It’s a little strange to be back traveling, as opposed to being on an island and taking weekends or a few days to travel out. There’s a very definite difference to both. And to me, the former shouldn’t actually be called traveling. It’s a go between. Maybe I need to invent a new word.
The rain woke me during the night. I was glad to hear it, the cool air during the night would be nice. I wasn’t so glad to see it the next morning though. It wasn’t particluarily heavy either. It was that light stuff that you know will last all day.
I ate breakfast and wondered if I should head out to the Chocolate Hills or not. I would get wet. Nut’s Hut’s was nice, but I wasn’t in the mood to spend the day sitting around reading. The rain stopped for a while and I took my chances.
I could have rented a motorbike, but never liked the idea of doing so in the rain. I could have booked a tour, but the cost was too much. Instead I seemed to spend an incalculable amount of time trying to get a jeepney to take me in the direction of the Chocolate hills. Once at the foot of the entrance way I shivered as the rain came down again. It was dark and misty.
I should have stayed at the cottage. Travel teaches one to listen to our gut instinct a little more, human nature pushes us forward to ignore our gut and challenge the unknown.
A group of not so interested motorbike men sat around a little store. No one was too interested in taking me to the Hills. A soggy 50 peso later and I was on the back of a bike without mudgaurds. Along the main road there were tricycles, but here; only bikes. I had thought about walking, but the rain and calls of great distance had put me off.
They were right, it would have been a long walk.
We pulled up onto a tarmacked area. Shops, souvenir stores and a few tourist minivans dotted the area. A couple of watch towers beckoned a climb to look out onto the fabled Chocolate Hills.
The Chocolate Hills are preposed to be apart of UNESCO’s world heritage sites. There are many legends about them. The tear drops of an ancient giant. Giant boulders left over from two giants fighting, and several more about defficating giants and carabu’s.
I was immediatley dissapointed. Weather aside the whole place looked very staged. Look out towers, a guided path to one of them and that was it. There seemed little possiblility of actually climbing a Chocolate hill. Which, because of the rain was just a green landscape filled with conical shaped green mounds.
The weather certainly played a part, but I think I would have been disapointed with the hills eitherway. A lack of information, disjointed transport. No idea if it was possible to climb a hill, nor would anyone tell me. I guessed if I walked out to one – some little man would appear just as I got there and said No Photo, Go Back.
A package tour of Korean tourists got the brunt of my frustrations as I made my way down. Stopped along the path and blocking it in mid conversation. I asked them to please shut up, get knocked over or move out of the way. They were not amused. On this day, neither was I.
In reflection, I am glad about staying on Palawan, and traveling to Mindanao during my time in the Philippines. Bohol is so far, rubbing me the wrong way. I think it’s more to do with moving on from Palawan, than the island itself.
Lessons learned in the search for home.
After spending so much time in a place, I need to have a distraction or reward scheme to get my head around the feeling of leaving a place. Otherwise, it can infringe on another destination.
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Tarsiers, finally something good in Bohol!