Finding Mati
October 13, 2002 | 12:00am
Through the parting glass window, the ghosts of daylight were beginning to dissolve into a widening twilight: somehow, setting a dreamy landing for a first-timer in Davao. We were simply passing through this metropolis, which for many has been an entry and exit point to other destinations across Region 9. But what welcomed us, the whiff of durian and the sounds of the kulintang, both claiming the air and space of the airport’s arrival area, rendered the warmth of a more than casual encounter.
Since our trip made it to the last stretch of the 17th Kadayawan Festival, a thanksgiving for the year’s harvest, I felt particularly in commune with a Davao City in high spirits, delving into a revelations of sorts. There’s a nightlife taken seriously, when we checked out Barcelona, a quaint Latin-inspired watering hole along Davao’s version of Malate, the Rizal Promenade.
After a restful night at Marco Polo Hotel, we bobbed in the wake of drumbeats accompanying the Floral Float Parade going through the major thoroughfares of the city, realizing Kadayawan is like Davao’s embroidered tinalak weaving together Christian communities and the small yet spirited contingents of the indigenous lumads and some Muslim groups. When we crossed C.M. Recto street to Aldevinco Shopping Mall, before us was a multicultural smorgasbord of tribal clothing, the all-purpose malong, the colorful bandana, tubaw and ethnic accessories. With all that this city offers, it appears to be portraying the role of a host to a hilt, a geographical come-hither for the peculiar pleasure of finding paradises beyond.
I was guilty of knowing so little about Mati as we set off south-eastward from Davao City. "How far is Mati?" I asked Candice, our guide to the capital of Davao Oriental that seems to thrive in successful seclusion, masked by a foliage of proud coconut trees and my own poor sense of geography. "Three hours away," she replied, adding knowingly, "It’s worth it."
Mati, founded in 1861, actually lies 167 kilometers away from Davao City. While it has a seaport for cargo vessels generally for copra, it is most accessible by land either by an airconditioned bus or an L-300 van for a little over P100 a trip. And Candice was right, when we were greeted with greens, and more greens, framing the zigzagging highway, and with our eyes possessed by the view outside the window, there’s a knowing feeling of being on the way to a well-kept secret.
A rumbling came overhead when we neared the boundary of Tagum City, an hour and a half from Mati, followed by a heavy downpour and splashes of lightning dancing in the sky. By the time we found Mati, it was sober, the roads were bare, and the town was asleep, but in retrospect, thanks to the good roads we had a safe trip.
No other place seemed to put an end to a divine play of topography as its silhouette lifted the next day. Mati, one of the country’s first few to see sunrise, nestles at the edges of a mountain range overlooking the 21,200 hectare-wide Pujada Bay, a protected seascape fronting the Philippine Sea.
People who find their way here would discover a hideaway of contrasts: beautiful and ignored. But then, so is the rest of the province. For years, economic progress has been concentrated in Davao City, holding off the potential of Mati and others. After it was recognized a few years back as one of Mindanao’s new growth zones along with Surigao del Sur and del Norte, local leaders, however, trust that this municipality is a strategic receiving end of business spilling from South Cotabato, Sultan Kudarat and General Santos.
We headed from the province-run Castillian villa-style inn, Kinanatu, to the town proper for a breakfast of dinuguan and puto, a house specialty at Villa Nena’s, a restaurant-cum-antique shop. As we drove around later, what stood out in this sun-swept town is how wed it is to provincial living and, for a traveler more importantly, its P400 or less overnight lodging. Here tricycles loading six people at most create most of the action in the streets, and will take you for a ride at P4 only. Here a barbershop treats you to a cheap haircut ranging from P5 to P15 depending on your age group: children, senior citizens and adults. Still, it is hard to spell the difference between a day beginning and a day ending in Mati: life here postpones time. Yet, this languid, quasi-Mediterranean appeal has been a line in Mati Tourism Council’s sales pitch. "Five years from now, we really hope to turn Mati into a tourist destination," Louie Rabat, who chairs the Mati Tourism Council, shares. "Hopefully, the Montecarlo of the Philippines." And who is to argue? When we drove to the beaches of Dahican, and Masao Resort, which has open-air cottages, in Barangay Tamisan, we were surprised with what we saw: this faraway town cradles breathtaking stretches of bleached, creamy sand and ultramarine waters. With the wind wafting from the side of the bay, sending muted ripples across Dahican, what made it more scenic were the tall coconut trees inhabiting its horseshoe coast. It struck me how charmed Mati is, and how fertile for business. Think Boracay.
But if it took the Aklan paradise roughly 10 years to achieve a level of tourism acclaim, Louie is undaunted. "In the tourism industry, you have to be declared a tourist destination before money goes out to develop and promote it," he admits. "It is a long shot, but doable."
For the meantime, the tourism council is full of plans and preparations for the Sambuukan (Davaoeño for "oneness") Festival this month. Only in its second year, it was organized not just to be the second grandest festival in the region, but also a disclaimer of impressions that the region, or Mindanao in general, is creeping with danger, rebels and Abu Sayyafs.
On board a van, we ascended an elevated slope in Barangay Badas. One of the 20 mini-destinations the council has set up for tourists, it has a viewdeck for a panoramic sweep of the Sleeping Dinosaur Island. After a lunch punctuated with sweet pomelos and a tip that the smaller their size, the sweeter they are, the road led through rolling plantations of durian, cacao and mangoes, before winding up in Barangay Mayo, which boasts of a black beach and freshwater lagoon. There are shaded picnic tables perfect for friends and family gatherings.
In the evening, we met with provincial government board member, Carlo Rabat. A towering mestizo, whose features mirror a past where Spanish conquistadores moved from the nearby town of Caraga, mixed and married the Mandayans of Mati, toured us in the provincial capitol, which camps comfortably on a hill across Pujada. As the sun retreated to the bay, we had a bit of the town’s sense of humor as we were brought to Cafe ’Tol, a café-resto a block away.
Early morning is the time to wander about Mati’s islands in Pujada Bay. With renewed energy the next day, we hit the road en route to a local fishermen’s docking point, Sitio Badiano. Awaiting was a motored banca that was shamelessly smaller than the rowing boats of Burnham in Baguio. Scanning the expanse of the bay with a slight whip of wind, hinting at strong waves somewhere, I thought it was such a weakling against the Philippine Sea. One local perhaps sensing my hesitation cast a wry look and asked, "Ganahan ka ug lifejacket (Do you want a lifejacket)?"
But what did the famous explorer Freya Stark say about the art of travel? Let go of yourself, and accept whatever comes, even if it means no lifejackets and an engine that, after wading 100 meters from the shoreline, just wouldn’t start! As the waters went past the line separating shallow aquamarine from deep dark blue, our guide then broke into a grin, as he coaxed the engine to life.
Our first stop was a sand bar found at the mouth of the bay, named in brochures as Oak & Ivy Isle, but to locals, Isla na Maot (Cebuano for "ugly island"). We were told that this was what Charlene Gonzales, in a famous answer to a Miss Universe question, referred to as the 7,108th island during low tide. When we approached Isla na Maot, its image against the backdrop of the sea spun a forsaken story, especially with the current crashing about with the rising tide. Yet, when we found a tree, its lone form of life, jutting out in the middle of whites, we were happier than Noah, after 40 days and 40 nights of flood, could be.
Next stop was Pujada, which had a shoreline sculpted by bigger, boisterous waves, fishing boats and several nipa huts. Endangered animals such as the dugongs, dolphins and white sharks had made rare appearances in the area, and how we hoped for a glimpse of these creatures. Instead, we were blessed with a school of flying fish leaping and diving into the waters, their rhythmic splashing louder than our talking.
Our banca proceeded to Waniban, smaller than Pujada, and this time, we hit the shores. With the sun beating down on us, we indulged in our own little paradise fantasy – we posed, we frolicked, and we took a dip.
Still, to really understand the soul of Mati is to understand the whole of poetry. Forty-eight hours will never be enough, more like a dangling rhetoric to a piece greater, more beautiful than it is. As we packed our bags for home, at least our minds carried an album of sights, sounds, smells maybe to dream about and discover again.
Experience Mati now. Call its tourism office at (087) 3883-313.
Since our trip made it to the last stretch of the 17th Kadayawan Festival, a thanksgiving for the year’s harvest, I felt particularly in commune with a Davao City in high spirits, delving into a revelations of sorts. There’s a nightlife taken seriously, when we checked out Barcelona, a quaint Latin-inspired watering hole along Davao’s version of Malate, the Rizal Promenade.
After a restful night at Marco Polo Hotel, we bobbed in the wake of drumbeats accompanying the Floral Float Parade going through the major thoroughfares of the city, realizing Kadayawan is like Davao’s embroidered tinalak weaving together Christian communities and the small yet spirited contingents of the indigenous lumads and some Muslim groups. When we crossed C.M. Recto street to Aldevinco Shopping Mall, before us was a multicultural smorgasbord of tribal clothing, the all-purpose malong, the colorful bandana, tubaw and ethnic accessories. With all that this city offers, it appears to be portraying the role of a host to a hilt, a geographical come-hither for the peculiar pleasure of finding paradises beyond.
I was guilty of knowing so little about Mati as we set off south-eastward from Davao City. "How far is Mati?" I asked Candice, our guide to the capital of Davao Oriental that seems to thrive in successful seclusion, masked by a foliage of proud coconut trees and my own poor sense of geography. "Three hours away," she replied, adding knowingly, "It’s worth it."
Mati, founded in 1861, actually lies 167 kilometers away from Davao City. While it has a seaport for cargo vessels generally for copra, it is most accessible by land either by an airconditioned bus or an L-300 van for a little over P100 a trip. And Candice was right, when we were greeted with greens, and more greens, framing the zigzagging highway, and with our eyes possessed by the view outside the window, there’s a knowing feeling of being on the way to a well-kept secret.
A rumbling came overhead when we neared the boundary of Tagum City, an hour and a half from Mati, followed by a heavy downpour and splashes of lightning dancing in the sky. By the time we found Mati, it was sober, the roads were bare, and the town was asleep, but in retrospect, thanks to the good roads we had a safe trip.
No other place seemed to put an end to a divine play of topography as its silhouette lifted the next day. Mati, one of the country’s first few to see sunrise, nestles at the edges of a mountain range overlooking the 21,200 hectare-wide Pujada Bay, a protected seascape fronting the Philippine Sea.
People who find their way here would discover a hideaway of contrasts: beautiful and ignored. But then, so is the rest of the province. For years, economic progress has been concentrated in Davao City, holding off the potential of Mati and others. After it was recognized a few years back as one of Mindanao’s new growth zones along with Surigao del Sur and del Norte, local leaders, however, trust that this municipality is a strategic receiving end of business spilling from South Cotabato, Sultan Kudarat and General Santos.
We headed from the province-run Castillian villa-style inn, Kinanatu, to the town proper for a breakfast of dinuguan and puto, a house specialty at Villa Nena’s, a restaurant-cum-antique shop. As we drove around later, what stood out in this sun-swept town is how wed it is to provincial living and, for a traveler more importantly, its P400 or less overnight lodging. Here tricycles loading six people at most create most of the action in the streets, and will take you for a ride at P4 only. Here a barbershop treats you to a cheap haircut ranging from P5 to P15 depending on your age group: children, senior citizens and adults. Still, it is hard to spell the difference between a day beginning and a day ending in Mati: life here postpones time. Yet, this languid, quasi-Mediterranean appeal has been a line in Mati Tourism Council’s sales pitch. "Five years from now, we really hope to turn Mati into a tourist destination," Louie Rabat, who chairs the Mati Tourism Council, shares. "Hopefully, the Montecarlo of the Philippines." And who is to argue? When we drove to the beaches of Dahican, and Masao Resort, which has open-air cottages, in Barangay Tamisan, we were surprised with what we saw: this faraway town cradles breathtaking stretches of bleached, creamy sand and ultramarine waters. With the wind wafting from the side of the bay, sending muted ripples across Dahican, what made it more scenic were the tall coconut trees inhabiting its horseshoe coast. It struck me how charmed Mati is, and how fertile for business. Think Boracay.
But if it took the Aklan paradise roughly 10 years to achieve a level of tourism acclaim, Louie is undaunted. "In the tourism industry, you have to be declared a tourist destination before money goes out to develop and promote it," he admits. "It is a long shot, but doable."
For the meantime, the tourism council is full of plans and preparations for the Sambuukan (Davaoeño for "oneness") Festival this month. Only in its second year, it was organized not just to be the second grandest festival in the region, but also a disclaimer of impressions that the region, or Mindanao in general, is creeping with danger, rebels and Abu Sayyafs.
On board a van, we ascended an elevated slope in Barangay Badas. One of the 20 mini-destinations the council has set up for tourists, it has a viewdeck for a panoramic sweep of the Sleeping Dinosaur Island. After a lunch punctuated with sweet pomelos and a tip that the smaller their size, the sweeter they are, the road led through rolling plantations of durian, cacao and mangoes, before winding up in Barangay Mayo, which boasts of a black beach and freshwater lagoon. There are shaded picnic tables perfect for friends and family gatherings.
In the evening, we met with provincial government board member, Carlo Rabat. A towering mestizo, whose features mirror a past where Spanish conquistadores moved from the nearby town of Caraga, mixed and married the Mandayans of Mati, toured us in the provincial capitol, which camps comfortably on a hill across Pujada. As the sun retreated to the bay, we had a bit of the town’s sense of humor as we were brought to Cafe ’Tol, a café-resto a block away.
Early morning is the time to wander about Mati’s islands in Pujada Bay. With renewed energy the next day, we hit the road en route to a local fishermen’s docking point, Sitio Badiano. Awaiting was a motored banca that was shamelessly smaller than the rowing boats of Burnham in Baguio. Scanning the expanse of the bay with a slight whip of wind, hinting at strong waves somewhere, I thought it was such a weakling against the Philippine Sea. One local perhaps sensing my hesitation cast a wry look and asked, "Ganahan ka ug lifejacket (Do you want a lifejacket)?"
But what did the famous explorer Freya Stark say about the art of travel? Let go of yourself, and accept whatever comes, even if it means no lifejackets and an engine that, after wading 100 meters from the shoreline, just wouldn’t start! As the waters went past the line separating shallow aquamarine from deep dark blue, our guide then broke into a grin, as he coaxed the engine to life.
Our first stop was a sand bar found at the mouth of the bay, named in brochures as Oak & Ivy Isle, but to locals, Isla na Maot (Cebuano for "ugly island"). We were told that this was what Charlene Gonzales, in a famous answer to a Miss Universe question, referred to as the 7,108th island during low tide. When we approached Isla na Maot, its image against the backdrop of the sea spun a forsaken story, especially with the current crashing about with the rising tide. Yet, when we found a tree, its lone form of life, jutting out in the middle of whites, we were happier than Noah, after 40 days and 40 nights of flood, could be.
Next stop was Pujada, which had a shoreline sculpted by bigger, boisterous waves, fishing boats and several nipa huts. Endangered animals such as the dugongs, dolphins and white sharks had made rare appearances in the area, and how we hoped for a glimpse of these creatures. Instead, we were blessed with a school of flying fish leaping and diving into the waters, their rhythmic splashing louder than our talking.
Our banca proceeded to Waniban, smaller than Pujada, and this time, we hit the shores. With the sun beating down on us, we indulged in our own little paradise fantasy – we posed, we frolicked, and we took a dip.
Still, to really understand the soul of Mati is to understand the whole of poetry. Forty-eight hours will never be enough, more like a dangling rhetoric to a piece greater, more beautiful than it is. As we packed our bags for home, at least our minds carried an album of sights, sounds, smells maybe to dream about and discover again.
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