Listen here, Moonboots – You think you’re better than me??

Since I booked my ticket back to Asia and my credit card got denied when I tried to purchase the additional 50$ cancellation insurance (obvious sign) I am now 100% leaving Canada, and probably for a long time. This brief furlong here has actually increased my anxiety about my future while simultaneously nullifying my guilt about people missing me (turns out, no one really missed me that much). While it was nice to say hello to my pa, as the weeks went on and the novelty of being able to eat freezies all day (freezies are very hard to find in Asia) I have become acutely aware of the fact that I can’t see myself living in Canada, and I really don’t want to.In other news, if I keep trying to live off of frozen grapes and freezies, I might die.

This post may be inflammatory to some including the many die- hard Canook patriots I know, a category that I include myself in. Everyone knows, I like the idea of Canada a lot and I’ll be the first person to bring up the time we burnt down The White House in 1812, even if that’s not at all what the conversation is about it and no one is interested. But there’s something about the way I can’t drink on the streets here that I don’t like. I went out with my friend Steven when I was first back from Asia and got hassled to no end drinking a Pabst walking down the street. Said hassling included a homeless woman following us down the street for a long time and calling me ‘Moonboots’  because I was wearing big, ugly boots and then screaming, “Pap smear” at us (probably a nod to the Pabsts’ but who knows, really) and then telling me that if i wanted Steve to respect me I should keep my legs closed. Little did she know, like most men who know me well, Steven is only interested in being my friend (if that).

At any rate, I am glad to be leaving Canada for the following reasons. Disclaimer: most of these are reasons that unique to myself and aren’t a problem for Non-hobo, non degenerate citizens. Also I don’t want to hear any shit about being ungrateful and how lucky I am to live in a country that theoretically lets me have all the abortions I want (here’s lookin’ at you Amurica!) because I’m aware of this and once again, I am usually the one bringing up the fact that we won more medals than any other country in a single Olympic games at the last Winter Olympics in Vancouver. You know, Vancouver, where all the riots happened.

– Public transportation is so god awful. My hometown is a bustling suburbia (ha!), roughly 45-60 outside of the city and there are two daily buses. One that goes downtown at around 7am  and one that comes back at 7pm. What the fuck is that? If halfway to the bus stop you realized you forgot to turn off your iron on you basically have to call in sick for work if you don’t want to let your house burn down. Toronto’s is marginally better, but still brutal. I had a job interview awhile ago that according to Google Maps would have taken me 18 minutes via car. It took me four and a half hours round trip and cost me 16$ in transportation fees because I had to take a fancy bus. For a long time I believed that you could use a transfer to ride around all day (honest mistake!) for three dollars and I still thought it was expensive, and then I found out that it’s three dollars for one trip, plus it takes minimum an hour to get anywhere. My friend Cameron is pretty passionate about this and I asked him to chime in but he’s busy talking about how his strategy is to ignore things he doesn’t like until it goes away, a tactic that will probably not work with the TTC.

– Bars close at 2am. That’s barely enough time to find a seat you like.

– Drinks cost like, 12 dollars. Coming from the land of 25 cent (Cambodia) at the cheapest, to 1.50 (most expensive – ROK) happy hours, I don’t like this at all. Most people I know combat this by not drinking at bars, but this is even sadder. I don’t feel at home in a place unless I have a specific local bar where I know everyone saw me screaming at my man friend the week before because he put soju in my beer without asking and I didn’t feel like soju at that exact moment. I’ve met a lot of people playing pool at bars and I’ve really missed it living here. I’ve made some really good friends that I know I’ll keep in touch with when I leave this summer, but not one of them has seen me break a pool cue in half (The Loft!) which is something I think all of us regret deeply.

– Drug addicts drinking my godamn drinks. I’ll be the first to admit that many of the patrons of Old Town (my asia hangout)  have probably done time, and one time my friend was there and a stranger just walked up to him and punched him in the face for no reason and then walked away. However, there’s no scary drug addicts in the ROK, and as much as I love the marginalized, drug addicts can, in fact, be very scary. My friends and I were walking to the Pride Parade the other weekend and a very disturbed lady came up behind us and grabbed my arm and started drinking my drink. I do not believe this has ever happened at Old Town. Also, I probably would have given it to her if she had just asked.

– EVERYTHING IS SO EXPENSIVE.

– No one wants to pay me to speak English with them.

– It’s very inconvenient to buy small things. I’m used to being able to pick up earrings on my way to the bar (to fancy up my flowy pants /tank top/bandeezie combo outfits) for a dollar, and there’s a seven eleven open 24/7 on every corner. After nine o’clock I literally have to get on a bus if I want to go buy a freezie.

– The cost of prescription drugs when you don’t have insurance is high. And nothing is over the counter. One time I was trying to buy birth control pills in the ROK and I literally had to act out a pantomime of a mother rocking a baby, then an expanded stomach then made my arms into an X and said, “No baby, NO baby” until I realized they weren’t going to understand and went to a different pharmacy and it was still less of a hassle than it is here, without insurance or my own doctor. Again, I realize we have ways around this and that Canada is immeasurably ahead of many countries in terms of making life bearable for women, but as everyone knows, AO dislikes slight inconveniences…

– There are other things that I can think of, but again Zups told me I’m too boring for long posts so perhaps I will make this a two parter!

I’ll do a more positive Canadia post later when all the (boxed) wine I’ve drank hasn’t made me so bitter.

I love Canada so much I bring the flag to work when I’m abroad. Like I always say, you’re not a real Canook unless you’re constantly shoving your patriotism in everyone’s faces.

This will have to do in lieu of a Vietnam picture. It has nothing to do with Vietnam, except if you take how happy I am here, then reverse it, that’s how happy I was when I was sick in Ho Chi Minh.

‘Nam (I hate puns, easy cultural references, or other cutesy titles – thanks for remembering Kog).

I’m hesitant to even write this one up because I know that I in no way did Vietnam any justice. I was super frustrated for reasons beyond Nam’s control before I entered the country as well as the whole time I was there and immediately after I left the country I was in great spirits again because I was meeting up with two of my dear friends whom I hadn’t seen in a long time as they had moved on to bigger and arguably better/smoggier things (China). I want to make it clear to all reading this that Vietnam is a beautiful lovely place, and I was in a crabby, exhausted mood when I got there as it was about five months into my backpacking trip. My friend Rog who has traveled even more than I have spent a month there last summer and considers it one of her best trips of all time, probably because that’s when she got really into using the term ‘canoodled’ which may or may not be a result of all the canoodling she did there.

To start with I was furious when I entered Vietnam because I’m irresponsible and like to leave everything to the last possible minute. I had been lurking around Cambodia for awhile because I (like everyone else) love Cambodia very very much. At some point I decided to slowly make my way across the border so while some people I had met on the road headed to the islands, I stayed in Sihanoukville on the visa grind. Not so much a grind as walking up to one of the large wolf packs of bikers around town and asking them to take me to the embassy on the back of their motorcycle, but as much as a grind as anything else in South East Asia really is.

I got the visa no problem and then went to get a bus ticket, which is generally no problem. The biggest issue I’d ever had prior to trying to get the bus into Vietnam was bus stand men trying to make me chew betel nut, because let’s face it; I don’t need any more vices. So I did not anticipate my buying a bus ticket for that night would be a problem, despite the fact that it was Chinese New Year. So far all Chinese New Year had meant for me was a slightly inflated price on hotel rooms (to the best of my recollection). But all of a sudden Chinese New Year meant I couldn’t get to ‘Nam and all my friends were gone, which made me petulant, like a child.

Then there was like eighteen mixups with the bus and everyone else got put on really nice buses and I was basically on a park bench beside some Swedes who became my friends when they told me about how one of them had been waited on Alexander Skarsgard and Kate Bosworth (she did not finish her meal, but said it was good). I returned the favour by helpfully pointing out that  all of their things would probably be stolen from under the bus. When we finally got in it turned out everyone else on my bus had reservations. I will stand by the fact that this is a stupid thing to do in 99.9999 per cent of situations when traveling there. There’s a ton of smaller places that don’t have internet reservations so the ones that do can jack up prices like crazy. I met some dudes in Thailand that didn’t know any better and had booked 100$ a night rooms that were only slightly nicer than our 5$ a night rooms because they wanted to make sure they had something online. I know that I am perhaps too casual a traveler, but I feel like if you can’t find a place online, just go and figure it out. Worst comes to worse make some friends and sleep on their floor. My friend Kog basically does that even when she has a room booked, because she is fun.

At any rate, I found a place for 10$ in Ho Chi Minh city which is more than it should have been but I accepted because I was starting to feel sickly. I usually feel sickly so this was not totally unexpected, but it was slightly more debilitating than usual. When I took my room, I didn’t really care much about it being on the 15th floor. With no fridge. But when you are throwing up every ten seconds and so sick all you want to do is curl up in the fetal position, 15 floors takes roughly half an hour. I would wake up in the morning and think about how much I really needed to replenish and then put it off as long as humanely possible. My daily supply runs were no fun, is what I’m trying to express. I know I could have asked for help, but I can get stubborn about those things. The worst thing about this three /four day long ordeal was that the English thing on TV was a Glee Marathon. I thought I had it bad in Korea, with Korean channels. There are roughly four English channels there. One literally plays NCIS all the time, and the others shuffle through playing Transformers, Titanic, Indiana Jones and a few other movies that I’m ashamed I can’t recall on repeat. Nothing made me appreciate that more than that Glee marathon. You know what they say about not knowing what you’ve got until it’s gone…

My friend Zups came over to my house yesterday and under the influence of several Bud Light Limes told me my posts are too long and that she can’t get through them. After I finished crying I said I’d do shorter posts. So, enjoy a lot of hearing me complain, and basically nothing about Vietnam. Also I have no pictures of my time there because I didn’t stay in touch with anyone that I met, and at that point everything I owned (cam, cell phone) had already been stolen. So I’ll have to leave images of me in a lot of pain, watching Glee to your imagination.

Joseph Gordan Levitt, You Son of a Bitch.

Joseph Gordan Levitt just said that pretty girls aren’t funny. I dislike being called a ‘girl’ for one because it makes the callee seem like a pedophile in my opinion, but it seems as though I’ll have to choose one or the other. My attractiveness is pretty questionable as it goes,  given that I don’t shave my legs (I’m a feminist! or lazy!) and various other reasons,  so I guess I’ll stick with funny (for anyone that read that and scoffed, go fuck yourself) and say goodbye to all the half-hearted gestures I was making towards being attractive. Mostly when I’m trying to be attractive it’s because it’s been my experience that it gets me through airport customs quickly. Also a hot Irish flight attendant gave me his number on the last flight I was on, partially because I assume he found me attractive, but mostly, I believe, because I called him a bastard for taking my wine before I was done and most people aren’t ballsy (stupid) enough to talk to airline staff like that.

– No more bi-weekly hair brushing. Of course I don’t actually own a brush, but I run my fingers through my hair twice a week in the shower, which is a huge hassle for me as I usually read in the shower. For those who haven’t spent a lot of time with me and don’t know, I have an obsessive reading problem. I try not to slowly move books upwards so they block people’s faces when they’re talking to me, but it’s a constant struggle.

– No more not wearing a bra? Or wearing a bra? I don’t know which one makes me more or less attractive. One one hand, wearing a bra makes me look more kempt (apparently that’s not a word, but I don’t know what else is the opposite of unkempt so it stays) and is apparently more flattering says my friend Zups who has been waging a seven year long battle to get me to wear one. On the other hand, nipples I guess? Unarguable proof I don’t have a boob job when I’m lying down, not wearing a bra? The outline of my nipple ring? I have a fun tendency to take bras off midway through events or at peoples houses but that’s more of a social thing since I have to do a monthly round up. It’s also a built in quip, “Aos so forgetful, I literally found her bra in my dishwasher the other day”.

– I don’t own or wear very much make-up since I’m in my mid-twenties and have come to appreciate that men don’t really have standards. But I do own:

1) Two mascaras . One is from the dollar store, and I bust it out for special occasions. The other is green and I bought it accidentally not realizing that the reason it was on sale was because it was green and therefore only misguided pre-teens would purchase it. I bought it before a date when I realized I didn’t have any make-up and then put it on at work and realized it was green causing me to scream, “Holy fuck, all I have is green mascara; I look like a fucking pervert!” This caused my friend Sonje to look at me like I was an idiot and say, “Why would a pervert be wearing green mascara?”

2) One red lipstick, which is really a lipstain. It looks like a highliter and as such I have been asked many times by drunk people if I was putting a highliter on which caused me to look at them like they were idiots and ask, “Why would I be putting highliter on?”.

3) One chapstick, which is not at all cosmetic and I won’t give it up no matter what Joseph Gordon Levitt says.

4) One black kohl which Log brought me back from Israel. I won’t give that up either because I’ve almost figure out how to put it on.

I will promptly throw out numbers 1 and 2, and but not 3 and 4 for reasons previously discussed.

I recently acquired my only pair of heels from my aforementioned friend Zups’ eighteen year old sister who was throwing them out (I get all her hand me downs). I haven’t worn them, and now I won’t ever get to. Otherwise I mostly wear flip flops which I don’t imagine make me any more attractive, in any circles. Maybe hippie circles? But I won’t give that up.

I don’t really pluck my eyebrows because I don’t own tweezers, but unfortunately I have naturally thin eyebrows. I believe this is part of the reason why my sexpat costume was not as successful as it could have been. If JGL wants me to do something about this, he will have to buy me Rogaine.

I have to go now, because Zups is here and has bought me food. I’ll be back with more insight on why I’m unattractive and or attractive later !

AO goes camping and leaves with more questions than answers.

I had all these big dreams to post at least a thousand words, five times a week so I could pretend like I’m accomplishing something. But my nurse roommate accidentally made me sick and then gave me the good stuff (ie prescription drugs) to compensate and now I don’t think I can form coherent sentences. And that’s saying something because I am very used to functioning at a very high level whilst drugged thanks to my time in South East Asia.

In other, more rustic news I went camping for the first time and learned that park rangers take that shit way more seriously than the situation seems to call for. We were casually sitting outside the showers drinking our booze when a park ranger in a bulletproof happened upon us. Direct quote from the confrontation that arose, “We’re EVERYWHERE”. Sadly, it was the park ranger who said that and not us. He first accused us of knowing that we weren’t supposed to be drinking there and purposely flouting the rules and than when he had cooled down acknowledged that if we had known we probably wouldn’t have chosen the most brightly lit spot in the whole park.

Unfortunately (or maybe fortunately) I was too incoherently drunk (camping really brings out the best in me)  to question the vest. How many park rangers get shot annually? Is it enough to warrant a bulletproof vest? I understand that this is probably not something you just took upon yourself to don, but at the same time has no one questioned this decision. It’s too hot for shirts (just kidding, it’s never too hot for shirts. I’m talking to you, bros) and you’re sporting a kevlar vest in the Canadian wilderness? How much gun violence is there annually in small Canadian towns? Is a popular gang activity renting plots at national parks and then staging shout-outs by the showers? Admittedly, the vests could be a nod to hunting accidents, but that just leads to more questions. And the fact that I’m fairly certain you’re not allowed to hunt anywhere near family campgrounds, or campgrounds of any kind. Also, my understanding of bulletproof vests is that they do not stop shotgun blasts. I know this because I read many crime novels once my father is done with them. Do you get fired if you take your vest off? What kind of hazard pay do you get if you get shot in the line of duty as a park ranger? Are you licensed to carry a gun? I’m assuming not, so it seems more cruel than anything to put someone on the job where you’re implicitly acknowledging that you expect them to get shot but not giving them any sort of retaliatory weapon. Luckily, I was too drunk too talk, so none of this came up. We took the long way back so the boys could smoke their marijuana, (the whole time expecting to get shot by the gang members that are apparently roaming around the woods) and when we got back the park ranger jumped out of our campsite at us and demanded id. Then he asked why it took us so long to get back and in my head I thought, “We stopped by the crips campsite to buy handguns” but I didn’t say it because I was puking.

Oh, you.

Yet another great online interaction! Don’t judge me for asking for the penis pic, that shit is hilarious.  I actually only replied to one of the messages, but see what I would have responded if I thought it was worth trying to talk sense into these type of bros.

Peebman – Do you wanna. See my big cock.

AO – Why did you break that into two sentences? Ahaha! Yah, send me a dick pic!

Peebman – Do you wanna text? It broke up because of my phone and I hit the period botton by mistake : P – Yah, absolutely I want to pursue a texting relationship with you. You can’t even manage a six word sentence, but for some reason I feel like you’d be more likely to get me off than any other means, or people at my disposal.

Peebman – That’s if ur as naughty as I want u to be – REVERSE PSYCHOLOGY!  You sly fox, now I feel the need to be ‘naughty’.

Peebman – Guess you didnnt really wanna see it – I really, really did, but probably not for the reasons you’re hoping for.

Peebman – Dont be shy jus msg me at *** *** **** – I literally had one qualification for messaging me, and that was not using abbreviations.

Peebman – I know u wanna see my cock – Who does this work on?? Are you now trying to wear me down?

Peebman – Hey naughty girl wut u up too ? Maybe I misjudged him? He obviously cares about my interests and wants to know what I’m doing. He also has a term of endearment for me, which indicates affection!

Peebman – I want ur booty – Ahhh.  I’m not a pirate ship and this expression makes me want to vomit.

Peebman – Mmmm ur so hott – Are you trying to imply that you’re jacking off to me now? Because that’s what it seems like. And I’m not as flattered as you might imagine.

These messages all occurred over the course of two weeks. Still no dick pic though.

Thai Tattoo (Not actual Thai Tattoo, I’ll save that shit for a later post!

A little thing I like to call being an amazing motorcyclist ! The aftermath of my first accident in The Philippines.

Stay out as late as you want !

It’s odd, because we got way less drunk, did way more varied activities, and met way cooler people, but I remember significantly less about our month in Malaysia. It’s all a big blur of long sleeved shirts in extremely hot weather in a bid towards respectability and then losing all that respectability when we encountered duty-free booze in  Langkawi. We also spent most of the time eating our faces off, because Malaysian food is amazing, and that’s coming from the anti-thesis of a foodie.

Our first stop was Kota Kinabalu where we spent a longer than expected time. We’re also pretty sure we got bed bugs there, but the juries still out as we may have just gotten slaughtered with bug bites. But I do know I had trouble sleeping at night because I was so very itchy.

For some reason I am finding it very hard to get motivated to write about Malaysia. And I blame my readers for not providing me enough encouragement. So this is going to be another point form.

Malay Memories :

– Malay wedding! We struggled to find appropriate clothes and ended up just in our town gowns with shawls over top, which were a hit judging by the approving looks from all. For some reason we opted to have breakfast before the wedding which was a big mistake as there was so much good stuff, but as with all mystery curry/stew type foods there tends to be a lot of bones where you’re not expecting them. At first everyone was pretty shy, but eventually a lot of people came up wanting pictures with us, which was cute, especially the old ladies wanting them. We went up to meet the bride and groom and they were very gracious and funny.

“You look very beautiful,” I said to the bride.

“What about me!” the groom said, faux angry.

“You look even more beautiful, I was just trying to be polite,” I said.

Then we all laughed and they said, “So who are you guys? And where are you from?”

Wedding Wedding Wedding

– White Water Rafting. This was hilarious because Log is a very intense sport player. We went to some big rapids (Beforehand: No one has ever died doing this! Afterwards: Many people have died doing this) and were in a raft with many tiny people, mostly from Hong Kong and Japan. Most couldn’t swim and had presumably never paddled a boat before. Not exactly the outdoorsy type. I tried to get away with sitting in the middle so I wouldn’t have to paddle because I’m lazy, but immediately realized that would not fly with this crowd. Before long Log has completely taken over from the guide screaming at the man from Hong Kong to lean forward and grabbing his paddle from him to show him how to do it right during a lull. To be fair he was paddling ridiculously, but doing a stroke and then shoving his paddle forward through the water. Asian men are notoriously good at taking direction from women, so I’m sure he was thrilled. We somehow managed to not flip over, all credit going to Log for scaring everyone into paddling harder.

-Homestay/Nature retreat type thing – Included in our tour was this bat cave type thing which cost like 80$ if you went separately so we were pleased that it was included in our homestay as it was advertised very enticingly. Wrong. It was like 20 feet deep, covered in shit and roaches and other bugs. The tour consisted of them telling us about how they had to build a bridge because a bunch of Aussie travelers ended up getting stuck in quarantine because of all the shit they dragged back on their shoes after this tour. I actually remember that the tour went on for quite a long time but can’t remember anything except that one of the two French girls on the tour was terrified of birds so I gave her my bandeezie to cover her head because I am a gentleman, and because I once saw a crow hit my brother off a bike so I understand being wary of birds.

Our guide was a very sweet woman named Maria who bade us to be careful of bugs because she’d had malaria twice. We went on several boating and hike type trips to spot animals which were surprisingly fun. Normally I don’t love boat rides and just end up reading because I have no appreciation for anything, but I kept my book stowed. We saw many fun things including orangutangs and ate like kings. The only real bad point was our “nighthike” where we got eaten alive and just involved us walking ten feet into the woods to get annihilated by bugs and then spotting a caterpillar on a tree or some shit. It was also nice to speak French with the girls who weren’t dicks about the French Canook accent as many French people are, but I felt bad for Log who just got to hear me sum up what we were talking about every half hour.

Monkeys! On a Bridge! In the Dusk!

– We went out raging one night when we were couch surfing with a very nice French man. He told us to stay out as late as we wanted and not worry about waking him. I don’t think he expected us to stay out until 6am, but time flies when you’re getting mistaken for a prostitute (me, not Log). She had met a fancy young English/Indian man and disappeared with him to do karaoke, so I was raging by myself on the Dfloor, running around picking people up and body slamming around. I went and sat down for a breather at one point and this bro was like, “Wow you’re a beautiful dancer,” which immediately made me hate him for obvious reasons (I am not a beautiful dancer), which anyone who has seen me dance can attest to. Then he asked me how much it would take for me to go home with him and I flounced off because I wasn’t in the mood to fuck with him. At this point the sun is about to rise and I’m wondering if Log has left me which I am distressed about as we all know I have no idea how to get home. I met the prettiest Malaysian man ever who I was chatting with for a long while until I went back to check again for Log. I was so excited when I saw her I somehow picked up a barstool and jumped on it on midair then landed on it slamming it into her foot. That took away from the excitement of our reunion as she sat coolly at the bar leaning back while her fella and I tried to staunch the bleeding. My Malay man and his friends drove us home on their motorcycles and we tried to buy our host breakfast the next morning to apologize for Log’s bloody foot and our drinking problems.

– Motorcycling ! We went motorcycling around and looked so coooooool.

– Orangutang sanctuary !

Nighttime river cruise oh la la la la

That’s all I want to write right now, and that’s just the way it is. It’s hard to get motivated when you’re unemployed and it’s a billion degrees outside. I feel like I’ve had a productive day when I get out of bed.

Have you tried white bread?

Log and I are wary of heading to Manila as we have not heard anything good about it. We are told it’s grimy, dangerous, sad, extremely poor and very unsettling. True or not these things are immediately negated for me because we stumble upon a Wendy’s. I’m aware that these kind of comments make me sound like a big fatron (which everyone really is at heart) but for everyone who’s ever lived abroad for a long time, I think you understand where I’m coming from. When your diet drastically changes you start out comparing the new things you were eating to the old things you often wish you were eating.

The first time I went out for a meal by myself in Korea I could not yet read Korean and opted to just point at the menu and hope for the best. I was rewarded for my adventurous spirit with a boiling hot bowl of spicy red soup with clams in it (Soondubuchigae).  I did not enjoy it as I enjoy neither spicy food, nor seafood and felt some momentary pangs for potatoes and nachos. As I got more familiar with Korean food a lot of my cravings died down, but there’s always some that never went go away. Log and I probably sounded like the biggest fatties  in the entire world when traveling because neither of us were looking forward to going home, so to try to put a positive twist on it, we talked pretty endlessly about the food we were excited to eat. I made a giant point of loudly talking about how long we’d been abroad during those conversations which probably didn’t help re. sounding like an asshole, but did help it terms of helping people understand how badly I wanted Kraft dinner. Which brings me back to Wendy’s and how crazy excited I was for a burger and chili salad. Log left me to my shamefully large meal and also the shame of being the foreigner sitting in a Wendy’s. In situations like that, if confronted I always plan on saying that I’m an American.

We decided to try couch surfing, something that Log has done in SK to mixed results. She once had a tiny little Vietnamese girl come out drinking with us one night and despite repeated warnings that we are all big burly alcoholics and she should under no circumstances try to keep up (shot wise), she did try. Did not go well for anyone. Her best experience was with a Malay family who stayed in her spare room, comprising of a man, his wife, and his step parents in their 80’s, which is pretty cool. We found a Filipino lad to stay with us and he picked us up at the local McDonalds (don’t look at me like that, it wasn’t my idea). He had a two bedroom house and there seemed to be about nine people lying on the floor inside when we walked in. He showed us his room, and then our room and explained everyone else just lived in the living room. We did as many cultural things as we could find but it was more of a we’re here, we should do this type thing. I do remember going to a super sweet fort, but I don’t remember why I thought it was sweet, so that’s kind of anti-climactic. We went to various places and buildings all around the city and the only high point I can remember was sitting in the shade in a park and having some cops walk over to come hang out and practice their English

We went out for a big dinner and came home to find our host piss drunk with his roomates, and they’re offering up giant, steaming dishes of seafood pasta for us. Not wanting to be dickheads we stay in the kitchen drinking with them but it is a tad trying as they’re too drunk to remember anything they’re saying, or think about anything they’re saying, but they reallllly want to chat.

“How do you like Filipino food?” they ask.

“It’s good”, we say nervously. really hoping they’re not going to serve us any more food because we’re both incredibly full and feeling like we might vom.

“Have you tried….”, one of them casts his eyes around desperately, “White bread!” he asks brandishing at us.

Please don’t make me eat white bread.

We explain gentle that yes, we have tried it and it’s good, but we’re really full right now.

“Oh,” they nod. “Have you tried….white rice?”.

This goes on for a very long time.

And then the fun part! One of them pulls up their chair beside me closely.

“Do you have a boyfriend,” he breathes at me.

“No,” I say shortly, because FUCK YOU YOU STUPID SON OF A BITCH (Fingers crossed you’re reading this!).

“Don’t worry,” he reassures me, “You could have one if you wanted”.

I deadface him, because I have drank enough at this point that I feel as though I can pass this off as drunk belligerence rather than just being an impolite guest.

Several hours later we escape and go to bed. “That was fun,” I say to Log. ” Let’s couch surf again.”
And so after five weeks we are finished our time in The Philippines. I have left out a lot, and skimmed over a lot so forgive me if any of you feel I have slighted the wonders it has to offer. As a final sum up I will say that the people are fun, but don’t expect them to cater to you, it’s absolutely one of the most beautiful countries in the world, there’s a ton of corruption and surcharges for everything, transportation is a bitch and overall it had some of the cheapest accommodation out of anywhere we stayed.  We both felt as though we’d spent a little too much time there and were ready for a big change by the time we left.

Paalam, Philippines. I apologize for the time I puked at one of your most important national attractions; I had food poisoning.

Gender Bending

VS.