Adventures from another era: the Philippines in 1984
These rice terraces are stunning—actually, when you compare them to Régis’s photos, not much has changed in the countryside! 😮
Of course, if you don’t look too closely at the details! 😉
Adventures of Another Time: The Philippines in 1984
Episode 4: Negros Island... not just good memories
Between the Sierra Madre and Bacolod, our next destination, we had one night to spend in Manila, and obviously, we hadn’t planned on returning to the cockroach-infested hotel run by Indians.
Since we’d decided not to do anything the normal way, we got a surprise at our new hotel: I obviously don’t remember which neighborhood we ended up in or what the hotel looked like, but I do remember what happened next. We walk into this hotel, and the guy (who seemed normal enough?) takes us up to the floors... and then we get this weird feeling when we see the decor and the colors in the hallways. We keep going anyway, enter the room, and our hunch is confirmed: we’re in a love hotel!!! Neither of us was used to these kinds of places, but we recognized it right away 🙁 We quickly left for another hotel, which I don’t remember at all—it must’ve been "normal," meaning no cockroaches, no girls, no drug or arms dealers... just a real hotel, you know?
Negros Island was our next destination, planned from the start. One of our friends was in touch with a Filipino who lived in Bacolod. They’d been writing letters to each other (the thing that existed between parchment and email) and had never met or even spoken on the phone (calls to the Philippines cost a fortune back then). When we told him about our trip, he was thrilled at the idea of meeting his pen pal (let’s call him Tonio since I’ve obviously forgotten his real name) through us, and we didn’t hesitate for a second.
So we went to the airport and bought flight tickets to Bacolod on Negros Island. As always, I had my Opinel No. 9 with me (35 years later, I still travel with an Opinel No. 9—I really like this great product made near home), for cutting pineapples, mangoes, and other fruits. At the police checkpoint, I swapped it for a ticket I’d have to present in Bacolod to get my Opinel back.
After a flight on an old propeller plane (not a nice, modern, safe turboprop like an ATR), we arrived on Negros Island, which I have pretty bad memories of for several reasons, as you’ll see. The propeller plane and that little airport surrounded by coconut trees reminded me of Buck Danny in the Pacific Islands... sorry for the reference, but that was my first impression of Negros. 30 years later, tiny airports like that still exist, especially in Indonesia, as we’ve seen many times (Makian, Daruba, Ende, Ambon...).
I went to the office they’d pointed out to get my Opinel back... and was shocked: laid out on a long table were pistols, machetes, machine guns, and things that looked like them (I’m no firearms expert, but from what I remember, they looked like the guns you see on TV after every mass shooting in the U.S.)!! The guy(s) in charge of returning the weapons had a good laugh when they saw my little knife😉 As I mentioned at the start of my travel journal, carrying weapons was legal at the time.
Then we went straight to Tonio’s place by taxi, tuk-tuk, or something similar. He lived on a street not far from the center. When we found his house, he was shocked to see us, even though he’d been expecting us since he’d gotten a letter saying we’d be coming sometime in May, without an exact date.
He was about 25 years old and lived with his brothers and sisters in his parents’ modest wooden house:
I think he was an English student (was there even a university in Bacolod in 1984? When I remember how miserable that city was, I don’t think it was possible) who’d been put in touch with Jean.
He dreamed of Paris like so many people around the world. He asked us tons of questions about Jean, who lived in Paris. His mother made us a meal... I don’t know how, but I still remember a vegetable omelet!!!
We took a quick trip to the market so he could proudly tell all his friends that people from Paris had come to see him (we’re not from Paris, but that didn’t matter). Mangosteens, rambutans, and the amazing durian with its nauseating smell😛
durians:
I don’t remember what it looked like, but we visited the cathedral in the central square. Pope John Paul II had visited two years earlier, and everyone there was so proud of it. The cathedral had been completely renovated, while the colonial buildings around it were faded but still charming. As soon as you left the square, though, it was pure poverty.
The city tour was quick, and we got a surprise when we returned to Tonio’s place: he asked us when we were going back to Paris—*with him*!!!! To say we were surprised is an understatement I’ve forgotten the details, but to him, we’d come to the Philippines to take him back to France. He told us he’d never been on a plane, that it was going to be amazing, that he couldn’t wait to go up the Eiffel Tower, etc. I don’t remember how the rest of the conversation went, but we didn’t know what to say. He’d already told his whole family he was leaving for Paris. What’s certain is that we didn’t dare tell him it wasn’t happening... so we cowardly fled
Who told us about Manbukal? No idea. An hour by jeepney, it’s the starting point for jungle hikes with the option to climb a volcano. So we fled Tonio and Bacolod, saying we’d be back in 2 or 3 days... we never returned.
At the end of a small road, deep in the forest, there were 3 or 4 wooden cabins with gaps between the planks, a pool, and a not-so-clean little eatery: that was Manbukal! I looked it up online, and now there’s a resort, lodges with pools—it’s become touristy.
The plains of Negros on the way up to Manbukal:
We wondered once again why we’d come to this gloomy place. The daily jeepney had left, so we were stuck there for at least one night. Our morale was at rock bottom, but it was about to get worse!!! Luckily, we weren’t alone. A group of five young people (four teens and a girl barely younger than us) were staying in another cabin and offered to take us for a walk in the jungle to see some waterfalls, which we happily accepted.
We naively thought we could climb the volcano above, but it was impossible without a guide (we thought we’d find one there). Plus, we quickly realized what hiking in the jungle really meant.
The canopy trees were enormous, the heat was oppressive, the humidity was at its max, and all the animal noises made the forest loud and sometimes scary. We were afraid of stepping on a snake with every step, and when we sat down, huge spiders would approach... the hike quickly became exhausting. A few hours in that hell was enough for us
Relieved, we returned to Manbukal, where we couldn’t have imagined what was waiting for us.
Our trip (on Earth?) could’ve ended right there. The terrifying evening and the night of discomfort we were about to experience weren’t exactly what you’d expect from a beautiful tropical trip😎
Between the Sierra Madre and Bacolod, our next destination, we had one night to spend in Manila, and obviously, we hadn’t planned on returning to the cockroach-infested hotel run by Indians.
Since we’d decided not to do anything the normal way, we got a surprise at our new hotel: I obviously don’t remember which neighborhood we ended up in or what the hotel looked like, but I do remember what happened next. We walk into this hotel, and the guy (who seemed normal enough?) takes us up to the floors... and then we get this weird feeling when we see the decor and the colors in the hallways. We keep going anyway, enter the room, and our hunch is confirmed: we’re in a love hotel!!! Neither of us was used to these kinds of places, but we recognized it right away 🙁 We quickly left for another hotel, which I don’t remember at all—it must’ve been "normal," meaning no cockroaches, no girls, no drug or arms dealers... just a real hotel, you know?
Negros Island was our next destination, planned from the start. One of our friends was in touch with a Filipino who lived in Bacolod. They’d been writing letters to each other (the thing that existed between parchment and email) and had never met or even spoken on the phone (calls to the Philippines cost a fortune back then). When we told him about our trip, he was thrilled at the idea of meeting his pen pal (let’s call him Tonio since I’ve obviously forgotten his real name) through us, and we didn’t hesitate for a second.
So we went to the airport and bought flight tickets to Bacolod on Negros Island. As always, I had my Opinel No. 9 with me (35 years later, I still travel with an Opinel No. 9—I really like this great product made near home), for cutting pineapples, mangoes, and other fruits. At the police checkpoint, I swapped it for a ticket I’d have to present in Bacolod to get my Opinel back.
After a flight on an old propeller plane (not a nice, modern, safe turboprop like an ATR), we arrived on Negros Island, which I have pretty bad memories of for several reasons, as you’ll see. The propeller plane and that little airport surrounded by coconut trees reminded me of Buck Danny in the Pacific Islands... sorry for the reference, but that was my first impression of Negros. 30 years later, tiny airports like that still exist, especially in Indonesia, as we’ve seen many times (Makian, Daruba, Ende, Ambon...).
I went to the office they’d pointed out to get my Opinel back... and was shocked: laid out on a long table were pistols, machetes, machine guns, and things that looked like them (I’m no firearms expert, but from what I remember, they looked like the guns you see on TV after every mass shooting in the U.S.)!! The guy(s) in charge of returning the weapons had a good laugh when they saw my little knife😉 As I mentioned at the start of my travel journal, carrying weapons was legal at the time.
Then we went straight to Tonio’s place by taxi, tuk-tuk, or something similar. He lived on a street not far from the center. When we found his house, he was shocked to see us, even though he’d been expecting us since he’d gotten a letter saying we’d be coming sometime in May, without an exact date.
He was about 25 years old and lived with his brothers and sisters in his parents’ modest wooden house:
I think he was an English student (was there even a university in Bacolod in 1984? When I remember how miserable that city was, I don’t think it was possible) who’d been put in touch with Jean.
He dreamed of Paris like so many people around the world. He asked us tons of questions about Jean, who lived in Paris. His mother made us a meal... I don’t know how, but I still remember a vegetable omelet!!!
We took a quick trip to the market so he could proudly tell all his friends that people from Paris had come to see him (we’re not from Paris, but that didn’t matter). Mangosteens, rambutans, and the amazing durian with its nauseating smell😛
durians:
I don’t remember what it looked like, but we visited the cathedral in the central square. Pope John Paul II had visited two years earlier, and everyone there was so proud of it. The cathedral had been completely renovated, while the colonial buildings around it were faded but still charming. As soon as you left the square, though, it was pure poverty.
The city tour was quick, and we got a surprise when we returned to Tonio’s place: he asked us when we were going back to Paris—*with him*!!!! To say we were surprised is an understatement I’ve forgotten the details, but to him, we’d come to the Philippines to take him back to France. He told us he’d never been on a plane, that it was going to be amazing, that he couldn’t wait to go up the Eiffel Tower, etc. I don’t remember how the rest of the conversation went, but we didn’t know what to say. He’d already told his whole family he was leaving for Paris. What’s certain is that we didn’t dare tell him it wasn’t happening... so we cowardly fled
Who told us about Manbukal? No idea. An hour by jeepney, it’s the starting point for jungle hikes with the option to climb a volcano. So we fled Tonio and Bacolod, saying we’d be back in 2 or 3 days... we never returned.
At the end of a small road, deep in the forest, there were 3 or 4 wooden cabins with gaps between the planks, a pool, and a not-so-clean little eatery: that was Manbukal! I looked it up online, and now there’s a resort, lodges with pools—it’s become touristy.
The plains of Negros on the way up to Manbukal:
We wondered once again why we’d come to this gloomy place. The daily jeepney had left, so we were stuck there for at least one night. Our morale was at rock bottom, but it was about to get worse!!! Luckily, we weren’t alone. A group of five young people (four teens and a girl barely younger than us) were staying in another cabin and offered to take us for a walk in the jungle to see some waterfalls, which we happily accepted.
We naively thought we could climb the volcano above, but it was impossible without a guide (we thought we’d find one there). Plus, we quickly realized what hiking in the jungle really meant.
The canopy trees were enormous, the heat was oppressive, the humidity was at its max, and all the animal noises made the forest loud and sometimes scary. We were afraid of stepping on a snake with every step, and when we sat down, huge spiders would approach... the hike quickly became exhausting. A few hours in that hell was enough for us
Relieved, we returned to Manbukal, where we couldn’t have imagined what was waiting for us.
Our trip (on Earth?) could’ve ended right there. The terrifying evening and the night of discomfort we were about to experience weren’t exactly what you’d expect from a beautiful tropical trip😎
