Occidental Mindoro: Where the road ends ... another begins
My three weekend trips to Occidental Mindoro in June 2009 became journeys of retreat and recollection. My first travel to this rustic paradise was in 1982 when I visited a Mangyan settlement in the remote and rugged town of Sablayan.












While passing through Rizal town, I chanced upon Occidental Mindoro Governor Josephine Sato in one of her consultative meetings with farmers during a rice seedlings distribution.

LPG and food technology in the Philippines ©2006

Biotechnology in the Philippines © 2005

A day in no-man’s land ©2004

NOTHING but dusty potholes and loose gravel roads lay between Marawi City and the town that lies 32 kilometers further south of the city outskirts. It was once called the no-man’s land of Lanao del Sur which is on the island of strife-torn Mindanao.

In a 2000 census, the town of Maguing listed 18,095 residents and all of them are Muslims. Not a tincture of Christian blood could be found in this town that even Muslims from Marawi City are sometimes reluctant to go to.

When the group I was with visited Maguing in September 22, 2004, it was the first day of Ramadan. Almost every Muslim we met was in a state of piety that day. For more than a billion Muslims worldwide, Ramadan is a time of prayer, fasting, and charity.

Ramadan is the ninth month of the Islamic calendar. Islam uses a lunar calendar where each month begins with the sighting of a new moon. The lunar calendar is about 11 days shorter than the solar calendar which is used elsewhere.

A young Muslim teacher told me that Islamic holidays ‘move’ each year. This year, however, Ramadan began on September 24. Ramadan also precedes Christmas and Hanukkah. In many places, the two Christian and Jewish holidays has become widely commercialized. Ramadan, on the other hand, retains its focus on self-sacrifice and devotion to Allah (God).

I asked myself why Muslims observe Ramadan on September. I found out that Muslims believe that Allah revealed the first verses of the Qur'an, the holy book of Islam, on a September. Around 610 A.D., a caravan trader named Muhammad wandered on the desert near Mecca (in today's Saudi Arabia) while thinking about his faith. One night a voice called on him from the night sky. It was the angel Gabriel who told Muhammad he had been chosen to receive the word of Allah. In the days that followed, Muhammad found himself speaking the verses that would be transcribed as the Qur'an.

During Ramadan, about one thirtieth of the Qur'an is recited in mosques each night in prayers known as tarawih. Through this process, the complete scripture will have been recited in the whole month of September.

During Ramadan, Muslims practice sawm, or fasting, for the entire month. This means that they may eat or drink nothing, including water, while the sun shines. Fasting is one of the Five Pillars (duties) of Islam. As with other Islamic duties, all able Muslims take part in sawm starting from age twelve.

During Ramadan, Muslims close their restaurants during the daylight hours. Families get up early for suhoor, a meal eaten before the sun rises. After the sun sets, the fast is broken with a meal known as iftar. Iftar usually begins with dates and sweet drinks that provide a quick energy boost. In Maguing, only the small stores remain open.

For the Muslims of Lanao del Sur and in other parts of the world, I was told that fasting serves many purposes. While experiencing hunger and thirst, Muslims are reminded of the suffering of the poor. Fasting is also an opportunity to practice self-control and to cleanse the body and mind. And in this most sacred month, fasting helps Muslims feel the peace that comes from spiritual devotion as well as kinship with fellow believers.

In Lanao del Sur, Maranao is the most commonly spoken language. Also spoken by the people are Tagalog and Cebuano, as well as English and Arabic.

The native Maranao of Lanao del Sur have a fascinating culture that revolves around kulintang music, a specific type of gong music, found among Muslim and non-Muslim groups of the Southern Philippines.

Lanao del Sur forms the western portion of Northern Mindanao. It is bounded on the north by Lanao del Norte, on the east by Bukidnon, on the west by Illana Bay, and on the south by Maguindanao and Cotabato. The landscape is dominated by rolling hills and valleys, placid lakes and rivers.

Imams or Muslim holy men are regarded as caretakers and keepers of mosques. These savants are considered the elder wise men of Islam and are accorded respect.

The climate in the province is characterized by even distribution of rainfall throughout the year, without a distinct summer season. The province is located outside the typhoon belt.

When my group arrived in Maguing in the middle of the night, it was freezing cold. I wondered why we had to travel at night on this seemingly dangerous area. Our good host was a relative of the mayor and is regarded to be one of the most influential people in the province.

This is not the first time I traveled outside Marawi City. I have been to other Lanao municipalities but traveling in this remote area at night really gave me the goose.

Marawi City is the capital of Lanao del Sur, a principality that lies on the northern part of Mindanao. It is a rugged territory overlooking picturesque Lake Lanao. The province belongs to the Autonomous Region in Muslim Mindanao (ARMM) where an election for a new governor recently took place. The election results were marred by complaints of frauds filed by candidates who lost.

Lanao comes from the word ranao, meaning "lake." Lanao centers on the basin of Lake Lanao; thus, it is the land of the Maranaos, the "people of the lake."

When the Spaniards first explored Lanao in 1689, they found a well-settled community called Dansalan which was located at the lake's northern end. Dansalan became a municipality in 1907 and a city in 1940, although it was inaugurated as such only in 1950. In 1956, Republic Act No. 1352 changed the name Dansalan to Marawi, from the word rawi, referring to the reclining lilies in the Agus River.

When Lanao was divided into two provinces under Republic Act No. 2228 in 1959, Marawi was made the capital of Lanao del Sur. In 1980, the city was renamed the Islamic City of Marawi. It is now the only chartered city in the country with a predominantly Muslim population. In a 1989 plebiscite, Lanao del Sur voted to join the ARMM, but Marawi City elected to remain outside ARMM.

The long bumpy ride from Marawi City to Maguing eventually brought us to a wooden bridge built over the Potian River, a tributary that connects to Lake Lanao. The river is the source of life for the residents of this town. It provides the water needed to wash their clothes and irrigate their farmlands. It is also the source of deep wells that provide the drinking waters they need for daily nourishment.

Our guide and host, Abdulrashid Ding Ladayo, a resident Muslim and a former Manila Times correspondent, told me that my group of five are the first non-Muslims to be accorded entry into their town for a very long time.

“The people of Maguing are very friendly but they are also very suspicious of unfamiliar faces,” Ladayo said. “That is probably the reason why Christians are hesitant to come here.”

The 6th class town of Maguing is as rustic as ever. Except for a few material objects like color televisions, DVD players and mini-components, no other un-Islamic influence can be found here – albeit for the more obvious shampoo and election posters stapled or plastered on walls of sari-sari stores and electric posts.

A few roads leading to the municipal building are paved but the rest that led to the town’s 36 barangays are indications that government has long forgotten this enclave.

A golden mosque in Barangay Pagalongan stands still as a symbol of the Islamic faith. In the morning, a call for prayers echo from the minaret as the imam recites verses from the Qur'an - calling the faithful to worship Allah.

Since it was Ramadan, the residents of Maguing were more attentive to their religiosity rather than to pry on us.

Once a hotbed of the secessionist war, the mountainous terrain that surrounded the town still cast a shadow of death and destruction.During the onslaught of the Moro rebellion against the Marcos government in 1972, fierce battles between the Philippine Army 6th IB Tabak Division and 5,000 Moro National Liberation Front (MNLF) fighters and a special guerilla unit under the command of Commander Narra raged in the thick jungles of Karandangan Kalasan, for 76 days and nights.During the battles and skirmishes, hundreds of government troops were reported killed in this unfamiliar terrain while a lesser number was suffered by the rebels.

Today, after three decades of conflict, an uncertain peace has finally nestled on the fertile grounds of Lanao del Sur, or at least in this municipality, where the legendary Sultan Mangoda Hadji Salam, also known as Commander Tiger of the MNLF Central Ranao Revolutionary State, now finds solace. Salam is now a farmer and the president of the Parents-Teachers Association (PTA) of the Benito Memorial High School in Barangay Pagalongan.

“I prefer to farm now than fire my rifle,” Salam said. “War is terrible. The faces of death are simply unforgettable.”

According to a published report by the Livelihood Enhancement and Peace (LEAP) Program, a macro-economic project partly sponsored by the US and Philippine governments, Commander Tiger’s name was synonymous to notoriety especially to people he once regarded as enemies. But in 1996, this reputation was put to a test after the Philippine government and the MNLF signed a peace accord ending more than 20 years of armed conflict.

“It was not an easy task, Commander Tiger said. “When I returned, the place was almost deserted. It had become a vast wasteland with tall grasses reaching as high as three meters,” he recalls. “Most of the residents have relocated to Marawi City.”

The once fearless leader have turned to farming ever since the LEAP Program provided him, and 74 other former MNLF combatants in the area, with production inputs and technical means for agricultural production.

“I was away from my wife and seven children for a long time. I did not even see my children grow up,” he said.

Commander Tiger’s leadership skills, honed in the guerilla movement, were put to good use when LEAP was introduced to his hometown in 1997.

“Most members were skeptical about the project,” he recounts. “I had to show them that we could do it.”

He braved the heat of the sun and planted corn himself. Today, aside from being an entrepreneurial farmer, Commander Tiger also spends time to look into the affairs of the Benito Memorial High School, where he is the current PTA president.

The school was built in 1998 on a lot donated by Sultan Tingagen Macaaqir. When I was there, the teachers here lamented to me that the government has not paid them their back wages for six months.

When the group I was traveling with, arrived to donate DepEd-approved textbooks purchased through an NGO-LGU partnership program, the school suddenly burst with activity.

“The government does not provide us with books that will help educate the children of Maguing,” said Tapnai Molok, OIC principal of the Benito Memorial High School. “If not for your books, then we will practically have nothing to read.”

Perennial problems mentioned by Molok is a redundant cry bewailed by teachers in almost all public schools in Mindanao. A few blocks from the Benito Memorial High School is the partially-dilapidated Malungun Elementary School. I was surprised to see a grade three pupil struggling - with twisted tongue - to recite in broken English, a Philippine patriotic poem scribbled on the blackboard by his teacher.

The classroom was unlit except for the morning sunlight that made its way through the embroidered drapes. The Muslim teacher said they had to make do with available sunlight to illuminate the room, and normally, classes are dismissed before lunch.

But despite the primordial needs of the schools here, the town of Maguing seems to be thriving to move onward from its arrested development. New roads, bridges and other infrastructures are still awaiting construction by the administration of Mayor Hakim Abinal.

Despite the optimistic vision of transforming the town into a more social-friendly habitat, contrasting sights seemed quite noticeable. In a semi built-up area, Dream cable satellite discs mounted on rooftops of several residential houses reflect the status of the dwellers – it is also an indication that the well-off residents of Maguing are hungry for news from the outside world.

It seems rather odd, however, that parents who earn a living from whatever means could afford to spend money to buy televisions and DVD players, yet could not provide the needed books for their children. Searching for logical answers, I began to wonder: “Where do the people of Maguing get their livelihood, aside from planting rice and corn?” I expected an answer from my host but he simply shrugged off the question with a smile.

On the road again, and on our way back to Marawi City after spending a freezing evening in one of the more comfortable modern houses found in no-man’s land, Mitsubishi Pajeros and colorful jeepneys would again zoom past us – all heading to the direction of Maguing and vice-versa.

Despite the bad roads, old dilapidated houses, and a few stylish concrete houses, and whether or not it is a sign of suspended progress and prosperity, this old town branded with infamy during the war years seemed to be willing to catch up with the rest of its neighbors.

After my visit to the place, my Muslim friends from the academe who are based in Marawi City asked me with great amazement, why, of all places in Mindanao, did I go to Maguing? Rumor goes that a lot of illegal activities happen in this remote town. However, nothing of that sort came to my attention. All I saw were several late model Pajeros with unsuspecting drivers and passengers passing by the gravel road. Then I wondered how much a Pajero costs.

Endless nirvana in Montemar ©2006

NOVEMBER is pawikan month in Bagac, Bataan. In Filipino parlance, a turtle is called a pawikan. The pawikan in Bagac Bay like to lay their eggs at Montemar beach because in a sense, they feel safe and assured that their hatchlings will find their way to the sea where they truly belong.

Unlike in other coastal municipalities in the Philippines, pawikan are mercilessly slaughtered for their meat and shells. Their eggs are being sold to aphrodisiac freaks for a meager sum of ten pesos (.20 US cents) each. I have heard of tales from fishermen that a pawikan sheds tears when about to be butchered.

Montemar beach is a beautiful place to unwind. I have been going back and forth to the place since I first arrived in Bataan in 1980, to work in the documentation of the construction of the Philippine nuclear power plant. Unfortunately, the plant was mothballed in 1985 due to political pressures from anti-Marcos groups.

Bataan is a peninsula located in Central Luzon. It has several picturesque mountain ranges where Communist rebels once roamed. Although the big trees in the mountains and forests of Bataan are rapidly being felled by unscrupulous loggers with their chainsaws, the terrain still looks virginal. Today, only a handful, hardcore rebels still make Bataan their enclave. No more ratatat in Bataan.

Montemar beach is on the western side of the Bataan peninsula. It is facing the blue South China Sea. Today, the place is known as an exclusive resort where Manila’s affluent come to escape the hustle and bustle of the metropolis.

Montemar beach is about two kilometers from my house in Bagac and for 27 years served as my place of retreat. Whenever I wanted peace of mind I go to this place. Whenever I need to meditate I go to this place. Whenever I need to drink ice-cold San Miguel I go to this place. The Montemar pool is also a nice place to jump into on a hot sunny day. Yes … never was there a dull moment I could think of every time I talk about this beautiful place.

The town of Bagac is exactly 151 kms. from Manila by car - about two hours drive on a normal day. Driving at night would be much quicker. It can also be reached by overloaded motorized banca (outrigger) from Morong and Mariveles.

In Montemar, Pawikan Day is celebrated on the fourth day of November. And on the 25th of the same month, the residents of Bagac celebrate the birthday of their patron Saint Catherine de Alexandria. Bagac is a predominantly Roman Catholic town. Just like in any municipality in the Philippines, the people of Bagac religiously go to church every Sunday to hear mass. The followers of el Shaddai congregate at the town plaza once a week to sing their songs of joy and miracles. And much of every weekend, visitors and tourists also flock to this town. Yet the town remains sleepy.

In the last three years, the management of Montemar Beach Club has entered into a joint agreement with the Community and Environment and Natural Resources Office and the local government unit to protect the pawikan found in Bagac Bay.

Since then, hundreds of pawikan – Olive ridley (Lepidochelys olivacea) turtles in particular - had been saved. Thousands of hatchlings had been released to the sea. The management of Montemar Beach Club has constructed a recovery and rehabilitation pond just near the water, were wounded and exhausted pawikan can be treated and released back to the seas.

I heard that the Olive ridley turtles are now endangered in Mexico and threatened elsewhere. The turtle was named after H.N Ridley FRS, who was on the island of Fernando de Noronha, and in Brazil in 1887. As both its common and species names imply, the overall color of this turtle is olive green.

I was also told that the Olive has a sister specie which is called the Kemp's ridley. It is a small sea turtle, usually less than 100 pounds (45 kilograms). The most obvious difference between the Olive ridley and the Kemp's ridley is the number of costal scutes of the upper shell. The olive ridley has from 5 to 9 costals and 7 vertebral scutes. Kemp's ridley has 5 costals, and 5 vertebrals.

Not so long ago, these turtles were called the Pacific and Atlantic ridley respectively, but the discovery of Lepidochelys olivacea off the Atlantic coast of South America necessitated a name change. This is an omnivorous turtle which feeds on crustaceans, mollusks and tunicates. An average clutch size is over 110 eggs which require a 52 to 58 day incubation period.

The Olive ridley inhabits tropical and subtropical coastal bays and estuaries. It is very oceanic in the Eastern Pacific and probably elsewhere too. These animals are found in the Pacific and Indian Oceans, and along the Atlantic coast of West Africa and the Atlantic coast of South America. How they found their way to Montemar, only God knows.

In the Eastern Pacific it occurs from Southern California to Northern Chile. Large nesting aggregations called "arribadas" still occur in Pacific Costa Rica, primarily at Nancite and Ostionales and Pacific Mexico at La Escobilla, Oaxaca. According to the Marine Turtle Newsletter (October 1993), an estimated 500,000 nesting females came ashore during a single week in March, 1991 at Gahirmatha Orissa, India.

According to a current threats and historic reasons for decline in the number of global Olive ridley turtles, the last large arribada beach in India is threatened with disaster by the development of a major fishing port and a prawn culture facility. In fact, it threatens the entire Bhitarkanika Sanctuary in which the beach is located.

On the Mexican Pacific Coast of the states of Jalisco, Michoacan, Guerrero and Oaxaca, past large scale exploitation for meat, eggs and leather reduced the once large arriabas to dangerously low levels. In June of 1990, Mexico declared total protection for this species as well as the other species of sea turtles inhabiting Mexican waters, but there is still a trade on the black market.

In 1993, 350,000 nests were recorded in Escobilla, Oaxaca (Marquez, 1994, pers. comm.). Mexico has recently opened the Mexican Turtle Center at Mazunte, Oaxaca, near the site of a former turtle slaughter house. Hopefully, some of the same individuals who formerly killed turtles will be able to earn a living by protecting them and educating visitors about them. Despite Mexican initiatives to protect the Olive ridley, this same population is still exploited in the black market in Mexico and harvested as it feeds along the Pacific coasts of Nicaragua and Ecuador. In Bagac, Bataan, a group of marginal fishermen banded together to protect and preserve the Olive ridley that arribada in the coastal areas of the municipality.

A closer look at the pawikan, one will notice that the head of an Olive ridley is quite small. Carapace is bony without ridges and has large scutes (scales) present. Carapace has 6 or more lateral scutes and is nearly circular and smooth. Its body is deeper than the very similar Kemp's ridley sea turtle. Both the front and rear flippers have 1 or 2 visible claws. There is sometimes an extra claw on the front flippers. Juveniles are charcoal grey in color, while adults are a dark grey green. Hatchlings are black when wet with greenish sides.

An adult Olive ridley measures 2 to 2.5 feet (62-70 cm) in carapace length and weights between 77 and 100 pounds (35-45 kg).

They can be found in coastal bays and estuaries, but can be very oceanic over some parts of its range. They typically forage off shore in surface waters or dive to depths of 500 feet (150 m) to feed on bottom dwelling crustaceans.

They nest twice every year and lay an average of over 105 eggs in each nest. Eggs incubate for about 55 days. An average clutch size is over 110 eggs which require a 52 to 58 day incubation period.

Under the U.S. Federal Endangered Species Act, the Olive ridley is listed as ‘Threatened (likely to become endangered, in danger of extinction, within the foreseeable future).’ It is also listed as ‘Endangered (facing a very high risk of extinction in the wild in the near future)’ by the International Union for Conservation of Nature and Natural Resources.

Threats to survival of these turtles are the direct harvest of adults and eggs, incidental capture in commercial fisheries and loss of nesting habitat are the main threats to this species. The Olive ridley has a global population estimate of 800,000 nesting females. The Olive ridley's life span is believed to be between 50 and 60 years. They reach reproductive maturity at 10 to 15 years of age, and are reproductively active for nearly 21 years.

Olive ridley nest (lay their eggs) in large groups of females called arribadas or arribazones (a derivation of the Spanish word for "arrival"). In preparation for the arribada, females gather off the coast, and then emerge to nest together ashore. In the past, as many as one million nesting females have been seen during an arribada that spanned several days on the same beach. Today, Olive ridley arribadas consist of, at most, a few thousand nesting females.

The main nesting grounds are on the shores of the Pacific Ocean around Costa Rica, Mexico, Nicaragua, and the Northern Indian Ocean, where the turtle nests abundantly in eastern India and Sri Lanka. Olive ridleys nest two to three times per nesting season, which occurs every one to two years. Nesting, which always occurs at night, takes between 45 minutes to an hour, after which time the female ridleys return to the ocean and disperse in many different directions. Depending on geographic location, nesting occurs from June to December, peaking in September and October. After a 55-day incubation, hatchlings emerge from the nests small—about 1.5" long and weighing less than an ounce—and are black with greenish sides

Of all the sea turtles, Olive ridley populations are relatively healthy. Still, there are so few left that in 1978, the U.S. Endangered Species Act (ESA) listed the Mexican nesting populations of Olive ridleys as endangered—and all others throughout the world as threatened. Despite this action, Olive ridley populations have actually shown a decline in abundance since their ESA listing as threatened, and at this time, the International Union for Conservation of Nature and Natural Resources (IUCN) lists all populations of olive ridleys as endangered. Olive ridleys are also listed on Appendix I of the Convention on International Trade in Endangered Species of Fauna and Flora (CITES), which means that trade in Olive ridleys, their eggs or any part or product derived from the turtle is forbidden.

Olive ridleys suffer high mortality rates from gill nets and trawl fisheries. They also fall victim to water pollution. Adding to these environmental hazards, the Olive ridley is jeopardized by trade, too: highly prized in Japan for its meat and eggs, the turtle is illegally hunted to supply this trade. Finally, occasionally on beaches where arribadas occur, there is a natural breakdown of nest contents, which creates fungus and bacteria that destroys the buried sea turtle eggs. This natural occurrence contributes to large discrepancies in Olive ridley populations from year to year.

In Montemar, the Olive ridley turtles have attracted more visitors to the resort. Children are the number one fans of the pawikan. The children learn a lot from interacting with the pawikan. They become aware of protecting and preserving the environment and the vast marine resources of the country.

The children learn a great deal from their exposures with the pawikan. They learn something they normally don’t acquire from schools. The children who interacted with the pawikan also learned how the turtles adopted to land and sea conditions – something they don’t get to learn in school. Just looking at the faces of the children interacting with the pawikan is enough to know that they enjoyed the company of the exotic animals.

But Montemar is not just a place for pawikan. It is in the first place, a place where people can find pristine serenity. It is a place where one can interact with the sea and its surroundings. It is a place where visitors can experience the hospitality of the Bagakeños.

Almost a century ago, the Americans converted half of the Bataan Peninsula into a military reservation. They erected fortifications and installed huge canons supposedly to protect Manila from perceived invading forces. Today, the canons and fortifications had been replaced with recreational watercrafts.

Unfortunately, the American defenses proved to be useless and powerless against the invading Japanese forces. Bagac was the site of many battles where thousands of Japanese soldiers died trying to overrun American defenses in Bagac, Mariveles and Pilar.

Every year, hundreds of relatives of Japanese war veterans still visit the Death March shrine in Bagac. They offer flowers and Buddhist prayers to the thousands of soldiers who died during the war. They sound the giant Buddhist bronze bell at the tower to call for forgiveness and long lasting peace.

The infamous Death March was coined to dramatize the sacrifices and bravery of thousands of ‘battling bastards’ who were forced to walk from Bataan to Pampanga after they surrendered to the Japanese in 1942. The long march started in Bagac and a ‘zero’ kilometer marker was erected by the Filipino American Memorial Endowment to mark the place where man’s brutality to man in this part of the world started.

Because of its historical significance, the town also became a byword to history buffs. The construction of the nuclear power plant in Napot Point, the hosting of the Philippine Refugee Processing Center in Morong, and the Filipino-Japanese Friendship tower in Bagac added more points of interest to the province.

Visitors in Montemar can actually get a glimpse of the mothballed power plant while playing golf at the resort’s nine-hole course. The course has lush green links surrounded by sandtraps and bushes. Talisay trees provide the shade needed by golfers on a hot and humid day. It is also a nice picnic spot.

One thing I like about the place is that it is very near Metropolitan Manila. There may be places similar to Bagac in other parts of Luzon but to me, this place has a unique ambience that continues to give me endless nirvana everytime I indulge in its beauty.

Kids simply find this place the perfect playground. The pool, the hanging bridge, the swings, and the lush bermuda grass provide ample playing fields for the children and their yayas.

So, what else can you ask for in a place called Montemar? The food is exotic and the beer is always cold. A cold shake or a margarita can be mixed in a minute or two by the resident bartender.

And the women are simply breathtaking. A mermaid on the rocks is a perennial offering on a hot summer day in Montemar. Other resorts in Bagac also have their own mermaids on the rocks.

So what else is new in Montemar aside from the pawikan, mermaids, margarita, ice-cold San Miguel, cozy rooms, white sand beach, lobsters and snorkeling?

Well, there’s volleyball, adventure hikes to nearby waterfalls and rivers. Mountain climbing or simply hanging out in the bar overlooking the South China Sea.

Lovers can also find Montemar to be enticing enough to have their weddings by the sea. A sizzling bonfire could heat up the fervor among newly-weds just in time to catch the setting sun on the horizon.

Last December, Montemar was the venue of a wedding reception where hundreds of guests from Manila came with their SUVs and luxury sedans. They came to see if it was really true that turtles roam freely in the resort. They came to see how hatchlings race to the sea. They came to embrace the wind and see the famous Montemar sunset.

Yes … the sunset in Montemar is simply breathtaking, especially if you’re listening to Sting’s Dream of the blue turtle. To me, it’s simply nirvana. Now who wants to go to this place? Be my guest.

Author's Note: I spent three months photographing the turtles and the people of Montemar beach. My photo documentation started on November 2005 and ended January 2006. Almost a year after, the turtle population in the resort has tripled, and after being tagged on their fins, have been dispersed to the seas by the management of Montemar under the direct supervision of municipal and provincial environmental officers.

The turtles are beautiful and caring animals of the deep. They should remain free for they are the dwellers of the yonder seas. Man should stop annihilating them. This November, the Montemar people will be releasing more adult Olive ridleys and their hatchlings to the sea in celebration of Pawikan Day.

Navigating the Catubig River © 2004

MY one day trip along the Catubig River was a journey back in time. A look at the few remaining rustic structures still standing in the area will remind visitors that once in this place a fortuity of great significance took place and etched a page in history. The riverboat trip was an exotic exposure and the thrill that went with it was simply exhilarating.

The Catubig River is Northern Samar’s longest river. It is at least 30 kilometers long and passes through two river towns. The river has two mouths - one in Pangpang and one in the Laoang Island inlet. The river ends right after the town of Las Navas, a remote municipality surrounded by low rugged hills and lush forests.

For local residents, the river serves as a cord of life. It is the only access to all their needs – water to catch fish, water to irrigate their farmlands, water for their animals, water to wash their clothes, water to bath in, and water to transport their basic needs.

A local historian whom I met during my three-day stay in the province told me that the river got its name from the town of Catubig, an old Spanish pueblo and cabezeria. Although I was told that the original location of the town was in Palapag which was on the eastern side of the island facing the Pacific Ocean, the town served as the residence of the Cabo de Espiritu Santo during the Spanish times. The region was then called Ibabao which is today Northern Samar.

I was told that the Sumoroy Rebellion (1649-1650) led by the Waray hero Juan Ponce Sumuroy made Palapag a famous byword in Philippine history. One of the trusted co-conspirators of Sumuroy, David Dula y Goiti, sustained the Filipino quest for motherland with greater vigor. He was however wounded in a battle, was captured and later was executed in Palapag by the Spaniards together with his seven key lieutenants. They were accused of masterminding several attacks on Spanish detachments. Up to this day, Samar is noted for being a hotbed for insurgents.

During the 18th Century, Ibabao or Northern Samar became the stopover of the Acapulco galleon trade when its abaca, bees wax and other agricultural produce were in demand in Spain, Mexico and Peru. Palapag was the Pacific port of call while the town of Capul, in the San Bernardino Strait was the provisioning call of the galleons which plied between Manila and Mexico once a year. Capul, formerly known as Abak (after the ancient ruler of Java who brought the first settlers to Ibabao), probably got its name from Acapulco. To this day, abaca is still one of the major products found in the province. Today, abaca growers use the Catubig River to ship their raw products to buyers and distributors.

As I traveled along the river, I could see the rich alluvial soil of the river banks. The constant erosion of the soil contributes to the water’s brown murkiness. The soil in this area is predominantly silt and clay loam with a fine texture and a high water retention capacity. This soil type, I was told, is fertile and suitable for lowland rice farming.

Northern Samar is bounded on the north by the San Bernardino Strait, on the east by the Pacific Ocean, on the west by the Samar Sea, and on the south by Western Samar. I was told that the total land area of Norhtern Samar is 3,498 sq. km.

Northern Samar is composed largely of low and extremely rugged hills and small lowland areas. It also has small and discontinuous areas along the coasts and its rivers are usually accompanied by alluvial plains and valleys. The province is endowed with relatively rich and fertile soil that most crops can grow on it. It is rustic and picturesque.

As we cruised along the river, I could not help but imagined how the Nortehanons of Northern Samar figured prominently during the Spanish and American occupation of the Philippines. It was said that the river was a vital strategic access of the Pulahanes who protractedly fought a guerilla war even after the capture of General Lucban in Catubig in 1902 by the American forces.

I have read a lot of interesting stories about Northern Samar when I was still a student. During the Philippine-American War (1899-1913), I learned that the town of Catubig was the scene of a battle between the Samarnons and the Americans. It was later known as the Siege of Catubig. The century-old Saint Joseph the Worker church near the bank of the river is a surviving witness to the siege which took place on April 15, 1901. It was said that the battle lasted for four days.

History footnotes cited the Siege of Catubig as a long and bloody engagement fought during this period of the Philippine-American War, in which Filipino guerrillas launched a surprise attack against a detachment of U.S. infantry, and then forced them to abandon the town after a four-day siege. The siege began on April 15, 1900 and lasted on April 19 before the survivors were rescued. The attack was very similar to the infamous Balangiga Massacre farther south of Catubig a year later.

A few days before the battle, the U.S. 43d Infantry Regiment was sent to Catubig to stop guerrillas from getting supplies from suspected sympathizers. This was a time when conventional war in the Philippines had been abandoned and had now entered the new phase of guerilla warfare. The 43rd were relatively raw recruits and had little experience in combat. In fact, they had only been in the islands for four months before they were ordered to Catubig. I could just imagine how life was like back then when this place was untamed. It was probably America’s first Vietnam War.

April 15 seemed like a typical Sunday morning for the regiment, but suddenly rushing down from the surrounding hills and town itself came hundreds of Filipino guerillas armed with bolos (machetes), pistols, spears, and German Mauser rifles. Strange as it seems, the guerillas let loose a tremendous volley of “cannon” and rifle fire that drove the entire regiment into their barracks. For two days, the regiment withstood a withering fire with a loss of only two men, before their barracks were lit ablaze. Unable to extinguish the fire, the Americans were forced to flee the burning building and face the attackers.

When they reached the open, the whole regiment lost all coordination, and broke up into two groups, one running to the boats moored on the river bank, and another to the rear of the barracks. All 15 men running for the boats were killed, either cut down in the streets, or shot in the boats. The others made makeshift trenches, dug with their bayonets, and for another two days kept the guerillas in check until a rescue party in the steamer Lao Aug came to their aid. The relief force managed to save the survivors under a hail of Mauser bullets, making it back to their base before the guerillas could regroup and attack again.

Historical accounts of the siege documented that of the 31 American soldiers of the 43rd, 21 were killed and 8 were wounded. The rebel losses were unknown. American accounts claim as high as 150. The survivors of Company C, who were nearly annihilated during the Balangiga Massacre, also claimed extremely high losses on the Filipino side.

The town of Catubig can also be reached by land but one has to travel a long and arduous journey on paved and un-paved roads. However, some locals say that the best way to reach the river towns is by riverboat ride on the Catubig River. Catubig is a 4th class municipality. According to a 2000 census, it has a population of 26,917 in 5,015 households.

The next town further upriver is Las Navas, a 4th class municipality that has a population of 29,346 in 5,641 households. Legend says that Las Navas got its name from a Spanish officer named Delas Navas who explored the northern part of Samar during the Spanish times. The residents say the officer sailed with his men upstream the Catubig River and reached a place called Binongtu-an. The place was later changed to Las Navas to serve as a reminder to the people that a prominent Spanish officer stayed there. The people accepted the proposed name and changed the name Binongtu – an to Las Navas.

After the name Las Navas was acceted by the natives, a church was constructed near the bank of the Catubig River. Today the wide lowland between the rugged hills and the river is now known as the Catubig Valley. The river is said to be big enough for small tonnage barges or motored vessels to easily sail to the source of the river.

I reached Las Navas before lunch. The pump boat operator told me that they charge riders P20.00 per person to ply from Las Navas to Catubig and vice versa. The boats dock at Lo-ok in Catubig and Lo-ok, too in Las Navas. It leaves Las Navas at 5:00 a.m. and was always expected to arrive 5:30 a.m. in Catubig.

As our riverboat docked on the concreted river bank, the boatman told me that there are more brooks and creeks that can be found further inland if I was to take a hike. The offer was very inviting but I did not take the risk because of my unfamiliarity with the place and its people. I also had limited time to stay in the area. There was a saying that to travel across the Catubig at night would be dangerous. The Catubig is the most famous river in the area. It is commonly called the Main River as compared to the Hinaga and Hagbay rivers in Western and Eastern Samar.

Las Navas is primarily an agricultural municipality with rice production as a major activity. However, of the total land area, 4,733 hectares are planted with rice, and 3,275.2 hectares for coconut. The remaining areas are planted with abaca with a total of 1, 332.5 hectares, root crops has a total of 540 hectares. Livestocks and poultry are considered as major economic activities for small farmers and their families.

The boatman told me that other major resources such as timber products, tikog and rattan are also abundant in Las Navas, such offering a bright prospect for agricultural development and for subsequent industrialization thru small and medium scale industries.

Several kilometers past Las Navas in the upper most part of the stream, the Pinipisakan falls can be found. I did not have the chance to reach the area as dark rain clouds threatened our journey upstream. Reaching Las Navas town was good enough for me.

I discovered that the people of the river towns are friendly and accommodating. They welcomed strangers with open arms. The children of Las Navas, though were shy, managed to give away a smile when they saw us. I would say that the famous Samar hospitality is something that must be experienced by those who wish to travel to the island’s hinterlands.

Soon it was time for me to go back to Catubig town to catch the last ride back to Catarman. It was a rewind of the trip. But it also seemed to me like an emersion of life itself.

I was enthralled and fascinated by the trip. I was also glad that I was on my way back from what looked like an untamed frontier. It was like coming back from a journey back in time when Springfield rifles clashed with bolos.

My thoughts hover as I looked at the people doing about their chores by the banks of the river. For me, it seemed that despite the vicissitudes of the last two centuries, the river’s poignant tranquility seemed to have arrested the development of the river towns and the people who depend on it.

The subjective photographs I have taken during the Catubig River journey will always remind me of this beautiful but mysterious place. I hope that by sharing the images with the readers, it would serve as visual inspiration to those who crave for the surreal outdoor experience.

Signs of hope in Guimaras © 2006

ONE month after the M/V Solar I sank in the waters off the island of Guimaras, I received a text message from a colleague asking me if I was available for an assignment in the Visayas. When I said, “yes,” I was advised to take a flight to Iloilo City and proceed to Guimaras for a five-day coverage of the bunker oil spill clean up. I received the text message on a Sunday and the request was for me to take the early Monday flight. Since it was a short notice, I was not able to leave Monday – I left early Tuesday morning.

I was a replacement storyteller for another writer who had to return to Manila on urgent matters. And because of the exciting nature of the assignment, I simply could not say no to the offer. I immediately asked my managing editor if I can take three days off from my regular work schedule so I could travel to Guimaras. It was my only chance to once again get out of the airconditioned comfort of the office and get the smell and sweat of a challenging coverage.

The clean-up was organized by Petron and several government agencies. Petron is the petrochemical company whose bunker oil was loaded in the ill-fated tanker that sank near the island.
I have read many reports on the sea accident, and from what I have learned, the damage to the environment and to the lives of the people on the island – particularly the fishermen - was close to catastrophic.

Although I brought my camera with me, my primary purpose in going to Guimaras is to write stories and not take photos. My role in the documentation was limited to interviewing key personalities involved in the clean-up – nothing less, nothing more.
When I landed at the port of Jordan, Guimaras from Iloilo City on Tuesday morning, I was surprised to see a bustling port. I had imagined the place to be a ghost town after what had happened there, but what I saw was the other way around. Hundreds of people – boatmen, porters, passengers, as well as foreign tourists – were busy going about their usual business.
I proceeded to the Jordan tourist information center and met Sarah Jean Diaz, a tourism information assistant. She told me that the oil spill was indeed tragic for the Guimaranons. However, she cut short of thanking God that the environmental accident happened during the lean season, when foreign and local visitor arrivals are at a low. She expressed hope that the clean-up would soon end so everything would go back to normal.
The road trip to Nueva Valencia in the southern part of Guimaras was smooth and fast. The roads leading to the beach resorts and the coastal villages that were affected by the oil spill are well-paved. Bidol, our driver, was very good in maneuvering his orange-red multicab on the curves. Former Associated Press TV cameraman Tim Alipalo would often signal Bidol to stop his multicab so he could take video shots of the island’s vast agricultural resources.
The documentary team I rendezvous with consisted of two photographers (Alex Baluyut and Jimmy Domingo) and cameraman Tim. They’ve been on the island for seven days before I arrived and they all looked wasted. The team was staying at the Freelance Beach Resort at Alubihod beach, Nueva Valencia. It was also the same place where President Arroyo visited a few days before my arrival. She was there to meet with local and national officials to plan the clean-up.
The white sand beach and the crystal clear blue water of Alubihod beach were very enticing. There was not a single trace of oil slick on the beach and on the water. And I asked myself, “where is the oil spill?”

I wanted to take a swim in the beautiful ocean but pressure to work immediately on the tourism story forbade my desire to jump into the water and enjoy it.
Halfway on my story, team leader Alex Baluyut, handed me a bottle of ice cold San Miguel beer. On one side of the wooden table I was working on was a palanggana filled with fresh and steaming sumptuous talaba (oysters). On the other wooden table facing the blue ocean, a big serving of newly-cooked sinigang na talakitok was waiting to be devoured by Tim, Alex and Jimmy. I asked if was safe to eat oil spill talaba and what I got for an answer were a couple of shrugs.
Alex sure knows how to pamper me. He knows my weaknesses. And with more encouraging support coming from Jimmy and Tim slurping on the steaming talakitok, I tried to deviate from the obvious treat. I continued to punch on the laptop keyboard trying in vain to resist the temptation that was laid infront of me ... but it was a restraint in futility.
Just when I was about to finish the story at 4 o-clock in the afternoon, Alex received a call from Manila requesting him to immediately dispatch a writer to interview marine biologist, Dr. Angel Alcala, for an update on the fact-finding survey that his team of scientists did on the oil spill affected areas of Guimaras.
The problem was that Alcala is in Siliman Univerisity in Dumaguete City, and the only time he can be interviewed was Wednesday after lunch. Dumaguete City is in Negros Oriental – another island in central Visayas.

Tim and I were dispatched to catch the last ferry to Bacolod City that same afternoon (Tuesday), and on Wednesday morning, we were riding a rented van on a four-hour ride to Dumaguete City. I only have one hour to interview the former environment secretary. On our way to Dumaguete, I made several phone interviews with local officials in Guimaras so I could finish my tourism story.
After the Alcala interview, we had to drive back to Bacolod City so we could take the early Thursday ferry to Iloilo and then another boat ride to Guimaras.

Back in Guimaras island, I saw several foreigners who had just disembarked from the ferry. I found out that they were Japanese students and Australian vacationers.
I asked one of the Australians, Bill Glover, why he went to Guimaras despite news of the oil spill. His blunt answer to me was: “It’s only temporary! Soon nature will rehabilitate the affected areas and everything will be back to normal.”
On Friday, September 14, Alex and Jimmy dropped me and cameraman Tim at the village of Lucmayan. It is an inlet village surrounded by fishponds that led to a vast mangrove reserve and out to the coves called sitio Budburan.
What I saw in Lucmayan made me what I am again – a photographer. It was an irresistible photographic subject that needs to be frozen on film and digital. The scene was horrendous in a sense that the place seemed to have been turned into a waste dump.
From what I heard from the people who live there, the place was as spotless as white before the oil spill happened. When we got there, the place was almost black with oil stains. The water that was once crystal clear is now a brackish pond of useless liquid.
The bancas (outriggers) that had been brought inland by the fishermen during the early days of the oil spill has blackened due to contamination by the oil slicks.
Tim and I took a banca ride to the coves of Budburan to document the clean-up progress in the area. The sight was breathtaking! It was paradise! And it was also as if the four horsemen of the apocalypse passed by the place and incinerated it.
The scenery above sea level had a surreal eerie stillness. Dozens of seemingly "choking" islets seemed to jut out of the water to grasp for precious air.
But below sea level, the stillness of the sea showed life underneath us. I saw hundreds of star fishes adorning the landscape under the water. The sea grasses danced with the waves created by the banca. I saw lots and lots of shallow water fish swimming in every direction. "They're alive!" I exclaimed.

I took a lot of photographs of what I thought was nature’s awesome way of silently surviving man’s reckless disregard for the environment.
As we neared the shores of the islets, the harsh reality of an oil spill changed our mood from ebullience to melancholic. It was a poignant scene. The mangroves had been severely affected. The roots were pitch black … but I saw some signs of hope on the green leaves branching out for air and nutrients.
Several outriggers carrying clean-up workers arrived and immediately went to work. They replaced worn out booms with new absorbent ones that were supplied by Petron.

They hauled hundreds of sacks filled with contaminated debris. I could see a glimmer of hope on their mask-covered faces as they load sack after sack of debris into the bancas.
The sacks, I was told, would be hauled by trucks and brought to a huge barge. The debris would then be taken to a cement factory in Misamis Oriental on the island of Mindanao.
The fishermen of Lucmayan have now become oil spill clean-up workers. They form part of what Petron calls the Ligtas Guimaras program – a program aimed at bringing Guimaras back to its pristine state. They were paid Php 300 pesos for five hours of cleaning the affected areas.
The women of Lucmayan were also helping the men by gathering dried banana leaves so they could make alternative booms. As I looked at their pensive faces, I could tell that there is nothing in this world they could wish for but to get rid of the oil that has damaged their fishing grounds. At least, the women of Lucmayan showed their resolve in bringing life back to their village.
I also learned that the women were also being paid the same amount as the men were. The same was done in other villages affected by the oil spill.
One of the workers that I talked to said he was happy with the amount being paid to them by Petron. “It’s better than having no work at all,” said Rolando Gaquet, a council member of Lucmayan.
Majority of the residents in the coastal villages of Guimaras Island are dependent on fishing as their primary source of livelihood. Now they want the government and other private agencies to help in the rehabilitation of their marine biodiversity.
Petron health and safety personnel in Lucmayan said that more than 500 metric tons of debris had already been shipped to Misamis Oriental.
Based on a report released by the National Disaster Coordinating Commission on September 13, the massive oil spill has affected 39,004 people or 7,870 families in the provinces of Iloilo, Guimaras and Negros Occidental.
As of September 22, Petron officials have reported that 29 villages in five municipalities affected by the oil spill in Guimaras province had been almost cleaned of pollutants and are just awaiting rehabilitation.
The updated report also stated that a total of 4,727 families (23,635 persons) in Guimaras province were affected. Many of those affected had been hired in the cash-for-work program of the petrochemical company.

In its website, Petron claims to have already cleaned more than 126 kilometers of shoreline with the help of local communities under the “Cash for Work” scheme.

To date, it has collected nearly 1,700 metric tons of debris. It is also working with environmental experts from University of the Philippines-Visayas and Silliman University to create a roadmap for the long-term rehabilitation of Guimaras.
The Guimaras tragedy was a wake up call for the Guimaranons. It has taught them a lesson they will never forget for a long long time. It is a wake up call too for other petrochemical companies and the government to ensure that this kind of sea accident don’t happen again.

Although blame is still to be rendered to those guilty of negligence, the oil spill has likewise awakened a multi-sectoral concern that more stringent measures should be enforced against careless handling of toxic wastes or pollutants.

The shipping lanes for oil tankers should also be re-charted to ensure that floating coffins like the M/V Solar I would not damage marine reserves and biodiversities in the future.
My five-day sojourn to Guimaras and Negros was an experience worthy of the trip. I am thankful to the team who invited me so I could share to the world the progress that is being done on the island.

I am also thankful that there was no reported fish kill in the waters of Guimaras. A fish kill is a negative indicator that pollutants have affected the marine biodiversity of a coastal area. The absence of a fish kill is an indication that there is hope for Guimaras.

And finally, I wish that all efforts should be made to make Guimaras and other places affected by the oil spill a much better place to live in.

Acknowledgement: Photos of Alex Baluyut, Tim Alipalo and sinigang na talakitok were taken by Jimmy Domingo. Photos of Jimmy Domingo and me interviewing Japanese tourists were taken by Alex Baluyut.