Philippines, land of islands and wondrous creatures. It’s also home to more than 80 million people and counting, large families begetting large families, all with mouths to feed and heads to shelter. This is a country of tremendous natural resources being used up more quickly than you can say, “Wait a second,” and one of the hottest of the Earth’s hotspots, according to the experts. We’re talking about maybe 5-10% of the planet’s biodiversity, maybe a quarter of its coral reefs, plenty of unique species, and also some of the world’s worst environmental abuses and least environmental education. So, on my third trip here, I make it a point to see a few of its more interesting animals, while I still can, and do my small part to chip in some pesos to Filipinos working hard to protect their natural heritage, as well as to some of those who are just plain nice or hungry. I also make it a point to have fun, and try to remember as often as I can how lucky I am just to be able to come here.
So, I’m in Davao, largest city in Mindanao, which is either the first or second largest island in the country, but both Luzon and Mindanao are home to the last really viable populations of the Philippine Eagle in the world. Known to some as the Monkey-Eating Eagle, this is the second largest bird of prey in the world, and being on top of the food chain and all, needs sizable chunks of intact forest habitat to feed itself. Unfortunately, the Philippines has been seriously deforested, and what little remains continues to diminish at a quick pace. It is estimated that there remain only 400 of these eagles in Mindanao, due mostly to habitat destruction but also hunting.
Mindanao is also home to several separatist Muslim guerilla groups (including Abu Sayef and MILF), who apparently don’t like the way the country is being run, and choose to make their bases in the most remote locations in the country in order to avoid persecution by the national army. They have also tended to terrorize local people and visitors alike, making SE Mindanao and the neighboring Sulu Archipelago a big red zone and no-no for even casually cautious travelers like myself. As curious as I am about these groups, and as much as I’d like to go trekking in some of the last big forest tracts on this island, I don’t feel like pressing my luck, so I decide to visit the Philippine Eagle Center, which is dedicated to the conservation of the bird, other local birds of prey, and the preservation of their habitat.
The trip to the center from Davao by Jeepney (old WWII American jeeps converted into trucks for passenger transport and painted with any kind of colorful design often incorporating themes from American pop-culture like Elvis, Heavy Metal, or say Baywatch) takes about two hours, including a fifteen minute ride on the back of a motorbike. I learn that the center is also involved in protecting the local watershed and there’s a small forest sanctuary around the center of a few hectares. As I walk around learning interesting facts from the signage, I notice that all of the big trees have been adopted by individuals, local businesses, or organizations. I quietly think to myself that if individual trees need to be adopted then this country’s forests are in big trouble.
As nice as some of the big trees are, I notice that a good deal of the plants that are labeled have been introduced from elsewhere, and many are common household decoratives. Almost all of the eagles and other birds are in cages, as are the few other local animals, including a salt-water crocodile, a local deer, and a warty pig. A few of the birds must be well trained or unable to fly away because they’re allowed to sit outside on a branch or a metal perch. I also learn however, that they have successfully bred a few of the eagles here, and released them into large tracks of forest elsewhere on the island. Most of the birds have been rescued from one area or another.
I learn that the Monkey-Eating Eagle’s diet is composed of only 5% monkeys, whereas more than half of its food comes from flying lemurs. I wonder why it’s not called the Flying Lemur-Eating Eagle. But mostly I stand around and gape at these huge birds, which are truly magnificent looking, and despite being confined within these largish cages, still seem to be dignified and almost proud. They are quite huge, about a meter tall with a two meter wing span, enormous claws capable of tearing my face off I’m sure, and with the most interesting hairdo of feathers that jut out from the top of their heads like some kind of funk musician which jiggle when they move.
Of the more than dozen eagles that I count, only one seems to feel like flying, which he (or she) does so like clockwork, almost once every two minutes. He’s in a big, almost cylindrical cage, and I can tell when he’s going to fly by the way he stands before he takes off. I get my binoculars ready to get a good luck at him (the cage is about 5 m off of the concrete path). Even in this confined space it’s impressive to watch him, because his wings are so huge, but as big as the cage is, I can still hear the tip of his wing brush against the cage fencing as he does a big circle from his perch, around the cage, and back to his perch. It makes a light but very audible thwip-twhip-twhip-thwip, which, I think to myself, is the sound of a doomed species.
I have a similar feeling here as I do in all zoos I visit, which is a mixture of fascination, awe, and sad despair. I know the people here are doing good work though, and educating the populace, so I donate a little on top of the one dollar entrance fee I paid to get in. Still, I find it funny, in this country so full of quirks and wonderful oddities, that at the moment the terrorist groups Abu Sayef and MILF might be the most effective conservationists here, as they keep the general populace away from fear of kidnapping and violence. In my experience, the comparably few tourists in Mindanao and its neighboring islands (most stay away because of strong warnings from their embassies) make it one of the most enjoyable places to visit on my trip. It makes me wonder, if the United States continues to help the Philippine government wipe out their rebels, will it mean the end for the magnificent Philippine Eagle and the genuine welcome for the traveler in Mindanao? It’s an impossible question to answer perhaps, in this complex, interconnected world we live in…...
Monday, March 26, 2007
Tuesday, March 6, 2007
Philippine Dreaming
Ah, the Philippines. Pinoy Land; the first stop on my much anticipated trip through SE Asia, by virtue of being the closest and cheapest place to fly to from Palau. This being my third time here (being so close it's where I have taken my last two vacations), I'm familiar with the country's geography, people, customs, and language, just enough to feel comfortable strolling from place to place and at ease hopping from island to island. I'm coming from Palau, a country and small archipelago of around 500 islands, to P.I., comprised of more than 7,000. So many islands and such a bewildering array of possibilities can be a bit intimidating at first, but sometimes your choices seem to be made for you; by a chance encounter wth a local or fellow traveler, by the logistics of getting from point A to point B, or by intuition. In a way that is the idea behind my trip, and my hope is to see what happens when I loosen my grip on the steering wheel and let my path open up before me as it may.
So, I took a one way flight from Koror to Davao, which is the biggest city on the huge southern island of Mindanao, and one of the bigger cities in the Philippines. After staying up all night to catch my 5 o"clock flight, I was happy to be allowed into the country, and asked a cab driver to take me to a cheap hotel. As we drove into the city and cruised around seemingly in circles looking for a cash machine, I realized both with mild amusement and depression that most cities in the Philippines are so similar that it's easy to forget where you are. I ended up being dropped pretty much in the middle of the city, about a block from the wharf, and in the heart of the hardware district. After a few days of walking around the streets nearby, I realized that there were at least 50 hardware or automotive parts stores within about 4 blocks. I was told later that this was because the whole area belonged to a few chinese families, who liked to give little businesses to everyone in the family, so that there's always a kind of insurance that if one of the sons fucks up and blows all of his money on women, gambling and drink, the family business will go on. Anyhow I made it to my hotel, checked into my closet of a room, and passed out.
Waking up in a tiny room, wondering where I am, dreaming or dream-waking, waking-dreaming? Walking out of the door and down the hall and flights of stairs, realizing from the view of ocean and distant mountains, that I've switched countries, to a different reality all over again.It's afternoon. I'm dying of hunge and thirst, so I wander around the street looking for good food to eat, water. There's so much noise, brightly painted jeepneys and tricycles, buses and trucks motoring up and down, around the corner. People are everywhere, walking, crossing the street, dodging traffic, sitting against buildings, laughing, talking, staring, smiling, pointing. I realize I'm the only foreigner in sight, probably for blocks. People turn their heads to look at me, tell their friends I'm walking by, say "Hello" and "Hey Joe!" I smile, keep walking, try to avoid tripping on motorbikes and scooters parked seemingly everywhere, bins of cheap clothes, fruit, vegetables, dried fish, cell phone accessories, DVD's. Somehow it's mostly hardware though, every other store is hardware, sometimes there's three or four in a row, and they all have the same merchandise.
Finally I find a mini shopping mall, there's at least 50 choices of food to eat. I go to the cafeteria, eat alone amidst wide-eyed stares and double takes, shy smiles. Yep, back in the Philippines. I'm tall, white and handsome, Amerian looking (foreigners are all called Amerikano or kano, anyway) so everyone wants to be my friend, or at least ask me where I'm going. It's good to be back, and yet, strange. It's easy to forget Palau and home, for the moment, anyway. Normally I hate being the center of attention, and yet somehow I like the feeling of being different, unique, special. It never lasts though...and anyway there's plenty of special places here which I've come to see. But that'll have to wait, maybe until tomorrow or at least until I get used to this dream....
So, I took a one way flight from Koror to Davao, which is the biggest city on the huge southern island of Mindanao, and one of the bigger cities in the Philippines. After staying up all night to catch my 5 o"clock flight, I was happy to be allowed into the country, and asked a cab driver to take me to a cheap hotel. As we drove into the city and cruised around seemingly in circles looking for a cash machine, I realized both with mild amusement and depression that most cities in the Philippines are so similar that it's easy to forget where you are. I ended up being dropped pretty much in the middle of the city, about a block from the wharf, and in the heart of the hardware district. After a few days of walking around the streets nearby, I realized that there were at least 50 hardware or automotive parts stores within about 4 blocks. I was told later that this was because the whole area belonged to a few chinese families, who liked to give little businesses to everyone in the family, so that there's always a kind of insurance that if one of the sons fucks up and blows all of his money on women, gambling and drink, the family business will go on. Anyhow I made it to my hotel, checked into my closet of a room, and passed out.
Waking up in a tiny room, wondering where I am, dreaming or dream-waking, waking-dreaming? Walking out of the door and down the hall and flights of stairs, realizing from the view of ocean and distant mountains, that I've switched countries, to a different reality all over again.It's afternoon. I'm dying of hunge and thirst, so I wander around the street looking for good food to eat, water. There's so much noise, brightly painted jeepneys and tricycles, buses and trucks motoring up and down, around the corner. People are everywhere, walking, crossing the street, dodging traffic, sitting against buildings, laughing, talking, staring, smiling, pointing. I realize I'm the only foreigner in sight, probably for blocks. People turn their heads to look at me, tell their friends I'm walking by, say "Hello" and "Hey Joe!" I smile, keep walking, try to avoid tripping on motorbikes and scooters parked seemingly everywhere, bins of cheap clothes, fruit, vegetables, dried fish, cell phone accessories, DVD's. Somehow it's mostly hardware though, every other store is hardware, sometimes there's three or four in a row, and they all have the same merchandise.
Finally I find a mini shopping mall, there's at least 50 choices of food to eat. I go to the cafeteria, eat alone amidst wide-eyed stares and double takes, shy smiles. Yep, back in the Philippines. I'm tall, white and handsome, Amerian looking (foreigners are all called Amerikano or kano, anyway) so everyone wants to be my friend, or at least ask me where I'm going. It's good to be back, and yet, strange. It's easy to forget Palau and home, for the moment, anyway. Normally I hate being the center of attention, and yet somehow I like the feeling of being different, unique, special. It never lasts though...and anyway there's plenty of special places here which I've come to see. But that'll have to wait, maybe until tomorrow or at least until I get used to this dream....
Friday, March 2, 2007
Leaving Palau
So my last month tour in Palau ended up lasting a couple of weeks. It was appropriate after all because an improvisational tour of SE Asia should have a spontaneous beginning, right? I told a few friends that I was just waiting for the right feeling, and to my surprise, it came.
My last few weeks were good though. It turned out that the people on Kayangel Island were having a New Year’s celebration on February 10th, because for some reason they couldn’t celebrate it on THE day. This was a great example of island time for me, and a good excuse to visit the place where I started working when I first came to Palau, but that I hadn’t been to in more than two years. Through a Peace Corps friend of mine, we ( me and my buddies Julian and Angus) arranged a homestay for the weekend, and hopped on the small, Kayangel state boat early Saturday morning. At this point I knew that I would be leaving soon, so I felt blessed to be a witness to the beauty of the coast of Babeldaob island, as we made our way through the reef channels and passages north along it and out of the barrier reef and towards the atoll that is Kayangel.
There’s nothing really like being out on the water in nice weather cruising along in a boat in Palau. There’s so many different hues of blue as you pass over different depths with different substrates, and they’re always framed by at least a dozen brilliant greens of the islands’ forests and the powder white of a few puffy clouds in the blue blue sky. And yet somehow the colors seem to become even more intense and magical when you approach Kayangel, and they never seem to fade. Even when you’re on the main island you can look out over the lagoon towards its barrier reef edge, or along the beach towards the three other, smaller islands, and you feel like you’re in a masterpiece.
I missed the island more than I had realized: The small village, sparsely laid out along two parallel coral roads, lined with trees and house gardens, the footpaths between houses and to the beach or taro patches, and the people, so laid back and friendly, especially if you speak a little Palauan. I missed the smell of the place especially, a mixture of sea breeze, barbequed fish, lemon trees, plumeria flowers, cooking taro, smoke, leaf litter and sand. I guess if you don’t live there, it makes for a great walk just strolling to one end of it or the other, and right after we arrived we walked along the forest path to the north end. The view from the curving beach at the tip was sublime, as always, and we spent a few hours sitting in the shade of a tree, or swimming in the current going past the tip, but mostly just absorbing the calm beauty of the place, waves, sky, clear water, wind.
Back in the village we spent the rest of the day napping in hammocks, down at the edge of the beach across from the house were we were staying. Awaking at dusk, we wander over to the house, where we mumble a few Palauan phrases, make jokes, and are provided with some fish soup and rice. I am amazed, as usual, by Palauan hospitality and humor, and in a good mood we stroll over to the village meeting house, or abai, where the “New Year’s” festivities will take place. People are sitting on benches and in plastic chairs, underneath open-sided tents used in almost all Palauan gatherings. Some people are sitting in the grass, and an old friend who I used to work with offers me his chair. The schedule for the evening is announced in Palauan over a microphone, and we stroll down to the end of the newish concrete dock to have a chew of betelnut and watch the end of the sunset.
In time we go back to the party, sit through some short speeches, and are then invited to help ourselves to the food laid out; barbeque pork, chicken, and fish, taro, tapioca, rice, taro leaf soup, coconuts, and a few local deserts. We stuff ourselves without a trace of bashfulness, go back for a choice item or two, and then sit back satisfyingly full, rubbing our bellies and sitting on the grass listening to Palauan music. We sit around long enough to see a few silly dances by men dressed as women, and then go back to our hammocks, ready for gentle swinging and dreaming in the ocean breeze. Normally we would sit around longer, watch with amusement and dance the occasional cha-cha, and drink a few Budweiser or Asahi beers, but the night before we had a big night at one of the karaoke bars in Koror.
We had gone big, feeling, but not quite knowing that it would probably be the last of so many fun nights had Kororokeing (the special blend of karaoke in Palau with Chinese or Filipina-usually-hostesses, buckets of beer on ice, “ladies drinks”, tagalong and English songs sung badly, the Palauan cha-cha to both Palauan and American hip-hop songs, and weird conversation while yelling over the noise) for me. As the Australians say, it was full on, and I went all out, singing a dozen songs and inventing a new dance called the spuns’ shuffle, which no one noticed because there were two very drunk bar girls dancing quite close to each other. Felt pretty hungover the next day, but we rallied with some doughnuts and coffee from Winchell’s before making it to the boat.
So, I missed out on most of the Kayangel February 10th New Year’s Eve party, but my buddy Julian got up, thinking that he had slept a few hours only wandered back over. He soon discovered it was already nearly five a.m., but there were still plenty of people up, talking, drinking Budweiser and Asahi, chewing betelnut, eating leftovers, laughing and doing the cha-cha as only they can. In all of my travels I’ve never encountered a people so well suited and devoted (in a culturally appropriate way) to indulgence. God knows I love them for it and have been forever altered in my ways.
The next day I had another stroll around the island, this time fully feeling like the end was near for me, so I soaked it in, and sucked up the smells and sounds and colors. As we were waiting around for the boat’s departure, we sat around the small house of a Filipino living on the island for thirteen years, Felix. We talked with him and his nephew Darwin about cock-fighting, living as a foreigner in Palau on a small island and the difference between that and being in prison in the Philippines. They gave us a few tips on picking up girls in the Philippines, and it seemed like a good segue to my next destination….the Philippines.
After Kayangel I ended up leaving about five days later, but only after I had felt mostly satisfied that I had tied up all the loose ends and infinished business that I had steadily and slowly (it is island time there after all) acquired. Mostly it was selling and getting rid of stuff, a rather eclectic and surprisingly large collection of. I had come to the country with a two backpacks of stuff, and I was determined to leave with one and a quarter, so I parted ways with so many toys and gadgets that give a good impression of my lifestyle there: nylon string guitar, mountain bike, extra snorkeling set, “island magic” rash guard, at least a dozen randomly acquired t-shirts, a rice cooker, “Chocolate”, a radio half broken, an t.v. with no channels, 2 hammocks,2 mosquito nets, scuba gear, kayak paddle and seat, surfboard, 4WD truck. Parting ways was pretty easy in most cases, even satisfying in a Buddhist monk kind of way as I was steadily and noticeably making my life simpler and my possessions lighter.
Of course, I had to use all my stuff at least one last time, so I went on a “cave special” kayak and snorkel with Angus, a night dive on local legend Keith Santillano’s secret wreck, a bicycle ride around Arakebesang, and a offroad trip to the Rock Islands of Airai with my buddy Art. Art and I almost didn’t make it back, because it was a rainy day, and I foolishly went down a pretty steep road that became a thick, mud slide we nearly didn’t make it back up. It was worth it though for the cool, beautiful hike along the ancient stone path to the Abai in Oikull and straight up one of the Rock Islands to a little-known view point of SE Babeldaob.
My last day was predictably a cluster fuck of running around at the last minute getting my plane ticket, forms I didn’t know I needed to leave the country, and pleading with the nice people at the travel agents office so that they would let me leave with a one-way ticket. Thankfully I was able to spend some quality time with a few of my best friends, but as hectic as things were, I still neglected giving the proper farewell to the many and odd acquaintances and wonderful people I had come to know living in this small place. My flight left at the butt-crack of dawn, as they say, so after a well-needed nap and a last minute extravaganza of giving away my material possessions, I went for one last, nearly all-encompassing stroll of Koror, seeing the sights, as it were, for one last time.
My three closest buddies at the end, Arturo, Angus and Julian were valiant, and they stayed up with me until the very end. I left a bit worn, so tired and sleep deprived, but ready, and anxious for my next adventure…
My last few weeks were good though. It turned out that the people on Kayangel Island were having a New Year’s celebration on February 10th, because for some reason they couldn’t celebrate it on THE day. This was a great example of island time for me, and a good excuse to visit the place where I started working when I first came to Palau, but that I hadn’t been to in more than two years. Through a Peace Corps friend of mine, we ( me and my buddies Julian and Angus) arranged a homestay for the weekend, and hopped on the small, Kayangel state boat early Saturday morning. At this point I knew that I would be leaving soon, so I felt blessed to be a witness to the beauty of the coast of Babeldaob island, as we made our way through the reef channels and passages north along it and out of the barrier reef and towards the atoll that is Kayangel.
There’s nothing really like being out on the water in nice weather cruising along in a boat in Palau. There’s so many different hues of blue as you pass over different depths with different substrates, and they’re always framed by at least a dozen brilliant greens of the islands’ forests and the powder white of a few puffy clouds in the blue blue sky. And yet somehow the colors seem to become even more intense and magical when you approach Kayangel, and they never seem to fade. Even when you’re on the main island you can look out over the lagoon towards its barrier reef edge, or along the beach towards the three other, smaller islands, and you feel like you’re in a masterpiece.
I missed the island more than I had realized: The small village, sparsely laid out along two parallel coral roads, lined with trees and house gardens, the footpaths between houses and to the beach or taro patches, and the people, so laid back and friendly, especially if you speak a little Palauan. I missed the smell of the place especially, a mixture of sea breeze, barbequed fish, lemon trees, plumeria flowers, cooking taro, smoke, leaf litter and sand. I guess if you don’t live there, it makes for a great walk just strolling to one end of it or the other, and right after we arrived we walked along the forest path to the north end. The view from the curving beach at the tip was sublime, as always, and we spent a few hours sitting in the shade of a tree, or swimming in the current going past the tip, but mostly just absorbing the calm beauty of the place, waves, sky, clear water, wind.
Back in the village we spent the rest of the day napping in hammocks, down at the edge of the beach across from the house were we were staying. Awaking at dusk, we wander over to the house, where we mumble a few Palauan phrases, make jokes, and are provided with some fish soup and rice. I am amazed, as usual, by Palauan hospitality and humor, and in a good mood we stroll over to the village meeting house, or abai, where the “New Year’s” festivities will take place. People are sitting on benches and in plastic chairs, underneath open-sided tents used in almost all Palauan gatherings. Some people are sitting in the grass, and an old friend who I used to work with offers me his chair. The schedule for the evening is announced in Palauan over a microphone, and we stroll down to the end of the newish concrete dock to have a chew of betelnut and watch the end of the sunset.
In time we go back to the party, sit through some short speeches, and are then invited to help ourselves to the food laid out; barbeque pork, chicken, and fish, taro, tapioca, rice, taro leaf soup, coconuts, and a few local deserts. We stuff ourselves without a trace of bashfulness, go back for a choice item or two, and then sit back satisfyingly full, rubbing our bellies and sitting on the grass listening to Palauan music. We sit around long enough to see a few silly dances by men dressed as women, and then go back to our hammocks, ready for gentle swinging and dreaming in the ocean breeze. Normally we would sit around longer, watch with amusement and dance the occasional cha-cha, and drink a few Budweiser or Asahi beers, but the night before we had a big night at one of the karaoke bars in Koror.
We had gone big, feeling, but not quite knowing that it would probably be the last of so many fun nights had Kororokeing (the special blend of karaoke in Palau with Chinese or Filipina-usually-hostesses, buckets of beer on ice, “ladies drinks”, tagalong and English songs sung badly, the Palauan cha-cha to both Palauan and American hip-hop songs, and weird conversation while yelling over the noise) for me. As the Australians say, it was full on, and I went all out, singing a dozen songs and inventing a new dance called the spuns’ shuffle, which no one noticed because there were two very drunk bar girls dancing quite close to each other. Felt pretty hungover the next day, but we rallied with some doughnuts and coffee from Winchell’s before making it to the boat.
So, I missed out on most of the Kayangel February 10th New Year’s Eve party, but my buddy Julian got up, thinking that he had slept a few hours only wandered back over. He soon discovered it was already nearly five a.m., but there were still plenty of people up, talking, drinking Budweiser and Asahi, chewing betelnut, eating leftovers, laughing and doing the cha-cha as only they can. In all of my travels I’ve never encountered a people so well suited and devoted (in a culturally appropriate way) to indulgence. God knows I love them for it and have been forever altered in my ways.
The next day I had another stroll around the island, this time fully feeling like the end was near for me, so I soaked it in, and sucked up the smells and sounds and colors. As we were waiting around for the boat’s departure, we sat around the small house of a Filipino living on the island for thirteen years, Felix. We talked with him and his nephew Darwin about cock-fighting, living as a foreigner in Palau on a small island and the difference between that and being in prison in the Philippines. They gave us a few tips on picking up girls in the Philippines, and it seemed like a good segue to my next destination….the Philippines.
After Kayangel I ended up leaving about five days later, but only after I had felt mostly satisfied that I had tied up all the loose ends and infinished business that I had steadily and slowly (it is island time there after all) acquired. Mostly it was selling and getting rid of stuff, a rather eclectic and surprisingly large collection of. I had come to the country with a two backpacks of stuff, and I was determined to leave with one and a quarter, so I parted ways with so many toys and gadgets that give a good impression of my lifestyle there: nylon string guitar, mountain bike, extra snorkeling set, “island magic” rash guard, at least a dozen randomly acquired t-shirts, a rice cooker, “Chocolate”, a radio half broken, an t.v. with no channels, 2 hammocks,2 mosquito nets, scuba gear, kayak paddle and seat, surfboard, 4WD truck. Parting ways was pretty easy in most cases, even satisfying in a Buddhist monk kind of way as I was steadily and noticeably making my life simpler and my possessions lighter.
Of course, I had to use all my stuff at least one last time, so I went on a “cave special” kayak and snorkel with Angus, a night dive on local legend Keith Santillano’s secret wreck, a bicycle ride around Arakebesang, and a offroad trip to the Rock Islands of Airai with my buddy Art. Art and I almost didn’t make it back, because it was a rainy day, and I foolishly went down a pretty steep road that became a thick, mud slide we nearly didn’t make it back up. It was worth it though for the cool, beautiful hike along the ancient stone path to the Abai in Oikull and straight up one of the Rock Islands to a little-known view point of SE Babeldaob.
My last day was predictably a cluster fuck of running around at the last minute getting my plane ticket, forms I didn’t know I needed to leave the country, and pleading with the nice people at the travel agents office so that they would let me leave with a one-way ticket. Thankfully I was able to spend some quality time with a few of my best friends, but as hectic as things were, I still neglected giving the proper farewell to the many and odd acquaintances and wonderful people I had come to know living in this small place. My flight left at the butt-crack of dawn, as they say, so after a well-needed nap and a last minute extravaganza of giving away my material possessions, I went for one last, nearly all-encompassing stroll of Koror, seeing the sights, as it were, for one last time.
My three closest buddies at the end, Arturo, Angus and Julian were valiant, and they stayed up with me until the very end. I left a bit worn, so tired and sleep deprived, but ready, and anxious for my next adventure…
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