Has anyone seen that animated film Yellow Submarine? Where the Beatles travel to Pepperland (and they go through so much trouble along the way)? I love Pepperland. It's a colorful place full of happy people, and all you really need to save the day is good music and love.
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We woke up very early that morning to bring Ivan to the airport. He had to end his vacation prematurely so he could go home and catch a bus to Bicol to attend a wedding. Anyway, on our way back to the punong (fishpond in Ilonggo. Yes, our house in the province is in the middle of a giant fishpond. Childhood summers were spent eating bangus and crabs, fishing using our hands only and falling clumsily into those little homemade dams that control the water in the ponds.), we passed by a relative's house to have coffee. I was sleepy and when I closed the car door I slammed it right into my hip. Strike one. I knew it was not going to be a good day.
We made another stopover to check the bus schedules and make sure we won't be late, because Papa is a stickler for punctuality and I really didn't want to witness another spat between him and Mama. We went back home, showered, changed and set out to leave again. The bus pulls out at 1045, Papa said. But as soon as we arrived at the bus station, the bus started to leave. But it was only 1020! Papa approached the dispatcher and demanded to know why the bus left earlier than scheduled. The dispatcher insisted that the schedule was 1015, not 1045. No, Papa said, it's 1045, you wrote it down on a piece of paper and gave it to me earlier this morning (he said this in Ilonggo). Lara where's that piece of paper? Show it to him. Oh yes, that. I scrambled for it in my bag and hurriedly handed it over to them, giving full proof that indeed, the bus was set to leave at...1015.
Oookay. Major meltdown. Mama and I started to laugh at the mix-up (was that really bad? It was funny!). I guess that triggered someting in the dispatcher, and he started to lash out. Then he threw his folder and walked out. Hmm, he probably thought he could get back at us by pushing his I-am-the-dispatcher-here-you-have-no-right-to-question-me weight. And that made Papa angry all over again. "I have have been in public service for more than 20 years and I have never behaved the way you did just now, even with the most irate people who come to me. We acknowledged our mistake already. No matter how irrational people get, you should never respond that way, especially in this kind of job." Then he walked out and called the owner of the busline, who turns out is a friend of his.
Ayayay.
We finally got on the bus that leaves at 1145. I took the window seat. Thought it was a nice comfortable seat, until the little cockroachES came out from little nooks and crannies beside me. Yes, they are little creatures I could swat with the sole of my shoe or my tita's water bottle, but I am deathly afraid of cockroaches. Strike three.
I changed seats and we went chugging along the winding road to Aklan. Two hours into our trip I heard once more the already familiar sound of stones crunching beneath the bus tires, but this time I had the sense that something was wrong. I am not kidding. Seconds later and rank smell filled the bus, and we called the attention of the driver. The kunduktor turned of he airconditioning and opened some of the windows. We pulled over and they checked. Torn fanbelt. Strike four.
We arrived in Aklan all dusty and tired. We had to wait until they fixed the fanbelt or found another bus for us. They did, 30 minutes later, and we hurried to it. Much better bus actually, except that there were already people inside and we had to sit way in the back, which Mama hates. And it smelled like fish. Oh, and before that we nearly lost our bags during the bus transfer. Somebody mistook it for his own and dragged it away. Good thing he returned it to the station, where my tita was growing gradually hysterical by the minute.
Anyway, we sat for another one and a half hours, watching the rainclouds form ominously in the sky (why did we have to go in December, anyway??) and the waves rising and crashing into giants rocks below. Oy, the Jewish would say.
The wind was high in Caticlan, as expected. We made a run for the nearest ferry. It was COLD, and my already battered shawl (thanks Len!) was limp with defeat and resignation. And then, while we were waiting in line, boom! The lights went out. Blackout in Caticlan. Oh go ahead, spite us even more. Strike whatever, we're out of the game.
Boracay has got to be worth all this shit.
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It's like Pepperland, only with prettier, sexier people. As soon as we got off the ferry boat and dug our slippers in the not-so-white sand, we knew: Bawal ang pangit sa Boracay.
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Welcome to the land of bikinis and hot underage chicks sipping Singapore Sling in the arms of their equally hot men-props. Forget about work, forget about time, forget about absoutely everything and think happy, sexy thoughts. Happy, sexy thoughts...
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We were billetted in a small hotel owned by Papa's college kabarkada. While the place directly fronted a 3-storey grocery and its adjadcent palengke, it was just a 3-minute walk to the Station 2 beach. Snaps for proximity. We stashed our things, exchanged niceties with the hotel owner and went to the beach via D*Mall. I have no idea why they made up such a jologs name, but it was a well-lit plaza full of restaurants and little shops and even a small ferris wheel. Weird. They couldn't decide where to eat; Papa wanted to eat at a Chinese resto, and this was unacceptable because one, I'm not fond of Chinese food and two, you don't go to Boracay to eat at Mongkok Noodles or whatever place that was, of which there are dozens of outlets in Metro Manila.
I left them and went straight to the beach. Aha. Nice. I convinced them to eat at Aria, this place right on the sand. The restaurant lays out banigs on the sand, places a low table in the middle, throws large, khaki cushions all around, lights a candle and voila, dinner by the beach. Neighboring restaurants all along that strip have similar strategies, but Aria has a lighter ambience. You can lie on the sand if you want and stare up at the coconut trees, or watch a peformance by some flame-twirlers (I don't know what to call them. They dip ropes gasoline, light them up and swirl them around in cirsle. It was fun for the first 15 minutes.). Plus I was intrigued by the fact that it's owned by that guy Elizalde who's the boyfriend of Bianca Araneta (and the cause of her currently bulging tummy). Wala lang, chismosa lang ako.
In fairness, Aria serves up yummy Italian food at reasonable prices. Good eats. I thought, hey, the night just might end well, after all.
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