Mango Central

Note: My trip to Guimaras happened in early June.

You know that dream of finding a place in the tropics with a cottage all to yourself in a little secluded bay? The one where breakfast is whatever is picked from the trees, and supper consists of unlucky fish or chicken from the bay or yard? Well I awoke in that dream this morning.




Jose and I take a day trip to Guimaras Island, a small, perfectly insignificant pebble of a place off the coast of Iloilo. Guimaras is known for two things: reclusive beach hideaways and the juiciest mangos in the Philippines. I’m a mango connoisseur, and I plan to put the island’s reputation to the test.



But first – the beach! From Iloilo we take a ferry, a car, then charter a small bangca (pump boat - see video here!) to get to Baras Resort. Its a cove with a miniscule white sand beach maybe 20 meters long. As our boat pulls in, we realize we are famished.



- Kuya! Can we get lunch, please.

- What would you like, sir?

- What do you have?

- Chicken

- How about fish?

- We don’t have, sir.



I take a slow, sweeping look across the seascape that terminates with a quizzical look at the staff person. – “huh?”



He laughs, “We have not brought in the nets yet. How about chicken?”



- Yes and two San Miguels, please.

- Not cold. We have no electricity, but we will bring in ice on the boat tonight.



Jose and I smile. This is the type of place you wanna park for a while.



For 1500 pesos, about $35, we get a spacious cottage on a promontory jutting into the bay. It’s constructed of bamboo and thatch with a lanai overlooking the water. At night we rest easily, cooled by the breezes flowing off the sea and through our windows, lullabied by the whoosing of the waves that sound like they are lapping at the foot of my bed.

During the day, for the first time on this holiday, I swim in broad daylight. It’s been so hot that I’ve been avoiding the sun in bright hours, opting instead to swim at dusk or dark. But here I spend hours swimming and floating the cove in full sun. I take on a deep red brown like Hawaii dirt that reminds me of childhood and looks like the real me.

Mangos have been my favorite fruit since I can remember. During mango season in Hawaii, my mother would cut ripe fruit into flowers. We’d scrape the chunks of yellow fruit flesh off with our front teeth and the juice would dribble deliciously, impishly, down our chins. Jose and I spend an afternoon in Guimaras touring around to learn about and sample their most famous product.



Our first stop is at the only Trappist monastery in the Philippines. It was founded in 1972 and there is a small booklet detailing the history of the place, but its written in such an overwrought rococo religious language that I can’t get beyond the first paragraph without wanting to vomit a Hail Mary. The monks seem to do well. The church is modern and lovely, surrounded by mango cashew and coconut orchards that bring the temperature down to a pleasant simmer. In their souvenir shop, we buy jams, cookies, and because we are 15 year old girls, matching beaded bracelets. A robed monk tends to our needs and asks why Jose is in a wheelchair. Upon hearing the story of the car accident 20 years ago, the monk starts asking if we have ever been to Lourdes or Mexico where Our Lady appears. He asks if we believe in miracles. He’s convinced that Jose can walk again if he believes. Jose responds that God takes good care of him right now.



The monk continues.



And pesters.



And insists.



Okay, monk-dude! You’ve made your point. Now for Christ’s sake, shut up. He’s persistent. A pest. A monksquito. Not wanting to swat a man of the cloth, we pay for the pasalubong, smile and roll our asses quickly out the door.



The company at our next stop is much pleasanter. We visit the National Mango Research and Development Center. Its the only place of its kind, not just in the Philippines, but all of Asia. I love walking into science research centers and asking what they do. Scientist light up when lay folk like me inquire about their work. Within minutes, the cogs of mango research in Asia grind to a halt as the Center Director, an engineer and a research assistant take us through the grounds and discuss mango production, pest control and packing techniques. As a child, I was a science nerd. My aunty sewed me my own lab coat with my name monogrammed on the breast pocket. I’m enchanted here.



Among the interesting facts we learn:



- The fruit fly is the most devastating agricultural pest in the world. The females lay their eggs in ripe fruit to create a safe and nourishing environment. This can quickly ruin a crop.

- Anti fruit fly techniques include wrapping all fruit in paper bags when they are green on the tree, introducing a type of fungus that appears to inoculate the trees, and sterilizing then releasing male flies, which curtails the population because females only mate once in a lifecycle (I’ve had dry spells where it felt like that).

- There are over 200 varieties of mango in the world. The Center has over 50 varieties in their orchards, but –

- 90% of the mangos grown in the Philippines are the Carabao varietal. These are small, golden fruit shaped like fat commas. They are sold in every market in the archipelago and prized for their tanginess when green and juiciness when ripe.

Much of their research focuses on climate change. They try to predict the meteorological consequences of a warmer world, then breed trees that can cope in that world. Its so bloody hot in the Philippines right now, each day the thermometor flirts with 100 degrees F. I would shudder to think of the effects of global warning on this place, but its already too damn hot to shudder.




The best part, of course, is sampling the research. We taste jams, jellies and a pickled green mango treat called atsara. Its sour, sweet and spice in playful balance. I could eat this by the kilo. And we can! Of course these products are available for purchase. The Center Director, one of the preeminent mango researchers in the world, spoons pickled mango into small plastic bags so we can later enjoy it with grilled fish and beer. These are the moments I treasure about the Philippines – when learning, play, discovery and new friendship comes together. This is how to travel with one’s eyes fully open.

After the research center, we travel on to a mango plantation called Oro Verde and talk the groundskeeper into letting us roam around. The trees are interesting, but our attention is distracted by some goat group sex.



The young males take turns on one exhausted female (see video here). She seems to be attached to one large ram that tries hopelessly to keep the young lads at bay. Every once in awhile she butts the ram as if to say, “Am I with you or what? Ram up and get in the game!” We are also highly amused by a young gay goat. He waits for the other males to get distracted by the female then gives them a lovely little surprise from behind.



Secluded beaches, pestering priests, mango education and goat porn. It’s been a full few days. We take a boat back to Iloilo.