Boracay is one of the holiest places in the world for kiters. On my Hajj, I fasted, prayed, cursed, suffered and sinned. When I created the Google map for the trip two months ago, I called it “The Grand Philippines Kite Odyssey”. I only now realise how accurate that was. 5000 km on bike, trike, jeepney, bus, ferry, on foot and on a plane: I could hardly kite.

There were many trials and adventures. The rest was lugging 40kg of luggage through burning sun, rain and dirt as well as numerous rip-off manoeuvres with weird comments (dead people cost extra). Advantage: much better workout than kiting itself. Disadvantage: lack of joie de vivre. My pilgrimage is now over. I arrive in the kitesurfing mecca of Boracay. (more…)

At six o’clock in the morning, I set off on the first rolling freezer north to Roxas, 200 kilometres away. According to the forecast, there might just be enough wind for a bit of kitesurfing on Baybay Beach. The small, expensive room at the Baia Beach Resort is right on the beach. I am the only guest. The kitchen offers nothing but ham toast and rusty Coke bottles.

The wind is blowing at just ten knots. I set up anyway and do a couple of horny downwind runs in the sideonshore wind. I don’t think anyone has kited here yet. The kids come running in from far and wide. There’s not enough wind. But the kids are having a blast while they simulate kiting with the bar, board and my seat harness over their entire upper bodies. (more…)

At night, I fall into a kind of religious delusion. First I feel a tingling all over my body, then itching, then burning. I switch on the light. Stigmata on my arms and legs? Wow! The higher power is signalling to me. It says: “Move on!”. In this case, it’s a whole colony of ants that have been ordered to take over my bed by biting me numerous times.

Around one o’clock, I analyse the implications of the sign while smoking – and then demand a new room. What I get is a new bed sheet, two broom wipers across the room and the advice to move to the other bed. Philippine ants are quite localised. Apparently correct. The other bed remains mine until the morning. (more…)

For days I have been trying to get permission and a guide from the national park authorities to climb the 2500 metre high volcano Mount Canlaon in northern Negros. Harold directs me to Marissa directs me to Jim directs me to Julie and Angelo. 20 text messages don’t get me one step further. I leave without permission. On the bus, a resident of the last town before the volcano tells me: I have to go to the capital Bacolod first.

The Ceres bus there is overcrowded. A six-hour journey with a 15 cm lack of seat width and 10 cm less legroom is exhausting. I stand up and hit my head hard on the sharp end of the too-low handrail. A laceration. I spend the last 100 kilometres half hanging out of the door on the stairs – at least upright. (more…)

Filipinos love cockfighting. The English term “cock fight” is even more appropriate because it really is a comparison of cocks. Whoever stands the longest wins, and even Viagra doesn’t help the opponent. Today I’m unexpectedly supposed to see my first cock fight. I share a habal-habal with my mate Vanisi from Bologna and drive to the remote Sugar Beach.

The journey to Sugar Beach is not easy. 15 kilometres of road from Sipalay, at the end of the dirt track you take a paddle boat across a tidal river, go through a village and onto the coastal cliffs to the next bay. Sugar Beach is said to be one of the most beautiful beaches in the Philippines. And it unexpectedly looks like one. (more…)

You don’t choose the right time, just like you don’t choose the right place. Combining the two simply means luck. In the afternoon, tables are set up on the beach. Children come, more and more. In the evening, two huge suckling pigs are brought in a solemn procession on a spit. I think I admired one of them the day before yesterday during the jungle trekking.

The table is set. The sea is roaring, candles are burning, the palm trees are twinkling. Thunderstorms flash far out to sea. The village youth dance the Macarena and the musicians play incredibly weird music. The whole village has gathered for the feast, over 200 people. All related to the 35 employees of the Artistic Diving Resort. Christmas in the Philippines. (more…)

Every major island in the Philippines is divided into two halves, Oriental and Occidental. This gives the inhabitants the feeling of living on their own continent. When travelling on the large islands by motorbike, it often feels even bigger.

In Sipalay’s largest shop, they hold out a box of cornflakes to me when I ask for muesli bars for the hike. The only ATM doesn’t take my card and I have hardly any money left. Motorbikes are hard to come by and more expensive than anywhere else. Only after some time as a passenger on a pedal bike do I find a cheap motorbike to hire. (more…)

The Artistic Diving Resort six kilometres south of Sipalay is a real hit. There is a cheap backpacker room, but everything else is quite upmarket. Pool bar with a view of the sea – and really good music. Coconut palms and a white beach. A small village nearby. There are only holidaymakers here, and only couples. Travelling alone is difficult.

I have to see something, I’m just not a pool potato. On the beach to the south. A huge staircase leads up into the nothingness of an urbanisation that has never been started. After three kilometres, the path ends. A small path leads into the jungle. I think about it for a moment: no shirt, no water, midday heat. Then I set off. Bad decision. (more…)

Filipinos like to drink rum. Lots of rum. So they need a lot of sugar cane. Much of it is grown in the coastal plains north of Dumaguete on Negros. I hire a Cross machine and head north. Endless green seas of sugar cane. Ancient lorries loaded five metres high with sugar cane drive him to the distilleries. On the empty return journey, they look like upturned whale skeletons on wheels.

The whole thing reminds me brutally of the northern Dominican Republic near Puerto Plata. The Philippinos have even copied the narrow-gauge railway. The road is halfway in order after Typhoon Washi. But some bridges are missing and there are some completely overloaded detours. Muddy mattresses hang outside the houses to dry. (more…)

Apo Island is one of the best diving areas in the Philippines. Giant manta rays, large sea turtles, thriving reefs. I have to go, of course. Harolds Mansion organises relatively cheap diving trips itself. After a four-day typhoon break, there are nine divers with me today. I already know half of them from other places. Harolds Mansion is a real backpacker centre.

We arrive after an hour’s crossing with a boom alarm on the bow. The first dive is down to 28 metres. Thick coral forests, steep walls, 1000 fish. The turtles and giant manta rays seem to have been blown away by the typhoon. I dive with two Pekingese. Both breathe much better than I do. I hate being back on top after 30 minutes with 120 bar residual pressure. Today will be different. (more…)

36 hours after the storm, the ferries are running again – and are well booked. Giant islands of driftwood float in the sea. A thick tree trunk invites our old ferry to sink a round of ships. The ferry wins. We get across to Negros, Dumaguete, for just 20% of the Ocean Jet fare. The ship that capsized outside the harbour was not here when we passed through four days ago. Even the Phlippinos are staring like lemmings.

Harold’s Mansion Hostel, in the centre of the university town of Dumaguete. Finally a place with travellers again. They all have stories and are looking for adventure. No tourists. The rooms are clean and cheap, breakfast is free and the WiFi blazes through the air at a breathtaking 100kB/s by Philippine standards. I am happy. (more…)

Nothing is on time in the Philippines. Not even tropical storms of the second-highest category. In the evening, I sit frustrated on the beach with a large glass of rum and look out at the raging sea. It’s pitch dark and the tropical storm with winds of well over 30 knots has finally arrived. The ice cubes are melting in my glass.

The night is hard. The storm gets even stronger. It tears violently at the anchoring of the roof of my hut. The power goes out. Leaves, twigs and coconuts hail down on the roof. “Fear Island” still haunts my mind. This would be the perfect weather for a little mass murder. In the morning, contrary to expectations, I’m still alive thanks to the torch, but I’ve hardly slept at all. (more…)

In the last 38 days, I have been on 23 islands covering an area of 1200 by 800 kilometres. I’ve been waiting just as long for wind, currently on the sleepy island of Siquijor. Red and blue starfish, nice cheap accommodation right on the beach, nice people. A tropical storm is approaching, forecast 9 Beaufort. All ferry traffic is cancelled for at least 100 km. It brings downpours, but hardly any wind.

This really is the toughest test of all time. I have a lot of patience. I rarely complain about the fact that I’ve dragged 22kg of my 40kg of luggage with me for nothing. I keep myself busy: with work, people, motorbikes, diving. Just travelling. But that’s enough now. Even all my work is done because there’s never any wind. That’s more than I have to put up with. (more…)

After a month here, I still haven’t quite realised what makes Filipinos tick. Only individual aspects, but they have a massive impact on everything else. The most important characteristic of Filipinos is that they live fully in the here and now. Not yesterday. Not tomorrow. Today. And only there, not a millimetre further.

In the evening I have a beer with the guitarist Ronel. In the morning, he pushes his empty bike to the petrol station. In the evening I see signs announcing draconian penalties for littering. In the morning, you can hardly breathe in the billows of smoke from hundreds of small private rubbish incinerators. In the evening, the Filipinos in the Videoke bars howl cruelly at the moon. In the morning they show that they can actually sing. (more…)

Completely different from the rest of the Philippines. Almost all the roads here are tarred – on obligatory reinforced concrete. There are funny white lines in the centre. I’ve forgotten what they’re called. Everything is cleaner, the houses are finished. It’s much easier to get rid of the pushers. There are a few Muslims here because of nearby Mindanao. And Bohol is much more expensive.

I hire a bike for 400 pesos and set off. The racing exhaust is loud, but the top speed of over 130 km/h rocks – and you can do that here, at least until the next occasional pothole. The tour leads from Panglao Island over the bridge to Bohol, through the centre of Chocolate Hills and halfway around the island. I end up with over 300 kilometres on the clock. (more…)

Farewell, my Palawan! Next island: Cebu. The flight goes through heavy thunderstorms. The young Japanese girl next to me is still screaming during the first free fall with a bum lift-off, but she’s still clinging to the backrests with a white-knuckled grasp. I’m glad when we land. With its three million inhabitants, Cebu is the second largest city in the Philippines. Slums and luxury.

Kukuks Nest looked quite nice on the internet. In reality, it is Kukuk’s hole. Entrance in the backyard, small dark room with a sticky double bed. Bathroom without a sink. Smells of poo and rubbish. For a hefty surcharge, I reduce the planned working stay to two days and switch to an overpriced “executive” room on the first floor. (more…)

It’s pouring with rain all day. Even the fish in the koi pond below us are gasping for air. We hole up in the hut and go through pictures. In the last four weeks, we’ve given each other nothing. I’ve never been able to travel at such full throttle with anyone – and yet almost always in unison. We were stuck in the jungle, stewed in our own sweat.

We had to change a lot of plans and often had to wait for ferries. Travelling was very exhausting. It was the first time in eight years that I really managed to do nothing for a month. Thanks to all the customers and especially to you, Mike! In the evening, I take Uli to the nearby airport. She’s flying to Manila today, spending the night at the airport and returning home tomorrow. Get home safely! (more…)

Have you ever read a restaurant review? That’s the kind of elaborate verbal wankery of professional whingers who are not satisfied with anything on principle. Even the Michelin Guide likes to employ Germans for this reason. The one-sided battle of words between alcoholics and cokeheads usually appears in the culture section of larger daily newspapers and offers only two possible reactions: Laughter or gastritis.

Today I was in a place where food becomes a religion. Food-induced endorphins may lead to silly grins, but they are still quite enlightening. Ka-Lui in Puerto Princesa is religion. So unfortunately I can’t write a restaurant review right now. Instead, here’s a suggestion for world peace. (more…)

The journey to Puerto Princessa takes almost three hours. At peak times, there are only 47 passengers and around 1.2 tonnes of fish in / around / on the jeepney. We would have liked to stay a little longer on Sabang’s beautiful beaches. But I finally need internet again. And electricity. And laundry that is clean and dry after washing.

Uli hits the bull’s eye with her choice of accommodation: Lotus Garden isn’t cheap, but it’s an absolute dream. We spend the last few days in a Japanese pavilion above a pond with koi and water lilies. Fine wood, air conditioning, TV and walk-in shower, plus an all-you-can-eat sushi buffet in the evening. Internet at 5kB/s seriously sends me into a speed frenzy. (more…)

At 7 o’clock in the morning, we travel south along the east coast of Palawan on the Bangka for a good 2 hours. Our destination is the Sabang Underground River, the longest navigable underground river in the world. The swell is heavy at over two metres, as is the shorebreak on the beach. The captain plays D-Day: full throttle onto the beach, almost sinking the enemy Bangka, flattening any helpers that come running, landing flaps down and “GO! GO! GO!”

I expect heavy fire, but all I see are loads of tourists taking photos. World heritage, again. Life jackets on, helmets on, Fraggles song in the queue, off by boat into the underground. 1.5 km by paddle boat through stalactite caves up to 65 metres high and full of bats. Outside, monitor lizards and monkeys await. (more…)

Beauty is not in the eye of the beholder. It is solely a question of focus. Great, beautiful pictures are often spoilt by small adversities. Example: The potato salad was oversalted, so the holiday sucks. It rarely happens the other way round. Or would someone looking at a nude with imperfect breasts assume that the rest of the model is ugly?

My big picture has been clouded for a few days now. No wind, too expensive, boredom. I decide to travel in Macrovision from now on. I zoom in on the details. I then use them to put together a nice big picture. (more…)