Anilao - a divers’ haven in the Philippines

Anilao - a divers’ haven in the Philippines

It is unusual for me to spend a weekend in the Philippines, that too in Metro Manila. Typically I wrap up my work on Fridays  and head home on Saturdays. So even after several visits to the Philippines, I have seen precious little other than the old city, the Intramuros, the Santiago fort and the malls.

But this weekend was different. I had the Sunday to myself in Manila and decided to make the most of it. Based on recommendations from local friends and colleagues, and a very extensive Internet research of exactly 10 minutes on Friday, I decided to try the beaches near Batangas in the south, a place called Anilao, about 90km from the city.

So here I am, up early on the Sunday morning at 5:30am. A short taxi drive brings me to the Buendia bus terminal, from where several bus companies operate the route to Batangas. I’ve missed the first bus that leaves at six, so I get on the second one that leaves at six forty. This large, air-conditioned and relatively comfortable bus is called Jam liner, and is jam-packed with sleepy locals for whom this seems like a weekly affair. It costs me 197 pesos for the bus ride, about $4, which is just a little over the price of just the taxi ride from hotel to the bus terminal. It is funny how pricing works for urban public transport.

There is hardly any traffic due to the early hours. So the bus journey is quick and uneventful, and I reach Batangas City by 8am. The bus stops here, a few people get down and then we go further. Another fifteen minutes, and now I’m at Batangas Port. The bus terminates here. I’m one of the last ones to get down. I can see ships leaving for the beaches to the other side of the strait, places like Puerto Galera. But I have to go to Anilao, so I exit the port and come outside.

I’m now surrounded by a small group of locals, mostly tricycle operators, speaking animatedly in their limited English. But when I tell them that my destination is Dive and Trek resort in San Pablo, they all collectively raise their hands up in despair and the decibel levels rise up like a wave. The only thing I can decipher is that the place is “very far, very far”, and the terrain is up and down, hilly, and not good for tricycle.

Now I have no way to check if this is true, or if it is just a typical ploy to dupe a gullible foreigner. It turns out that it is both. The resort is about an hour away, so they are right about that. But it should not cost me more than 300-350 pesos, and these guys are gleefully asking any amount north of 500 pesos that’s coming to their mind. So I keep looking down, fidgeting and saying “no” sternly to any price they say. I also keep checking the map location on my phone and trying to come up with alternate plans.

I could just chuck the idea of Dive and Trek and go to another place called Eagle Resort in Mabini (this was the second one in my research). But that is further away from Bauan, and would take longer and cost more. Finally, after about twenty minutes of this charade, one old fellow takes me by hand to his tricycle and motions to me to get on it. I’m confused, as the tricycle is already loaded with three other people, two in the sidecar and one on pillion. Anyway by now I’m tired and still sleepy, and not seeing any other option, I give in and sit on the bike, between the old guy and the pillion, and we set off. The tricycle guy tells me that the others will get down soon at the bridge, which they promptly do, and I am loaded into the side car from then on. I agree to pay him 400 pesos for taking me to Dive and Trek.

We cross Batangas City and go to the small town of Bauan, on the Batangas-Mabini highway. This is about 20 mins ride, and generally flat. At Bauan, we take a right into the village and the road starts a steep winding climb. The road becomes deserted, and except our ancient tricycle we hardly see anyone around.

All this while, while sitting in the uncomfortable sidecar, I’m worried that either the rickety machine or the man himself is going to give up. It turns out that both do. After many steep turns and climbs, all throughout which he keeps complaining how it is ‘too far, too far’, the old man stops at a shop, buys cigarettes, takes a few puffs, and then starts again with great reluctance. Just a few minutes later, after yet another strenuous climb, as we cross another group of houses after the church in San Pablo, his tricycle sputters, chokes, and just completely gives up.

I get down the smoking contraption. A group of locals gather around as they do usually. They tell me there is no way to reach Dive and Trek by tricycle. The mountains are just too steep. A couple of tricycle guys stop by. They offer to take me to another resort called La Thalia, from which presumably I could take a boat ride. They kindly offer to take me to La Thalia for a ‘reasonable’ amount of 500 pesos more, an offer which I flatly refuse. I say I’d rather walk down, to which the collective holler amidst laughter is it is “very far, very far”.

Meanwhile the old tricycle guy starts complaining and asks for more money for his hardship. I refuse flatly, give him his agreed sum, and start walking away from the scene. I can hear a few shouts, some sneering and taunts in local language, and this doubles my resolve. I may be a foreigner, but I am no one’s fool.

As I walk, I start noticing how beautiful and quaint this entire area is. It’s about half past nine in the morning by now. The weather is surprisingly cool and pollution free. There is a chilly breeze and not a soul around. There are mangroves and tropical trees, mostly mangoes, on both sides of the road, which make it all the more pleasant to walk. I can see farms, a few houses and shops, hills rising up on one side, then sloping down the other, finally melting into the ocean at the far horizon. It would’ve been an extremely pleasant hike, except for the nagging feelings of unpleasantness and uncertainty. I do get the occasional push of pride and joy, when the local tricycle guys pass me, and they turn around in disbelief seeing this urban stranger actually defying them and walking all the way up and down the hills.

I walk like this for a little over four and a half kilometer, for about two hours, leisurely –  thinking about things, taking in the sights and sounds and smells of fresh greenery, stopping by and talking to locals occasionally when I see some shops or a bunch of houses, and generally having a good time. The weather is good for the walk, and I break a sweat only on a couple of occasions when the climbing gets really steep.

As I follow the road signs to La Thalia, I can see how the setting is very similar to Kokan and the remote southern parts of Goa back home. Not just the location, but the people are similar too. And I guess it is the same everywhere. The rickshaw drivers try to loot foreigners. The locals smile and are helpful. The village elders are sitting in groups, playing cards or some local games. And when you ask directions, the locals invariably say that it’s just ‘around the corner’, an expression could mean anywhere from a few minutes to half an hour. Just like back home.

By around half past eleven, I reach La Thalia. It is a typical weekend resort, the kinds found in Lonavala or Bhiwadi or similar outskirts of any major city, where large groups of weekend day trippers and families go to float in mid-sized pools smelling of chlorine and mediocrity. The girl at the reception offers me water and coffee, which I accept with the zeal of a refugee. She tells me that for Dive and Trek, I need to take a boat, but that will cost me some 2000 pesos. Shocked beyond belief, I land on a bench with a thud.

However, good sense prevails, and the girl at La Thalia says she will check with Dive and Trek if they have a boat to take me. While I wait helplessly for her to connect to her boatman to rely the message to Dive and Trek, I am hounded by the thought of why I’m here and not back in my nice hotel room at this very moment; a typical feeling that is almost always an uninvited companion of such misadventures. But I have no idea how wrong I am at this time. My exceedingly good luck is just around the corner, behind the big hill to the right, riding hurriedly towards me in the form of a small white fishing motorboat, and things are going to be different from this point on.

As the small boat comes in sight, the girl at La Thalia turns to me smilingly, saying that my predicament is over. The white boat has several long wooden arms stretching out into the water, apparently for giving it stability in water, and make it look like a spider, or a Martian vehicle from the movie John Carter. The rescue party comprises of two boatmen, who look like the green Martians too, but with only 2 hands instead of 4, and are thankfully less menacing. They confirm my name, apologize for the mix-up and then guide me onto their boat; and while the weekend group tourists at La Thalia look on from their little swimming pool, my motor boat darts into the wide blue ocean; with me gleefully sitting at the head of the boat, with wind blowing in my hair and sea water spraying on my face. It is a still from a James Bond movie (or so I believe).

The little white boat turns around the hill and the entire scenario changes for me. Gone are the signs of civilization. Gone are the day trippers, the villagers, the tricycle drivers and unpleasantness. Nested in a large curve in the hill, this is a haven for serious divers. I can see about four gangs of divers grouping on different tables, about 5 to 6 people in each group. Some seem to have done their first dive, while some are dressed for going down. There are small nipa huts that are buzzing with serious activity, gas cylinders, flippers and talks of depths. I am super excited as I land at the resort.

The lady at Dive and Trek receives me, registers me, and is surprised to see that I’ve come alone and for the first time. After a while, I can start making sense of all morning. See, I’d planned the Anilao trip only at the last minute. People don’t do that. I also contacted the resort only on Friday evening. So the person at the Manila city office had hurriedly sent me a confirmation, assuming I’m a regular, just like her other clientele. She could have sent the instructions on how to arrive, but she assumed that I’ve been here before. In hindsight, I should have explained that I’m a first timer, and asked for directions. But then, then I would’ve missed the long walk and the reverie and a story to tell you! So I guess all is well that ends well.

By now it’s half past twelve, and the lunch is laid out; a complete fare with some pork, chicken, fried tilapia fish, rice and some good soup. Since I’ve left the hotel on empty stomach and haven’t got a chance to eat during the morning misadventure, this is absolutely welcome. The diver groups take turns for getting in line, all the time laughing, chatting shop talk, about diving and trekking and more diving. It’s like a small community.

I have taken a day trip package for 1,550 pesos. This covers my use of common areas, pool, the nipa huts, and meals - lunch and evening snacks. Soon I’m at a table with a plate full of different things, making causal eye contacts with some of the groups, and smiling and nodding. The food is fresh and quite good. The fish is tasty, the pork is well-done and the chicken is sweet, with a typical Filipino flavour. And they have ripe mangoes at the end! ... Ah, I could get used to this. Everyone, not just the kids, line up eagerly for the mangoes and among a lot of banter and causal jokes, we polish off heaps of Cebu mangoes, which the girls from the kitchen lovingly replenish.

With the first order of business after arriving here is complete, I turn to the more interesting matters. I have missed the intro to diving session in the morning due to late arrival. But now the blue waters are inviting, and I can no longer keep away. So I change and take instructions from a guy at the resort about snorkeling. They give me the snorkeling gear on rent, some 350 pesos for the day which is pretty good. I set it up, head towards the pier and get into the cold water. After a couple of trials and errors, and some of the first of the many gulps of seawater for the day, I’m finally able to breathe through it.

I duck in the water and an entire underwater world comes alive to me. It’s Aquaman time, baby! … The resort has its own reef and according to the serious divers I make friends with later, it is one of the best coral reefs that this part of the world has to offer. I can see all sorts of tropical fish around me. I float on the surface, drinking occasional gulps of saline water, but making the most of the experience, taking the otherworldly sights in. This is a first for me, and I am simply overwhelmed by the beauty of it. The fish are plenty and unafraid of humans. They keep swimming around you in large shoals of glitter and sparkle and all sorts of colours. I can see a lot of electric pink, some heavy green, a dash red, some strips of yellow and of course all sorts of blue and indigo. This is how I celebrate this year’s Holi, the festival of colours in India.

Time comes to a standstill for me, and yet the lazy minutes of the sunny island afternoon keep ticking away outside. My world keeps immersed in the cool water, away from everything else. I’m getting cold and the skin on my palms is getting all wrinkly, but I cannot get enough of this. Every now and then I get out, dry myself a bit, drink a few glasses of water and calamansi juice and whatever else I can get my hands on quickly, and jump right back into the blue.

The fish are a great company. They don’t demand much from you and will organize and reorganize themselves around you as you paddle your way around. There’s a school of pink butter fish that keeps close to the surface of the water and keeps following me with the zeal of Marxists. I think they are hopeful that I’ll start a discourse with them (or at least feed them some bread). Then there are green parrot fishes who are elusive. They hide in the crevices of the brown and grey coral. Tiny black fish keep roaming around me, merrily going between my legs and feeling not a care of the world. Bent rays of the sun keep illuminating this entire watery canvas like a Dali.

After I’ve had my heart’s full (well, almost), and the stomach starts a little rumble in protest, I’m back on land. I realize that it is close to 4pm already. All my memories of morning get refreshed. I better hurry, as there’s a long way back home. So I rush through the changing, hurriedly eat the turons (sweet spring rolls filled with ripe banana, a Filipino favourite snack), and settle the bill at the counter. The girl at the counter says that I can get on the next boat, which will take me to right instead of left, to a different pier and parking. There she will call a tricycle, with pre-agreed rate of 200 pesos. The fellow will take me to another nearby bus stop, and from there I can take a bus to Manila. In fact, this would have been the easy route in the morning (if I’d been smart enough to check with them, I tell myself). So now I know.

Happy about how the day has turned out and thankful to the folks at the resort, I get on the small white boat with fins. This time I’ve got company. There’s a couple at the back, and also a family of three in the front, and soon we start talking. The family, especially the husband and wife are friendly and warm. They have a teenage son. They are all amazed to hear that I’m here alone and also that this is my first time. They feel happy to hear that I’ve liked it a lot. They are all regular divers. The wife asks me how I feel and how my day was. When I tell them my story of the morning misadventure, they are amused and at the same time empathizing. As we get down at the pier, the wife and husband signal at one another, and then very kindly offer to take me with them to Manila. They say they have a big van and can easily drop me on their way home. I’m reluctant at first as I don’t want to bother them, but they insist, and the temptation of a convenient, quick ride home in good company is too much to get over. So I thank my stars, thank the two lovely people and get into their big, comfortable, air-conditioned van.

Their second teenage son joins us too, along with a friend of the family, as another boat arrives. They have all traveled in the morning from Manila for this family vacation. They load their diving gears, barrels, gas cylinders, flippers into the back of the van; and we set off on our return journey.

The journey back to Manila is a pleasure, thanks to the very hospitable and delightful company of the Asprec family. The husband is a medical professional, and a well-known speaker in Manila. He conducts training courses on safety and health in the Philippines. He’s also a lead instructor level diver (level 4 out of 5) and has been diving since his university days. The lady runs a small company, and she and the boys have been diving for about seven years now. They have completed the first level, and they all enjoy these family outings once in a couple of months. The family friend is a dentist. He and the boys try to catch on some sleep during the drive, as they have all been up really early for the trip.

The rest of us take turns talking and munching on all the food that the van is loaded with. It is an infinitely more pleasurable experience compared to the morning, thanks to the lovely family. I learn a lot from them about diving, more diving places in the Philippines and local cuisine and customs. This has got to be one of the best days I’ve spent in this country till now.

By around seven, we enter the city limits. The going is slow due to the traffic of returning vacationers, and we chug our way to Makati, where I get dropped. The Asprecs have to go 17 km further north to Quezon City. I thank them profusely once again for the lift and the food and the chat, promise them that I’ll study more about diving, and head back. I’m a bit suntanned on the edges, the head is buzzing with all the sun and the activity, but the heart is content with the thrill and the newness and the beauty of the experiences of the day and the kindness of strangers one meets during the travels!

Shreekant

24th March 2019

Salcedo village, Makati Manila, the Philippines