It was a couple of days in as Claire, Nicola, Cody and I
heard Michael Buble croon through his Christmas album for the nth time [to Cody’s
dismay] that we finally decided what to christen our adventure. Beachmas. It’s beginning to look a lot like Beachmas…I’m
dreaming of a White Beachmas [literally – the beach on Baracay is called White
Beach].
As we knew that we’d not be home for Christmas, we decided
that all we wanted for Christmas was to do something as different as possible.
When I took this picture on night one, I could be pretty confident that we were
going to manage that.
Day One of Christmas is usually all about the journey home;
whilst this time, it was about the journey to the Philippines. I compared the
stages of the journey in my mind. They oddly mirrored each other, but also
could not have contrasted more.
Fighting across London on the tube, and muscling through
Kings Cross crowds to a Grantham express, battling for a seat amongst heaped
presents and returning families…Breezing to HKIA by taxi, and checking in to our
Express international flight to Cebu in the Philippines.
Connecting at Grantham to the smaller, slower, local train
that puffs its way across country…Connecting in a smallish airport to an
old-fashioned, flimsy-looking prop plane for a slow hour-long island hop to
Caticlan.
Getting picked up, with my many bags of clothes and presents,
by dad at the tiny, ramshackle station at Spalding or by mum at the sleepy
station if Sleaford…touching down at the frighteningly small airport at
Caticlan [right on the sea, where you are only metres from the waves when land
finally flashes below in the nick of time, as the wheels bump down], and being
picked up by a motorized tricycle, whose owner piles our stuff precariously on
the back.
Driving home, normally by night, along twisting unlit
Lincolnshire roads…Hopping aboard a long thin boat, with struts made of bamboo
springing from each side for balance, for the final jump over the sea to
Boracay Island.
Coming home, having a general family catch up and getting in
the festive spirit…arriving at our resort, bumping into Claire’s sister Nic and
boyfriend Cody as they come to look for us, and having a chat/getting excited
about Christmas abroad on the terrace of our holiday villa.
Muffling up against the cold, and trudging into the village
for a pint and maybe a bite to eat…getting into cooler clothes [it’s 30
degrees] and meandering down to a restaurant on the beach for some chilled
beers overlooking the sea.
Trudging home for a nightcap, Christmas tree twinkling in
the background as we look out onto a [ideally] snow covered back garden…decamping
to the beach for sunset, lit by bare bulbs strung up from palm trees, looking
out to sea cocktail in hand.
If different was what we wanted, we’d certainly got it. There
would be nostalgia that we were missing out on that familiar, warming routine.
But we were all prepared to jump into something new with both feet.
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