It was another morning just like any other morning. People got up early before the scorching sun and heat made things difficult to do. We were no different. Usually I was up first, and even before brushing my teeth or pulling a brush through my hair, I would turn on my iPad with eyes still half-shut and check my emails and Facebook. The internet was always best before 7am. ‘The Chef’ would get up next and put a kettle of water on for morning coffee and tea. We had enough of the overly sweet 3in1 instant packets the last time we were here so on this trip we brought our travel coffee press and picked up a bag of Barako at the SM supermarket in Calamba. Our friend ‘King’ would be last up and start breakfast.
It was an afternoon unlike most afternoons. Usually our days were filled with trips outside of Coron to view potential properties. Today we had nothing planned. The three of us had been cooped up together for much too long. ‘King’ started to feel like the third wheel. I longed for some private time with ‘the ‘Chef’ so the two of us decided to rent a motorbike and ride to Conception for lunch. There were some rather ominous looking grey clouds in the direction we were going but it didn’t matter. Not far from town the skies opened up and we got soggy. Good thing we were wearing our bathing suits underneath our clothes.
It was another late afternoon just like any other day. We had the daily debate. Where would we like to eat dinner? Unlike the last time we were here we didn’t cook as much as we thought we would. I think it was the heat. After being here for almost a month the restaurants seemed to blur into one another. Everything started to taste the same. When we craved something different we found European/Asian flavours at Winnie’s, beautifully fresh fish at Sanugba sa Balay and Korean heat at Dali Dali. Afterwards we’d hop over to Noname Bar or Helldivers to finish off the night with either a rum and coke or San Mig Light.
It was another night just like any other night. We got back from dinner, dumped our stuff in the suite, mixed some cocktails and shuffled out onto the roof-top. ‘The Chef’ would get the almost white plastic lawn chair while ‘King’ would get the matching tiny ‘kiddie’ chair shoved in the corner. They belonged to the laundry girl. I never got a chair. I always stood but that was okay with me. We started chatting about anything, our daily observations, the constellation, the political system. When I got tired of the talk I would do my rounds, walking the perimeter of the rooftop and stopping at each corner to spy on the action below. At least once I would get an epiphany and forget it by the time I got back to ‘the Chef’ and ‘King.’