"Through the ring of fire...through the ring of ice...over the dog-doo stick!!!"

It was Christmas Day night and, believe it or not, I really wanted to get back to Manila. The prevous night I had spent in Besao, a small community north of Sagada. We stayed in Madonna's friend's brother's house for free, but being an ungrateful bastard with no Christmas spirit, I'm going to complain anyway. The place was small and comfortable, but in true bachelor style, it was completely filthy. The women started to cook a Christmas Eve supper of rice with anchovies in tomato sauce, fried dried fish things, and scrambled eggs. To be polite, and because I was starving, I ate everything I was given. Actually, the only real problem I had with any of the food was the discovery of a cockroach. Before water was added to cook the rice the women lifted the lid to find a huge cockroach tap-dancing all over the rice. "God" made dirt so dirt won't hurt... Well "God" made fecal coliforms too, and they fuck you up. Whatever.

We spent the day at the Melicong rice terraces outside of Bontoc. We had to bribe the jeepney driver to leave the village at 2:30 pm instead of the normal 4:00 pm in order to make it back to Bontoc for the 4:00 pm bus to Bagiuo that didn't exist. Faced with the prospect of waiting 13 hours for the next bus, and subsequently over-nighting in Bontoc, I decided to get a 2 hour jeepney to Banauae to get an 8 hour bus to Bagiuo. I said goodbye to my companions and boarded the jeepney, the only other passenger being an elderly lady. The road to Banauae was pant-shittingly scary. The dirt road snaked and weaved its way through the aptly named Mountain Province, on one side a nearly vertical wall of rock and vegetation, on the other a nearly vertical cliff. The drop had to be over 1000 feet. It was pouring rain and very misty/cloudy. Rivers were forming on the road and we were constantly passing huge mounds of rubble and vegetation that had come loose from the mountain and fallen into the road. This often reduced the road to a single lane. I remember we had to pass one gigantic mound of rock and soil with a huge tree sticking out of it. Looking out the back door of the jeepney I could see how close to the edge we had come. The tire tracks cut deep grooves in the muddy road less than a foot from the edge. Looking at it made me physically ill and only enforced the image of us plunging off the side of the mountain. The fact that the driver seemed completely unconcerned did little to ease my mind.

The lady and I had a conversation and we got to know each other a little. Her name was Gladys and she lived in Banauae but was also travelling to Bagiuo to attend a relatives funeral, so we would be rising the bus together. I would later find out on that bus ride that Gladys had been in an accident on that mountain road. The jeepney's steering column had stopped responding and instead of taking a left they had taken a down. Gladys ended up with a fractured jaw, a broken collar bone, a partially caved in skull, and broken arms and legs. She spent 3 months in the hospital. Other weren't so "lucky" and were killed. In addition to the injuries, I'm assuming Gladys also received a "Hard as Fuck" certificate from the Philippine government and a signed apology from Death. I'm just glad she told me this on the bus and not in the jeepney because I would have fainted and rolled out the back.

We finally get to Banauae around 5:30 pm. The next bus was to leave at 6:00 pm, so we had just enough time for a quick bite to eat. Gladys took me to a friend's restaurant (Vegas Eatery I think) and we ate some noodles. After paying, picking up some headache meds, and a water, we trotted back to the bus only to find it gone. For the first fucking time since I arrived in the Philippines something happened on time, leaving us in the dark and a torrential downpour. At this point I was physically exhausted from waking up at 6:00 am and trekking around rice terraces all day, and mentally exhausted from trying not to picture myself crawling out of a mangled jeepney on broken arms and legs, so I had resigned and started walking across the road to sleep in the ditch. Luckily for me, Gladys ain't goin' down like dat, and was all over the situation. She texted the bus terminal, hailed a tricycle, and ordered the driver to speed after the bus. She hopped in the passenger seat, I hopped on the back of the bike, and we fucking gunned it. We were weaving in and out of traffic in the pitch black on a rain slick road in the mountains at an unreasonable speed. It was like a scene from a bootleg knockoff version of "The French Connection". To my surprise and delight we actually caught up to the bus at which point the tricycle driver pulled some sweet suicycle Lance Murdock 180 skid to cut off the bus. I was impressed with the kid and gave him a nice tip.

So we spent the next 8 hours on the bus to Bagiuo, chatting about this and that, reading, sleeping, and being uncomfortable and bored. When we got to Bagiuo at 3:00 am I said goodbye to Gladys and got on yet another bus to Manila. I was one of the last passenger to board. There were 2 free seats in the back so I sat in the window seat and waited for the bus to leave. I'm beginning to think that I may be alone in the back when a dude sits next to me with a little boy on his lap.

"Great..."

About 20 minutes into the trip the kid starts making weird burping noises, and before I can process these familiar sounds, the kid fucking vomits all over me. It felt like gravy and smelled like poison. My leg, crotch, book bag, duffle bag, and foot are covered. Saturated. Earlier that day I had mis-stepped on a rice terrace and gone knee-deep in mud/moss/shit. As a result, I was wearing my shitty shower sandals, so I had the added pleasure of feeling the putrid liquid between my toes and under my heel.

The father says he's "So sorry sir" and gives me a half-assed pat-down with his shitty barf rag. He then goes back to tending to his kid and I go back to marinating. The kid looked like he was on Death's door, so that took most of the angry wind out of my sails. But, when the father made no attempt to do anything further I decided I couldn't sit in human effluent for 8 hours. I noticed him talking to a woman further up the bus so I tap him and said, "I'm switching places with your wife". I got up, dripping chunky shit-brown liquid and smelling like rotten McNuggets, slipping around in the aisle on the bus weaved through the mountains. It was fucking horrible.

I finally arrived back in Manila at 11:00 am where I was promptly ripped off by a cab driver. A fitting end to a ridiculous journey. Now, as I write this, my stomach is rolling and I'm chomping down the Pepto Bismol tabs.

I hate kids.

Get Away from my Junk

I'm back in Manila for a few days after traveling north to Bagiuo, Sagada, Bontoc, Besao, and Banaue. A lot of shit has happened, and I'm a little pressed for time because this internet cafe is expensive and noisy (there are about fifteen Koreans playing Counterstrike and StarCraft at full blast while another kid is having the time of his life listening to Cartman sing "Kyle's Mom's a Bitch") so this won't be a comprehensive report. The last few days have been some of the most exciting, terrifying, disgusting, and memorable moments of my life. Let us break it down:

I left Puerto Princesa on the 20th and arrived in Malate (part of Metro Manila) that same day. Andrew was here for the day so he showed me around a little:

"Here's the internet cafe, there's the Starbucks, here's homeless family, there's a group of transvestite prostitutes..." And so on.

Actually I'm tempted not to write this, but here goes. We walked up the road, past the homeless family and were approached by the lady-boy hookers. We ignored the cat-calls and whistles but I had to respond when one of them grabbed me in a bear hug from behind. I wriggled away by twisting his wrist and narrowly avoided getting grabbed by the junk. Helllloo Manila!!

Andrew left the next day and I explored the city a bit on my own. North of Malate is the city of Intramurous, a walled city within a city dating back to Spanish colonial time. I took a lot of pictures and I'll post them on Facebook when I get back to Puerto. On the way to Intramurous I was approached by five or six outstanding gentlemen who tried to sell me everything from genuine Molex watches to Raybad sunglasses. My favorite was the seedy, sallow little man who slunk out of an alley with a brochure. The brochure had pictures of guns all up and down the inside. I figured he was providing me with options as to how I was to be mugged, but I was wrong. This guns were merely a small sample of the variety of weapons I could shoot at his firing range. I said I wasn't interested, which was a bold-faced lie, and started to walk away. It was at this point that he pulled out another brochure with pictures of women all up and down. Oh Manila....you scamp.

The next day I met Madonna (a friend from World Vision in Puerto) at the bus terminal and we continued our journey to Bagiuo. Bagiuo is a beautiful city that sort of looks like Corner Brook. It's a city of about 300,000 built on very hilly terrain, so the roads are constantly snaking up and down in every-which direction. I took a bunch of photos that I'll post on Facebook when I get the chance. While here I visited a few neat places starting with the Strawberry Fields of La Trinadad. I bought two bottles of homemade strawberry wine and a jar of strawberry jam. The wine ended up leaking all over my bag, ruining my guidebook, staining my clothes, and saturating my camera which then became a delicious home for teeny tiny ants. I left the jam in the fridge of the place I was staying. So, besides all the pictures I snapped, all I took away from La Trinadad was a kickass hammock and the memory of eating one day old chick. Sam, Madonna's friend and our guide, bought it for me and to be polite I tried some. It's exactly what it sounds like: a one day old baby chick with a stick rammed up its ass and out of its neck, roasted to "perfection". You're supposed to eat the whole thing - head, guts, bones and all. For the record, it tasted absolutely nothing like chicken. Madonna insists it's delicious, but she's a liar. Delicious is very very subjective concept. I suppose it is delicious when compared to something relatively more foul (ie. a chunk of shit), but on it's own it's disgusting. It's a shame too. It could've grown up to be a hearty soup or a nugget. Poor little guy didn't even get a chance to be delicious. Breaks my heart.

We also visted Mines View, a grand lookout over Bagiuo's mountainous terrain, and Camp John Hay, a popular picnic location in the same vein as Bowring Park, just hillier. I guess I should also mention that Bagiuo is pretty damn cold. At night it drops to about 5 degrees. On the way to Bagiuo we had to drive through a mountain range in Benguet province. It was so far up in the mountains, and at such a high altitude that it actually began to snow. Nuts.

One of my favorite parts of this mini-vacation was trekking through a huge cave network in Sagada, a town north of Bagiuo. We hired a guide in Sagada and walked 20 minutes to the mouth of the cave. I was told to wear sandals and shorts because there were parts of the cave where you had to submerge yourself in order to pass. I don't have a decent pair of sandals, but since I didn't want to ruin my jaw-dropping Sonnix I decided to wear my shitty shower sandals that are barely even good for standing in, let alone traversing slippy limestone escarpments. I'd like to take this opportunity to discuss the complete lack of safety provided by this tour. The guide had us climbing over wet, slippery rocks above sheer drops. At one point we had to shimmy, barefoot, down between two rock walls with a waterfall running over us. We also had to use a rope to climb a near vertical cliff. I never really expected anything different. After all, it's not unusual to see a family of five buzzing through the city on a motorcycle. Dad in front, baby balanced on his lap; mom in back, groceries in one hand, infant in the other; big brother or sister hanging off the back; all gloriously helmet free. The cave was pretty awesome though. We were crawling all over the place like fucking spider monkeys, slipping in the water and wading though chest deep underground lakes.

I wrote another entry in my notebook about my experience back to Manila. It covers more of the terrifying and disgusting elements of my journey, so I'll post that soon. I'm in Legaspi now and have already booked a day trip to climb Mt. Mayon and hike around the lava fields. Should be fun. I've only been in Legaspi a few hours and I already can't wait to get out. Msybe I'm just in a bad mood, but most people here seem to have brain damage. It took 15 minutes, 15 fucking minutes, to explain to the saleslady that yes, I do want a medium sized raincoat, but no, I do not want it in neon pink. This escaped her. I went to the supermarket to buy a bottle of water and an apple and no less than 20 people rammed into me from every possible direction, always looking in the opposite direction or at their feet. Come on people...two year olds do that.

That's all for now.

Absoutely Devastated

I was on the way home from Itoy's coffee house last night and I managed to leave my Hartford Whalers hat in the tricycle. It was by far my favorite hat and the best gift I've ever been given. I'm devastated. There's a small chance I might see the tricycle driver again. We were chatting briefly, and i left him a decent tip, so he may seek me out if he sees me on the street, but I'm not counting on it.

Goodbye vintage Whaler's hat.

Big Christmas She-nans

I guess it’s time for another one of these blog thingamajiggers. A fucking EPIC thingamajigger!

The Meth-Cat contest has gotten some pretty good entries so far. Keep ‘em coming.

The original Christmas break plan was to jazz around the Philippine islands with Jimmy. This has changed. Jimmy now has familial obligations and Andrew has plans with his girlfriend. Instead of crying in my soup I decided to grow a pair and travel by myself. To ensure I don’t puss out I just finalized buying a ticket to Manila for the 20^th and a ticket “home” (Puerto Princesa City) from Cebu City for January 7^th. The combined cost of both tickets is around $90. Holy shit.

The plan as of right now is to fly to Manila on the 20^th and stay in Malate. Andrew usually stays at a place called Malate Pension, and he says it’s alright, so I think I’m going to check it out. Manila is a huge city comprised of ten districts. Malate is one of these districts and has a reputation for being the tourist capital of Manila. I figured since I’m a first time traveller Malate would be my best bet. It increases my chance of meeting up with other travellers. Since Manila scares the living shit out of me, this is a good thing. Maybe I’m giving Manila to much flack. I only briefly travelled through part of the city on my way to Puerto, but what I saw made quite the first impression. It doesn’t help that everyone I talk to about Manila has tips and tricks of how not to get robbed, beat down, or unknowingly solicit prostitution. You can probably understand my apprehension. You also may be wondering “Well why the fuck are you going then?” My response: Manila is a huge urban center, the likes of which I have never experienced. The closest thing to a “Manila” in Canada would be Toronto, which is really no comparison at all. Last time I checked Toronto had around 4 million people. Manila has 15 million. I always wanted to go to Toronto to see a big city. Skyscrapers, a vibrant downtown, all that shit. Now I have the chance to see nearly four Toronto’s all smashed into one. That means Manila must be four times as awesome! Airtight mathematics.

Four Torontos.

Also, Manila is one of the easiest places to travel to. It’s a great hub city to branch out from. Since my next destination, Legaspi, is reasonably close to Manila, I figure I might as well stay for a few days to soak in the sights, sounds, tastes, and crimes. Being a lifelong student of the School of Cynicism, working towards a joint major in scepticology and scepticonomy, I issue the following challenge to Manila: Manila, I know you’re reading this. I heard from a friend of a friend that you were kind of an asshole...no offence. I want to start off on the right foot though. I guess I shouldn’t have said I heard you were an asshole then, huh? Ok, listen, I’m sorry about the asshole remark. No, listen. I mean it. I was out of line. Let’s start again. *Ahem* Manila I heard from a friend of a friend that you could be a bit of a handful. A bit standoffish. A little curt and frank. I don’t want to believe them, I really don’t, but my educational background prevents me from accepting anything different. Maybe you can show me different Manila, show me you’re not the big bad monster everyone has you made out to be. Prove them wrong Manila. Prove them wrong.

After Manila has its way with me I’m travelling to Legaspi to se Mt. Mayon. Mt. Mayon is an active volcano and has been described as the world’s most perfect volcano. Apparently its shape is liken to the classic storybook image of generic volcano. I’m going to hire a guide and do a day-hike up its side. Currently it’s at a caution level of 2. I’m led to believe this is fairly safe. In 1993 a bunch of volcanologists were blown to pieces and probably melted alive when Mt. Mayon exploded beneath them. When all was said and done 77 people were killed and Level 5 was taken that much more seriously. I’m totally pumped. Volcanoes are the shit.

Mt. Mayon. I'm climbing this!

After Legaspi I’m going to catch the ferry south to Cebu and from there another ferry east to Bohol. Bohol is home to the Chocolate Hills and the tarsier monkeys. The Chocolate Hills are a group of a few thousand large hills formed by what scientists believe to be the coastal uplift of coral. They are lightly vegetated with grasses. During the summer the grasses are scorched by the heat of the sun and turn brown. When this happens they look like, wait for it, chocolate. Ingenious!

The tarsier monkeys are the world’s smallest primates and hold the distinction of being so ugly they’re cute. If you were inclined to grasp one of the charming little monsters you would be able to fit it in the palm of your hand. There is a reserve in Bohol dedicated to the preservation of the tarsiers and I’m going to check it out.

I wish I could type a word to express "Awwww" and "Ewwww" at the same time.

After Bohol I might head west and check out Boracay. Boracay is one of those places you might see on “Wild On...” at 3:00 a.m. with drunken American girls flashing their titties all over the place and drunken American jock retards vomiting over said titties. Certainly sounds good on paper, but the time taken to get there, and the chance that once there I might not even be able to find a place to stay, doesn’t appeal to me. Boracay’s definitely one of those places that you experience with a few buddies and no cameras. Who knows, I may sleaze my way over there, but I don’t have my heart set on it.

Boracay (probably).

I have my return ticket booked from Cebu, so I get to check out Cebu city for a few days as well. I hear it’s basically Manila junior. Should be an interesting place.

This Christmas is going to be exciting and strange at the same time. I’ve never spent a Christmas away from my friends and family before. Now I’m going to experience that with the added craziness of being in the Philippines. I’m especially going to miss Christmas Eve at my Uncle George’s house. We don’t have many traditions in our family, hardly any actually, but every year since I’ve been a little boy we’ve spent Christmas Eve at George’s. When we were younger, Jordan and I would hole up in the basement and play whatever videogame system was popular at the time. Favourite memories include Bart vs the World for NES, Turok: Dinosaur Hunter for N64, and Street Fighter III: third Strike for the poor old Dreamcast. Ahhhhh, good memories. Lately we’ve added getting sauced to the equation with positive results. I’m definitely going to miss this.

Fuck Rudolph, Urien punching Hugo in the feet screams Christmas.

See, this is what happens when I wait over a week to wipe my thoughts on my blog; massive overflow. In other news I have a fat guy following me around on a motorcycle. I’m not even kidding. I think fatty means me harm but fortunately for me and unfortunately for him I’m intelligent and he’s a fat idiot. I’ll tell you about it next time.

You’re not getting my iPod you big fat asshole!

Meth-Cat Contest!!

Meth-Cat is a lot like a cancer.

Over the course of the past few months Meth-Cat has been steadily growing on me. Also like cancer, unless treated with the proper regiment of drugs I'm positive he will kill me. So why am I so fond of this emaciated degenerate thief? This furry purring menace? Hard to say really. Maybe I'm scared to death of him and he's making me type these sentences with a razor sharp claw pressed to my neck. Or maybe it's something simpler. Maybe, just maybe, he's metastasized to my heart.

This is where you come in. I love to caption Meth-Cat's iconic image and, believe or not, he loves it too. Since I'm all out of wallets to steal and iPods to hock his meth bag is dangerously close to empty. Maybe just the right caption will sway the needle of his cold heart from "kill" to "torture" and you'll all get to see me again with plenty of anecdotes about my oddly shaped scars and burns. So how about it? Here's the photo:


So what's the caption?!!?!

The winner, as judged by Meth-Cat, gets a totally awesome and unique gift! OMGZ!!!!!

*Few will enter, fewer will win.

A Grade Three Reaction

Waking up early is crap. The Nokia alarm goes off at 7:00 a.m. and I experience what I like to call my Grade Three Reaction©. That could be interpreted in any number of ways, so allow me to explain. The Grade Three Reaction© originated in...um...grade three. Elementary grade three was a milestone year and particularly memorable for three awful reasons. From least awful to most awful:

3. The folks broke down and bought me a Nintendo GameBoy (God bless them). It was a monochromatic beast, eating batteries and shitting entertainment. I don’t even want to guess how many hours I sunk into Tetris and Super Mario Land, so I’m going to go with a metric lot. Another kid in my class (Gerard Scott, the little bastard) “accidently” took my GameBoy home after school one day, and I ended up with his. I didn’t notice until I got home. When I turned the unit around to pop in some Balloon Fight I noticed the back of the case was all scratched and dented and actually leaking battery acid. The front screen was also scratched and chipped. The conniving little shit swapped my pristine item for his busted-ass hunk of trash. I could never get him to bring in my original, and when he finally did it was in even worse shape than his old system. He ruined my favourite toy. It broke my heart.

It was approximately this bad.

2. I found out Santa Claus wasn’t real. There was only one jolly fat guy who brought the presents and he slept next to Mom. It broke my heart.

And, without further adieu, the actual genesis of the Grade Three Reaction©:

1. My teacher, Sister Mona. It sounds anticlimactic but she was the most wretched, unloving, unsympathetic nun who ever taught. She repeatedly berated children and made them cry. She once told a child to stop running in the playground, and being a kid from a different class, with a human teacher, he thought he had a good grasp on what was and was not acceptable behaviour and what he could and could not get away with. He was wrong and ended up finding out the face-first-in-the-gravel-via-malicious-nun way. She was genuinely awful. She made me think of a new retarded excuse not to go to school every day. Every single day. If I didn’t have a critical stomach condition I was suffering from a vicious head cold. Mom didn’t believe my bullshit. At the time as far as I was concerned, she was an unfit mother. Nuns broke my spirit.

To summarize, the Grade Three Reaction© is a sinking feeling I get in my stomach. It’s comparable to waking up every morning and dreading going to grade three, a condition I’m sure none of you had. Basically it’s a sinking feeling of unease and distress. It’s awful.

Where was I........? Oh right. Today I was to talk to Jimmy’s creative writing class. The topic was Newfoundland: An Overview. The 7:00 a.m. alarm buzzed and I immediately felt that sinking feeling. Public speaking has always been a fear of mine, a debilitating fear. Speaking to a group of young students shouldn’t evoke this reaction, but for some reason it did. It turned out to be completely unnecessary though because the talk went great. I got up, did my thing, and answered questions such as:

“Do you find Filipino women attractive?”

And

“Are you looking to get married?”

...

I like to think I’ve made a difference today.

Overall it was a good talk. The students seemed to enjoy the bits they understood and I was much more comfortable that I thought possible. The Grade Three Reaction© was, as never before, actually baseless! Hmmm, maybe this means I was all wrong about Santa after all!

Gerard Scott’s still a douchebag though.

The Dizzy Reed of Posts

I went back to the hospital today. No strange rice-related illness this time, just a straight-up cold. Usually I’d just ride it out, but my eyes have become inflamed to the point where it hurts to be awake. I fixed that little problem yesterday by taking four extra strength cold and sinus Tylenol, the extra drowsy shit. After waking up from my 14 hour nap I still felt terrible and decided that over-the-counter self medication was a short-term solution at best. I went to the hospital and saw the same infectious disease doctor as last time. Blood-work and a facial x-ray later I had my diagnosis: I was home to a wonderful bacterial infection. Also, my blood was packed with allergens. This is what she told me. When I asked what I was allergic to the Doc kind of shrugged it off and wrote a prescription for some random drug. Whatever.

Matthew Walsh

I now have four prescriptions and a written suggestion (?) for an over-the-counter anti-bacterial soap for sensitive skin. I also got some free tips such as: “Wash your face” and “Don’t put your fingers in your eyes”. Finally, a doctor who tells it like it is.

The above paragraphs were written a few days ago. Since then I’ve been on the good drugs and feel 100% better. It’s amazing what blind trust in random drugs can do for a person. Not only do I feel better, but I look better too. For a few days I had some serious zombie eyes going on. It was so bad that I didn’t even want to go out in public, afraid that the locals would think I was some recovering World of Warcraft degenerate or Pete Doherty.

Not Matthew Walsh

To celebrate my recovery Andrew and I rented a motorcycle and went to Nagtabon Beach today. Man oh man what a beautiful spot. I took a bunch of pictures that I will eventually post on my Facebook account. We spent the whole day swimming, checking out the beach, and lounging around in the sun. Good times.

On a completely unrelated note, I downloaded the new Guns N’ Roses album a few days ago. Chinese Democracy has become something of a music industry joke, a very long and drawn out joke. I mean, it’s been in the making for the past 14 years, the band itself is now comprised of a constantly changing cast of musicians, and the only original remaining member is Axl Rose. Yes, keyboardist Dizzy Reed is still a member of the band, but he joined the group after the release of Appetite for Destruction, so technically he isn’t an original member. Besides, he’s the fucking keyboardist. No one gives a flying shit about Dizzy Reed. Anyway, the album itself has been in the oven for so long that, inevitably, the hype surrounding it was absolutely huge. Evidence arose early this year confirming that Chinese Democracy was indeed coming out November 2008. The punch-line was on the tip of the collective tongue. Everyone anticipated an unmitigated disaster. It couldn’t possibly match up to the enormous hype, but it in no way is the complete catastrophe the public anticipated. Everyone is entitled to their own opinion, but personally I think the album is shockingly solid. I too was expecting a total bomb but have to admit was utterly blown away by the genuine quality of the album. I’m not a music critic, so I won’t go into great detail of what I do and don’t like about the album (also because I’m sure none of you give a damn). All I can say is check it out for yourselves. Let me know what you think.

Well done Mr. Rose, well done.

So, all in all it was an excellent day. I’m feeling better, I got to experience a beautiful remote beach, and I wrote a wonderfully unnecessary paragraph on Guns N’ Roses that I am absolutely positive none of you give a flying shit about. That paragraph is possibly the Dizzy Reed of paragraphs.

Next week I told jimmy that I’d discuss the history and geography of Newfoundland with his creative writing students. Being a generally awful public speaker, this has “blog entry” written all over it. As a joke I was thinking of putting a bunch of complete bullshit in the presentation (ie. Newfoundland was originally a depot for Irish sex offenders). I have a few better ideas floating around but I’m all ears for suggestions.

Alright everybody, until next time.

Unlimited Sonnix

Ok.

Something has been bugging me for a while now. I have to get it off my chest. Here goes:

For some reason, everyone (at least 70% of everyone anyway) stares at my shoes. Uh huh. My shoes.

When I first got here I started noticing people would look down as I walked by. At first I assumed it was because they were shy. Maybe people over here were just uncomfortable with eye contact. Maybe they were just uncomfortable looking at me. I didn’t put much thought into it.

As time went on I noticed that the people who avoided direct eye contact weren’t just looking down, they were actually looking down and towards me. The first few times I figured I stepped in dog shit so I’d look down too. Eventually I stopped looking for the dog shit I knew wasn’t there (Side note: This screwed me one time as I actually stepped in a heap of dog shit and walked around for who knows how long before I realized it). The good news was I wasn’t stepping in inordinate amounts of crap. The bad news: I was still no closer to solving my mystery.

After another week or so it dawned on me that maybe they were staring at my shoes. I’m the proud owner of a fairly shitty pair of no-name skate shoes that I bought at SportChek for about thirty bucks. They are entirely unremarkable. Maybe if they were some recognizable name brand or had some snazzy design it would have dawned on me sooner, but seeing as they are even shittier now than they were out of the box, this didn’t seem reasonable. I told Andrew the situation and, understandably, he thought I was nuts. A short stroll down Rizal St. was all it took to make him a believer. My dirty, smelly sneaks were celebrities.

Hideous.

I had an idea. I went to NCCC and picked up a new pair of shoes. I needed a new pair anyway as the first pair threatened to call Kids Help Phone if I didn’t ease up on the abuse (that’s terrible). Overall, the new pair is pretty much the same as the old pair. Same basic shape, same basic design, slightly different coloring. The new pair also have a snazzy green 55 stitched on the side, which I assume must be quite cool, because everyone still stares at my feet. I figured a Filipino shoe would fit in better than a foreign shoe, but it seems to stand out just as much. Maybe even more.

The flash conceals most of the grime.

The ladykillers.

I decided to write this post after an incident last night. I went to Jollibee, got some food, went upstairs, and walked to the side of the restaurant to sit down. Before I got to my seat some dude with two young children gave me a half-assed glance and then focused every bit of his concentration on my feet. He was mesmerized, probably by the 55’s. It is a deadly number. The two kids saw dad staring at my feet, decided they were missing out on some once in a lifetime opportunity, and followed suit. I uncomfortable slink over to the table and sit down, the family fixated on my every step.

“Unlimited?” says Dad.

“Huh?”

“Unlimited?” he repeats, pointing down.

Looking down, expecting dog shit for the first time in a while, I look back at him and shrug. I don’t know what he’s getting on with. He points directly at my shoe so I pull my leg out from under the table and look at it with him.

“Ahhhhh, Sonnix” he decides.

Before I can say huh again I look at the tongue of the shoe and, of course, the name brand is Sonnix. I guess I picked a winner with my second pair. Sonnix is probably some huge Filipino brand. And maybe everyone is so enthralled with my other shoes because they kind of look like Sonnix or Unlimited shoes. I guess I just have impeccable taste. Yeah, definitely. So in the end I guess I figured out why people are always staring at my feet. I have exquisite taste in footwear. If my next blog entry is “So I got the shit beat clean out of me for my shitty sneakers" at least you'll have some background info.

"Give me those fucking Sonnix"
Last time I'll use him for a while. I swear.

Fifteen Dirty Little Buggers

I woke up early today to a strange site: A clear and sunny sky. Maybe Mother Nature isn’t such a heartless bitch after all. I was so excited that in my haste to get a quick shower I forgot to bring in the towel and ended up drying myself in my dirty shorts. Nice eh? Whatever, drying my face with filth couldn’t come close to ruining this day. I was in such a good mood that I even gave Meth Cat a wink and “the guns”. After he gave me the finger I bounced downstairs, opened the door, and went outside.

I had you all wrong baby.

Filthy picture care of "Classy" Pat Connolly. He knows allllll the good sites. Sorry ladies, he's taken.

“What a gorgeous day. I have a reeeeal good feeling about today. Yup, today’s going to be a great...*pause*...*sigh*...those little fuckers...”

They slashed my tires. A mob of degenerate children slashed my goddamn bike tires. I didn’t mention it in my previous post, but while fixing up my bike the other day I was surrounded by about fifteen children. They kept asking me questions, poking me (one slapped my ass), begging for money, cursing at me in Tagalog, and generally being little nuisances. In other words, being kids. After I finished pumping the tires and greasing the chain I thanked them for their “help” (“I’m sure glad you guys were around to hold the bike while I greased the chain. I didn’t trust that kickstand”) and went inside to clean up. They probably started messing up my bike the minute I left. My poor bike...

So, today I went to the bike shop and asked how much some new tubes and a gun would cost. The tubes are 80 pesos each, the labour is 30 pesos (15 per tube), and the gun was out of stock.

Grand Total: 190 pesos

Estimated Emotional Damage: All the pesos

I’m only messing around. It’s really not a big deal in the grand scheme of things. I learned a cheap lesson the fairly easy way. They could just as easily have cut the brakes or messed with the chain. Now I know to lock my bike up around back. However, if I do happen to catch them fucking with my bike again I’m going to be out even more money than this time because I’ll have to replace the shoes I lose ramming my foot up their asses.

Today wasn’t all bad. I found a little roadside store on my way home, “Mountain Pickers” I think, that sell fresh fruit. They even peel it and slice it into pieces for you. I got a whole fresh pineapple for about 80 cents! No funny story there; just great value.

Oh, Dave, if you’re reading this, I picked you up two very (in my humble opinion) kick-ass gifts that I hope you’ll enjoy. I’m going to send them out soon. No sense in waiting for me to get home. It’ll probably take a while to get to you, so they can be Christmas, Birthday, Valentine’s Day (rawr), or Easter gifts accordingly. You can make out my gift to 71 Reynoso Street, Puerto Princesa City, Palawan, Philippines. The zip-code is 5300. The shipping might be a few hundred dollars, depending on its size (i.e. big), so make the gift worth the shipping. Better use rush delivery too. That might be a few hundred more but I’m worth it.

Huh? How did that get there?

That's all for now.

No Snappy Title

It’s been raining for almost 24 hours straight now. If my iPod weather report is to believed, this will continue for the next 7 days, at which point a Filipino Noah will float by and rescue me and the meth-head cat from the roof on Aniceto’s Pension. Honest, it says that right there on the screen.

"Listen, i know you're new here, so I'll cut you some slack. You give me your wallet and I don't claw off your fucking face. Ka-peesh? Oh, and your blog sucks."

It’s a pity too; I bought a bike some time ago and used it quite a bit when the weather could be reasoned with. I’ve given up on going to the roof garden and shouting profanities at clouds. Mother Nature is clearly irrational, and I won’t stoop to Her level anymore ... whore. I went to NCCC yesterday to buy a bicycle pump and some grease for my chain (Turns out if you leave a bicycle outside 24/7 the chain gets a bit rusty. Heh, who knew?). I was originally just going to pretend the rust wasn’t there, but after biking 15 feet and hearing what can only be described as bicycle profanity, as well as nearly falling flat on my face from the jerky skipping of the chain over the gears, I decided to cut my bike some slack and treat her right. After all, what’s a couple of bucks for the comfort of knowing my bike won’t disintegrate into a cloud of red dust? People say you can’t put a price on safety. That’s bullshit. Peace of mind costs 115.75 pesos.

The reason I bring this up at all is because I had an epic plan today. My bike was to be fixed and I was to use it. My renewed sense of bike-fancy came from a ride I took two days ago. It was excellent. I went down Manallo St. as far as I could go, and then continued down Manallo Extension and Random Dirt Rd. until I figured I was lost enough. I zigged and zagged through countless side streets until I got my bearings again and began the journey home. As I said, it was excellent. My plan was to blow this excursion out of the water by travelling out the San Pedro highway until I barfed. Then I’d turn around and come back, burnt, dehydrated, and satisfied. I love to explore, and I’ve only seen much of that area through the shoulders of other multicab passengers, so a more hands-on tour would be exciting. Unfortunately, Mother Nature decided to be a bit of an asshole today...and next week...and most of the last two weeks. Bitch.

If it stops raining for an hour tomorrow Jimmy is going to teach me how to ride his motorbike. I’m really looking forward to this. It doesn’t look very hard but since I’ve never tried to ride a motorbike before, let alone a semi-automatic, cautious optimism is on the menu. Riding on top of the bus to Sabang was a laugh. I don’t think being dragged under a bus to Sabang will have the same thrill. Baby steps.

Oh, before I forget, I added a few new gizmos to the right side of the blog. There’s a clock displaying the time in Newfoundland and the Philippines for those of you who always NEED to know. Also, I’ve added a gadget that allows you to officially follow my blog. I don’t really know what’s required in order to make reading this page “official”, but if you are required to sign up for any shit, or think you might get assaulted with penis-enlargement spam, then don’t bother. However, if you want to sign up, or are the risk-taking type (live a little already) then I’d love to see who’s reading it. I’ve actually been quite shocked after learning of some of the people who have been following it.

So there you have it, another potentially entertaining entry. Remember, check out “Follow this Blog” on the right side of the page. You’d make my day. There might even be a bigger penis in it for you.

Fever of Unknown Origin and Other Diseases of Infectious Origin!! ORDER NOW!

It’s been awhile since my last blog entry (I don’t really count the Ice-Cream video as a legit entry, although it is fairly spectacular in its own right). Before I began writing I told myself that the blog shouldn’t turn into a “got a wash, ate some food, took a piss” affair and, to date, I think I have remained loyal to myself. I try not to bore you (and myself) with the insignificant minutia of day-to-day life in PPC, and as such, I haven’t really had much of anything to report lately. Yep, it’s been a slow couple of weeks. With Jimmy and Andrew both attending conferences in Manila, things really ground to a halt over here. It’s a sad state of affairs when two people constitute 100% of your social life. On the positive side, I got to talk to the young girls working at ChowKing an awful lot. We really built up some strong relationships. They say, “Hello Sir Andrew” and I say, “I’m Matthew” and they say, “Sorry Sir Matthew” and I order noodles, and they say, “I receive 200 pesos”, and I get my change, and they say, “Thank you Sir”.

It’s beautiful.

I bumped into my new best friends at Jollibee one afternoon just as I was sitting down to eat and they were getting up to leave. We noticed each other from across the room at which point I smiled and did one of those strange but appropriate “open-eyed quick eyebrow raises” that implicitly mean “How’s she cuttin’”, or something to that effect anyway. They responded with dual smiles and a single “Hello Sir Matthew!”

See? Totally BFF’s.

Anyway, I’m getting precariously close to discussing daily minutia, so I’ll continue on with the real point of this entry: my hospital visit. For the past few weeks I’ve been feeling like a piece of shit. My stomach has been giving me all sorts of grief in all sorts of interesting ways. I figured it might just be the radical change in diet I’ve experienced and my body needed a bit of time to adjust, especially to the ridiculous amount of rice I’ve been eating. Before the Philippines, rice was reserved to remaining on the plate after I ate all the foods I liked, occasionally to be poked at if I was still hungry after eating the delicious portions of the meal. These days, rice plays a key role in keeping me alive. Seriously, if rice doesn’t come as a side with the meal you can bet your ass that something in the meal contains rice. All that gluten can’t be good for a relatively gluten-free system. Just to be safe I decided to go to a doctor.

On Friday, Andrew and I got up and took the multicab to the Adventist Hospital on the San Pedro Highway. After filling out a short form we took a seat and waited to be admitted to the doctor. I have to say, I was pretty impressed with the hospital overall. It was very clean and quiet and not crowded at all. Best of all, we were both in and out in less than an hour, but I’m getting ahead of myself. My name was called and I was seen by Dr. Raquel Hisoler-Aloquin, family medicine and infectious disease specialist. Wait......what?! Yes. I was seen by an infectious disease specialist.

Besides the fact that I was a little freaked out about seeing an infectious disease expert, the visit went pretty good. The doctor explained that Typhoid could be the source of my stomach problems, but it wasn’t very likely. She suggested that I get some blood- and pee-work done to be sure, so I obliged. I walked across the hall to the lab, gave some blood, and went to provide another donation. I’m such a philanthropist. After I gave my all I left and the nurse told me to come back in two hours for the lab results. Yes, you read that correctly. Back home you’re lucky if you get results back in two weeks, so hearing “two hours” blew my mind. Long story short, results didn’t show anything out of the ordinary. She told me to eat more fruit and veggies, drink plenty of water, take multivitamins, and stay off the rice for a while. As I left she thanked me for coming, shook my hand, and gave me a calendar....

I could spend all day telling you why the calendar is awesome, but it’s much easier to show you. So here you go:

Finally, a reliable physician to look at my raging schistosomiasis.

Back when I first arrived in PPC I wrote a small blog entry about some of my favourite things. To end this entry I’m going to add two more things to the list. I’m sure they aren’t specific to this city, or even the Philippines, but they are both awesome.

More Things I Likes:

1. Bizarre Foreigners

No matter where you go there are going to be weirdos. That’s a fact. The weirdos in PPC are of a special breed. Most are rice old retired weirdos who have come to enjoy the “good life”. That is to say, the young women. Almost every foreigner I see is a wrinkled old coot with one or more young women following him around. I was strolling down the road the other day when I passed an old Australian dude with half a dozen women surrounding him. He muttered something to me in a ridiculously thick accent, so I really couldn’t pick out what he was saying, but I’m sure it was fairly indecent. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t respect or applaud these foreigners. I actually think they are dirty old mummies. But, I do have to laugh at (and maybe even respect a teeny bit) their audacity. It must take a huge set of balls to walk around in a silly-ass golf uniform, complete with Hawaiian shirt/checkered pants combo, with three twentysomethings hanging off your arm at 80. Then again, if you’re 80 and can somehow connive your way into this kind of situation, who am I to judge?

2. Strange Products

I touched on this subject before. I absolutely love going to NCCC and browsing the aisles. Every time I go I find something new to make me giggle. Yesterday I went shopping to pick up a few packages of noodles and some bananas, but ended up buying a ton of absolutely unnecessary items. Squiz cola is my personal favourite; the secret ingredient is squiz, which is probably disgusting. Other weird products include Cup Keyk brand cupcakes (now with more nut toppings!), Burger King flavoured French fry snacks, and the very fishy Fish Flakes. There are very few western products to choose from. Mostly hair care products, beverages, and cereals. While perusing the cola shelf I stopped dead in my tracks when I saw a can of 7-up. Fido-fucking-Dido was on the can. I’m seriously considering leaving my clothes in the Philippines and filling up a suitcase with all these awesome food finds. T-shirts with Bob Ross or Optimus Prime on the front I can get home. Fido Dido on a can of 7-up? I can only get that shit in my dreams, 1992, and the Philippines.

Oh, right, I bought a powder blue T-shirt with Bob Ross on the front with “Childhood Hero” emblazoned under his beautiful face. Unfortunately, Lian’s Laundry turned it into a belly top. At least, if I ever try out for Menudo I’ll have a sexy costume.

Ladies and gentlemen, Mr. Bob Ross.

Many Thanks and Ice-Creams

I was hesitant to publish the last post. Like I said, I didn’t want to appear ungrateful of this amazing opportunity and experience I’ve been given. Seconds after pushing “Publish” I was thinking of deleting it. Now I’m glad I didn’t.

I’d like to thank everyone who took the time to craft out a helpful response. Some of you posted comments on my blog wall; others messaged me on MSN or wrote e-mails. All the responses were very helpful and I really appreciate the advice and guidance given in each one. The fact that you guys took the time to try to make me feel better means a lot. Thank you.

In other news, I found a jingle that rivals the NCCC tune in infectiousness. The “Initial Exposure to Shit-Eating Grin” ratio is astonishing. I’ll crunch the numbers and get back to you. In the meantime I was able to covertly videotape the perpetrator in action. Yes, I caught the evil genius in the midst of a “sale” (A sale in the sense that the “customer” becomes a shambling currency conduit). The second you say to yourself, “What’s that noise?” you’re fucked. Not hungry? No money? Lactose intolerant? Too damn bad. You’re getting ice-cream.

Maybe I’m over hyping this. Maybe not. Judge for yourselves. Also, ignore the giggling idiot behind the camera. A side effect of the auditory drugging no doubt.

Cover the children's ears!!

A Pissy Introspective Reflection (.....)

This entry isn’t about the Philippines. It isn’t about the good times I’m having or the funny scrapes I’m getting myself into. It isn’t even going to be about the kid I ran down on my bike today, although I’ll eventually have to tell that one I suppose. No, this is going to be a much more sombre-than-usual post.

A reflective post.

An introspective post.

A pissy post.

Before any of you think to yourselves, in the most disdainful voice you can possibly imagine, “Pfffht! Walsh...what a knob. He’s in the fucking Philippines, a tropical paradise for Christ’s sake! Thirty degrees every day! Cheap food, beautiful women, and NCCC! How dare he complain!!” hear me out. This post isn’t at all going to be about complaints with my situation over here. I have no right to complain about that. Everyone and everything here has been absolutely phenomenal, and I do mean that. No, this post is coming from a conversation me and Mr. Patrick “Class” Connolly had earlier, moments before my internet connection cut out. I swear, I’ll eventually find that warehouse and free those little kids biking day and night to power the net. Either that or make the little bastards bike faster.

Our conversation started off with the typical pleasantries, changed direction to focus on the idea of a vacation (Not for me, for poor old Pat) somewhere when I get back, and hit the finishing line at “So, what are we doing with our lives anyway?” Pat initiated the conversation as he has become increasingly concerned with the cost of living. He wants to become a homeowner sooner than later, and his current situation isn’t conducive to homeownership. He’s been talking about possibly getting a second part-time job, a new primary job with a greater salary, moving out west with the other half of Newfoundland, or working the corner a few nights every week. All viable options. Well all except working the corner. I mean, I know competition breeds innovation, but I hate to think of the all the new depraved acts his poor old mother would have to endure. I kid.

In all seriousness, our conversation made me think of my current situation and the direction in which my life is headed. Like Pat, I still have no clear idea of where I am going or what I will become. I have a B.Sc. in Geography and an Advanced Diploma in Integrated Coastal and Ocean Management. I recently completed a work-term primarily based around GIS (Geographic Information Systems), something which I initially had no interest in but later came to enjoy. I’ve always enjoyed writing, have had an article published in a professional journal (ATLIS), and more recently, am having a lot of fun writing blog entries. I’m in the Philippines researching and engaged in a project related to ecotourism curriculum development for WPU (Western Philippines University). If at this point you’re thinking “What does all this have in common?” allow me to answer with “.....”.

People are often asked by their friends, family, and colleagues where they envision themselves to be in five or ten years. Often, individuals take the more proactive introspective route, asking without being asked. Some people have set goals for themselves, or have had a lifetime dream of some sort. Others have a passion. These people have the answer. Unfortunately, I am not one of these people. I have pretty much played it by ear thus far. Everything I have done (educationally and otherwise) I have enjoyed, and I can’t say that I honestly regret any of it. But, when I stand back and reflect on where I am in life, I also can’t help but wonder if I have made the right decisions. I wonder this while simultaneously wondering what other road I might, or could, have taken. I am in a constant state of wonderment...

I’ve been assured by friends that this outlook is normal for recent graduates, but I remain sceptical. I’m nearly 27 years old, and I feel that at this point in my life I should at least have some sort of direction decided on. A down payment for the rest of life. Maybe, as I tried to tell Pat, “It’ll all work itself out sooner or later”. I’m not the first person to be in a situation such as this and I’m certainly not going to be the last.

Although I may have second-guessed my decisions up to this point, I would not have been able to have some of the amazing experiences without making those very decisions. I sit here now, sipping a Calamansi Nestea, snacking on a package of orange flavoured Chokies (I have no idea how to pronounce that word; maybe ‘Choke-ease’ or ‘Chalk-ease’?) and reminiscing about that time I ran over a young Pilipino child. I firmly believe that life is all about experiences. And, I know full well that every decision I have made up to this point has obviously allowed me to get to this point. Still, it bothers me that I don’t have a plan even though I am fairly satisfied.

I’m all over the board.

I end this post no farther ahead than when I started. Maybe I’ll come home and try to snag a job with DFO. Maybe I’ll look into furthering my GIS education. Maybe I’ll continuing traveling for a while. Maybe I’ll take a shot at professional writing full- or part-time. Or maybe I’ll default on my student loan and professionally run from the Federal Government for the next few years. All distinct possibilities. For now I’ll focus on the task at hand: completing the ecotourism project and professionally fucking off. I’ll worry about making more pesky decisions when the time comes...in about two months...

Oh man...

Big Weekend: Part 2 - The Underground River Trip

Yo yo!

Saturday we decided to go to Sabang, the location of the world famous Puerto Princesa Underground River. It's been nominated as one of the new 7 wonders of the world (http://www.new7wonders.com/), and it definitely deserves the nomination. It has been one of the most amazing places I have ever had the opportunity to visit. But I'm getting ahead of myself. We had it planned out so we would get the 7 a.m. bus to Sabang, arriving at approximately 10 a.m. Then we would take the monkey trail, a trail that winds through the jungle to the site. I think it has monkeys. 2 hours later we would arrive at the site of the river, go on the tour, and get a 15 minute boat ride back to the bus. We were told by Jessica to arrive at the bus station no later than 6:30 a.m. because it was usually crowded. We were a little late leaving and didn't arrive at the station until 7:00 a.m. We arrived just in time to see the bus begin to pull away. I wish I took a picture because it was something you'd see in a movie. This bus was absolutely packed with people and items. Every seat was filled. Every square inch of standing room was filled. People were hanging off the back and sitting on the roof in between tires and crates of produce. It was fucking nuts. Jessica was sitting on the top next to a few other tourists and waved as she drove away; us standing there completely dejected.
We had to wait two hours for the next bus. Andrew slept for a while as I had a very, very long conversation with a nice enough lady. She was a city councilor for a town near Sabang and she talked a lot.

The bus finally left around 9:00 a.m. and we began the three hour journey to Sabang. The first half of the trip was fairly uneventful. I never had a window seat, so I couldn't get a get view of anything. At one of the stops one of the German dudes, Michael, got on and sat near us. After this, people started piling on the bus something serious so Michael decides he wants to try the roof. "You want to go up?", he asks me. "Sure, why not?", I answer. I wanted to get on the roof the minute I learned of roof travel weeks before when Jimmy first mentioned it and here was my opportunity. At the next stop we got out and piled on the roof. I sat in the front, as close to the cab as I could get without sitting on the windshield, right hand firmly attached to a gigantic truck tire. I have to say, sitting on the roof of the bus as it wound its way around a mostly dirt road was quite the experience. The road was winding, bumpy, and, at certain points, very steep. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't shitting my pants most of the time. At one point Michael (who was sitting on a bag of solid ice and getting a wet ass) calls to me:

"This is pretty dangerous"

"Uh huh"

It the bus did happen to flip over at least I'd go out like a champ.

I was fiddling with my camera, taking pictures and videos of the scenery when Michael shouted something. I figured he was talking to one of the other guys on the roof so I didn't pay him any attention. Michael shouted again. This time I heard what he said...it was "Watch out!" I looked up to see a nice sized branch coming towards my face. I ducked, but I wasn't quick enough, and got belted on top of the fucking head. At least it didn't break my nose and I learned an important lesson the fairly easy way. I spent much of my remaining time on the roof not being a moron, dodging branches, and having a laugh.

We arrived at Sabang around 12:00 p.m. and rushed off to register for entry to the Underground River. We didn't get to take the monkey trail because we were running late, so we got the boat ride instead. 15 minutes later we were a 5 minute walk from the site. We got there, registered, got our life jackets and helmets and realized that we wouldn't have enough time to complete the trip. The bus driver told us that he was leaving at 2:30 p.m. With the wait for the tour, the tour itself, and the 15 min boat ride back to the bus we figured we'd wouldn't get back until 3:00 p.m. We told the girl in charge of the registration and she assured us that she would radio the bus driver and he would wait. I was skeptical.

We eventually pile into a little boat with 6 other tourists and a boat operator. I have to say, the Underground River was one of the coolest places I have ever visited. To travel the whole length of the river takes about 3 hours round trip. On this tour we traveled about 20 minutes in and 20 minutes back. The cave was pitch black with smooth walls and high ceilings. Stalactites and stalagmites jutted everywhere from the cave ceiling and cave floor, respectively. Bats were flying everywhere, screeching a high pitched whine and shitting on everything. The boat operator warned us not to look up with our mouths open. I took the advice.

During the trip the boat operator, a funny middle-aged man, would point out various rock structures in the cave and tell us what they looked like. We were both sitting at the very back of the boat. A guy in the front had a flashlight hooked up to a battery and was moving it left and right at the boat operators request. This turned out to be the funniest part of the tour. Allow me to recreate the boat operators instructions:

"Right. Right. Up. Up. UP! Ahh Yesssssssss! This look like a big mushroom!"

"Left. Up. Left. Left. STOP! Ahh Yesssssssss! This look like a shark fin!"

"Right. Down. Right. Other Right. There! Yessssssssss! This look like a woman bent over. Sharon Stone!

And so on. It was pure gold.

After traveling back the way we came through the Underground River we had to boogie back to the bus. The bus was supposed to leave at 2:30 (it was 3:00), but was waiting for us at the request of the registration girl. God bless her heart. I was sorry I ever doubted her and impressed with the bus driver for actually waiting. What a guy. We got the boat back to the shore, clambering off, and booked it to the bus. At that moment it started to pour. We arrived at the bus and got on. Two tourist foreigners gave us a look as we got on and said "So it was YOU we were waiting for". Nobody else said anything but I'm sure none were overly impressed with the two wet goofballs who were holding up the show. We moved to the back of the bus and sat down, ready for the 3 hour ride back to Puerto Princesa. The bus ride back was pretty uneventful. Well that's not entirely true I suppose. I'm pretty sure the two kids next to me were loaded drunk. I could smell booze and they were acting retarded. I'm also pretty sure one kid asked me if I was gay. To this I responded, "Huh? Am I ok?". The kids went back to giggling like fools at this response. One was trying to tell the other, who I guess couldn't speak English, the following sentence:

"Sir, I apologize. I didn't know you could speak English".

So, this one kid keeps repeating this to the other kid, who I assume had some sort of debilitating brain damage as he could not repeat this sentence back. This went on for a solid 5 minutes. I've never come so close to assaulting a child as I did that day.

Eventually people start getting off the bus and I moved away from the kids. After the bus stopped, and a guy climbed through the window with a chicken in a cardboard box (...yup...), I decided I had enough of the inside of the bus. I climbed back onto the roof and it began to rain. One other dude, a native named Arnold was chilling up there as well. We had a great chat about this and that on the remaining hour back to Puerto. We finally got to the station around 6:00 p.m. It was a long day and a great experience. What a blast.

Oh oh oh! I also got some really kick-ass pictures of rocks!