On Vagrancy and Prostitution

Recent amendments to Article No. 202 of the Revised Penal Code (circa 1932) repealed those "anti-poor" provisions on vagrancy. No longer will a person loitering in public, wandering about without visible means of support, or an idle person with no reasonable means of subsistence be arrested or penalized. Pending cases for vagrancy shall be dismissed and people currently incarcerated for vagrancy shall be released. Even ruffians and pimps, or those who habitually associate with prostitutes are absolved of any liability. However, the provision criminalizing so-called "prostitutes", defined as "women who for money or profit, habitually indulge in sexual intercourse or lascivious conduct," was retained.

The primary consideration should be a unique perspective on law-making which should change the mindset of people. Legislation tackling prostitution should address the demand-side and curb the demand by punishing even the “attempt” to buy services. Clients and customers should also be the ones criminalized and prosecuted, not the prostituted women and children. More importantly, prostituted women and children should be looked upon as the “victims” that they really are.

There are several takes on prostitution legislation, and one strategy is to actually “legalize” the sex trade as it is in the Netherlands, Australia, Germany and Thailand. However, this would entail an in-depth discussion about sexuality issues within the State, including sexual practices. It would require the introduction of clear measures to regulate the industry, that would include the implementation of programs and services for prostituted women and children “after the harm has been done”, i.e. issuance of Identification Cards, regular medical-check-ups, accessible health information and services.

This practical approach actually acknowledges the issue of gender equality, and recognizes the inherent economic vulnerability of women. But women are subject to numerous other “vulnerabilities” and legalizing prostitution does not necessarily translate into economic stability or financial security. On the other hand, it has certain “de-humanizing” effects that result in long-term implications like stigmatization, as well as short-term implications, i.e. risk of STDs/STIs, HIV/AIDS, pregnancy.

Legalization of prostitution is a take-off from the concept of sexual liberation. It caters to the idea that it is “empowering” for women to be in prostitution as a source of livelihood. But even as they portray it as a matter of personal “choice” to engage in the sex trade, we must consider also that some life decisions are made depending on the only available options to a person. Various factors actually “force” them to make that decision or choice. As such, note that prostitution apologists always fail to consider that the option is not a viable choice for MEN.

Prostitution must be looked at for the reality that it is-a form of male violence. Trafficking and sexual exploitation are forms of oppression and subordination. Prostitution is enforced sexual slavery, greatly contrary to the standard of respect for human rights and dignity. Thus, there are actually no “prostitutes” or “sex workers”, only females “exploited through prostitution”.

The current situation of women in the sex industry is characterized by political oppression, violence and inequality. Criminalization of prostituted women and children as well as other derogatory policies still remain. Legislation to address the issue of prostitution must likewise aim to change these.

Firstly, there must be a clear political vision to change the mindset of people. What must be addressed is the “culture” of sexual exploitation of women and children. Hence, legislators and leaders must have the political will to face this issue and learn to prioritize it in their agendas. Continuous education and information campaigns, as well as trainings which actually have “attitude-changing” results especially among police officers and judges. The government must also develop and implement comprehensive social services and “exit” programs for formerly exploited women and children who “survived” the sex industry. Finally, legislation which criminalize participants in the sex trade should go after the owners and operators of these brothels and sex dens and bear down on them HARD with the full force of the law.

R-Rights Call on the Phil Mission to Geneva

The Philippines’ has one of the most vibrant Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual and Transgender (LGBT) advocacy movements in Asia. Filipino LGBT rights activists are also known to be the most vigilant and progressive human rights defenders in the country. And there is a reason for all this hard work - Filipino LGBTs still suffer numerous instances of discrimination and violence in their daily lives. Homophobia and gender stereotyping borne of religious prejudice and a patriarchal society have allowed injustices against sexual minorities to be propagated. Children with homosexual tendencies are subjected by their own parents to corporal punishment that already constitute child abuse, LGBT youth are disciplined or expelled by officials of private schools run by religious denominations, educated and skilled LGBTs are unable to get employment or obtain a as source of livelihood to sustain themselves and their families. Of late, instances of bullying of LGBT youth by peers and school officials have increased, and documented killings of LGBTs have shown a shocking number of attacks and deaths. And yet, the Anti-discrimination bill being proposed in Congress has continued to languish.

On March 7, 2012, the United Nations Human Rights Council will have a special panel on sexual orientation and gender identity (SOGI). This is both a ground-breaking and monumental event for LGBTs around the world, especially for those risking their lives everyday. But since the Philippine Government has yet to adopt a clear human rights framework that is inclusive of sexual minorities and explicitly addresses human rights violations on the basis of sexual orientation and gender identity (SOGI), we cannot expect a statement from the Philippine Mission to Geneva. Such representation by the Philippines can be a big disappointment for the whole Filipino LGBT Community who know all too well the discrimination and violence one can be subjected to, including the risk of being killed in a hate crime.

Rainbow Rights Project hopes for a more supportive position from the Philippine diplomatic missions to participate in UN panels on special human rights concerns of LGBTs. R-Rights strongly enjoins the Philippine Government to finally have a national policy for protecting the rights of Filipino LGBTs and to pass appropriate legislations that will address our unique concerns. In fact, with the Philippines’ reputation of abiding by international human rights standards and complying with our obligations under human rights conventions, adopting such a national policy tackling sexual orientation and gender identity would not be contrary to any international human rights principle or our Constitution. Rainbow Rights only asks that the Philippine Government finally acknowledges the existence of the Filipino LGBT Community and that as sexual minorities, they have human rights entitled to State protection.

During his campaign for the Presidency, PNoy was one of the candidates to openly declare that LGBTs have human rights too and should not be discriminated against. With President Aquino’s ascension to the country’s highest leadership, Rainbow Rights now calls on this promise to be fulfilled through all branches of government.

Bicolandia

It wasn’t my first time to visit region 5. I was in Legaspi City sometime in 2005, and was stranded in Naga City for 3 days during Typhoon Ondoy’s onslaught. However, I never got to enjoy the sites and scenery of the great Daragang Magayon. But before 2011 ended, I was offered another opportunity to enjoy Bicolandia via an official assignment with the day-job. I wasn’t too keen on the work, so I consoled myself with the idea that I will get to travel for free and visit an exciting new place. Maybe I will finally see Mt. Mayon’s legendary perfect cone, a sight reserved for so-called “virgins”, whatever that means.

The Legaspi airport was familiar; still too small for aircrafts and notorious for cancelled flights because of the clouds. Zooming into the city proper, I noticed a new tourist spot by the boulevard, the newly developed “Embarcadero”. I made a mental note to make sure I visit the place since it was just a few blocks away from our hotel. While we were initially billeted at Hotel St. Ellis, we were eventually transferred to Tychee Hotel, a “boutique” hotel touted as the city’s newest and fanciest lodging place. That’s another plus, because the last time I was in Legaspi, the Vice-Governor made us stay at the Governor’s mansion, a Marcos-Era infrastructure whose grandeur also reflects its ghosts (literally).

Although the hotel failed to provide me a map or a brochure of local tourist spots, I had already done my research and was happy to note that a local church famous for its altar made from hardened lava was only a walking distance from our hotel. I could even catch the Immaculate Conception mass for December 8. Also called San Raphael church, the Church of Legaspi’s modern design betrays its historical past. It was one of those early parishes which got transferred from one township to another. In its case, it used to be part of Cagsaua, when it got burned down in the 1750s and got destroyed by Mayon’s eruption in 1814, until was reconstructed in 1834.

Like the classic Filipina of yore, Mayon proved to be hard to woo. She barely showed herself to us that first day and hid behind thick, white clouds. Our view of the bay from the newly-built boulevard was great, but Mayon refused to be a backdrop. All we got was the nearby hills known as the “sleeping lion”.

By the promenade was also a new feature – a statue of the late adelantado Don Miguel Lopez de Legaspi in whose honor Albay Pueblo and Albay Nuevo were renamed to become present day Legaspi City. The marker was made possible by a generous contribution from the Spanish government, of course.

Like all rural capitals, Legaspi didn’t become a social and political hub without also being a religious center. So besides the numerous churches, there are also Shrines like Our Lady of Guadalupe in Buraguis. Depicting the passion of Christ, the steep stairs built on a sheer rock face by the road had life-size images portraying the 13 Stations of the Cross. Similar to the one in Quezon province, the limited space makes it a short, but nonetheless, hard climb.

The Daraga Church was our next destination. Also known as Nuestra Senora de la Porteria or Our Lady of the Gate church, it was only considered a National Cultural Treasure in 2007 by the National Museum and finally declared a National Historical Landmark by the National Historical Commission in 2008. A restoration marker states that its parish convent, function areas and perimeter walls are already undergoing reconstruction. Although its façade and church walls have been restored according to the authority of the NCCA and the National Museum, its white paint is an ugly contrast to the old stone look of the bell tower.

From this distance, it is not hard to imagine how one of Mt. Mayon’s eruptions managed to damage the church. It is still one of the best places to get a view of the popular volcano. And at this point, Mayon indulged us a view of her slopes but not her crater, much like how a lady shows off her arms or legs, but not her shoulders. That whole week, I patiently waited for the clouds to clear; like a lover, each day hoping to see her in her full form.

Our initial attempt to visit Cagsawa Ruins was an “epic fail”. We were thwarted by heavy traffic en route to our destination. No, it wasn’t due to the rush hour traffic, but to a strange flood on the highway. It was kind of cloudy when we first arrived; still the rainshowers we experienced didn’t warrant an actual flooding. Our driver explained to us that after typhoon Reming a few years back, the small river that traversed the area overflowed and caused some flooding. When the waters eventually receded, they found out the river had changed its course and now passes through a roadside barangay. The original riverbed has since dried up and residents of the barangay had to deal with submerged residences and constant heavy traffic on the highway.

A few days later, we finally got to visit Cagsawa Ruins. Official work was done and we had just enough time to do some souvenir shopping. We were told there were many roadside shops at Cagsawa. Along the way, we noted the huge boulders lining the road. Our guide from the Provincial Tourism Office said they came from Mayon itself, when mudslides and flashfloods caused by typhoon Reming rolled them down effortlessly unto the unsuspecting populace below. Many residents in the area died - drowned when their homes were washed out by rampaging waters that carried volcanic rocks and torn vegetation. The bridge leading to the actual ruins was also destroyed and isolated the small community living near the belltower site. Their souvenir shops too, were all washed out. So, some vendors who survived the tragedy have moved their new shops across the makeshift wooden bridge that could no longer allow motorized vehicles.

These tragedies have taught Bicolanos well, and Region 5 now boasts of the first and only calamity-preparedness and disaster management academy in the Philippines. Constantly battered by volcanic eruptions, typhoons and flooding, the provincial government has put up this facility as an answer to permanent environmental issues and climate change impacts.

Interestingly, we asked about all these developments in Bicol. Multinationals have come in as partners for the geo-thermal plants deemed to provide electric power to the region. Our driver commented that because of this, the small hot spring resorts open to the public have diminished. And no longer is it part of a tourist attraction to watch an egg boil in one of those volcanic vents.

Around the time we were in Albay, it was also their Karanggahan food festival. A veritable feast of a food fair, I got my fill of authentic Bicol express, laing and pinangat, and my first taste of Tiwi’s famous halo-halo. I learned that the enormous crabs and shrimps made available were the pride of Sorsogon. The highlight of my gastronomic experience was the “kinunot”, a seafood delicacy made from either stringray or baby sharks. Appearing fibrous and creamy like ginataang langka, it was extra hot and spicy to diffuse the “fishiness” of the seafood that made up its core.

On our last day in Bicol, Mt. Mayon finally cooperated and graced us with a magnificent appearance. Like a lady ultimately bringing down the fan covering her face, Daragang Magayon let down her defences. With the sun shining brightly, clouds momentarily stepping aside, she showed us her full majestic form – her perfect slopes, verdant and imposing on the plains below. Even her crater was clearly visible; the soft curve of a lip belying the destruction and force it is capable of spewing.

Another breath-taking view of Mayon is from Lignon Hill. Besides its viewing deck and ziplines, this tourist spot boasts of the Japanese tunnel, reminiscent of the role Legaspi City had in World War II. At this height, the city as well as the airport can be seen on one side, and the great Mayon Volcano on the other.

Seeing the airport runway at this point quickly reminded us that this trip was about to end. Our flight for Manila was in a few hours, and although the airport was a mere 15 minutes away, we could not delay our departure no longer. Armed with souvenir Tshirts, ref magnets and key chains, and a good hoard of pili nuts and mazapan candybars in hand, we were ready to terminate our Albay visit.

We came, all of us, to see Mayon volcano like gentlemen callers, but we were the ones who left bearing gifts from the land of Daragang Magayon - ultimately enamored with Bicolandia’s charm.

Ilocos Revisted

I have always considered my mother’s hometown in Ilocos Sur as part of my childhood. Because of the numerous summers I spent there, I began to take those visits for granted until my grandparents died and we went back less and less. As an adult, I had several chances to return and see the plazas where I learned to ride a bike get surrounded by shops and fastfood restaurants aimed to cater to tourists. And just when the old houses of yore began to fall apart, Vigan was named a UNESCO heritage site.
But my “homecoming” to Ilocos this May 2011 with my Mama was different. Although I did visit once or twice in my adult life, this was the only time I would be reconnecting with relatives again in almost twenty years. A beloved “cool” aunt, my mother’s cousin, was dying of cancer. She specifically called for my Mom so they could talk about the family properties - farmlands in the barrios still kept productive by longtime tenants. These plantations were located in anonymous places like Brgy. Ora, whose only claim to fame was the controversial burning of Ora East and Ora West during the Crisologos’ time.
Since we took the bus, I had the opportunity to enjoy the changing landscape as we crossed over into Ilocos Sur. The view from the Banawang bridge by the light of the breaking dawn is always breath-taking; where the sheer mountain face gives way to a majestic river flowing out into the sea. The great Abra river’s brown, swift waters told me it rained high up in the mountains the night before. Since it was already late in the month of May, the rainy season was fast approaching after all.
The familiar coastline of Narvacan came into view. I recognized the image of the Virgin Mary atop the coral reefs, and the public beach facility once developed by the Marcoses now fallen into ruin. This rocky beach site was once comparable to Ilocos Norte’s Currimao. Soon, the townships still dominated by tobacco plantations appeared. With tobacco farming being a major industry for the province, appropriate legislation now regulates its production and profit-sharing among the producers and distributors.
Our bus was headed for Laoag, so we got dropped off at the highway, by the old gasoline station where a tricycle stop is now. The Bantay Church housing the image of Our Lady of Charity was visible from there, and also the popular belltower where Fernando Poe shot a scene for his original Panday movie. That same belfry served as a lookout point for ancient invaders that could threaten the capital that was “Ciudad Fernandina”, the old name of Vigan. That is why the district was called “bantay”, a guard or sentry to the entrance to Vigan.
Looking at the old church and belltower now, I realized that hill on which they stand on doesn’t seem so intimidating anymore as when I was a kid; when the climb up seem so tiring every Sunday morning or during the Holy Week processions. I remember the grassy hill around the belfry being surrounded by goat and cattle dung since it was a perfect pasture area for ruminants. Nowadays, there is a paved walkway complete with steps to lessen the arduous climb. Tourists and other visitors just love to have photos taken there. Sadly, the tower can no longer be climbed by a great number of people since the wooden, rickety stairs has depreciated to a dangerous degree.

After an early breakfast of classic longganisa, tomatoes and eggs, my Mom and I walked over to my relatives’ house. The dirt roads are now covered with asphalt but they remain narrow, and the distant two or three block walk now seem to me just a few footsteps away. All of my Mom’s 73 years was perfectly capable of the short walk, but by her slow pace I sensed that she was also lost in her own reminiscings. This was the place she grew up in; the one they had to evacuate from during the war to hide among their “kasamas” in their farmlands in the barrios, where she went to school at the prestigious St. Paul’s College-Vigan, where she got her first teaching job and where her former elementary students are now the mayor, the vice-mayor, and city councilors. Along the way, we were called by other distant relatives and old friends of my Mom’s to their houses. Most were already old and gray, and seeing my Mother beside them made me feel very grateful for her continued good health.
I searched for the cement building housing the Mormon missionaries of my childhood, but in its place now stood a private residence; and nearby, a cable company station whose big satellite dish impedes your view of the Bantay church and belltower. Even my aunt’s old house now seemed so puny compared to its more modern neighbours. These bigger and sturdier houses with Western and European designs were built by families with overseas contract workers. Here in Bantay, most of them are in Rome, Italy serving as domestics, where both women and men alike work as governesses, maids, gardeners, and houseboys.
It is no wonder that Region 1 has a big population of OFWs. The hard life in the Ilocos region characterized by few arable lands and frequent typhoons, developed the “adventurous” spirit of Ilocanos and made them look elsewhere for an even “better” life. They were the first to brave the wilderness of Mindanao to develop agricultural lands there. So now, even in Davao there are a few Ilocano-speaking areas.
When the Americans came to look for willing labourers to work the farms and plantations of Hawaii and California, the Ilocanos were first to volunteer and board the boats. They are the “old-timer” Filipinos who are now the proud ancestors of Filipino-Americans living in the States. Such a life can be read in many of the great Filipino writer Carlos Bulosan’s stories, himself an “oldtimer”.
At my aunt’s house, a cousin opened the gate and we re-introduced ourselves. My uncle came out to greet us and marvelled at my mother’s still youthful appearance. His looks, on the other hand, have given way to the years, even when he is a medical doctor and would know better to take care of his health. My “cool” auntie, who was a physician herself, a “modern” woman of her time who drove her jeep and rode her motorcycle, was now only a shadow of her old self. When my Mom informed her that I was the eldest of her three girls and now a UP Law graduate, she remarked that I was like my father who was a practicing lawyer.
It was a sad reunion at best. In her condition, they discussed the business of dividing the ancestral farmlands inherited by their fathers from their grandparents. Ironically, with the Torrens system initiated by my own paternal grandfather who was with the Bureau of Lands in the 40s and the 50s, their farmlots are still unregistered, and their ownership is evidenced only by mere tax declarations and the tenants’ acknowledgement.
So, my mom and I next headed for the provincial DENR office in San Ildefonso to check on cadastral surveys and maps of the farmlands. I remember San Ildefonso as a nearby town which had access to the South China Sea and where we can go to the beach. Today, it is still ruled by the Purisimas, relatives of a Leonin cousin of mine, and officially recognized as the site of the Basi Revolt. The people of San Ildefonso have learned to capitalize on that historical fact and now produce the bottled, export quality, “basi wine”. The Gongogong brand is available in several flavors and is a perfect pasalubong. So besides the traditional bibingka, longganisa, empanadas and corniks, you can always bring back some basi, or sugarcane wine.
Our trip wasn’t as successful as we expected it to be. The maps and surveys were insufficient references for the ownership we needed to establish. So we went back to Vigan to try the provincial Land Registration Authority. The new Registrar of Deeds building was just beside the sports complex. What they used to call “stadium” was where the old “Palarong Pambansa” used to be held. It was also the only space large enough for helicopter landings of VIPs.
Being around all these government offices in Vigan reminded me of times when we tagged along to my Dad’s court hearings. It was all too boring for me back then - listening to the lawyers, their witnesses and the judge talk and talk. Remembering my father in action, his booming voice, his confidence, and his command of the English language was a far cry from his last days in the hospital. Looking back now, never in my wildest dreams did I think that I could be doing the same thing one day. It was just a pity he never saw what I did with my law degree from the UP College of Law.
I guess that summer visit to Vigan, on the occasion of my 41st birthday, I reconnected with my past through my Mama’s own journey back home. Together we realized how much time has passed, how it has all changed us – for better or worse. We saw how places may change, but the people that touched our lives will forever be a part of us wherever we may be.

my 2011: revisited

Looking back at my year, I realized it was still a pretty good one..there were highs and lows, hits and misses, but I'm still grateful for the year that was...

Thumbs Up

1. my trips and travels - food trips in Cebu, nature-tripping in Tublay, Bolinao and Camiguin, the culture and history of Ilocos, Albay and Iloilo

2. approved funding proposals for continued advocacy work

3. finding time to write and get creative

4. paying off loans and debts

5. successful lectures/trainings/fora as opportunities for sharing my knowledge

6. various media exposures and recognition as a smalltime "celebrity"

7. staying in a relationship after realizing that it really takes work and commitment

Thumbs Down

1. my frequent asthma and hypertension attacks reminding me that this body is getting old

2. not enough time for bonding time w/ family and loved ones

3. seeming professional stagnation/career rut

4. lost friendships to departures, transfers or fights

And I have a feeling 2012 can get even better...:)

Return to Camiguin

On the occasion of my birthday a few years back, I had the opportunity to visit Camiguin island. Although we stayed overnight, it was one “hurried” visit. But this year, I promised myself that I would continue to travel and enjoy every trip I go on as part of my annual birthday resolutions. So I planned to spend my first day doing serious work in CDO, and then take an early ferry for Camiguin.

Our old route eight years ago took us first to Balingoan port, but the recent availability of hydrofoil ferries plying the CDO-Camiguin-Bohol route really made the 2 hour trip bearable and more convenient. Since Paras SeaCat had ceased operations, there is only an 8AM hydrofoil bound for Camiguin with a return trip to CDO at 4PM the same day via Ocean Jet.

While many describe Camiguin as pear-shaped, it’s rugged topography and lush and verdant vegetation made the island appear to me as a giant, green turtle from a distance. The peaks of its mountain ranges and rolling hills seemed quite and peaceful to the untrained eye, although the island is home to several volcanoes, including Mt. Hibok-Hibok which last erupted in 1951.

Upon docking at Benoni port, there are a variety of local transports for hire. Vans and multicabs are offered with reasonable package rates that make for an easier sight-seeing and tour around the island. Some even make referrals for cheap lodgings and accommodations also. But a major plus is finding a driver who can also serve as a tourist guide and provide credible commentaries on the island’s history.

By water is not the only way to reach Camiguin. The island province maintains a small airport that allow landings by light aircrafts. No commercial flights regularly utilize the facility, but charter planes by local politicians and businessmen are said to arrive on occasion.

The local government in promoting its tourism wisely invested in well-maintained roads. The highway that runs along the coastline, goes around the whole island and provides scenic views of the sea and the distant mountains and hills. Numerous wooden houses likewise line the highway; quaint, nipa-thatched and capiz-windowed, these ancestral homes of longtime residents make Camiguin a possible heritage site just like Bohol. On occasion, you come across homes and buildings with turn-of-the-century designs obviously influenced by the Americans. One enormous home even had “Sept 17, 1917” written on its white painted façade.



As in Cagayan de Oro, tricycles called “motorelas” are the popular transport. The slightly inclined coach behind a motorcycle has seats designed for passengers to sit across each other, face to face much like the jeepneys. This contraption is still much better than the “habal-habals” used elsewhere in Mindanao. The single motorcycle with a piece of wood placed across it and where passengers are suppose to line themselves up and sit for perfect balance are fortunately not used in these parts.

Driving around the island also gives you an idea about the local economy. Besides the bountiful sea that supports a small-to-medium scale fishing industry, the island’s naturally fertile land is perfect for agriculture. Plantations and farmlands reveal crops that range from coconut, rice/palay, cassava, abaca, mangoes, and of course, lanzones that thrives on volcanic soil.

En route to our lodgings, we got a glimpse of Tres Marias, Mt. Mambajao and Mt. Timpoong, the latter two being the tallest or highest peaks on the island. Coming in to port, visitors already get a view of Mt. Guinsiliban, whose elevation and strategic location made it the site of the old Spanish watchtower used to look out for Moro pirates of yore.

Once or twice, I saw remnants of adobe and cobblestone structures alongside the road. They must be the remains of Spanish colonial buildings destroyed by earlier volcanic eruptions. Strewn round the whole island are volcanic rocks the size of household furniture, some rivalling the nipa hut homes. Several tributaries emptying out to the sea have boulders and stones that could only have been carried that far by strong water currents or lava flows.

The first place we visited was the Katibawasan Falls. Like many parts of Northern Mindanao, mountains ranges also meant waterfalls. The majestic 200 ft. drop amidst the forest greenery provide an almost fairytale-like atmosphere. The shallow pond with its cool waters make it a perfect choice for families with small kids who wish to bathe and swim in fresh water. Since it rained the night before, the flow was a little stronger than usual and its temperature was consistently several degrees lower. A ledge is available for photo-ops, but you may go down the steep stairs to get a better view of the falls as a backdrop. Meanwhile, an amusing little monkey at the entrance reminds you of the animals thriving deep within the forests.

We headed next for the Sto. Nino Cold Springs, a traditional tourist haunt that has picnic facilities. Outdoor grills are available for those who choose to potluck, and tables and huts can be rented for a small fee. Enterprising residents have also begun offering cooked meals from a menu of fresh seafood, native chicken and pork. Try out their buko juice to go with your meal. The coconuts are dipped in the cool waters to keep them chilled and once opened, your drink feels like it came straight from the refrigerator.

The cold water springs from a sandy bottom and tiny fishes swim the waters with bathers. Quite deep in some areas, another enterprenurial innovation of the residents are the inflated tire interiors being rented out as life-preservers.

While we were eating our lunch, the children at the kiddie pool started screaming and crying. Parents and guardians ran to them thinking there was just a fight among them. But they were all getting out in a hurry, scared and pointing at the water. Apparently, there was a black water snake about a foot-long, which was feeding on the tiny fishes. It actually had a fish stuck in its mouth when it was caught.

That did it for me; besides the pool being too crowded, I had another reason not to go into the water. It seems the native chicken aren’t the only ones that are “free-ranged” around here.

Afraid to disappoint us, our driver took us to Bura Soda Water Swimming Pool instead. Another cold spring, its fresh water is clean enough for drinking. Since it’s a lesser known spot, there were less people around, and picnic huts here are for free. Unfortunately, the pool is too deep and there are no tubes that can be rented.

Having had enough of the waters, we were ready to visit the more historical sights of the island. I have always been intrigued by the destruction and havoc wrecked by the volcanoes. The town of Catarman was destroyed by the eruption and birth of Mt. Vulcan in the 1870s. An un-maintained metal plaque recounts the events that happened that fateful evening when earthquakes and rumblings suddenly resulted in a violent eruption that devastated the town and killed hundreds of people.

Unlike the other tourist spots, there is no fixed entrance rate here, but only a voluntary contribution. The walls with its high windows and pillars are all that’s left of the church proper. In the back, the belfry’s foundations are still intact while the remains of the old convent with its room divisions is a haunting testament to the power of nature.

Also in Catarman town, just a few meters away, is the Sunken Cemetery memorial. A giant white cross was installed as a reminder of where the old cemetery was. It sank into the sea during the 1871 volcanic eruption of Mt. Vulcan. Residents claim that until a few years ago, some of the grave markers can still be seen during low tide. But time and numerous typhoons have also eroded the gravestones.

It was perfect timing that we were there in the late afternoon. Located in the western part of the island, the Sunken Cemetery is great for viewing the sunset. But don’t delay your visit because if it gets too dark, your photos wouldn’t come out too good even with a flash.

Next would be the Via Cruces or the Stations of the Cross on old Vulcan. Another popular tourist spot especially during Holy Week, the climb begins with some stairs, with the steps slowly giving way to inclined ramps until eventually the cement walkway ends into a dirt and gravel stone path. Along the way are life-size statues depicting the passion of Christ and one forgets that this was once an active volcano that caused so much destruction and death.

The trek is both arduous and tiring, but the view from this vantage point is breath-taking. A clear day would show beautiful blue skies that meet the sea waters beneath. One could only marvel at the island’s thick forests upon rolling hills that rise into mountain peaks and volcano craters. Years ago, I managed to get as far as the 12th station when the altitude got the better of me. The steep climb and cliff drop-offs was too much for someone like me who was really afraid of heights. This time around, my age and my knees could only take me so far. So here’s another tip, make sure you’re fit and healthy before attempting to complete all 14 stations of the cross.

The perfect end to the day would be a long soak at Ardent Hot Springs. Another popular tourist destination, Mt. Hibok-Hibok actually feeds this hot spring. Made up of several pools and ponds, the temperature varies and starts to cool down until the last pool for kids. Again, even in the early evening, there were just too many people around. Besides, my hypertensive tendencies made taking a dip in the steamy waters inadvisable. Jeni took the plunge, however, and came out all prickly and itchy. With such high temperatures, I doubted if it was due to germs; so we surmised it must be the sulphur in the water.

Since we visited Camiguin in late November, night time comes early. The highways don’t have streetlighting so it can get pretty dark in some areas. I was told that electric power actually comes from the mainland in Misamis Oriental. Huge cables carrying the electric current are buried underneath the seabed to reach the island. It becomes problematic sometimes when typhoons make the waves too rough.

Except for the vehicle’s headlights, we traversed the island in pure blackness. On occasion, we pass by poor pedestrians on their way home, walking by the roadside in eerie darkness. And I remembered the story shared by the oldtimer at Sto. Nino Cold Springs. His ancestors used to say that when the island was still uninhabited and only a small number of people put up residence there, they saw little red men with horns and pointy tails come out of the volcano’s craters every night. Before the sun comes up, they return to the volcano craters and go back in. As such, island natives stay in their homes locked-in all night long. Even Chinese barter traders never spend the night there and instead head back to the mainland.

For the night, we decided to take advantage of the cheap lodgings in Mambajao. Strategically located near the White Island sandbar, there is an abundance of cottages for rent at very reasonable rates. Paguia’s offers spacious accommodations with airconditioning, cable TV, private toilet and bath, plus free WIFI. However, they only serve breakfast, so you have to get your meals at a nearby restaurant about two blocks away. On the other hand, Paguia’s has its own motorboat-for-hire to get to the White Island sandbar. For a minimal P400 plus P2 entrance fee, they will arrange a dawn ride to the sandbar so you could catch the sunrise.

The short boat ride was another pleasant experience over calm waters. White Island has a spectacular of Camiguin and two of its volcanoes – Mt. Hibok-Hibok and Old Vulcan. Its shallow waters also make for some safe and cool swimming. The soft white sand is perfect for sunbathing too. Unfortunately, with no permanent structures or equipment allowed on the sandbar, one could really get baked by the sun. Either you bring your own beach umbrellas, sun block and headcover, or you don’t stay too long there.

For me, I was happy enough with a few dips in cool water, lots of photographs, and the amazing sunrise that I witnessed. The highlight, however, was a breakfast of edible sea urchin. A local fisherman came peddling them after he caught some sea urchins at the far end of the sandbar. Unlike the black kind with long poisonous spines, this type is dark brown and has a jewel-container shape. Its shell is cracked open and its innards scraped and gathered together to make a tablespoonful. The fisherman came complete with some vinegar and doused with it, the sea urchin delicacy tasted much like talangka. Although freshly-caught, I tasted only a bit of it just in case my seafood allergies kicked in again. But Jeni enjoyed it so much, she ordered another one.

Heading back, we planned to check-out early and catch brunch at the Tanguines Lagoon in Benoni. This man-made inlet also provides a nice view of the island’s abundant forest cover. On the lagoon is a restaurant whose specialty is, of course, seafood. J&A restaurant has its own fishponds teeming with exotic saltwater fish, oysters, and other shellfish. But by this time, I was really craving for some grilled pork.

Word to the wise, and this is not to be so disrespectful, but the food sucks in Camiguin. The native chicken is reared free-ranged, and therefore, has very tough meat. Seafood consists of saltwater fish they call “isdang bato”. But to be honest, I just couldn’t bring myself to eat such ugly fish. The monstrosities looked like pre-historic creatures straight from the dinosaur era, and could very well eat “me” instead.

Finishing up our meal, we went directly to the nearby wharf for a ferry to Balingoan port. From there, we took a bus to Cagayan de Oro which took another hour or so. Getting back to Manila that day really entailed travel via water, land, and air. But all the trouble was worth it, because Camiguin delivered on its promises – truly an island paradise you can fall in love with.

Halloween Stories

Halloween or that time of the year Filipinos celebrate the “undas” has always been a time of “rituals” for me. When I was young, our whole Leonin clan trooped to the cemetery to visit the family plot where our grand patriarch and matriach were buried. For my cousins and I, it was like another family outing much like our summer vacations. Only, this activity was more like a night time picnic because of all the food, the beach chairs and mats on the grass. But the best part of it all were always the stories.
As my cousins and I grew older, we learned to entertain ourselves without getting lost in the multitude that seemed to occupy every nook and cranny of Loyola Memorial Park in Marikina. We’d use the parked family cars, sit ourselves inside them and tell each other the best horror stories we could come up with. We would re-tell stories told to us by our yayas from their respective provinces. We’d share ghost stories we picked up from school from our classmates. From big black dogs or large sows wearing bakyas, to strange birds tick-ticking in the middle of the night, to the white lady in our family compound and the invisible figure playing our Weinstein piano and running the Singer sewing machine, we’d talk about supernatural experiences and scare the hell out of our much younger cousins. Later on, we decided to give an award to the best horror story told that year. I was the winning story-teller for several years because I managed to collect the scariest tales from friends months before.
Recently, I was taking advantage of the long Halloween weekend by watching horror films and surfing the net for new stories. I came across a blog that featured the scariest places in the Philippines and realized I had been to most of them.
In Metro Manila, Balete Drive in Quezon City has the fabled White Lady that hails down taxicabs or hitches a ride with solo drivers traversing the area. My older brother used to drive around with us younger kids on lazy weekends and he always tries to scare us by passing through that New Manila territory. Other haunted places I remember in my youth are Baguio and Corregidor where we took family vacations. Baguio was notorious for the White Lady of Loakan, the invisible PMA cadets marching in the wee hours of the morning, and the poltergeists of Teachers Camp. And I’m not even talking about the notorious Diplomat Hotel, the Laperal White House, and the ghosts from the 1983 Pines Hotel fire and the big 1990 earthquake.
Corregidor, on the other hand, is also known for its historical significance. Remnants of World War II still prevail over much of the island and compose much of its ghost stories. Like Baguio, it was one of those sites which experienced a lot of bombings and fighting. True enough, ghostly apparitions consist of Filipino, American and Japanese soldiers, priests and nuns, doctors and nurses, as well civilians who all died during the war.
I remember my own experience there years ago. I was busy taking photos as my whole clan toured around the battery areas, the Mile-long barracks, and the Malinta Tunnel itself. At some grassy knoll near the popular flagpole, I just shot a few pictures, trying to capture the green scenery. No one was in my shot, I was sure of it. But when the photos were developed, a few white figures appeared in the distance, like priests or nuns. I showed them to my family but none of them believed me then.
I went to college in UP Los Banos, unaware of its own violent past. I didn’t know why people avoided the Baker Hall (the university gymnasium) late at night, or why the Vanguard officers and cadets really abhor their early morning jogs around Baker’s Field. It was only later when a few classmates who were really “locals” told me about UP Los Banos’ special role in WWII as a war camp. That certainly explains the alleged sightings of Japanese soldiers in the area.
As in any university campus which housed several dormitories, there were a lot of supernatural stories from there, too. From a white lady seen floating across a second-floor window, to a black coffin found lying on the long table at the communal study area, to invisible hurried footsteps on the stairs, each college freshman and dorm intern had to get ready for a unique “greeting” at the start of every semester.
There were also tales of forest creatures whispering from big trees or raining down sand on a passerby, of a student traversing a seemingly “endless” bridge, or of campus stone sculptures coming life and walking about at night, including the College of Agriculture’s symbol “Tao” which depicts a farmer and his carabao.
I, too, had my own share of frightful experiences; from the strange footsteps and knocking at my dorm, to the weird catcalls and shadows at the bridge walking home after a late night study session. But the scariest of all was the eerie moaning I heard right next to my ear while I was studying at my table one Finals week.
Then again, I could compile my own collection of UPLB horror stories perfect for fright nights and weekend scare-fests…but that would entail an entirely new piece.