Glenn and I recently extended our "mode of exploration", usually including car, sail boat, SCUBA gear, or hiking boots, to bycicle saddle! An experience that definitely calls for more!

Preparing for our weekend get-away to Cebu we pondered the usual options: diving in the west, whale shark watching in the south, or island exploration in the north. Each of these options include a minimum of three hours in a bus... We simply didn't have it in us.

Instead, we decided to explore Olango Island, just off of Cebu. Not in a car and not by foot, but by bike! Through "bugobikers", a Cebu-based outdoor adventure organizer specializing on bike tours, we were quickly set up.

Sunday morning our guide Laurence picked us up from the hotel. Together we went to Mactan Island, where our bikes were already waiting for us. We plus our bikes boarded a small bangka over a narrow plank. (We thought we were brining special items on the boad... we changed our minds when we saw furniture pieces being loaded onto the boat!).

After a 15 minute boat ride we disembarked on Olango Island. What's great about the island is there are no cars allowed. The only motorized vehicles we had to bully with were motorcycles and trycicles.

Olango is a rather small island. It can be circumnavigated in less than 2 hours. Still, it's home to 25,000+ inhabitants. On top of the human head count, Olango is home to various bird species.

The Olango Wildlife Sanctuary, a 1,000ha area, is the summer residence for migratory birds, escaping the winters in their homes. Needless to say the Sanctuary is, at least once a year, an attraction for birdwatchers.

We had missed the migration season by a few weeks. Yet, we enjoyed walking out to sea to get closer to the mangrove-covered wetland, a perfect nesting place for birds. The tide was coming in so we waded through belly-high waters to reach the outlook.

After a refreshing coconut juice we paddled on along the well maintained asphalt road around the island. We stopped at a German-run resort for lunch and even dared to stick our heads underwater to explore the marine wildlife in the Mactan channel. Spoiled divers as we are we concluded this snorkel experience to be a great way to cool down.

From there we decided to bike along the roads less traveled. Slightly uneasy because he hasn't explored the area yet, Laurence prepared us we "might get lost". Well, it's an island.

We turned off road and found ourselves in the middle of small communities in the back of the island, away from the nice resorts facing Mactan Channel. Children greated us and chased our bikes. Clearly, not many bikers pass through here. We got a glimpse of a relaxed Sunday afternoon in the fishing communities.

25 kilometers later we were back at the pier, loading our bikes once more on a bangka. Our pick up received as back on the mainland and by 5pm, we were back at our hotel.

Our suggestion: if you really want to explore the Philippines (not the tourist hubs), go on a bike tour! You are faster than walking but slower than rushing through the place on a motorbike. It's a great exercise and a low carbon footprint activity!

The Cranberries Live in Manila

Ultra-short blond or black hair, petite-framed, big Doc Martens shoes. 20 years and six albums later, Dolores O'Riordan's appearance has changed quite a bit. Except for the Doc Martens, maybe, which stood in stark contrast to the black lace see-through bell-bottom pants and the bathrobe-like white coat she appeared in on stage. Reminders of the counter-culture?

Unchanged, for sure, is her distinctive voice, the identity of The Cranberries. Especially the songs of the older days, written to depicts and condemn political struggles in Northern Ireland at that time, brought out the unmistakably sound of The Cranberries.

I wondered more than once, how the band's motivation must have changed over the years. What stood out for me was the increased passion on stage with the older songs like Zombie. It felt like their roots were there and seem to rejuvenate while singing down memory lane.

Dolores dedicated one song to her daughter, whose 7th birthday it was today. She described her birth pains as: "Exactly seven years ago I was like WHOOOAA!" The crowd cheered! Go, mom!

Conquered: Mt. Pulag

Being the highest mountain in Luzon, Mt. Pulag had been on our “conquer list” for quite some time. We took the opportunity of a long weekend to do the sheer insane: drive our own car through Philippines’ Easter traffic, and approach Mt. Pulag’s 2,922-meter summit along the “Akiki” trail, more commonly dubbed the “killer” trail.

After a tiring 9-hour car ride, passing cross-bearing and self-flagellating people along the way, we arrived at the Mt. Pulag Visitor Center in Bokod, 2 hours north of Baguio. The National Park’s superintendent, Ma’am Mering, mumbled something about our late arrival. It was 5pm already and the sun was setting. Sorry Ma’am, trapik!

She quickly shoved us into a room where 60 people watched the mandatory video orientation on how to behave inside the park. No open fire, no spitting, no sh..ing, no yelling... Needless to say, we saw and heard all of the above anyway.

We registered and paid our fees. 200 Pesos per resident-head (a 100% price increase to the prices posted on various blogs) plus 100 Pesos environmental fee. Soon we were on our way to the Akiki Jump-off at the Ranger Station in Doacan, another 20 km down the muddy and winding mountain roads of Benguet Province.

We knew we were far from civilization when our GPS provided merely the most basic information such as “driving north” or worse “driving on road”. Sometimes we weren’t even so sure about the road. The pitch-black darkness added silently to the drama. So did the vegetable truck, broken down under its heavy cabbage load, and now blocking the one-lane road. Luckily, the repair was already well under way. People were busy replacing the flat tire with another flat tire. After a short chat with the locals about vegetable farming and marketing, we were on (or off?) the road again.

At 8pm we had finally reached the Akiki Jump-off station. Our guide and the Ranger had gone home by now. A memorandum stabled to the Ranger Station’s wooden door informed us about a 9pm to 5am curfew due to insurgencies. More drama!

In the beams of our headlights we boiled some pasta, poured ourselves a rum coke (no ice, obviously, but beggars are no choosers and neither are hikers), and curled up in our car for a bone-bending night’s rest.

The Day! After an energizing 6am cereal breakfast straight from the trunk of our car we went to meet our guide Narsie and the local Ranger Heron. Through text we had arranged an English-speaking guide and were not disappointed. The price negotiation took a while but we finally settled on 2,000 Pesos for a two day, one night “Akiki-Akiki” roundtrip.

The term "Akiki-Akiki" greeted us with a question-mark-intonation and a look of disbelieve from other hikers along the trail. Most take the longer Akiki route up the mountain, and then traverse over the peak down a 3-hour trail to Ambangeg.

At 7am, we started what we had researched to be a 10-hour hike. Destination: Saddle campsite, mere 500 meters below Mt. Pulag’s grassy summit. As it turned out, we beat the often-referenced time schedules from waypoint to waypoint by 30 minutes to an hour.

We reached the first campsite along Eddet River after a good hour hike. We crossed a steel hanging bridge, which made for some great photos. The first steep stretch of the trail, covering almost 600 altitude meters, led us through “Cowcountry”. While we saw only few cows, we saw quite a lot of their souvenirs along the trail, complete with swarms of flies.

Within 2 hours, we had reached “Marlboro Country”, referenced as a 3-hour leg. By now, we had caught up with the first group of 11 hikers, who had left the campsite at Eddet River that morning. “Mabilis kayo!” – “You are fast!” That’s what we heard more than once that day. Usually with what seemed like a self-explanatory look at our “long” legs. However, hiking is not about long speedy steps, but rather about a steady pace. Narsie, 4’9 tall and 46 years of age had no problem leading us. He once accompanied a 21-year old trail runner to the summit in only 3 hours!

From “Marlboro Country” it took us another hour through “Mossy Forest”, a cool and damp overgrown forest patch. It’s home to the last water source before the summit. A big group of about 15 people was busy cooking. We refilled all our water bottles and continued right away. By now, we felt the additional weight of water on our backs. Despite our heavy feet, we kept moving anticipating the run for good campground at the Saddle campsite. Jessie, a young Pinoy from the first group we met decided to join us. He was clearly frustrated with the slow pace of his ever stopping and snacking fellow hikers.

At 12:30pm we had reached the Grassland. The scenery suddenly changed. No more trees but shrubs and what Jessie called “miniature bamboo” all along the way. Clouds and heavy fog obstructed the view into the valley. Eyes to the ground, we covered the remaining hour to Saddle Camp, overtaking the third group of hikers along the way.

Being the first to reach the campsite, we got to chose what we considered to be the best spot for our tent. That is, away from the “latrines”, two sets of chest-high wooden walls surrounding an overflowing hole in the ground. Single raindrops quickly distracted us from thinking too much about our hygiene situation. For the better, I guess.

We pitched our tent. Only to find out the adhesive holding a plastic window in place had dissolved, leaving a gaping hole in the fly. Glenn skillfully re-attached the window with band aid. Just in time! For the next 5 hours the rain wouldn’t stop. My thoughts went out to all the remaining hikers on the trail who, by now, would be soaking wet. Dripping water on my face snapped me back to assess our own situation. The tent was leaking in every possible spot! The seam sealant had successfully rotted while in storage. More first aid tape...

The rain had drowned our idea of hiking to the summit to see the sunset. We merely managed to cook dinner (pasta, again) on the slow and heatless flame of our camping stove. At almost 3,000 meters, the air obviously does get thinner. Our bodies didn’t feel the effect of it though.

What they did feel was the uneven ground we had pitched our tent on, the broken air pads (precisely, here too, the rubber around the valve had rotted completely), and the low temperatures. A warm-weather creature by now, I struggled to warm up inside my sleeping bag. Ten degrees is just not comfortable. In our tent by 8pm we had a long night ahead of us! While tempted, we remembered that “sexual acts are discouraged” on the sacred grounds of Mt. Pulag, according to the orientation video. Bummer. Seems the message about keeping “man-made noises” to a minimum didn’t stick too well with our neighbors, playing their stereos.

Summit Day. Shortly after 5am we started our final summit approach. The trail was muddy but easy to navigate. From afar, we saw headlamps like distant fire flies swarming around Pulag’s summit. The moon was so bright, we almost didn’t need a lamp at all.

Finally! The “Sea of Clouds” which depicts every Mt. Pulag advertisement came into sight. A solid white cloud cover lingered around the rolling grassy hills of Mt. Pulag’s summit. At some parts, the wind started pushing the clouds over the ridgeline. The clouds spilled over the mountaintops like a waterfall. The moon was still full and bright, illuminating our tents at the campsite below. From up here they looked like colorful little marbles. The sun’s first beams painted reddish streaks along the dark sky. The moon quickly dropped as the sun came up from behind the clouds. What an amazing view!

After 45 minutes of appreciating nature’s wonders and picture taking, we started our descent to Saddle Campsite. Although we still had our return trip ahead of us, we already felt accomplished. Time for a cereal breakfast and freshly filtered coffee! Much to Narsie’s surprise who asked in disbelieve: “You are not cooking?” Nope.

We packed our wet tent and clothes and started our descent back the Akiki trail at 7:30am. Our fellow hikers waved us good-bye while preparing heavy breakfasts. Amazing, the ingredients and cooking utensils some hikers carry!

Tracing our steps back the Akiki trail was well worth it! The mountain looked completely different from what we had seen during our ascent. It would take another four hours before the fog and clouds would obstruct the view from this peak. At this early hour, we could see the ravines of the mountains, and in the far distance rice terraces carved into the steep slopes. Absolutely magnificent!

At around 11am, just like the day before, the first dark clouds started to move in. At noon, we had reached Eddet River. Sweaty and slightly sunburned (the downside of a missing cloud cover), we enjoyed a dip in the ice-cold stream!

If it wasn’t for this 30 minute break, we might have gotten back to the Ranger Station in time. At exactly 1:30pm, just like the day before, it started to rain. We sped up our pace for the last 15 minutes of the trail but we were soaked anyway when we reached Ranger Station at about 2pm.

Cold and shivering, we politely declined Heron’s wife’s invitation to rest and have a coffee at their house. We just wanted to change into dry clothes and get going back to Baguio before the dark. We gave Narsie a lift in our car which might have saved him around 2 hours of walking. When we dropped him off he cheerfully said good-bye and set off for another 1.5-hour hike up the mountain back to his house. Does he ever get tired?