Amazing Sablayan

January 24, 2012, 4:47pm

Apo Reef aerial shot

MANILA, Philippines — The resort town of Sablayan in Occidental Mindoro unveils its fun side as it celebrates its 110th founding day and Dugoy Festival this month of January.

 Situated on the western coast of the biodiversity-rich Mindoro island, the town takes pride in Apo Reef Natural Park, a Unesco World Heritage Site and the second largest contiguous atoll-like reef coral reef in the world.

 A center for marine biodiversity, Apo Reef has a high diversity of corals and marine life, and has an island covered with terrestrial vegetation.

According to Sablayan Mayor Eduardo Gadiano, the fun has already begun with various sporting tournaments, socio-civic activities, entertainment and cultural events.

He said that the celebration will highlight the town’s amazing ecotourism hideaways which can rival even the more established destinations.

 A few minutes away from the town is Pandan Island, a palm-lined white beach island and unspoilt forest. One can explore the island’s forest and gaze at the colorful species of birds before splashing in the waters of “Wild Lagoon”.

Outdoor lovers can trek Mindoro Pines, dubbed as Mindoro’s “Little Baguio” which sits atop the Pag-asa Mountains, the habitat of Mindoro endemic pine tree specie, pinus mercussi. Located at the heart of Mangyan ancestral lands, immersion with the ethnic communities is a unique cultural experience.

 There’s also Mts. Iglit-Baco National Park, which is also an ASEAN Heritage Park with multi-strata evergreen forests and habitat of the biggest remaining population of tamaraw, the country’s national animal. It has an aggregate area of 106,600 hectares, with more than half of it lying within Sablayan.

 Conservationists can lose themselves at Siburan Forest, which boasts of 5,000 hectares of primary forest, the largest tract of its kind in Mindoro. It is sanctuary to 31 kinds of birds, among them the endemic Mindoro imperial pigeon, Mindoro tarictic hornbill, Mindoro bleeding heart, scops-owl and the black-hooded coucal, more than eight mammal species mammals, like pygmy fruit bat and warty pig and some 80 tropical plants and hardwood species.

Near the base of the forest is Libuao Lake, where one can bask fishing, bird watching, picnicking and boating in one of the country’s cleanest inland bodies of water.

Another nature escape is the 20-foot Malatongtong Falls whose scenic verdant forest backdrop rushes into a natural crystal clear pool towards smaller cascades flowing into the river.

 Back in the heart of the town are the Parola Park and the 16th-century old Spanish church which attest to Sablayan’s historicity, as well as a Golden Gate-inspired hanging bridge. The public plaza, also known as Presing Park, is punctuated by a watchtower and a circa 1860 cannon built against Muslim raiders and intruders from the sea.

 For a taste of local heritage, take a peek at Sablayan Museum, the only one of its kind in the province, which showcases the town’s character. A unique feature is the “nature” section which simulates the town’s forest and underwater world.

 Gadiano said festivities conclude with the Dugoy Festival on Jan. 27 to mark the town’s founding day in 1902 under the American Civil Government. The event’s highlight is a street presentation which pays tribute to the Mangyan tribes of the town, the indigenous inhabitants of Mindoro.

 He noted that even after celebrations had died down, the fun goes on for the rest of the year with its natural wonders. Log on to www.sablayan.net on how to enjoy the fun in amazing Sablayan.

 Published in Manila Bulletin

Before Costa Concordia, a tragedy portrayed the Filipino as humane seafarer

By Benjamin Pimentel
INQUIRER

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SAN FRANCISCO—Media coverage of the Costa Concordia tragedy has been focused mainly on the clueless captain accused of having a romantic dinner as his ship was sinking and then abandoning his crew and passengers to save himself.

Fortunately, however, the spotlight has also turned to the doomed ship’s Filipino crew members.

When calamity struck in the middle of the night, the Filipinos were disciplined and calm. Most important of all, they thought of the welfare of the most defenseless people caught in the disaster—the passengers, especially  children.

“It felt like the Titanic as we were rescuing the passengers,” ship steward Eugen Pusyo told the Manila Bulletin. “We just threw some of children into lifeboats just so they would be saved.”

A French passenger quoted in media reports recalled how the people who helped them “were cooks and stewardesses, all Filipinos. They roped themselves together to help us get down to the lifeboats.”

Who wouldn’t be moved by these accounts of bravery and selflessness?

It reminded me of another maritime tragedy in which the portrait of the Filipino as courageous, humane seafarers also came into sharp focus.

The so-called Maersk Dubai incident was recalled in a stirring January 1997 article in the New Yorker by Scott Malcomson.

In 1996, a group of Filipino merchant seamen on the Maersk Dubai, a Taiwanese cargo ship, found themselves in a bind.

When one of them, Rodolfo Miguel, discovered two Romanian stowaways in the ship which was headed for Port of Halifax in Canada, he did his duty: he reported the incident to his Taiwanese superiors.

To the shock of the Filipino seamen, the officers put the Romanians in an improvised raft and threw them out of the ship to certain death. Miguel and his fellow Filipinos were stunned.

Then came an unexpected twist in an already horrifying situation.

While Miguel was walking on the deck of the ship one day, another Romanian, Nicolae Pasca, suddenly approached him. Looking weak from days of hiding without food, Pasca wanted to surrender to the Filipino. In the Romanian’s hand was a Bible.

Knowing that Pasca was in danger, Miguel quickly guided the Romanian to a new hiding place.

Though they could not understand one another, Miguel struggled to tell the Romanian that he should consider the Filipinos his allies, the New Yorker piece related. “Filipino, no problema.”

He then pointed to a verse in the Bible the Romanian had with him. The verse was Psalm 91 part of which goes: “He that dwelleth in the secret place of the most High shall abide under the shadow of the Almighty.”

“Read this every time when you sleep,” Miguel told the Romanian, according to the New Yorker account.

Miguel then secretly rallied his fellow Filipinos.

They were not able to protect the two other Romanian stowaways, and many of them had struggled with guilt and helplessness because of what happened.

But now they were going to do everything they could to protect another Romanian stowaway.

It could mean losing their jobs, and maybe even their lives — but it was the right thing to do. They were not going to let another human being die!

They came up with a code for the Romanian, according to the New Yorker account. They called him “ibon”  — bird. And they would ask whoever was assigned to bring food to their secret friend, “O pinakain mo na ba ‘yong ibon?” (Have you fed the bird)?

When the ship finally reached Halifax, the Filipinos jumped ship and reported the incident to authorities. The Romanian survived. The ship’s Taiwanese officers were arrested. (They were later extradited to Taiwan, according to Wikipedia.)

During a hearing in Canada, according to the New Yorker, Miguel struggled in broken English to declare in the courtroom, “I’m not here to lie. I’m here to stand and to stop the things that happened.”

But he and the other Filipinos struggled with the consequences of saving the Romanian’s life. According to the New Yorker, their families reported receiving threatening anonymous phone calls warning that the stranded Filipino seamen should not testify in the case.

Miguel’s wife reported to the police that two men tried to abduct her, the New Yorker said. Miguel himself told Malcomson how, as he remembered the families of the Romanians and their own families, he felt that “we are in a trap, between the families of the living and the families of the dead.”

It’s a tragic, yet inspiring, story of courage and human decency — one that should be remembered as we honor yet another group of professional, honorable and humane seafarers from the Philippines.

Making memories in Boracay

By: Karla Vizcarra
Philippine Daily Inquirer

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BLUE as ever. Photo by Karla Vizcarra

The first time I ever went to Boracay was just after my senior year in high school.  My twin sister, an older sister plus her friend, and I filled a giant duffel bag with canned goods and flew to the island, planning to bunk in with our aunt, who was staying at a little cottage called Gunding Torres for P300 a night. The year was 1999, and couples were still running around the beach naked.

Every night the four of us would head out to Cocomangas, sit by the backgammon table, and watch the activities unfurl without ever needing to drink alcohol. We got near tipsy only once, on a Saturday night, when a bunch of Korean kids invited us to play a drinking game involving a glass, some tissue paper, and a 25 centavo coin. Unfortunately, the game came to an abrupt halt after I accidentally swallowed the coin.

Each morning, we would run out into the polvoron white sand equipped with snorkels, paddles, kayaks, and anything else we could grab from our aunt, who was always prepared for these kinds of trips. At lunch we would troop back to our hut and dig into heaps of rice and tuna afritada or tuna kaldereta, whichever tin was available, hastily heated over our aunt’s mini-stove.

Explosion in the sky. Photo by Karla Vizcarra

To this day we remember every single detail about that trip, including the setting, characters, and dialogue involved. We could also still warble out bits of the songs we made up, including one particularly tricky one sung to the tune of itsy-bitsy, teeny-weeny, yellow polka-dot bikini.  We remember each embarrassing, funny, sordid, and splendid detail as if it were yesterday, and Boracay was still what it was.

Margarita in a jar

My second trip to Boracay was with my two other sisters who weren’t with us on that first trip. I was in college then, and they, being older, were content to lounge about on the poolside and order boring food served on boring white plates. My eldest sister, Jen, and I ventured out into the nightlife only once, I think, to share one margarita in a jar, and to hurriedly scamper back to our hotel shuttle because it left promptly at midnight, every night.

Station 3. Photo by Karla Vizcarra

Sadly, there were no bloopers, canned tuna, swallowed coins, or composed songs about it, but we had a gloriously beautiful patch of beach all to our smug, boring selves.

My third trip to Boracay happened only the summer of this year, as I had steadfastly refused to go back since that last trip in 2001, around the time people started calling the island “Bora,” and product banners and events had begun popping up in newspapers nearly every week, alongside guest DJs and glowing celebrities. I believed Boracay had nowhere to go but downhill from there, and when somebody mentioned that a mall had been built on the island, I decided to myself that it already had.

As it was, I was tasked to write about an event launch for summer, complete with banners and celebrity endorsers, and had it not been my friend Louie Cruz who asked me to go, or had I not been a teeny bit curious about how the island had transformed in the 10 years since I last saw it, I would have flatly refused.  But it was and I was, so I went.

I hated the concrete and the tricycles from the very first moment we rolled down the road toward Station 1. I detested the huge groups of tourists, the convenience stores and the billion and one plastic bags and bottles and useless produce. I thought the tourists looked artificial, and that tinges of desperation were evident in the eyes of vendors and locals, all trying to make money from the scraps left over from the big, overpriced businesses.

Jungle Bar. Photo by Karla Vizcarra

I thought the beach looked worn, and that the trampling feet of hundreds of thousands of drunken tourists did little to help. That first night I stayed in and watched TV alone in my huge hotel room, missing the simple, wooden walls of Gunding Torres, where every night, my sisters and I had sniggered madly over the roar of snores from our German neighbors.

Days before our departure, I already had everything planned out: I will turn in my assigned story, bang out an angry piece denouncing the ills and illusions of Boracay, post a sarcastic message on Facebook afterwards, and never ever again return.

Confounding

The grotto. Photo by Karla Vizcarra

But of course, in the confounding manner only this universe is capable of, that very same weekend I was picked for a job that required two months’ training on the island.  I was back in less than a week, and handed the keys to a tiny place at Barangay Bulabog, on the other side of the famous WhiteBeach.

And wouldn’t you know it, somewhere between my exasperation at the relentless toogsh-toogsh of crappy dance singles at every bar, and revulsion at the weed-like vigilance of new construction sites at every turn, the island slowly began to grow on me.

I found a trail up Mt. Luho that looked right out into the sparkling blue sea; discovered a path down Bulabog Beach where the red, round sun rose magnificently each morning; walked and swam way beyond the borders of Stations 1 and 3; snuggled into the soft, fine sand at dusk, and realized, however begrudgingly, that Boracay is not all madness and money-milking mayhem.

I saw men tread up and down the shore with giant fish on their shoulders, bought little hand-carved items from stealthy young lads who hid from the beach police, called the women in stores “pangga,” went swimming and rolling on the sand with giggly Aklanon kids, bit into the juiciest, most scrumptious shrimp at D’ Talipapa, and each single day, was reminded again and again, why Boracay is still honored as one of the best and most beautiful beaches in the world.

At the end of my two months, I returned to Boracay a few more times. Our little office had expanded to include a bunch of American, British, Filipino, Russian, and South African interns, and for a little while, dancing pointlessly inside manic bars like Summer Place and Paraw, and nursing hangovers at Andok’s—some of the very things I had initially detested about Boracay—even became quite normal.

Strange, but it’s almost as if Boracay had become more enchanting, more endearing, after I’d come face to face with its grime: the receding beach front, the haphazard development, the lure of commerce.

Set against the hideous backdrop of what it could and would soon become, Boracay is now more lovely and more alive, simply because it still is what it is, despite what it’s turned into.  Or grimmer still, perhaps the reason why it’s so achingly beautiful now is because soon, it may just cease to be, or at the least, never again be how we remembered it.

And if there is really nothing else we can do, we can always just try and make more memories.