Bohol

Bohol is an island next to Cebu; it’s round, rather than long and skinny.  Its natural climate is tropical rainforests, encircled by white, sandy beaches, and the clearest blue water imaginable. I could not wait to start my day of island hopping; however it got off to a rough start.  

I made the mistake of checking my email and a message related to my last months in the classroom popped up.  So instead of being filled with joy about embarking on an adventure, I was sitting in the hotel lobby with tears running down my face.  The concierge noticed and it’s impossible for Filipino people to be unkind, I think.  He said, “Ma’am, what can I do?”  I did my best to smile at him and put on my shades, even though it was five thirty in the morning and raining a bit.  I told him I was fine.  

The excitement of the voyage,  crept back in as we entered the harbor and I took in the large ferries and other passenger boats.  I snapped some pictures and took my window seat on the boat, delighting in the curves of the waves and shades of the water and sky.  I was almost fully into the spirit of the adventure when the ferry docked in Bohol and my phone rang.  My son’s car was overheating and he was ten miles out of town.  It was so like my son, calling me to fix his emergency even though I am half a world away.  I tried to get him to think through other solutions.  Call Triple A.  Call a friend.  Meanwhile, I was shuffling my way off the boat, with the harbor noise all around me.  He wanted twenty bucks, because his wallet was at home.  He thought  coolant would solve his problem.  Again, I am in ASIA.  Yes, I could transfer some money into his account, but I’d both changed my accounts and got a new phone and couldn’t remember my password at the top of my head and locked  myself out of account, trying.  The time difference made it impossible to call and reset the password, and there was really nothing I could do until the US banks opened in the morning which was my evening.  He needed someone else to help him.  So, I told him he would have to either call Triple A or one of my friend’s or family to help him.  I listed off some options–Pam, Lisa, James.  He asked if I would start the text for him.  Jesus, Lord, help me not punch my son through the phone.  Meanwhile, I am off the ferry somehow, in a car that my sister-in-law has hired for the day, and just waking up to the fact that Bohol is very different than Cebu.  The city had  disappeared and tropical island vibes were all around me.  I set my phone down, fastened my seatbelt, and tried to block out all the voices from home trying to draw me back into their traps.  

The first destination was the Chocolate Hills.  The Chocolate Hills are a geographical marvel comprising of a thousand or more limestone hills covered in grasses.  In the dry months, the grasses turn a brown, creating the illusion of chocolate hills in the jungle.  The rainy season is starting, so the hills were more green than brown, but still amazing.  They are protected from people, but the thousands of visitors who arrive to witness the marvel of these mounds, may trek up a large, high staircase to the top of one hill.  From there, the vista opens up to the hills as far as the horizon.  Rice fields lay below and stream rising from hot springs floats in spiraling billows. I have always dreamed of going to the rain forest, and for the first time, I was overlooking a tropical rain forest.  It was unforgettable.  

Lunch came next.  We went to a family owned “natural” (organic) chicken place.  Just in case there was any doubt about “natural,” there were “viejos” (old ones) in front of the restaurant with chickens, being readied for something, or maybe someone.  Inside there were a variety of protein options besides chicken–beef, shrimp, and anchovies.  Once in college, as a bold move, I ordered anchovies on my pizza.  I will never forget biting into what tasted like pure salt,  and gagging.  Why would anyone think that was a good taste?  But anchovies in the Phillipines are delicious, lightly fried and crisp and NOT salty.  Just don’t look at the skin and maybe eyes?  But I just saw  chickens alive and well on the porch of the restaurant and then one was on my plate.  It’s best not to overthink being a carnivore, especially when it is literarily farm to table.  I mean that’s why it’s called “natural chicken!” 

After lunch, we headed into the forest to see the tarsier, or the smallest primate in the world.  I mentioned something about snakes that live on the island–cobras, pythons.  The driver asked me if I wanted to hold a snake.  I shrugged and said, “Sure, but not a cobra.  Maybe a python.” Of course he knew of such a place, but the tarsiers came first.  

The tarsier is a very small primate, with large eyes, a rat like tail, and venomous saliva.   It is highly sensitive and when stressed can bang its head until it dies, therefore captivity is lethal.  I immediately related to the sentiment.  The part of the forest that the tarsier is found in is among a mahogany forest.  Rangers build shady shelters to draw the tarsiers close so tourists can take their camera shots.  I took some photos of the tarsier, of course, but also of tree roots, and flowers, and the ways the leaves overlapped, and the dew trapped in the foliage.  I couldn’t believe that I was actually walking in a tropical rain forest.  

I could have been satisfied with the forest, but we still had the beach on the docket, so we piled back into the car and set off.  I didn’t want to doze, but the cadence of a capable driver and winding roads always puts me to sleep, so I was kind of surprised to open my eyes at a roadside zoo, and not the beach.  Oh yeah, the snake.  Crap.  

I am going to use zoo losely.  It was unlike any zoo I have ever been to before.  First of all, there was a personal tour guide.  She took us to see Carlos first.  Carlos is a seven year old Bengal Tiger.  He seemed a little skinny compared to the tigers I have seen in the States, but maybe this is how tigers really look?  He didn’t have a big enclosure and I felt sad for him.  Tigers don’t belong in cages.  There was another tiger and the girl asked us if we wanted to feed him for two hundred pesos–that’s like three of four dollars.  There were live chickens in a nearby pen.  We didn’t feed the tiger.  Then came the python.  The guide took us into the cage with her. Picture it.  A young tour guide girl.  Three educated women in their fifties and the biggest snake you can imagine in your life.  The girl said, “You want to hold her?”  Mmmm.  Not really.  But she went over and picked up the head of the snake.  Apparently, it had been fed (chicken) so it wasn’t inclined to move much.  I put my hands on it.  The skin was kind of slippery, but also sticky and I could feel the muscle and power underneath it, even if it was disinclined to move.  I told my sister in law to hurry and take the picture.  Then she sat next to the snake and petted it like a dog and I felt like we had entered some weird alternative universe of a tropical petting zoo.  I had this image of making a woman version of “The Hangover”, only instead of Las Vegas, the characters are roaming over Southeast Asia petting snakes, and feeding tigers live chickens and putting on lipgloss and taking selfies.  At that exact moment I saw a young man in a grass skirt.  It was time for a photo op with the “natives” as they danced and breathed fire.  You can see by the video clip, how incredibly ludicrous this “zoo” trip was.  

We laughed about it all the way to the beach.  Finally the ocean.  White sand. Clear blue water.  Boats drifting along.  When I think of paradise this is  what I see.  About a month after my parents died, they came to me in a dream.  They were on a boat, anchored at a white, sandy beach, they welcomed me, but were anxious to set sail.  In my dreams, they are always near the ocean.  My parents are never far from my mind.  Some of my happiest memories are travels with my family, so I guess being with my brother on this trip reminds me of that time when I was young and had all the joy and wonder of discovery in front of me.  Being at the beach reminded me that joy and wonder are still possibilities for me, but I have to choose to remember that.  

Bohol is like a jewel, magical and beautiful.  It needs to be shown off, but protected at the same time.  It’s not too hard to see myself there in a modest little house by the sea.  Yeah, sure there are typhoons, but I have been living in a storm for a long, long time.  I am always trying to be just ahead of the worst of it and I am constantly dragging my loved ones out of harm’s way.  Its’s exhausting, and I am feeling like the tarsier with too much sensory input.  I have been banging my head on the wall.  I have been waiting for someone to stop me and show me the way, but maybe I can really only save myself.  

The lights and noise of the city rushed in when the ferry returned from Bohol.  I texted my son.  He got through his crisis without me.  I know he is fragile and doesn’t cope with stress well, but maybe he is stronger than I give him credit for.  Maybe he doesn’t need me the way we both think he does.  That leaves my job in a big thought bubble over my head.  The fact that it can upset me to the point of tears when it’s summer and I am a half a world away is weighing heavily on me.  But I have three more days in this beautiful place and I am going to trust that the answers for the path forward are out there.