I’ve got a smidge of gravel in my knuckles. This is day 10 or something in the Philippines. This morning I wrote some memories in my journal and concluded the entry by listing some things I wanted before I ditched these 7000 islands. Top of the list: “adventure”. Welp, today I got it. Knock it off the list. Delete it from the dictionary. Forget I just wrote it. Falling off a motorcycle in piercing light rain at 7 miles per hour after failing to navigate a bumpy wide turn on a hill with trucks and tricycles whizzing by is adventure enough for me. [Incase you're worried, I'm fine. The only real casualty of the situation is my 10 minute ambition to one day own a Honda motorbike, which I'd never considered until whizzing down the Bohol national highway just before my little spill.]
My whole Philippines trip has been a fly-by-the-seat-of-your-tacky-shorts operation. I didn’t really plan it or prepare for it or have much of a clue where I’d go. All of that has been fine. Ever since a long summer canvassing and bar-hopping in Cincinnati in college, I’ve been pretty good at negotiating city maps. I’d managed to find some interesting people and things to do cruising around Coron and a place called Club Paradise in the lush island province (it’s actually useless to use the word island, since they’re all islands, but what the hell) of Palawan. I hiked up the tallest hill in Coron (724 whole steps), kayaked through waters with trash bags and alien-like starfish outside my hotel called Sea Dive, and got duped by a nice guy outside the airport in Manila (knowing the whole time he was just trying to get my business and I should just go with my original plan but being unable to resist) and missing my rendezvous with Samantha by several kilometers and a day and a half. The good stuff really started after Samantha and I met up in Coron.
