For those in the know, my antipathy and ignorance of all things gyms is no surprise. However, unusual and cruel circumstances amalgamating hormones, age, too many double mushroom swiss orders and the most lusciously wicked gelato has driven me over the edge. In a weak moment of despair at jeans that pinched my ass, I called, visited and signed up at Virgin Active. It was prophetic. This calamitous incident happened sometime in November and two credit card statements later, I propel myself to the stupendous 3 storey dungeon of torture. An unnaturally chirpy gentleman asks me if I want to use the equipment and I assure him of my lack of desire to do so.... instead, I gratefully clutch at his offer of a tour of the magnificent facilities.
At reception level, they have a 'mini' something he called it - a bunch of treadmills and other pieces of equipment that were for quickies. We then headed upstairs to a brand new floor which housed the main set of machines - row after row, flanked by the 'power plate' room which has these machines that buzz under you as your work out and a horrific room packed to the brim by static cycles, an empty studio innovatively labeled Studio 1, another room filled with people thwacking big ballast punching bags and i'm informed that this is an 'Impact' class and the punching bags are moved to the side to make room for other torturous forms of exercise. There's once section which has big, fat weights and pumped up muscly men toying with them - they even have a floor area that's either reinforced or something for Olympic style weightlifting. Naturally all in front of a mirror so one can preen as needed. Needless to say, my brain has glazed over a while ago (the cycle room did it!) and I meekly follow him to another area on the floor which has hopscotch type diagrams on the floor. Apparently we are in the high impact circuit areas, which inexplicably is very popular. There are 2 such areas, and I'm sure the functionality of each was expounded upon, but by this time, panic had set in and all I could think was, "Shit! What on earth possessed me to get a membership at a gym?? I must have been mad. I don't want to come here".
My chirpy chaperon guides me back to the reception are and then further down a another floor. A studio creatively called Studio 2 (I think) has a glass pane which allows me to spy on a bunch of people hanging on to red hammock type thingys suspended from the ceiling. It's the 'anti gravity' yoga class and hanging upside down can help extend your spine given how sitting at work all day compresses it. The logic is flawless and I tentatively inquire if one has to have a certain number of years as a practitioner of yoga prior to attempting this and his casual "Oh no" doesn't reassure me. These classes are always packed but they have a cancellation for the 2pm slot - do I want to give it a go? Hell. I suck in my stomach....why not.... we're all going to die anyway...
Finally, we get to the non threatening part of the tour - the locker rooms which are cavernous and provide Molton Brown toiletries. Ooooohoooo.... I'm instructed to walk past the showers into another unisex area for some more cool stuff. I dutifully follow orders and find myself meeting up with chirpy chaperon at an area with foot basins. This then branches out to cold and hot rooms for either sex and then meets again at the back for the Salt room - moderately headed by some significant and exotic salts to 30 degrees. One can only enter the unisex areas in bathrobes, so I need to be worried by the unexpected sight of naked dangly bits. Right. That really was my main worry. I pretend an interest in the brownish crystals of salt and we went our way back separately through the His and Her locker rooms. Ta dah! Tour over. He beams. I smile back weakly. I'm overwhelmed.
My peripheral vision registers people working out diligently and I'm overwhelmed and a complete flight risk. We head back up to the reception and what do you know, someone has sneaked in and booked that last slot while we were on tour. Kismet??? One can only hope......
Time and Othello
It is excruciatingly difficult to find things to do at work when you have none. Time does stretch on interminably and no matter how many times you go to the coffee machine or the loo, or how long a lunch you indulge in, it’s only 3.42pm. I could do some stuff, but none of it is critical or client related, so I’m pretty much at why bother. Maybe because I’m bored. I’ve finished cleaning out my drawers and failed to find my ticket for tonights performance of Othello, checked the website and established there are no tickets available for sale online, called Interbrand and dropped Cathie an email in the hope I mistakenly handed all three tickets to Prithi. Naturally, she is at a client pitch and will only be done post 5pm so there’s no way for me to actually check whether I’ve merely manhandled the ticket or actively managed to lose it. You may think my tribulations lame compared to poor Othello, but he simply has to deal with chicanery and treachery from without and not dementia from within! The rain has started and I’m not sure if I’m perturbed or pleased. Apparently the tickets can be used for another days performance if it gets washed out, which would give me a chance to actually speak with Prithi and find out if my $48 was a meager donation to a lost cause….
Mactan - my last day
Poetic justice. My last dive ends with an early sighting of the sardines... this time pretending to be an upside down twister. I had hoped I would see them, but was content even without, so when Ole pointed in their direction, I couldn't help but laugh with joy (not an easy feat when breathing into a regulator I assure you).... I made my 100th dive that morning, and while that was something I was hoping to do at the outset of the trip, my first brush with the sardines made me realize that it really didn't matter how many dives I'd done.... this experience transcended any number of dives I might have done. It's like when we were on safari and saw the leopard or the river crossing.... you can make trip after trip, year after year and never be lucky enough to witness that sort of magnificence. Seems only fitting I take a chance and treat myself to a nice dinner, so I take a stab at the steak. If one isn't fussy about the meat, this turned out to be the best meal of the trip thus far, quite delicious and I'm content with life.... a perfect way to end a perfect day and a perfect trip.
Mactan - another day
Why does it feel like unbeknownest to me, I'm sharing the room with some random stranger? Here I am, all neatly tucked into bed, when the shower squeaks on... hmmmm.... interesting. Naturally, I refuse to get out of bed and skulk towards the shower curtain a la psycho, but I do have to wonder if it's just paper thin walls, an over active imagination or dinner??
The Philippines is not renowned for it's cuisine.... and the "resort" that I'm at, takes great pains in ensuring I have no cause to identify any dissonance on that count. My foray into local cuisine with a pork 'adobo' and rice leaves me uninspired and with a lingering sense of having consumed something a la detergent and I indulge the begging cat at my feet with a chunk. She inspects it for an unnecessarily long few moments before gnawing and gnawing and gnawing away at it. Oddly enough, she doesn't put her paws up on my legs begging for more. I give her another piece regardless. Suffering is best dealt with through sharing. I confine myself to a hamburger doused with ketchup most nights and play Philippino roulette just with lunch. Toasted cheese sandwich turns out to be a viable alternative to an oily American breakfast, and I master the art of picking off the noodles from top of the massive plate of beehoon, with minimal disturbance to the oil layer at the bottom. The fresh juices are good although the banana juice does leave me a tad regretful for having been overly adventurous. On the bright side, this is one good way of losing weight???
The Philippines is not renowned for it's cuisine.... and the "resort" that I'm at, takes great pains in ensuring I have no cause to identify any dissonance on that count. My foray into local cuisine with a pork 'adobo' and rice leaves me uninspired and with a lingering sense of having consumed something a la detergent and I indulge the begging cat at my feet with a chunk. She inspects it for an unnecessarily long few moments before gnawing and gnawing and gnawing away at it. Oddly enough, she doesn't put her paws up on my legs begging for more. I give her another piece regardless. Suffering is best dealt with through sharing. I confine myself to a hamburger doused with ketchup most nights and play Philippino roulette just with lunch. Toasted cheese sandwich turns out to be a viable alternative to an oily American breakfast, and I master the art of picking off the noodles from top of the massive plate of beehoon, with minimal disturbance to the oil layer at the bottom. The fresh juices are good although the banana juice does leave me a tad regretful for having been overly adventurous. On the bright side, this is one good way of losing weight???
Macan - Day something
The diving at Mactan is shockingly gorgeous. I don't really know why I'm so taken aback with the sumptuousness of the reef and the thriving marine life it supports. Maybe because it's just a hop, skip and jump away from both the airport and the city, surrounded by careless locals and non eco friendly Japanese tourists? I'm doing 4 dives a day and each time I hit the water, I'm impressed. I discover something new. My focus has always been the marine life, but this trip has made me appreciate the coral as well, especially during the night dives, where the torchlight makes them glow like jewels adorning a harem. The colours are bold, rich and blend incongruously together. Pinks, reds, greens, blues, yellows, blacks.... I'm entranced by the tiny coral beings that mimic miniature fir trees in shocking hues and that suck into themselves and disappear into the coral if you rush water over them. I start at the sight of coral that looks like a mine and gape at a starfish with 10 arms! I notice subtleties in the fish species and spend hours post diving poring through the fish book.
I also think I know why I don't write about the diving - because there's just too much to say, to try and share the exquisite beauty. It has to been seen, to be experienced. You can't read about it. Even watching it on film is oddly dissatisfying as the two dimensional view is grossly inadequate to capture the depth of it's richness.
But, as I'm marveling at the richness of the house reef, my peripheral vision is snagged by something white and as I turn to focus on it, my brain tries to synthesize the information my eyes are relaying... it large, white and not natural. A shipwreck? But it's suspended mid water and not morbidly resting at the bottom as all good wrecks must. As my neurons fire processing the fact that it seems to be getting bigger, my emotions go 'Whoaaaa! It's coming towards me!!' The thing is indeed looming larger and what do you know... it's a submarine. I kid you not, a real submarine with ratty little tourists with cameras peering through the portholes taking photos of the coral. How bizarre! I'm offended at the thought of being part of someones vacation photos, while stifling the urge to giggle at the sheer silliness of it. Certainly got more than I bargained for on this dive...
P.S. - Sadly, the silliness serves only to destroy what nature has given us. The day before my departure, news is that the submarine got to close to the coral and hit it. It's been pulled for now and there's hue and cry from environmentalists and divers about how this should not be allowed..... wonder how long before it's back and uncaring about keeping a safe distance from both the reef and the divers...
I also think I know why I don't write about the diving - because there's just too much to say, to try and share the exquisite beauty. It has to been seen, to be experienced. You can't read about it. Even watching it on film is oddly dissatisfying as the two dimensional view is grossly inadequate to capture the depth of it's richness.
But, as I'm marveling at the richness of the house reef, my peripheral vision is snagged by something white and as I turn to focus on it, my brain tries to synthesize the information my eyes are relaying... it large, white and not natural. A shipwreck? But it's suspended mid water and not morbidly resting at the bottom as all good wrecks must. As my neurons fire processing the fact that it seems to be getting bigger, my emotions go 'Whoaaaa! It's coming towards me!!' The thing is indeed looming larger and what do you know... it's a submarine. I kid you not, a real submarine with ratty little tourists with cameras peering through the portholes taking photos of the coral. How bizarre! I'm offended at the thought of being part of someones vacation photos, while stifling the urge to giggle at the sheer silliness of it. Certainly got more than I bargained for on this dive...
P.S. - Sadly, the silliness serves only to destroy what nature has given us. The day before my departure, news is that the submarine got to close to the coral and hit it. It's been pulled for now and there's hue and cry from environmentalists and divers about how this should not be allowed..... wonder how long before it's back and uncaring about keeping a safe distance from both the reef and the divers...
Mactan - Day 1
I've always struggled with posting anything about my diving. The experience is too personal and overwhelming to try and put into words. But the cat food seems to have been a turning point and while it will still be impossible to describe the wonder that exists underwater, I'm going to make a few attempts to capture these few days in Mactan. My first visit to the Philippines and my first dive trip alone. It's been an unforgettable experience and one of the best for the sheer surprise of what I found.
My first evening, I emerge all showered and wondrous for having seen the sardine run and settle down at the bar. The sky is dark except for a orange blaze, shimmering behind strands of cloud. While I'm bemoaning a lost sunset, I realize it's the rising moon... which eventually evolves into a in impossible giant pearl in the sky and I feel like a Miss World contestant all gushing at winning the prize. What a perfect end to a spectacular day. An unforgettable brush with the Gods that are sardine and now this...
I want to call and share the experience with someone and as I debate between CF and my mother, Dr. Velkar pops up. He's the one who pithily reminds me that it's the most base of instincts that makes me think that this is what God might look like and as I'm chatting with him, I'm distracted by the sound of thumpa thumpa and and unexpected 'woack, woack' chant.. pulsing green and red lights wafting across the water as a disco ball makes a valiant effort to compete with the moonlight glancing off the waves.... 'woack, woack.... Hang on a second... I know this sound... 'woack, woack...... Gangam style'. Sheesh! I'm reminded I'm in Karaoke heartland and I abandon myself to the surreal.... this is going to be a fun trip!
My first evening, I emerge all showered and wondrous for having seen the sardine run and settle down at the bar. The sky is dark except for a orange blaze, shimmering behind strands of cloud. While I'm bemoaning a lost sunset, I realize it's the rising moon... which eventually evolves into a in impossible giant pearl in the sky and I feel like a Miss World contestant all gushing at winning the prize. What a perfect end to a spectacular day. An unforgettable brush with the Gods that are sardine and now this...
I want to call and share the experience with someone and as I debate between CF and my mother, Dr. Velkar pops up. He's the one who pithily reminds me that it's the most base of instincts that makes me think that this is what God might look like and as I'm chatting with him, I'm distracted by the sound of thumpa thumpa and and unexpected 'woack, woack' chant.. pulsing green and red lights wafting across the water as a disco ball makes a valiant effort to compete with the moonlight glancing off the waves.... 'woack, woack.... Hang on a second... I know this sound... 'woack, woack...... Gangam style'. Sheesh! I'm reminded I'm in Karaoke heartland and I abandon myself to the surreal.... this is going to be a fun trip!
What if God was a sardine??
I don't believe in God, but I do believe in a swarm of sardines. Stupid fish to say the least and justly deserving of life in a tin.... that is, until you see them as they were meant to be. Gazabillions of them suddenly appearing like a menacing cloud and then a flash of movement and a guberzillion twinkling stars in their place... a blink of an eye, and it's an ominously dark thundercloud coming towards you before moving out of reach, resembling fairly lights and fireflies. It's like watching Star Trek and Voodoo. The experience is existential and you feel blessed to have been surrounded by the magic, mesmerised and lost. So caught up in the moment that nothing else exists. This is how it feels to be frozen in a moment. This must be God.
I've read about the sardine run and wanted to do it... eventually, and like others, for the goodies that are the fallout i.e. all the predators that chase the sardines. How foolish. The run is the sardines. Pelagics are thrilling without a doubt, and they really push the adrenalin button. Nothing like spying a herd of Hammerheads and being eyeballed by a couple of beady eyed sentinels or feeling your heart step up into uber gear as five Bull Sharks turn and head straight at you - the first time you've ever seen a shark in anything but profile, but. But, the vision of a million silvery moon flakes in the distance flitting and flirting into waves, clouds, balls and ribbons is indescribable. Dangerously so, as you forget to breath for the sheer wonder of it.
Survival - the most basic instinct of all living things. As you watch them move off into the distance, you think you've spied a whale, but then a flash of glitter and it's a sentient being from outer space. Up close, mindless vacuous individuals, swimming frantically. The Collective, a thing of supreme beauty, joy and unnatural peace.
I hate to admit it, but I have been moved by a bunch of sardines.
I've read about the sardine run and wanted to do it... eventually, and like others, for the goodies that are the fallout i.e. all the predators that chase the sardines. How foolish. The run is the sardines. Pelagics are thrilling without a doubt, and they really push the adrenalin button. Nothing like spying a herd of Hammerheads and being eyeballed by a couple of beady eyed sentinels or feeling your heart step up into uber gear as five Bull Sharks turn and head straight at you - the first time you've ever seen a shark in anything but profile, but. But, the vision of a million silvery moon flakes in the distance flitting and flirting into waves, clouds, balls and ribbons is indescribable. Dangerously so, as you forget to breath for the sheer wonder of it.
Survival - the most basic instinct of all living things. As you watch them move off into the distance, you think you've spied a whale, but then a flash of glitter and it's a sentient being from outer space. Up close, mindless vacuous individuals, swimming frantically. The Collective, a thing of supreme beauty, joy and unnatural peace.
I hate to admit it, but I have been moved by a bunch of sardines.
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