I didn't want to cross the street, but Dan was on the hunt for photos. Dan hates it when I whine.
"Why do you need real life today? I'm on vacation. It's hot. There's sand in my shoes."
Dan is not listening. More real life.
We arrive on the other side. It faces east and there are no glorious sunsets like on our side. The surf pushes sea debris on shore, coconut tree branches, bamboo pieces torn from the outriggers, carelessly dropped packaging. There are "room to rent" signs nailed to wooden building flanking the seaside road. On the balcony of one such guesthouse there's a party of Australians. Bearded, tanned, and thin, they throw back their beer and laugh and share war stories. This is the serious back-backer zone of Boracay.
Funny that some things have not changed over a generation. There are still youthful travelers who pay for $10 guesthouses. You find them on the edge of real life.
|Farewell to Boracay|
We're leaving Boracay today. Closing my computer it's time to pay our bill and distribute tips. With mixed feelings, I put on my hiking boots for the journey onwards, first to