(Sort of) Tall and (Not at All) Tan and (Trying to Look) Young and Lovely, the Girl From Quezon City Goes Shuffling...

At 8am last sunday the 8th, I boarded a Cebu Pacific flight to Kalibo, Aklan en route to Boracay with my mom, my sister, her husband, my nephew Jakob who had just turned three that day, his aunt May and other grandmother Angel. I had on my ancient mojos, my right ankle was wrapped in a tight bandage, and I had strung around my shoulders all my beach essentials in a bursting messenger bag, a backpack and a canvas handbag. It wasn't easy lugging all that stuff around with a bad ankle, but I limped along as fast as I could to keep up with the rest of the party.
My nephew, at the tender age of three, having already been to Australia and China, is so used to flying that the first thing he asked us when we took our seats on this first local flight was "where are my headphones?". Then he took down his tray table and said he wanted to eat. It came as a surprise to me that inflight snacks are no longer served, but sold for fifty pesos and upwards. It was surreal to hear the cabin crew calling out "snacks for sale! snacks for sale!" while trundling a cart down the aisle, as if we were having a rest stop in a third class bus and they were vendors hawking espasol and shingaling through the window.
From Kalibo Airport, we hired a van to take us on the hour-and-half ride to the ferry port in Caticlan. From there, we boarded the 20-seater outrigger "Alona" to Boracay island. A multicab took us down the winding road to Station 3, dropped us off at the old site of the talipapa (now dotted with misspelled signs),where we were to walk the rest of the way to Dave's Straw Hat Inn.
Dave's is a little establishment tucked away at the end of a dark alley. Anyone taking his first walk through the ugly path towards the inn will have a pleasant surprise when he reaches the black iron gate, which opens into a lush garden with a pebble-and-flagstone path.
Guests are welcomed at reception with cold tall glasses of mango iced tea, and a friendly white labrador named Freckles will circle the area for a pat on the head.
We never made it to Zuzuni's at Station2 because my mom was hungry enough to have a 3-year old kid for lunch, and she was tired of walking. We ended up at a chicken inasal restaurant that had its tables arranged underneath a thatched hut, with no flooring, just beach sand. The barbecue was excellent, but here's the kicker. There were darling little cats roaming under the tables, but it was a while before we realized they weren't really there to beg for food. I wasn't quite finished with my chicken leg when I saw a small tabby burying a turd in the sand. If you ever find your way to Boracay, best to steer clear of this giant kitty litter box.

It was rather too windy that first day when I went down to the beach, and the waves were much too strong for swimming, so I just sat at the shore and watched the boats go by. I found pieces of glass from a broken bottle where I sat. I picked them up and put them away in my bag. I like to think that I was sent down to that particular spot in the entire beach to save someone from a nasty cut on the foot. I ran back to the inn when it started to rain, and somewhere in the alley that leads to Dave's, I lost my favorite sunglasses and wasn't aware of the loss until many hours later. I only hope that whoever picked it up will go blind.
Jakob's birthday dinner ended with the come-hell-or-high-water (literally) birthday cake, and we retired to our rooms past 9pm. The porch railings were lighted with tea candles in jars; incense sticks burned in the plant boxes, and mosquito coils were set out in the corners. I sat outside writing nonsense in my journal, foot bandaged for the night and propped up on an extra chair. A cute caucasian in a red shirt (yes Renny, the Roger kinda-lookalike) at the reception desk happened to glance at me from across the way. Was he looking because a) I looked good in the porch lighting or b) I looked exceptionally bad in the porch lighting? We'll never know. He left with a woman companion, and I was left to ponder the future of my injured foot. There I was, being all pensive and whatnot when...banzaiiiii!!! A fat rubbery lizard plopped heavily onto the page I was writing on. Scared me so much that I let fly both pen and journal, and the scene-stealing gecko scurried away into the bushes, perhaps to plan its next skyjump into the lap of another complacent tourist.

Day two of the Boracay interlude on my next post!