Blue Starfish and Magellan’s Cross
Hidden away in the Central Visayas region of the Philippines, about 300 miles from the warring southern province of Lanao Del Sur, is the beach resort gem of Cebu. The island is skirted by hotels and dive shops and bars catering to tourist from Australia, Korea, the US, and any other place where people don’t mind the long flight to Manila.
After the wife and I land, we’re quickly ushered into a cab and sent on our way. It’s a 20-minute ride around a barely paved road and through neighborhoods in battle against jungle. The jungle is winning. I see men with machetes, like soldiers with rifles, walking around hacking, always hacking at the vines and weeds and branches that regenerate overnight. After passing a fields with a large ox and half a dozen goats and half a dozen barefoot children, we enter our gated resort. It’s nice—very nice. It’s got its own section of the beach, a guard—who opens our taxi door—and a big swimming pool. Why do hotels next to the beach always have swimming pools?
It’s easy to settle in. After a single day, we discover that the food is good. A lot of satay, or skewered bits of meat drowned in sauce and barbecues. The drinks are cheap. The Philippines is home of San Miguel, which everyone knows – who hasn’t had a Negra Modelo when they’re 2-for-1 at Happy Hour? At the pool, I order a custom fruit drink from a cart. A girl drops watermelon, pineapple, orange, banana bits into a blender. Then she pours that into a cocktail glass garnished with a slice of orange and drink umbrella.
Cat chilling out on an old castle rampart in Cebu
During a stroll, we walk out along a cement jetty that marks the resort’s beach boundary and meet a fifty-year-old man who rents out boats. He’s rail-thin but muscular, his skin dark and sun-dried. He’s not allowed on the hotel property, so all he does is sit there all day and offer his services to any hotel guests that walk over. He gives me his name in broken English and I immediately forget it, so I just call him Johnny. But he remembers my name.
The next day when Johnny sees me across the beach, he calls out to me. “Patrick! Patrick! Patrick!” Beckoning me over. I wave and turn away. “Patrick! Patrick!” I move to hide behind a tree. “Patrick! Patrick! Patrick!” I move around the building to get away. At the pool, I sit under the shade of a coconut palm and order another fruit drink. I feel pampered and comfortable. But being comfortable makes me feel uncomfortable. I need to venture out beyond the imperial city walls of our resort.
Cebu’s most famous landmark is the Basilica Minore del Santo Niño and Magellan’s Cross. A cross was erected by Portuguese and Spanish explorers, under the order or Ferdinand Magellan in 1521, and it is said to be inside the one on display in the chapel next to the basilica. We spend a while strolling around the church, crowded with tourist taking photos and worshipers lighting votive candles. We see many monuments dedicated to Magellan, one of the world’s greatest explorers, the first to sail around the world, who landed right here.
We stray farther into the city and are passed by numerous jeepneys. The colorful, over-decorated buses look more like Mardi Gras floats than public transportation. Finally, we spot a small restaurant, nothing but a cement shell of a house. I feel confident few tourists have gone into it, so we find seats inside and order. We eat rice steamed inside banana leaves and a fried chicken seasoned in garlic and salt. It’s simple, but fantastically delicious.
A jeepney
Afterwards, we return to our hotel and I soon hear that familiar call. “Patrick! Patrick!” Johnny is relentless. “Patrick! Patrick!” I give up and walk over to the man. I pay him $20 US to rent one of his banca boats. The price is for the rest of the day and includes three crew members. We pay $5 extra for snorkeling gear. With two pontoons off the sides, the boat is very stable, but the motor is old and putters away. At times, it dies out and needs to be given a little kick to get going again.
The short ride across the bay brings us to an area of calm, glass-clear water about twenty feet deep. There’s brain corral on the floor below and plenty of tropical fish. But there’s also the most amazing thing I’ve ever seen. Blue starfish. They are blue like a crayon and everywhere. Johnny’s son dives down and brings one up for us to examine. It’s skin looks like plastic and it looks like a toy.
During the return ride, I ask Johnny about his family history. I’m wondering how many people might be descended from that great explorer, Magellan. Johnny says his people fought the Portuguese and won. He smiles proudly. His people killed Magellan. This stops me for a few moments, I hadn’t thought of that point of view. To the indigenous it was an invasion. By making this statement, Johnny was reminding me that there was an equally great force on the island. And by doing battle, the natives had elevated themselves and captured a part of the legendary history. Magellan’s death was glorious, a Hollywood ending, that—over time—added honor to all involved.
Magellan’s Hollywood Movie Death
Recognizing the captain, so many turned upon him that they knocked his helmet off his head twice… A native hurled a bamboo spear into the captain’s face, but the latter immediately killed him with his lance, which he left in the native’s body. Then, trying to lay hand on sword, he could draw it out but halfway, because he had been wounded in the arm with a bamboo spear. When the natives saw that, they all hurled themselves upon him. One of them wounded him on the left leg with a large cutlass, which resembles a scimitar, only being larger. That caused the captain to fall face downward, when immediately they rushed upon him with iron and bamboo spears and with their cutlasses, until they killed our mirror, our light, our comfort, and our true guide.(Wikipedia)
The last night in Cebu, we eat at the resort’s restaurant. It’s a big cabana with stone tile floors. There’s a small band playing music. It’s late in the season so we are only one of two couples eating there. After supper, the band starts playing Salsa music. I pull my wife out of her chair to dance. Immediately, two waiters rush over to pull the table out of our way. You know you’re in a good country when people are quick to make room for dancing.
A local band playing during dinner
