a close friend of mine who line produced the film ENGKWENTRO by Pepe Diokno was also going. That finally helped me decide, so I cut my summer holiday a few weeks early, made hasty arrangements and flew back to Venezia two days after landing in London.

I’m really glad I decided to go back. I got to see the red carpet screening of my friends’ film, and it ended up winning the Orrizonti Award for Best Film, as well as the Luigi De Laurentis Award for Best Debut Film. Thanks to Miss Amor, I got to celebrate with the filmmakers and was allowed access to some of the glamorous green rooms and victory dinners. Had I not been as shy as I was, I would also have taken the chance to have my picture taken with Ang Lee, Colin Firth, Diane Kruger, Omar Sharif, Jared Leto, and Tom Ford.

Even better than the Venice Film Festival experience, the first major film festival I've ever been to, was the chance to hang out with Mike and George. It would’ve been even better if I arrived earlier but because of the last minute bookings, I only got to spend one night and the following morning with those two. It’s so great seeing close friends from LFS outside London.

So here are the handful of pictures that I took. Nothing exciting really, but they help me remember the wonderful time I spent revisiting Venezia.

Macau

Casablanca

Our last two days saw us traveling back to where we started as our return flight to London was also to leave from Marrakech. We kind of hesitated whether or not it was worth getting off Casablanca since our research told us that there really wasn't much to see there. Initially, we had intended to get off there on our way to Fes, but our train ticket didn't allow for it. In the end, we decided to stop over on our return to Marrakech.

I'm glad we did. Thanks to our guide books (I bought a DK Eyewitness Travel, which was quite good!), we were able to decide on where we'd have lunch and which sights we were going to see. I lobbied for a visit to the Hassan II Mosque. It is the second largest religious building in the world and I also read that it is the only mosque in Morocco that allowed tourists to go in.

We arrived in Casablanca just in time for lunch and with just enough time to taxi to the mosque and catch the guided tour. Casablanca itself, aside from its antiquated popularity brought on by the Humphrey Bogart-Ingrid Bergman film, is really not much of a draw. It's the country's financial capital (comparable to our Makati), but it doesn't really look impressively modern. Nevertheless, I was mighty glad we made that stop. The mosque was simply breathtaking and on its own made that layover worthwhile.

Fes

After two days in Marrakech, we woke up early the next day to catch the train to Fes. I've always loved train rides so I actually looked forward to it even though we were effectively 'wasting' our day just traveling to Fes.

There is a robust rivalry that exists between Fes and Marrakech. We first learned about it from one of our taxi drivers in Marrakech, but even if he hadn't mentioned it, we were bound to find out. When we got to Fes, the tour guides and locals we met often boasted of the bounties and beauty of Fes, almost always at the expense of Marrakech. In many ways, though, I have to admit it was well deserved.

Off the bat, Fes struck me as more conservative compared to Marrakech. Perhaps it was partly due to its repute as the spiritual or religious capital of Morocco. Also, people here spoke less English compared to the people in Marrakech.

Unfortunately, we only had a day to experience the entire city, which was evidently ludicrous. We arrived there at night and had to leave two mornings after. With Marrakech, I felt like I've become friends with. With Fes, I felt like I was merely introduced. Fes is so rich with culture and mystery that I've already resolved to come back to get to know her better.

Not like I needed any more convincing. Morocco had me at hello.

Marrakech

Africa had always been a place I wanted to visit (along with South America). I was never interested in going to the US or Australia, but I promised myself Africa. During the spring break before this current summer term, I decided to not go home and stay put in London to see more of the city. That, of course, didn't happen as I ended up spending half the time somewhere else. 

Duke and Carol had mentioned their plan to go to Morocco to me sometime before. With no definite plans for my holiday, I decided to invite myself to their vacation. Buti na lang, mabait ang Bajentings :) Aside from buying myself roundtrip tickets to Marrakech, I left everything up to Duke & Carol. Tisay, another close Pinay friend here in London, told me how much she loved Morocco and shared insights on what we could do on our trip. She suggested that we stay in a riyadh and even offered me her contacts (which I then forwarded to Carol, the lazy oaf that I am).

We flew to Morocco during the Easter holiday. Duke and Carol took the early flight to Marrakech while I decided to take the afternoon flight so I'd have time to submit my make-or-break paper requirement in school. As usual, I was sleepless the night before I flying. Nevertheless, I couldn't get a wink of sleep on the plane ride to Marrakech. It was just too exciting, and I didn't even know why. I knew so little about Morocco that I couldn't help but ask the man sitting beside me on the plane what Morocco was like. He was an English businessman who's been there a couple of times before. He simply said the country was 'something.'

I first stepped on African soil late afternoon of April 7. It only took a whiff of Moroccan air to experience for myself the enigma of this country. It truly was something.

The Traveler (A response to Laida's question... 'Backpacker Ka Ba?')

My now Dubai-based great friend Laida linked this blog entry in her post recently. I liked it cause it provoked me to think, especially since I've always loved traveling and I've been having a fair share of it lately.

Ako? Hindi. I was never a backpacker and never will be one, I think. I can be pretty koboy (cowboy) if needed, but I wouldn't easily give up comforts if it is accessible and affordable naman. I don't find shame in admitting I like taking photos, but despite being touristy in that sense, I revel in the interaction with the locals and being shown around by one. That's the immersion I crave and aspire for in each of my travels - which, if the article is to believe, is surprisingly not present in the backpacking culture after all (at least not always).

What Babakoto (the blog owners) says in the article is that 'backpackers' don't refer to what it used to anymore. The term, and its accompanying identifiers (i.e., among other things, the backpack) has come to mean a superficial lifestyle detached from the simpler meaning it used to have - that they are people who travel with their backpacks in search of adventures and in pursuit of unplanned experiences.

"Backpackers" now refer to a community of people with a particular look, custom and conduct. (Babakoto writes about this in detail. Take time to read it, it's an entertaining observational account). Let me say early on that I take exception to that (and the coming) generalization. Nevertheless, based on my encounters, I do tend to agree with most of what was written. That description tends to be true for most Western backpackers I've come across in most of my trips, though they are admittedly far less annoying than the average tourist-tourist. I'm particularly peeved when the latter (the tourist-tourists) make no effort to speak the language, speaking louder in their same un-understandable English when lost in translation, and act as if they're clients with the locals providing services. I have to say that most backpackers do behave better than that, though not always less colonially.

Even more interesting to me is that it's also true for many Pinoy backpackers I've encountered. Ilang beses na nakakasabay ko sa mga local biyahe ko yung backpackers na alam na alam yung pupuntahan nila. They have inside knowledge of the locale: the language, customs, where to go, eat, drink, and snatch the best quality drugs. They too find satisfaction in not being the average bakasyonista (vacationer). They've been here before, or at the very least, they're not here for shallow reasons like seeing tourist attractions. They do shun the cursory trip to the hanging coffins, Chocolate Hills, henna tattoo stall or Burnham Park. Yet frequently, they are still regarded as outsiders. A much friendlier bunch who discriminate less, perhaps, but outsiders nonetheless. In the article, Babakoto wrote:

"...in the unfortunate situation that (they) have to take a local bus, (they) seclude (themselves) as much as possible from the local people by wearing (their) Rayban sunglasses and putting the earphones of (their) iPod in (their) ears. Subsequently (they) sink unashamed in (their) seat, and put (their) feet with coal black soles, at the arm rest of the seat in front of (them)."

It's funny because that image is so vivid, whether talking about foreign or local backpackers. It is this lack of discretion, however welcomed and knowledgeable about the locals the backpacker is, that makes him no different from the average tourist. The fact that he stands out makes him an outsider, and the sad part of it is however he thinks otherwise, he still is.

All this, of course, is arguable. One might also say that my agreement with the article is a reaction to non-inclusion, especially since there seems to be an existing condescension backpackers have toward other kinds of travelers. However, I find validity infered by the Babakoto article. It is indeed curious that while backpackers celebrate the value of travel and discovery, it seems quite ironic that they make great effort in maintaining exclusivity and the subscription to an image, to the extent that they often miss out on an undeniably important aspect of travel: the 'nuanced understanding' of cultures, places, and people previously unknown.

Once I took an online quiz once which concluded that I'm a 'leisure traveler.' I suppose that's true. Di ako backpacker-cool! I don't belong to that community. Pero okay lang naman.

That's not to say that I'm any better, but I do aspire for experiences that transcend that of an outsider. I don't always succeed. In fact, often times, I fail miserably. After all, it's hard not getting overwhelmed by sights, sounds and people that confront you for the first time. I remember how in Camiguin, we befriended a local who owned a very modest videoke-bar-sari-sari store. We kept coming back to her place to drink and enjoy the videoke. We truly felt welcome and liked. By that virtue, one could think that he's a cut better than the average turista, but all we truly were was an inconvenience - keeping her up past her normal closing (and sleeping) time. However she enjoyed our singing and genial gestures, we were outsiders and her time with us was a an aberration in her life.

What I can say is I definitely try to transcend being an outsider and find fulfillment in a genuine immersion. On another occasion naman, while sharing bottles of beer with our tour guides in Batanes, I remember them telling me and my friends:

"E iba naman kayo, syempre. Quality tourists kayo e."

Quality nga, tourists pa rin! And there I thought we were being backpacker-ish na. Still, I guess that's a step closer to the kind of interaction I aspire for. What I'm really saying is that being a backpacker does not guarantee that you're better than an average tourist - not in that respect. It doesn't really matter how you prefer to go about your journeys, but it would sure be great if however you do it, you come out changed and inspired by it. That's the one aspect that doesn't always survive in all of it e. Whether it changes you by galvanizing you to change something in the community you visit or the one you belong to, making you less of a bigot, or simply making you more understanding of those who are, what would be most ideal is that you change. Otherwise, we squander the privilege travel affords - connecting with and learning from people and experiences.

For One Night Only

Pardon the self-indulgence... Couldn't resist sharing my dear, dear friend's wedding to her dear, dear man. Ended up taking loads of pictures (the ones here aren't even half of it) as an attempt to maximize my one night only visit back home.

I'm glad to be part of this celebration. Teta's the first to wed among theCouncil, and I just couldn't fathom the idea of not being there to celebrate the happiest day of her life. She kicks off a year of weddings in the barkada... Lex & Pat, and Concep & Dodie, and quite possibly, Joni & Poch within the coming months.

The funnest part was GENUINELY surprising Kristel. I managed to successfully keep my attendance a secret... The sad part was it only made me miss home more. I kept hoping I didn't have to fly back so soon. Oh, and that yet again, we failed to complete the Council (miss you Jean!).

After the wedding, we left the couple to enjoy consummating their marriage (we're all pretending it's their first carnal encounter, hehe)... while the rest of the Council and our entourage continued the celebrations at Red Box. Sabi nga ni Kristel, I went home for her wedding, and karaoke. Haha!

Congrats and best wishes, Aberillas! Teta, I love you so, so much! Thanks to the Council and their better halves. Thanks to my beloved Batch Sherlyn for sleeping over and Norms for watching You Changed My Life (again) with me, and to both for having breakfast with me at Tierra de la Torre. Lex, can't wait to come back home for you!

Bologna

I spent a total of ten days in Italy. As my stay there came to a close, I spent most of it in Bologna, where it all began.

My Mom and I spent New Year's eve at her place. She actually managed to squeeze in some work in the day, leaving me in her apartment to sleep in and catch some much needed rest. I woke up in the afternoon but went immediately back to bed after having a terrible migraine attack (a nasty prelude to something great).

Later that evening, my mom and I had dinner, a pretty uneventful New Year's eve celebration. She was in bed by 9PM, and I spent the rest of the night surfing the net. I took a shower 15 minutes before midnight, just in time to dress in some decent clothes and wake my mom up to greet her a happy new year. She woke up, returned my greeting with a kiss, and fell right back to sleep. For my part, I slipped back into my pyjamas and hit the sack.

The following day, I realized why I had that migraine. I woke up with everything blanketed in snow.

My first white Christmas!

It totally compensated for the lackluster night previous :)

We then visited Santuario di Madonna di San Luca in the afternoon, had a coffee date with Tita Lina (Mom's best friend) in the evening, and was treated to dinner and a movie (Natale in Rio) by Luca later still that night.

I left in the afternoon the following day, January 2.

It was tiring indeed, but oh-so-worth it. I couldn't have thought up a better way of saying goodbye to Bologna, and the rest of Italia.

Lugano é Milano

After a being pleasantly saturated by Italy the previous days, my Mom and I decided to rest on my sixth day in Italy. That gave us renewed energy for the following day, when Luigi decided to take me across the Italian border to the Lugano, a lovely, quiet town in Switzerland. I would've wanted to explore more of Italy but Luigi wanted me to see another country.

Lugano is perhaps not uniquely representative of the Swiss culture. Being so close to Italy, it is significantly influenced by its southern neighbor. For one, many people here speaks Italian as well. Nevertheless, the difference between Lugano and the towns and cities of Italy are notable. Lugano felt... calmer. Then again, anything put beside anything Italian would always look calmer! (I do say that with much affection Ü ). Besides, it was refreshing to see the Alps and be introduced to Switzerland.

After having lunch and roaming the streets of Lugano, we took a short drive back to Italia and in a couple of hours found ourselves at the fashion capital of the world, Milano.

Though it is richest city in the most developed region of Italy, Milano paled a bit in comparison to the other cities I've been - not that I've been to so many or explored them extensively. Based on what I've read and my Mom and Luigi's impression of this city, what makes Milan alluring is really the posh and modern lifestyle of its dwellers. It is therefore more urban than the most of Italy, and in that sense, it is a lot like London.

My mom, as expected, took me to the most iconic of Milano's tourist stops. The Duomo. Just long enough for a picture, actually. I didn't even get to go inside. We actually spent a longer time in the LV shop on Via Montenapoleone (where my Mom bought me an iPhone case to remember Milano by - so no complaints).

I chalked it up as another teaser and promised to go back. Then it was back to good ol' Bologna.

Roma

It was Sunday, my fifth day in Italy, and Mom had scheduled another trip.

Frankly, I was already exhausted by then. This was to be our third straight day of sight seeing and I haven't really had enough rest from the preceding two days. It was, however, Roma. Where the Vatican was. One of the most ancient cities in the world. Perhaps it's most historically preserved.

I could've asked for a day of respite, but I wouldn't pass up on the opportunity to hear Sunday mass at heart of the Catholic faith now, would I? Besides, my Mom had deftly orchestrated it so she could grant me my request to hear mass in Rome, which I remember now as the only specific thing I asked from her.

And so in spite of stiff calves and travel-weary souls, we ditched the car and took the train to la capitale di Italia.

Rome was... overwhelming. I believe it's a city that will exceed anyone's expectation. Every corner was worth exploring, every street seemed to be a trove of historical treasures. A few hours there was enough to make a mark on you, but not nearly enough for to give justice to your visit. I vowed to return and just get carelessly lost in this intricate and fascinating city.

Venezia

Italy celebrates the feast of Santo Stefano on December 26. Because it is an official holiday, families' Christmas celebrations usually spill over to this day, but Luigi generously spent it driving and accompanying me and my Mom to the bewitching city of Venezia.

I didn't know what my itinerary was when I arrived in Italy (neither did my mom, I think), but the moment we stepped on Cannaregio, I immediately thought it will be impossible to top the charming islands that comprise Veneto's capital.

Despite it being a holiday, there were many tourists that day, but not annoyingly so. In fact, it was a lovely day to be walking the streets and exploring the canals of Venice as it was both sunny and cool, busy but not crazy, the shops closed, but the place not empty. It was indeed a charming contradiction of the old and commercial. I promised myself I'd go back and spend a few more days and nights there - hopefully, to celebrate Carnevale as well :)

Christmas with Mom :)

I flew out of Manila on December 23 and arrived in Rome on the 24th. By the time my Mom and her friend Luigi met me at Bologna's airport, it was already past noon.

It was my first time to spend Christmas with my Mom in Italy. The hysteria of my homecoming in the Philippines didn't prepare me for this immediately succeeding trip, and so I was quite in a daze when I got to my Mom's house. I didn't realize what a big deal it was until later that evening, when my excited mom drove me to Bologna's Piazza Maggiore as an aperitivo for the Christmas Eve celebration. We walked along her favorite favorite streets (meaning, her favorite shops), and had hot chocolate in her favorite bar.

All of a sudden, I was overwhelmed by everything Italian - the land, the people, the weather, the culture, the lifestyle, and my Mom blending ever so effortlessly in all of it. It's so amusing to see her shaken out of it whenever my presence reminds her that unlike the mother, the son is a tourist.

Since we didn't have big plans for Noche Buena, my mom offered to take me to a Christmas Eve mass. She called her best friend in Bologna, TIta Lina, and they attended the Christmas Mass with me. It was a big deal since my Mom herself proclaims that she doesn't go to Mass (she insists she likes praying on her own - mas personal daw kasi). It was an added bonus to find out that the Mass was being celebrated in Tagalog. It seemed like the whole Filipino community of Bologna was in that church that night.

After that, Noche Buena was spent over a modest meal of sandwiches, but my Mom and I stayed up for a few hours talking as Christmas Day got off to a mellow start.

The next day, we woke up at noon and went to her friend Luigi's house in the outskirts of Bologna. We celebrated a bona fide Italian Christmas with Luigi and his family.

Ahhh... La vita é bella :)

Buon Natale!

Balikbayan (Unang Yugto)

My bursting-at-the seams summer holiday-slash-Pinas homecoming (depending on which side of the globe you'd like to see it), last 22 August to 04 September 2008. Celebrating momentous occasions and touching base with the important people in my life :) Best to let the photographs speak for themselves.

The Butanding Experience

This trip to Bicol was one of my last out of town trips before I left for London. We were originally aiming to get all the Manila-based Council members to go, but Concep was also going to Legaspi the following weekend and Jean found out that she was already dilated despite only being 7 months along (she’s given birth to a baby boy last June 5 – Council’s first baby!). In the end, it was just me, Alexa and Joni who went.

We decided to fly in to Legaspi instead of taking a 12-hour bus ride. We arrived early Saturday and was met by Joni's sister Joan and brother-in-law Neil at Bicol's pride, Bigg's. After breakfast, we took a quick side-trip to Cagsawa. That was really for Alexa who was the only one who hasn't been there. Unfortunately, we only got to see the majestic Mayon for a few minutes as clouds quickly covered it up. (Malas kasi si Alexa - everytime nililingon nya yung Mayon, natatakpan). What's most striking though is how much the surrounding areas have changed. Upon getting there, we were greeted by kids who hawked pictures of both the Cagsawa ruins from decades before, when more of the buried church's tower was intact, as well as pictures of the devastation caused by the typhoon Milenyo. It’s tragic how badly affected the area was, but it’s amazing, almost miraculous, how the flash floods from Mayon seemed to avoid the Cagsawa ruin itself.

We went to Tiwi right after our quick detour and had lunch at Joni’s house. After a quick nap, we cooled down with the famous DJ’s halo-halo. Our agenda for the afternoon was Corangon Island off the coast of Tiwi. It was a small sand bar (smaller than the white beach sand bar of Camiguin, in fact) at the point where the tides seem to converge from different directions, which I suspected was the reason why that sand bar existed in the middle of the sea even though it was considerably far from the mainland shore.

The local government of Tiwi is very protective of the sand bar that they actually prohibit visits to Corangon. We were lucky to be with Joni’s mom and sister who were well-connected in Tiwi. After asking permission from the baranggay council, we spent the rest of the afternoon on Corangon. It didn’t have any structure at all so we had to bring our own umbrella and picnic mats, plus our afternoon merienda (snacks) of course. We had a great time despite the searing heat of the summer sun. The beach was lovely, and from the island, we had a beautiful view of the Mayon (well, beautiful if not for Alexa’s malas, which kept the volcano hidden behind clouds all day).

Later that afternoon, we attended Mass in Tiwi (which meant that I heard it in Bicolano). After which, I drove the Mosatallas’ family car to Tabaco to have dinner in a local videoke bar/restaurant with Lex and Joni. We retired at around 10PM only to wake up three hours later for our Donsol trip. We had to leave really early since the butandings were in the province of Sorsogon, while Tiwi was actually in Albay.

Chauffeured by Joni’s cousin Kuya Jake, we made it to the Butanding Visitors’ Center in Baranggay Dancalan at 7AM. Joni’s Bicolana alindog failed to get the registration fee waived, but we didn’t mind. Though there were only three of us to split the cost, we gladly forked out around P4000 for the registration and the boat and equipment rental. We were that confident every cent would be worth it. After all, our primary agenda was to see the butandings.

The outrigger boat took us to the middle of the ocean as our BIOman (Butanding Interaction Officer) ran us through a quick orientation. His most important reminder: Don’t panic! After drilling that in our heads, we put on our floater vests and were no sooner on the lookout for the whale sharks.

Within ten minutes of being at sea, our Bioman rallied us to the edge of the boat for what was to be our first encounter. At his signal, the four of us jumped off the boat at the same time, submerged our masked faces underwater and frantically scanned the dark depths for the gentle giants.

And there it was… our first butanding.

He was swimming in our direction a couple of feet below us. It was a magnificent sight, and it was an incredible feeling to be in its presence. Interestingly, like John Rae said of his experience, I wasn’t scared, which was what I expected to be. Instead, I felt I overwhelmed and in awe of… it. Or perhaps, overwhelmed and in awe of the moment - that we were swimming along side this extraordinary creature. The butanding was massive, yet unbelievably gentle. It was about 8 to 9 meters, our Bioman later told us. It was huge enough to gobble us up, but we excitedly swam with it, matching its pace and swimming right on top of it for a few minutes.

The butandings may frequent Donsol, but tourists are not always assured of an encounter. Our Bioman told us how some tourists spend all day at sea and go home without seeing a single one. So even though the interaction officers aim for exclusive encounters for every boat, they sometimes resort to sharing a butanding to ensure that all the tourists go home satisfied.

That’s what made that encounter truly special. Not only was it our first, it was also the only time in the trip when we had a butanding all to ourselves. Our next encounters were all shared with the other foreign and local tourists.

I remember in 2003, when I first visited Donsol, there used to be this life-sized replica of a whale shark at the Butanding Visitors’ Center. I didn’t quite trust its accuracy, thinking it was probably an impressionistic version thought up by the locals. The spray-painted patterns on the butanding model made it look, well, artificial. Our Bioman eventually told us that aside from the size, these patterns were how they distinguished one butanding from the other. In reality, the patterns on the butanding pretty much looked as it did on the model, though the real-life butanding looked so much better of course. With its imposing size and contrastingly mild demeanor, it just felt surreal to be in the water with them. I think my exact sound bite was, “unreal.” Something about the silence while swimming with a butanding underwater made it seem like a solemn affair.

On our third encounter, I decided to take off my life vest so I could swim freely. That was perhaps my best encounter, as I was able to swim with the butanding for what felt like forever (which in reality was probably only around 10 minutes). Our Bioman, Alexa, Joni, and I started out swimming with the other tourists, and by the end of it, I was by myself. I would’ve gone on tirelessly had the butanding not decided to swim deeper and out of sight. It was calming swimming with the butanding. It didn’t even occur to me how far from the boat I was, and how deep the water was.

Since the whale sharks swam so close to us, we had to resist the urge to just reach out and touch them. We truly were tempted, but we never attempted. At the end part of our 7th encounter, our Bioman gave us a treat. He took Alexa and Joni’s hand and made them touch our 7th butanding. Syempre, I followed suit :) (For those going there, I wouldn't advise you do the same though...)

Our 8th encounter was the biggest butanding we met, I think. More than 12 meters, our Bioman said. In total, we had 10 encounters in three and a half hours, which was pretty good. Exceptional even, our Bioman said. Despite having 10 encounters, however, we actually met just nine butandings. Our last two encounters were with the same butanding called “Lambing.” He seemed to be the most comfortable in swimming with humans. He swam undauntedly and really close to the surface. So close that we had to struggle to avoid kicking him. I was afraid that if I kicked one of them, they’d hate us humans and migrate to Australia, denying us Pinoys of the privilege of swimming with them. (Our Bioman said that there are also sightings in Australia, but tourists there can’t swim with them. They only get to see the whale sharks from helicopters).

I think the only time I ever felt scared was on our last encounter, when we jumped right in front of Lambing. That would’ve been okay since that already happened a few times before. What made that 10th encounter different was Lambing was feeding on planktons at the time, and so he had his huge mouth wide open, and swimming toward us. I had to let go of Lex as I scrambled to steer clear of its path. Luckily, he didn’t suck us in. I can’t imagine what would’ve happened if we didn’t get out of the way. Certainly his mouth was big enough to swallow my feeble body. I actually wondered if he would’ve choked on me if that happened.

We enjoyed the butandings so much that we decided to stay in Donsol instead of heading back to Legaspi. We found a reasonably priced homestay lodging along the main road. There we met some European backpackers and lunched and dined on home cooked meals. Later in the afternoon, we went for a walk around town. Donsol was busy preparing for the Butanding Festival the following week. There was in fact a basketball tournament and carnival (read: perya) rides and games at the town plaza. We sampled those in the evening, after we went firefly watching in the river.

That whole Bicol trip was special. Swimming with the butandings, in particular, was just magical. Profound. Priceless. Miss Maya and Sid Lucero said something similar when swam with the whale sharks during the filming of Donsol (directed by my friend Adolf). You can’t help but be humbled by how a creature this great could be so gentle. I’m glad I insisted on going to Donsol before leaving the Philippines. I kept telling Alexa and Joni that we had to go there soon, afraid that Mount Isarog & Mayon’s eruptions would affect the biodiversity in that area and drive away these welcome visitors. I would’ve tragically regretted it if that happened without me ever experiencing how it was like to swim with the butanding.