Charmless Matnog was not, however, finished with me, and I rode my bike back to my improvised campsite in the Richwell Beach Resort walled compound to find that I had been robbed. True, the robbers had not gotten away with much, but it was still quite annoying. They had taken a few things that I’d left out on the table with my campstove. They took a red pouch containing my plastic spoons, forks, and knives. They also took a water bottle – the bottle I’d purchased in Legazpi to replace the one that split open. They also took a bag of bananas and my instant noodles and instant coffee and cream.

When I saw that the red pouch and the bananas were gone but that the camp stove and other valuable items were still there, I was very confused. I thought that perhaps the staff at the resort had moved these items for some reason. Why would a thief take a plastic spoon and a water bottle but not take a quite nice aluminum pot and kettle and stove, not to mention my Dromedary water bag? I asked the girls at the resort if they had moved anything, but they said they hadn’t. They were quite shocked to hear that some things had been taken and they were quite upset. The one girl apologized over and over again. She said that she had seen some children over by my tent, but she didn’t worry about it because they were only children. Myself, I would suspect children of foul play more than anyone else. That the thieves were children might explain why they took bananas and cutlery and left everything else. The plot got even more confusing when one of the girls actually found the red pouch abandoned on the beach near a garbage pile. My lighter and a spare key to my new padlocks were still inside the pouch. Then someone else found my two plastic knives. I have no idea why the children left these items behind and took the others. I felt a bit weird talking to the girls about this theft because in the end, nothing of value was taken. It’s just the trouble these items represent not to mention their sentimental value. It’s not like I can just go to the corner store and pick up another set of lightweight but strong plastic cutlery like that. (It’s a good thing I didn’t buy the expensive titanium set I was eyeing in Taipei.) I also won’t be able to buy another water bottle until I get back to a larger city. It was the loss of the spoon and fork that I felt the most. I’d had both for fourteen or fifteen years. I’d made hundreds if not thousands of cups of coffee with that spoon and eaten countless good meals with that fork – all around the world.

Later on, I looked on the bright side. Every trip I’ve been on has had a moment early on when the risk of theft has been driven home. And, luckily, I’ve never lost that much. This theft, for example, could have been much, much worse. As much sentimental value as that spoon had, it could be replaced. The water bottle was worth only four or five dollars and could also be replaced. What if the thieves had taken my Trangia stove and pot set? What if they’d taken my Dromeday water bag? What if they’d taken the stuff sack and pegs for my tent? I’d left all of that and more just sitting on the table beside my tent. (I thought it was safe inside the fortified Richwell compound with its high walls and barbed wire.) For that matter, what if they’d sliced open my tent with a knife and taken all the valuable things from inside it? The loss of any of those items would have been much more serious. So I’d learned once more, at not too great a price, that I couldn’t really be too careful. It would be a huge pain to constantly pack up everything and put everything away inside the tent every time I needed to walk away just for a few minutes. But it was either that or risk having anything and everything just vanish. I sat around for much of the rest of the evening trying to remember what else was sitting out on the table and therefore was missing, but luckily, I couldn’t come up with anything else. Best of all, the thieves had not taken my most cherished possession of all – my plastic Tim Hortons coffee mug – a dear old friend.

After my trying night and day in Matnog, I felt I was due for a break, but it was not to be. I was stuck once again when it came to getting food. I could not find rice anywhere. I rode my bike across that rickety old bridge in the dark and after I stopped at the first eatery to inquire after rice, I found my bike didn’t want to move anymore. I felt around with my hands and found that I had a flat rear tire. I wasn’t thinking very clearly, and instead of checking to see what had caused the flat tire, I just rolled my bike through the town and then rolled it all the way back out to Richwell Beach Resort. This, I later learned, was a very bad mistake. It just never occurred to me that the cause of the flat could be a long nail. And with the nail still embedded in the rubber, by rolling the bike along for so long, I had driven the nail repeatedly through the sidewall of the tire. I should have checked the tire instantly to see what had caused the flat. Instead, I assumed it was a sharp metal edge on the bridge. By making that assumption, I didn’t bother to check for embedded nails and had made the damage that much worse. It could even have totally destroyed the integrity of the tire. I wouldn’t know until I had repaired the tube and pumped it up and moved on with a full touring load.

Finally, I discovered that a large area of skin around the side and back of my knees had gotten inflamed and possibly infected. Even after a month and a half in the Philippines, I was suffering from prickly heat. This drives me crazy and it crops up all over my body in different places. I knew that it was very dangerous to scratch. On every trip to the Philippines, I’ve ended up with wounds so badly infected that I’d had to go to the hospital for treatment. I was pretty sure that just a simple scratch with my fingernails is enough to kickstart the infection process. And once it starts, it is impossible to stop without antibiotics. I did not want this to happen again, but without thinking, I had given in to the urge on the night before my island-hopping adventure and given my knees a good scratching. It was too much scratching as it turned out and the entire area became inflamed.

Even the worst of days can have a happy ending, and my happy ending came in the form of a pleasant chat with the owner of the Richwell Beach Resort. I had picked up some food from the eateries and then rolled my bike with its flat tire back to the resort. The owner, nicknamed “Nanong”, was sitting in his resort’s restaurant and enjoying a bottle of rum with one of his workers. He invited me to join them for a shot or two, which I did, and then Nanong ordered some rice from the kitchen for me and I ate my meal there.

I had been interested in how Nanong came to own this resort and with a series of questions, I got some of his life story. He was born in Irosin – the town that had impressed me so much earlier. His family was quite poor, and he had gotten a job in Manila through an agency. He was a messenger and delivery boy for an automotive parts store. Not even having finished high school, this was the best job he could get.

Over the span of a few years, he learned about the industry and eventually was promoted a couple of times to become the sales manager. He then had the opportunity to get in on the ground floor of a brand new company. A Chinese-Filipino investor wanted to start an auto-parts company and he asked Nanong to manage it for him. Nanong agreed but in a shrewd move, he asked for 20% ownership. The Chinese-Filipino loaned him the money for the 20% ownership. Nanong eventually paid that back, and he left that company with a little nest egg, which he used to start another auto-supply company. This time he had a controlling interest and that company became his bread and butter. He delved into other business opportunities, including the Richwell Beach Resort (which he’d built just last year) and a copra farm of two hectares in Irosin.

I asked him what it takes to be a successful businessman, and he said that it takes honesty and hard work. I asked him if he had any dreams left in life and he said that his main dream is to make enough money to be able to return to Irosin and set up a foundation or an NGO to help local farmers improve their lives. Nango told his long story with much laughter and good nature and it was a pleasing end to a very long and trying day.

 

Tags: bike, job, Legazpi to Matnog, Philippines Bike Trip 2013, Richwell Beach Resort, tent