On Friday the boys from Grind Hard put on a “Graff on Girls” event on Queen West @ Proper Reserve.

They got together a bunch of Toronto’s top graffiti artists to paint on select models (yours truly included!) and host a jam/silent auction for the artists canvas and stylized pieces.

It was such an awesome experience - the place buzzed with creative vibes, hip talented artists, DJ’s and all around swagga-licious people.

I was painted on by artist Mozie (Brandon Ing) and he worked intensely on my stomach for 2 1/2 hours while people moseyed around and photographers got all snap happy! 

I laid pretty much in one spot for the duration of the painting which meant a killer neck twitch but it was well worth it. I was able to parade around with some of the sickest work there that night right on my belly! Unfortunately the cops raided the scene around 12:30am because PR was only licensed to sell beer on the bottom floor and not both floors (which to me was ridiculous as there is a murderer running around my street… you think they’d prioritize the crime scale).

We ended the night at the Java House with overly greasy nachos and whole wheat quesdillas- wicked time regardless!

It has been a crazy long time since I have blogged. After my amazing trip through Asia ended I felt uninspired to write about anything to be quite frank.

BUT. I have moved to the heart of the Toronto Fashion District. Queen Street West where a lot of crazy s!@# goes down daily.

I will be reporting on local colour and fascinating incidents as they occur.

Because that is what life is all about right now. Fascination. 

OH. And I just had a job interview at an adult toy and fetish boutique.

If I get the job, I am certain I will have a bundle to share.

WOW - is all that I can say. A three letter word that is backed up by a million other adjectives and verbs and nouns and images and laughs and noise and beauty.

But, for now just wow.

121 days, 17.5 weeks. The fastest days, the fastest weeks of our lives.

When I think  about the past 4 months, about the people we met or the things that we saw I just have this orb of colour, splashing yellows and pinks, greens and blues around inside that ultimately creates an image that only the two of us can truly savour together.

An image with no boundaries, no frustrations, and no regrets.
An image of wonderful.

 I reminisce on our travel and I dig up snippets that effected me in big ways and small. Like seeing the crystalline Filipino ocean for the very first time, or being stuck in a star-globe in Northern Laos. Then I evoke the small memories  like feeling the rush of a cool stream between my fingers, or having the helping hand of a local, and even my first breaths in the morning, relishing the sweet freshness filling my lungs.

Its possessions like that I carry around and treasure the most. Its not about how many countries you can see, how many events you can cram into a day, how much you can boast about.
Its about becoming one with where you are at, about letting go and becoming free, its about becoming blind with eyes wide open, becoming vulnerable and believing in the thrills of the world.

And to me, that is true travel.

With the hills we have climbed, the oceans we have conquered, the smiles that earthquaked our lives we came across a sense of  being.
Being happy, being curious, being real.

So, as a perch myself on top of the world with the orb floating around me and my thoughts stretching a smile from ear to ear I’d like to say I feel rejuvenated, alive and energetic.

And there is only one person to thank more than the entire world for thunder storming together the time of my life.
That’s my soul sister.
My best travel companion ever.

“Two roads diverged in a wood, and I— I took the one less traveled by.
 And that has made all the difference.” -Robert Frost

When we swayed out of Nong Khiau and rolled on the twisted cracked concrete toward Luang Prabang a sense of perfect calm washed over me.

I looked up at the karsts that so much defined Laos’ beauty and felt that they decided  I was no longer a stranger to their large shimmering rock formations, that I was no longer a “visitor”. I was just me, just here, just there basking between their magnificent stance and they were okay with it, as if I’d be there my whole life.

A strange peaceful connection.

Luang Prabang was just how we left it, radiant and busy.  The Oreo Shake man, the Baguette Lady all remembered us from months ago as they waved expertly perched behind their outdoor food counters.
For the duration of our few days stay we mostly took various siestas (for the weather was a scorching 40 degrees in the afternoon!) went for dinners near the Mekong, indulged on our favorite plates and strolled through the unavoidable night market.  However,  in the slices of time when we weren’t just flawlessly doing nothing, we did our ‘somethings’.

As a quest for a friend back at home we went “Monk Hunting”. Monk Hunting is quite the challenge in a city known for its collection of charming temples and thus lead us to approaching a decent amount of novices, monks and Wats before we found what we had been searching for. His name was Olay, a practicing novice who had made friends with our friend Kc Shore back in December and we were here to deliver him a gift from her.

Olay both surprised and pleased invited us into the temple where 20 or so novices ages 12 to 25 were doing their evening chants. Quietly, Boo and I sat at the back and our hearts rose with the sound of the voices passionately chanting to the Gods above. It was absolutely magical, like the voices went up in swirls then divided into golden painted wisps that embraced and melted the temple walls. The boys knelt in front of a dazzling display of golden Buddha’s and raised their vocals high and low, left and right, for nearly an hour.

We were well impressed and so honored to have been able to experience their daily ritual which was so foreign to the both of us. Olay chatted with us for a small while after the prayer session, asking questions and giving answers.

We topped that night off with going to our favorite bamboo nook across the bamboo bridge for a platter of Lao food and coconut milkshakes.

One morning we pulled ourselves up from our sticky hot nests and trotted down to Big Brother Mouse to teach English for a couple of hours. Grabbing a baguette and a shake to improve our smarts before putting on witty ‘teacher mode’, we made our way to the BBM headquarters and met our students.

They were lovely. We had a handful of boys aged 17 - 25 all eager to learn, some already better then others, some just diving into the  universe of languages. I taught my student Aight how to write proper sentences, read with him and did a few spelling quizzes. My other students name was Lu and we looked at picture books with the description of each image printed and discussed certain sound variations. It was really a special way to connect, being able to be a portal of knowledge, being able to answer questions and even being able to ask questions. Boo’s student was already a real whiz at English that he ended up teaching her some Lao!

The Mekong whispered prettily at night, the moon was ripe and full and the city was as beautiful as ever.

The day we left Luang Prabang we said goodbye to our favorite food vendors, and they promised they’d be looking out for our return (again!).

The bus we jumped was headed for Vientiane and we made it to the capital in not the promised 8 hours but 12. It was quite alright though, I was predicting the journey would take 14 hours (Lao Time).
Our bus which was actually fancier then we had anticipated had deceiving looks because not 2 hours into the trip did she just die and rolled to a stop on the side of the mountain. Every passenger offloaded and we all dilly dallied in the sunshine with occasional cloud cover until our back up bus was able to drive out to the deceased automobile and replace our wheels.

Subtracting a few awful crashes that lead to an SUV flying right off the cliff (which resulted in the car looking like a tiny toaster), the ride -to no surprise what-so-ever - was nothing less then brilliant and marvelous. The rocks and countryside mountains were jagged and piercing, powerful and enticing.

By late evening we were back in the capital for the utmost time, and since we knew the city streets well it didn’t take very long before we found a lovely and comfortable abode.

We gave ourselves one full day in the city to arrange for transportation into Bangkok, did some last minute shopping and of course gobbled back some Scandinavian treats. Three cheers for creatures of habit!

In the dusk of the 29th  a load of travelers and us scrambled onto a Song-Tow, then a shuttle bus and then a minibus that was ultimately headed towards big and bad BKK.
(Thankfully, the border crossing went as smoothly as a cloud and we weren’t left to ask Grandma for a place to stay! Though that was fun…)

Upon buying the ticket to Bangkok we received a photo of a rather large aircon and reclining chair bus, but found our group was small enough to fill up a mini bus instead. This minibus sure was a looker and Boo and I were ecstatic about an over night venture - a little more jazzed up then another tank bus. Though out of the group I think we were the only ones gushing about our cozy cranny, as everyone else seemed to drip words laced with notions that they were not pleased.  Three cheers for being small!

Our driver ripped the buggy through the night and we ended up arriving in the fussy famous capital 2 hours early. Not always a great thing, when the city is currently under a curfew from weekly riots, bombs, deaths, gun fights and fires.
Thankfully we had arranged a room at White Palace again and they let us check in at 4:30 am! I couldn’t believe our luck.

We had been following the news on the political issues of Bangkok for the past couple of weeks and only 5 days before our arrival 85 people were killed. Though we were a little more intrigued then nervous (three cheers for an adventurers soul!) we stayed within the quarters of the city we were familiar with, including the labyrinth of an underground fashionista heaven, MBK mall and the rocket path of street food and freshly cut fruit.

The last couple days were a blur of confusion, excitement , dancing, sulking and everything that fits in the clefts between.

The realization that the trip of a life time is nearing an end is a hard one to conceive of. Throw in a mixture of an animated family awaiting your return and your heart is a topsy turvy fizzle. 

Though one of the hardest things to do, far more then saying goodbye to the city, or even to the evening sun is to pack up our packs for the very last time.

With a plate of street Pad Thai, a carton of cheap Tea, a few Baht to our name and a whole bunch of memories we lifted up our chopsticks, filled up our cups and said “Cheers to Asia 2010!” .

It didn’t take long for the feel of the Lao air to slither into my lungs as we drove off from Grandma’s store early morning, hitching a ride with a Song-Taw shortly after we finished our duck noodle soup.

The Song-Taw arrived in Sam Neua after about 2 hours of winding through the mountainous road.  I instantly felt the negative energy of Vietnam rise out of my skin and float off , disintegrating into the mountains and high rocky karsts that looked sharper and more green then I remember.

I was so happy to be back in Laos. We were greeted with many “Sa-bah-dees!” (hellos) and waves that shot up into the air and waggled with excitement.

Because the bus to Nong Khiau wouldn’t leave until the next morning, we had to spend a full day and night in Sam Neua. It was so strange being back in the city that held such significance. This was indeed the city where we met Dave and Travis, the two Australians who told us to go to the Philippines which ultimately changed our lives.

The biggest event of our stop-over was a bowl of Koko Krunch and finding a little restaurant with the best Ice Ovaltine.

By the next evening, after 13 hours back on that winding road which we have now been on three times, we rolled into delicate Nong Khiau. Before the town was in sight I gazed out the window and thought that that mountain looked  particularly familiar. I’d been looking at mountains for a decent 12 hours but that one was different. It signaled that we were finally back.

Without really realizing it, we ended up spending an entire week in Nong Khiau. Home and Tooie (our friends whom which we met in February) were so incredibly surprised to see us that it took them the entire evening to comprehend that we kept our promise to revisit them and their Pandora gem.

Most evenings we hung out on the big handsome bridge gazing at the globed sky that twinkled with absolute flawlessness.  Some evenings we went to the towns miniature disco and I donated my laptop for the evening to supply pumping tunes for all.

It was great to be back. To be recognized by the local villagers and appreciated with big juicy hugs and ear to ear smiles.

One afternoon we went fishing with Home and Tooie, boating to a small islet - one of the many that dotted the Nam Ou River- and learnt how to throw the net Lao style.

After some hard work (well I was more or less the cheer leader and keeper of fish caught) we built a fire and cooked the fish, eating it with sticky rice and bottles of water.

I was left alone on the islet at one point and a wave of pure euphoria washed over me again. I was sitting in the river, splashing about and looking around at the peaks of the karsts, the cloud sprinkled sky, and all I could do was feel so small and so special all at once. I pretended  Google Earth was trying to locate me and the soul section labeling it “Little Land of Bliss”.

Two of the nights we went to Tooie’s house for dinner, home cooked delicious meals that we all ate as a family on the floor. Bowls of fried morning glories, pork and water buffalo meat.
 Another evening the lot of us got together and gathered goods from a tucked away veggie slash meat market. At Home’s house we collectively cut and organized the food, picking and peeling, slicing and chopping. We made a big soup like dinner for all of us hungry chefs and his family.

Some days we went to the waterfall to cool off. On May 21st Boo and I rented bikes and packed a picnic for the waterfall. It was a special trip we planned together in memory of a friend who has passed away a year earlier and the waterfall seemed to have a significant yet peaceful touch.xo

We pedaled in 40 degree heat, up hill and down hill, obviously enjoying the down hill sections a titch more.

At the waterfall we shared the picnic with local Hmong girls and gave them gifts like our bracelets or hair clips.

On an earlier date one of the most beautiful girls gave me a lucky pebble when I was visiting with the water. She seemed different, like a mysterious being that you admire in peculiar movies.

During the day Tooie would visit our bungalow (which had the jaw dropping view of the river slithering between the bridge pillars and in between the cliffs). He’d sit in the hammock while we read, chatted and listened to music.

It was also butterfly season in Nong Khiau. As if the place could get any more magical.
There were white butterflies everywhere.
Hundreds, tens of thousands of them. They’d fly in a graceful stream breaking off mid-way and joining the sky higher, the lingering trees, under the bridge. They’d fly into your hair, your face, flap against your skin.

Boo and I walked the steep slope to the sandy shore at the water where we found thousands upon thousands of butterflies resting on the ground. We ran through them and they flocked up and fluttered in a blizzard around us, flying this way and that and high up over our heads in a white swirl that reminded me of a snow storm.

The days floated by, the way you see music notes float on by, or happy scents waft through rooms in various cartoons. Every morning we’d have breakfast at Delilah’s, Tooie the cook and occasionally asking us to help back in the kitchen.

We laughed. We smiled. We stretched. We yawned. We strolled. We swam. We ate.

We woke up to splendor, fell back asleep to splendor for an entire week.

Twas a dream. xo

The game plan was to get back into Laos within a week and a half. When we rocked out of Sipalay it was the beginning of a chaotic travel buzz which days seemed long and were scattered amougst 3 different countries.

We pulled into Bacolod after a rather ebullient and bouncy bus ride, surprisingly as we were some what not looking forward to having to do that trip again. But it was now a habit to make the most out of anything, even repeat 6 hour trips!

 Our flight to Manila was early the next morning, giving us a short period of time for some rest before picking up and moving along again. 

Though the flight was a only mere 45 minutes and so we rocked into the infamous capital while the morning sun was still crisp hunkering down into a hole-in-the-wall guesthouse.
(We were to meet up with Bims and Jacko from Donsol -remember them?!- though the plans unfortunately fell through no compliments to Jacko’s bad timing and an early 4am flight in the morning!)

My heart hurt and I was getting sick. I think the gloom of leaving the Philippines was seeping into my heart and trickling down into my stomach. It was hard to comprehend that we wouldn’t wake up to steamed rice and eggs, walk through the cool Filipino shade, or be able to appreciate all those great Filipino quirks first hand anymore. We’d grown so accustom to the lifestyle, and waking up to the ocean which was so vast that you really felt detached from the world.

In all honesty.

I was also nervous about Vietnam.

Like the early birds we now were we departed the Philippines not long after the morning heat was rising, and landed in Singapore around 7am on the 9th. Of course being in Singapore , sticking to all the laws and rules and what not, we were not granted check in to our already paid room in our near-to-airport-hotel until after noon. It was a pleasant 6 hours in the lobby and trying to keep the sickness contained.

I was sick for the plump 24 hours we were in Singapore and that’s basically all that I remember!

Then, out by morning again and on the way to Vietnam. A stop over in Ho Chi Min city and then another flight to Hanoi.
We’d successfully flown 4 flights in 3 days and I thought pure relieve and approval would rub into my sore bones once we were on our way to a guest house in the capital of Vietnam after such country hopping.

I had never been there before, nor will I ever go back.
I hated Vietnam.
My most memorable tid-bits were the red duvets which our guesthouse so amazingly provided and enjoying 2 very fresh carrots.

I’m not a closed minded traveler, nor am I a stuck up prick who blabbers on about personal space and manners and blah blah. But Vietnam was something else!
Out of the 18 countries I’ve been to, this is the ONLY one I do not love.
The people (minus a very minimal amount) seemed rude and rushed, loud and annoyed. Going there from the Philippines was like getting a slap in the face from the Almighty.

I couldn’t stand it.

There were mopeds driving at our heels, honking angrily. Move or be hit -never mind the acknowledgment of your safety. If your in the way, you WILL be slaughtered mercilessly  by car, pedal cyclo, taxi, fellow pedestrian. (At one point, we were stuck in the middle of the street with a revving 60+ mopeds streaming toward us and we both thought “This is it. Goodbye beautiful working feet, goodbye limbs!”. )


There was no acknowledgment of our existence what-so-ever - not even when shopping at the local market!

In the 3 full days in Vietnam I was knocked to the ground and hit by a bus.

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We dipped ourselves into a tiny prize of a town after departing from the mystique of Squijor and bunking again one night in Dumaguete. It was a pretty laid back night as we got laundry done for the second time in nearly 4 weeks and were restricted to just our underwear. Needless to say, we had to stay inside until day break! Leaving the college focused town we took 2 bus rides around the dip of Negros island to Sipalay. The tiny prize.

Sipalay was a sleepy fishing village, its main streets tucked behind a beautiful long stretching beach with clear sandy bottomed ocean. Once arriving in the early evening we took a tricycle 10 km out of town to a paddle boat (captained by two boys not a day over eight!) which drifted us over a short tidal stream to a place called Sugar Beach.

This was an ideal hotspot for secluded beach lovers and we thought instead of staying in town we would vanish into seclusion for a while. However, the nearest huts were a decent 800m down the beach and fellow travelers warned about the costly rooms and meals. So, we turned around and hired a boat to bring us back to the shores of town in no time flat. It wouldn’t have been such a big deal but as it turned out the nearest ATM was ways away and upon opening our wallets  we found we had a flimsy $60.00 collectively. We planned with 2 bottles of water a day, a cheap hotel room, rice for breakfast and dinner we could survive 4 days, with extra money for the bus ride out.

After dropping our bags off at our new stay we rushed to the local market, grabbed a handful of fried chicken and a bag of rice and hit the beach to watch the glowing spark in the sky melt to the oceans reflection, splashing crimson colours over the town. Sun-setting watching was a ritual amougst the villagers, the beach freckled with families and babies, friends and lovers.

Not long after dusk, as we were sitting by the ocean, we were ambushed by 13 boys of all ages. They were brothers, friends, cousins, aged 8-19 all  bike riding enthusiasts. From this crew of awesomely excited hooligans it was Karl and Francisco that ended up sticking to us like glue. They were best friends, both the oldest of the bike crew and our age. Karl was a hardcore biker, sponsored locally for cross country events and races. Francisco also raced.

Money nagging issues got the best of us, as we had new friends and thought we may need more funds if we were to do something as a group. That morning we rushed out of our hot little abode to catch the 2am bus to a city 3 hours away, all for a simple cash withdrawal. Thinking logically, we could reach the city by 5 am, do our money shenanigans and head back to the beach for 9am.
Not quite.

Upon reaching this far off city, we found the ATM’s to all be out of order. We then slept on a park bench until 8am waiting to talk with the bank managers who in the end couldn’t be of any help but to recommend trekking further for better service. Out of all the days for the ATM’s to be offline! Taking into account the distance we had already crossed to get funds we took another 2.5 hour bus ride further up North to the rugged and smog filled city of Bacolod.

Could you imagine driving 6 hours just to an ATM and then 6 hours back? And to my luck, all machines rejected my card! ( But at least one of us was able to take out a chunk of money upon arrival to the main city on the island.)
 Undeniably,  it was ixnay-on-the-Beach-Day but we made the best of our adventure and treated ourselves to a couple of milkshakes before taking the 6 hour trip back. Which we had to stand- the entire way!

A nice tight cram of 150 people in scorching heat of the rickety bus. We observed nearly everyone in our peripherals contently, feeling equally as content with our freshly stuffed pockets and waited out the hundreds of kilometers back.

I won’t go into detail about the soreness of my limbs and the ache of my entire being, but I will mention that the shower I had when I got back was the best. Ever.

Karl was waiting for us right as we stepped off the bus, the punctual being of the boy was just incredible. (He even saw us off at 2 in the morning to make sure we we’re good!)

I was glad the darkness had settled in for I looked somewhat like a wild beast, my hair in an awful fit of frizz and my face caked with the days unseen twists. We promised to hang out on the beach and in the local park after a hose down, and so we did.
The night was soothing, and as soon as I stood near the ocean and rested my bones into the cool sand I felt the day wash away, and I realized all the mattered was that we were back under the stars.

The following day we took an oath to do nothing but lay in the glory of the beach, sucking down watermelon and chomping on mid-day Banana Q. (Barbequed bananas glossed in a sugar sauce, delicious!)
 

That night we had chicken and rice on the beach again, beside Karl and his crew which we were also well acquainted with and then finished off with a dusk ocean dip.

Sipalay was a lot like our home town in a sense. Everything shut down shortly after nightfall and crews and couples would just walk along the main strip or gather in the park for some twilight chatter. I liked the relation, it felt comforting.

Being on the beach at night was an extra plus and we laid back to gaze at the sky, or at the sand bars made by the tide or to chase the many crabs that invaded with admirably agility. We also trudged down to fisherman pulling in their catch, and I got to hold a really big squid. It was squishy.

In the morning the boys, Karl, Francisco, Karl’s little brother (who was missing his pinky finger due to a monkey bar accident as a child) and a couple of his friends took us a little way out of town to a serene  lagoon, tucked away gracefully and accessible only by a bamboo bridge.

We waded in-between the sand and rocks and took out a Bangka (paddle boat) around the lagoon twice, spotting jelly and star fish amougst the weedy bottom.

Later on, before we hit up the beach in Sipalay we bought a round of yummy mango sherbet to the boys delight and ended the evening taking Karl and Francisco out for dinner.

The entire feeling was just incredible. The whole town seemed to know Boo and I, where we were from, how long we were staying, who we made friends with. (We even had one lady knock on our guest house door to personally invite us to her families party!)
The nights were full of such pure peace and we could just sit and chat in our hoodie sweaters, about anything in the world for hours at a time.

The following day we had to move on because our time in the radiant Filipino life was coming to a close. I felt my heart sink into my stomach, like time was catching up with us too fast even though I begged and shouted that I was content on balancing through this everlasting experience.

Before departing Sipalay back to Bacolod (we had a flight to Manila in the morning) we spent the morning basking in the ocean for our last time on this trip. No ocean in Laos, it was a land locked country and we were heading back there next.

Karl also took us to meet his mother and to say hello to his 4 brothers again. Being invited into their house was such an honor, a little make-shift porch was where his mother sat nursing his 4 month old baby brother. 

Francisco and Karl sadly saw us off and I felt shaky and slightly dented having to leave. We were use to leaving friends and places by now, but this time I felt it tug.

I think my heart wanted to float with the waves, and my mind wanted to turn over new facts about our friends, their lives, their town.
My feet wanted the sands exfoliation to bring satisfaction.
And my stomach just wanted more fried chicken and rice!

[Song Download: Colours of the Wind - Vanessa Williams]

On the third day in breathtaking Squijor, we went cave crawling for our very first time ever which made this day one of the most memorable to date!

Junel and Achel picked us up nice and early on their motorbikes because they were set on showing us the island full blast (and I was set on seeing the island full blast)!

We stopped to suck in old spirits at Mother Willow tree, to walk the wooden floors of the old church and to swim within a spiritual limestone waterfall which shone with azure luminosity, green wallowing around the cool pond.

To beautiful for words this waterfall was. The water was a refreshing spray on my thirsty skin, and amid the surface blue and red dragonflies danced.

We drove and stopped to gawk at various wonderful ocean views, mountain views, whatever-phenomenon-Earth-has-produced views.

(I also promise to you that we passed many elderly women who actually looked black-magic knowledgeable. They looked ancient and enchanting and witch-like. Boo would agree!)

We zoomed up a mountain, stopping briefly at a butterfly farm that was so delightfully decorated with deformed and evil blood splattered wooden sculptures.

Nothing like gore to spruce up a fluttering garden!

Reaching crooked stairs within the dense mountain forest we clambered to the top of a look-out that was so rusty bits of it flaked off with every step. Ignoring the fact that the look-out was well past its death date, the view was amazing. I looked out onto the glowing ember of which was Squijor and beyond the shores to land far off in the distance.

Finally, at the top of the island’s highest peak  the hollow underground world awaited our arrival.
Cave crawling time had arrived.

Strapping on a helmet, a headlamp and my sneakers I felt rather nerdy and rather exhilarated about the big crawl. In the dark. With some Filipinos and some Filipinas (which was, as we found out, the best way to go cave crawling!)

We slowly immersed ourselves into darkness my adventurers soul intensifying with every slippery step.
There were under ground pools, rivers, drips from above, fresh mineral water which we drank from the rocks. There were tricky parts which caused us to move our limbs in ways they hadn’t before, dunking beneath rocks, clambering over others. It was wet, and slippery, sharp and dry.

With our team came two women guides who were middle aged and wearing flip-flops. How they did it, I was unsure though I let my curiosity  reside to the fact that they had Filipina blood and thus were unstoppable.

At some points we were doing the duck waddle, or on our hands and knees crawling. At other points we were hoisting our bodies between sharp ledges and over gushing water. It was 1 km to the end and 1 km back. They must have been the most awesome and stimulating kilometers I’ve ever accomplished and at the end waited a large white stone that shone like a gem. It stood out amougst the other under world formations which hung like rigid fungus and cow teats. This rock glistened with fresh water, white like snow, hard like ice.

Spectacular, beyond that.

Nearing the end the lot of us went for a dip and showered in an under ground water fall before resurfacing to the “Light Life” which I seemed to temporarily forget about completely.

Man, was it ever bright!

After a more legit shower (with soap!) back in our bungalow we went out dancing again in San Juan at a weekend bar titled “Castaways”. The live band got us dancing with them up on stage and broke down with some nice reggae covers for all the Rude-Boys to come out and bop around to.

We had a great night, to finish off a dazzling day.

I was hardly even tired, my eyes not sore from opening up to all of the islands enigma.  

As a treat on our final day we sought out our secluded wonder of a beach and resumed our floating pose, realizing in a couple weeks we’d be without the ocean for some time again.
The withdrawal would be hard to handle  we presumed, especially after such an addiction for the ocean’s salty sweetness.

That night, our final night Junel, Achel, Boo and I met up at the cold springs in San Juan where the biggest community event was in the haps - live band, out door BBQ, scattered lawn chairs, the works.

(Junel and Achel with some Red Horse beer at these events)

Again with the dancing feet, I guess Squijor just made us move! The night was a little more obnoxious as there were a decent handful of overly eager dancers to fend off , but it was nothing we couldn’t handle.

Someone stole my flip-flops, which sort of sucked since they were my sole’s soul.
But Junel and Achel got us to our bungalow safe and sound.

Junel also, at one time in his life, created 13 tiny metal knives which he wears as pendants around a beautiful handcrafted necklace which he put together himself. (On top of being a spiritual healer, a masseuse and an accountant he was also an artist!)
He slid off a pendant for each of us, proudly saying he’s made only 13 of these friendship trophies and was thrilled to pass 2 of them onto Boo and I.

The small gift was such a heart warming ornament which I will keep forever.

On top of his genuine sweetness and fatherly attitude in the morning he surprised me with a brand new pair of flip-flops before seeing us off.

Extreme sadness and guilt washed over me as we finished off breakfast in Squijor town and boarded the fast-craft back to Dumaguete in Negros.

I felt like my time on the island wasn’t quite complete, that I owed it and its people one more day of legitimate love.

But it just means that I return and top it off as one of my main destinations to revisit in the very near future.

I will just, you know, simply float on back by the pull of the magic.

Because fate (and boat schedules) brought us back to Bohol we thought to call up our buddy John (Firefly) so we could cause a ruckus in the town of Tagbileran  before departing once again to another ultimate destination.

We ended up staying 2 nights and one full day. Bohol just seemed to have that captivating grip on us, and it was extremely awesome that we had established a nice friendship with a few of the locals. The two days in a nutshell included Videoke , joy riding, a second visit to a more discrete  tarsier filled sanctuary and a final dance induced night. The tarsier farm was more deliciously complete with sleeping bundles of endearing cuteness which we named Walter and Peggy Sue. We came about the farm as we were motor biking towards a zip line and bungee jumping zone far into the heart of the island. Unfortunately we got rained out and had to cumber up less exotic but equally as fun events.

On our final night we danced the ants right out our pants, not bothering to quit until the early morning in which we went for a half dip in the ocean at Alona and then headed back to the town where awaiting our return was our dingy and hazy nest.

Thus, lead to another non stop night and there was zilch down time before a ferry to the town of Dumaguete onward to Siquijor Island that morning. However, we only made it to Dumaguete before falling to sleepy to venture to the mystical magical island off shore and bunked until the morning in this colourful college town in Negros Oriental.

Siquijor was something else. It is proclaimed to be the spookiest island of the Philippines, home to voodoo, witchcraft and black magic. Many Filipinos will chose to never explore this island paradise because of the haunted rumors and its current hair-raising status!

I just absolutely fell down right in love with the entire place. It had to be the most  juicily picturesque island I had been on, glowing by the golden heat, caressed by turquoise water, splashed with spiritual waterfalls and buzzing with a serene mystical buzz.

We spent  4 luminous days exploring. We dwelled in a spacious concrete bungalow amidst a lush tropical garden and perched upon a small cliff that jutted out above the ocean. Our place was 10km from Squijor town and about a 1.5 km walk from the nearest small town of San Juan. To get to and fro it was again with the motor bike hitch hiking or walking to San Juan to barter a ride into town with a tricycle.

On the very first eve we sat on the beach like blond bait smiling around and yearning friends to come forth. And they did! We made two great friends on Squijor - Junel a spiritual healer of around 30 years old and his cousin Achel a 19 year old student.

Because elections for the Philippines was coming up  roaring community events were on the rise. On the first night, we were brought to a large  outdoor live concert slash disco.  Over a few beers and many up-to-date songs the four of us connected , chatted and danced accompanied by nearly the whole town and their hot sweating bodies. Unfortunately around mid-night some of the folk had one to many beers and began to get aggressive and tried to forcefully dance with the “Westerners“.

Nothing like alcohol and the excitement of white girls to cause a stir!

But it was quite alright, with our new friends backing us up we decided to leave and go splash off  our glistening-with-sweat bodies in the cold springs smack in the center of San Juan!

Mid-night dips in tropical heat are refreshing like nothing else.

Day 2 was spectacular and Day 3 was even more so. (You’ll have to read on for the cave crawling day!)


Around mid-day we hired a tricycle out of Squijor town to Palton Beach, a beach  set so perfectly you’d think it were a secret corner of the world to which Mother Nature inhabited personally.

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Camiguin Island felt like a dreamland that was splashed with unique vista and perfectly placed within the teeming archipelago of the Philippines.  It is home to beautiful white and brown sand beaches, 6 volcanoes, lagoons, renowned dive spots and absolutely awe-inspiring sunsets.

We arrived on this tiny island from the 4 hour slow boat that disembarked Bohol and as we crept up beside the isle it seemed to glimmer a shade of tranquility that excited my island loving soul.

Just before dusk we settled into the most amazing ramshackle stilted hut right on a close-to-secluded beach. The room was wooden and spacious with many cupboards to fill and a large balcony that overlooked the eyefuls of wide open ocean that lay only a staircase and a few feet in front.

To top that off, only shortly after we set down our packs the sun began to dip to the horizon blazing a brilliant shade of pink and orange and hovering like a globe of bright promises over the still ocean. It was just too welcoming!!!

Since rest was nil the previous night we did the sleep of the dead until dawn and then spent our first Camiguin fueled day absorbing the rays on our private little beach. Later in the afternoon we tripped 6km into town (no hitch hiking needed, Camiguin had a decent load of tuk-tuks!) for some spontaneous round round and a meal.

The town was a cheery little place with friendly smiles and tasty mango juice. We often spent our evenings out and about the crooked streets of Mambao.

The second day  was moped rental day. Yes, feeling a little on-top-of-the-world from my mid-night rescue driving on Bohol we figured we could rent our very own moped and do a little joy riding ourselves! 

With little to no briefing from our friend Mac-Mac (who worked at the place we were staying) we lurched out of our tucked away abode to the concrete streets of Camiguin. Barely making it alive through town I sat on the back and prayed to the gods of luck that Boo was able to control the revving machine (which was in fact a decent sized motorcycle and quite heavy at that).

We were nervous at first and then once skimming out of the more crowded areas we found the open boulevard to be much to ourselves and easier to navigate. I took the wheel and drove for a couple hours zipping past luscious green forests, the oceans blue pools , beautiful local life and countless other wonderful Filipino extravagances.

It was after a short break that Boo took the wheel and a few moments later, crashed it.

Indeed, as it would seem only proper that with our slight stupidity on taking on this venture with little to no skill that a crash was fore-coming. We ended up hitting a metal railing that took the entire siding of the motorcycle off.

.It must have been the most exciting thing that happened that week on the island because many people rushed out to peep, probe, ask questions and of course, to help out. They made sure the bike was in top condition before we rode off (minus the missing side panel).

It took a bit of doing to get back behind the beast as I was nervous that I too would now crash. I hesitantly drove to some cold-springs (and got stuck on a giant hill where yet another person assisted us up!) to assess our situation.

It was a sticky situation.

Call it in and get someone to pick us up all the way on the other side of the island, or keep on keeping’ on. We went with the latter and I ended up driving for another 4 hours back and forth and around the island. It was well worth it.

Everyone seemed to love the sight of two wind swept weirdoes in nerdy helmets carrying the side panel of the bike like a trophy around their island.

In conclusion to “Crash Day” we just laughed it off, paid the fine and decided that would be our one and only time to drive without the muscles of a local behind us.

In the evening after a well wanted meal Mac-Mac and his brother Jun-Jun took us to the nearby hot springs for a little bath like dip. The springs were a popular hangout for people of all ages and it was quite relaxing basking in the naturally heated waters and letting the events and sights of our chaotic and beautiful day soak in.

On day 3 we chartered a boat to a sinkable island titled “White Sand Island” (for obvious reasons).  It was only a little ways from our beach, a white sand strip glazed and caressed by waves by day and conquered and drowned by waves by night. 

A romantic getaway, like a perfect paradise on limited life span making you love every second its above sea level even more.

Mac-Mac and Jun-Jun drove the boat and hung around but Boo and I made it our mission to just become one with the white sand and cool ocean water while we were in such astonishing desolation.

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