Island Blues

Puerto Princesa's Baywalk


We had just arrived in Puerto Princesa after a couple of days in Bohol, and after a kinda rough start, I thought the worst was over and that my parents understood the types of things I wanted to do. Not saying that everything we do had to be this out-of-control-let’s-jump-out-of-planes type of thing, but if it had a lot to do with practically going into mini zoos to look at tarsiers and pythons and other caged animals, that you could count me out. As I said, I thought we were past that.

Nope.

We got to this sweet hotel, and that afternoon we left for the city tour. First stop: the crocodile farm. F, man. What the heck. Whatever. So I grin and bear it. But then where do we go? Basically, it was a luxury prison. Frick on a stick. Can’t I catch a break? We stay there for a little, wait while my mom decides what she wants to buy, from the inmates there, and we finally make it out. The prison grounds were actually quite beautiful. Kinda reminded me of Shashank Remdemption, because it had a library and recreation center. I’m pretty sure those prisoners were livin’ better than most of the population.

So I’m already irritated, to say the least. We stop by this club house with a beautiful view, then Baker's Hill, where there were lots of restaurants and a garden (which I walked through.. quickly), then we DROVE past the local street market, through the city’s Baywalk, and past some other parks and this cute, old cathedral. We stopped, alas, at this indoor market.

Seriously?

I come to this island that everyone says is so beautiful, and my first few hours I go to a crocodile farm, and a prison? Are these the pictures I’m gonna bring back, and is this what I’m supposed to tell my friends? There isn’t much I can do to embellish these stories. I think that would just be called lying. You could wrap poop with flower petals, but it’s still poop.

Maybe it’s the way I like to travel. I like touristy things, but not like this. There’s an art to travelling. There’s a way to become a part of the town you’re in; to become more than a spectator. I hated sitting in that van, looking at this city through the glass. I wanted to be dropped off at that outdoor market, and walk to the bay and wander along the boardwalk.

I was not happy (lightly put).

I just wanted to go to bed. The sooner I went to sleep, the sooner I’d wake up to a new day. That Underground River better live up to the hype.