Local Color

I know I'm on a bus. I'm in the Philippines. I've been on this bus since 3pm. It's now 9:30. At times when I look out the window, I think I could be anywhere. There are palm trees, and telephone lines. Strip malls with Starbucks' and KFCs- eerily reminiscent of Florida, but the comparisons end there when I see that the parking lot is filled with hundreds of mopeds and the bus stops and a bevy of vendors get on. And for five annoying, strange-smelling minutes (every hour or so) they offer me (and the 30 other passengers) everything from soda and hot corn to fried pig skin in a bag and hot pies. A man in a Dunkin' Donuts uniform even had some boxed fresh donuts for sale-this ain't Florida.

There's a strange dynamic at play in the Philippines- on the one side there's this raw beautiful nature- landscapes I've yet to see anywhere else, mountains and lush green islands flanked by blue-green still waters and white sand. Then there's the bustling, noisy and messy uber western filth that's everywhere else. Packaged food so over-processed that MSG is a noted additive. It's not pretty. But then all of a sudden it is. My destination-which hopefully is less than two hours away- is San Juan, a surf town many many hours north of Manilla, which S and I flew into earlier today. I must admit, I'm looking forward to quiet and raw nature again....

A few hours later we arrived in a small town center well after dark. There were no tricycles available, and our air b&b accommodation was, according to google maps, less than half a mile away. But since there are no actual addresses, finding the places proved challenging. So we walked, and walked, until we trudged, cause our bags were heavy and even more so when the pavement gave way to sand and gravel. The street lights ended, and I thought- oh great and now there are animals to contend with- as a pair of glowing bovine eyes glared at me. We quickly realized we'd missed the turn off to our bamboo cottage. And by the time we did get our beachfront bungalow, I know it was located on the beach because of the nearby sound of  pounding waves- which were nice- but at that point a shower and bed sounded much sweeter. So after a shower and 8 glorious hours of sleep, I awoke to find myself in some kind of paradise.  Not only were we sleeping at the beach, it was quite a beach to behold. We got dressed and headed into a tiny and underwhelming town to find food- turns out we were looking in the wrong direction. The action was happening not in town, but at the beach break ten minutes south of us. S has a friend living there- she told us where to go and there it was- a surfer haven. Cabanas packed with surfboards and willing instructors littered the beach. Hotels and restaurants of every kind perched above-all fairly typical of a surfer town. 

But I didn't learn what makes this place so very special until the next morning. S and I signed up for surf lessons, which is frankly something that I've done at every beach. Two reasons: 1. To learn the particulars about the break. 2. To get to know locals. Anyone who's seen a surfer movie knows about the locals v, tourist rivalry. It's time honored, it's real, you respect it. And we met some great locals. Young guys who are truly gifted surfers and my instructor was great. But two crazy things happened: 1. Finally after two years of on and off again surfing, something finally clicked and I was able to surf every wave. The break was friendly, my timing was good- I even learned how to turn right, and for a goofy beginner, that's no small feat (goofy in surf parlance refers to ones footing- you can be regular, left foot forward, or goofy- leading with the right). And here's the second thing, and this one is even more astonishing: San Juan is something of a miraculous anomaly; the locals are the kindest, most encouraging community I've ever beheld. I mean if someone cuts them off, the locals shrug it off. When I finally made a right turn, another surfer congratulated me. Later that day I decided to surf again, this time on my own, and I was tired, so I lacked the strength needed to catch waves, so there were a few I just wasn't able to catch, but then, finally, I mustered up enough juice to grab one- and rode it all the way to shore-I felt incredible just coming over the wave, but then something out of an 80s movie happened, a bunch of locals cheered and clapped for me. They saw how hard I worked to catch the wave and they were impressed. I mean...what? That actually happened. It was utterly insane and perfectly amazing. Sadly the next few days proved to be flat, which was ok, because we enjoyed meeting new people and hanging out in town. 

I'm almost tempted to delete this post. Because I know what will happen. I will help spread the word about a sleepy surf town only beginning to be built up. And I wonder if more and more tourists arrive, will the locals still clap when a beginner catches a wave? Will they shrug it off if someone cuts them off over and over? Will the spirit of San Juan la Union change?