My aunts/cousins/nieces dropped me off at the MNL domestic airport. The atmosphere was a mix of a cattle-herd-meets-DMV-waiting-line. So humorous and odd. Lots of irate tourists, especially from Korea (there was a tour group on my flight to Caticlan/Boracay), who just couldn't grasp the laid back Filipino-way of doing things.
Late flight? No problem. It'll show up. Eventually.
There were storms in Boracay which had delayed and cancelled a number of flights to and from MNL. Luckily, I was able to catch an earlier flight than my originally scheduled one (which was subsequently cancelled).
In hand, I toted a styrofoam cooler containing 4 Big Macs for Uli, the kitesurf instructor. When I got to security, they asked me if I had any liquids in the cooler (because of the recent airline terrorism plot in the UK.)
"No. Just Big Macs from McDonalds."
"Big Macs? No liquids? No drinks? Just Big Macs?"
"Yes. No liquids. Just Big Macs."
"Ok. Your plane is at terminal 2."
"Thanks!"
The flight was fine. Fourty-five minutes to Caticlan on a rickety DeHavilland twin-prop packed with Korean tourists (and me of course.) God, I wanted to strangle some of those children. Grrrr..... otherwise, an uneventful trip. At this point, I just wanted to get to Boracay. I could overlook the decrepitness of the aircraft. Just get me there.
I arrived at the open-air airport at Caticlan. Let's just say that you have to see the pictures. No radar tower. The pilots have to visually be able to see the runway in order to land. Luckily, the rainstorms from earlier in the day had abatted.
Did I mention it was an open-air airport? From the "lobby" I could watch the staff unloading the plane... probably a couple hundred feet away. They carted all of the bags over to a table that divided the outside from the inside. I saw my prized Rimowa, pointed to it, and received it from the kind attendant.
I muddled my way through the lost herd of korean tourists. Ugh... they were like lost sheep with out lil Bo Peep. Get out of my way... I know what I'm doing here.
I walked over to the tricycle stand, loaded the suitcase, and hopped into the sidecar. Now off to the ferry... aka "pump boats." The tricycle (as loud, noisy, and noxious as always) climbed through winding hills on a paved road (thank God for that) to the ferry station.
When we arrived, a young guy came up to the tricycle and pointed to my suitcase. I nodded acquiescently to him. I knew what would happen next. The "bellhop" picked up my case, lugged it on his head, and walked me the rest of the way to the ticket counter. He dutifully stood by me as I paid my ferry fee and then followed me down to the beach.
Yes. I said beach. No docks. A beach lined with pump boats (see pictures) and planks that ran from the sand through the water and onto the boat. I had been forewarned of getting wet and had worn shorts and sandals. The other tourists were not so prepared.
The Korean tourists were acting like babies scared of getting wet, so other "bellhops" would allow individuals a piggy back ride onto the boat. Imagine a 50 year old Korean tourist, with digital camera bag, khakis, a polo, nice shoes... riding piggy back on a skinny filipino kid with a t-shirt, shorts, and flip-flops. The scene was utterly laughable.
In the meanwhile, my porter had made his way onto the boat and had loaded my case onto the roof with the other luggage. I barged my way up the plank. "Geezus people. Get out of my way. We're going to an island. You're going to get f**king wet," I mumbled to myself... though half-not-caring if anyone understood me. I found my porter and gave him a generous tip. He's helping me to get closer to my destination.
With the boat loaded to the hilt, I thought to myself, "hmmm... is this what's the scene is like pre-ferry disaster?" The water was warm and I could swim. Eventually, I dismissed any notion of a ferry disaster as I observed the calm sea channel separating us from my beloved Boracay.
I just wanted to get the f**k to the #$%$#%$ island. Get me away from these amateur travellers.
Fifteen minutes later, we were across the channel. Now reverse chaotic scenario disembarking the ship. I cleverly navigated my way through the tourist lemmings and trampled down the plank. I saw my beloved Rimowa being hauled from the boat. Again, I pointed (no words), and Rimowa made its way to its owner. With another porter by my side (carrying my suitcase on his head), we headed to the tricycles and found a driver.
Another 15 minutes of winding hilly roads on a pollution machine, and I had arrived at the White Beach. My first destination would be Victory Divers. There I would find Uli... and from there I would find lodging.
The tricycle driver charged me an outrageous price... some 3x more than a typical tricycle ride in MNL or CC. Go figure... I was in tourist central. Unfortunately, I didn't have any small bills, and he had no change. So I told him to follow me. Oh, and yeah, carry my Rimowa, bitch. You want to overcharge me? I'm going to make you work for it. Besides, some of the alleyways were flooded just a tad.
We walked for what seemed like 10 minutes. Finally I found Uli at the dive shop.
"Here are the Big Macs you requested..." I said with a wink and a smile. Very funny moment.
Uli paid the tricycle driver for me in exchange for the Big Macs (granted, I'm talking $2USD here... but its the PRINCIPLE of the matter... it should have been a $0.75 ride!)
Fast forward through the pleasantries and hellos with the rest of the dive shop. Reservations were made for me at Alice in Wonderland (see pics.) Yet another porter (they seem to be ubiquitous) hauled my case for the 10 minute walk to the lodging.
I was finally in Boracay.
Whew.
My first afternoon was spent at happy hour. God, I needed a drink. San Miguel Beer never tasted so good.
