In my penultimate post of 2013, I mentioned jetting off to the Philippines for Christmas vacation. What you may not know is the absurd, incredible, and life-changing experience that I had on my Southeast Asian excursion. Such an absurd, incredible, life-changing time was had that I will now and forever refer to the pre-Christmas period as B.B. (Before Boracay) and post-New Years Eve is known as A.B. (After Boracay). Yeah. That’s what’s up.
And goodness me, did I need an absurd, incredible, life-changing experience in Southeast Asia. For a multitude of reasons that I will only list here as “life’s little quandaries”, my stress levels had skyrocketed out of orbit in the weeks leading up to my departure. December was a roller coaster of highs and lows, and I was ready for a week of straight wins.
Thankfully, my final two days of school before departure were dreams, filled with gingerbread houses, Christmas carols, ornament-making, and The Nightmare Before Christmas. That being said, I can’t say that I wasn’t thinking, “please get me the derpity-derp-expletive out of this country” as I shivered in the cold for the (25 minute late) airport shuttle.
With my main Busan girls, Jess, Maddie, and Kendall by my side, along with fellow teachers, Nate and Kat, I boarded my AirBusan flight and awaited touchdown in Cebu. At that point, literally anything would have lit my eyes up like, well, a child on Christmas Eve, [Note: Our flight was really on Christmas Eve night] so when the Cebu skyline began exploding with red and green fireworks at midnight during our descent, a true sense of mirth began to soften my jaded heart. We were on Philippine soil! We had finally made it!
After passing through immigration and picking up the baggage that only I had made the mistake of checking, we hopped into a shuttle and proceeded to our accommodations at Tr3ats Guesthouse. The ride there was surreal: it was after 1AM, and the streets were packed with men, women, and children; the sights and sounds of Roman candles and Christmas cheer reflecting and echoing off the humble tin roofs of Cebu. 45 minutes later, upon reaching Tr3ats, our faces fell, as the guesthouse was located in the heart of a rather slummy area [Note: The neighbourhood caused some alarm at 2AM, but was actually super charming, borderline beautiful, during the morning hours].
After check-in, the girls and I settled into our digs for what we hoped would be a peaceful nights sleep before another flight the following day. Unfortunately, slumber never came. Situated on the top bunk, I tossed and turned, trying to discover a way to position my lanky limbs and cursing the long slab of wood at the end of the bed that made stretching out my legs virtually impossible. Our room was also stationed next to the lobby (read: lots of foot traffic), our neighbours decided to try their hand at film critiquing into the wee hours of the morning, and once they stopped, they handed the reigns to the “Obnoxious Carriage” over to a flock of roosters who further destroyed any hope of rest. While all of these nuisances increased the amount I yawned the following day, we were treated to a cute, if not slightly meagre breakfast on the rooftop with a beautiful view of the surrounding area. This is still all to say, I didn’t write a wholly positive review for the modest Tr3ats Guesthouse on TripAdvisor.
As we shuttled back to Mactan-Cebu, the excitement was palpable. A quick hour-long flight later, and we had reached the tropical island paradise of Boracay! Maddie and I peeled off from the rest of the group who were staying in a different hostel than us. [Note: There are three “stations” that comprise Boracay’s largest beach (“White Beach”). Maddie and I were staying at the Isla Gecko Resort, in the heart of station 2, while Jess and Kendall were staying approximately 15 minutes away, at a resort called Orchids, in station 3]. Our journey to Isla Gecko was a small pilgrimage, consisting of a 2 minute taxi ride to the boat terminal, a 25 minute jetty ride to Boracay proper, and finally, a 15 minute shuttle to our resort.
The streets of Boracay, compared to Busan were a total game-changer. The main road was packed with brazen trikes and motorcycles veering this way and that, with pedestrians fearlessly striding into the heart of traffic for a mango shake across the way. Eventually, Maddie and I reached Isla Gecko, and were greeted by Mark and Andrea, son and daughter to the lovely owners of the resort.
Isla Gecko’s location in the centre of an uneven and rugged alley was truly its only downside. The lobby was cozy and inviting, with a well-stocked bar, and speedy wireless Internet. Beyond that, the staff were so incredibly friendly and accommodating. I really can’t stress this particular point enough – the staff always held onto our key to save us the minor annoyance of carrying it with us to the beach everyday, let us monopolize their telephone for an entire morning to switch our flight, and even dealt with the most unfortunate of “toilet accidents”. They are truly angels. We love you, Isla Gecko!
The resort had recently undergone major construction, adding a third floor and a beautiful rooftop. The aesthetic was a perfect intersection of modernity and what I will coin “rainforest chic”, bringing forth an intimate union of ivory and polished wood. Perhaps the cutest touches were the things that didn’t immediately look out of place – like the bamboo banisters and tiny geckos crawling across the walls – but made you smile as you did a second take. Our room was spacious and meticulously clean, with a double and single bed, and a television that gave us insight into Filipino popular culture (for example, Filipinos seem really love Will Smith – he was on almost every channel). This is all to say, unlike Tr3ats, I sang praise for Isla Gecko on TripAdvisor. If you’re ever looking into Boracay, book at Isla Gecko – you won’t regret it.
Our first night in Boracay started with a Christmas buffet, where my girls rocked full vegetable plates, while I opted to gorge myself into a full “carb coma”. Shortly after, we were digging our feet into the sand, smoking shisha, and swaying to a live reggae band at the delightfully ambient Bom Bom Bar. The atmosphere was precisely what I had envisioned when I made the decision to book this vacation (read: sweaty bodies writhing on white sand to good music). Once we were finished with our shisha and the Bob Marley stopped, we took a quick dip in the ocean and hopped over to an unknown, transient club installation on the beach next door. The roof was made from differently sized, pastel umbrellas and the DJs were spinning pulsing electronic music. Bizarrely, there were local children (read: toddlers) sleeping in the sand on the outer edges of the club, a truly conflicting visual while you’re wordlessly grooving to electronica. In the interest of maximizing our Boxing Day beachy times, the girls are I headed back to our respective hostels at around 1AM, with smoky lungs, full stomachs, and swelling excitement for what was in store for our first full day in Boracay.
Crispy, tender, burned skin. That’s what our first full day had in store. Well, at least for me. In a stunning example of what I call “Classic Dylan”, I overestimated my mortal abilities, sat in the sun for 7+ hours, applying only conservative amounts of sunscreen, and paid the ultimate price when I was transformed into only the most terrifyingly reddish lobster-human hybrid. At first, I was just “Dylan Tomato Teacher” and that was fine. I’d been there a dozen times during beach season in Busan. But then came the peeling. Austin Powers in Goldmember levels of peeling. Then the forehead blisters appeared. The situation escalated faster than I could slather copious amounts of aloe vera across large areas of my body. I was even too sore for a $6 massage, one of the few certain items on my pre-departure Boracay bucket list. The sun had knocked me down a number of pegs – so many, in fact, that I treated myself to both ice cream from McDonald’s AND a 4-pack of cinnamon buns from Cinnabon in the span of two hours. #Dark times that I hoped would transition into a dark, leathery hide. [Note: I was tanned for a brief period, but upon returning to Korea, it faded almost instantly. Still conducting tests to determine if there is *actually* bleach in the water here. Will inform].
We closed out Boxing Day with a gorgeous sunset sail and another dinner on the beach. This dinner is noteworthy as it was my first Filipino foodie experience (I ordered the delicious chicken halang-halang, a saucy dish with ginger and coconut milk). Afterwards, we opted for an early night to nurse our wounded flesh and egos in front of our televisions in anticipation for island hopping the following morning.
With the help of our contact at Azzuro di Boracay, B-Boy, we managed to find a relatively cheap “island hop”. The trawler ferried us one full revolution around Boracay, where we snorkelled and explored the westerly Puka Beach. The excursion was a slight bust for two reasons: The first, of lesser importance, was the stormy weather that hit once we arrived at Puka. Luckily, the beautiful “Squidward” provided a temporary distraction and forever changed how the girls and I look at Armani speedos. The second, of greater importance, was the gaping wound I received after repeatedly dragging my foot across coral and rocks whilst snorkelling. I’m making this sound slightly dramatic here, but in truth, I was so unfazed by this situation at the time that I didn’t visit a clinic until 72h after the accident. By this time, my foot had swollen to third-trimester-pregnancy levels and was oozing a white liquid, not quite unlike the coconut milk used to prepare the chicken halang-halang. This was likely due in large part to my lack of prejudice when it came to walking through dank, nasty alleys and spilling rum and cokes into the open wound, but you know: YOLO.
Eventually, I had enough sense to visit a clinic for some piece of mind. Unsurprisingly, the doctor informed me that my foot was infected, inquired how I was still mobile, and scolded me for not wearing shoes. After a thorough cleaning and dressing of the wound, I was treated to a tetanus shot, and a prescription for both topical and oral antibiotics. The entire experience left my tanks pretty empty, and when the girls found me in our hotel room, I was pretty beat down. Perhaps Jess described the situation the best: “I will never forget the visual of you lying in bed with a wrapped up, disgusting foot, no voice, peeling dead skin everywhere, and Cinnabon icing all over your face.” A wholly accurate depiction of my haggard, mid-week Boracay self.
After a quick catnap, I was back in full form. Despite still hobbling like Mulan’s father and only being able to wear loafers on the beach (derp), my mind was at ease. I was ready to face another day of relaxation and another night of… ahem, “millennial fun”.
And boy, did we have a lot of “millennial fun”. From Friday until Monday, the girls and I dressed in only our most eye-catching get-ups and hit the White Beach strip for food and fun. Each night started with happy hour specials, animated conversations, and hearty Filipino, Mongolian, or Mexican cuisine. Gradually, we would make our way to one of the numerous night clubs, often frequenting our favourites, Exit Bar and Epic. These nights were complete with regrets about generously redistributing drink tickets to the already inebriated, perfectly timed compliments about button down shirts, Marlboro-induced raspiness, “The Succubus”, early morning motorcycle selfies, disappearing ambivalence about Jennifer Lopez’s recent musical endeavours, and of course, the red bedsheets that changed my life. [Note: I acknowledge that all of the above is vague; deliberately so.]
Personally, I was really lucky to meet someone who melted my heart from the moment we locked eyes on each other. I was truly thrown a life vest on December 27th and I’ve been weak in the knees and and pitter-pattering ever since. Mushy, mushy, mushy. Mahal na mahal na mahal kita, baba. Thank you for always turning down service water, grooming me like your pet, and coining my personal brand, “Graceful Arrogance”. I’ll see you in 6 months. #BoracayOrBust
The girls and I were also really fortunate to link up with a pack of Australian boys from our hostel whom we immediately clicked and partied with for the duration of the week. These boys provided us with endless entertainment and could always be counted on for providing an absurd story or laughing fit.
Oh, and how we laughed. The girls and I had a bad habit of forgetting that we were no longer in Korea, where we talk in depth about topics that would make most people turn away in disgust. Given that the majority of the population in the Philippines speaks English, we had to make sure to put a filter on ourselves. The best moments were when the girls and I would be doubled over laughing about our TOTALLY inappropriate reactions to funerals, heart attacks, and dead pets, or when someone would wonder aloud, completely deadpan, “How long do you think we could actually talk about poop for?” or when we would simply recount the best moments from the night before (“Did you, did you have prawns for dinner?”). Kendall, Jess, and Maddie: You are seriously the most special girls. There are few things better than the three of you.
Our last night and day in Boracay were pretty bittersweet. We started at Epic with shisha and then headed to Summer Place to close the night out. In the morning, I shared a last brunch with my baba, strolled around Boracay one last time, bought some last minute souvenirs, said goodbye to the staff at Isla Gecko, and walked to the main road to hail a trike. Pulling away was really difficult – I really felt like I was leaving the biggest part of me behind. The trip had been a total whirlwind, running the emotional gamut from total exhaustion to sheer, unadulterated bliss. More importantly, I felt completely different. I felt liberated. I somehow felt like a friendlier person. I felt inspired. So many people have told me since my return to Korea that it’s simply a product of the island, the “vacation illusion”, but why should that make the feelings any less true, right?
I’m not going to lie: Readjusting to life in Korea has been a bit rough. The air is dry here and the quality of English compared to the Philippines is less than perfect (and that’s even being generous). My hagwon is in full stress mode: graduation pictures, play practice, song practice, every single day. I’m scrambling to finish all the things on my to do list that I foolishly left until January. Five and a half months into my contract and I’ve truthfully began to feel the slump I was warned about.
But, in those moments when I’m feeling like I couldn’t possibly handle another day in the R.O.K., I just put my hands up in the air, close my eyes, and whisper either “Boracay 2013” or “uh huh, honey!” and I’m transported back to that absurd, incredible, life-changing experience once again. I’m hopeful this system will continue to work until August. My current plan is to return to Boracay once I’ve completed my teaching contract, which means six more months! After that point, I am leaving everything else up to fate. Allowing Boracay Island speak to my innermost desires and going with it. Or perhaps something a little less “New Age”. Again, will inform.
Don’t forget, everyone: Breathe life, love life, trust life, and of course, namaste.
Christmas cuddles with my angel pies
The sandiest Christmas yet!
My beach babes
Welcome to Glazedville, Population: Me
About that life ~*~
The dangers of arriving at dinner two and half hours BEFORE happy hour ends…
My angels and I chasing the sunset
Just look at that ravaged face
Underwater camera? #Blessed
Bless you, Boracay
Billowing smoke for our last night
Millennial Abroad 
