Pilates on the way to the big city (17 February 2010)

Today I decide to take a trip to the “city”, Moalboal. That’s what they call it here. The bit of Panagsama beach where I am is the village, the bit further along the beach where there are a couple more small hotels and the odd restaurant is called “downtown”. I was expecting a lot. But when I got there I realised that definitions of city are quite different here! Moalboal is tiny,

a one street town on the main road round the island. It’s still on the sea and there is a wharf area where the fishing boats come in. This also doubled as the meat market which I could smell and see but didn’t investigate too closely. One distant look at the slabs of meat out in the open heat being protected only by a white carrier bag attached to an old wire hanger attached to a slowly whirring fan was more than enough to keep me away... Apart from that there is a market, a municipal centre, a church and a school.

The market was mainly fruit and veg – and whilst small had the usual range of colourful wares, beautiful fruit, bright red chilles of every size, and was nice to walk around. The stalls outside the market looked very colourful too – the sachets of soap powder and shampoo (looks like they can’t afford full size product) festoon the outsides like bunting.

The church was interesting. It’s just the facade of a grand old white building – no idea what happened to the rest of it, perhaps one of their regular cyclones saw it off, with a new modern one storey church built next door. The school was there too with the students all dressed in red and white sailor suit uniforms – like all of these countries I have no idea how they keep the uniforms so white and bright with the limited facilities they have. I discovered that it’s hard to spend money here – a bottle of coke in the shops was 10p and apart from that there was little else to buy. I wasn’t in the market for pots and pans and there were no clothes stalls to be seen. The only one thing I wanted I couldn’t get – I was after mozzie spray but they only have lotion and in tiny bottles. And certainly no ATM. There were a few pawn shops and a couple of Western Union offices for sending and receiving money – not sure whether this area is a net sender of money due to the tourist economy or a net receiver from all those poor girls who end up working abroad as domestics in the Middle East...


The big thing around here is cockfighting, when I saw so many of them I just thought they were f******g big chickens everywhere, but couldn’t understand why they were tethered and each had their own little hut. I just thought they were being extra kind and protective of their animals – until today when we drove past the entrance to the Moalboal Cock Fighting Arena and I realised it was just the opposite.....

 But what of my Pilates? Moalboal is about 7kms away and too far to walk in this heat, so I take one of the local trikes – the motorbikes with the sidecars. They don’t feel too substantial and look like they’re made of metal no thicker than a coke can. What I hadn’t taken into account was the state of the roads – just bare coral with deep potholes and bumps everywhere. I clamber into the small space made for people much smaller than me and brace myself against the floor, the sides, anywhere I could get hold of something solid to stop being ejected. It was an effort to stay on board but perhaps I can look at it as a new way of Pilates – I certainly needed to exercise my core! I was thinking of taking a trip to White Sand Beach soon – but at about twenty minutes each way, I’m not sure I have the strength!