I was doing well too. On day one I’d already visited immigration and the maritime authorities - I had leads of all sorts and life was good as it glistened under the sparkly city sky. I handed a friend my camera as we watched the sun drop down into the bustle, I clambered up a little building and leaped into the air as he clicked away and I clicked to the ground in a ball of pain.
I spent day 2 limping between boat/ yatch/ maritime clubs and busses speaking to any and everyone and plastering notices on whichever sign boards would accept. It wasn’t looking good though; monsoon season has hit and even cargo ships have been rerouted!
…It was weird standing back where I’d hugged mum goodbye only 3 days earlier. I didn’t belong there. I felt like my lunch was going to escape my body. I looked nervously from person to person around me, why were they all so calm?
An hour later I finally found the front of the queue. I was shaking. “I’m sorry ma’am, but unless that bear is boxed, we cannot allow it to board” I should have run away right then, but I didn’t… “May I see your return ticket please?” “Return ticket?” You can't enter the Philipines without an exit ticket. I tried to subtly photoshop one on my laptop but I was a wreck and after an hour of standing I was about to fall over in a ball of pain so, almost in tears, I followed Nini across the airport and allowed her to book and cancel me a return flight to the cheapest destination possible and she telephoned a colleague to check my bag in and another to get Teddy through customs and then she acted as my crutch as we ran to departures where I caught a train across terminals and heard “final call for Miss Adeena…” and then I boarded a bus and a plane and the doors shut and just like that 8 months of flight freeness [and my soul] were destroyed.
The flight was pretty at least.
Two and a half hours was just long enough to calm me down again and when I touched down I was a happy smiling me again – even if it was raining and I was still disabled (They even tried to get me into a wheel chair).
And that’s how I became a Pilipino.
From there it was a staggering 6 jeepneys to Cebu Guesthouse (I might have taken a flight, but taxis are still against my religion) where, even though all the stores were shut, I was lucky enough to meet an American with a broken leg and painkillers and I slept.
A Jeepney |
I woke up to find I had a dorm mate. She’d arrived at 3am after breaking her leg… Bringing 75% of the guesthouse to ‘disabled’… She, being a physio, told me that I should get a good 3 or 4 days of solid rest in and I’d probably be alright. But if I was going to rest, I was going to do it in a hammock…
It’s supposed to only be 3 hours to a little paradise called Loboc. And as I was leaving I found an American heading the same way and together we took a wrong jeepney and then the right one and then a ferry and then a trikee and then another jeepney and we were only a few kilometers away when the wheel blew and the driver lost control and we crashed into the sandy curb where our jeepney was laid to rest.
A Trikee |
The washing of the Teddy the Fourth |
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