The last segment of this adventure was turning out to
be the most difficult. It wasn’t a
matter of the walk as it was the logistics of getting there. When dealing with walking into a Provincial
Capital, one had to consider the volume of traffic that would be
encountered. Another factor was that you
could not guarantee that the bus would even drop you off at the requested destination. Furthermore, I was a bit apprehensive about
disembarking at 4:00 a.m. in the middle of the country. Not to mention that there was a safety issue
to consider.
We discussed the options over dinner a couple of nights
prior to our walk. Our little group
talked of traveling to Bacolod and staying overnight at a hotel there. I rejected that on moral as well as ethical
considerations. Of course, the other alternative
was to walk from where we had stopped and take our chances. However, Clarisse had another idea; that it
might be easier if we just grabbed a bus and rode it to the terminal in Bacolod,
then take a taxi to the Provincial Capital and walk backward to kilometer
marker thirteen. Even though I liked the hotel part, as I did
like a good sleep, the most practical as well as safest option was to take a
bus up and to walk back.
Diana and I had set a date of August 2nd
for our final jaunt and both agreed that it would entail a very long day. Yet, at no time did we have any concerns
about the traffic along the National Highway or for our personal safety. It is hard to explain, but I seem to have this
internal perception as to whether something will be safe or not. There have been moments in my life when I
have not traveled somewhere just because I didn’t feel comfortable about the
location or route to be taken or even the situation. Sometimes when I would travel on the motorbike
here in the Philippines, I’d get an uneasy feeling and thus would drive more
cautiously than usual or just not drive at all.
Perhaps the trip might take twenty minutes longer because of my wariness
and, for that matter, maybe nothing would’ve happened, but was not about to
tempt luck or even fate. For whatever reason, I felt uneasy about
beginning my final trek from an isolated point in the country, and yet, in
contrast I didn’t feel any danger at all by walking the empty streets of
Bacolod.
We went to bed early on August 1st, and were up a
little after midnight on the 2nd.
The sky was alive with clusters of stars as the big dipper displayed
itself a little to the north of us as we departed the house and walked the
empty streets of Himamaylan City toward the National Highway and awaiting bus
stop.
It was a little after 1:20 a.m. as we reached our
embarkation point. There were three
young men sitting upon metal stools at Angel’s Hamburger Stand, bottles of pop were
sitting in front of them on the ledge as they chatted with the worker. Except
for the occasional trike racing down the highway with tubs of fish in the back
of the side car on its way to a distant market or vendor down the road, the
main street was quiet.
A puff of wind tickled the leaves of two large acacia
trees which were situated on each side of the bus stop. The
faint aroma of cooking burgers wafted itself across the highway as I began to
pace. It seemed that to me, patience
wasn’t as much of a virtue as it once was in my younger days. But, in my defense, I was just eager to get
on a bus and be on my way to the final jaunt.
Forty-five minutes had elapsed when the familiar
lights of a Ceres Liner appeared from around distant corner. Immediately, my impatience vanished and an excitement
welled from within as Diana and I climbed the steps of a Dumaguete bus on its
way to Bacolod. Although I had not a clue what might lay ahead
of us in the Capital, it was just the relief we were on our way and that all the
rest would be revealed to us in due time.
Not a lot can be said about the ride to Bacolod. The countryside was dark at that time of
night. There were no lights in the
windows of the quiet dwellings or the mouthwatering fragrance from morning cook
fires to heighten our senses. Just a
musty odor assailed our nostrils through the open windows as our transport
quietly sped upon the empty roadway toward our destiny.
What would normally have taken two hours to complete
the route to the south terminal in Bacolod, we arrived there in just over ninety
minutes. Although I dozed part of the
way, I still found it fascinating that neither man nor creature was seen within
or without the communities. The one exception
was along the sea wall north of Valladolid where I observed the distant lights from
a large number of banca boats situated upon the distant horizon. Their fish attracting lanterns flickered on
and off as they bobbed atop and then sank behind the waves.
I was surprised at how quiet the streets of Bacolod were
at 3:40 a.m. The main thoroughfare going
into the Capital was eerily empty of vehicles as the yellow transport
efficiently and effortlessly traversed the silent avenues. Arriving at the terminal, the twenty or so
sleepy passengers emptied from the bus and, to our great relief, a taxi was
idly waiting for any patron who should happen by.
We were both somewhat amazed at how truly quiet the
streets were. It was as if everyone had
gone to bed. Hence, what would have
taken several minutes more driving through congested traffic, it was basically
non-stop. When we had told the driver
that we wanted to be taken to kilometer marker zero in front of the Provincial
Capital Complex, he never uttered a word.
I was confident that he had had more peculiar destination instructions
during his night shift than ours.
The cab stopped at the marker as I grabbed my
backpack, paid the driver the amount due and we clambered out of the four
wheeled vehicle to a deathly quiet scene.
The marker was alongside Lacson Street which was one of the busiest and
most congested thoroughfares in the city.
Yet, there was no congestion as there were basically no vehicles. Sure, a taxi would pass intermittently,
honking its horn and/or flashing its lights at the seemingly hapless foreigner
and his companion, and even more rarely, a mostly empty jeepney would also
drive by, but that was about all.
As we walked past shuttered businesses, we became
aware of the many people sleeping on pieces of cardboard in front of the many
entries. Some had trisikads (pedal
driven trikes) secured to posts by their open air sleeping stations. There were no pedestrians visible as we
walked Lacson Street. Which was a good
thing as there was a lesser chance of becoming victims. Crime did exist in all corners of the
Philippines, but thankfully, it did not come to frequent us that morning.
With only the street lights to guide us, we strolled
southward until turning right onto San Sebastian Street leading toward the
National Highway. Maybe, had I planned my route out a little better,
I might have chosen a busier street to turn onto…but then again, there were no
busier streets in Bacolod at that hour.
As it so happens, I passed a hotel on the left and then at the first
intersection, and to my right, were a group of “women” who were hanging outside
an establishment. It wasn’t until after
the walk was completed did I discover that the business was a Videoke bar and
those ladies were of the evening variety.
Thankfully Diana was along or I might have had more than one of those
scantily clad women offer to help me on, or distract me from, my continuing
journey.
Again with no road map available (good luck with
finding an accurate one anyway), we unknowingly came upon the National
Highway. We stopped and had a
discussion. Diana said that it was
indeed the National Highway whereas I replied that it couldn’t be and we needed
to walk a block or two further west. So,
we crossed our roadway and ventured into a darker part of Bacolod. After a block we came upon an all-night
convenience store where a group of young adults were sitting outside. Diana asked where the National Highway was
and they pointed us back in the direction we had just come from. We thanked them (especially for not mugging
us) and returned to the disputed intersection.
May I mention that Diana snickered all the way back, but was kind enough
not to rub it in too much.
Back on track, we ventured south down the thoroughfare,
walking on the pavement as there was no traffic to impede our impertinence. I think that this was the best part of the
day’s journey so far. Once, I walked out
into the line of travel and even down the center line for a while, knowing that
someday, as the city continued to grow, I would be unable to do that
anymore.
About a kilometer south was a jeepney stand with morning
commuters sitting within the open air transports waiting for their vehicle to
depart. As we walked past, I heard a
couple of wolf whistles from within one or more of those transports. I was personally insulted and wanted to say
something, but Diana persisted that I ignore their sexist whistles. Then she smiled and whispered that perhaps
they were whistling at me instead? Let’s
face it, anything was and is possible in the Philippines and it was conceivable
that she might have had a point.
A short while later we sauntered by a strip mall and
at one end was an establishment by the name of Angel’s Disco and Karaoke bar. The music was still playing as an extremely
slurred voice could be heard emanating from the sound system within while a
couple women sat idly on chairs outside.
Neither of those purportedly bored women looked like angels to me
though.
By the time we had crossed Alijis Road (main east/west
route) the light of day was finally arriving.
We had now walked for over an hour and the morning traffic was beginning
to filter into the city. I could no
longer walk upon the highway without intrusive horns warning me of impending
doom should I maintain my course upon “their”
pavement. As there were no pedestrians
to impede our journey, we had more room to walk upon…for now.
We had trekked a little over five kilometers by now
and decided to take a break on a row of metal seats. Unbeknownst to us was they had been recently
painted and we unsuspectingly sat upon the slightly wet, plus sticky,
substance. With our unfortunate discovery,
we quickly stood back up, and there upon the seat of our shorts was a colorful burgundy
remembrance. Moving a little further on,
we found a concrete bench across from the Tangub Parish Church and thus took
our first real break.
The morning worshipers were slowly filtering into the
chapel as a few parked their vehicles in front of the church while others arrived
in jeepneys and a few even walked to participate in the morning services. I must comment that those parishioners were
older and would guess their ages at over sixty years. It gave me pause to consider whether or not it
might have been a church on the edge.
When walking four kilometers in the mornings in Himamaylan City, I would
trek past Our Lady of Snow Catholic Church and I noticed that most parishioners
were forty years of age or older……Whereas at the local Iglesia Ni Cristo church
on Thursday mornings, quite a few teenagers and young adults could be seen standing
outside waiting for the morning services to begin. Walking at 5:30 a.m. always offered me an
opportunity to see a lot about a town just awakening.
As we continued to sit and sip on our water, the
traffic continued to grow in volume and by the time we departed there was a
steady stream of vehicles upon a once seemingly abandoned roadway.
Shortly after our departure from the bench, the
sidewalk came to an end and we were now required to walk alongside the
highway. It actually wasn’t too bad as
the dirt siding provided enough room to keep a distance from the traffic. However, there were three upcoming obstacles
that we were going to have to struggle through and I had hoped the transiting
public would have been lighter, but unfortunately, this was not to be.
They were building three new multi-lane bridges at
different locations to accommodate the growing influx of cars and trucks; buses
and motorbikes, yet there was no way to currently cross those structures
without physically interacting with the oncoming motorized beasts of many
shapes and sizes. In reference to the
first obstacle, it was further compounded as small school children had to daily
wend their way across that same narrow, two lane bridge which had no sidewalk
for pedestrians in order to attend the school on the other side. As a group of very young students hesitantly
waited to take their chance, we arrived and I confidently took the lead, walking
out onto the span and facing the oncoming traffic. The children cautiously followed while Diana
picked up the rear. The motorbikes and
small cars could squeeze by (and they did with impudence), but eventually the
trucks had to stop and tolerate our passing.
In reflection, it reminded me of a Drake with his brood of ducklings as
we stepped single file across that bridge.
I am sure the last thing those
youthful pupils ever expected to see was a giant foreigner leading them along
that crossing. We waved to each other
as I sauntered down the road leaving the tiny legs in school uniforms
behind.
We made it through the large Barangay of Sun-Ag with
no difficulty. The community of over
20,000 residents was slowly coming to life as we walked the uncrowded sidewalks
on our way further south. However,
within a couple of hours, the traffic would be bumper to bumper with traffic
police everywhere directing traffic.
A hundred or so meters south of town we took a rest at
a bamboo constructed shelter. There sat a
Ceres Liner employee awaiting the buses.
It appears at that time, he had to check all of the air conditioned
buses to ensure all the passengers had paid their fares. He asked us in, allowing us to get out of the
morning sun and rest for a while. We
graciously accepted his invitation which also allowed us some conversation,
something we rarely had an opportunity to do. The inspector was polite and unassuming. Of course he inquired as to why we were
walking and Diana enlightened him as to our saga. He showed great interest at the telling of
our tale and was amazed that I was doing the trek at my age…It always astounded
me at his (as well as others) thoughts that a person my age would be incapable
of such challenges. Having only three
kilometers to end our adventure, a warming breeze beckoned our return to the
highway. Saying farewell, we resumed our
place on the east side of the highway and continued toward our
destination.
The next two bridges were one lane affairs and
actually were easier to negotiate than the first one. We just waited until the southbound traffic
was allowed passage and we hastily walked with the flow. We were across the first bridge without
difficulty, however, the second bridge was a little more complicated. The southbound traffic was not as long and
thus while we were in the middle of the bridge, the northbound traffic was
allowed to pass. Diana and I hugged the
side of the barricade as the insolent trucks and cars swiftly passed by. It was personally irritating due to the
callousness of those drivers who found our presence a nuisance or intrusion to
their supposed mission. I honestly
believe that they would have had no remorse of conscience had they hit us and
considered it one of the sadder sides of living in the Philippines.
In less than a kilometer after the last bridge, we had
reached our destination. Outside that
small factory of the previous day, we came upon a handful of workers who were
sitting on a bench. As we stood there in the cooling shade of the trees waiting
for a jeepney to take us back to Bacolod, one of them emitted a “wolf
whistle”. Previously, at the jeepney
stand in Bacolod, I couldn’t narrow down who the violators were, but here it
was quite evident who the guilty party was this time. I whipped around and giving my meanest glare
said, “Don’t Be Bastos!!!” Bastos means
disrespectful in Illongo. Not one of
them would look at me and what little conversation they had when I first
arrived ended until after we climbed aboard a jeepney and departed.
The drive back to Bacolod was triumphant for Diana and
me. We traveled to
 |
| Diana Baguio at kilometer marker 00 |
McDonald's which was
located across from the Capital Complex and ate a filling breakfast. Then we crossed the street and took each
other’s picture in front of the kilometer marker. Finally,
we took a taxi to the south Ceres Liner Terminal and climbed about an air
conditioned bus for our return home.
We had surmounted the kilometers and achieved a goal
that so few people these days
 |
| Daryl Cleveland at kilometer marker 00 |
would ever undertake. And the most important fact about this
journey was that our accomplishment could never be taken away from us. Maybe it was never sensational enough to
garner headlines, but it was a feat that still sits prominently in both of our
memories to this day.
Daryl A. Cleveland
January 8, 2016
just after sunset. A slender moon was brightly
prominent in the western sky when I commented that we had a “Sliver of a Moon”
tonight. The statement puzzled them as they
looked up at the slim white line of a new moon, but couldn’t quite connect what
a sliver had to do with the moon. I want to stress, that my four adopted children
are far smarter now than when we first met five years ago, but they, as well as
me, still have a lot to learn and understand about the World around us. 
