Helen and I on the boat, blissfully unaware of what we are in for

It’s funny how the best stories and most vivid memories of my trip usually lie in the journey, not the destination. I suppose that’s how life works as well.

Time to move on again. Helen and I are sad to leave the fun and excitement and social overload of Boracay. I really feel like I have made some genuine friends here, and though I’m confident I will see most of them again, I’m sad to say good bye. But the sadness is short lived because I know new adventures and friends await on the island of Malapascua. And of course I’m happy to be travelling with Helen.

That morning, backpacks in tow, Helen and I hop on a trike to the harbor. We take boat to Caliclan. We get on a mini bus to the Kalibo airport.

“This is the airport?” I ask as we pull up to what looks like an oversized dilapidated shack.

“Must be,” Helen replies. We giggle. Everything in the Philippines seems to be entertaining.

“Let the gong show begin,” I say.

She laughs. It’s an English expression I taught her, one very appropriate for the Philippines.

We stand in line to check in and shake our heads at sign on the counter that says “Computer systems down, please bear with us.” We’re not sure how they are going to check us in, but they do.

Signs at airports saying "Computers down, please bear with us" do not instill confidence

We go through airport security. After travelling in the States for work as much as I do, I have learned to fear airport security and their long lines, stern faces, and the fact that the bag xray machines usually find something semi-valuable lurking in my bag accidentally that is not allowed on the plane.

But the xray machine at this sad excuse for an airport has a sign on it that says “Out of order.”

There are 3 people sitting at a table. They ask to open our bags. I have several zippers. A lady opens one to expose a red sweater, pokes the sweater with her index finger half heartedly twice, and proclaims me free to get on the airplane.

Neither do "Out of order" xray machines

Yup, this is airport security

I need to use the bathroom, which I can see by the sign is called a “Comfort Room”. Ironically enough, it is absolutely disgusting despite the following sign is on the wall.

Calling this bathroom a "Comfort Room" is ludicrous

Despite the sign on the wall, the bathroom is absolutely disgusting

We find a little coffee shop upstairs and order a coffee. We still have 1/2 hour until our flight takes off, and boarding is 15 minutes prior to. We are enjoying our drinks, laughing at the airport, when a breathless security guard runs up to us. “Cebu?” He asks frantically. “Yes,” we reply (Cebu is the city we are flying to).

“Hurry! Time to board!”

I guess their paging system is down too. We find it comical that we are chased down by airport authorities to board the plane. I can just see them saying, “Find the two dumb blondes roaming around…”

But it was unnecessary. We are one of the first to board the plane. I’m pretty sure they just can’t do a boarding call in that airport, so have to resort to manually tracking everyone down.

Fortunately everything on the airplane seemed to be working because we make it to Cebu. We taxi to the bus station and catch a local bus to Maya. It’s the equivalent of $3 for a 4 hour ride. You get what you pay for. Like all local buses, it’s very uncomfortable and devoid of all shocks. There are no other tourists on this bus. The bus driver treats it like a race car, and the roads are bad and windy. It feels more like riding a horse. We each have our own school bus type bench seat and are sitting across from each other, both wearing canvas style shorts. We slide around the seats at every corner, gripping the seat in front of us just to keep from flying into the aisle. I finally doze off at one point and wake up with such a powerful jolt that I fear whiplash.

Me in my skuzzed out traveller look (don't comb my hair for days, no makeup, semi-dirty clothes) attempting to read The Lonely Planet on the bus

Helen looks at me and laughs. “Your bum went up in the air, right off the seat,” she says in her Swedish accent.

I can only shake my head. I’m not surprised. “We call that air time in English,” I tell her.

She laughs. “You’ve had lots of air time on this bus.”

4 hours later it’s over, and we feel like a couple of dice in a Yatzee cup who have just been shaken and tossed for hours. Fortunately Helen had the foresight to pull out the Gravol before the trip.

This is how I had to get on the boat with my backpacks

Now we’re at a harbor and have to take a 1/2 boat ride to Malapascua island. Getting on the boat is outrageous: we have to walk over a patch of crazy rocks and climb this precarious little wooden thing to get on the boat, with about 50lbs of weight in the form of 2 backpacks. I almost fall over; a local grabs me just in time and he almost goes over too. Fortunately we find our equilibrium just in the nick of time.

So now we’re on the boat, the last form of transportation to our destination, tired. Within 5 minutes it starts to rain and the water grows alarmingly choppy. We start to get wet. Our stuff starts to get wet. 15 minutes later we’re soaked and shivering and eyeing our equally drenched backpacks with despair. We manage to huddle our valuables (ipods, computer, camera) under a plastic canvas but it’s still suspicious. We cuddle together for warmth.

(Interjection: I have quickly realized that when you meet fellow travellers, you become very comfortable with each other very quickly. Comfortable silence is promptly achieved. You know about each other’s digestive problems, because let’s face it, every traveller has them. You automatically have a lot in common just by travelling, but beyond that, I notice travellers share many traits: adventuresome, indepedent, forward-thinking, politically liberal, highly tolerant, smokers and partiers, vegetarians, not interested in organized religion, compassionate, animal lovers, etc. Disclaimer: Those close to me know I don’t share all these traits.

Anyway, as we are shivering on the boat, trying not to be miserable, watching our stuff get soaked, we find out that there are no ATMs on this island. The closest ATM is an hour bus ride from Maya, where we just launched the boat from. We exchange withering looks. We’ll have to make the trip in the next day or so just to get cash, and it’s not a nice thought. I mean, come on, a 3-4 journey round trip just to get cash! I’ve never ever encountered this before in all my travels.

Finally we arrive on the shore, looking like we have just been charasmatically baptized. It’s now almost dark, our stuff is soaked, it’s pouring, and we have no room for the night. .

After an unsuccessful attempt, we do eventually find a room as we walk through the pouring rain, tying to assess lodging options in the dark. Once we get to our room, we scope out the damage on our bags. Our electronics work. My books are pretty soggy. My clothes are extremely wet. My backpack is soaked. We unpack everything and hang it all around to dry, go to bed early, and are thankful that the day is over and we’re on the island.

I’m also thankful I’m with Helen. It’s much easier to see the humor in days like this when I’m with someone else.

Days later we still try to dry out our stuff, but the humidity makes it almost impossible