Do Not Deviate from That Which Makes You Happy

This evening I did as much and it did me no favours.

As well as having pretty much the same lunch everyday I've shamefully also been doing so for dinner. Mee goreng ayam (fried chicken noodles) is heaven on a plate and I am addicted. But tonight I thought I should explore the menu somewhat further, and confused the poor Sabahan waitress, who manages to convey 'the usual madam?' with just a glance these days.

So I had nasi biryani ayam (fried-rice-curry-chicken-esque thing). It was luke-warm and too spicy and now my stomach hurts. My poor tum which incidentally has been on the ropey side ever since it came off worse for wear in a battle with a plate of sweet and sour 'fish' on Boracay Island, the Philippines. I generally tend to steer away from anything on a menu which just says 'fish' or 'meat'. I like to have the type of 'meat' or 'fish' specified, so I am reassured I am not tucking into deep fried weasel or fillet of goldfish. But the picture on the menu looked sooooo good (another rule broken, never eat from a restaurant where they feel the need to photograph their food) and I was soooo hungry.

Oh Dear God, was I ever ill. You know when you wake up and instantly know that the next 24 hours (minimum) is going to be a world of hell for you? The food poisoning kicked off a temperature of 39 degrees and I didn't know my own name for a while. But thinking about it now is reminding me of our adventure in the Philippines which was an altogether spectacular experience, Travellers’ Tummy notwithstanding. Let me explain........

The Philippines - An Adventure

Good news girls, chilvary is not dead. It's alive and well and, if you've the time and trepidation to go looking for it, it can be found in Iraq. Strange place you reckon? A little dangerous? In that case, head for Boracay Island, Philippines. If you time it right you may just be lucky enough to meet Travis and Stacy. Let me tell you my little story based on a very off the cuff change of travel plans on my recent round-the-world trip.

My best friend Jane and I have, as I've already explained, both completed three-month Raleigh International expeditions at the end of 2007, her in Costa Rica, me in Borneo, Malaysia. We'd each had a whale of a time in our respective jungles and had met up in Australia post-expedition to help each other over the promised 'Raleigh Blues' and to compare mosquito bites.

Before I'd left the UK all I could actually focus on was getting to Australia..... I felt guilty about it, but I couldn't wait to get the jungle bit out of the way, I was convinced I'd fall in love with Oz and never want to leave.

However, I could not have been more wrong. Both of us found the sprawling country strangely bland and sterile. It lacked soul, and we both felt deeply troubled by this. On the back of some incredible photos a fellow Raleigh-er had posted on Facebook from his onwards travel I put it to Jane that we throw caution to the wind and get flights to the Philippines. Our new mantra - 'Do What Makes You Happy' was in force and we both agreed that Asia could do a far better job of this than spending any more time in Australia.

Granted, we didn't do our research properly and we were very much lead by the cheapest possible route into the exotic and slightly dangerous sounding capital of Manila. So it was Sydney to KL, KL to Clark (Manila). At the time neither of us could have guessed at the significance of those cheeky little brackets around the word Manila.

I'd suggest that the Air Asia website might want to reconsider a little N.B. somewhere on the booking page making travellers aware that Clark (Manila) is actually around 70 miles north of Manila, not actually in Manila, but hey ho, we were intrepid adventurers and half the fun of the fair is landing somewhere unexpected with no real idea where you are. Isn't it? Oh yes.

As we swooped in to land Jane turned to me with a confused look. 'Isn't Manila on a bay? Don't bays have water? Where is the sea?'

Erm, righto. Panic not.

We lurched out of the airport in Clark and found ourselves in what looked like a desolate military airbase. Uh-huh. No problem…. No… Real…. Problem.

Soon enough we had swarms of 'porters' wrestling us for our luggage. I'm not sure they had met any such independent International Women of the World before though, particularly Raleigh-trained ones. My project in particular involved a lot of heavy duty labour so I'd developed muscles to rival that of Fatima Whitbread. Those, combined with my gritty mental tenacity meant these slender young men were no match for me.

My bag remained under my own control...... just about. They did however point us thankfully in the direction of a bus. It was the only bus, and we had no real option but to get on it and see where we ended up.

Baguio, is where we ended up. The journey was a six-hour hair-raising experience with alarmingly brave and unexpected over-taking and pretty much continuous horn-blowing. 'You stand, yes?' shouted the conductor as the door slammed shut and the full-to-capacity bus pulled out of the airport. Well, we don't have much choice now, do we? In the end we both sat snugly on the floor wedged between the driver and the door which swung open and shut as we careered round bends with sheer drops to one side and mountainous crags to the other.

The scenery was momentous though. Lush green rice terraces, every so often giving way to a slash of silver-blue sea, catching the sun like a mirror as it set, slowly turning the sky a deep blood-red. However dangerous this decision was, I already felt this bus journey was worth the about-turn alone. And seriously, where's the fun in following the path well-trodden? My stomach fluttered with excited anticipation at our trepidation.

My positivity faltered somewhat on arrival in Baguio however. The place had a very surreal quality to it - the sky had turned very deep magenta, it was getting dark, and the roads were absolutely jammed with vehicles belching out thick acrid smoke. The combination of which made it feel as though we were in chapter of Phillip Pullman's 'His Dark Materials'. It was eerie, and oh my goodness, the noise!

We tore ourselves away from the crowds of men loitering around offering us God knows what (let's go with taxi rides) and launched ourselves into the chaos. We could see our hostel across a crazy roundabout, there just seemed to be no safe way to get to it. In the end we plumped for making a mad dash, and before we knew it we'd been hauled into a police station by a nearby traffic warden. A stern ticking off later, we were both very well aware of the strict 'no jaywalking' laws in the Philippines. Gulp.

A little bit of research about the area we were in determined the only other place worth seeing (more rice terraces at Batad, near Banaue) was probably another two days journeying up roads even more death-defying and mountainous than that which we'd already travelled. We discussed the pros and cons at length but the Rough Guide’s words 'not for the faint-hearted' jumped off the page. Having worked solidly for three months on expedition and then driven approximately 6000 km through Australia, both Jane and I were ready for a bit of 'soft white sand/turquoise water action'. We convinced ourselves that the journey to Baguio itself had been worth the effort and decided to get a flight to Caticlan and from there head to Boracay Island for some hard core R and R.

Have you ever been somewhere which is almost too beautiful to believe it exists? Even when you're actually there? On arrival Boracay was cloudy, but when we awoke the next morning to glorious blue as far as the eye could see, the mesmerizing beauty of the island brought tears to my eyes. By day we slouched about on sand which could have passed for talcum powder, and by night we mooched from cafe to restaurant to bar, all cosily lit with jewel-coloured lanterns and golden twinkly fairy lights. It was a magical place.

Our favourite haunts quickly became 'Red Pirates Bar' handily located right next door to our accommodation (which incidentally cost us the budget-breaking amount of four pounds a night, between two of us - never let it be said you cannot do far-flung exotic on a budget). Rather excitingly it seemed to be run by actual pirates, making it all the more alluring. Here we were handed free margaritas (on account of us being female) and whiled away many a happy hour listening to funky chilled out house accompanied by live bongo drumming by the pirates. It achieved just the right mix of eclectic laid-back chic and understated cool, seemingly with no effort whatsoever. We loved it.

We also loved Bom Bom's Bar, and it is here, ladies that our real Boracay adventure took off. There we were one evening, reclining on the beanbags strewn across the oh-so-soft sand. Staring up at the startlingly clear starry night, being entertained by Art Strong, a lovely chap (actually a Red Pirate) with a sultry voice comparable with Finlay Quaye and sipping on chocolate rum (oh how I love thee) and all of a sudden a deep Louisian drawl startled us out of our individual reveries. 'Ladies, I don't suppose you would like to come join us for drinks?'

?

We didn't need asking twice! And so we met Travis and Stacy (logistics guys working out in Iraq), who proceeded with a natural charm offensive of the like I have never experienced before, and even such defiantly independent women as myself and Jane were powerless to resist.

After talking well into the night we were invited on a trip to a waterfall the following day. As it was nearing 4am they suggested we pack up our day bags and head back to their beach house for what’s left of the night as we've an early start and they thought we might like breakfast with them before the off.

Giggling and swapping incredulous looks, we hastily threw random articles into our bags and walked the length of the beach in the shallows of the water (which, even by night is ridiculously turquoise) with Travis and Stacy. We gradually realised there was a marked difference between our end of the beach and theirs. Do not get me wrong, we had a nice little place - but as we progressed north, the accommodation got more and more exclusive, until we finally found ourselves standing in a very impressive bedroom with a huge bamboo four-poster bed, white-linen a go-go. As Travis and Stacy left us to it (we all agreed a couple of hours sleep were necessary to make the following day enjoyable), like small children Jane and I bounced up and down on the bed squealing like mental-cases. We could not believe our luck!

Breakfast took place at ‘Fridays Resort’ next door to their beach house, at the painfully early time of 7am. Two large American breakfasts down (pancakes from heaven) we set off on our day-trip. They dispensed with the bill without us even knowing about it and off we went.

The waterfall trip was incredible. We swam in crystal clear water, we ate fresh fish and chicken cooked on a bbq rigged up by our guides (or rather Travis and Stacy's personal guides). When we arrived back on Boracay they suggested we re-convened at Bom Bom's for more chocolate rum later that evening.

Well yessir, we'd love to!

Another lazy evening spent in the company of these two gentlemen which lasted well into the wee small hours and eventually Jane and I reluctantly headed back to our bare little budget room. We both agreed we'd had an awesome time with these guys and expected it to end right there.

At this point, things took a turn for the..... how shall I put it? Messy. I awoke at around 4am with the sensation that all was definitely not well in my world. When the day finally became light and Jane awoke I was suffering from a fever and could hardly move. My poor tummy spasmed and churned and protested at every sip of rehydration drink. The boys had tentatively asked us on a sailing trip that day but it became clear I couldn't go, so Jane set off to tell them the news.

An hour or so later a confident american appeared at the door. Travis had taken it upon himself to call in at the pharmacy and bring all manner of medication associated with D&V for me. A quick glance around our room, which took all of a second considering its diminutive size, and Travis announced that this simply would not do, we were both to move to Robinson Beach House as soon as I could physically get there. And there we stayed for the rest of our time on Boracay.

Getting there wasn't the easiest, I was pathetically weak and moving was painful. Jane was a total star and managed to move all our stuff by tricycle down to the beach house, but even the ten minute journey sitting still took all my remaining energy, leaving me very poorly indeed by the time we arrived. All I could do was fall into bed and sweat profusely all over the pristine sheets. Sorry boys.

Jane looked worryingly at me from time to time as I elicited little whimpers from my death bed. We were both very aware that now out of the safety of the Raleigh umbrella, issues such as 'getting very sick' was no longer quite so easy to deal with. Luckily I fell into a very deep sleep, something akin to a coma and awoke around 14 hours later only feeling as though I’d been smacked about the head with a hammer. I took that as progress.

Unbeknownst to me, whilst I was ill, I was booked into the Mandala Spa by Travis, to help accelerate my healing. An oasis of calm just off the bustling beach, I was treated to a four hour ‘Princess Package’ involving foot spa, pineapple and papaya body wrap, sea salt scrub, full body massage and facial.

We had to fight with Travis and Stacy on a daily basis to contribute financially to festivities, but they insisted on treating us to breakfasts of coconut waffles with syrup and pineapple, BBQ dinners of fresh fish with little home-made spring rolls, and delicious red wine at the Boracay steak house. If one of us lifted our hand to our eyes to shade them from the sun, we would be handed a pair of sunglasses. Before we even knew we needed something they were handing it to us. Our laundry was spirited away and brought back pristinely pressed. It was a surreal time, as we were supposed to be backpacking, yet here we were, living the life of Riley.

On our last day they chartered us a sailboat to take us right to the airport's door. We jumped aboard and each got handed a fresh banana milkshake. On the boat they plugged in my ipod with my favourite playlist, so hilariously as we're sailing past Borocay to the mainland, Keith Urban can be heard across the blue……………

Men like this only exist in films, don’t they?

Travis and Stacy are very special people. They work incredibly hard for around 42 weeks of the year in the sort of harsh environment that we usually only ever see on the news. They choose to then spend the rest of their year, together with the bulk of their money gadding about in paradise. They choose to share this with other people and welcome friends into their lives in a simple and trusting way. It was very beguiling. It was also hard to not feel as though you were taking advantage, but they honestly seemed to enjoy sharing their world with us. nd 42 weeks of the year in a stark environment that

Even our flight out of Caticlan back to Clark (Manila) was special. It was on the tiniest plane I've ever seen - it seated 19 passengers! At first I thought they were winding us up, it was not much bigger than a bus. I could have stroked the pilot’s back if I’d wanted to (I refrained). As we nervously seated ourselves the pilot turned round and ran through the safety briefing in about 30 seconds, peppering his speech with ‘let’s hope we make it, I’m not feeling the best’ type jokes.

Ha-bloody-ha. We flew at 8500 feet!!!!! Most planes cruise at 30,000 ft explained Jane.

It was an awesome end to an awesome trip. Travis and Stacy - I will never forget you.