C o m f y B e d D o s . . .
Sunday for us, both in the Philippines and in Korea, is family time. We usually Skype/FaceTime our families every other Sunday, so we can keep up with their lives while we are abroad and because we miss them all the time.
And on this particular Sunday morning, our usually-frantic family time chats were further complicated by our looming check-out deadline. Because of this, we tried to get ready, pack up, and eat our last delicious Strand breakfast before we sat down to the chats. Otherwise, we’d only be half-listening as we threw clothes into our backpack and duffel bag. This was only accomplished in parts, as I took a shower while Kristen talked to her family and she did a bit of stuffing here and there while we were on with mine. As with most good things, we had to sign off sooner than expected to get everything out the door on time. I was a bit worried about finding our new hotel and getting across the island to it, but after we settled up at the front desk, they called us a tricycle and we set off for Riesling.
The Riesling Hotel is located on the opposite corner of the island from The Strand. If Boracay can be thought of as the obelisk from "2001: A Space Odyssey", The Strand was the top left corner and Riesling was the bottom right. We got to Riesling maybe ten minutes after we left. The tricycle had traced the way down to D’Mall before veering left down some twisty back streets. We did some curves that would have made Nascar proud before being deposited at a large front gate between two tall white walls, like those one might imagine on Minas Tirith, but much less epic in scale. This front gate swung open, revealing a large open area surrounded by bungalows. In the center, near the gate, was a little hut with a grass roof and a front desk sitting on the sand next to some chairs and a couch. Here we checked in and were given our room key and the rundown on the facilities. We left the desk, making a right past the pool to our new *beachfront* room.
The rest of the afternoon was a blur. We went and found a bit of food and I tried my hand at surfing again, but a storm was a-brewin’ so I only succeeded in getting thrown around a lot and hurting my bum by falling off the board and expecting the water to be much deeper. I wasn’t alone, as several other tourists, including a huge Asian man with a multitude of tattoos, tried in vain to fight the storm surge and do something approaching cool.
Eventually, I just gave up. It was raining off and on by then, but the beach was so packed that even if I could catch a wave, there was a crowd of children and families behind me that I would surely run over if I caught one. Defeated and sore, I went back to the beach and found my wife with two little girls in head scarves. One of these was actively soliciting, saying over and over that she should "buy a bracelet, 'ma’am'”. The other girl, younger of the two, was just playing in the sand like a little girl should.
When I came over, they sensed easy prey, as I was weak and discombobulated from getting tossed around for the last half hour. “You should buy it for your wife, 'sir'!” said the older one, not looking up, playing with the sand and the bracelets. I agreed, feeling a guilt that can only be tied to socio-economic class and the belief that you can help someone by giving them money because you don’t have the power to change an entire culture that would require two sisters to walk along the beach selling bracelets on a Sunday. Maybe they were well-off? Maybe this was just a side job for them? Maybe I make these things up based on the ramshackle shacks sitting off the main road, the wild dogs, and the constant, ever-so-CONSTANT solicitations. In any case, the little girl put the bracelet on Kristen and then suggested I buy five of them for 100php and I said no. Just one was fine enough. We hiked back up the beach and went back to the hotel, where I took one of those naps that leaves you confused as to where and when you are.
When I woke, we were still both pretty tired. It wasn’t terrifically late, but the sun was going down and it was starting to get on to the point that the only real reason one would venture out would be to party. Not in the mood for a party, we ordered a pizza and watched Con Air because neither of us had ever seen in before and it seemed like a good idea at the time.
M o n d a y f u n d a y
Like most of Sunday, we spent Monday relaxing. For the duration of our stay at Riesling, the Internet was awful, so we relied on books and television to get by. But, the view!
Around midday, bored of reading or TV, or, possibly, just waking up, we left for an adventure out to Puka Beach at the top of the island. For this, we booked a special, eco-friendly electric tricycle. The journey took us up, past our old haunts and out into the island proper.
And once we got to the beach, the day became even more splendid.
Puka Beach itself was the best beach-going experience of the trip!!
Since it’s so far from D’Mall, it’s mostly undisturbed by tourists (though we did see the inevitable Canadian couple we met a few days prior at our fish lunch). The lack of tourists also reduced the number of solicitors to a bearable level. We had a single woman approach us to sell us jewelry and toys, which was a joy in comparison to the hustling we’d experienced on Station 2 of White Beach. Also, there were two drink stands placed beside a few shaded beds which were “for rent.” We took advantage of these stands for drinks, including these brightly colored bottled cocktails that Kristen fell in love with, but we didn’t rent any of the beds but instead just kept walking the beach, drinks in hand. We’ve grown up near the ocean for most of our lives (the sunscreen incident notwithstanding), so the concept of “renting” a space on the beach to lay your towel was as foreign as Klingon to someone who was popular in high school.
So we found a little cave, hollowed out of porous rock, where we set our stuff and relaxed. We did a fair bit of swimming in the gorgeous water, but being paranoid about our belongings, I spent a bit of that afternoon laying in the cave trying to to finish Anne Rice’s Interview with a Vampire.
After a few hours of off and on splashing and drinking, we decided to head back to the mall and get some lunch, but not before taking a few pictures.
* * *
During the typhoon a few days earlier, we had happened to walk past a restaurant on our way to find a tricycle. This was Smoke Resto: a highly Google-able establishment which showed up on our lists for great Filipino restaurants on Boracay. Our interest peaked, and so we sought it out during the sweltering heat of the day, in hopes of sampling some of the local food (rather than just eating the delicious sushi at Hama every day).
Smoke Resto is an open-air restaurant, the sort that reminded me of some of the places I’ve eaten out at in the sticks in South Texas. Where those establishments run mostly out of a slow-cooker and smoker, Smoke Resto works predominantly from an open range in front of a sink. A huge shelf of spices hung between these on the wall, littered with half-opened packages and bags tucked here and there between the large bins of curry spices and so on. Beside this cooking area, there was a fridge and a cash register, the rest was seating.
For our lunch, I ordered some chicken dish I can’t remember, in the hopes of being healthy (the pictures from the beach had been a sobering experience to look through). Kristen ordered a beef dish that was so delicious that I abandoned my newly-acquired diet as quickly as I’d began it, and ordered a second helping.
We were pretty hungry when we arrived at the restaurant and were lucky to get a seat. Right as we were approaching, a group was getting up from a table, giving us the chance at the crowded restaurant during its peak hours. We eventually jumped ship on this table for another in front of a fan, as the day was hot and humid, and we were uncomfortably sticky with salt-water residue. We ordered our food, and as we waited, the power went out in the restaurant. The staff chugged along, hanging out for a few minutes, until it came back on--no one much batting an eye.
For our lunch, I ordered some chicken dish I can’t remember, in the hopes of being healthy (the pictures from the beach had been a sobering experience to look through). Kristen ordered a beef dish that was so delicious that I abandoned my newly-acquired diet as quickly as I’d began it, and ordered a second helping.
It’s hard to describe the food because it didn’t make sense how good it was. It was just beef and rice, no fancy asparagus, no duck soaked in wine or butter or mayonnaise. It tasted very strongly of vinegar, that much I was sure of, but it was so amazing we just couldn’t stop eating it and talking about how good it was. We sounded insane, taking a bite, marveling, and then doing it all over again, like we expected to take a bite and find it to be mediocre, which would set the world to rights.
As it was, it was amazing, and a lovely cap to the afternoon, though the day wouldn’t end on such a high note. We went back to the hotel and took the requisite nap. Waking after it was already dark, we foolishly went out again.
After arriving at D’Mall, we were peckish, but not outright hungry. We were both still full from the lembas bread that was the beef and rice dish (Beef salpicao? if we remember correctly?) from Smoke Resto. So we walked toward the beach, talking over the different places that sounded good. We were still a little sleepy and feeling a bit jostled by the energy of the nightlife on Boracay, which seemed to dot the line between pity and excess.
As it was, it was amazing, and a lovely cap to the afternoon, though the day wouldn’t end on such a high note. We went back to the hotel and took the requisite nap. Waking after it was already dark, we foolishly went out again.
After arriving at D’Mall, we were peckish, but not outright hungry. We were both still full from the lembas bread that was the beef and rice dish (Beef salpicao? if we remember correctly?) from Smoke Resto. So we walked toward the beach, talking over the different places that sounded good. We were still a little sleepy and feeling a bit jostled by the energy of the nightlife on Boracay, which seemed to dot the line between pity and excess.
Everywhere there were bars and restaurants enticing passersby with open menus and fire-dancing shows. We had remembered that there was one further up the beach that we had wanted to try when we had passed it a day or so before, so we walked up the beach looking for it. We passed bars packed with people and children with puppies curled beside them sleeping on the sand. The latter had little cups for money in front of them. These children usually had no shoes and were dirty, but looked peaceful and angelic. It was hard to ascertain which of these were shams, meant to cull those who felt sympathy, calling to them out of the hordes of sociopaths who were happy to walk by. Sometimes the child was by his or herself, while an older woman sat nearby watching, sometimes they were alone, but not far from other beggars or vendors. If they were really the destitute, who could tell? And what kind of monster would differentiate?
We had had a tough walk then, by the time we reached the bar we had been looking for, only to find it was more fire dancers and an exorbitant “dinner” menu.
Crestfallen, we started back.
A N e w D a y . . .
On Tuesday, we were pumped! Our friend Avi, whom we first met when we all lived the same small town of Jangheung last year, was flying from Bali to Boracay to round out her summer vacation. We met up with her in the morning after she’d arrived, meeting her as she walked down the beach to us from Station 1.
After Avi arrived, everything seemed to speed up. The last few days of our trip rushing by in a blur. Excited to show her the sights, we took her for Smoke Resto, to introduce her to the Filipino diet and get the skinny on how her trip to Indonesia was. We quickly settled into a nice, relaxed mood, feeding off of her constant, almost impermeable chill.
We hung out at the beach for a while, taking in the nice day. Having nothing else to do and wanting to spend more time hanging out, she and Kristen ran down to her end of the beach to collect some things from her hotel room. Not having much else to do either, I sat for a while before walking down to meet them. It was a lot farther than I had originally imagined and I quickly became parched. They were still busy by the time I was in the area (not actually at her hotel, since it was hidden down a long alleyway), so I took a seat at a bar nearby to wait for them. When a waiter came over and asked if I wanted anything, I licked my lips for a moment, thought what the hell, and ordered a pina colada.
By the time Avi and Kristen found me, I was getting well-lit at the Coco Loco. We hadn’t made any definite plans yet, more a list of things that we wanted to try with Avi while we had her here. We were glad for her company, her friendly demeanor, non-soliciting intentions, and up-for-anything personality. (A great travel companion... Thanks, Avi!!!)
It wasn’t soon after that we were approached by probably the most massive Filipino I’ve ever met. He was just huge, with long black hair and knock-off RayBans, he should have been intimidating, but for a big goofy grin. He sauntered up to us as we were soaking up the sun and the booze, asking us if there was anything we had wanted to try. Feeling forthcoming from the sun and drinks, we told him that we had wanted to try parasailing at some point. About a half an hour later, we were on a boat.
So while we collated our ideas, we laid out at the Coco Loco, Kristen and Avi ordered lemon drops and, once I finished my colada, I followed suit.
P a r a s a i l i n g !!!
This was about the time when Avi and Kristen's stomachs were in their throats. . .
The staffer guys on the boat were nice and accommodating enough, blasting any English songs they could scramble up to distract the jitters, but the girls couldn't help being worried about what was to come.
There was a nice Korean couple (oddly enough!) aboard for the ride as well and they looked just as nervous, but excited.
But once the couple was up in the air . . .
. . . it was smooth sailing!
Then, it was the girls' turn to go. The Korean couple had had a great time up flying, and as I took pictures of them, I showed when they were down and have yet to email them along.
Didn't get good photos of Avi and Kristen harnessing up as I was recording the whole process, but this is them up flying. And smooth sailing it was--literally! When they came down, they said that the rough and choppy waves were nothing to them up in the air. It was a beautiful sight to see the island that we had been spending our time for about the past week and they were glad they had signed up!
After that, we were wiped and went and had some Mexican food that we had scoured out and had seen many foreigners there as we walked past often in the days prior. So we thought it was as good a place as any for dinner.
This dinner we gobbled too quickly, as my bowels later describe the meal as a touch too much.
W e d n e s d a y
After parasailing the day before, Avi was ready for more adventure, so she set up the boat tour for the paltry price of 700 pesos a head (almost half our first boat trip). We set out early and met her and the boat at Station 1, setting sail around the island, heading for Crystal Cove.
For whatever reason, we all found ourselves wholly disinterested in, choosing instead to sit on the sand and chat about how much Korea had changed for us since we’d signed on for our second year, what we missed about Jangheung, and what we were excited for in the months ahead. We spent upwards of an hour on the beach, comparing the Phillipines and South Korea, the good and the bad, before packing up and heading out to our next destination: snorkeling.
This time around, the reef was much less busy, the huge tourist boats fortunately few and far between. We seemed distant from most of them, our own little island out in the water.
Everyone shuffled off the boat and I hopped into the water first to do some swimming. After a few minutes, I switched with Avi and Kristen. Kristen had been out in the reef before, but Avi was not as pumped on the fish, especially after we told her about the sea snakes we had seen last time. In any case, she followed Kristen in.
(Avi's favorite picture: above)
She loved the guy peddling on his raft with his melons.
After about half an hour, we got back on and were taken to a small cove to have lunch at a buffet included in the tour price. We sat at long picnic tables under the shade of several canopies and in plastic chairs. We sat beside a nice Australian couple and enjoyed the meal in the shade while we watched the Filipino kids doing flips off of the sides of the parked ships. The meal was satisfying and we were feeling pretty relaxed before heading back out for another thirty minutes in the water.
After we were all snorkeled out, the boat took us to the top of the island: Puka Beach. (!!!!) Realizing our destination, we talked to Avi about the drinks they had there and ended up striking up a conversation with a few of the other tourists on the boat, two from San Francisco (one guy from a tech company, another a Filipino entrepreneur) and another quiet girl from France.
Feeling a mite sluggish, we reached the beach and braved the soft sand in search of beverages. I got a mango smoothie and Kristen got another of her flavored drinks. Avi got both and we all walked back happy with our life choices.
We got back just in time for me to wander semi-casually into the water to urinate, trying to signal Kristen, who left her finished beverage on the beach to meet me in the water. We were luckily rinsed by the shifting in and out of the surf and returned to the beach and boarded the boat.
This last leg of the journey took us full-circle, back to the main beach, but not before affording us a glimpse of the island’s most prestigious and an expensive hotel: The Shangri-La. We oo-ed and aww-ed at it, just before using the dim light of the setting sun to check ourselves to see how badly we’d burned.
We hit the beach, crisp and relaxed from our trip and stumbled upon a magical Subway for dinner, before parting ways.
T h u r s d a y
Our last day on the island was completely encapsulated in chill. We were so relaxed by this point, we just wandered from place to place, perusing the little shops of trinkets, ordering drinks wherever we ended up: again at Coco Loco. It was warmed to us the previous afternoon and so we met up there again. Me finishing my exhaustive Gothic novel over several Lemon Drops, Kristen and Avi chatting while out swimming. I flipped quietly through the pages, going out myself for a spell to enjoy the sunshine and cool, clear water.
Eventually we got hungry enough to leave the drinks and say goodbye to the Coco Loco. We went back up to the main area of D’Mall, stopping in at our first love, Hama. We had lunch with Avi there, ordering enough sushi for them to actually bring it out to us in a boat. This was both delicious and impressive and we made the most of our final meal there.
We went back to the hotel after that, for our daily nap and a swim, before meeting up with Avi one last time. We meandered up and down the beach, not really hungry enough to decide what to eat. Eventually we settled on Shakey’s, a pizzeria we’d seen advertised all over the island. The meal was, to quote the Bard, shitty.
We nibbled at it before peacing out and heading elsewhere, on a mission to find the fried ice cream Avi had seen the day before. We found it at the diarrhea-inducing Mexican restaurants from my runny-stooled nightmares. We ordered three helpings and sat around feeling disappointed. Avi most of all, as this endeavor had a bit of wish fulfillment for her, the dream of recapturing the fried ice cream of her childhood.
But sadly, though it was beautiful and had delicious mango surrounding it, it was not as fulfilling she and we had hoped.
And with that, we wished her the best on her last day in Boracay and a safe trip home. We promised to meet up with her out in Jangheung, if only to prevent her from going cray cray.
And with that, we wished her the best on her last day in Boracay and a safe trip home. We promised to meet up with her out in Jangheung, if only to prevent her from going cray cray.
We took the last shuttle back, passing out as early as we could for our trip in the morning.
B y e B y e B o r a c a y
Due to a hilarious mishap, we woke up an hour too early for our departure. I had left my iPhone on Korea time, which I then used to set an alarm for us to get up to leave. This meant that we woke up at 4 am, blinking at the darkness outside until I realized my mistake and we went back to bed. I tried the best I could to sleep, but eventually I turned to reading, finishing the end of the Interview and starting The Name of the Wind by Patrick Rothfuss. Around the time I was getting the hang of the change in tone, we were ready to go. We packed our things and closed our room for the last time, though not before taking a picture of the creepy hand print on the wall. We just noticed it as we were heading out.
We took a shuttle labeled Southwestern Tours, which picked us up at 5 and drove through the narrow, looping streets of the island to pick up another family, before taking us to the ferry building. Like we had seen when we arrived, we were shuffled through the paperwork and ticketing by our tour managers, into a waiting area. A man from the tour helped us with our bags, demanding an immediate tip. He then went on to lecture us about how much money we make teaching in Korea and how little he makes in comparison. I tried, for a time, to explain about the difference in cost of living, how he can buy a kilo of mangoes for 10 pesos where that would cost 15,000 won in Korea and more in America, but he didn’t seem entirely interested in that line of thought. This irked Kristen, as he was hassling us about it and she found it to be just another example of the “fees” we’d experience upon arriving.
While we were waiting, it began to rain outside, making our walk to our boat more of a rush to keep from soaking our things. I was glad for the tarpaulin material that had soaked my back in Seoul, since it was saving our things from the drizzle. The little man again took my bag, I thought, in a show of gratitude for the inordinately large tip we had given him the first time around. This was not the case, as he asked for more upon reach the ship. Kristen was furious, and, as a sign of the seriousness of our offense, we tipped him less and didn’t say goodbye after thanking him.
Once on the ship, we marveled at the difference between the coming and going, as the ship we were on was several times larger than the oversized rowboat we had ferried to the island on. It was a massive ferry boat, big enough for a hundred people, though dwarfed by the cruise liner docking across from us as we made landfall. We watched it come in as we disembarked and followed the line of people under a plastic overhang, out into the street.
We were pointed across the street to a line of vans with the same logos as those on the name badges we’d been given. We crossed and went to a window where we gave our names and were shown to a van. We loaded into the van and waited, the rest of the passengers ducking in out of the continuing shower. After the van was full, a little Filipino man hopped into the driver’s seat and we set off for the airport.
Some time later, we found ourselves back in Cebu, sitting in the morning traffic jam. This went on for quite a while before we eventually hit the bottleneck and pushed through. We returned to the airport where not so long ago we had taken a midnight ride in a stranger’s van out to an island we’d only seen online in vibrant technicolor. We were out of the van in a moment, walking away from the enormous queue waiting for international flights, to the domestic terminal, where we paid some more fees to eventually sit down and have our flights delayed for us.
During this time, I had another exceedingly disastrous bowel movement, which culminated, to my horror, in the discovery that my toilet's flush mechanism was broken. Not really having any other options, I abandoned my imminations where they’d sank, like a captain abandoning a ship made of poop.
I escaped the punishment for my watery crime as we boarded the plane to Manila.
We landed feeling just exhausted. We’d been up for hours and stressed to no end from traveling. We landed in Manila after only an hour or so and ran to baggage to find our baggage had thankfully come with us (we had been forced to check it by a particularly obstinate lady in the terminal). We took our bags and walked quickly out to the curb to join the line for the taxis, fearing a repeat of our first cab line in Manila. We were lucky, then, as we were at the head of the line and the man manning the station wrote us a little slip for our hotel, which was just in front of the main terminal of the Ninoy Aquino International Airport.
After standing in the sun, at the head of the line, for what seemed like ages, we took a short, thrilling cab to our magnificent hotel. We could not have been more excited for this hotel, which I was dreading a little bit, as I had been reading too many reviews online. Sure, the Remington Hotel isn’t the greatest hotel ever built, but for a city-boy like me, it was El Dorado. Marble floors, elevators activated by keycards, privacy, civilization, A MALL NEXT DOOR. Heaven.
Jazzed and hungry, we left the hotel after dropping our things and went to the mall next door. We had seen placards for sushi restaurants because we are fixated like that, our hunger for Japanese food endless and insatiable. We crossed the streets, passing guarded checkpoints in the hotel lobby and again at the entrance to the mall. We went upstairs, delighted to find the restaurant open for lunch.
We wolfed it down and went back to our room for our requisite nap.
Once we woke, we went back into the mall for a movie. We saw The Man from U.N.C.L.E., having not read or seen any reviews for it. We thoroughly enjoyed it, marveling at the amazingly chill experience of seeing a movie in the Philippines. I had heard from my friend Lucas a long time ago that there are just some countries where seeing a movie isn’t as casual of an activity we think of it normally back in the States. Korea is like that. Seeing a movie is a big deal and an experience, rather than just something people do all the time for fun. The Philippines was even more in that vein, as the theater felt very ritzy to us, perhaps because of the area or perhaps because of the mall. Or perhaps because it really was super ritzy and we had been living on an island for a little more than a week.
Either way, we dug it and felt in grand spirits as we pit-stopped at Starbucks for some souvenirs before heading back and tucking in at our room.
S a t u r d a y
We were up at 4 again, this time on purpose. We took the shuttle to the airport after checking out and receiving our complimentary breakfast packages. These reminded us of our beloved breakfast boxes from Cozybox in Seoul, though this morning, we managed to spill most of everything in the paper bag in which they’d given them to us. I also gulped down some croissants while we got our tickets and checked in, as we feared they wouldn’t allow us to take the food or water past security. We were wrong, as they waved us through security and immigration with barely a glance. We made to our departure gate well before it was set to leave, though we missed the memo by a bit when everyone lined up to board. Eventually, we were seated on the plane and we took off back to Seoul.
I’d like to say this flight was uneventful, like pretty much all of the other’s we’ve ever taken, but in this particularly instance, there was some drama. After take off, a woman rolled out of her seat onto the floor and passed out. The flight attendants, one I recognized from our flight to the Philippines (think Filipino Jake Gyllenhaal), picked her up and gave her oxygen before setting her back in her seat. She lay there for a while, unconscious, before eventually coming to, but it was probably the craziest thing I’ve ever seen while flying, which I am thankful for.
We landed in Seoul and re-immigrated without a hitch, snagging some Burger King before taking the express train to Seoul Station and rushing to Yongsan to catch a train to Yeosu. In our rush to return home, we actually ended up getting on the wrong train and had to disembark in Iksan, a city I can now say I’ve visited, if only for the view from the train station.
We got on the right train and made it back to the apartment, thankfully without any other excitement. We settled back in with some laundry and dinner, finally home after our island getaway.
* * *
A Final Note: Sex Trafficking in the Philippines
Though we had a wonderful trip, it was marred by a singular experience we feel it would be disingenuous not to relate. While we were walking around the beach that night we looked for the bar, we found ourselves approached by a girl who asked us for “sex on the beach.”
Now, all along the beach that night, like many, lights were strung up to provide pedestrians a path along the stretch of beach enclosed by huge windbreakers, meant to keep the worst of the wind and storm surge from destroying the beachfront restaurants. But, as we walked back to the main thoroughfare, we struck a patch that was, for whatever reason, unlit. It was about thirty feet of open sand, very dark, but not so dark as to prevent us from seeing people, mostly women, milling about in huddles on the shaded sand.
As we walked through this stretch of darkness, a small, sleepy girl walked up to us and asked us for “sex on the beach.” We took this to mean the drink and said no before continuing, but the further we went away from the beach, the more it began to dawn on us that we had not necessarily understood what we had just heard and seen. We talked about it, Kristen and I, thinking of the women milling, wearing short skirts and tops, even though it was chilly out and about how the girl seemed so tired and why was she out so late anyways and why would she ask us that? Eventually, we realized our mistake and decided to return to the spot we had seen her on the beach. When we arrived, we didn’t see her, but the women were still standing about in the shadows, even as security guards stood not but twenty feet away in the lit sections, standing guard at the bars and a nearby hotel.
We weren’t sure what else to do, so we went into that hotel which was closest to where we had seen her and talked to the manager there and told him what had happened and were reassured by his disgust as he called the police. We gave him our names and our hotel and left. On the way back, I stopped in on a bathroom where I had seen this sticker.
I took a picture and we called and left a message on the hotline once we got back to the hotel. We stayed up a while after that, talking it over, shaken by what we had experienced, or at least thought we had.
We might have been wrong, completely misunderstanding what had taken place, but the presence of the stickers, in bathrooms and cabs, and the very permissive attitude of the tourist areas, the anything-at-a-price attitude of the island in general, led us to believe otherwise. As we thought more and more on this, it became obvious.
So, more than anything, be aware and be advised when traveling to the Philippines or traveling anywhere. It might sound made up, but there was literally a report on sex trafficking in America when we got back to the hotel that night, in a sadly-serendipitous moment that sometimes occurs in real-life. Be aware and, more than anything, say something. Do anything. Do not just walk by, but instead turn around, even if you walk everywhere else trying to decide if what you saw was what you thought you did.
We have to do something. Even if we think it’s nothing, we have to help people if we can because if we do something, maybe we can help someone so little girls don’t walk around the beach at midnight asking tourists for sex on the beach.
We have to do something. Even if we think it’s nothing, we have to help people if we can because if we do something, maybe we can help someone so little girls don’t walk around the beach at midnight asking tourists for sex on the beach.