Taal Volcano (or... I Am Gringo!)

Yesterday two colleagues and I took an all-day trip to the Taal Volcano. And it... was... awesome. When I was getting ready to travel to the Philippines, this is exactly the kind of stuff I was picturing. I see pictures of people standing on sunny beaches, hiking on mountains, etc. I wanted some of that. So yesterday I got me some of that. I think I summed it up pretty well on Facebook...

Today I climbed a volcano and stood atop a tropical paradise. Ya, it's been a good day.

Originally several of us were going to go. There was myself, the four developers on my team, and maybe one or two people from other teams. One of my developers had a previous engagement. Another had a family issue come up days before. Another chickened out that morning. By the time Paul picked me up that morning it was just three of us: Paul, Charlie, and me.

So we headed south out of Manila (about time I'm able to leave the city while I'm here, honestly) and toward Tagaytay. Driving along the roads and highways I was privy to all sort of interesting sights. In the city I was mostly interested in the signs and billboards, to be honest. The advertisements here are weird. The one I remember the most was a billboard advertising tires. It featured a squad of armored samurai rolling along on tires and said "go with pride." Awesome.

We stopped in Santa Rosa for some breakfast. All week people had been recommending restaurants to us. We have to try this, we have to try that. We're only there for a day. That's three meals at most, probably only two since we'll be at the volcano during lunch. So choose wisely. Anyway, I let my colleagues be my guides and select the destinations.

Breakfast was at a small place called Kanin Club (canine club? should I be worried?):

Where I was told that I should try some adobo:

As far as Filipino foods go, it was pretty standard. Just some meat in some kind of vinegar-based sauce, served with an egg and some rice. Simple enough. Pretty tasty, too. The running joke is still the fact that I won't try balut. Joke all you want, I'm not going to eat it.

After breakfast it was time to head over to Tagaytay and see the volcano. But before we could do that, we had to get cash. I guess I'm kind of spoiled as an American in that I just assume everybody takes plastic. I mean, I'm acutely aware of the fact that many places don't. It was a standard concern when looking for local barbecue restaurants in South Carolina. But it's still not really a problem. But here in a third world country it's actually pretty common. I guess I just don't really know where we're going. It's a tourist spot, right? Wouldn't they take credit cards? Oh, how naive I was.

So we looked for a local ATM where I could get cash. This was my first time using an ATM while I've been here, so I was a little nervous. I mean, I trust my bank. They won't cheat me or nickel and dime me. USAA is pretty good when it comes to overseas stuff, and for good reason. But can ATMs here be trusted? I don't know. Only one way to find out, though.

First I tried my credit card. Can I just draw a cash advance from there? I'd rather draw against credit than against debit, just in case the card gets compromised. It's easier to fight fraudulent credit charges than fraudulent debit charges. However, I was ill-prepared for this transaction. It asked for a PIN. I didn't know my credit card had a PIN. I never set one up. So I guess I can't use that. Ok, let's put in the debit card, but let's try to draw against credit instead of checking. No dice, invalid transaction. Ok, third time's a charm. A normal withdrawal against checking. I guess I have to.

All in all it was fine. This is, after all, an innovative bank, apparently:

So off we went to Tagaytay. Along the way, I took a picture of a small bus in front of us (called a jeep here) where a small child was waving at us:

I'm going to have to show you more photos of these "jeeps" and their younger brothers the "jeepneys" at some point. They are quite the sight to see.

We arrived in Tagaytay and began a long drive up a long street lined with all kinds of local flavor. I'd never seen anything like it. The street must have been several miles long, up a fairly shallow angle, and it was all local people living their lives and selling their wares. This was poverty like I'd never seen. It was like something out of a movie. The buildings were mostly corrugated metal, some were concrete and looked like they were either never finished or burned out years ago and were repurposed.

Occasionally there was a gated home that looked relatively decent. There was really no separation between the poor and the, um, less poor and comparatively well-off here. There were no distinct neighborhoods. It was all just mashed together. I wish I'd taken more photos or some video, but there wasn't much opportunity to do so.

Peeking out from behind these impoverished dwellings was quite possibly the most gorgeous landscape I've ever seen. It stretched on for miles, rolling hills of fertile soil. Farms, plantations, groups of stucco buildings with colorful roofs. It reminded me of a caricature of Mexico, in a way. It's a tropical paradise. And it strikes me as terribly ironic of us as a species that wealthy people spend a lot of money to vacation in places where poor people live. Though I imagine the people who actually own this land are rather wealthy. Barons living in their tropical mansions and whatnot. Still... an odd setup.

Eventually we reached the top of the street and could overlook the valley before us, which contained a large lake in the middle of which was the volcano island. It was breathtaking. Also at this point were all of the people selling boat rides. They know a tourist when they see one, especially a white guy. So skinny men in tattered clothes wielding crude signs that say "boat ride" descended upon the car. Luckily, I had my guides with me. Paul and Charlie negotiated in Tagalog while I sat quietly.

They talked one of the men down to 2000 pesos. This included a place to park the car while we were there, and the boat would apparently wait for us on the island so we didn't have to worry about a schedule. Seems fair. That's less than $50 US, which isn't bad at all for a private boat ride to a volcano island. The guy hopped in the car and began to direct us to where his "resort" was. It was basically a long and winding journey down the one main road that connects Tagaytay with the small village town in the valley below. The road was scary. But these people know what they're doing in their cars. There were no problems along the way.

Eventually we arrived at the "resort." The word means something different in the US, I can tell you that much. They did have their own jeep and a small jeepney (behind it), though:

(Again, more to come on those. Someday.) So we went into the "office" to pay for the boat and get a receipt (and, of course, keep negotiating):

Now it's time to get on the boat:

And so go see the volcano:

Wait, that's not the volcano? I... I guess I assumed it was. It's the most prominent thing on the horizon. Then what's the volcano? Oh, that one:

Whatever, just bring us there.

The lake was another fantastic sight to see. Little boating villages, fish farms, etc.

(I know, that second shot was actually taken much later from the top of the volcano. But the subject matter matches this part of the story. Deal with it.)

The boat ride was peaceful. Serene. Zen. If only the engine could be shut off for a little while and everyone could be quiet. I just wanted to listen to the world around me. But the sound of the engine wasn't too bad, and the spray from the water on my face made up for it. I was being cleansed by the lake. My impurities were left ashore, and I was born anew. Or something.

At the other side of the water was another "resort." Again, the word has a different meaning here. From afar it looks like it might be nice:

But up close it's really just a small village of ridiculously poor people:

In fact, these people actually live here. It's a village. It's a farm. It's a livestock ranch. It's a complete little native society. We actually had to pay them (not much, of course) to pass through their village and get to the volcano. A toll, if you will. Because this is their place.

And there was much selling to be done. We're tourists, and they know how to handle tourists. They really wanted to rent us some horses, but we weren't interested. No, I'm here to make this trek myself. They were insistent, but so were we. No horses. They also suggested that we rent hats (except Paul, he had his own), and this turned out to be a very good idea. I'm glad I got the hat in that sun. I'm also glad I got the hat because it looked fabulous:

I am Gringo! Now take me to your volcano!

They also suggested surgical masks to combat the dust. No thanks, I'm good. I'm sure it's dusty, but I'm willing to give it a try. Finally they insisted that we rent a tour guide so we don't get lost. Eh, fair enough. I'll take one of those.

And off we set on the dusty trail:

The dust wasn't bad at all, actually. Just breath through your nose the whole time (which also helps fight dehydration, mind you, though we had plenty of water and Gatorade) and cover your nose and mouth when horses ride by. Pretty simple.

The trek was about 4 kilometers. The first almost-half of the journey was grueling. It was hot and dusty, there was no breeze, and every moment reminded us that we could have rented horses. That reminder was quite literal, in fact, because the people who offered the horses followed us:

So certain they were that we would give up and rent a horse, that they were always there ready to supply one. Perhaps even at a higher price. But I was determined. And I'm glad that I didn't fit their expected behavior of a tourist.

Right around the time that above photo was taken, we were nearing the half-way point. And this is when it started to become worth it. The incline lessened, the scenery opened up. We were met with a cool breeze all around us, lots of open space (so no dust), and the beautiful scenery we came to witness. Suddenly this grueling trek through the jungle became a pleasant hike along a hillside.

Our morale returned and we continued to bounce around on the rocks and play as children. As we neared the end of the trip, we noticed that the horse salesmen were gone. I guess they realized we were a lost cause and they went back. After all, we were conquering the world here. Or at least the various outcroppings of rock.

We were so near the top we could taste it. But there was one last obstacle of overcome. One last leg of the journey before the sweet embrace of... whatever's up there. I called it "heartbreak hill." The trail was swallowed up by the surrounding rock, becoming a narrow dust-filled valley. There was no more breeze. There was no more scenery. There was no more air. There was only sun and heat and misery, at approximately a 35 degree incline. It was difficult.

But it was worth it. We emerged victorious, and took our last few steps to the top. They even conveniently put a staircase for those steps:

I want you to pay close attention to those structures at the top in that photo. And I want you to understand something. Again, as an American, I guess I've been spoiled. It never even occurred to me what to expect when I reached the top. I never gave it a second thought. Deep in my social subconscious was an assumption that I didn't bother to question.

I genuinely and truly believed that at the top there would be a tourist center. A building, with air conditioning and bathrooms and water bubblers, perhaps even vending machines. This building would contain small exhibits about the local culture and history. It would have an overlook to the landscape below. It would have a sign-in book on a podium somewhere. It would be abuzz with tourists. It would basically be exactly like any other tourist center... in the US.

This was not the case.

No, those small huts made of twigs were all that was there. Well, those and the endless tropical paradise surrounding us as well as the wonderful people populating it. This wasn't what I had expected. This was better.

First thing's first, I sit:

Sure, I wanted to immediately go look at the view over the volcano. That was why I was there in the first place. But I needed to sit down and rest for a bit and slowly drink some water because I was nauseous and my vision was starting to black out along the periphery. So sitting was in my best interests. But after several minutes of resting, I could go see what all the fuss was about:

Very nice. Indeed, I hesitate to post the rest of the photos here simply because photos do not do justice to the experience. It was awe-inspiring. I was drunk on life. Here I stood overlooking a volcano crater lake in a tropic paradise on the complete other side of the planet. I had conquered all. From this moment onward, nothing can dull my triumph. I have grown as a person. I have risen to a new level. Also, I am Gringo!:

And the people up there were just wonderful. These two were our favorites:

That older lady had a great sense of humor, we joked around with her a lot. The younger one was just an amazing person to watch. She was born to sell merch to tourists. A lovely smile, a warm disposition, and she could speak every language known to man. Seriously, I'm not kidding. Some Chinese tourists walked by, and she spoke to them in Mandarin. Some Indian tourists were taking photos, and she spoke to them in Hindi. Some Korean girls were wandering around, and she spoke to them in Korean. Apparently Charlie knew a little Norwegian and challenged her with that. She passed. A lot. Needless to say, we were very impressed.

And what kind of trip to the top of a volcano would it be without hitting some golf balls into it?:

I know, my form is terrible, right? Give me some slack, I've never actually swung a golf club before. After a few swings I was doing rather well, though. Makes sense, given that I'm totally awesome at everything.

Then Charlie proceeded to mack on those Korean girls:

The dude is actually quite the pimp. He got phone numbers and Facebook accounts. Maybe we'll have some drinks with these chicks later this week. I couldn't pull off something like that, but I bet Charlie can.

I then climbed this thing which I'm way too heavy to climb:

Then Charlie and Paul noticed a narrow path along the top of the crater which led to a better vantage point:

And there was nobody over there. Seriously, did nobody else notice it? Because it was the best view on the mountain. (In fact, come to think of it, I'm not going to bother choosing which photos to show here for the view. I'll post all of the photos in a public location at some point and comment on this post to show where.)

At this part of the mountain there were no railings overlooking things, there were no small huts where people sold us stuff, there was only a rock face and the scenery:

There was only one small step for man, and one giant fall if I take another small step:

So we spent much of the day enjoying the mountain:

While our tour guide, who had seen it all thousands of times, spent much of the day texting his girlfriend:

Finally it was time to head back down the trail:

The dusty, hot, gringo-infested trail:

We made our way back to the village:

And back to the boat:

And back to the resort:

Then back into town for a proper dinner:

With proper Filipino food (no balut):

I was especially looking forward to the bulalo. As I'd mentioned in an earlier post, bulalo is fucking delicious. And up until now I'd only had cup-o-noodled bulalo. 7-Eleven bulalo. Now I had proper nice restaurant bulalo. I still like both, and I'm still going to enjoy the cup-o-noodles version. But this dinner was excellent and a great way to wrap up the day.

After that we stopped for some coffee and drove back to Makati. It had been a long day, and Paul (who was driving) was pretty tired. The stop-and-go traffic throughout Tagaytay and Santa Rosa didn't help. But eventually we got to the highway and everything was fine.

Back in Makati, back in my hotel room. Time to shower and sleep. Best. Day. Ever.