It’s 11:18 PM in Boracay, Philippines, which means that it’s 8:18 AM Seattle time… which means that I am wide bright-eyed awake. I should really be writing my performance review, or sleeping, but neither is particularly likely at the moment. I’ve taken my Ambien (almost took a Levaquin in its place, which would have been bad) so hopefully things will start looking up (down?) shortly.
Boracay has yet to impress me. It’s theoretically one of the greatest beaches in the world, but the noise from the club next door (techno remix of Sweet Child O’ Mine - UPDATE 12:06 AM techno remix of “What a Feeling” from Flashdance; also my room is acting as a resonance chamber or something; it’s louder in here than it is outside the door) is emblematic. The beach itself seems decent enough - haven’t been in the water yet - but it’s backed by an array of shops, bars, restaurants, etc., and is crowded with tourists and hawkers alike, making any notion of relaxation a fleeting one.
Boracay reminds me, so far, of that strip of beach on the northwest side of Zanzibar, the name of which I can’t recall, except not as nice, and not in Africa. I don’t typically dislike places I end up, and I can’t actually say that I dislike Boracay, but I can think of a lot of places I’d much rather be.
The sex trade in Asia is everywhere… in your face in some places more than others, but even here on this (vaguely) remote island you’ve got your aging, paunch-ridden gray-haired dudes with random young Filipinas. I’m not actually sure what to think about this; in many ways, if they’re all happy (and being safe, natch), I’m happy, but there’s something of a train wreck to it. I have to remind myself not to stare constantly.
One thing tonight that made me smile, not stare: I stopped for a drink at a beach bar on the way back from dinner and listened to a woman singing with a decent voice who interspersed random covers with what seemed to be the entire Alanis Morrissette songbook. The thing that made me smile? The bartender who, during one particularly OK tune, started kicking up his own percussive groove on a stack of empty overturned ice buckets.
Also, the Japanese dude next to me made me smile - and wince - by drinking shots (!) of Gilbey’s gin. With a lime, thanks.
PS. The Japanese do seem to have the sexiest phones on the planet.
PPS. The guards on the beach apparently upgrade from sticks to pistol-grip shotguns at around 10 PM.
