BATANGAS PORT — For over a year now, I had been based again in Manila, managing the Provincial Division of People’s Television, the government TV network. I was also here in 2015-2016. Renting a nearby apartment, I could be at work in 10 minutes during the usual Manila traffic, and only five minutes when driving during the ECQ in Manila, which brought traffic back to how it was in the 1970s.
But then this CoViD-19 pandemic has found so many people taking a look at their priorities, and adjusting their sails. Like many others, I found myself entertaining thoughts of a post-CoViD scenario so different from life in 2019, leading me to envision a future totally unrelated to what I do for my day job.
I had been watching how-to videos on YouTube about food production and farming, which brought back memories of my childhood. I remember early mornings when we would wait for our breakfast (freshly-laid eggs) to roll into the bamboo slots of the chicken coop.
I realize now it was very wise of my parents to maintain a backyard poultry for home consumption. They raised hogs as well, which was what kept my parents busy when they were not working as teachers.
So I told myself that if I wanted to go into food production because of the various constraints that CoViD has now forced upon our way of life, there was only one way to do that: pack my bags, and return to Dumaguete.
I had this road trip mentally figured out, and images of me sleeping inside the car along the highway, preferably by some isolated beach, came to mind. I had, after all, long wanted to drive around in a small camper. This would be the closest experience to being in one, except that the car was packed full there was no room to move about, except to recline my seat by a few inches.
Inside the car were my TV set, bins, fans, audio system, a mousetrap (my sister’s birthday gift), kitchen stuff, computer monitors, coffee maker, oven toaster, etc. It was so packed even a piece of straw would cause the car to break.
After about two months of saying my goodbyes to my co-workers at PTV, the big day finally came. With 20 more boxes (including a piano) at the apartment awaiting collection by the cargo forwarder, I set out for the over 838 -kilometer drive from Manila to Dumaguete.
I was thinking of doing a vlog for this trip but I was driving the next four days by my lonesome. I needed to focus on getting home safe.
On D-Day, much as I wanted to leave Manila by dawn of Tuesday, I still had to dismantle the huge bed I was lying on Monday night. Small wonder I finally got to leave at 11 a.m. No sooner had I left when my phone alerted me that my RapidPass had been approved and was downloadable. It was a QR-code sent by the Department of Information and Communication Technology to frontliners like us in the media. We could either print it out and post it in front of our vehicle or save it on our phones and just flash it to the people with QR Code scanners so we could breeze through the Metro Manila checkpoints. Funny, it came on the day I am leaving for Dumaguete where this would be useless.
I was just confident that with my media ID issued by the Inter-Agency Task Force, and the PTV order and special order for me to undertake the road trip, it would be all good.
Waze led me to Katipunan Ave.-C5 and soon, got me connected to the South Luzon Expressway with no hassle. I came across only one checkpoint at SLEx, which gave me the chance to flash from my phone my newly-minted RapidPass.
I was in no hurry since the shipping schedules have been disrupted by the lack of passengers and cargo; the ROROs just wait for their vessels to fill up before they depart. So I stuck to driving between 80 to 90 kph., while monitoring the tire pressure from a gauge mounted on my dashboard, a contraption I bought online, and which I fully endorse. The car manufacturer’s specs is 33 PSI for the front tires, and 36 for the back. Driving on hot roads would increase it by about two PSI, which is all right.
The view from the expressway south of Manila was refreshing, a welcome distraction. Driving Luzon during the ECQ days would make others drool. My lane was all mine. I started to feel like I was driving in North America… until I was brought back to reality with the bold white letters painted on the highway Bawal ang truck/bus dito.
After an hour and 50 minutes, I finally reached Batangas port. They had set up a tent close to the main gate where the PPA would do triage on who are qualified to board the vessels. I saw a group of men being driven in an ambulance. They looked fit and healthy. I learned later they were returning cruise ship workers who had just gone through a 14-day quarantine.
After more than one month into the Luzon ECQ, I could sense that the authorities at the Batangas port were still unsure of their game. I waited over 30 minutes at the Coast Guard Station as the sergeant, upon looking through my documents and realizing that I was driving through many other provinces before reaching my final destination, referred my case to his superior, who sounded equally-puzzled how to handle the situation.
The superior insisted that I lacked a piece of official document from my destination requesting that I travel to Dumaguete.
It took less than a minute for him to realize on the absurdity of such a request from a person who was traveling on official business and had the necessary travel order and special order for the trip.
After navigating the circuitous process of getting approval for my car to be loaded onto the RORO, waiting for the vessel at the pier turned out to be the next challenge. I thought the RORO I was taking to the island of Mindoro was one of the scores of boats moored at the port. It turned out that it was still arriving Batangas to pick up passengers and cargoes.
It seemed like forever, but MV Starferry (Starlite Ferry Corp.) finally docked. They started boarding us at 6 p.m. Again, I got curious looks from the Police and the Coast Guard as I was the only one not driving a truck or a cargo jeep.
Each document I had was again scrutinized, and the same questions were asked of me in Tagalog: Where did you come from? Where are you based? Where are you going during this pandemic? What would you be doing in faraway Dumaguete?
I was also asked once again to show my ID so they could take a picture of it. Here in Batangas alone, my travel documents have been photographed four times. And I dreaded the thought as I was just starting my journey.
A good thing about being on board boats at this time of ECQ is that you have a wide choice of location of cots where you can rest, or of tables where you can work on for the next three hours or so. The canteen was closed but I was prepared for it.
MV Starferry finally chugged to a start at 6:41 p.m., just when the sun was setting, and started to sail towards the town of Calapan in Oriental Mindoro. I also posted a photo of a curious cloud formation above the Verde Island Passage, generating some comments on Facebook about how it looked like a leaping cat. Save for my officemates, none of my friends guessed I was traveling out of Luzon during the lockdown.
As our RORO approached Calapan, I was feeling excited at the prospect of a good night’s rest. Arriving shortly before 10 p.m., members of the Calapan Anti-CoViD Task Force were ready and waiting for us, new arrivals from the neighboring island. I filled out a form, had my temperature checked, the car sanitized.
It was too dark by then, and no hotel was open.
I called a friend who easily gave me two safe options: one in the home of a ranking government official, and another in a government facility.
“But we cannot allow you to proceed to the government facility in Calapan,”the Anti CoViD task force guy told me regretfully, but firmly. So my choices were to sleep in the port area or drive two hours into the night.
I opted to sleep in the port area; they were kind enough to assign me a parking space beside a clean (but waterless) comfort room, but which gave me access to electricity. I slept well inside the car, with my electric fan right beside me. (Luckily, I was travelling in a car loaded with almost all the basic home necessities.)
The lady janitor was already cleaning the toilet by dawn. She hadn’t slept yet, as she was still on-duty on a 16-hour shift, which she said she does every three days. And she did a very good job at keeping her work area spic and span. She would follow the toilet users around, mopping any dirt off the floor where one had just walked on. Kind of embarrassing but I couldn’t complain because the only working faucet was in her cubicle, and she had the water heater I needed to brew my morning coffee.
By daylight, a new set of Anti-CoViD personnel had taken over, and all they knew was that I slept at the port for the night, but didn’t know what else to do with me. So one guy again took photos of my ID and my travel authorizations and I was free to go for my two-hour trip to the town of Roxas, where I would take the second boat ride, this time to Caticlan.
Calapan was still asleep when I left town at 6:20 in the morning. Driving through a Jollibee outlet, my curious glance was met by the window cleaner raising seven fingers. Too long to wait 40 minutes, I thought, and I sped on. Besides, I just had coffee brewed from the car, and I still had food which I brought from Manila.
The 98-kilometer drive to Roxas was dotted with five checkpoints. The policeman at the first checkpoint stopped me to ask if I had a mask, and why I wasn’t wearing it. Well, I thought I didn’t need one while I was alone inside my car.
But he was truly concerned about my mask, not even about the fact that I had failed to fasten my seat belt. With all the house stuff strewn about in the car after I had spent the night in it, my mask was nowhere to be found.
“Have you tried wearing a mask before you could brush your teeth? It’s awful, isn’t it?,” I asked him. He let out a hearty laugh, and waved me on.
The second checkpoint also asked about my mask and I conveniently said okay, after I finish eating my breakfast. The third checkpoint didn’t bother. Neither did the fourth checkpoint, nor the fifth one.
In the town of Roxas, the sight of me driving a car immediately evoked a frown on the shipping agent. “This one can’t get on the boat. It’s not authorized!” he declared.
The guard at the port gates, however, saw my media company logos, and said, “It is allowed; it’s a media vehicle.”
To settle the matter, we went to the Coast Guard, where we had to pass through an alley leading to a shack that, for all intents and purposes, was the office. The detachment commander was a kind-looking man from neighboring Batangas province. He went through my documents, and pronounced that there was no problem. “Just tell them I said OK,” he assured.
The best part was that there was one boat trip that Wednesday. So after I parked the car at the PPA compound, I asked around where I could get a much-needed bath. “Pwede po sa amin!” I turned to look at who so generously offered his bathroom, and found the Coast Guard commander! Two kind deeds to a stranger in just one morning.
The MV RORO Master finally sailed from Roxas at 2:30 p.m., headed for Caticlan, the world-famous barangay that provides most of the income for the town of Malay in the province of Aklan. At least I was already in the Visayas.
I had been here thrice before, and it was always a lively place, filled with tourists of all colors, eager to sample the white sand and everything else that Boracay has to offer.
But as we approached Caticlan at 8 p.m., the lights that used to glisten and light up the town were absent, as though someone turned off a giant switch. From the darkness came people donning white PPEs, like a scene from a sci-fi movie. Then all the people in our boat were made to form two lines. The people in white protective suits took everyone’s temperature, examined IDs, and sprayed disinfectants on us.
Checking Waze, I saw that Dumangas port, my next stop, was only 156 kms. away, so I was hoping I could make it there by midnight. I was low on fuel but all gas stations were closed. Could there be enterprising souls be who would sell gasoline in softdrink bottles from their houses? I was desperate, and after having driven almost an hour and having only three bars of gas, and 110 kilometers to go. I didn’t want to take any chances.
I chanced upon a group of young-looking boys ‘tambay (hanging out)under a tree, so I backed up, hoping they would be in the black market gasoline business. They had all scampered away, maybe thinking I was going to arrest them for violating the curfew.
I stopped at a second group of people in the compound of a well-light home. This time, I was met with curious stares. Then I realized they were holding a vigil for a deceased loved one. I didn’t bother asking for directions. (On second thought, they might have also offered me coffee and biscuits.)
As my chances of finding gasoline grew dimmer, I decided to call a friend: Thea Faith Reyes, now a Board member of the neighboring province of Capiz. She must know someone who could sell me gas. She called her friend in the town of Ibajay, whose family runs a gas station. But that friend said he couldn’t sell gas at that time of the night because he would violate his own curfew rule. He is, afterall, the governor of Aklan. (I didn’t need that much complication, I thought.)
So Thea did the next best thing: she called other friends Dan & Rochelle Yap in Kalibo to allow me to at least park in front of their house for the night, until the gas stations would open in the morning. Without hesitation, they agreed. I was also able to connect my extension wire to their outlet inside the house so I could again turn on my electric fan inside the car while I slept.
The Yaps operate the popular Papa Dan’s diner near the Kalibo Municipal Hall. I can’t wait to sample their pizza and have a few beers when this pandemic is over, on perhaps another road trip.
Cautious of my having driven all the way from Quezon City, which has the distinction of being the LGU with the highest number of COVID 19 cases in the country, I kept physical distance from the family. And before I left early the following morning of Thursday, I sprayed Lysol on all the surfaces I may have touched in their home.
The drive from Kalibo to Dumangas where I was to take my third ferry ride took some two hours. As I was negotiating the highways, I received a call from my classmate Dr. Mark Macias, who incidentally is the vice governor of Negros Oriental. He was surprised to learn that I was scheduled to arrive in Dumaguete late Thursday afternoon.
“You have to inform Dr. Liland Estacion because the protocols here are very strict,” Mark Macias warned me.
Dr. Estacion is incident commander of the CoViD-19 Task Force for Negros Oriental. Dr Estacion was about to have a meeting with the Task Force so she asked me to call again after they discuss my case.
Meanwhile, Irma was also busy coordinating with Dumaguete Health Officer Dr. Sarah Talla how I could have a seamless entry into the City, and where I could get the mandatory swab testing.
We thought we had it all figured out.
Tri-Star Navigation operated three ships between Dumangas and Bacolod that day. The one I was on set sail at 9 a.m., and we reached Bacolod shortly past 11 a.m. The only time I was stopped upon arrival was at the pier gate, not to be examined or anything, but so I could pay my port dues. The Bredco Port in Bacolod is probably the only port in the country where you have to pay to exit.
Before I could continue on to Dumaguete, I had one major mission: to deliver a brand new video camera for our PTV 2 Bacolod cameraman Joel de Vera. He was so happy to finally get his first brand new camera (after always getting hand-me-downs) that he almost jumped out of his skin.
I called Dr. Estacion again. She relayed to me that the Negros Oriental CoViD-19 Task Force decided they were willing to accept me into the Province, provided the Mayor of Dumaguete would also approve of it.
Mayor Felipe Remollo was in a lunch meeting so meanwhile, I decided to just drive southwards to get closer to Dumaguete. Turning left at the town of Don Enrique towards Canlaon City, my planned entry point into Negros Oriental, I got hold of the Mayor.
He said outlined the protocol for returning residents — a swab test, and a rapid test in the place of origin, and a health certificate, on top of a 14-day quarantine upon arrival.
Who knew? The last person I had asked in Manila about traveling protocols was Undersecretary Dr. Rosario Vergeire who said the Department of Health doesn’t issue health certificates for travelers.
Since I was nearing La Carlota City, I thought I might as well ask our family friend, Dr. Erwina Bokingo-Jalandoni, the City health officer.
“You had to come at the wrong time, when health protocols are so strict,” she told me.
And the only way now to get swabbed was by driving back for about 30 minutes to the Provincial Health Office in Bacolod City. Eager to just get it over with, I drove back.
Nearing Bacolod, Dr. Jalandoni called me: “Just stay calm,” she warned, “but you need to proceed to E.B. Magalona and report to the Healing Center. They are expecting you there.”
“Expecting me?” I felt excited that plans were being made for my arrival. I was looking forward to getting swabbed and rapid tested, so I could finally be on my way back to my hometown by Thursday evening after driving for three days from Luzon. (Alex Pal)
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