Samar, N. Samar: Calbayog & Catarman
Or, the one time I pushed a pedicab up a bridge while my teammate took an important call inside, oblivious to what was occurring
T had heard about the team lead we were assigned to for this event: “Medyo malabo daw, Nads,” she said. We had just come from Butuan and only had time to pack a fresh change of clothes. At home, as I did my laundry, I received the ticket for our flight.
I don’t know what possessed us to meet up at the office before midnight, but we did, and we decided to drink. But Quezon City had a liquor ban, and we ended up getting a giant cup of Sprite and settling for some lambanog that someone had brought back from a trip, which tasted awful. I remember how loud our laughter was, in the midnight peace of Farmer’s Market. Tangina noh, bakit.
T, who was assigned to coordinate between team leaders and the desk who would book for us, was frustrated. Plans kept changing. “It’s two in the morning,” I said. “Saan ba tayo papunta?”
Call time at the airport was at 3AM. We arrived in Calbayog, Samar at seven in the morning. I was looking forward to a shower. T and I hadn’t slept; I was too excited to be in an old plane, with rotors on the wings. It was our first PAL flight, too, and I love PAL coffee.
We arrived in our lodging mid-morning, then our team lead arrived to whisk us off to meet the mayor. “Sir,” I remember saying. “Wala pa kaming ligo.” As most middle-aged Filipino men are wont to do, he gave T and I a once over and said, “Okay lang yan, maganda naman kayo.” It made my oily hair feel oiler.
We ate at the mayor’s house, and the sun bounced off the gleaming white tiles on the floor as aides shuffled around and brought us arroz caldo and coffee. I remember deeply regretting wearing shorts — our team leader didn’t give us time to change. “Okay lang yan, relax lang tayo.” Those words would haunt me and T for the rest of our stay in the Eastern Visayas region.
We went up to the office for our courtesy call, and I still hated that I was in shorts. As our team leader and the governor’s staff ironed out the details for the event, I daydreamed about a shower and the bed I’d left behind. Everyone was exhausted. “Lunch daw tayo sa bahay ni Vice Gov,” our team lead said. T and I looked at each other: Yosi nga muna tayo. We smoked outside a closed bar, with a poster for a boxing match between fighters from Catarman and Calbayog. Eastern Visayas Rumble.
In the Vice Governor’s house, our team leader got an update on the event - it had been moved. Moved back. From the initial bulletin that our event was going to be in Catarman (Northern Samar) then moved to Calbayog (Samar), it was now back to Catarman, tomorrow morning. Given the differences in regions, that meant that we were also being shuttled off to a different team leader — hopefully someone that had more gray matter between their ears, but no one said that out loud. I remember rolling my eyes at this situation, but staying quiet as I ate my food (Lumpia? Sauteed cabbage?). Beside me, T hissed at the team leader: “Sir, paano kami pupunta doon?” The team leader whispered back: “Ako bahala, kausapin ko si Vice.”
Hour six without a shower.
T, the videographer J, and I were outside smoking. I’m sure we were discussing how we’d figure out the budget to get us across cities, or something, and T had more pressing matters to worry about: She still had to invite the media, and write a quick report about the local news coverage. The Vice Governor, upon seeing us, greeted us warmly as we hurriedly stamped out our cigarettes. “Wag kayo magalala! Pahatid ko kayo.” A collective sigh of relief.
Except, apparently, hatid meant dropping us off at the shuttle station. T, J, and I looked at each other and there was nothing to do but laugh. Tangina, bakit. Bakit? We waited for an hour for the next van to arrive, paid P180 for the fare, and apologized for the stink: we still hadn’t showered. Thankfully it was just a two-hour ride, but it was far from what we were used to in our inter-regional travel; the van was full, and I was worried about J’s camera. Thankfully we made it to Catarman in one piece, and with one of the best team leaders.
This is all to say that all the combined organizational power of 20 seasoned professionals coalesced in a shared moment of idiocy that had T and I coming from one cancelled event (Butuan), flying back to Manila, flying out to Calbayog for an event, then having the event moved 70 kilometers up. Thankfully, our team lead this time around knew us, and knew our shit. After our showers, we had three things on our itinerary: the ocular, dinner, and a drink.
That is, until they texted us the name of the bar and T and I hailed the most immediate form of public transportation: a pedicab. The sun had set by then, and I was happy to sit beside T as we watched Catarman crawl past. We had to pass a bridge to get to the bar, the pedicab driver stalled to a halt. T received an urgent call, and I watched in mild panic as the driver began to push the cab, rather than pedal. I didn’t think as I stepped out and helped. More than anything I wanted a beer, solid land, and for the team lead to tell us that we were golden for tomorrow’s event.
Thursday was event day: Three events in total, with varying degrees of importance. Somehow, despite the exhaustion from the previous day (including the brief moment of manual labor), T and I pulled through.
T and I found a cafe/bar/restaurant along the main road of Catarman, which happened to bisect the airport’s runway. It was mid-afternoon, and the gate to the runway and the main road was open. Five years later, I maintain that Beehive had the best carbonara I’ve had thus far, even if I’m sure that the memory of its taste is at least 3/4ths nostalgia.
Then again, what are all these stories if not colored by nostalgia? I remember being so mad, so exhausted, so perplexed. It’s been six years since, and I can’t fathom any reason I’d end up back in Catarman, Calbayog, or Beehive, but I think of them all so fondly. And if I did manage to make my way back, I’m sure the topography would be indecipherable. So I’ll keep this, instead: pixels, words, chat threads saved in the cloud. At least this is good for a laugh.