I don’t know whether it’s because Palawan has turned out to be a trifle more costly than we expected, but it’s about that time when we both must seriously look into our pockets.
We must face the reality that we’ve lost a lot through not renting like we’d originally planned to do.
It’s a sad fact; but every trip must end somewhere.
Annoyingly, when we flew out of Singapore to Cebu, we unwittingly were forced into buying an outward flight (you must have an onward ticket to enter the Philippines, else you won’t be able to board). Conveniently for Tiger Air, all other (cheaper airline) systems were down, thus, with only 10 minutes to board, we had no choice but to buy a rather expensive flight back to Singapore from them. Of course, at the time we thought a refund wouldn’t be an issue and chose a date at random for the return, happy just to be able to board the damn plane.
Alas, now at their mercy, it would seem the refund, once calculated will amount to nothing but a few pence once all the charges and cancellation fees have been processed.
To further this annoyance, we’ve also landed ourselves a return ticket to Cebu, even though it’s Manila that we need to get to. This also will present a rather large hole in our pockets.
We have a strange morning discussing the eventuality of our return home.
It’s the first time that we’ve really confronted the issue and we’re both a little subdued with it all.
Plus, we have friends to meet who will be holidaying here in mid January; alas it seems that our budget will not even stretch that far if we’re to be honest with ourselves.
We walk about the village in a quandary.
The date on our departing ticket is fast approaching and will mean we’ll miss our friends by a matter of days.
Sadly, as with many things in life; it all comes down to money.
To cheer ourselves up (and avoid the inevitable decision we must make) we take a trike to Las Cabanas, a nearby palmed, white beach. We’ve heard good things about it, so thought we’d check it out.
As always we get ripped off with the fare by the trike driver (a frequent occurrence out here), but he promises to collect us at 5.30 so we don’t argue.
As yet, we cannot see the beach. We look bemusedly to the driver, who points down a rather steep path leading into what looks like a jungle.
Ok, all roads lead to Rome, we guess.
After passing two small, make shift bridges over some very stagnant, mosquito filled water, we eventually espy a collection of gargantuan palm trees. We can’t help but stare up at their sky- scraper proportions.
Once off the path we get a spectacular view; the beach is impossibly beautiful and deserted. The sand is brilliantly golden and more importantly, free from any footprints.
We decide to take shelter from a tree, as the sun is scorching hot. Looking out we can admire the view of El Nido and its impressive limestone islands.
Now, the only thing to do is to crack out the cakes that we bought from the baker in town. As soon as we do this we get a couple of unexpected visitors in the form of the very cute, furry variety.
The puppy and his mum seem to take a shine to us (or our cakes) and spend the best part of the late morning frolicking in the sand by our towels.
Later on, we wonder along the shore to what seems like the only place to get a drink around here. The resort looks like one of the holiday destinations you would win if you won “Going for Gold” or something; lots of little straw umbrellas and hammocks lolling about the postcard setting. It almost looks too good to be true…
It’s under one of these straw umbrella/hut things that we decide to take refuge. Very soon a young Filipino girl enters ready to take our order. We have just under an hour left before our trike driver is due to pick us up.
Looking through the ridiculously priced menu, we ridiculously order two Margueritas. Over twenty minutes later, the drinks arrive; well worth the wait as they turn out to be delicious.
In the true fashion of idiots, and with only twenty minutes left before we have to meet our driver; we order another two Margueritas, making our time constraints known to the very amiable young waitress.
“No problem,” she reassures us and quickly scurries away.
True to her word, the drinks arrive just a short while later.
We have ten minutes to drink them.
Greedily we pour the poison from the shaker into our glasses. The liquid looks a little more transparent than the previous (delicious) drink.
In fact, it seems that we’ve just been given lemon juice.
Lemon juice- pah!
And, seeing as what we are paying for these ludicrous drinks is close to a couple nights accommodation, I feel just a tad inclined to chase the waitress and demand what’s happened.
I find her lurking in the maze like gardens of the resort.
“Hey, there’s no alcohol in our drinks!”
She cocks her head like a confused parrot.
“Our drinks- they’re…not right,” I pursue.
She smiles at me giddily.
I have a feeling she’s feigning ignorance.
“Look, I just want our money back if that’s alright. We don’t want the drink anymore. It’s not the same as the last one.”
She shakes her head, her smile turning to a frown.
“Wait,” she pleads, “I ask my boss.”
Fair do’s.
I run back to Stef and tell him what’s happened. We have about five minutes to rectify the situation.
Thankfully, the girl appears, urging me to follow her.
It seems we are to enter the dragons den, as the girl looks positively terrified.
Oh God.
As with most dens that home a crazed beast; the atmosphere is positively dark and foreboding.
“You got any comments,” a cruel, spiteful voice sings from over her perch, bobbing her head as if in time to some scary ass street beats.
It would seem that I have been transported to The Jerry Springer Show.
Still, I won’t be intimidated out of my money, no matter what monster I must pass in the process.
“Funny enough; yes, I do.”
“Oh, really?”
She retorts, her head wobbling about her shoulders like a rabid thunderbird.
“Yes. Our Margueritas have no Tequila in; at the prices you are charging I expect a good drink,”
I smile sweetly and continue-
“Now, I’m really sorry, but as I explained to your waitress, we’re in a bit of a hurry, so I’d really appreciate a refund.”
Godzilla (queen of the streets), eyes me suspiciously. I doubt anyone has had the nerve to put this beast in her place. But as with all dictators, there’s always a scapegoat to take the blame. Much to my horror and disappointment, it seems that the young waitress is fresh fodder. I can sense her cowering behind me.
“She,” Godzilla spits, pointing at the waitress (which, from where I’m standing looks as if she’s pointing directly at me), “She (as if the word is dirty) DON’T KNOW HOW TO MAKE A MAGUERITA. I told her NO make MAGUERITA. BUT; she did.”
She reiterates this point in Filipino, just in case the poor girl didn’t get her venom clear enough.
“Well, I think she was just trying to save time. But really, it’s not a problem. I’ll just have my money back and be on my way.”
“Yes,” she smirks, “I give you money back.”
As if rewarding me or something.
Thank god.
I feel terrible about the waitress but we really can’t throw that kind of money away on drinks that have no alcohol in.
“The first drinks were really good,” I say, in an attempt to salvage some of the waitress’s face.
Godzilla glares at me, as if to say “whatever”.
She truly is the ugliest, poisonous person I have met here, and in such a short space of time.
As I walk out of the den I pass the waitress who manages a smile; we now share a common enemy.
There’s now only enough time for us to race back to our driver, who greets us with a greedy eye (in expectance of receiving the last payment of his overpriced fare).
