MARINDUQUE WATERWORKS

Marinduque is surrounded by water on every side so you can technically get to a beach in less than an hour from any point. OK, maybe I exaggerate, but it feels like it. =) It ain't Bora though if you're going to stay on the main island, although Poktoy (the public beach in Torrijos) isn't bad if you go during the off-peak season. During Holy Week, however, expect it to be as crowded as Galera.

The more famous "beach spot" would be the Tres Reyes group of islands. Tres Reyes for The Three Kings: Melchor, Gaspar, Baltazar. I cannot distinguish one from the other, although I've been told that the names are assigned based on the color of the sand that line its shores. The light colored beach is named after either Melchor or Gaspar. The brown beach is named after whoever is left between Melchor and Gaspar. The black-colored sand beach is named after Baltazar who was supposedly the darkest among the three kings. There! I finally remembered something! =) Haha. I have never been to Tres Reyes. We intended to go with Cousin Dooders and Special Girl MJ over the Christmas break, but we were advised not to proceed that day because of the strong current. Oh, well. Just as well. I wasn't really too intrigued by them. They don't really call out to me, although Manilenos who have gone there tell me that they are worth going to. =)

That said, if you do find yourself in Marinduque, ask around how you can go to Natangco. You would need to negotiate with a boatman to get you there (costs around P1,000) because it is about a good hour away from the mainland. The island is owned by the ex-Governor's family. Carmencita allows Marinduquenos to dock on the island and spend the day for a minimal fee. No, she does not need the money (being an Ongsiako and sister to THE Imelda Cojuangco.) It's more for the caretakers, I suppose. =)

Natangco is a tiny island. One side is lined with very fine, powdery, white sand; the other side is lined with corals. The nice thing about Natangco is that since it is quite "far" from the mainland (and you would need to check the currents before you sail out), it never gets crowded. When the Hubby and I once went with Ehdz (his best friend) and Ehdz' office friends, we practically had the entire island to ourselves!

There is a lone concrete structure on the beach: an unfinished house that may serve as refuge in case it rains. (Then again, heck, since we're on the beach anyway, a little rain wouldn't hurt, right?! =)) There are no restaurants so the Hubby and Ehdz made sure we were fully stocked with gallons of water, rice, charcoal and fish for roasting! Delish! No paper plates. Apparently, banana leaves are more convenient. Since they're biodegradeable, we don't need to haul them back to the mainland! =)

One may choose to swim, frolick on the shore OR climb up this tiny secret island. Yes, climb up. The Hubby and I once crazily thought of climbing a wall to the very top. (Actually, I thought of climbing the darn wall, and since I had already climbed it, he had no choice but to follow. HAHAHA! 'D)

In any case, when we finally got to the top, I had to take pause. Absolutely breath-taking. Yes, the view can actually take your breath away. *Sigh* =D

But the beach is not all that there is in Marinduque. The Marinduquenos are also very proud of the Malbog Sulphur Springs. It's supposed to have medicinal properties, and is particularly effective in healing skin problems. (Think Dr. Kauffman Sulfur Soap, yes? Haha! 'D) The Hubby has brought me there repeatedly and I had always refused to jump in because.....uh....for the life of me...well.....I just couldn't imagine why I would want to jump into a pool that smells like....uh....HARD-BOILED EGG! Yes, countless fights have erupted over my refusal to jump in, but I just wouldn't budge. He thought I was being snooty; I didn't care. Haha! 'D The Hubby finally got me to try it over the Christmas Break though when he brought Cousin Dooders and Special Girl MJ to Malbog. I mean, heck, Cousin Dooders was really more my guest than his so what the heck! Toyang & Tweety's strategy? Pinch nose. Dive in! Hahaha! 'D Wasn't too bad, really. As soon as I was in the water, I realized I was really making a big deal over nothing. The water was actually quite soothing. The tiny bubbles that "erupted" from the bottom of the pool before bursting onto the surface actually felt good as they tickled my feet. Imagine, if you can, a simmering pot and you'd have a pretty good idea of how the entire thing works. Simmering lang ha, not boiling. =) For the record, I did not come out of the pool smelling like eggs. I thought I actually smelled pretty neutral--ALTHOUGH when my clothes dried out, well.....HAHAHA! 'D

Then, there's the Paadjao Falls. I have yet to see it but I have only heard good things about it. We were supposed to go with Hubby Sweet's cousins one Holy Week but the Hubby came down with a fever, so Angel Aaze and the gang had to go without us. =( Oh, well. I suppose I could turn that into our mini-trip the next time we find ourselves in Marinduque. =)

Water, water, water, everywhere! Heck, even in the provincial capital, one need not go too far to get to a body of water. A River Runs Through It. Haha! *Sorry, couldn't resist. 'D*

Oftentimes, when I.R.A. (the Hubby's cousin) and I get bored, we would haul our asses off the couch and head out to the river about two blocks away from the Hubby's ancestral home. Yes, two blocks. Haha! 'D Sometimes we'd wade into the water. Sometimes, we'd just sit around in one of those huts where the women usually stay in the morning as they wash the previous day's laundry. I've been told that the river swells up during the rainy season. During summer, however, it's quite manageable with the deepest portion only reaching up to my thigh (and those who know me would know that's not too deep, haha! 'p). Quite manageable for scaredy-cat swimmers like me. =) With the fresh air and the cold water, you'd hardly even notice the noonday heat. =) It's quite an experience really, especially for a dyed-in-the-wool-Manila-Girl. =)

The first time I told Manila folks about me wading into the river though, I was surprised to get a single reaction: "Don't they have mine tailings ?" Weh? Mine what? Apparently, there was this big hoola-baloo about Marcopper mine tailings accidentally flowing into the river back in the early 80's (late 70's?), but I was either too young to remember or too apathetic to care. Haha. =) For the record, the river is now clean and free. I have jumped in soooo many times, but I have not yet tested positve for being radioactive. Haha! =)

Come to think of it, I've actually gone back & forth to Marinduque several times without seeing any reference to these Marcopper mining tails, er, tales--except over the Christmas break of 2007. The Hubby was bored stiff out of his wits, dreaming about wakeboarding and alternating between visions of Cam Sur and Lago de Oro. He is soooooooooo hooked on wakeboarding, he actually wanted to bring his board to check if a banca can actually successfully pull him! HAHAHAHAHAHA!!!! 'D I put my foot down on that one. Haha. Still, we jumped into the car one morning in search of a perfect wakeboarding spot and found a "lake" somewhere off Mogpog. The spot was quite scenic and seemed to pop right out of the wakeboarding videos that I wake up to every Saturday morning. (It's the Hubby's grown-up version of Saturday Fun Machine. Haha!) In any case, it turned out that it wasn't a lake at all! It was actually a mining pit. (Marcopper employed the pit-mining technique where they supposedly dug holes instead of boaring through mountains.) The "mountain" next to the lake was therefore not really a mountain; it was actually the soil that was dug out of the hole! The lake was not a natural lake; it was a mining-pit-turned-catch-basin for rain and river before the water flows back to the ocean. Papa D (my father-in-law) told us that the size of the "mountain" would actually be directly proportional to the depth of the "lake". WAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!!! When he told us that, I literally took a step back, thinking if I fell into it, it would take them forever to find me! Haha!

On that day, I saw what was probably the last remaining remnant of the mining industry in Marinduque. Even to this day, water rivets running along the side of the lake still had a very distinct copper hue. I kidded the Hubby that he would turn radioactive if he ever he fell into that lake. The lady doing her laundry by the side disputed it. There was a time, she said, when the entire lake had a very strong and distinct smell of metal. Not anymore, she said. Besides, the fact that rice now grows right beside it (where none used to grow before) is a sure sign that it has, for all intents and purposes, been cleansed. She continued that people don't swim in the lake not because it is full of mine tailings, because it is too deep. OK then! Point taken. That being the case, I still wouldn't go in. Haha! 'D

Sya!

ANG MORIONES! / EVERY HOLY WEEK! =D

Growing up, we were not allowed to go out-of-town during Holy Week. Noni (my fave grandmother) and especially Lola Sinay (my great grandmother) laid the ground rules. To go on vacation during Holy Week is sacrilegious; everyone must stay home and pray. It was made clear that one will be allowed to leave the house only if he is attending a retreat or going to church for mass, the Stations of the Cross, the Washing of the Feet or the Seven Last Words. My childhood memories—and those of my siblings and cousins—therefore revolve largely around speaking in hushed tones (Mga anak, huwag maingay. Naghihirap ang Diyos!), moving about carefully, as Lola Sinay sang (yes, SANG!) about the suffering of Christ as she read from the Pasyon in a melody so forlorn, there was no mistaking that the entire thing was about something tragic.

The traditional Holy Week is considered sacred in our household that long after both Noni and Lola Sinay are gone, we continue to stay home or leave the house only to go on retreats or church—this time with Mother as our guard. Haha! Good Friday would typically find us waking up to boiled bananas, and that would be it for the day. Patay ang Diyos. Bawal kumain. =) But, yes, we are at least now allowed to speak in normal tones and watch TV. Haha! =D

The only exception to this family rule that was ever deemed acceptable--but only because I positioned it as a religious festival *sheepish grin =D*--was when my parents miraculously allowed me to go to Marinduque with Then-Boyfriend-Pa-Lang Sweet.Whereas Manila becomes a practical ghost town during Holy Week, it is ironically the only time the sleepy province of Marinduque wakes up from its stupor. Tourists (both local and foreign) troop to this little heart-shaped island off-Lucena for only one reason: THE MORIONES FESTIVAL.

I admittedly did not know much about it when I first went. I was too starry-eyed back then, too giddy at the idea of “traveling home” with my BF of two months (haha!) to really bother with the religious significance of the festival. It was only when I got there did I fully understand its richness. Whereas the tourists only see it is a colorful fiesta to be watched, the Moriones Festival is actually a panata to the Marinduquenos.To those who have never been there, the Moriones Festival is basically a week-long cenaculo (passion play) that is played out on the streets within the major towns. Although the Moriones tradition supposedly started in Mogpog, we would always witness the festivities in Boac, the provincial capital, where the Hubby’s family also lived.

I soon found out that as soon as Holy Week starts, Moriones would start coming out of the woodwork to walk all over town, effectively converting the streets into a practical stage. Some march alone. Some walk around in groups, converging in the town plaza. Others go around in chariots drawn by big horses. All of them will be walking around in “full battle gear”, keeping guard as the ancient Roman soldiers once did. Little kids would inevitably chase after them and taunt them shouting, "Morion, bunge!" (Toothless Morions!) only to scamper in all directions like headless chickens (the entire time giggling) whenever the Moriones decide to chase the kids and taunt them right back with their spears. I thought it was hilarious, the first time I saw it happen. =) I wanted to taunt the Moriones too, but thought I'd better behave first. Haha! 'D

Maundy Thursday and Good Friday is when the festival really reaches fever pitch. The Maundy Thursday celebration starts with a procession of all the participating Moriones, allowing the townsfolk to see all the different costumes in one long parade. I was told that each mask is painstakingly made by the person who wears it. No mass-produced, store-bought varieties here. Each Moriones costume is unique. To make one's own mask or to hand it down from one generation to the next is a tradition-panata-and-source-of-pride all rolled into one. In the olden days, I was told, the masks were made in full secrecy; no one must know who the person is behind the mask. These days, I suppose, the rules are a bit more lax. After all, I've seen the Hubby high-five a few Moriones because they were supposedly buddies in high school. Haha! 'D And yes, they do now stop for souvenir pics. Still, the richness of the image of a lone man carving his mask out of wood using basic tools is not lost on me, especially when you see the details of each mask, having found myself up close to a Morion. In addition, it is also not lost on me that it takes a supreme level of self-sacrifice for one to agree to wear the wooden mask and the Roman costume while parading about town in the middle of summer, sometimes even under the noonday sun.

On Good Friday, the cenaculo is played not on some stage in the town plaza. It is played out on the streets with the Moriones whipping Christ and the two thieves as they each carried their crosses, the entire time walking barefoot on the hot concrete pavement followed by several flagellants. In the bible, Jesus Christ fell 3 times on the way to the cross. In the Moriones version, it is inevitable that sometimes from sheer heat and exhaustion, even the robbers fall down--and while they are careful to have "Christ" fall only thrice, it is inevitable that everyone stop several times along the way. (Imagine carrying the weight of a wooden cross as the concrete pavement burns your feet and someone whips your back. Yikes.)

The Good Friday rites culminate on the small hill next to the river that flows through Boac. There, the three are crucified as the whole town watches from below, effectively replicating the scene at Golgotha. The first time I watched the entire thing play out, I honestly almost cried, because for some strange reason, I felt like I was being part of the "real thing". My Savior hung on the cross and I did nothing to stop it. =(

















The rest of Good Friday is spent preparing for the procession where some 20+ life-sized Santos in Carosas are paraded over town. Yes, 20+! Fully-decked with flowers and lit up by the families who have owned them for generations. Having spent Holy Week in Manila all my life, I was actually impressed by the length of the procession the first time I went to Boac. Watching the procession go by from the second floor window, and realizing that almost an hour has passed already with the tailend nowhere in sight, I remember asking the Hubby why the procession is soooooo long. He explained that it’s because practically everyone in town joins the procession as part of their panata. To which I ignorantly replied, “Ha? If everybody joins, eh sino na manunuod ng prusisyon?!” He laughed and explained, “Tweet, ang prusisyon, sinasamahan. Di pinapanood.” HAHA! 'D Stupid Manila girl. Ngek. Tanga. =)

Black Saturday is relatively quiet in Boac with no official rites scheduled—save for preparations for the Easter Vigil at midnight and for the Salubong at 4:00 a.m., Sunday. Patay daw kasi ang Diyos bago ang Linggo ng Pagkabuhay.

Then again, the Moriones Festival flows from the story of Longhino, the Roman soldier who pierced the side of Christ as He hung on the cross. Legend has it that Longhino is blind on one eye and that the blood that spurted from the side of Christ made him see. This miracle then prompts him to run all over town, fully converted, declaring to one and all that the Crucified Christ is truly the Son of God. And so after the Crucifixion on the hill (which happens at noon instead of the traditional Good Friday 3:00 p.m.), the Moriones switch mode from guarding Christ to running all over town in search of Longhino to stop him from declaring his newfound faith. From the afternoon of Good Friday and all through Black Saturday, therefore, the townsfolk (particularly the children) take turns in trying to divert the other Moriones’ attention, to the point of sometimes hiding Longhino inside their homes. Everything culminates at Easter noon when Longhino is finally captured, paraded before the townsfolk then finally “beheaded” at the town plaza, signaling the end of the Moriones Festival.

Its a different way to experience Holy Week, and worth going to at least once in your life. If you do decide to go, however, I caution you to travel to Marinduque AS EARLY AS HOLY MONDAY, and simply use Monday and Tuesday as "free days" when you can visit the other points of interest in the island (the beach, the falls, the caves, the butterfly farms, etc., etc.!).

The ports and roros fill up quickly Holy Tuesday onwards. Last year, the Hubby and I thought we were being smart about leaving Tuesday (so we can avoid the REAL Holy Wednesday mad rush). We got to the Dalahican port at 6:30 p.m., and only managed to ride the roro at 8:30 a.m. the following day! Que horror!

My aunts, uncles and cousins who decided to go to the Moriones Festival last year, but could only leave Wednesday because of work concerns, did not even make it. They arrived at the port Wednesday evening and was in line until noon Thursday with no hope of getting on the roro in sight. Umuwi silang luhaan (haha, loko lang) Maundy Thursday.

Now, that is a real Lenten sacrifice! Haha.

Oh, well. Maybe next year! =D

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All the pics are mine, except for the pictures of the Dalahican Port. I lifted those off cousin Day's Kodak Gallery album. Haha! (Thanks, cousin Day! =D) They were taken on the morning of Maundy Thursday while their cars were waiting in line to board the roro. Pretty much the reason why they decided to abandon all hope and turn back. Naku! =D

GOOD GOD! =D / APRIL 10,2007

I thought it’s about time I did a series on my adoptive province—since we end up spending practically every long holiday there. This post appeared originally in my friendster blogsite. Minor changes, mostly only on the names of the characters, from the original. =) In any case, I thought I’d repost it as the first in the series in honor of our slightly more successful “return trek” (haha) sometime between Christmas '07 and New Year '08, this time with Cousin Dooders (who was home for the holidays) and his Special Girl MJ. (Kahiya-hiya when our guide's face lit up in recognition after he saw me, "Ikaw yung nung summer! Uy, natakot ako sa'yo nun..." HAHAHA!!! 'D Waaaaahhhhhhhhh!!!) What happened? Read on…. =)

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Marooned in Marinduque over Holy Week, Hubby Sweet and I decided Friday evening to get our butts off the couch and explore the parts of the island I haven't seen yet. It was going to be Black Saturday the following day and even the Moriones activities tend to lay low then. Patay daw kasi ang Diyos sabi ng mga nakatatanda.

Hubby Sweet offered to take me on the "Round-Marinduque" tour, but I knew exactly what I wanted to do: I was adamant about conquering the Bathala Caves in Santa Cruz.

The following day saw the Hubby waking up before 6:00 a.m. to try and sneak in an early-morning tennis match in Mogpog. "I'll be back by 8:30, Tweet. Promise!" He kissed me goodbye as I lay in bed, still half-asleep. He was out the door before I could protest.

Left alone, I stayed where I was for a few more minutes, taking advantage of the unhurried morning pace. Lazy mornings are unheard of in Manila. In Manila, even our weekends are packed with chores--early morning run / brisk walking at the Ultra, breakfast usually in Ateneo, weekend house cleaning, all before packing our bags for the usual overnight stay in House Better. Not so in the province. In the province, lazy mornings are allowed. I stayed in bed for a few more minutes, staring at the lace curtains stirring lightly in the morning breeze, my mind blank.

Soon enough, the house slowly came alive. People stirred. I heard Stu, the resident pet beagle, climb up the stairs. He soon started nudging the bedroom doors, scratching and moaning in frustration. I think he made it his life's mission to wake people up as soon as he sensed daylight. Despite the papers that prove his purebred lineage, I honestly think he's part beagle and part rooster.

It was time to get up.

I went down the steps to find Mama Yemy (Kiko's paternal grandmother), Mama E (his mom) and Lorns (their helper) already busy in the kitchen. Mama Yemy had just come back from her regular early-morning trips to the palengke and was busy inspecting her loot of fresh veggies and meat, enough to cover the day's meals. 'Told them there was no need to prepare lunch for that day. Hubby Sweet and I are going to Bathala Cave. AA and Ira (The Hubby's cousins) plus their gang will be skipping Boac; I think they plan to spend the entire day at the beach in Poktoy instead.

That lone comment triggered another flurry of activity with everyone shifting from meal-preparation-mode to meal-packing-mode. I sipped my morning coffee wearing a half-smile. "OK lang po, Mama. Relax. Ako na lang magpa-pack," I volunteered in an effort to ease the frenzy I seem to have instigated.

"May lechon paksiw pa dyan. Yun na lang a-baunin niyo?" Mama E offered.

“Ay, magdala kayo ng suman! Chaka bibingka!" Mama Yemy suggested at about the same time.
“Lorns, magsaing na lang ng bago," Mama E said before turning back to me, "Yung bago na lang a-dalin niyo. I-fried rice na lang namin yung natira kag-abi."

"Ay, Lorns, may yelo pa ba? Kuha na kina Noemi," Mama Remy ordered at about the same time before turning back to me, "A-lagay niyo na lang sa thermos para malamig."

I looked to the side to find Lorns shaking her head and chuckling uncontrollably at the commotion I had caused.

The lechon paksiw, rice, suman and ham sandwiches (!) soon made their way into the portable ice chest. The thermos was soon filled with ice to the brim (it will melt anyway) and placed on top of the ice chest. After all the flurry, the only thing left to do was to wait for the Hubby to get home. It was way past 8:30. Hmp.

He finally came barrelling through the door at half past nine, apologizing profusely. (He knows how anal I can be about punctuality.) After a quick breakfast and a quick shower, we were off to conquer the caves!

The Bathala Caves sit on 19 hectares of private land owned by the Mendozas. (I really don't know who they are, but that's what our guide told us, haha.) It is a system of seven (some say, eight) major caves with countless "minor caves" yet to be explored. It was more than an hour's drive from Boac (the provincial capital) without traffic (!) and even Hubby Sweet who grew up in Marinduque had to stop every so often to make sure we were going the right way. It had been a while since we went on a road trip by ourselves, and this was a welcome break.

"Tweet, let's just go to one or two caves lang, then let's go around Marinduque na," Hubby S suggested.

"No! There are seven caves," I protested, "I want to go to all seven!" getting more excited by the minute at the thought of this exciting new adventure. I haven't gone wall-climbing in a while, and I was pretty psyched up about the possibility of having another go at it. Woohoo!!!
After several starts and stops, asking for directions, making sure we were on the right off-road track, we finally got to a small clearing slightly off the off-road (haha). There were several SUV's parked in the vacant lot.

"Tourists," I thought. There was a makeshift nipa hut selling water, chips, etc. Manang pointed us to a small "gate" and told us to walk along the beaten path. It will take us to the entry point of Bathala.

The Bathala Caves of Santa Cruz supposedly has a rich religious / cult history. I read somewhere that it was said to have been the refuge of the Pulahanes, a fanatical group who believed their amulets could protect them from the bullets of their declared enemies, the American colonizers. They stayed in the caves to pay homage to their "Supreme God" in the belief that doing so would help them regain the potency of their amulets. In the early 1900's, members of the "Samahang Persona Solo Dios", a group originally formed in the mountains of Banahaw in Quezon, found refuge within its confines, believing that Mount Banahaw and the Bathala Caves are spiritually connected.

On this particular Holy Saturday decades and centuries hence, however, the Bathala Caves were home only to a handful of tourists, most stylishly clad, backpacks in tow. It was almost noon by the time we got there, but both being relatively full, we decided to just have lunch after we got down from the mountain.

After registering at the makeshift nipa hut decorated by a lone banner that read "SPELUNKING 2007, Bathala Caves, Santa Cruz, Marinduque" (looking at the pic now, mali pa pala tanda ko, haha! 'D). After paying the P280 entrance fee (P140 per person), Kiko and I were off to the first of the caves, led by our guide.

The Cathedral or the Church cave (ang Kuweba ng Simbahan) is the biggest. It was supposedly the central place of worship and the primary dwelling place of its early inhabitants. It would be an understatement to say that it was HUGE. Standing in the middle eeriely felt like standing within the dome of Saint Peter's Basilica (the dome lang ha, not the entire basilica!). Our guide directed his flashlight to several rock formations that the cultists believed to have been engraved in the cave by nature, the hand of God. At the main entrance was the face of God the Father and of The Son. On the ceiling was the Holy Spirit, represented by the figure of a dove with spread wings. There were also references to Mary, a church bell, and a huge stalagmite that was supposedly The Altar.

The Cathedral is easy enough to get to. Most tourists, I've been told, actually just go to the Cathedral and move on to other tourist spots in Marinduque. Only the "serious" adventurers move on to the other caves.

Understandable, I suppose. To get to the other caves, one has to climb up the rock formations on one side of the Simbahan and crawl through a hole to get to another clearing that will lead to two other caves, the Python Cave and the Cemetery Cave. Most families (especially those with young kids and older people in tow) would see it and decide that seeing the Church cave is enough. The younger, more determined set would look at the rock formations and smile.

I, personally, couldn't stop grinning.

With a burst of energy, I climbed up the wall and crawled excitedly through the hole. "Woohoo!" I thought, "WOOHOO!!!!!!!!!!!!" I was screaming myself silly inside my head, giddy at the chance to climb walls again. I haven't done so in the past two--almost three--years! Hubby Sweet is more into tennis; he tried climbing with me once and found that it wasn't his cup of tea. All my other friends whom I used to climb with have also gotten married and have set aside the weekly wall-climbing activities in favor of their more urgent domestic requirements. Climbing the walls of the Simbahan--which was a relatively easy wall when you think about it--gave me a rush that, I realized only then I really, really, REALLY (!!!) missed!

Our guide was waiting for us outside. "This path leads to the Python Cave and the Cemetery Caves..." he explained.

The Python Cave only has one entrance and is guarded (to this day!) by 11 pythons, widely believed to be the pets of Bathala. Countless snakes supposedly also occupy the upper portions of the cave. I cringed at the thought of encountering these slithering, hissing creatures. If there is one stupid animal on this earth that I cannot take, it is the snake, regardless of length, width, color. Ack!

"Not to worry," our guide explained, "The pythons of Bathala are harmless. They have never been known to attack anybody."

"Yeah, well, there's always a first time," I thought.

"Besides," he continued, "sa dami ng tourists during Holy Week, they usually go into hiding. Ayaw nila ng maraming tao. Come back during the off-season if you want to see them."

Uh....sure.....

We found ourselves stopping mid-trek to give way to another group climbing their way out of the Python Cave. Instead of waiting for our turn to enter the Python Cave, our guide decided to climb up, instead, to the Cemetery Cave, believed to be the ancient burial site because of the human skeletons that were supposedly previously found by German spelunkers. The trek up was particularly steep. I was practically crawling, legs on footholds, hands grasping at tree trunks to keep myself steady. The noonday summer sun beat heavily down my back, sweat dripping, my shirt starting to soak. It was then that disaster struck. I all of a sudden realized that I was tired. I was very, very, very tired. No. I was very, very, very, VERY (!) dead-tired.

Breathing heavily, I barely made it to the flat ledge at the mouth of the cave. I sat on it and leaned against a tree stump, trying to control my breathing in an effort to slow down my racing heartbeat. Darn! I cursed myself for being so out of shape, I couldn't even navigate a climb that I would have completed without batting a eyelash two years ago! Augh, augh, augh! I signalled for our guide and the Hubby to continue their trek down to the Cemetery Cave. I would stay on the stone ledge until my breathing normalized. Hubby Sweet refused to leave me. For a good half-hour, all three of us just stayed were we were--on the side of the mountain, saying hi to all the other groups who passed by.

Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!!!!!!!!

Soon, even the Hubby sensed that I was breathing normally already. I made the decision not to go down to the cave anymore. "You go, Sweet," I told him, "I'll stay right here and rest."
He didn't stay long inside the cave. Heck, he was actually there only because I insisted we go! He probably took one look around, said "OK, cemetery cave," and went back up. Hahaha! After making sure that I have rested enough and that I was at least ready to manage it, we all started our trek down. Along the way, we passed by the trail that leads to the Python Cave. Heck, it was on the way down anyway, 'might as well go! Besides, I reasoned with myself and with the Hubby, I think it was the heat and not necessarily the steep climb that got to me. The Python Cave was in a relatively shaded area of the cave. It shouldn't be that bad. Reluctantly, Hubby Sweet agreed to take the side trip.

The climb down Python Cave was a bit better. The shade and the canopy of trees made the noonday heat a bit cooler, the air even a bit damp.

"This is the mouth of the cave," our guide gestured, as I started taking pictures.

"What's down there?" I gestured toward the deep abyss, not even attempting to look down lest I fall. (I was admittedly still a bit light-headed from the Cemetery Cave episode.)

"Well...that is the cave....Would you like to go down?" he asked.

Hubby Sweet put his foot down and said no, probably thinking I was in another one of my bullheaded moods. I did not protest. I was going to say no anyway. Despite my stubbornness, I actually know when to quit. While I realized I had the energy to climb down, I was not entirely sure I would have the energy to climb back up in lightning speed in case some stupid python decided to have me for lunch. Hahaha! The rest of the caves would just have to wait another day.

We trekked down the mountain, my ego bruised but my spirit renewed.

"Mag-e-exercise lang ako, babalik ako dito!" I told our guide.

He laughed, "Oo ba! Come back anytime."

Yes. You can be damn sure, I will!

=P

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To get to Marinduque, drive to SM Lucena, look for directions to the Dalahican Port and ride the roro from there. There are so many beautiful eco-tourism spots on the island, it is really a shame that tourists only go there for the Moriones Festival. Aside from The Bathala Caves, I heard the Paadjao Falls are worth seeing--and swimming in! (I haven't seen it yet, but I intend to take a dip the next time we go.) They also have their own version of the hot springs in Malbog, as well as a million and one (OK, I exaggerate) butterfly farms in Gasan. If you're tired of the crowds in Boracay, go island hopping in Tres Reyes and Natangco Island instead. They're beautiful (the white sand in Natangco, in my opinion, is comparable to that in Bora), but they're much quieter and yes, so much better for the soul. =)

P.S. - Yes, this makeshift basketball court with a cow parked next to it is almost right outside the Bathala Cave compound. I love this pic! Isn't it so charmingly provincial? =)

One More P.S. - Yes, we hiked in our flip-flops! Santa Barbara. Hahaha! While I found it convenient (since I could easily take off my slippers whenever I need to go through "small holds"), I doubt it is really how things should be. *Sheepish grin...=D* Ask your friendly mountaineer what the proper attire should be before you go up. Oh! Yes. ALWAYS bring a small water bottle! =D

NO DAY BUT TODAY!

Although Seasons of Love may undeniably be the most popular song from the musical, Rent!, "Another Day / No Day But Today" will always be my favorite sequence.

The other day, a friend of mine was lamenting about the end of a long-running relationship, the impossibility of rekindling it, and the realization that The-Other-Person is now happy with someone else. In between my friend's sniffles, we hilariously tried to assign a theme song to this particular episode. I said, we should play "Defying Gravity" (having been on Wicked track lately) to define this particular chapter: "And if I'm flying solo, at least I'm flying free...," I sang laughing. We ended up guffawing when he countered, dead-pan, "Maybe I should start singing, 'I'm Not that Girl' instead." HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! 'D

Still, through the brave front being put up over the phone line, I can sense the deep sadness and the deep sense of loss.

I told him, maybe we should assign a song from Rent! instead. He was not familiar with any of the songs, except for Seasons of Love (of course, hehe). I told him there was a particular song there that got me through MY dark episode.

To those not familiar with the play, Roger is a character who lost his long-time girlfriend April to AIDS. He's obviously hurting. He's actually the living version of dead.

Mimi is a stripper in the local nightclub. Not exactly living under the best of circumstances, she nonetheless refuses to let the dire straits of life get to her. Her (and their friends') stirring serenade to Roger defines the basic theme of the entire musical. There is no future. There is no past. There's no day but today. Presumably, therefore, one has to make it count.

I'm posting this blog to celebrate the countless "Mimis" in my life-- family and friends (male and female alike) who tirelessly coaxed me out of hiding, forcing me to go out, the entire time singing their own version of "No Day But Today" to "My-Then-Version-of-Roger". I thank them for singing to me over and over and over, in one form or another, until I found the strength to eventually sing the song with them AND to actually believe its message to be true. I thank them because they were instrumental in thawing out my frozen heart, enough to allow it to burn when I finally met the Hubby. =) Sorry, was that too sappy? Haha. It may very well be, but it's true. =D)

I'm also posting this blog as a shout-out to my friend whom I actually consider one of my "countless Mimis". May you come out of your "Roger" period with a stronger belief that, despite the current circumstances, the best is yet to come. You only need to force yourself (if need be) to open up to the infinite possibilities that every single day brings.

My turn now to play the song for you. =)