Many of my childhood summers were spent in a farm near Tagaytay, a small city in Northern Philippines known for its cool weather.  It also provides a spectacular view of the Taal Volcano, a small active crater surrounded by a lake.  Although I practically grew up near that area, I never got the chance to see the volcano up close.  Wanting to revisit the place, I thought it'd be a good idea to rent a boat, trek on the volcano, and swim on the lake afterwards - something I've dreamt of doing. 

After a bit of research, I found out that the boat ride was a bit too expensive for me.  I searched for some friends who would be willing to come along and share the expenses.  Of course, everyone was busy climbing the corporate ladder and most people I knew rarely had days off.  I, on the other hand, was a freelance writer who could work virtually anywhere.  Since I didn't know anyone else with the same freedom of time, I had to wait a little.  My wait grew longer and longer.

It seemed that my luck was about to change when a long weekend for the Philippine Independence Day was announced.  My high school friends, four women and one man, approached me and proposed a trip.  Tagaytay was their destination of choice.

We discussed the trip over pizza.

The Geology Field Trip

"So what will we be doing there?" I asked them.

"We'll pig out and drink, what else?" they replied. 

Ah, they're joking, I thought.

I suggested that we take a boat out to the lake and trek on Taal Volcano.  It's not too off-the-beaten-path for my friends, and small enough for one of my first attempts at trekking.

"Doesn't that sound like a geology field trip?" one of them said, unamused.

"Well, did any of you ever go on that field trip?"  I asked.  They all shook their heads.  The discussion ended there.

The Smallest Bag

The day before the trip, there was some confusion about the schedule.  Others were delayed by their work obligations, so we decided it might be a good idea to split into two teams - one that would leave early in the morning, and another that will follow.  Of course, I wanted to make the earlier trip.  If I was going to trek on that volcano, I had to do it early.

But they changed their mind and thought it would be more enjoyable to travel as one group.  Enjoyable for them, perhaps, as I was dismayed at the idea of leaving at one o'clock in the afternoon.

To go to Tagaytay from Quezon City in Metro Manila, we had to catch a train to Taft Avenue.  At the station, we took a bus to Tagaytay.  While we were on the bus, I was declared winner of the "Smallest Bag Contest", since I, of course, had the smallest bag.

Apparently the prize is a few jokes that I probably didn't bring any underwear for the trip.

"You're looking at this the wrong way!" I defended myself.  "You should be asking why your bags are so big when it's only an overnight trip."

They volunteered an answer: "I brought some extra clothes because what if I didn't feel like wearing pants?  What if I wanted to wear a dress?  And I had to bring shoes that would match my dresses."

Of course.

We stayed at the Mile Hi Inn, which was in the basement of the Mile Hi Diner.  It's not as dismal as it sounds - it was very clean and spacious.  However, our window view consisted of the headlights of passing cars.

As we settled in, I wondered whether we were going to take a walk.  The late afternoon Tagaytay breeze would be welcome, especially since we came from the smog-infested metropolis.  Cool breeze aside, it seemed everyone was too exhausted, so they decided to rest for a while and play a DVD of a Clive Owen film.

Suddenly it felt like we were on a girly teenage sleepover from ten years ago.  Soon, it was time for dinner.

Naturally, they picked the pizza place directly in front of the inn.

Déjà vu

I remembered that the last time I went to Tagaytay, the moon seemed large over the lake and looked more like an oil painting than the real thing.  Because of this, I suggested that we walk somewhere with a view.  I was thinking more along the lines of a hill, rather than the Cafe Lupe bar.

Cafe Lupe is the typical Filipino beerhouse - dim lights, horrible cover band, and drinks are poured into the wrong kind of glasses.  With the exception of the cool breeze from the deck, I could easily mistake this for a bar in Manila.

This made my nape tingle.  It was all too familiar.  It was the exact same thing we do every month, except this time we were at a different zip code.

The after-drink destination was predictable - the Starbucks joint a few meters from the bar.  After they got their coffees, they took photographs of the shop facade, taking turns posing in front of the all-too-common neon green logo visible in every major city in the country and the world.  Looking at the photos five years from now, will they be able to tell which city this Starbucks is from?

When they asked me to join their Starbucks photo op, and all I could think was "Of course not, this is the type of thing I satirize!"

And I said that out loud.

That second, I knew that the romance was lost and I wouldn't regain it for the rest of my stay.  They weren't travelers, and they weren't even tourists.  At least tourists try to find something foreign and scary to run away from as they retreat for the day into their hotel rooms.  They, on the other hand, were bored yuppies who had a long weekend off - and I was the sad, elitist snob who went along for the ride.

The Morning After

Save for another friend and I, everyone else slept in late.  We took photographs of our sleeping roommates - a juvenile thing to do, I admit - before we proceeded outside to check out the morning view.  I brought my camera and started taking photographs of the volcano I longed to trek.

The closest I could get to it was via a zoom lens.

On the way home I cheered myself up with the thought of the souvenirs I was carrying around.  A couple of potted plants, some dried mushrooms, a pineapple, a bag of freshly ground Barako coffee, and local pastries.  I hoped that these somewhat unusual things would strike a balance with the all too familiar events from last night.

Mark Twain once said “I have found out there ain't no surer way to find out whether you like people or hate them than to travel with them”.  It sounds harsh, but in my case I found that it was partially true.  What was it that held us together?  We had nothing in common when it came to personal culture, and although I enjoyed their company, there was rarely anything deeper than that.  Is it just shared history and nothing more? 

I may have won the Smallest Bag Contest, but they won the trip.  They were happy with the experience, and I wasn't.  They knew what they wanted to do and they did it.  I knew what I wanted to do, but I prevented myself from doing it for the sake of their companionship.  Should I have gone off alone?  Would I have been happier if I rented a boat to Taal myself?  There's no way to find out for sure.  But I won't be surprised if I just walk out the door one day, possessed by the thought of trekking that volcano, and keep on walking until I get there.