It seems the Filipinos cannot get enough holidays, so 3-day weekends are abundant and happily enjoyed by most Filipinos -- except those poor Green Bank employees such as Development Officers who have scheduled collections on Mondays, and those with reported "overtime." Regardless, it seems most Filipinos spend these types of short holidays with their families, or relaxing in their home, watching TV, or "strolling" around (still not quite sure what that means, but most often is the reply when I ask Filipinos what they did over the weekend).
Regardless, the best thing about travel in the Philippines is that it is perfect for a girl like me. And by girl like me, I mean: indecisive, procrastinator, last-minute by weighing my options. Thus, Gen and I decided, only the night before, to book a flight to Boracay for the long weekend.
We spent Friday night "packing" and eating an overly salty dinner prepared by Lyndon (who from now on, for familial purposes, will refer to as Don-don) with a special “visitor,” although not so special due to the frequency of his visits: Ruel. Keith went home early to Leyte to spend Fiesta with his friends and family.
In the morning, we left at an early 8 am, and both Ruel and Don-don demonstrated the hospitality that is truly Filipino by waking early to cook us a full spread breakfast or fried rice, fried eggs, tuna, toast, and coffee. It was a nice send off and we made sure they'd miss us too much over the weekend. After breakfast, we headed to the airport, where we purchased our tickets, realizing that we had made the reservation the night before for the wrong date! Regardless, there were still seats available; however, for the return flight they were all booked for that particular island. We walked over to the SEAir office and put our names for a reservation for return Monday morning, hoping we would get off the "priority waitlist" for Asian Spirit's return since it was much later in the afternoon, giving us an extra day to soak up that is known as Boracay, one of the most beautiful beaches in the world.
I interrupt with a funny note: When searching websites on Boracay island, I came across a boasting add from Yahoo Travel that Boracay was rated #7 in the Top 10 Most Beautiful Beaches in the world...guess what was number 6??? SAN DIEGO...had to laugh, although after now visiting Boracay, I cannot agree with full confidence...
After a short 1 hour flight on an undersized rickety plane, we landed in Caticlan. From there, we got accosted by a guide from the Tourist Bureau named Fred. We rode two tricycles and a short 20 minute pump boat ride before we reached White Sands Beach. From there, Fred took us around to a few hotels, before we settled on Nigi Nigi Nu Nu's 'e' Nu Nu's...and no, we did not make this decision based on the ridiculousness of its name. Rather, the beautiful Balinese style cottages set in the jungle garden, where it was peaceful and overly quiet, knowing full well that the beachfront only lay 5 steps from the entrance of the hotel. After checking in, although Fred attempted to persuade us with the usual “take you to my friend” coercion, we decided to settle at Nigi Nigi’s restaurant for a long and relaxing lunch. I was happy to have a meal without rice for once! Fresh salad with egg, fresh fruit platter of bananas, mango, and watermelon, a meal complete not without fresh mango juice. I seriously cannot get enough of Filipino mangoes J
After which, although changing into our beach attire, decided to wander down the beach walk, where we meandered past the various luxurious resorts, beachside restaurants and bars, small shops selling identically the same sundresses, t-shirts, and other tacky tourist paraphernalia (and yes, we did buy some)…until we hit D’Mall. D’Mall was situated like a small plaza off the beach and had the feel of a typical San Diegan outdoor mall lined with overpriced clothing stores and more food options, including the Hobbit House – a sister of the one I’ve been to years ago in Manila. The Hobbit House really does house “hobbits” and proudly claims to be the only establishment in the Philippines that employs little people as its staff. They are all boding shirts with exclamations like: “Small is Beautiful.” I found a crepe store preparing an arrangement of heart attack crepe concoctions, but couldn’t resist the appeal of the plastic displays in the window. And for only 100 pesos each? I indulged in a nutella and banana crepe with fresh cream, chocolate sauce, and vanilla ice cream. I passed on the cornflakes (refer to my blog about halo halo and you may or may not understand how and why cornflakes are considered part of dessert). It seemed that our meandering was perpetually slowing down as we became more and more enticed by the shopping -- Gen spitting off her Tagalog skills to bargain prices lower and lower. I’ve learned from India, that bargaining is a pretty ridiculous endeavor in a developing country, since it becomes a matter of bickering and standing around, threatening to leave, all over a measly 25 cents. But we think in pesos now.
We found the beach and met two young men selling an “island hopping” tour. Complete with snorkeling and picnic lunch for which they would buy fruits and seafood of our choice, we were sold, especially when they offered a 2-for-1 deal. We forked over 500 pesos and made sure to get their number in case they perhaps disappeared the next day. The sun was setting and we had made it to the end of the beach walk. A jungle of coconut trees told us we could go no further. Heading back, we again, such tourists, succumbed to the “Yes, Ma’am…Over here Ma’am!” and debated with two women over the price of an hour massage on the beach. We debated ourselves over today or tomorrow. The woman argued convincingly that if we did it today, we would be energized and strong and ready for our day tomorrow. So we lay on the bamboo beds and I removed my top, lying in just a skirt and bikini top as she rubbed me down with an overpowering fragrant coconut oil. Gen and I had been quite excited to have found a magazine store earlier and had eagerly purchased an Economist and Newsweek. She offered the Economist and when I thought how utterly nerdy it would be for me to be lying, getting a massage on the beach, while reading the Economist, I decided there was no better time to catch up on world affairs. But, soon thought better of it when the magic of her fingertips took a hold of me. I chose my iPod instead. Listening to “Chillout Lounge,” occasionally peeking through my closed eyes to catch glimpses of the sunset, but relaxed and absorbed in the soft, soothing tones of the music and my masseuse’s hands moving practically in sync. The hour was over before I knew it. Too relaxed to move, I realized I could have gone another hour EASILY.
We headed back to the hotel, as it was getting dark now, to change for dinner. Dressed for a warm summer night, both of us in dresses, we walked back along the beach walk looking for anything NON-Asian. We found the “True Food” Indian restaurant and when we saw the large, lush bright shiny yellow cushions with people sitting on the floor eating appetizing dishes, our decision was made. We lounged in comfort while waiting for our food. I ordered a chilled glass of the house red wine, which for also “only 100 pesos?” was surprisingly good (or, I just haven’t had wine in too long). We ordered momo, a Tibetan dish and are soft dumplings filled with vegetables and spices. Gen ordered the “non-veg” Thali, so she could satisfy her odd craving for lamb (FYI, Gen also calls her a vegetarian, although has yet to prove it to me, since she is clearly a pescetarian, and has no problem eating meat as well). I ordered a masala dosa, and while not as crispy and light as the authentic version, was rather like a huge pancake filled with spiced potatoes and peas, filled to both ends like a burrito. I barely managed to eat half of it, but thought it to be quite tasty, complete with their own “true food” version of sambar. We closed the place out, stuffing ourselves, and sinking heavier into the pillows. By midnight, we decided despite our early call for island hopping the next day, should check out the night scene.
We had met a French Canadian girl earlier who had invited us to meet her and “some friends” at the Bom Bom Lounge, which when we wandered by was a very relaxed and “cool” atmosphere, complete with Bob Marley posters, hookahs, and a small one-man guitar wailing out some sweet Jack Johnson. I guess not lively enough for Gen, we found the cheesiest bar, full of dancing bartenders, a way-too happy dj, lady boys or “tranies” that were definitely prettier than me, and a very sparse selection of rugged-looking travelers. Within one minute of sitting down at the bar, we were approached by a couple of Fil-Canadians from Alberta who were either too dumb or too drunk to understand what microfinance was and that we were researchers trying to “help the poor.” We of course, got a good laugh from pulling their leg as to what we were
really doing in the Philippines. Also, within two minutes, a shot appeared out of nowhere and we were finagled into toasting it for so-and-so’s birthday. A second later, another shot was placed in front of us. Gen, being quite the light-weight, could only finish half of every one of the drinks in front of her. So, I laughed the three half-full varying sizes of glasses sitting in front of her. After the guys got the hint, we were to ourselves, dancing in our chairs, and laughing hysterically at the dj that appeared to be having his own dance party…or maybe he was just the only one who could hear how
good the music was. We tiredly walked home around 1:30 am, dreading our arranged meeting at 9 am the next morning.
But, the next morning never came for me, and as much as I would like to not say a word about what occurred to me between the hours of 7 am and 12:30 pm on Saturday, August 18, 2007, I somehow do not think that leaving it out of this blog will make it disappear from my memory. However, to spare you devoted blog-readers, I won’t go into too much of the gory details. Let’s just say my body was not happy with something I consumed the night before, and was doing everything in its power to divulge every bit and any bit of its contents through any means possible. Get the picture? After “waiting it out,” I regrettably knew I couldn’t get on a boat that day, so Gen went on the tour without me. I meanwhile spent the remaining hours of the morning either lying in bed in the fetal position waiting for the pain to stop or crawling to the bathroom where the toilet was my only friend. I did have to take care of our tickets, however, and around 11 am, managed to drag myself out of bed and barely make it to the front desk in my pjamas, where I explained to them that I was “very sick” and couldn’t walk to D’Mall to the airline office. They allowed me to call first Asian Spirit – still on the waitlist – and then SEAir – extending our reservation deadline to 2 pm. I bought a cold bottle of water from the restaurant and proceeded to drag myself back to the room where I collapsed into sleep for another couple hours.
By noon or 12:30 pm, I still felt the grumbling in my stomach and weak from all the divulging of my body, but could not waste another more of the beautiful day inside. I put on my bikini and was thankful for the short walk to the beach where I rested in a bamboo beach chair. I managed to feel well enough to even attempt swimming, but the waters were still quite choppy from the typhoon a couple days before and somehow getting knocked around by the waves was not helping. When two o’clock came, I went back to the office to call the airlines again. This time, we were off the waitlist for the later flight and had until 5 pm later that day to go to the office to purchase the tickets. Around 3 or 4 pm, I went back to the room where I met Gen and we went to D’Mall to buy the tickets. After, Gen wanted to eat, but I was too terrified to even try, so I went with her to a small, airy Greek restaurant where she ate a tuna melt sandwich and fries (a New Yorker clearly missing her “diner food”) and I sat, knowing full well I would not be able to eat anything until tomorrow. I couldn’t remember the last time I had felt so sick, except for India. But, it did flash me back to my first trip out of the U.S. with my family to Cairo, Egypt. I was 9 years old and was excited at the opportunity to eat a hamburger from room service, only to spend the night vomiting. I remember my father telling me to drink water, but every time I did, it came right back out where it had gone in. What fun would traveling be if there weren’t bumps in the road? I know after 6 weeks now that bumps in the road are understatements for the frustrations and “moments” I’ve had here in the PI. Hills, perhaps? Steep, precipitous cliffs? But thank god the moments are only
moments.
The night ended smoothly, as I was anxious to head to the Bamboo Lounge I had seen the night before, a chill restaurant with outdoor seating on the beach lit by bright red lanterns. People sat at low tables drinking beer and eating dinner while lounging on cushions and futons pads. I ordered a “Sweet Chamomile Mint” tea and sat (while Gen shopped), finishing my book by candlelight. Exhausted, we both headed back to the room early and I was asleep by 10 pm.
Sleeping 11 hours (this was
truly the vacation I needed), I woke up at 9 am to leave Gen still sleeping. I contemplated renting snorkeling gear and trekking over to Crocodile Island, but thought better of it, when I walked out to see how calm and still the water was this morning. I headed back to the Greek restaurant for a light breakfast of scrambled eggs, potatoes, and toast with coffee, feeling like my stomach was ready for some sustenance. After, I walked along the beach, headphones on as usual, but when realizing I was heading towards some clouds, found a chair to set up and bake in the sun. Swimming was much more do-able today given the calmness, and the particularly crystal clearness and turquoise colors of the waters were ever so inviting. Between swimming and lying in the sun, I soaked up my last few hours of relaxation before heading back to the hotel to meet Gen. After showering and a light lunch of garlic shrimp and fresh salad, we headed to the airport to catch our flight at 4 pm.
Arriving at “home” away from home, we were disappointed by an empty house. The boys arrived shortly thereafter with food to cook and we all sat down to a meal, catching each other up on our whereabouts and doings of the weekend. Back to work Monday morning was slightly disheartening, but I will never forget the white sands of Boracay. Easily one of the most beautiful beaches I’ve been to (if I haven’t already said that).
Khao San Ro: Foreigners abound!
CHEAP and popular noodles and fried spring rolls on the street
Party central: Soi 4 at night
Old friends reunited: Matt and I
New friends made...(Julian: what is this drunken Irishman spitting about?!)
Still lost in translation..."Harry Potter" (a.k.a. Macca) looking a bit pinkish
mmmmm...streetside pad thai
grrrr...chix on stix...grrrr
5 sticks of meat later...(ughhhh)
Found a hangout/bar and sat, drinking Beer Lao and Lao Lao. Lao lao is the local alcohol here, 50% alcoholic by volume, and is made from sticky rice.
"2 for 1" means too many drinks: Lao Lao cocktails, BeerLao BIG bottle, and bright green complimentary shot of lao lao (too repulsive to drink)
When we arrived, it was a big establishment with tight security (if the complete rock and gravel road was not enough deterrence for anybody to venture), and luxurious villas outlining the grounds, complete with a big, airy restaurant, overlooking the beach, a pool, and a beachfront bar. 
When I got back to the room, it was unusually windy, but decided to shower, and then go to the safety deposit box to get my computer and work or write. On my way, I felt a slight sprinkling. After getting my laptop, it was pouring rain. I tried to sit in the restaurant and opened my laptop, but the rain was coming in sideways and starting to sprinkle not just me, but my baby too! So, I waited it out a little and then headed to my room where I could write in shelter, although sweaty, the breeze from the storm and my crappy fan keeps me cool enough to write. The rains continued to pour, and was starting to wonder what tomorrow would bring.
