Annoyingly, the place that we had planned to stay at in Negros (Kookoo’s Nest) fails to get back to us, so we leave Panagsama without a clue where we’ll lay our heads that night. In some ways this kind of unknowing leaves you with a profound sense of freedom or a deep sense of dread; today, however, it’s the freedom we’re feeling. We simply can't wait to blow this joint and to celebrate we decide to let all the cockroaches that we’ve caught over the past two weeks back into the house that jack built. (That’s not to mention the whopping great cockroach that our friend Mr. Gecko caught in our kitchen the night before).
After this small, measly victory, Stef hastily drops the flat keys back to its rightful owner whilst I get ready to throw our bags into the nearest trike to make our escape.
We’re at the bus stop in Moal Boal early enough for me to make a quick dash to the post office to send a parcel home; Stef left to watch our bags. It costs 2,114 pesos to post back 5kg- so not exactly cheap, but better than throwing good books away I suppose.
When I return to the bus stop, I notice two things: one, that the bus still hasn’t arrived and two that Stef has, in the space of 20 minutes, managed to befriend a smorgasbord of drunks. We just can’t get enough of them!
Stef looks like an overgrown gnome, sitting on a mountain of bags, trying to decipher some sense from this choir of Filipino drunken ramblings. The young trike drivers seem very happy; they’ve managed to intoxicate themselves well before the noon sun rises.
As the eldest of the bunch (Jamie) dribbles something into Stef’s ear, the youngest (fatter Michael, who has been blessed with a very strange mound of bum fluff on his chin) insists on pulling my hand and whispering (or slurring I should say) sweet nothings.
I guess I do not look amused.
“He‘s a monkey,” he adds, pointing to Jamie, “a monkey!” before he holds his belly, shuddering with giggles.
Oh god, please bus, come.
I opt to sit as far away from this motley crew as possible and leave Stef to it. I wince as I see a huge globule of rum spittle fall from Jamie’s gob, straight onto Stef’s laptop bag; an appropriate souvenir to take from Panagsama methinks.
Finally, with a jaw aching from awkward smiles, the bus arrives and we speedily try and grab our bags before our drunken friends do. It’s no good; they pick up our back packs and stumble towards the bus like excited school kids about to go on a field trip. It’s hard to avoid the stares of the passengers gawking at this spectacle.
As our bus hurtles off we can hear the shouts of our new found gang-
“Come back, “they cry.
We breathe a deep sigh of relief; it feels good to be going.
