Well, the day was a bit overcast, so it was good weather to go for a stroll in Camp John Hay. This is a relic of the American Occupation, it was a recreational center for American soldiers in the early years before WWII, and up until about 1950's or so. Now it's being slowly rehabbed to include a ritzy hotel, a super tacky strip mall of shops and restaurants, a few mid range boutique hotels, and several tragic attempts at recreation (an impossible to find Butterfly sanctuary, a historically accurate house that will give you the major willies, and a sad little paint ball zone).
The place itself is a bit of a mystery to me (as so much in the Philippines, it's been criminally mismanaged), as it's about 15 minutes outside town proper and it's really pretty- rolling hills, several well delineated walking trails, major roads, and several lovely colonial era buildings that are still in very good shape. So why does it kind of make you need a stiff bourbon?
The cab driver dropped me off at a little group of shops including a Starbucks and some restaurants like "Wildshotz burgers". Anyhow, I toddled over to the Marketing and Sales dept, hoping to get a pamphlet or a map or some suggestions as to where to start exploring this NATIONAL TREASURE. (heh.). I creaked open the door to a place that looked like it hadn't changed since 1928 (which, let's be frank, it really hasn't) and found a dazed looking stoner dude who looked nice but had the same affable helplessness as Rob Schneider in any of his movies-- not someone you want to ask for directions.
A request for a pamphlet resulted in a tiny map on a half sheet of recycled paper (there was a memo on the other side) with NO other information. There was a hand drawn X on the "You are here" Marketing Dept. While I was exploring the office, which had several anterooms, each more depressing than the last, the dude slithered out, sensing the presence of a troublesome tourist type (damn them! Coming to the Marketing office! I mean, what the hell!)
The offices were decorated in mid 1960's government not for profit chic- tons of well made yet slightly damaged office furniture, several wobbly green chalk boards with heartbreaking plans sketched out for the golden day when CJH would reclaim it's glory days, dusty cases with "museum pieces" of flags and medal given by President Hoover, etc. You know the type of place.
I tracked down helpful dude to a smoking shack where he was hiding, I mean, have a cigarette with a guard. I asked him "So are there golf carts, or is all of this within walking distance?" He was shattered by this, and I tried again "Is this museum like 2 miles away, or what?" "No, ma'am, it's not 2!" He sputtered, looking at the guard, who was doing the "I'm not heeeerreeee" thing you do when two people are arguing right next to you and you just want to sink through the floor. "Should I get a taxi? That seems kind of silly if it's less than a mile." He thought about it. "Maybe it's nice to walk, ma'am." he finally came up with.
With that glowing recommendation, I started off (in the wrong direction, it turns out) to toddle along the path to the tacky little strip mall called Mile High Shopping Center. It's the kind of place that's hyped up the moon by developers and in the plans, there's always Mom, Dad, Melissa and Brad shopping, having cappuchinos, arms full of shopping bags. In reality, it looks run down three minutes after the ribbon is cut, the shops are full of the super depressing dreck that these type of places always attract (polyester "designer" goods from "Miss Sazzzzzzy" or whoever the horrible urchin that's inflicting this on the public is), and row after row of empty cafe tables and chairs, and one middle aged couple eating with a sour look on their face, having been duped into this by Stoner Dude tour guide.
Anyway, on my way I passed the Manor, a hotel that the Overlook is scared of- a gigantic relic that's been remade by Horace Dent ('scuse me! I mean the PDC!--inside Shining joke for those of you that aren't as rabid of Shining fans as I am) and now looks as menacing as the Joker in the Dark Knight movie- as scary as hell. In addition to the P-Overlook (Philippines Overlook) there were a few buildings that would have been super cool but they were boarded up and left to rot, with a single sleepy guard to look after them.
This was both intriguing and heartbreaking. Some of my seminal memories involve rotting old buildings, I've made quite a bit of art about modern urban ruins, I have a tattoo that says "ruins", etc, but in the presence of such, I immediately start mentally painting over the actual building to the glory days, and the resulting sensation is a mix of pain and the unnameable feeling you get when you're researching something and you find the right reference, only now you've lost the thread of what you were saying in the first place.
I finally made it to Bell House (what an UNFORTUNATE name-lending itself easily to both "Hell" and "Hill" house, Jesus Christ on crutches, CJH!), which was also trapped in amber. The vast, immaculate rooms, each liberally scattered with "Thank you for not touching a damn thing, sticky fingers" signs, was empty of a single soul, either living or of the strong presence you can sometimes feel in well thought out historical houses such as the George Eastman House in Rochester, NY. There were NO placards (placards are for sissies), pamphlets, tour guide, or anything that might have told the story of the place, of which there are no doubt many funny, cool, or sad, or even scary. Way to under merchandise, Phil. Yet again.
The flora of the area was very pretty, the colors glowing in the foggy, misty, drizzly day, and I captured several shots of lovely fluttering blooms. That's about the highlight of the trip.
After taking a few pictures, using the very well maintained loo, and toddling back to the "Filling Station" restaurant area, I had lunch (which was pretty good) and then went back to the hotel to get a rest before dinner.
Overall, it wasn't a bad experience, it was "nice to walk", and get some exercise in the mild weather (sweater weather, which is so nice after 18 straight months of summer), but if the best thing you can say about a place is "well, I got my government recommended 60 minutes of physical exercise", something's lacking.
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