So, it’s time to leave the peace and tranquility of Siquijor behind and head back to smoggy Dumaguette for a ferry to Bohol.
The ferry to Dumaguette is fast and cheap. We don’t see any Dolphins this time, just a stream of sewage in the middle of the ocean with lots of coconut shells floating about.
We make it just in time for the next ferry to Bohol- but it costs a fortune compared to the other ferries that we’ve been getting. No matter- at least we’re on schedule. We want to get to Nuts Huts by sunset at least (a jungle resort in Loboc, Bohol).
For the duration of the journey we‘re treated to pot noodles and the worst sub titled version of Godzilla imaginable. If I’m honest I’m actually quite disappointed when the ferry docks as there’s still at least 30 minutes left- whatever happens to Godzilla’s eggs and more importantly, Matthew Broderick’s glittering career?
The ferry port at Bohol is kinda crazy- as soon as we’re outside the gates; trike drivers are shouting and hollering ridiculous prices at us. It seems Bohol is the more expensive Island; most probably because of the tourism generated by the Chocolate Hills and Tarsier monkeys.
Eventually we agree on a price with a trike guy to take us to the jeepney bus stop. We’re fast running out of time; dusk is setting in and we still haven’t got to Loboc.
There’s no need to worry about missing a jeepney- you can’t miss them; they’re consistently multi-coloured, often blaring out some spine tingling Emo and hurtling towards you in a rather menacing fashion.
Unfortunately it seems to be rush hour here in Tagbilaran, Bohol’s capital as every jeepney going to Loboc is rammed to the max; people hanging from the roof etc.
Stef and I begin to fret that we’ll have to stay in the capital for the night; unsure as to just how far Nuts Huts is (or where it is for that matter). Clearly, we haven’t done our research.
Just as I’m almost driven to smoking, a guy standing next to us assures us that we’ll be able to get on the next jeepney. He has an honest face and wears glasses; he must be telling the truth.
The next jeepney arrives (almost in my face), and sure enough it’s for Loboc; except it’s still rammed full of people, just not with ones hanging on the roof.
Before we can say “sardines”, the guy has hauled our bags onto the roof and the jeepney starts to move off; we have no choice- we’ve somehow got to squeeze on.
Jeepneys almost always have two long rows of seats (benches really) facing each other. On this occasion all the rows are taken, with kids upon kids and make shift benches in the only aisle with yet more people on; thus the whole vehicle is full with passengers and not a single pocket of space is free. Stef and I end up on the make shift narrow bench, back to back. I manage to rest one butt cheek on and balance the rest of myself between an older ladies leg. It’s most ungracious, but I’ve no choice, as the school girl opposite me stubbornly refuses to remove her knees to allow room for mine. Still, the older lady finds this all very amusing and reassures me with a very hearty smile.
Never before have I been so close to so many people in a very small (moving) space. Yet, everyone is smiling and friendly and this somehow relieves the incredible discomfort that I ‘m feeling. The journey is made in the dark and lasts at least 45minutes. Unable to see out the window because of all the bodies and unable to speak to Stef as his back is to me; I try my best not to get car sick.
I can’t say that I’m not relieved when the bus finally stops in Loboc.
At first we are lead to believe that the jeepney can take us all the way to Nuts Huts-brilliant news. Yet, as we go five minutes up the road, it stops by a little shack that informs us we must take a boat to Nuts Huts at a very disagreeable price. It’s now almost seven and we’re tired, hungry and in no mood to be ripped off.
We ask if there is any alternative in getting to this elusive Nuts Huts; we’re promptly dumped back in Loboc town centre and guided to the nearest gang of motorbike men.
At first I flatly refuse to jump on a motorbike with over 20 kilos of rather awkward effects. The men all chuckle conspiratorially; it’s the only way out of here.
I take the younger, more sober looking chap, whilst Stef takes the older, more, let’s be positive and say, experienced looking chap. My guy lifts my huge backpack up and plonks it in front of him. I have to put my lap top back across my back. I grit my teeth and pray that this guy has impeccable balancing capabilities, whilst I look over to Stef who is looking equally unsure and rather strained as he is made to keep his larger back pack on his back.
We’re off; zooming into the darkness and what looks like the ascent into a towering forest. I pray once more as the road gets steeper and windier, with sharp bends at every corner. I daren’t look behind me at Stef, in fear that any little thing will topple him and his load off.
I think my guy senses my unease (probably cause I keep repeating “oh gosh, oh gosh” at every bend), as he starts to quiz me with the usual chit-chat. How long have you been here? How old are you? Etc. This is where things get really confusing as in reply to the later question, the guys gasps and say’s-
“Oh, I thought you were forty.”
“Forty!?”
I retort.
“No,” he shouts over the engine, “fourteen.”
“Fourteen!?”
I don’t know which is worse.
I ask him his age, expecting an 18 or 20 and I’m bemused once again when he replies that he is 30.
Well, it’s just a number after all, and besides, the conversation does the trick and takes my mind off any imminent death scenarios. Apart from when, in some horrifying jerk, I see one of the long straps from my back pack flip up and whack the poor guy in the eye, causing the bike to momentarily lose control. Not funny in the slightest.
The journey continues like this for longer than I care for and is just about to get a whole lot worse.
Soon, we’re off the winding, sharp cement road and onto the road into the jungle, which is just rocky, bumpy gravel and very easy to skid on. It also appears to be getting very steep as we descend into yet even deeper blackness.
I think at this point Stef and I are both thinking the same bloody thing- we should have got that damn boat! (Also, where the f**k are we going?)
Finally, and I use this word with a huge bated breath- we dismount from the bikes and notice that we’re in the middle of some nowhere jungle. We also realize that if there’s no room at Nuts Huts (we hadn’t reserved), we’re pretty much screwed, as there’s no way I’m going back on those bikes!
It’s at this point that I ask the question- just where exactly is Nuts Huts? As, although we have appeared to stop, there are no welcoming gates; no lights even. The plot thickens.
Thankfully we have a torch and everything is soon illuminated in all its daunting glory- for before us lay an army of countless steep stairs leading into what looks like a bottomless pit of nothingness; there’s no end in sight on this wondrous rung.
Regrettably, I have the job of making the initial descent, whilst Stef waits with the bikers and bags. We still don’t know if there’s room at the inn. With each careful step, I pray that there is.
As I go down each knee shattering step, I kind of feel like Alice falling into the world of nonsense, as if I’m chasing some futile white rabbit. Where does it all end?
I even look back up into the darkness at one point, shouting up to Stef. He doesn’t hear me, I’m so far down.
And then, like the holy grail- I see lights emanating from a large bamboo hut with the comforting sound of humanity inside. Hoorah.
I’m properly sweating by the time I reach the reception/restaurant of Nuts Huts and must look an absolute mess from the journey. A friendly looking grey haired chap comes over, staring at me as if I’ve just dropped from another planet.
“You came from the stairs?”
He says, with what I think is admiration.
“Was I not supposed to?” I ask.
“The boat is easier,” he smiles.
You don’t say.
I gladly book us in for a couple of nights. The restaurant looks inviting and cosy with everything done out in bamboo. In the corner there’s a bed with bean bags and a very lazy looking tabby. I almost run back up the stairs to get Stef, so happy to finally be there. Halfway up, I lose breath and shout to get his attention, but again he doesn’t hear me.
By the time I get Stef and retreat to the restaurant, I feel like I’ve run a marathon and promptly order a beer.
We spend the evening in the restaurant, not yet aware that in order to get to our room, we must descend yet another army of stairs.
At first we take a hut with the name The Rising Sun (all the huts are named after films). It’s pretty basic, but it’ll do- besides we’re too tired to care. We get an early night- listening to the complete silence of the jungle and hoping that she and all her inhabitants don’t invade our tiny abode.
In the morning we take a freezing cold shower and realize that there’s no flushing toilet. That aside, we’re both taken aback by our surroundings, seeing them for the first time in daylight. It really is quite something. The palms are towering giants, the foliage densely rich, with tropical flowers dotted about here and there. Then there’s the river, a haunting shade of milky pea green. That’s not to mention the monstrous thick mountain range beyond the water- this would explain the shear amount of stairs.
As we make our way back up to the restaurant for breakfast we notice that there are many goats grazing around the huts. We also notice the jetty belonging to Nuts Huts.
By the time we reach the restaurant, we’re already sweating and breathless. Those stairs are no fun at all. We take a very leisurely breakfast, perhaps to put off the inevitable climb up to the bus stop.
After we get a takeout roll for our trip, we begin the torturous ascent. By the time we reach the top of the stairs, we’re both truly knackered. We haven’t even reached the bus stop yet!
There’s still a good fifteen minute walk through the jungle path leading up to the main road.
Gratefully, we don’t have to wait long for the bus. We gladly climb aboard and begin our trip to the Chocolate Hills.
As with all bus journeys in the Philippines, it’s bumpy, chaotic and longer than initially expected. Nevertheless, it’s a beautiful, scenic journey, through many mountainous forests and glistening rice paddies.
After getting off the bus, it’s another ascent for Stef and me, before the strange chocolate mounds come into view. They’re quite the spectacle, looking otherworldly and oddly reminiscent of the Sila tombs in South Korea (huge burial mounds for kings).
Unfortunately, it’s also a bit of a tourist trap, with bus loads of Japanese kids pounding up to the viewing point for five minutes, before pounding back down again, straight back on the bus, ready to make way for the next load to dismount.
Needless to say, we don’t hang around; deciding to jump on a bus back to the environmentally sound Tarsier sanctuary in Corella (there are many Tarsier spots, but most have been stolen and do not support the species in a responsible way).
Although the bus back seems to travel at the speed of light, it takes forever to get back to Loboc, where we must catch another bus to Corella.
The ride seems to vibrate right through to our very bones- by the time we get to Loboc, we’re both quivering wrecks. What with the initial gargantuan climb to the bus stop, the climb to the Hills and extreme bus ride, we both feel rather flu-like and decide to head back to the huts. There’s plenty of time for the Tarsiers the next day.
At first we attempt to walk back to the huts from Loboc- only to find out that the road is long and arduous; climbing up steep, winding forests. Naturally, we hail a trike for the rest of the way back.
We vow to spend the evening doing nothing; just relaxing in the restaurant, maybe snoozing in their hammocks or lounging on their bamboo bed.
There we meet an interesting older couple from San Francisco. The guy, Dennis is Filipino by birth and now gives talks all over about Filipino’s history in America. His wife (or girlfriend- we never asked) Avery was pretty cool too; we spend a couple of hours chatting to them about music, books, traveling etc.
The only bad thing about the evening is the food- it’s absolutely vile, and considering the fact that there’s nowhere else to eat it’s pretty annoying.
Both Stef and I begin to feel very queasy indeed- Stef even saying that he feels the way he did at the start of his pneumonia.
Dennis and Avery make an escape to the sauna (they’d been caving all day and needed to soothe their aching muscles- it was pretty hard going apparently), whilst Stef and I try out our new room (it’s cheaper and practically the same set up) named “Raise the Red Lantern.”
Aptly, our mosquito net is red and there’s also an oriental inscription painted in red on the wall but the shower is still icy and the toilet still needs a bucket to flush.
We go to bed feeling pretty grim, even putting off the Tarsiers for the next day, instead planning to do nothing at all.
After a terrible night’s sleep, we’re still feeling crappy. I had planned to swim in the river and find the tiny waterfall on the other side, but the thought of walking up those damn stairs just to have breakfast puts any other activity far from my mind.
On the way to the restaurant we spot a huge lizard hobbling along into the undergrowth; its funny little face looks very shifty. The jungle is alive with all kinds of insects, birds and bizarre noises. Both our legs are already ravished with fresh bites by god knows what.
Reluctantly we embark upon the hideous rung. Halfway up I have a minor panic attack as Stef spies a huge black millipede, also on his way to the restaurant. Yet hunger soon fuels me on and we order a breakfast and the first boat out of here.
Those stairs really seal it for us. What with our energy levels so low, we realize that there’s no point staying here, especially if we can’t even get up the steps to go out anywhere.
Without any hesitation, the staff promptly calls their boatman (probably glad to get rid of our miserable, panting faces).
After breakfast (the only meal it seems they can get right), we make the descent for the very last time; gladly.
I doubt my knees will ever be the same again.
We wait eagerly at the rather modest jetty (a small bamboo platform) and soon sight our boatman. This little cruise turns out to be the best part of our travels in Bohol. The views are stunning, we both feel like we’re part of the Apocalypse Now set. It’s all very tranquil and I doubt we’ll see anything like this again on this trip. To our right the mountain looms large, enveloped with trees; completed covered. The tallest palms hang out precariously over the river, their thin, sinewy trunks baffling the very concept of gravity. And then there’s the water itself, a large snaking pale body; seemingly inert. The whole experience feels totally surreal; first to be confronted with those militant, never-ending stairs and now to be gliding along one of the most serene rivers we’ve ever seen can only be compared to a dream (and a lucid one at that).
Needless to say, we’re sadly disappointed when the boat docks in Loboc. It’s time to jump on yet another jeepney back to Bohol’s capital for the ferry to Cebu.
We have a plan to pamper ourselves with a slap-up meal at Gustavian’s (a deli style eatery where you can fuel up on hummus, cold cuts, olives, mezze’s etc), an air conditioned room and plenty of massages before taking a flight to Palawan for a real slice of paradise.
Overall Bohol hasn’t been a complete waste of time; the chocolate hills we’re stunning and Nuts Huts, whist grueling to get to, had a novel charm about it.
Unfortunately, at the port we’re confronted with a woman carrying a half naked emaciated boy, covered in flies, hands out, almost taking Stef’s wallet before he’s even paid our trike driver. It’s the first time we’ve really experienced begging of this kind; it’s very disturbing.
Regardless of this, we’re treated to a very good Hawaiian style 4 piece band, all of which happen to be blind. They’re really good and we hardly notice the wait for our fast boat to Cebu.
On the boat, a rather rotund Filipino man is made to sit next to me, shouting into his phone like some Mafioso boss. I find this a tad irritating- not to mention a little uncomfortable as his fat arm is taking up all the arm rest.
To add insult to injury, we’re made to endure “Air Bud”, the cheesiest, crapest load of American rubbish I’ve ever seen (teen American dream drivel about dogs playing baseball etc).
When we finally dock in Bohol, poor Stef looks at me wearily and says-
“I can’t believe I’ve actually just watched that from beginning to end; every single second of it.”
I don’t think he’ll ever be the same again- positively defiled. Still, it gets us through to Cebu, where we enthusiastically await some mezze platter, good wine and a heat free slumber.
