Filipino friendliness is truly amazing. I was blushing when a pretty young lady came to pick me up from the couchsurfer’s apartment where I was staying because he had asked her to do so. She took me to an another building around the block where she was preparing a delicious traditional meal for the many regular guests, a Polish guy in the shady business of explaining rich Poles how to evade taxes, and me. It was delicious. After lunch I fell asleep, telling myself that I needn’t be embarrassed because it’s the humidity and the heat of the Metro that made me put my head down.
I escaped the Manila heat by traveling up to Baguio. It’s a six hour busride that I took at night with my new friend. Baguio is a town built by the Americans high up in the mountains and the climate is considerably cooler than in the capital. My friend showed me around and we had breakfast in “Cafe by the ruins”, which I can recommend. After a delectable bite of basil bread with molten cheese and raisin roll, along with a cup of honest coffee, we jumped on a jeepney that took us down to the Asin hot springs.
Go there, if you like hot springs. The moderately bumpy jeepney ride (PHP26) winds down the pretty hills, offering stunning views on hillside hamlets and tropical vegetation, while the temperature slowly rises as it descends on the hot springs. There are a few overpriced tourist hotels, but we had a friend there – a very nice couchsurfer who lives in a modest hut right next to a stream. The three of us had a great conversation about permaculture, alternative lifestyles, and o on, then took a short walk and just relaxed. I didn’t see much of the tropical forest village, but enough to get an impression.
At night, we went nightswimming (PHP100), which was really great because it included a sulfuric hot spring. Embraced by the warm water, looking up at a moonlit sky talking about life with a new friend – I was happy like a happy child.
We spent the night at the hot springs and headed back to Baguio the following afternoon. The town looked differently with the crowds, from which we escaped by visiting another restaurant on the top floor of a building, overlooking the city. This was a nice place! In case you’re curious, it’s called “Oh my Gulay” , meaning “Oh my vegetables”, an expression of amazement used instead of Oh my God, which some people find offensive in the predominantly Catholic Philippines.
That day we lingered in several other establishments, before taking a comfortable bus with reclinable seats (“lazy boy”) and bottled water (with a “smaller cap to save the environment” that made me retch) and crackers included.