The Children of Santo Domingo

With all debts repaid, and a sense of new beginning in Legaspi, I had to make a go of it. With the day already half over, I didn't want to spend another moment lying in bed. Consulting a local map, I reviewed the nearby attractions to determine which scenic spot would be my next destination. Having never really considered checking out other local towns, I was soon to discover that getting sick and spending a few extra days in Legaspi would allow me to do just that.

When I was very young, the Gulf War lowered airline prices signifi- cantly permitting my family and me to take a vacation to Hawaii. I remember many things on that vacation, including the lava tunnels, the sulfurous fumes, the baby-back ribs, the sparkling oceans, and volcano treks. But what interested me most was Panalu'u's black sand beaches- a normal beach on the big island turned black from the volcanic eruptions over thousands of years. What excitement swelled up in my heart when I learned of another black sand beach no more than 20 minutes outside of Legaspi.

I emerged from the hotel and boarded a Jeepney to the black sand beaches in the tiny town of Santo Domingo. The town lies just north of Legaspi along the eastern coast of Luzon. Virtually unknown to tourists, I was particularly pleased by my journey here. As for the town itself, it's nothing much. A local square, an open-air gymnasium, a central church, and a dominating view of the Mayon Volcano. Petitioning for city-hood by 2010, this town is nothing more than a sleeping babe at the base of a sleeping giant.


Arriving in the town square, I immediately recognized by the faces of the locals that tourists were a rare occurance here. Again, I was welcomed like royalty with glancing smiles, interested stares, passionate high-fives, and welcomed touts from local business owners. However, my main subject here was clear- the black sand beaches. I determined the ocean front was north east of my present location and I began to walk down the neighborhood side streets in search of the sea.

Along the way, I got a glimpse of Filipino life. Beautiful homes mingled in with cement shacks; families resting on their porches; few tricycles bustling about; chickens crossing the road; boats lined up along the side of the street. But the most intriguing aspect of Santo Domingo life was the rice. Walking down the street, I saw dozens of enormous squares of grain baking on the street. There was no rug or tarp on which the grain rested; instead it was right on top of the tar itself. I later asked what this was and someone informed me that they were drying rice to sell. I hope they wash it first!

I finally arrived at the seashore delighted by the cool breeze floating gently against my face. I sat down on the steps and removed my shoes. I put them in my bag and stepped into the warm, black sand. Although the sand was black as night, as I had hoped, I was totally disheartened by the sight before me: the black sand beaches of Santo Domingo were littered with trash. You had to step slowly and carefully so as not to step on one of the many pieces of sharp, broken glass around the beach. What a fine example of a natural treasure spoiled by the adulteration of human laziness.

However, the day was not lost thanks to the Children of Santo Domingo. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught about five children playing in a stream that lead to the ocean. I walked slowly over to them to see what they were doing. Giggling with mischief, they were attempting to do something devilishly over in the water. I was intrigued. I inched closer for a better view. What I got was a very unexpected surprise. The oldest boy, still maybe only nine or ten, emerged from the pack with an enormous crab that had a piece of string wrapped around it like a leash. Insect torture to the extreme, I thought to myself. But I didn't have much time to continue thinking as that boy, with his entourage of crustaceous bandits, started to approach me with the crab. Startled, I began to back away. This only resulted in a quickened pace by the boy. Even- tually, it resulted, if you can imagine the most absurd of scenarios, in a ten year old Filipino boy chasing around a 23 year old American on the black sand beaches of Santo Domingo with a crab tied around a string.

It was all in good fun and eventually, the crab was let back to burrow deep into the sand. Now the children's focus had turned on my digital camera. With limited English, they shouted "Picture", "Picture" and struck a pose. This went on for about fifteen minutes when more children began to see their friends modeling for a foreigner. In the end, I had fifteen children vying for a place on my camera's digital viewfinder.

Their interest in me was not concealed very well. What was my name? Where am I from? Why was I there in Santo Domingo? Do I know all the celebrities in Hollywood? These were some of the typical questions I was asked. I told them I didn't know any celebrities. In fact, the only famous person I had ever met was Steven Spielberg, and I told him, straight to his face, that he was not Steven Spielberg.

These questions, and pictures went on for the next thirty minutes or so before I put on my shoes and we all walked up to the town center together. On our way there, the oldest girl asked me if I had a girlfriend. I told her I did not, which is true, and she had a big smile on her face. She politely informed me that she had a single friend the next town over if I was interested in meeting her. I told her I was flattered by her offer, but unfortunately, I had to get back to Legaspi at this point. We parted ways and I never saw the Children of Santo Domingo again.

When I arrived back in Legaspi, I made a second attempt at eating in the Small Talk cafe. This time, I proved to be successful. I arrived at the restaurant, checked through security, and had a truly tasty ride of traditional Bicol cuisine. After dinner, I boarded another jeepney back to my hotel and went to bed early to rest up for the next day's most exhilirating, and honestly, most terrifying experience I would ever have in my lifetime.


From your black-footed, well-rested, traveling daycare of the Philippines, Michael.