Sunday, June 06, 2004
Volcaned
We bounced into Legaspi's airport cum airstrip and, I immediately thought, well, this is a bit more like it. The sun was shining, it was scorching (at 10am) and the volcano was looking good. The volcano, of course is Mt Mayon, the world's most perfect volcano (tm). In all fairness the WMPV is a pretty arresting sight. At 2500m, it's not especially high as mountains go, but the thing is it rises to this height from sea-level. It is also exactly, geometrically perfect, just as the people promise. So, hats off to Mt Mayon. It's worth a 45 minutes flight just to enjoy its pleasing cone shape.
At the airport a taxi driver tried to charge me twenty times the going rate setting a new record for rip-offs. I probably would have taken him down by half, and congratulated myself on a deal well struck, but a voice behind me said. ÔNo, it should be P40, not P800Õ. This was Hoji, a Japanese Aid worker. So I shared a tri-cab with him and wound up staying at his hotel.
Once ensconced in Jennifer's Garden Apartments I headed downtown. You quickly realize that Legaspi is not much of a tourist destination. 'Are you a missionary?' people kept asking. I had to say that no I wasn't. 'Are you Andre Agassi?' they then asked. I am assuming that this was not a reference to my on court prowess.
Mission Out
Anyway, pretty soon I had bumped into some real life missionaries. I was wondering what missionaries were doing in these parts. After all, if anything the Philippines has a surfeit of religion; it is things pretty much as the Catholic Church would like them. But these guys were Mormons. I guess their pitch was that instead of having eight kids, you could have eight wives.
Anyhow, they seemed nice enough. So I asked them how long they'd been in town. About two years they said. Great I replied, could you tell me where I can find information on climbing the volcano? Nope. OK, could you tell me where a man might get a decent meal in these parts, a good restaurant? Nope. Perhaps a good cup of coffee. Nope...then he blessed me.
What it must be to be so utterly incurious about everything. I guess that's what happens when God has all the answers. Later I bumped into the older of the missionaries again, in a hairdressers where I noted that the Lord had blessed him with a fine rug, like a young David Hasslehoff, in sharp contrast to my rather sparse and Godless covering. After my haircut he blessed me again, rather harder this time.
Misguided
Mountains are not there to be looked at, so I set about finding a guide to climb the comely volcano. He was called Emille and seemed a bang up sort of chap. We struck a price and I gave him a 10% deposit. After sitting out a tropical cloudburst trapped in a Dunkin Doughnuts (retribution for not enjoying my double blessing) I went back to the hotel. There I told the manager I was going to climb Mayon. She gave me a funny look and told me to phone the volcano observatory.
The VO told me I was welcome to climb the WMPV if I signed a waiver saying that my death was my own fault. The WMPV was on alert level 2 he said, adding that alert level 3 meant lava was coming out of the top and level 4 meant that anyone within ten kilometers should run like hell. The WMPV was not to be trifled with, he said, adding that Mayon had killed several hundred people over the last five years, many of them stupid enough to be climbing it during periods of heightened alertÉ
So I phoned up my guide. 'You didn't tell me that the friggin' volcano was limbering up for another explosion,' I said.
'Who told you that,' he asked.
'Professor volcano at the volcano observatory.' I replied.
'What does he know, he is not a climber.'
'No, f-kwit, he is a vulcanologist.'
'But he is not a climber...'
'Yes...'
Eventually I just put the phone down on him, decided to forget about my deposit and looked forward to the day when he tried to climb some lava.
Naturally I was saddened. There's not much to do in Legspi apart from love the volcano and, at the moment it was smoking a little but hardly erupting. I briefly visited the Cassaga ruins, the bell-tower of a Catholic church near the base of Mayon. Here, in 1814, 1200 people sheltered in the church while the volcano did its thing. In this case its thing involved burying the church in lava and killing everyone inside. It is a highly illustrative example of both the destructive power of volcanoes and the practical limitations of religious faith.
Bikini Atoll
Still not all was lost: luckily my hotel was staging the Bikini Babes 2004 competition that very evening! Building on the success of BB 2003 this was aiming to find Legaspi's most beautiful babe in a bikini. Entrants had to be between 16 and 20 and over five foot tall.
Hoji and his friend June (another Japanese guy) were there as was Rane, a local friend of Hoji's. I liked Rane - she was a law student of 24 and a lively conversationalist Ð she certainly had something about her, possibly the fact that she looked about 15. I think Hoji liked Rane too, in a rather more fervent way. Sadly I don't think she liked him back. Hoji was one of those slightly fastidiously plump men that babes (bikini or otherwise) just do not dig. June was funnier and more insouciant; I thought he might have a chance. He wasn't actually interested, which is probably why.
Anyhow, our hosts for the night were the local radio hosts Romeo Tango and Rick Shadow. And our sponsors were Colt 45 beer, Chuck Norris Converse trainers and Levis. Rick and Romeo had quite a rapport going, much of which went like this.
RT: 'Whoaa dude. These girls are so hot, so hot they're sizzling tonight. Me too. I'm so sizzling I need a Colt 45 to cool down... You must be excited too Rick.'
RS: 'Yeah man, so excited I did not sleep for two nights. I spent the whole time drinking Colt 45 beer in my Chuck Norris trainers and Levis jeans.'
And so it went. The lovely ladies paraded and were awarded Chuck Norris trainers for their troubles. There was a beer drinking competition. 'These men are not drunkards, they just love Colt 45 every day.' So much in fact that the winner later left his Colt 45 all over the hotel restrooms.
Sing along a ding dong
The Christina Viva, who had been chain smoking at the judges table got up to sing. Christina was one of the Viva girls a sort of Philippino sub Spice Girls act. In her favour she was a lot better looking than any of the spices. Though, in her disfavour, her singing was no better as was evidenced by her attempt to sing a Dido song without the aid of backing music.
Then Christina asked for volunteers from the audience. Uh-oh, obvious foreigner, I thought, trying to blend into a potted palm. Hoji was picked. He ran and hid, the coward. June was picked. He rose to the challenge. It really was only a matter of time. ChristinaÕs pretty eye landed on me and I cast my lot with June.
Christina explained that we were to dance with her, while she sung a song about groping. We had to do a routine which involved miming booby gropes, butt pats and pelvic thrusting. Well, I can't dance and moreover, I had never seen Christina's song before. I did my best; I fear it was not good enough. Still, June and Christina did pretty well. I provided a sort of comedy third man. It was a new high water mark in public humiliation.
Judgment day
Shaming over, I rejoined the audience to smirks and sniggers for the final judging, courtesy of Colt, Chuck Norris and Levis. 'Well Rick I think we can agree that all the girls are beautiful' 'Yes Romeo, I would have sizzling erection in my Levis if only I hadn't drunk so much Colt 45.'
After much agonizing (and the mysterious disappearance of the one plump entrant) the results were announced. Third was number 1, a lovely girl, but only 16, making her, pleasingly, barely legal bikini babe. Second was the averagely pretty number 12. The winner was number six my personal favorite who wanted to be an airhostess. She made a short, but touching speech about how the world would be a better place if we all drank more Colt45 and wore Chuck Norris Trainers.
We congratulated the winner, who once off the stage looked like adolescent she still was, then Hoji, June and I hung with Christina for a while. She was an odd mixture of pop-star player and small town girl, done up in that Christina/Britney/hooker look. I had no doubt she'd be absolutely awful in a year or two, but she was quite sweet right now - and she chain-smoked so prettily. Needless to say such a stellar gathering attracted the local press and Hoji, June, Christina, number 6 Rick Romeo and I will doubtless be gracing the front of the Legazpi Gazette next week or who knows, even advertising Colt 45 and Chuck Norris shoes.
2 comments
We bounced into Legaspi's airport cum airstrip and, I immediately thought, well, this is a bit more like it. The sun was shining, it was scorching (at 10am) and the volcano was looking good. The volcano, of course is Mt Mayon, the world's most perfect volcano (tm). In all fairness the WMPV is a pretty arresting sight. At 2500m, it's not especially high as mountains go, but the thing is it rises to this height from sea-level. It is also exactly, geometrically perfect, just as the people promise. So, hats off to Mt Mayon. It's worth a 45 minutes flight just to enjoy its pleasing cone shape.
At the airport a taxi driver tried to charge me twenty times the going rate setting a new record for rip-offs. I probably would have taken him down by half, and congratulated myself on a deal well struck, but a voice behind me said. ÔNo, it should be P40, not P800Õ. This was Hoji, a Japanese Aid worker. So I shared a tri-cab with him and wound up staying at his hotel.
Once ensconced in Jennifer's Garden Apartments I headed downtown. You quickly realize that Legaspi is not much of a tourist destination. 'Are you a missionary?' people kept asking. I had to say that no I wasn't. 'Are you Andre Agassi?' they then asked. I am assuming that this was not a reference to my on court prowess.
Mission Out
Anyway, pretty soon I had bumped into some real life missionaries. I was wondering what missionaries were doing in these parts. After all, if anything the Philippines has a surfeit of religion; it is things pretty much as the Catholic Church would like them. But these guys were Mormons. I guess their pitch was that instead of having eight kids, you could have eight wives.
Anyhow, they seemed nice enough. So I asked them how long they'd been in town. About two years they said. Great I replied, could you tell me where I can find information on climbing the volcano? Nope. OK, could you tell me where a man might get a decent meal in these parts, a good restaurant? Nope. Perhaps a good cup of coffee. Nope...then he blessed me.
What it must be to be so utterly incurious about everything. I guess that's what happens when God has all the answers. Later I bumped into the older of the missionaries again, in a hairdressers where I noted that the Lord had blessed him with a fine rug, like a young David Hasslehoff, in sharp contrast to my rather sparse and Godless covering. After my haircut he blessed me again, rather harder this time.
Misguided
Mountains are not there to be looked at, so I set about finding a guide to climb the comely volcano. He was called Emille and seemed a bang up sort of chap. We struck a price and I gave him a 10% deposit. After sitting out a tropical cloudburst trapped in a Dunkin Doughnuts (retribution for not enjoying my double blessing) I went back to the hotel. There I told the manager I was going to climb Mayon. She gave me a funny look and told me to phone the volcano observatory.
The VO told me I was welcome to climb the WMPV if I signed a waiver saying that my death was my own fault. The WMPV was on alert level 2 he said, adding that alert level 3 meant lava was coming out of the top and level 4 meant that anyone within ten kilometers should run like hell. The WMPV was not to be trifled with, he said, adding that Mayon had killed several hundred people over the last five years, many of them stupid enough to be climbing it during periods of heightened alertÉ
So I phoned up my guide. 'You didn't tell me that the friggin' volcano was limbering up for another explosion,' I said.
'Who told you that,' he asked.
'Professor volcano at the volcano observatory.' I replied.
'What does he know, he is not a climber.'
'No, f-kwit, he is a vulcanologist.'
'But he is not a climber...'
'Yes...'
Eventually I just put the phone down on him, decided to forget about my deposit and looked forward to the day when he tried to climb some lava.
Naturally I was saddened. There's not much to do in Legspi apart from love the volcano and, at the moment it was smoking a little but hardly erupting. I briefly visited the Cassaga ruins, the bell-tower of a Catholic church near the base of Mayon. Here, in 1814, 1200 people sheltered in the church while the volcano did its thing. In this case its thing involved burying the church in lava and killing everyone inside. It is a highly illustrative example of both the destructive power of volcanoes and the practical limitations of religious faith.
Bikini Atoll
Still not all was lost: luckily my hotel was staging the Bikini Babes 2004 competition that very evening! Building on the success of BB 2003 this was aiming to find Legaspi's most beautiful babe in a bikini. Entrants had to be between 16 and 20 and over five foot tall.
Hoji and his friend June (another Japanese guy) were there as was Rane, a local friend of Hoji's. I liked Rane - she was a law student of 24 and a lively conversationalist Ð she certainly had something about her, possibly the fact that she looked about 15. I think Hoji liked Rane too, in a rather more fervent way. Sadly I don't think she liked him back. Hoji was one of those slightly fastidiously plump men that babes (bikini or otherwise) just do not dig. June was funnier and more insouciant; I thought he might have a chance. He wasn't actually interested, which is probably why.
Anyhow, our hosts for the night were the local radio hosts Romeo Tango and Rick Shadow. And our sponsors were Colt 45 beer, Chuck Norris Converse trainers and Levis. Rick and Romeo had quite a rapport going, much of which went like this.
RT: 'Whoaa dude. These girls are so hot, so hot they're sizzling tonight. Me too. I'm so sizzling I need a Colt 45 to cool down... You must be excited too Rick.'
RS: 'Yeah man, so excited I did not sleep for two nights. I spent the whole time drinking Colt 45 beer in my Chuck Norris trainers and Levis jeans.'
And so it went. The lovely ladies paraded and were awarded Chuck Norris trainers for their troubles. There was a beer drinking competition. 'These men are not drunkards, they just love Colt 45 every day.' So much in fact that the winner later left his Colt 45 all over the hotel restrooms.
Sing along a ding dong
The Christina Viva, who had been chain smoking at the judges table got up to sing. Christina was one of the Viva girls a sort of Philippino sub Spice Girls act. In her favour she was a lot better looking than any of the spices. Though, in her disfavour, her singing was no better as was evidenced by her attempt to sing a Dido song without the aid of backing music.
Then Christina asked for volunteers from the audience. Uh-oh, obvious foreigner, I thought, trying to blend into a potted palm. Hoji was picked. He ran and hid, the coward. June was picked. He rose to the challenge. It really was only a matter of time. ChristinaÕs pretty eye landed on me and I cast my lot with June.
Christina explained that we were to dance with her, while she sung a song about groping. We had to do a routine which involved miming booby gropes, butt pats and pelvic thrusting. Well, I can't dance and moreover, I had never seen Christina's song before. I did my best; I fear it was not good enough. Still, June and Christina did pretty well. I provided a sort of comedy third man. It was a new high water mark in public humiliation.
Judgment day
Shaming over, I rejoined the audience to smirks and sniggers for the final judging, courtesy of Colt, Chuck Norris and Levis. 'Well Rick I think we can agree that all the girls are beautiful' 'Yes Romeo, I would have sizzling erection in my Levis if only I hadn't drunk so much Colt 45.'
After much agonizing (and the mysterious disappearance of the one plump entrant) the results were announced. Third was number 1, a lovely girl, but only 16, making her, pleasingly, barely legal bikini babe. Second was the averagely pretty number 12. The winner was number six my personal favorite who wanted to be an airhostess. She made a short, but touching speech about how the world would be a better place if we all drank more Colt45 and wore Chuck Norris Trainers.
We congratulated the winner, who once off the stage looked like adolescent she still was, then Hoji, June and I hung with Christina for a while. She was an odd mixture of pop-star player and small town girl, done up in that Christina/Britney/hooker look. I had no doubt she'd be absolutely awful in a year or two, but she was quite sweet right now - and she chain-smoked so prettily. Needless to say such a stellar gathering attracted the local press and Hoji, June, Christina, number 6 Rick Romeo and I will doubtless be gracing the front of the Legazpi Gazette next week or who knows, even advertising Colt 45 and Chuck Norris shoes.
2 Comments:
This post has been removed by a blog administrator.
By Anonymous, at 8:52 AM
Why should that ring a distant bell?
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By Anonymous, at 4:16 PM
