Siargao. Malapascua. Moalboal. Bantayan. Boracay. Oh sunworshippers! As the temperature soared this week to 34 degrees, who could resist the temptation?
By far, only Moalboal's lure made my travel mate Juvielyn and I answered the call of the surf.
As all-time happy campers, we bluelist Bantayan on top. With the Holy Week time bomb ticking every single second, we raced to the terminal in an Amazing Race fashion.
Inside the SM-bound KMK Bus, we traded lists of possible disasters in transporation and accomodation. No reservations. No guide book. No Idea. That sums up to a zilch.
Moalboal, about two-hour drive southside of Cebu grins like, well, Catwoman. The last time its paws sank into my skin was eight years ago. Before my college barkada disbanded. I was smitten by the long stretch of Basdaku's white beach. It was far from crowded. Awfully perfect. Just the way I like it.
As soon as the cab driver pulled over, we jumped into a Librando bus. But the noon heat pushed our limits. Good thing, a kolorum van-for-hire parked a few steps away. The hundred peso fare was well worth it. The two of us were lounged like royalties at the backseat. Breezy. Business class seats-like. The other passengers seated behind us- just so few of them, I could count in one hand.
At first, I glanced my mate, then flashed a knowing smile. A couple of Bibles and religious pamplets were strewn in the dashboard. I was thinking, "Oh no, this is one religious denomination campaign in the middle of a heat stroke! Debate. Duck for cover!." There were about five neckties that comfortably hang on the rear view mirror. "I hope this fella aint a comrade of PBMA or any radical group. Moreso, I hope the tolerance level is high." All I need was to levitate in sand dunes on the two-hour drive.
As we snaked the Carcar-Barili road, Christian music played on the airwaves. Good sign. The fella on the wheel kept the good verve. Except for some occasional coughing. When we reached the town, whilst the door opened, we were greeted with a warm smile and a wisecrack. It was a respite from the silenced drive. I slapped them a safe trip.
We arrived in the Poblacion just before sun set. Took a full meal in a carenderia across the church, took a habal-habal toward the beach and set-up the tent. *let me warn you that habal-habal and trike drivers in Moalboal are savages. We ended-up like pingpong balls than mobbed celebrities. Panic attack! Asserting they should drive us to the beach. Pucha! We were in a dilemna. We hiked a few meters toward the Central school, away from where they grouped. One braved, and followed us. He looked rather harmless. I feared the drivers we did not choose might avenge at a later time. So much of reading fiction. For forty pesos, we arrived at the beachfront. That excludes the five peso per head entrance fee.
A hundred or so pitched tents ahead of us. We settled in a place safe enough for burglars and rainwater. Under a canopy of trees. It proved to be dark and inconvenient. We relocated to an unfilled space by the nipa hut. For two nights, it became our homestead. While the princess snored, este, was in deep slumber, I was curled up in a sleeping bag--like a mummy by the tent's entry.
My mummy-like form always draw curious looks from passersby. But I probaly slept comfortably than the princess frog, este, princess Fiona inside the tent, Bhahahahha.
Rising up at the first strike of daylight, jog at the beach end-to-end, then do some basic Pilates, was the grind. Dang! Life's a beach! for the next two days. Swim. Eat. Rest. Read. Write. Snorkel. Skim board! Oh, skimboard! It was apt to test my aptitude (pun intended). For a hundred per day rental, pucha, who could resist? But Juvy laughed at the idea. On second thought, I don't wanna look like a giunea pig visible to a hundred people in the beach.
Finally, we decided to call it a vacation. Packed up. Paid a visit to the old church (half-way to the ground already. Demolition is ongoing).Said prayers and hailed the city-bound v-hire. Not before a young life was taken at sea, under the early morning sun. The CPR failed to revive the kiddo. May his soul rest in peace....
Spontaneous the plan was. A spin off from a weekend plan in a Bohol hometown to be with my family. The queue at the port was way too long. The next available trip was late afternoon. I could only take so much. I never learned to book in advance. And this time its turning me green with such an oversight.
I willed to spend it in an island town up north, and ended up in a beachfront in the south. I hate melodrama but I miss my folks already. I have to see them before Siargao could run into my veins next month.
